Chapter Text
Crocodile was certain that he had another grey hair.
He examined his tired reflection, the harsh bags under his eyes, the overdrawn lines which cut into his brow, and counted the silver streaks again. Yes, definitely, one more than yesterday. Of course there was, as if he didn’t have enough to worry currently, he now had to contend with his own mortality.
It felt like for every day he was on Emptee Bluffs, he gained an additional sliver hair, a new signifier of his aging, overworked body. Running the Cross Guild was more than stressful, it was a burden, a Sisyphean task he threw himself into because there really was no one else who could do it. No one had Crocodile’s experience, his connections, or his expertise.
The clown had tried and failed to find the balance between saviour and superior. Happy to waste coin for the sake of keeping the bloodthirsty lot happy and loyal, but not stopping to think of the consequences. Crocodile had no such issue. He could wrangle in the worst man, knew exactly the vice needed to keep them in check, and use it against them while sparing his own coffers.
Mihawk, meanwhile, had no interest in running the business. He was happy to lend his strength, his image, and even occasionally provide feedback on their schemes. That was the extent of his involvement, which was fine, Crocodile didn't ask Mihawk to accompany him on this venture because he suspected Mihawk to be a secret financial genius. He asked Mihawk to join him because he wanted the power and prestige which came with having the World's Strongest Swordsman as his ally.
Besides, Crocodile enjoyed a challenge, even on the days when juggling the inner workings of the Cross Guild didn’t feel worth the headache. A feeling which was growing in frequency now that almost all of his recent waking hours were dedicated to preparing for their trip to hunt down the One Piece. There were so many moving pieces and the journey would be dangerous and unpredictable, Crocodile needed to account for every possible delay, setback and challenge they could face.
He needed to assemble a crew he could trust to see them through the worst weather and even tougher brawls with competing pirate crews. A hardy crew like that would need to be well-fed, which meant gathering enough resources to last them for the trip, a trip which could take weeks, perhaps even months, to see through. But Crocodile couldn’t take all the best fighters away with them, they needed to leave behind enough able-bodied men to defend the island in their absence. They would need a place to return to after the journey was over and done with, after all.
The burden of this responsibility felt translated in every aged line of Crocodile’s face, every new grey hair, every ache in his back from being forced to hunch over stacks and stacks of paperwork. He spent hours running the numbers, checking budgets over and over to triple-check that he had left no room for error.
It was bitter, bitter work, made just a little bit easier by how sweet his lovers’ lips were. Their praise, their effort in keeping his bed warm and his belly full were the reminders he needed that as hard as this all is, it will be worth the reward. The One Piece will be theirs. Obtained through Crocodile’s organization, Mihawk’s strength and Buggy’s army of mercenaries.
Crocodile ran his face under the cold water, the shock of the tepid water helping to shake some of the fatigue from him. He left the bathroom, reaching for his nearby robe, when he spied Buggy in the corner of his eye. The clown was still asleep, curled up with his naked back to Crocodile. His long, beautiful hair spilled out behind him like a winding river.
He threw on the robe, the material plush and welcoming on his exhausted body. He approached the bed and stepped around to face Buggy. He was snoring, mouth slightly-agape, his lips stained from his lipstick. There were little bruises dancing along his collarbone and neck, love bites, signs of affection left behind by Mihawk and Crocodile.
Crocodile brushed his knuckles across Buggy’s brow, deliberate and gentle in a way he could only be in private. Even around Mihawk, Crocodile was never this tender with the clown, despite the swordsman knowing the sandman was capable of it. It was a secret for just Buggy and Crocodile, some small thing he could give the clown as proof that he had changed, that he could be a better man than the one Buggy first met. And, maybe one day, if Crocodile performed enough of these small acts, he could be forgiven for his previous crimes against Buggy.
He woke sometimes in the night, body jolting from the memory as it clawed its way through his mind, the reminder that he had hurt Buggy terribly, threatened to kill him and sell him. He terrorised Buggy until punishing the clown lost its thrill. Then he and Mihawk were swayed through a combination of a very special plant and Buggy’s charm to tear down the walls both men erected around their hearts and minds.
Crocodile would awake to this awful memory and seek out Buggy in the darkness of the room. He would hold the clown closer, tighter, and over Buggy’s resting form he would find Mihawk, eyes bright and awake from the same haunting dream, making the very same promise to do better by Buggy.
Buggy stirred at Crocodile’s touch, cracking one eye open to peer around the room, before his tired, unfocused eyes found Crocodile.
“Morning,” he mumbled. “Is it time to get up?”
“Yes,” Crocodile replied, voice low. “Don’t make Mihawk wait, or breakfast will go cold.”
“Alright,” Buggy said.
He made no effort to get up, instead pressing his face further into his makeup stained pillow. Crocodile left him there. He knew that soon the scent of Mihawk’s cooking would make its way to the bedroom, rousing Buggy fully from his sleep.
Crocodile glanced at the golden hook as he headed towards the exit. He had stopped wearing his hook when it was just the three of them, proof that he was comfortable around them and didn’t feel the need to hide his disability. At times he still felt that itch, the sense he was naked no matter how many layers of clothes and sarcasm he layered on.
He stepped into hallway and instantly almost tripped over a tall potted plant. He managed to regain his footing, only to knock into another. Quickly, he realised he was surrounded by them. He gritted his teeth and took a deep, calming breath.
“Hawk-Eyes?” he called.
Mihawk appeared almost instantly, stepping out from the warmth of the kitchen to meet Crocodile in the tent’s hallway. He was alert, had likely been up for a few hours and had already squeezed in some training, judging by the dirt at the bottom of his pyjama trousers. Crocodile tried not to get distracted by Mihawk’s bare, chiselled chest and focused on the annoying forest currently blocking his hallway.
Mihawk navigated the cramped space with ease, slipping between the narrow gaps to meet Crocodile. He climbed onto his tiptoes and Crocodile bent down, allowing the swordsman to greet him with a gentle kiss on the lips.
“Why are there more plants?” Crocodile asked.
“’Good morning’ is normally the customary greeting,” Mihawk replied dryly.
Crocodile sighed. “Good morning. Why are there more plants? Didn’t we agree you was only to take a few?”
Mihawk glanced about them, guilt a brief shadow across his refined features. “We did,” he said.
Crocodile had made both Buggy and Mihawk agree that they could only bring the essentials on this trip. They couldn’t be dragging suitcases full of makeup, or towers of books, through dangerous waters. Crocodile appreciated that there would be moments of downtime where alleviating boredom would be essential to maintaining their sanity, but space was limited and had to be used economically, even on a ship as big as the Big Top Blaster.
Still, Crocodile knew how important Mihawk’s plants were. Getting him to hand over his garden had been a battle in itself, which is why Crocodile compromised. Mihawk could bring a few plants along, the ones he didn’t trust to be kept healthy while he was off-island. What Crocodile was currently surrounded by was far more than a ‘few’.
“Lover, this is too many, you know it,” Crocodile said. “Can you leave some behind, please?”
Mihawk’s expression hardened, brows not quite pinching together, yet close enough to hint at his sour mood. Crocodile had come to learn this was the equivalent of a pout for the swordsman. Mihawk regained his composure and stepped back, fingers grazing against the large leaves of a nearby plant.
“I will return the plants I don't need to bring along,” he agreed. “I will first ask if Daz and Alvida want any for their room.”
“Unlikely,” Crocodile said. “Daz doesn’t have the delicate touch, and I can’t imagine Alvida lifting a watering can.”
A tug at the corner of Mihawk’s mouth, a gentle chuckle. “Perhaps you’re right. Mr 3 might be more open to the idea. I will ask Buggy to speak with him.”
Crocodile, relieved that the situation was resolved, kissed Mihawk again. He followed his lover through the maze of plants to the kitchen, nearly knocking over a few of the bigger ones as he went. Inside the delicious smell of freshly cooked bacon hit Crocodile and his stomach gurgled in demand. He took a seat as Mihawk returned to his previous task, returning the pan to the heat to allow it to cook for a few seconds more, charring the bacon in the way Crocodile.
That day’s paper was already laid out on the table, the margins not yet scribbled in by Buggy. Crocodile didn’t mind when the clown took some artistic liberties with the newspaper, as long as Buggy stayed out of the crossword and the financial section. He began to flip through it, just as Mihawk set down a plate of freshly cooked bacon, sausage, egg and grilled tomatoes, along with a warm mug of black coffee.
Crocodile nodded his thanks and dug in, each bite seemingly restoring some of his depleted energy, until he was sat straight, shoulders square, that sharp edge in his eyes that allowed him to focus on the paper. Mihawk returned to the grill, toasting an extra thick cut of bread that he slathered in cheese. Minutes later Buggy shuffled into the kitchen, summoned by the smell.
He had haphazardly tied his hair back, dressed in shorts that hung from his hips. He walked straight to Mihawk and rested his head on the swordsman’s shoulders. Mihawk kissed him on the head and delivered the plate of toast into Buggy's hands. Buggy joined Crocodile at the table and tore into his breakfast, a gooey tail of cheese dangling from his mouth. Mihawk settled in the seat between them, a mug of tea in his hand.
Crocodile didn’t look up from his paper as he asked, “Has the new figurehead been fitted yet?”
“Yup!” Buggy happily declared. “It got installed yesterday and it looks great!”
“Good,” Crocodile sipped at his coffee. “And the captain’s quarters?”
“The new bed has been installed,” Mihawk confirmed. “The new work desk is ready, as well. It will be brought up to the room later today.”
To keep Buggy and Mihawk busy as Crocodile handled the nitty-gritty details of the trip, he put them in charge of the ship, mostly ensuring the new figurehead was ready, taking stock of ammunition, and getting the captain’s quarters in shape. The men, in their dedication to Buggy, had given him a mini-library, a balcony, a separate bathroom and walk-in closet. The room was huge, far too big for Buggy alone, thankfully Mihawk and Crocodile would be sharing the space with him now.
The two extra bodies meant some modifications were required. A suitable working space for Crocodile, for one. And secondly - but the top of Buggy's priorities - was getting a bed that would have ample enough room for the three of them.
Crocodile felt a pressure on his inner thigh, a slow, teasing stroke up and down. Buggy’s foot, tempting Crocodile to abandon the paper. He lifted his eyes, finding Buggy grinning at him, eyebrows raised suggestively.
“C’mon, Croco Baby,” Buggy purred. “How about we break it in later, hmm?”
“I’ll see if I can pencil you in,” Crocodile said.
Buggy balked, shocked that Crocodile would dare turn him down, not when Buggy was so nicely offering to take care of him.
“Leave him be, Star,” Mihawk said.
Buggy slumped in his chair, his pout cutting into his pretty face, but he did as Mihawk asked and removed his foot.
“Is there anything you would like for us to assist with today?” Mihawk asked Crocodile.
“No,” Crocodile replied quickly. “Just make sure everything is ready with the ship.”
“Surely there’s something we can do to help,” Mihawk insisted.
“You can run over the crew register,” Crocodile offered. “Confirm that they’ll be ready to leave in two days’ time.”
“Two days?” Buggy repeated. “Isn’t that too soon?”
“No,” Crocodile replied sharply. “It’s taken us two days to get to this stage, we can’t risk wasting anymore time, not when every other pirate has a head start on us. An additional two more days is generous, considering how hard we’ll have to work this crew to make up for the lost time.”
Mihawk decided to ignore Crocodile’s tone and pushed on. “Lover, I appreciate how organised you are and your meticulous attention to detail, but if you want to leave on such short notice you must share the load. We can’t have you collapsing from exhausting the moment we set sail.”
“Everything is almost ready,” Crocodile argued. “Splitting the remaining tasks would be pointless, not when explaining what needs to be done and how to do it correctly will just waste time we can’t spare.”
“Do you think us so inept?” Mihawk questioned.
“I simply think you’re better suited to other tasks,” Crocodile dodged.
“Like playing house?” Buggy asked.
“You’re not –”
“You have asked us to pack your clothes because you do not have time,” Mihawk interrupted. “We have hired a gardener to care for my plants and allotment. You have tasked me with finding a suitable handler for the bananawani while we are away. You have asked Buggy to prepare our room.”
“Did you find a handler?” Crocodile asked.
“Don’t change the subject,” Mihawk retorted.
“I’m not, but I need to know, Hawk-Eyes,” Crocodile insisted. “The bananawani will be coming into season soon, they need someone experienced to monitor them in my absent.”
Mihawk sighed. “The handler will be coming tomorrow, she is highly regarded in the community and is known to have cared for exotic pets owned by several esteemed royal families. I have also assigned an appropriate guard to protect her while under our employment.”
“Excellent, I can cross that off the list,” Crocodile said.
Buggy and Mihawk glanced at one another. They decided to change the topic. It was pointless to argue further, not when Crocodile was as stubborn as always.
“Star, do you think Mr 3 would be interested in some plants?” Mihawk asked.
“Croc say you have to leave some behind?” Buggy said.
“I may have stretched the definition of a ‘few’,” Mihawk admitted.
“Ha!” Buggy laughed. “I warned you! You should give some to Daz and Vida, like a cabin warming gift.”
“Crocodile advised against it,” Mihawk said.
“He’s probably right,” Buggy agreed. “Vida’s not exactly the nurturing type. Honestly, I’m kind of surprised things between her and Daz are going so well.”
“Have none of her prior relationships worked out?” Mihawk inquired.
“Vida’s never let a guy stick around long enough for it to become a relationship,” Buggy said. “A guy’s lucky to have dinner with her, and she is, taking time to eat with Daz almost every night!”
The conversation was so banal, yet every word grated against Crocodile’s already strained nerves. Maybe it was because his patience was spread so thin, maybe it was because he was still exhausted, despite Mihawk’s excellent cooking. Whatever the reason, Crocodile snapped with a heat that he knew was undeserved, yet he couldn’t reel it in.
“If you’re both done, maybe you can excuse yourself from the kitchen,” Crocodile demanded, more than asked, of them.
“Crocodile,” Mihawk’s tone was sharp, a warning to watch his next words.
“What’s your problem?” Buggy asked. “You don’t want us helping you and now you don’t want us here. Would you prefer if we just disappeared?”
“If it means silence, then yes!” Crocodile snapped.
Buggy bristled, angry tears threatening to spill out. Guilt whelmed in Crocodile’s chest at the sight, a heavy boulder right in his throat. He ignored it. He didn’t have time for this, to ask for forgiveness and try to find some way to make up for his spiteful words. Two days, he told them that’s all the time they had left. They couldn’t afford such a distraction if they were going to take the One Piece.
“Don’t wish for such foolish things,” Mihawk said, voice measured even though his eyes spoke of his hurt.
He rose from the table, taking the dirty dishes and depositing them into the sink. He left them there, instead of cleaning them immediately as he normally would, deciding Crocodile could clean up. He walked by the table, offering his hand to Buggy. He took it, stealing one last glance at Crocodile as he and Mihawk headed into the bedroom.
Crocodile sighed deeply, the sound torn between disappointment and frustration. He wanted to chase after them, and resisted. He forced himself to focus on his paper, taking in the events he knew were essential to stay up to date on, every piece of information an essential weapon for the battle ahead. Only once he had finished reading the paper from front to back did he get up, first deciding to do the dishes before he annoyed Mihawk further.
The task complete, he ventured into the bedroom. Buggy was sat at the vanity, his Star Clown outfit crumbled around his feet as his wig and captain’s hat awaited him on a nearby stand. He was applying the last of his makeup, touching up his lips and eyes after drawing the lips on a little too bold. Mihawk, freshly showered judging by the floral scent that hung from him, was lacing up his boots. The feather in his hat had folded over, concealing his face.
On the bed was Crocodile’s outfit for the day, a pretty three piece suit the colour of onyx finished off with a gold trim. Crocodile couldn’t help notice the trousers were freshly ironed. Clearly Mihawk’s doing, Buggy couldn’t be trusted with such a device. Even angry with Crocodile the swordsman went out of his way to give Crocodile everything he could need to start the day right. Guilt pricked at his heart again, and again he tampered it down to focus on what needed to be done.
Mihawk, finished with his shoes, took Yoru and left. Crocodile wasn’t surprised by Mihawk’s silent departure, though he could admit to being disappointed the swordsman didn’t think to spare either him or Buggy a goodbye.
Crocodile returned his attention to the suit, spying Buggy watching him from the reflection of the mirror. Buggy, caught red-handed, quickly ducked his head. The silent treatment from both of them then. If that’s how they wanted to play this, then fine. He didn’t have time to schedule in a domestic dispute.
He tossed off his robe and worked the shirt on, mindful of not creasing it. He began to button it up one-handed, a routine he knew he could handle, yet his fingers fumbled. He put it down to fatigue, and not the ache in his chest from hurting the two men who cared about him most in the world.
Their mornings weren’t like this. Buggy would jabber on and on insistently as he did his makeup, often having to reapply it because his hand would slip in from his over animated gestures. Mihawk would nod as if listening, adding an ‘Hmm’ or ‘I see’ as he assisted in buttoning up Crocodile’s shirt. He didn’t need the help, he had been doing it himself for decades, but it was too easy to submit to Mihawk’s considerate touch.
It had become easy to rely on them, and yet here Crocodile resisted. Getting the ship and crew ready for what was going to be the biggest journey of their lives was Crocodile’s burden alone, because he wanted it to be. They were doing this to claim Crocodile’s Utopia, to reshape the world into one Mihawk could find peace within. They were going to make Buggy the King of the Pirates, and Crocodile was working himself to the bone to make it happen, because some part of him saw it as recompense.
He had raised his hand first. He had been the one to establish the toxic foundations of their original partnership, and no amount of tender touches in the quiet of their bedroom would be enough to undo it, despite how much he wished for it. This was his just punishment, not that he could ever dare admit to such a thing, not without making Mihawk push harder to be involved. His guilt was as vicious as Crocodile’s, but this was something the sandman needed to do alone.
Crocodile fumbled again and swore, “Shit.”
Buggy’s chair creaked. Crocodile wondered if the clown was finished changing, though he could see the lump of red fabric that was his costume spilled on the floor. Buggy floated over, his lips pretty and red, the spikes above his eyes higher and sharper than usual. Without a word, he offered his hands. Crocodile released his shirt and Buggy began to button it up.
Crocodile said nothing, only watched as Buggy’s burnt fingertips moved with caution, mindful of rushing and accidentally breaking one of the shiny little buttons. He did glance up once or twice, as if checking in that this was okay, that Crocodile didn’t mind that it was Buggy instead of Mihawk. Crocodile’s stump, resting on Buggy’s hip, was all the confirmation Buggy needed that not only did Crocodile not mind, he was grateful.
His task completed, Buggy returned to the vanity to pull on his costume. The rest of Crocodile’s outfit came together without further assistance, he even managed to secure his hook as it didn’t require as deft a touch. He finished up by choosing a coal-coloured coat he knew would match the suit, and grabbed the first cigar of the day. He lit it, taking a slow drag, letting the heat burn in his mouth. He went to pocket his lighter, when he stopped, holding it in his hand as he debated his next move.
Buggy threw on his hat and wig, running his now-gloved fingers through it, pushing out the ends of his spikes to exaggerate them further. He checked himself over once in the mirror, examining his makeup, adjusting his scarf to hide the love bites. Outside, Mihawk waited amongst the small forest of plants, an ever-present, silent shadow.
“Clown,” Crocodile called.
“Yeah?” Buggy replied, trying to keep his tone indifferent.
Crocodile offered Buggy the lighter, the one Buggy had never seen him without, the glint of its gold in the sunlight, around candlelight, having stolen Buggy’s attention more than once. Buggy, as confused as he was intrigued by the offering, took it. He turned it over in his palm, realising he had never truly gotten a good look at it, despite the countless times Crocodile had pulled it out in the past.
Under a more scrutinised eye, Buggy realised it wasn’t gold, but gold painted. The paint was uneven, some sections darker and richer in tone. The colour had been topped up over the years as it faded and chipped. It was scratched and dented on the base from where it had been dropped. There were no custom markings, no indication of where this was produced and by whom. It was just a lighter.
“I’ve got to say, Croc, I expected more,” Buggy said.
“More?” Crocodile asked.
“You know, made out of real gold, maybe with some pretty lady carved in the side,” Buggy clarified. “This looks like a lighter you borrow from a guy in a bar and forget to return.”
Crocodile chuckled lightly. “It’s functional, not beautiful. I’ve had it since I was a young man. I suppose that's why I've never been able to part with it.”
"And you're giving it to me because...?"
"I want you to keep it safe for me."
Crocodile had kept this little dented piece of history on him this whole time, replacing the igniter and whatever other piece broke over the years to keep it going. It was oddly sentimental for the man Buggy knew to replace anything the moment it showed signs of wear, which meant it was important. There was something indescribably valuable about this lighter, and Crocodile was entrusting it to Buggy.
It was an apology in a way, Crocodile’s way of saying he was sorry for not having faith in them to carry out his plan, but he could trust Buggy with something this precious.
“I’ll take care of it,” Buggy promised.
“Thank you,” Crocodile said.
Mihawk heard the exchange and some of the tension left his shoulders. It was a start, he supposed, though he was determined to get a proper apology from Crocodile later.
*
The trio walked in silence, Buggy leading the charge as he stretched out his body to fill his suit to his inflated height. Mihawk was close behind him, eyes always moving, watching the nearby trees for any sign of movement. He was on high alert as usual, which Crocodile appreciated, especially as they neared their departure date. The world knew of their intention to hunt down the One Piece, thanks to their announcement a few days prior.
It would be too easy for the World Government to send in an assassin to derail them, or for a rival pirate group to sabotage their efforts. It was just another thing for Crocodile to worry over, though perhaps assigning this task to Mihawk would be for the best, since there really was no one better equipped to handle such danger.
As they descended onto the main square, they found it a writhing mess of bodies and tense, angry voices. Instantly, Crocodile felt his blood pressure skyrocket. He tried to dissect the situation from the noise, except there were too many voices speaking over one another to get a firm grasp of the situation. Thankfully, Buggy had always been good at dealing with chaos.
Buggy stepped forwards, raising his arms, “What’s going on here?” he demanded.
His voice cut through the mass, silencing them with an ease that was almost frightening. The gathered mercenaries and pirates stared up at Buggy, temporarily overcome by awe to answer him. Thankfully, a more level-head was amongst the bunch. Mr 3 forced his way to the front of the crowd, a flush in his cheeks that revealed he been running, likely already on his way to see them and warn them of this very situation.
“What’s gotten everyone so worked up?” Buggy asked.
“A new recruit was attempting to leave the island,” Galdino explained. “As you know, after the recent Marine attack everyone leaving the island is under heavy scrutiny. From what I heard, things escalated and turned violent, and the recruit ran. A mob formed to hunt them down, but they've only made the situation worse through confusing reports."
Not everyone was up for the challenge of securing the One Piece, as such the Cross Guild was happy to let such men go after a heavy vetting process designed to confirm the defectors weren't spies for either the Navy or other pirate groups. It was too consuming and, honestly a drain on resources, but they couldn't risk releasing someone who would sell their secrets.”
“We have no idea where this recruit has gone?” Mihawk asked.
Galdino took a step forward, ensuring his next words reached the Cross Guild leaders and not the blood-thirsty crowd behind them.
“Alvida spotted them running into the Big Top,” he said. “Daz gave chase and has them cornered.”
Mihawk nodded once at Buggy, a silent command Buggy readily obeyed. He turned back to the crowd, greeting them with that big, bombastic smile some of them dreamed about witnessing.
“Men!” Buggy addressed the crowd. “I appreciate tensions are high, it wasn’t too long ago our island was invaded by our enemies. You’ve done us proud by upholding your duty to protect the island, now let us do the rest!”
“Are you sure, Chairman?” one of them asked. “We can help!”
“You’ve done plenty,” Buggy assured them. “Return to your previous tasks and instruct anyone you find still on the hunt to do the same.”
“Yes, Sir!” the crowd cried.
They dispersed, eager to carry on with their jobs as instructed by their beloved Chairman. The trio and Galdino passed through the break of bodies to make a beeline for the Big Top, thankful none of the men got the foolish idea to follow and assist them. They found Alvida waiting inside, the tight line of her lip revealing she had grown inpatient waiting for them.
“The kid ran into your damn mirror maze, Buggy,” she said. “Daz went after him, but you made that stupid thing so confusing I don’t know if managed to catch up.”
“Watch the entrance,” Crocodile ordered Alvida and Mr 3. “None of the men get in until this situation is sorted.”
They took up post at the entrance and Buggy led Crocodile and Mihawk into the back of the Big Top, past the inner ring and beyond the velvet curtain where hoops, bikes and spinning wheels had been left. The back of the tent stretched on until they came across a half-constructed mirror maze, the project abandoned shortly after Crocodile discovered it and refused any further funding until Buggy could justify its existence.
He couldn’t, so here it was left. The argument over the maze had put Buggy into a foul mood that lasted days, until Crocodile made it up to Buggy by buying him a new set of throwing knives that had sapphires embedded in the bolsters.
Buggy knew the mirror maze well enough to navigate it, but it wouldn’t help them in finding either the recruit or Daz. Mihawk stepped up, form bristling with energy as he activated his Haki and peered through the walls of glass to locate the two shapes moving within. Daz, his hulking form unmistakable even in this ethereal image, was on the far right side of the maze. Meanwhile, in the centre, was a second body, smaller, the edges of its spirit sharp, revealing the panic reverberating throughout the recruits body.
“The recruit is in the centre,” Mihawk instructed. “Daz seems to be lost in the right side of the maze."
“I hope you know a faster way to centre of this damn thing, clown,” Crocodile said.
“Sure do,” Buggy replied proudly.
Buggy kicked off his feet and flew into the air. He glided over the open top of the maze, bypassing it entirely to land in its centre. His feet ran after him, disappearing into the maze’s entrance. Mihawk and Crocodile stared in silence, too ashamed to admit they hadn’t considered going over the maze. Crocodile grabbed Mihawk, bundling him up in his arms as Crocodile’s lower half shifted into sand.
He shot into the air, sand propelling them over the maze's walls. They dropped down into the centre of the maze, their reflections splintered across dozens and dozens of reflections, seeming to stretch into infinity. Crocodile gave his reflection a sideways glance, each grey hair unmistakable when shown from every possible angle.
Mihawk climbed down from Crocodile’s arms, sword not yet drawn, yet fingers twitching in preparation. Ahead of them Buggy had deflated his costume, still big and fantastic, but not his usual over-the-top style. He had found the recruit, his lithe form seemingly hidden by Buggy's body, not even his reflection visible in all the mirrors around them. The inconsistency scratched at Crocodile's periphery, an ill-sense of wrong he couldn't otherwise describe.
Crocodile stepped forwards, angling around Buggy to get a better look at the recruit. They were nothing more than a kid, lanky and skinny in that awkward teenager way, his outfit cobbled together to give the impression of what he thought a pirate was supposed to look like. He had no weapons, his body pressed to the back of the wall, fearful of the men before him. The mirror he leaned against had a reflection, the sight easing some sense of danger Crocodile felt, but not all of it.
“Hey there!” Buggy greeted.
“I’m not a spy!” the kid blurted out. “I swear! I just – I just don’t want to go after the One Piece and –”
“Woah!” Buggy held up his hands. “Take it easy! I believe you, okay? I get why you ran too, angry mobs aren’t the most reasonable. How about we get out of here, go somewhere else and you can tell me what happened?”
The kid didn’t reply. His lower lip trembled and he pressed both hands to the mirror behind him, as if he could sink into and escape. The look in his eye revealed he didn't believe Buggy. The idea of going somewhere else felt more like a threat, like the Cross Guild were going to make him disappear. His hesitation annoyed Crocodile, unable to forget the time as it slipped through his fingers, even in such a serious situation.
“We don’t have time for this,” Crocodile growled.
“Crocodile –” Mihawk started.
Crocodile ignored him and pushed past Buggy, nearly knocking Buggy over as he did. Mihawk managed to right Buggy with a gentle hand to his back. He shot Crocodile an annoyed glare, which he ignored. Crocodile towered over the boy, who stared up in wide-eyed horror, eyes darting across Crocodile’s entire form, unable to decide if he feared the man or his hook more.
Crocodile reached out for the boy and something in the kid shifted. The fear vanished for just a moment as power crackled and burst out the boy's palms. The arcing, twisting power spread across the mirror’s surface, the wave of power passed over and rippling the glass like a pond disturbed by a rock. The boy ducked beneath Crocodile’s grasping hand and Crocodile was unable to halt his momentum. He titled forwards and passed through the mirror, now a scolding hot liquid that swallowed him whole.
Crocodile heard Mihawk and Buggy’s distant cries as he fell down and down through a world of mirrors. Around him, his fall repeated over a thousand times. His panicked expression and his flailing mockingly played back from every angle, except every reflection was just a little bit different. His hair was darker in one, lighter in another. In one his coat was green, while he swore he spied a version that had two hands.
He couldn't focus on the fractured reflections long enough to even begin to decipher what this could all mean, not when his descent was suddenly interrupted by a mirror that came up from behind him. He crashed through it and it splintered around him, the impact rattling him down to his core, a pain like icy shards piercing his skull overcoming his every sense.
He tumbled and spun, and hit another mirror, and then a third. Around him the walls seemed to tighten, the shards of mirror falling upwards as he continued to spiral down. His reflections drew in closer and closer, until he was eye-to-eye with himself. Or at least, someone very much like him. Amongst the sea of confusion and panic, Crocodile was certain that the man he was looking at was both him and not. There was something uncanny about it, he knew it was wrong, he just didn't know how.
Another mirror came up behind him and Crocodile braced. This mirror didn't shatter. He passed through it instead, just as he had the first one, his body overcome by a shudder that was so violent he thought he would tear in two. He was falling forwards then, not backwards, the sudden shift in momentum making him so dizzy and sick he didn’t realise he had made through to the other side.
He collapsed onto solid ground, his breath shallow, darkness creeping into the corner of his vision. He tried to find Buggy and Mihawk, any sign that they were safe, but the weight of exhaustion which seized him was too much. Crocodile passed out, able to make out Mihawk’s approaching boots before his world disappeared into blackness.
*
When Crocodile awoke he had no sense of time or day, only a throbbing migraine unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He lay there, staring at the dark ceiling of his tent. His body was heavy and weak, like he had experienced the influence of Sea Prism, or a particularly brutal night of drinking. He took a moment to just breath, hoping a steadying rhythm would help ease some of the pain.
As his senses evened out, he realised he was fully dressed. He was still wearing his suit and coat, even his shoes. Strange, if he was going to be out for an extended period of time he imagined Buggy and Mihawk would have stripped him. Perhaps they didn’t have time. He didn’t know what had happened after he passed out, after all. They could have ended up in a duel with the strange devil fruit user, leaving Daz to try and get him back to the tent without being seen.
He forced himself up and was almost staggered by the wave of nausea which hit him. He let it pass, swallowing the bile and climbed out of the bed. He could tell by the bird song he heard outside that he had been unconscious for some time. Mihawk had taught him that the sound belonged to birds active only in the morning. The way he felt, there was no way he had only been asleep for only a few hours, which could only mean he had slept an entire day.
“Great,” he hissed. “I’m going to have to work twice as hard to keep us on schedule.”
Despite knowing he needed to shower and get changed, he couldn’t spare the time. He needed to find Mihawk and Buggy. They could fill him in on what he missed. Without him to guide them, they must have fallen behind in preparations. He needed to know where exactly they had failed in order to get them back on schedule, only then could he take care of himself.
He headed to the kitchen, when he stopped. He looked about the room, surprised by how organised it was. Buggy’s costumes, his makeup, Mihawk’s boots and coats, they were all gone. He went to the hallway and found it free from plants. Had they moved it all to the ship while they waited for him to wake up? They had been productive, at least. He would need to thank them later.
He continued on his way, noticing just how stale the air was. He couldn’t smell Mihawk’s cooking, or hear Buggy’s voice. That same ill-feeling that there was something wrong crawled up his spine. The unnerving stillness set his teeth on edge. He entered the kitchen and found it empty. The stove wasn’t even warm, as if no one had been here at all. He thought their absent clothes and plants was a good sign, now Crocodile wasn’t so sure.
“Would you prefer if we just disappeared?”
This was a punishment for how short he had been with them the previous morning. A payback as elaborate as this was certainly up Buggy’s street, but Crocodile was surprised Mihawk had gone along with it too. Surprised, and hurt, that they had left him alone to suffer through what felt like a restless night of pain-infused sleep. It seemed petty and spiteful from the men he knew, perhaps they had been more hurt by his comments than he realised.
He abandoned thoughts of breakfast and headed to the Big Top to find his lovers. He needed to speak with them and clear the air. He couldn't allow this to get in the way of their departure, and he refused to start any journey on such a sour note.
The morning breeze on the air was warm, rich with the scent of the sea, and it helped raise his spirits a little. He quickly came onto the square, alive with bodies of mercenaries and pirates who greeted Crocodile warmly, though with a hesitation he hadn’t seen from the men in some time. Waiting for him there was Daz, back straight, face serious. He gave no tell that his suit was unbearable under the heat of the sun.
They quickly fell into step with one another, making small-talk as they went.
“Good morning, Sir,” Daz greeted. “How did you sleep?”
“Awful,” Crocodile replied. “Where’s Mihawk and Buggy?”
A pause, just ever so slight, but Crocodile saw the question on Daz’s face before he quickly pulled on a mask of indifference. Crocodile addressing Buggy by name had confused Daz. Clearly, he had expected another word from his boss, something a little less familiar.
“Mihawk is waiting in the meeting room,” Daz replied. “I’m not sure where you left the Chairman.”
Where Crocodile left him? What a strange way of phasing it. It wasn’t like Buggy was an article of clothing that could be picked up and left wherever Crocodile felt like it, though he did admit to carrying Buggy around far more than he probably should. It's the clown's fault for having a waist that fit into the crook of his hook so neatly.
Crocodile diverted course, heading for the main office, Daz a quiet shadow the whole time. As they neared the building, he spied Mr 3 and Alvida by the entrance, the two speaking in low conspiratorial voices. They fell into silence as Crocodile approached, taking a step back to avoid getting in his way. They stood stiff, their eyes pointed firmly to the ground. Alvida didn’t even glance at Daz, who regarded her with the same apathy. He wondered if the lovers had gotten into a fight and decided to not pry, not when he was clearly in the middle of his own relationship woes.
“Morning,” Crocodile said.
The pair paused, hesitantly looking up at Crocodile who stood waiting for their reply.
“Uh, good morning, Sir,” Galdino replied.
“Have either of you seen Buggy?” Crocodile asked.
“No,” Alvida answered quickly. “We promise you, we’ve left him alone.”
“Yes,” Galdino added. “We’ve not spoken to that fool.”
A vein in Crocodile’s forehead throbbed, anger darkening his expression. “Watch your mouth,” he warned. “That’s your Chairman you’re speaking so lowly of.”
They blinked up at him in surprise, even Daz regarded his boss with an arched brow.
“S-sorry,” Alvida apologised.
Crocodile pushed past them, ordering Daz to slam the door shut behind them. He did with enough force to rattle the entire frame, and Crocodile decided that was worthy of a small pay rise.
Crocodile stormed over to the meeting room, unable to believe Alvida and Mr 3 would have the gall to speak to him like that, to talk about Buggy so callously. Had the whole island fallen apart in his brief absence? This is why he didn’t take time off. He came across the meeting room door, the familiar sight easing some of his anger. He stepped forwards, ready to dive back into work, when Daz raised his hand, blocking Crocodile’s entrance.
“Daz?” Crocodile said, tone cautious.
“Is everything alright?” Daz asked.
His voice was calm, yet there was an undeniable sense he thought there was something amiss. Crocodile had the same trepidations and, like his right hand man, Crocodile didn’t know where it originated from. It felt like everything was wrong, a storm of out of character actions that made locating the origin of it all difficult. Did he feel this way because Buggy and Mihawk were absent? Was it the way Daz spoke of Buggy, the way Galdino and Alvida avoided Crocodile entirely. Or was he so existed and ratted from yesterday's encounter that he felt out of step?
He wasn't sure. He just knew he needed to find Mihawk and Buggy and allow them to anchor him.
“Everything’s fine,” Crocodile assured him.
Daz wanted to argue and knew it wasn’t his place. He retracted his arm, opening the door for Crocodile. The sandman stepped inside, relieved to find Mihawk sat with his feet on the table, arms folded over his chest, his head tilted down as though asleep. He likely was, he always sneaked in a nap during their meetings. The sight of Mihawk, the smell of the meeting room, the way the sunlight streamed in through the windows was the same as it always, and the consistency after such a strange morning was comforting.
The door clicked shut behind Crocodile and Mihawk raised his head, watching as Crocodile took his seat at the head of the table. His eyes briefly glanced to the chair beside Mihawk, wondering where the hell Buggy was. Perhaps he had gotten tangled up with some petty dispute between the men, it wouldn’t be the first time. Whenever there was a conflict amongst the mercenaries it was Buggy they trusted to solve it.
“How nice of you to finally join me,” Mihawk said.
Mihawk still sounded like himself at least.
“I’m surprised you waited this long for me you arrive,” Crocodile retorted.
“Where else would I be?” Mihawk said, looking out to the window. “There’s not much to occupy me on this island.”
Crocodile frowned at the comment, wondering if this was a dig at Crocodile’s refusal to allow him and Buggy assist further with the plan.
“There’s your garden,” he pointed out. “Though if you grow tired of ploughing your fields there’s always the clown.”
Crocodile hoped the cheeky innuendo would coax a smile of Mihawk, or an eye roll, some kind of reaction. Instead it seemed to go right over his head.
“The fool tests my patience,” Mihawk replied. “I would prefer he stay out of my sight.”
Mihawk looked from the window to Crocodile and there was something unrecognisable about the swordsman. Like that whole morning, it wasn't just one moment, but an accumulation of a dozen unmistakable actions that felt like mistakes. Mihawk’s words, his eyes, they were so cold. He spoke of Buggy like he was an unappealing creature he had the displeasure of passing on the side of the road, and not the man he proposed to love and swore to protect. A man who, just the day before, Mihawk had kissed and made breakfast for.
Confusion rumbled through Crocodile as heavy as a wave of nausea. He leapt to his feet, the action so sudden his chair shot back and clattered to the ground. Mihawk was his feet a split second later. His expression was hard, his fingers clenched as he watched Crocodile with the intensity of a wild beast. Crocodile was undeterred. His lower body disintegrated into sand, allowing him to cross the table and reappear beside the swordsman.
Crocodile stared at Mihawk and tried to find the man he knew and loved, the one whose eyes would soften when they looked into Crocodile’s. In the privacy of their tent, the sharp edges of Mihawk’s features would relax, his jaw would unclench, and his body would open up, his defences dropped just for Crocodile and Buggy. There was a man beneath all that power, one could be compassionate and tender, who held Crocodile and made him feel safe even in a world as dangerous as this.
Crocodile saw none of this in the swordsman before him. Mihawk remained hard, his posture becoming increasingly defensive and withdrawn the longer Crocodile examined him. He was marble, beautiful and cold and unyielding. There was no love in this man's eyes.
“Are you still upset with me?” Crocodile asked.
“What reason would I have to be upset with you?” Mihawk replied.
Crocodile reached out. He needed to feel Mihawk, to experience the flesh and blood of the other man. In that moment, as he was beginning to drown in confusion, Crocodile just wanted to be comforted by the presence of his lover.
Mihawk slapped the hand away, the sound sudden and the pain sharp.
“What the hell are you doing?” Mihawk growled. “What makes you think you can be so familiar with me?"
You and I have slept in the same bed, is what Crocodile wanted to say. We've fucked like wild animals and held one another in the afterglow. You, me and Buggy. That's why I dare to be so familiar.
Crocodile said none of this. Instead he stared at the back of his hand, and the red mark from Mihawk’s strike.
A nightmare, this must be a nightmare, but it felt so real. That blow had hurt, Crocodile's mind hadn't conjured it. Mihawk had hit him. The Mihawk he knew would never have done such a thing, which begged the question, what the hell happened while he was out cold? Had everyone on the damn island been replaced? Who was this person in Mihawk's skin?
His mind reeled from a violent cocktail of confusion and fear, scrambling to find answers to the questions that rattled through his skull like a horde of wasps. He had so many questions, yet the one he kept asking was continuously ignored. Daz, Alvida and Galdino, even Mihawk. None of them would give him a straight answer. Crocodile knew now he needed to find the answer for this one first. Once he, did everything else would fall into place and he could figure out the secret to this awful reality he had woken up in.
“Where’s Buggy?” Crocodile asked.
Mihawk cocked a brow, surprised by the turn in the conversation. “Where you left him, of course.”
Again that same vague answer. Crocodile didn’t understand what it meant, even as everyone around him insisted on it, as if he should know what they meant.
“Where?” he asked again, voice firmer.
Mihawk paused, a scowl cutting a dark shadow across his face, the same vicious energy he had moments ago when he hit Crocodile. He refused to be talked to in such a way, to have something demanded of him, but he could see there was something wrong with his business partner. Perhaps, he thought, it was best for Crocodile to become Buggy’s problem, instead of his own.
Mihawk directed Crocodile on where to find him, careful to give concise instructions to prevent Crocodile from coming back and bothering him. Crocodile memorised the way and left, moving with a haste he didn't even try to conceal. Daz meant to follow, when Crocodile ordered him away. He didn’t want to see Daz and he didn’t want him around, not when it was clear Daz was involved in this whole mess too.
He wasn't Daz, just like how that wasn't Mihawk. Crocodile didn’t know if they were doppelgangers, or if this was some kind of trick. All he knew was that he couldn’t trust any of them. Daz, as loyal here as the one Crocodile knew back home, did as he was ordered.
Crocodile crossed the length of the building until he came to a set of stairs that led down to the dark bowels of the building. Crocodile’s blood ran cold. So far, this building was the same as back home, which meant Crocodile knew what lay at the bottom of these stairs. He ran down the stairs, the pale lights overheard casting long, insidious shadows along the walls.
He ran until his feet became sand, carrying him the rest of the way. At the bottom he found a thick metal door he himself had installed, a door that he had the key for. He kept it on his key ring, along with a dozen other keys for various buildings across the island. He pulled the ring from his pocket, finding the right key quickly. It took him two attempts to open the door, his hand trembling as the truth hit him hard, even if refused to accept it.
He would open the door and find it empty, that’s what he hoped for, prayed for. Even though, deep in his bones, he knew what he would find.
The door creaked open, revealing a black room. The inside was still and quiet, only the metallic clink of chains filling the cold, empty space. The light behind him left a wedge of sickly yellow light on the ground, his shadow long and malformed in front of him. He stood there listening, and heard a whimper within the blackness.
He searched for the light, fingers tracing over the shape of the switch, and the room was flooded with light. Unnerving and artificial, the kind designed to prevent an easy sleep as it burned behind ones eyelids. The walls were hard stone, the same as the floor. A single table and twin chairs had been set up in the centre of the room, an empty bottle of wine and used glasses sat atop it.
Along the walls were chains, rusted and bloodied, instruments of torture scattered about the room. Whips and rods, a rack, pillory and iron maiden were all present in this cruel space. And scattered amongst the hanging chains, cut into disparate pieces like chunks of meat on a grill, was Buggy.
Crocodile didn't glance at the different parts of Buggy around the room, unable to tear his eyes away from Buggy’s broken, bruised face. His head hung in the centre of the back wall, like some sick centre piece. His hair – his beautiful, blue hair – had been twisted and knotted to fit around the point of a hook. His face was so swollen on the one side the eye was sealed shut, the accompanying cheek as big as a rock, and dragging down his mouth into a lopsided grimace.
He was watching Crocodile with the same timid, jerky energy as a deer before a wolf. He was terrified of Crocodile, frightened of what the sandman would do next, unable to imagine the kind of pain that could be next inflicted on him because he had already endured so much. He began to weep, thick, uncontrollable sobs that made the rest of his body shake in his chains.
“Please, Crocodile,” he begged. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
Buggy’s voice, spent and pained, made Crocodile's heart ache. It wasn’t a voice he recognised, at once Buggy and not, in the same way Mihawk was both the swordsman Crocodile knew and didn’t. Alvida, Daz and Galdino, too. Whoever these people were, they were not his allies. They were colder, crueller, they had to be to do this to Buggy and not say anything, to leave him to Crocodile and Mihawk’s cruel machinations.
And it was Crocodile responsible for this, they said as much. This is where Crocodile left Buggy, maybe after hurting him so viciously and leaving him alone in the cold and dark, as his body ached and begged for relief. Crocodile had done this, or at least a version of him, a mirror image of Crocodile who was no longer here. The sandman froze as his mind returning to that place he fell into.
It had been a world of infinite Crocodile’s, one of whom got to so close it felt like the two had passed by one another. Almost as if… as if they had!
The revelation latched onto Crocodile, icy claws digging deep into his throat. Crocodile had swapped places with another version of him, a spiteful, crueller man. A man who had taken Crocodile’s place, a man who had likely woken up in Crocodile’s bed, with his lovers. The thought hit him with such panic he almost collapsed to his knees. He needed to get home. He needed to get back, before Mihawk and Buggy were hurt.
Crocodile needed to save the men he loved from himself.