In which Daiba plays a rousing game of golf.

Enjoy your read, loves.


Daiba was pretty sure his bed wasn't this comfortable. It usually didn't smell like fresh linen either. And most of the time he sprawled himself out enough to have one of his arms fall off the edge. This bed was much too large for that.

He started to open his eyes, but the blinding white of the room put an end to that. He buried his face in the plush pillows, voicing his displeasure with a whine that sounded a bit lighter than it should have.

Oh right…

He shot up in bed, ignoring the blinding light streaming in through the lace curtains. Someone was going to die within the next few minutes. Though, there wasn't anyone around for him to kill.

The room was half the size of the Arcadia's bridge. He could have fit four of his bedrooms in it. The bed must have been larger than a king, and the sheets may have been silk. He pulled them back, realizing he was still wearing his torn dress. So… That was probably a good sign.

Slipping off the bed, he tiptoed across the cherry-stained hardwood toward the door. "I guess no one can hear me," he sighed, hoping for a response from the bug still hidden in his ear. Nothing came. There was a three-mile limit on the signals. Wherever he was, it wasn't close to the crew.

What had happened last night? He rubbed at his aching head as he tried to remember through the fog. There was that idiot government brat. He'd been there. And the brat's disgusting friends. Something about…cheesecake. Then…uh something loud – some big blaring noise. That was all he could recall.

Before he reached the door, a knock echoed against it. "Excuse me, miss," a light voice called. "Are you up?"

"Sort of," Daiba answered slowly.

"We've drawn a bath for you if you'd like to clean up before breakfast."

"Uh, sure."

The voice's owner stepped inside, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile. She was comfortably heavy-set, likely well-muscled, with a mousy face. "It's through there, darling." She nodded to the door across the room. "I'll take your dress for you so it can be fixed up."

Daiba frowned at the tear running up his leg. "Uh, yeah." He turned, starting for the bathroom door.

"You can go ahead and give me the dress," the woman said. "Unless you need me to help you in the bath."

"W-what? No, I don't need help!"

"Then how are you going to get out of your dress?"

"I can take it off myself."

"Now without tearing it further you can't," the woman scolded, her hands moving to her broad hips. "Get over here. I don't care about your biological gender."

"Huh?" the teen blinked as she stormed up to him and began carefully pulling the dress up.

"Now the boss and the brat obviously don't know, and I'll make sure to keep it that way, but don't worry about me seeing anything. I raised that brat. I wouldn't judge you for a thing, so don't fret yourself. You can be whomever you want."

The pirate was somewhat lost, but he figured women apparently had less trouble figuring out he wasn't actually one of them. This one didn't seem to recognize him, but she was willing to keep him looking like a girl. He would have to go along with it if he wanted to get out any time soon. New clothes would be necessary for an escape.

"Who are the boss and the brat?" he questioned. "Where am I anyway? And why am I here?"

"Oh, poor dear," she sighed. "One of the brat's worthless friends drugged your drink. Do you remember Taro? I figured you met him early enough before the drug."

She pulled the dress off over his head, leaving him to stand uncomfortably in boxers and stockings. God, what had he done to deserve this? "Yeah," he huffed. "That's the brat? Are you sure he didn't drug me."

"I raised him better than that," she frowned. "He carried you here because it was close. Worried sick, he was. He's quite taken with you, and I'm certain he never laid an unnecessary hand on you."

"So I'm at…the prime minister's house?"

"Yes, ma'am," she nodded. "Now go clean up. I'll get you something nice to wear."

So it was that bastard's house. He needed to get out right away then. Suddenly everything about the home was up for criticism. It was too nice, too shiny and clean. He hated every inch of it because it belonged to that bastard. Damn rich people.

The bathroom especially – he really hated that. Everything was white marble and stainless steel, sleek and beautiful. The area was the size of his bedroom aboard the ship, the bathtub the size of a king bed. He simmered in the steaming water, scowling. At least he could get this damn make-up off.

"Hey, Takako."

The bar soap shot from the teen's hands and across the room. Goddamnit, what was that idiot doing here? Well, it was technically his house.

"Are you there?" Taro called again, standing outside the door to the hall.

"Yeah," Daiba huffed.

"Uh…I'm really sorry about last night, and I'm uh, glad you're alright."

"Uh-huh."

"C-can I come in?"

"I'm naked, idiot!" Daiba bristled.

Taro stumbled, his words running together "What? O-oh! This is your bathroom. I-I'm sorry."

"How do you not know where your own damn bathrooms are?"

"U-uh, I don't usually come to this side of the house."

Goddamn rich people.

"Well," the brat attempted, "I brought your clothes. I just…ah…I'm so sorry."

"Why do you have my clothes!?" the pirate demanded.

"B-because Miss Sachie gave them to me," the elder squeaked. "She had to go do something for Dad, so she said to drop these off here. Uh, if I cover my eyes, can I just drop them behind the door?"

The blond curled up, keeping himself hidden. "Okay, fine, but don't come in or anything."

"I wasn't going to." The door cracked open, allowing Taro to place the folded outfit inside before his hand drew back, and the door shut once more.

"Is that a skirt?" Daiba frowned.

"Yeah, they're my mom's clothes."

"Doesn't your mom have any pants?"

"No…"

"Your mom should get some pants."

"Uh…I'll ask Sachie to get you some pants. Breakfast is ready, so you can come and eat whenever you're done. The dining room is just down the hall and to the left."

Daiba grumbled to himself as he finished his bath. As long as he didn't have to eat with that damn prime minister, maybe he wouldn't be driven to madness. After stepping out of the tub, he slipped into an overly-fluffy, white robe and grabbed his new outfit before heading back into his room.

He no longer had any make-up, but did he need it? Scowling at his reflection in a full-length mirror, he attempted to make himself look manlier. He'd admit he had a somewhat feminine figure, but he didn't look that much like a girl…did he?

Outside the room, Taro had recalled that he'd promised to get the sheets off the guestroom bed for Sachie. Granted, he did realize as he was opening the bedroom door that he probably should have knocked, but once he caught sight of Takako sticking out her tongue at herself in the mirror, he forgot where he was and what he was doing.

She looked even smaller in the downy robe, standing on her bare tiptoes in an attempt to look taller. Taro's heart pounded in his ears, his face aflame. Slowly, the girl turned to him, ringlets of wet hair clinging to her soft cheeks, which were quickly overtaken by a startling red.

"I'm sorry," he wheezed.

A familiar grip latched onto his ear, tugging him back out of the room. "Ya idiot," Sachie scolded. "Get out of here."

"I-I didn't mean to!" he cried as the door was slammed in his face. "I was going to get the sheets! I wasn't trying to spy!"

"Get yourself some breakfast!" the maid commanded.

That wouldn't have been simple had Taro not been desperate to avoid his father. He sighed heavily as he turned and stalked to the dining room. Usually his dad stayed up at his work all the time, just because it was easier to sleep there instead of coming home, but the party had left him drunk. He'd stumbled home at the sound of the alarm. Then he'd gone to sleep.

That meant he had a hangover.

The brat crept into the dining room, making sure to roll on the balls of his feet so his house shoes didn't cause any noise. His dad was drowning his pain in a mug of coffee, his face against the table. Taking his seat, the son began picking at the plate that had been set out for him. He just couldn't find much of an appetite.

"Where's tha chick?" the prime minister grumbled, his vision dragging around as he pulled his head up.

"She's getting dressed," the teen answered, keeping his voice low.

"You proposed to 'er yet?"

"N-no. Dad, I just met her last night."

"We had an agreement," the elder scolded, picking up his fork to point it menacingly at the boy.

"Yeah but, there's no way she'll say yes. She barely knows me."

"It's either her or whoever I pick out. No buts."

"She's younger than me, Dad. It's too early for her to get married."

"What else has she got to do? Not going to college or getting a job or anything. Besides, they're good when they're young, and she's not going to turn you down. What girl in their right mind would?"

"One that doesn't care about money," Taro grumbled.

His father just snorted in amusement. "Propose to her by the end of the day or we're kicking her out."

"We need to locate her family though!"

The prime minister waved him away. "She can find her own damn way home. Besides, no one could find those people on record."

With another heavy sigh, Taro ruffled his hair in irritation. At least he had a day to try to work this out. Restless, he picked at his food until Sachie stepped up behind him and smacked the back of his head.

"I'm sorry," he huffed, unsure exactly what he was apologizing for. Apparently he was doing something wrong though.

"Eat," the woman scolded before glancing back toward the hallway. "Takako, sweetie. Are you coming?"

The temperature in the room shot up as the girl stiffly made her was around the corner and into the dining hall. She reminded Taro of a cat, puffed up in anger. Her face had been made up once more with a lighter coating of blush. Her hair was straightened, pinned out of her eyes by one of his mother's old silver clips, shaped like a robin. It matched the sprinkling of silver stars across the front of her white turtleneck sweater.

New white stockings adorned her legs beneath a navy blue pleated skirt, and shiny new Mary Jane's clicked against the hardwood as she stormed across it. Taro thought she couldn't get any cuter. She looked like she wanted to punch him.

Sachie smacked him again instead. "Quit your staring and eat."

Takako took a seat at the head of the table, as far as possible from the two men. She glared at everything in the room – table, chairs, silverware, the fancy food placed in front of her, and especially the prime minister.

"You would pick a crazy one," the man muttered to his son.

"She is not," Taro hissed.

"Hey," the girl snapped. "I'm going to go home."

"Oh," the elder teen frowned. "We can get a driver to take you."

"No, I can make it myself."

"By yourself?" the brat gawked. "You're not going to call a driver or anything?"

"I've got legs," she huffed.

"That's too dangerous! A-and…I wanted to take you golfing."

Daiba blinked. Golfing?

"You can't take a girl golfing," the prime minister sighed in exasperation. "Women can't play golf with men. That's why they have different courses."

"Well, I figured I'd play on the women's course with her-"

"You are not playing on a woman's course!"

"I can play on a men's golf course!" Daiba snarled, slamming his fist down on the table. "Golf is a sissy's game anyway." He'd be damned if he was going to put up with the ass who'd put that stupid gender segregated sports law into place.

"Okay," Taro smiled, his eyes sparkling.

Shit, he'd just agreed to play. Now how was he supposed to leave? He'd never even touched a club before. Well, these idiots probably sucked anyway. He'd be fine.

A few hour later he was wondering why he'd ever thought he'd be fine with this.

The course was air conditioned, which caused him to simmer in a rage but kept him from being hot in his sweater.

Damn rich people.

The only change of clothes he'd been allowed was into a set of golf shoes…which were still shaped irritatingly like Mary Jane's. What he wouldn't give for a pair of boots or sneakers. The bra Sachie had given him was especially irritating, stuffed to make him pass a bit better. How did girls deal with these things? They were so damn itchy.

Taro hummed in contentment as he drove them to the first hole. Daiba sat in a quiet rage next to him, wishing he had his gun.

"Hey," he snapped.

"Hm?"

"What happened last night after I got drugged?"

"I carried you to my house," the brat nodded.

"Yeah-yeah, I know about that. Why? Couldn't you have let me go home with my, er, family?"

"Oh!" Taro blinked in realization. "The alarm went off!"

"What?" The color drained from Daiba's face. "W-what alarm."

"At the central office. Apparently there was a hack or something. We almost didn't catch it, but there was this cat – tripped one of the sensors. Still, we didn't get the guys that did it."

The pirate found himself able to breathe again. "Do you know who did it?"

"Uh, I think Kiruda knew them, but I wasn't paying attention. He was just ranting. He does that a lot."

Well, as long as everyone was safe, Daiba didn't really care what all the government morons were ranting about.

"Alright," Taro said as he shut off the golf cart and stepped out. He placed a baseball cap on to shield his eyes from the sun as it made its way toward the center of the sky. "Which driver do you want to start with?" he questioned, pulling on a glove.

What the hell was a driver? Daiba stepped out, staring in confusion at the bag full of clubs. They all looked the same to him. Taro watched in amazement as the blond yanked a club and a ball out, storming up to the teeing ground.

Dropping the ball on the ground, Daiba attempted to line up his stroke, his tongue stuck out to the side in concentration.

"Takako…that's a putter."

"So what?" The cross dresser actually wasn't sure what a putter was or what Taro was talking about at all.

"Well…I mean, I guess if you want to drive with that. But uh, do you want a tee? Or a glove?"

"I know what I'm doing!"

He did not.

He swung back hard, finding the club had vanished from his hands as he finished the swing. He blinked in confusion, staring up at his empty grasp. Slowly his gaze traveled back to the brat, flat on his back after receiving a putter to his forehead.

"Oh, shit."

For a moment, Daiba seriously considered just taking the golf cart and leaving. Unfortunately he actually felt guilt. He strolled up to the fallen male, wincing at the sight of the fresh bruise blossoming across his forehead. "Uh, hey."

Taro's eyelids fluttered as he frowned in confusion. "Let's uh… Let's work on your swing." He sat up, fighting a bout of dizziness.

"You may have a minor concussion," Daiba noted. "You might want to get that checked out."

"I'm alright. Why don't you go grab a tee and whichever driver you'd like?"

"I don't know what those are," the pirate confessed with a shrug.

"I should have noticed," the brat smiled, rubbing at his head. "Hang on, I'll show you."

Once he managed to stand, he explained the basics of the game. Soon enough Daiba knew what exactly putters, drivers, sand traps, freeways, tees, and the "nineteenth hole" were. He'd even learned how to properly act like a golfer, not that he needed much assistance.

"This game is fucking stupid!" he screeched, hurling one of the hundred-dollar clubs into the lake he'd lost five balls in.

Taro had reached a birdie, one stroke under par. Daiba's score was somewhere in the fifties. How in the hell was that idiot so good at this stupid game?

"You're doing really well for your first round," the brat offered with an encouraging smile. "It only took you five swings to drive this time. That's great!"

"I am going to kill all that you love!" Daiba screamed.

"That's nice. Do you want to just call this one a scratch and go to the next hole?"

"I hate my life!"

"Sounds good." He walked back to the cart and waited for the blond to calm down enough to follow him. Within a few minutes, the pirate stormed up to the cart and plopped down.

"You're so cute," Taro cooed.

"The next club that hits your head will be your end."

"Precious," he hummed in confirmation. "Let me help you on your swing at the next hole, okay?"

His answer was an unintelligible grumble that he took as a yes. "I'll put a handicap on your score if you want," he offered.

"I don't need your help."

"You're right," he smiled. "And that's why you're so great."

Daiba puffed his cheeks. "Stop that."

At the tenth hole, Taro picked out a driver for his girl and placed her ball on the tee. "Your grip's wrong again," he corrected, stepping up behind her. Placing his chin in her hair, he corrected her grip with his arms settled over hers.

"Don't swing back so hard. It'll mess up your aim."

"You are too close."

Taro was too lost in how nice it was to be close to the girl to hear. "Hm? Oh, my dad kind of has this thing."

"You are still touching me."

"This is going to sound kind of weird, but we had this agreement that I was going to find a fiancée at the party."

"I do not like your words."

"And I know you don't want to get married or anything, but if you'd at least accept my proposal, it would get my dad off my back."

"You know who is on my back right now? It is you, and you need to get off."

"So, uh, I guess what I'm trying to say is…" He stuck a hand in his pocket, drawing out a velvet box that he held out for her to see. "Would you mind kind of marrying me, Takako?"

"This driver is going to break your kneecaps."

The brat flicked the box open, revealing a simple silver band with a clear, gleaming diamond surrounded by equally stunning sapphires. "I know it's not much, but it was my mom's ring, and she told me to only let someone I really cared for have it."

"Please stop talking."

"I know I just met you and all, but I can say for sure that I do really care about you. We don't actually have to get married or even really engaged, but I'm sure I'll never meet another girl that makes me feel like you do, so I want for you to have this."

"Oh, hell," Daiba sighed. The way Taro talked about his mom felt too familiar. "I can't…take that. Really."

"Sure you can." He carefully clasped the pirate's hand, sliding the ring onto the small male's thin ring finger. "I just figured this way, you won't forget about me, and maybe…maybe you could eventually decide you like me a little. Just keep it safe for me at least."

The blond turned, trying to pull away, but he found himself clutched in a gentle hug. The driver fell quietly to the grass behind him. "You're an idiot," he mumbled.

"Can I be your idiot?" Taro cooed.

"Sure. Whatever makes you happy." Damn idiot sure had a way of making him feel bad.

"You make me happy," Taro hummed, snuggling his cheek against the top of the shorter male's head.

"You have some severe problems then," Daiba murmured, the ring weighing his hand down. He breathed an apology that the brat couldn't hear. Hopefully it wouldn't completely crush him when he found out it was all a lie.


Daiba, stop trying to pretend you're any better. You're both idiots. In the next chapter, things get serious! No, not really. That's a lie.

Sorry, Sora, this one isn't Harlock/Daiba I'm afraid. Though I have...written... um, anyway.
And Aerandir, of course Harlock can dance. I'd bet on him knowing more than one style of formal ballroom dance. Harlock doing the tango...pffft.