True to his word, Shanks purchased the few ingredients she required to prepare a healthy and substantial breakfast for not only Mihawk, but him as well. He even carried them, though she knew he would. Despite the fact that he was a pirate, Shanks held such a firm sense of chivalry and was more than gentleman-like when it came to her. She had to admit: the fact that he was a pirate seemed less and less impertinent the more she spent around him.

"So," Shanks interrupted her deep thought process. "Will I, uh, be sharing a room with you, or…?"

Anne frowned. She had a guest bedroom located in her home, but the idea of sleeping with Shanks seemed suddenly very comforting. Her mind drifted for a moment, picturing the scene of night against them as she snuggled into his chest, her dreams of few worries and light-hearted adventures.

"We'll see," she answered back quietly, her thoughts still consumed over her feelings, which not even she could really decipher at this point.

The walk to her cottage was short and rather quiet. It wasn't just Anne who was captured by thoughts, but Shanks as well. It took her a moment to register that she was standing outside of her locked door, and with a flushed face, fumbled through her bag for the key. Shanks' eyes flickered over the horizon, a murky cloud of grey looming over the normally bright ocean.

"Ah, I hate this weather," he murmured. Anne twisted the handle, shoving her door open and nodded.

"Let's get inside. It'll start raining soon, and I want this food made before it does."

Shanks nodded. "I'll drop it off to him, lass."

Anne immediately whirled around, stopping Shanks in mid-step as he tried to enter her cottage. "You will not!" she shouted angrily. "Shanks, he nearly killed you! I will take it to him, and you will stay here and rest!"

She noticed his adam's apple as he swallowed; did her temper make him that nervous?

"Alrigh', lass," he agreed. Anne nodded and stepped back, allowing her pirate – sorry, the pirate to enter the home. Once he did, she shut the door, collected the bags of groceries and moved into the kitchen where Shanks trailed behind her, much like the smitten lover that he was.

"So, Annie," he inquired as she began unpacking the food. "You… cook… a lot?"

Her eyebrow rose, though he couldn't see it. Was this his attempt at casual conversation?

"Yes. I only learned about six months ago. I enjoy practicing; it's a helpful skill."

Shanks nodded slowly. "Yeah… Yeah, I guess."

She rolled her eyes as she brought out a knife and began preparing the food. It would be best if she just used everything, for if Mihawk had an appetite like Shanks, there would be no leftovers.

"…I learned to cook from an apprentice of the Cook Pirates. He served on board for a while, but ultimately decided that piracy wasn't his lifestyle. "

Shanks grinned. "Really? I met them once. In a bar, not on the sea. Captain was serving some food in celebration of… eh, I can't remember. Anyway, it tasted perfect with sake, so…"

"Oh, Shanks!" She rolled her eyes. "Can't you eat without the companionship of alcohol?"

"Well, of course I can!" Shanks replied, startled by her apparent irritation. "Just, y'know, alcohol is my healing water."

"Don't be preposterous! Healing… look at you! You're barely useful, and I'm sure you've done nothing but consume alcohol the past few days." She turned from the counter and watched as he played with the hem of his sleeves, rolling them up to his elbow then unravelling them to his wrists. His hair was greasier than what she remembered, and when it slid across his forehead as he glanced up at her, she shook her head.

"You need a bath…"

He grinned. "Will you do the honours?"

A faint pink consumed the high cheekbones of the brunette and she whirled away. "I may have to," she muttered to herself. "It seems as though you've never had one."

Shanks laughed. He enjoyed teasing her as much as she seemed prone to insulting him.

"You're righ', lass. Where's the tub?"

She sighed and shook her head. Despite her gratefulness for his attempt to ease the tension, she needed to bring up her less than desirable subject and finally pin him down – in the non-literal sense, of course.

"Shanks," she began and her tone quavered as she tried to find a balance of seriousness and softness, "we need to sort this all out. I'm a little confused as to where… we… er, are. As one another. As people."

She turned her head off to the side to hide the wretched blush of pink that curved around her cheeks, and cursed herself yet again. She didn't even want to say couple from fear that it would unnerve him as much as it did her. After taking a deep breath, she risked a glance in his direction, though his eyes weren't even on her. He was leaned back in the chair and staring up at the ceiling. His eyes were hooded and his lips firm as he sat there in a state of contemplation. It was almost as if she needed to pinch herself to believe this was real.

"You're very special, Annie. Really, I've met a lot of women. A lot of pretty ones, plenty of scary ones; but you're really, really special."

There was no blush on her cheeks as Anne stood still. Her mind raced with the sweet words that graced along the hurried current of her thoughts and she gripped the edge of the table tightly, as if urging him to continue.

"But," he added, and his tone seemed to grow weaker with each word, "we have no way of lasting. I could never give up the sea; I'm only here for a short time. We only planned to be here for the sake festival. Of course, I could maybe last another week, but that's it. I think it's best if we both keep this in mind as a temporary… thing."

It was as if all the air in the room had suddenly dispersed. Her mouth felt dry and her fingers could no longer maintain their grip on the table; she turned herself, hurriedly, and rested her hip against the counter as she tried to go over the words slowly in her mind. Everything was set in an erratic state, though. She longed to scream at him, to demand he take back his words, to beg him to say it was just a joke, but she just bit her lip instead.

It made sense. It was all true. He was a pirate; she told herself this almost every day. There were a number of occasions she had considered saying the exact same phrases to him, albeit different perspectives. But now that it was spoken – and by him – her brain felt wrought from its incapability of rationalizing the simple and logical words.

Her heart charged forward against her chest, slamming into it in a hurried rhythm. If Shanks was speaking, she couldn't tell, because her ears were rushed by the sounds of her bloodstream as it sped throughout her body. Maybe she would faint, split her head open and be spared the humiliation of replying to the exact same thing she had been saying ever since she met the man.

With the adrenaline surging her body, she reacted instantly as her peripheral vision noted him standing up. She wanted to run, but she willed her legs to root to the floor and wait. Stay still, stay still, she told herself; it was perhaps the only focus she had to stop herself from completely letting go and sobbing in front of him. She could never forgive herself if she let him see the tears.

"Annie?"

She expected her voice to crack, but the words seem to come freely and with ease. "You're right," she said without any mind of her speech. "You're leaving, and I'm obviously staying."

She laughed, but it was empty. Dull sounding. And it was then that her mind latched onto the only bit of sanity she could handle. "But until then… we can continue as we are… can't we?"

It was then that she finally turned her head. Shanks was almost right beside her, and his face was masked from whatever he was feeling. But the moment she glanced into his eyes, she knew the tears were going to roll, and so without further comments, she sealed the space between them and kissed him. Her arms secured around his neck as she latched onto his body, and her lips moved against his own, setting the eagerness between them. The tears were pouring now, but neither seemed to notice as she lead the kiss to distract her of everything that was suddenly wrong with the world.

How she just wanted to kiss him forever.

hr

Her fist pounded against the worn-down door where a faded plaque softly blazed '12'. The Mermaid's Cove was a cheap hotel where local men would meet up with women much too young for them for a couple hours at a time before scurrying home to their wives. It was a distasteful place, one she often predicted Tim would eventually own, as The Rotting Fish was just down the street. But she could care less for any thoughts of Tim or adulterous husbands, and her fist slammed harder and harder as the terrible mixture of feelings swelled inside her. By the time Mihawk opened the door, she was hunched over and crying.

"Here!" She shoved the basket, its contents hidden by a red checkered blanket, into the pirate's arms as she raised herself up. The tears wouldn't stop, and she was so angry she stormed into his room without any consent and found herself in the water closet.

Not him, she thought as she turned on the faucet and cupped her hands beneath, collecting the cold water. She immediately leant down and soaked her face in them, instantly chilling her flesh and bringing a slap of reality to her senses. As she pulled away she inhaled deeply.

Who cares what Mihawk thought? It wasn't as though he had any respect for her before; she didn't need to earn anything from him. He was putrid in his lifestyle and actions, while Shanks… oh, Shanks.

"Is there a reason as to why you're making a mess in my room?"

She glanced up as the pirate leaned himself across the entrance, blocking her means of departure. She snorted and reached for a folded towel hanging off the wall. The material swept along her skin, absorbing the moisture, and when she felt done, she risked a glance in the mirror.

It was dreadful; her hair had escaped from its bun and lay disarrayed across her head. Red patches circled her eyes, her bottom lip remained in a constant quiver, and the colour of her skin seemed transparent in the hollow light. Her eyes eventually flinched away from her appearance and she turned her back from Mihawk.

"…I brought your food. Now let me leave."

"After this show? Humour me with an explanation."

Her eyes narrowed and her slender fingers balled into tiny fists. Without a second's thought – because really, this was quite thoughtless – she turned and made an effort to hit him as hard as she possibly could. Her fist struck his chest, though he didn't move, and that only fueled the rage seething inside the unpolished brunette. She swung back her other arm and struck forward a second time, and continued doing so, switching between both hands in a violent rhythm. Mihawk could give credit where it was due – she had surprised him, and he stood still, not once blocking her hits, nor flinching even if one slightly stung.

It wasn't until she struck his jaw and prompted his irritation that he finally enclosed his hands around her wrists and dragged her out of the room. He expected her to burst into tears again, but she took deep breaths and didn't resist his movements.

"…Shanks?"

"It's none of your business," she said hurriedly. Her eyes flickered to his and she shook her head. "I'm… I'm sorry. I need to go home. Please, let go."

Mihawk, a man of few expressions, frowned. Women were complex, irritating, forgetful; he could go on and on about his thoughts of them. This one embodied many interesting characteristics about her personality, and the reason it irritated him so much was because she left him in a confused state. What was even worse about this confusion was that it derived from the sole curiosity he felt in wanting to know what exactly had her so upset. Upset wasn't even appropriate for the situation – she had lost her grip of sanity right before him.

For a moment, he considered if Shanks had done what he had nearly acted out the night before, but that thought quickly perished. Shanks had made it quite clear about his 'code of honour', and even she had made it obvious in her interest for the red-headed idiot, despite her senseless prejudices.

So why was she so erratic before him?

"Please," she murmured again. Mihawk's eyes flickered towards the open door of his hotel room and he removed his grip on her.

"Go ahead."

He didn't need to involve himself in the drama of this woman's life. It was punishment to let her leave without any knowledge of the situation – punishment for showing any bit of curiosity in the first place.

His eyes followed her as she left the room in a hurried fashion, her heels clipping down the hall. Carelessly, he walked over and closed the door, securing its lock, before returning his attention to the basket he had dumped on the desk tucked away in the corner.

And yet, his appetite wasn't all there.

Author's Note:

I generally prefer to do the AN at the beginning, but I didn't want to spoil the setting of this chapter, so here it is now.

OH. MY. GOD. I almost bawled like a baby while writing this. It's probably because I'm really attached to the characters and spend practically every day scrounging through their heads, but this was difficult to do. It definitely puts the story in motion, though, and now the fun stuff begins. If any of you have noted the information on my profile, NPNP will have 26 chapters, including the prologue. Right now we've done 10/26. The plot shall thicken!

Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story, and welcome new readers! Please, tell me what you thought of this chapter, as I'm really curious on your guy's input!

I'm on vacation right now, so you never know if a new chapter is on the horizon! Until then, darlings.