A/N: *announcer voice* Last time on How?, the Hero of the Marines Monkey D. Garp received a kiss on the back of her hand from none other than the King of the Pirates Gol D. Roger. How will she react? Find out in this chapter
Slight warning for mention of non-con due to inebriation
Just a little note, I'm probably going to end up making Tsuru a little OOC. I see her character, how she's a no-nonsense lady who can kick (33)s and keep her common sense, and my brain decides that she will be the conduit for my own voice, which likes to scream at characters when they're being stupid. Also, I gave her a passion for chocolate, like how Garp and Sengoku fight over the rice crackers. I figured being friends with Garp would result in obsessive hoarding of her favorite food, which I arbitrarily decided to be chocolate.
She felt like she was in a fog. Everything around her was dimmed, muted, and the playful breezes that should have cleared her thoughts kept circling back to Roger's smile and his lips on her hand!
Of all the unexpected actions Garp knew to expect from Roger, that had certainly never been one of them. By Davy Jones, she hadn't expected that of anyone!
Garp knew she wasn't beautiful. She was too tall, too muscular, too boisterous, and damn proud of all of that. And growing up, nothing else was important. She survived because she was strong and loud (the height grew in after she'd started spending the night in Foosha in old lady Trina's bar), and the animals could care less about her gender. But in the navy, she eventually noticed the difference in how the soldiers acted around Tsuru and other women and how they acted around her, how a fair percentage looked at her bust in surprise when she boasted about being a mom. Granted, Tsuru had to explain to her what exactly their actions said, but now she knew there was a difference. And truly, she held no hard feelings about any of that, she had accepted it and moved on (Tsuru always got this sad look and tried to argue whenever Garp mentioned her conclusion).
That's why the fluttering of her gut and the curling of her lips when she remembered Roger called her beautiful was weird. What had the man meant by saying it and doing… that? With every cycle of her thoughts, she ended up with the same question, no sooner to be answered than when first asked. His actions caused so much tumultuous confusion that when she thought to check the time, it was mid-day and all her soldiers had returned. They were working around the ship, keeping it in top shape, and glancing over at her nervously, sweat dripping down their necks.
"Line up!" she barked out, and the entire ship relaxed. She lifted an eyebrow, not realizing that Garp being silent for a straight twelve hours had been the most terrifying thing any of them had ever witnessed. "I want to see you all drop 200, then have the one assigned report to me and return to normal schedule!"
"Yes, sir!" the ship responded, soon filling the air with grunts and coordinated counting. When everyone finished after a minute (acceptable, but barely. She would have to give them more training if they slacked off like this after a celebration), Ensign Takano stepped up to report, posture ramrod straight and the perfect image of a soldier.
"Sir!" he barked. "The standard rate of crime during the festivities indicates a successful sweep of large-scale organized crime and brokers of the deplorable trades. The orphanage is using the spoils left with them to renovate the building and buy the children new winter clothes. Also, the city whisperer reported an unknown boat in off the harbor but when Seaman Cortis went to verify the claim, he found nothing!"
"Good, good," Garp hummed as she listened to her man's report. There had been a particularly bad branch of an interocean drug ring on this island. They would hire the homeless for odd jobs then slip some powder in with their payment and just wait for the people to come to them. Normal crimes during a festival, one of the most opportune times to make trades, meant they had been smoked out and exterminated. Furthermore, the orphanage was using its surprise funds wisely, attesting to its character and making it unlikely to be the back or side door for a criminal group. Those who took advantage of children were some of the worst criminals. And Seaman Cortis, that's the one that recently transferred from G-12; good on him for taking the initiative. A boat docked outside the harbor indicated a visitor to the island who didn't want to be found. Such a person could be harmless, perhaps an investigator or just someone looking to avoid docking taxes (it was barely anything, but some people were stingy to the core), but they could just as easily be a threat, maybe a scout for a group looking to raid the island or a criminal on the run…
Garp took a moment and focused on the island instead of the ensign's report, feeling for that annoyingly unmistakable presence, the source of her dazed thoughts and who, at this distance, should be on her radar despite any attempts to hide his presence.
"Vice Admiral?" Ensign Takano questioned at the silence following his report. Typically, his commanding officer would laugh at the end of them, then order training if the report had been good (Takano had already been psyching himself up) or further investigation or action if it wasn't. Silence had never been part of the equation and Takano felt a cold sweat break across his back because that's twice the vice admiral had been silent. Was the world ending?!
"Anything on our main orders?" Garp asked seriously, far more seriously than she had been about their main orders since receiving them, causing Takano to scramble to answer.
"Uh, nothing concrete, sir! The last rumor had been he was spotted in a bar a week ago, but similar rumors are coming from merchants of nearby islands." Ensign Takano watched in fascinated petrification as his officer's face darkened, a veritable hurricane barely contained within her eyes. Most terrifyingly, she wore no smile – no softening of the ever-present storm to a playful tossing around of ships – only the storm sailors feared, a storm that sent ships and men to their deaths.
Garp's eyes flicked to the horizon once, probing, before she barked the terse order, "Someone call Sengoku and tell him were moving on to the next island. I want us heading for the land due east, now, men!"
The ship fell into effective chaos and the boat was sailing off not a minute later. Garp stood at the bow, glaring at the horizon where her gut directed her. Roger had a lot to answer for and running away wouldn't save him.
. . .
A gentle snow drifted onto the decks as the ship passed from the open sea to the range of the island's magnetic field. With only a few hours travel time in between, Andern was close enough to its sister island for its field to be roughly similar. Verandern had slightly cooler winters while Andern experienced slightly warmer summers, which resulted in a difference in goods that fueled amicable trade between the islands.
But the science wasn't important to Garp. All she thought was that if Roger wanted to run, he should've picked a farther island.
Soon enough, the island came in view, its major port town framed from behind by the dormant volcano the island was built from, vibrant forests creeping halfway to the top of the gently sloping landmark. Hound pulled into port and all her soldiers organized on deck.
"You know the drill, men," Garp ordered. "Sweep the town and surrounding settlements, I'll take the mountain." Her men saluted and broke rank, laying out the ramp while she went ahead by jumping from deck to dock. She felt a flash of guilt at deceiving her men like this, for making them work while she held another goal, but squashed any hesitation like a bug. It was fine to feel guilty, she'd reflect on that later (Bogard felt the urge to release an enormous sigh but held back with the professionalism of someone experienced with that form of self-control), but this was something she needed to talk to Roger about… and maybe punch him a few times for. Garp hadn't even slept because of him!
She found the man by a lake. The mountain slope had flattened out, collecting rainwater and creating a beautiful view peppered by lily pads and surrounded by grass, the top of the volcano rising above the tree line like a majestic giant. But Garp only had eyes for Roger, the man seated cross-legged in front of the lake, fists braced against his knees and back turned to her. He knew she was there.
"Either you start talking, or my fists start flying," she growled, halting ten feet behind him. Roger remained eerily still, seemingly made of stone. Birds chirped far away, instinctively moving away from the two monsters even though they were concealing their presences, and the seconds ticked by with otherwise silence. Garp was a moment away from making good on her threat when Roger spoke, body remaining perfectly still as his voice carried cross the distance between them.
"Do you remember the first time we met?" he asked. It wasn't the talking Garp expected, but the question replaced most of her anger with intrigue. Where was Roger going with this?
"Yeah," she answered simply. It had been one of her stations in the South Blue, when the top had been lollygagging about assigning her, Senny, and Tsuru to the Grand Line. The pirates and other criminals had been putting up disappointing fights, so Roger and his crew had thrown nearly the whole ship into chaos. Afterwards, Garp had been Tsuru's sounding board as she ranted about their commanding officer's incompetence because he must have known about such a strong crew but still attacked them anyway, but she had been too pleased to truly care about her friend's concerns. The ship and soldiers were still standing because Garp had gone toe-to-toe with Roger while Senny fought his first mate and Tsuru had danced between the other battles and tipped the balance with her devil fruit. After a few losses and no headway, their commander finally ordered a retreat that Senny threw her back to their ship to comply with. It wasn't a memory she would ever forget.
"We expected the same typical Navy scrubs," Roger admitted. Garp would have defended her colleagues, but that ship had been truly incompetent. Tsuru let her frustration with them lead her to make a background check and got their commanding officer and his second in command court marshalled for dereliction of duty and embezzlement, the beginning of her illustrious hobby of rooting out corruption among Navy ranks. "But then you leapt on board, fists up and smiling, and all my crew had a collective 'oh sh(53)t' moment because they looked at me and pleaded like Davy Jones himself was on their (33)ses."
The memory was too long ago to remember extra details, since her focus had been on the ship's strongest since the beginning, but Garp could easily see it. Roger's crew had always left an open path between her and their captain whenever they crossed each other, and for someone as intimidating as herself, first impressions went a long way. But while Garp would remember that, and probably taunt some of Roger's crew with if she ever ran across them, it wasn't what she was demanding.
"Are you stalling?" she accused, battling with the familiar itch to bash Roger on the head.
"No," he answered immediately, voice steady and sincere. "You deserve the full story."
"What are you talking about?" Garp asked, a little annoyed at Roger's circling words.
"I remember being so excited, the kind of excitement I've felt only a handful of times," Roger continued his reminiscing. "Me against you was a miracle I never thought possible until you showed up fists flying and eyes blazing. When Sengoku threw you back to your ship, I felt like punting him into the sea for breaking up our fight. Would've too, had Rayleigh not held me back. I watched your ship disappear over the horizon and Rayleigh took one look at me and said, 'Don't drag me into this, deal with her yourself.' Took me a while to realize he wasn't talking about fighting."
"He wasn't?" Garp interrupted, confused. "Sure sounds like he was." Roger chuckled, his shaking shoulders the first movement Garp saw from him. She pursed her lips, debating whether he was mocking her or not.
"Nope!" Roger chirped, voice chipper but utterly fond, like it always was when talking about his crew. "And he never explained, even when I pestered him about it for months. I had to figure it out on my own."
"Will you stop dancing around and speak plainly, Roger!" Garp finally snapped. When her words settled, Roger stood up smoothly, and Garp got the weird feeling that the movement pained him. She didn't dwell on it, though, because Roger turned around and she saw his face.
Garp and Roger had many things in common, some of which Senny complained about being more pirate than marine. Among them numbered stubbornness, recklessness, and an inability to hide their emotions, the last of which Garp was seeing right now.
He was nervous, and Garp didn't know how she knew that so certainly because she had never known Roger to be nervous. Scared? They both faced Rocks D. Xebec yet didn't step down; fear was an ever-present suggestion, not compulsory. Worried? Whenever his crew faced death, especially when it involved his little apprentices. But nervous? Roger had never been nervous in her presence, so that begged the question: why now? But past that emotion, he was soft, so soft that a few months ago Garp would've doubted her own eyes. His smile was small, much smaller than it could be, but just as real, a curve just enough to part his mouth, adoring. The small lines of age and a life worth living that were starting to show on both of them melted away under that smile. And his eyes looked at her, solely at her, like nothing else existed, and her gut felt heavy and light, fluttering around like a concussed hummingbird.
Roger walked towards her, openly studying her reactions. She knew he would back away if he saw so much as a hint that that was what she wanted. But Garp couldn't make herself move, watching the Pirate King come closer and looking at her like he looked at the sea.
He stopped in front of her, and though he was two inches shorter than her, he felt taller, his eyes boring into her as if they were on equal grounds. He took her hand, thumb rubbing circles over where he'd kissed it last night, and Garp felt something in her chest squeeze.
"The first time I saw you, ready and eager to fight not because I was a pirate but because I was strong, I was beyond excited to find a worthy rival. But it was more than that, and Rayleigh knew that even before I did. When we ran across each other, I was excited for more than just a fight, I was excited to see you: to see you fight me as excitedly as I was, to see you become a better and better marine, to see you use your strength to protect like it was the easiest thing in the world."
"Where are you going with this?" Garp heard herself speak. She wasn't sure how she said it, mind already occupied with trying to make sense of Roger's words. If she took them at face value, it almost sounded if…
"Garp," Roger said her name seriously but with a touch of awe, a little like how he called his little apprentices or Rayleigh, but it wasn't the same. "We're both getting older, and time is not the friend it once was. I swore I would live my life with no regrets, and so I'm going to ask what I've wished to since the moment we met. Monkey D. Garp, with your permission, may I court you?"
Garp felt like she was splashed with water but couldn't tell whether it was cold or hot. She couldn't think anything, even the marine part of her mind that she expected to be screaming all forms of 'no' was silent. Roger was looking at her with such warmth, soft and tender, and she didn't know what to do with his gaze, to keep it or look away, to accept it or reject it. Depending on her actions, something would change, change in the way D's always seemed to know, that they always charged headfirst for and that made the Government terrified of them. A thousand half-formed thoughts knocked against each other, jostling for attention yet dividing it so she couldn't focus on a single one. Time was passing and Roger was standing there, soft gaze never faltering but only becoming warmer as she faltered and floundered even more because no decision had ever been this difficult for her.
"You don't have to answer now," his gentle, rough voice quieted her thoughts in a way she hadn't noticed it did before. "If we continue as before, I will show you what I mean, and you can take your time to decide. I am more than willing to wait for you."
Looking back, Garp thinks she nodded, because Roger smiled wider, softer, and retreated behind the tree line, leaving her alone by the lake. It took her a few minutes to requiet her thoughts, but Garp picked herself up and scoured the forest as her men believed her to be doing. She found a few currently unoccupied hideouts and safehouses that she would work together with her soldiers to find the occupants for and determine their intentions, but came across no one, including Roger.
She returned to her ship and her job, nodding to Bogard when he looked at her with what few people would recognize as concern. After a few hours of running her soldiers through drills, she retired early.
. . .
Garp dialed a number into the denden mushi and waited for the other person to pick up. It didn't take too long as that person had always been punctual.
Vice Admiral Tsuru speaking, the snail said. Who is calling?
"Tsuru!" Garp smiled, happy to speak to her friend. It had been a while; their promotions kept them assigned separately more often than not. Two vice admirals were too much manpower anywhere but an active threat zone. "Nice to hear from you!"
Garp, Tsuru-snail blinked, transmitting the woman's slight surprise. Garp hardly ever called people over denden – she preferred speaking face to face – so her friend's surprise at the unprofessional (at least for Garp) call was expected. Yes, it is good to hear your voice. Though I doubt you called for that. What did you need to talk about?
Garp nearly teared up, once again reminded how much of a godsend Tsuru was. All through joining the marines and rising through the ranks, Tsuru had been the voice of reason for her and Senny, reminding them that life existed outside assignments and battles and patiently teaching them (especially Garp) that the solution was not always a direct fight. But Tsuru meant even more than that to Garp. Tsuru had been the one to help her and teach her about the female body when her menstruation started late in life due to extreme fitness from childhood; she had been the one to realize Garp was pregnant with Dragon and the one who helped her with the pregnancy, birth, and raising of the little rascal, declaring herself his godmother because Garp hadn't even known the title existed (or she would've given it to Tsuru herself). She was the only high-ranking female marine who didn't secretly judge her but respected her choices and lifestyle. Garp hardly cared about other peoples' opinions of her but finding someone who accepted her wholeheartedly despite being different had been a treasure Garp guarded greedily, just like Sengoku and Bogard. But Tsuru had been the first.
To Garp, Tsuru was the most reliable of confidants and the most precious of friends.
Her emotions must have shown on Tsuru's snail because the woman asked if she was okay, if something had happened, and the concern only made Garp more emotional. D(95)n, with all these emotions, she might have to check if she'll start bleeding soon; Bogard would have to run damage control.
"As fit as ever," she responded, unconsciously hiding her turmoil, her desire for sound advice that made her call in the first place. As Hero of the Marines, Garp was the image of the Navy as a whole; if she seemed weak, people lost trust in the Navy. That image, and all it required, had burdened Garp for years, reaching even into the parts of her life it shouldn't have.
You always are, Tsuru-snail said. But you know that's not what I'm asking about.
Garp would later thank her lucky stars she had the foresight to attach a white denden to the call (because she may be a marine hero, but that meant she only had to be more careful) because it all came tumbling out, drawn forth by Tsuru's smooth voice.
At the end of Garp's half-rant half-monologue, snail-Tsuru sighed, somehow moving the skin on the side of its head to indicate the woman rubbing her temple. I thought this might happen, she muttered, both to Garp and to herself.
"You did?!" Garp's eyes widened in shock, surprised and maybe a little betrayed.
I thought it could be a possibility, she amended. Though not a very probable one.
"But… how?" The Dark King knew, Tsuru knew, Bogard probably knew, it seemed like Garp was the only one who didn't know!
Garp, I was assigned with you for most of our times as rookies, Tsuru reminded her. I saw how that man looked at you. Completely smitten.
"Then why didn't you tell me?!" Garp knew she was whining, but she felt a little entitled to some annoying behavior after learning her best friend kept silent about Roger having a crush on her for over twenty years. Besides, Garp was annoying on a daily basis without reason, Tsuru could hardly complain when she actually had one.
Tsuru-snail pursed her lips and Garp immediately forgave her friend because she knew Tsuru had debated long and hard on keeping her silence and made what she believed to be the best decision. Because he wouldn't have done anything, she admitted. It's not procedure to trust the morals of a pirate, but as long as you didn't know, I was certain he would keep his feelings to himself, if only not to force a decision on you.
"But why would me knowing change anything?" Garp was confused. Roger had kept silent for more than two decades, her knowledge of his feelings hardly would've changed anything. Wait, but then why did he come forth now?
Tsuru sighed again, the exasperated and fond sigh she always made before explaining something important to Garp. Look at yourself right now, Garp. You're torn; you called me because you don't know what choice to make. Not much has changed, he's still a pirate and you're still a marine and the dangers that stayed his tongue before still exist. So, the heart of this matter is: what made him tell you?
"He said he didn't want to have any regrets," Garp said, feeling her face heat up (Davy Jones, she was blushing!) at his words, at how he looked at her when he said them.
Tsuru-snail gave a fond sigh and Garp's face grew warmer, knowing her friend caught her expression. That's a reason, she explained. But it's not reason enough to act. You've been running into Roger these past few months, haven't you?
Garp didn't answer, but her silence was just as d(95)ning.
Really Garp, what am I going to do with you? Tsuru muttered rhetorically, leading Garp to offer her a sheepish grin. Only you would use orders to capture the Pirate King to get closer to him. You walked yourself right into this one, didn't you?
"What do you mean, Tsuru?" Garp asked.
You got to know Roger outside of battles, outside of pirates and marines, and he got to know you too. You accepted him, gave him reason to believe if he finally said how he felt you wouldn't immediately reject him. So, he took that chance.
"Wha- but- he!" Garp sputtered before managing to gather her words. "Of course I would reject him, he's a pirate!"
Tsuru-snail remained quiet, cycling through a myriad of Tsuru's microexpressions: thinking, indecision, sadness, guilt, anger, care, defiance, and finally resolution. Garp, Tsuru said, speaking her name as powerfully as Roger had yesterday, but with a familiar strength that had been the backbone behind many strategies but also the very reason Garp trusted her as a confidant. Roger's decision to pursue you was his own, but so is your response. We both know he's not like other criminals, breaking the law isn't a game to him. Whatever decision you make, make it irrespective of pirates or marines, of King or Hero. Before all else, I want you to think about what you want. You've been denied that option far too often. And Garp, just know, I will support you, regardless of what you choose.
"Tsuru…" Garp trailed off, unsure what to say. What could she say, in the face of such unconditional friendship? And this wasn't even the first time. Tsuru had said the same when Garp let Dragon go, knowing he intended to oppose the Celestial Dragons, and when she continued to call her son every month, aware he was taking navy intelligence from their conversations and even deliberately mentioning assignments near where he and his friends were (it was cute, how Dragon thought his mom wouldn't know exactly where he was). Knowing that Tsuru cared about her as much as she cared about Tsuru, even more than their jobs – a rare find, for Ds – was an unshakeable sort of peace. Everything she worried about alone always seemed so easy once she shared it with Tsuru.
I'd say keep me updated, Tsuru-snail smirked, lightening the atmosphere. But too many calls using a white denden isn't a good idea, so I'm expecting details when we next meet.
"Roger that, Tsuru," Garp smiled. The smile dropped when a thought hit her and she frowned in that. "Wait, why do we use that phrase?"
Tsuru-snail blinked, a little taken back. I'm… not sure. It seems awfully silly when it's the name of the most wanted man in the world.
They laughed and talked for a little longer before hanging up. When cracking down on Verandern's underground, which was a lot of smoking out the groups that had gone into hiding after their sister branches on Andern had been taken out, Garp remembered Tsuru's words. Even growing up in the forest, Garp knew the world wasn't black and white, but there were people who could and couldn't take a hit. She watched the criminals her soldiers led to the city jail, how some looked around or pleaded desperately about the people they justified their actions for and how others festered in anger or settled in resigned indifference because their actions had only been for themselves or they were so far in the business they had nothing else to live for. All of them made a choice that brought them to today, for some the choice was more pitiful and for others it was more detestable yet for all of them she knew it was very human, they always were. She assigned a few men to question the imprisoned and see if the desperates' justifications could be resolved with some of a vice admiral's salary that was really more than any one person ever needed. After they served their time, perhaps they could make the island a better place than before.
By the end of the day, Garp had made her decision.
. . .
The lake was just as beautiful at night as during the day. Small ripples and the darkened shapes of lily pads broke the reflection of the moon and stars on the water while the surrounding ring of trees and the gently rising volcano did the same for the actual stars. Every line had a hint of uncertainty that made it easier to see the whole picture but harder to make out details.
Roger was once more seated by the lake, but this time he was turned to face her, his grinning face beaming with delight that she had sought him out once again. Mirroring their last meeting (had it only been a day ago?), she stopped ten feet in front of him. She shed her jacket, not missing how Roger's eyes glanced to her bare arms before quickly returning to her face, and dropped it on the ground.
"Fight me," she demanded, because more than words this was how she and Roger communicated best. His grin sharpened, though now she noticed the warmth still melting through its edges, and he discarded his own captain's coat.
The next moment, their fists clashed, neither gaining nor losing any ground. Stalled in a deadlock, Garp shifted her balance and leapt into a roll that took her past Roger, narrowly avoiding the leg he aimed at her abdomen. She landed in a crouch and used the position to add extra force behind a jab to his side. The blow landed, but his reactionary elbow to her shoulder forced her to twist off the ground using her other hand and create a temporary distance between them. A distance Roger was already closing with a right hook, which Garp took in favor of planting her knee in his gut, pairing her cracking neck nicely with a breathless 'oof' from Roger. Neither paused to recover, only charging straight in to exchange faster and harder blows, brutal in their efficiency but beautiful in their simplicity, free of haki or murderous intent. Time passed, neither slowing or stopping until, by some unspoken cue, both paused, Garp's hand poised to deliver a deadly chop to Roger's neck and Roger's aimed to strike Garp's solar plexus with a punch that would damage organs unprotected by busoshoku. They stepped back, straightening up to regard the other.
The question lay in Roger's eyes and before the man could move it to his tongue, Garp told him, "Do you worst, Gol D. Roger."
The man's face lit up, smile wide and eyes bright, and he said to the woman, "I would give nothing less, Monkey D. Garp."
I made myself squeal when Roger asked Garp if he could court her. Just wanted to let you all know.