Hi!

Hope you guys are doing well, we're about to enter a new 'arc' (I guess that's how you would say, although I never before actually divided my fics into arcs, but well, whatever -_(^^)_- ) and I'm really excited about this one, things will move more forward from now on, which is good, considering how far along the road we already are^^

So I hope you'll enjoy this calm chapter before another storm and hope you'll have a great weekend, be patient ;-)


Chapter 34 - Second

-Zoro-

"Where are you going?" He heard the other call after him as Zoro opened the door and left the room.

"To the kitchen, there's more alcohol."

Mihawk scoffed silently. "You just drank a bottle of the finest whisky plus some absinthe, is that not enough considering your months of abstinence?"

"Says the guy who just drank six bottles of booze on his own."

To his surprise, the elder actually followed him to the abandoned kitchen. Perona had obviously already gone to bed and the old clock above the even older stove told Zoro that it was already much later than expected. While Zoro searched the kitchen for snacks, the Shichibukai brought several bottles to the table before sitting down on the kitchenette with a bowl of nuts in his hands.

"There are chairs," Zoro grumbled, falling down on one of them, throwing his feet on another one before reaching for a bottle.

"They are too uncomfortable. Can we not go to the fireplace room?"

With his eyebrow raised, Zoro turned towards the elder.

"Now I'm sitting, so let's stay."

Mihawk did not respond but began to empty the bowl.

"What did Homura actually want?" Zoro asked, chewing on an old rice ball. "He certainly didn't show up to fight with you because of your sister."

From the corner of his eye he could see the other shaking his head with a subtle grin. For some long minutes, they remained silent. Zoro was already used to it. Mihawk simply didn't always want to talk or needed an eternity to arrange his thoughts. Zoro didn't mind, this way at least he had some time to enjoy his booze. After such a welcome, he also had a bitter need for it.

"It may be that my father is dying," the other replied indifferently, eating his nuts.

"Oh, my condolences?"

"Not needed, I have not spoken to him for years and I see no reason for that to change."

Zoro nodded wordlessly and watched the golden liquid in his bottle.

"You disagree, Roronoa?"

Surprised, he looked up.

"What? No, it's just..." Zoro shrugged.

"Yes?" Mihawk had his elbows placed on his thighs and leaned his bearded chin on his folded hands.

Zoro sighed.

"You know - not that it's my business - but I didn't have the best relationship with my mother. I do get that the relationship with one's parents can sometimes be really complicated, depending on how much they fucked up, but the thing is..." Again, he shrugged. "If I had another chance to face my mother today and tell her about my life, I'd do it."

With a smile, Zoro took another sip.

"She'd probably be pretty disappointed in me. Pirate hunter, pirate, wanted criminal. Not particularly honorable." In his mind, he raised his bottle to her. "On the other hand, I am a damn good swordsman, a warrior, and have my own code of honor and pride. So who knows what she would say."

-Mihawk-

He watched Roronoa speak of his mother. It sounded very different from when Mihawk thought of his father. The younger one seemed to have deep respect for her, although she had left him behind as a child.

"Your mother sounds like an impressive person," Mihawk muttered, and saw Roronoa turn to him. "How was she?"

With a wry grin, the younger took another sip of his drink. "To be honest, sometimes you remind me of her."

"Excuse me?"

Now the other laughed slightly. "Oh yes, the same arrogance, a bit too vain, a bit too conceited. Pretty snobbish and entitled."

Mihawk lost his grin. How was the other able to use the depiction of his dead mother to insult him?

"But she was also very confident, proud, and a person of honor."

It was unusual to hear Roronoa speak like that, deep respect resounded in his voice and yet he was serious and rational. It reminded Mihawk a little of how Roronoa spoke of his captain, another relationship Mihawk could barely comprehend, another person who was, contrary to all logic, important to Roronoa.

Mihawk leaned forward.

"Tell me more about your mother, about your childhood."

Roronoa shrugged his shoulders. "There's not much to tell. I grew up in a temple, no idea who my father was. The monks educated me. They could understand my mother but couldn't speak her language. They taught me how to read and write, at least the very basics. When I was five-ish, my mother and I left."

Unimpressed, Roronoa emptied the bottle in his hand at once.

"Why?" Mihawk asked. It was rare that Roronoa was as talkative as he was today, and he wanted to take advantage of that. For one thing, Mihawk was simply curious to learn more about the past of his little frog; he had many questions only Roronoa could answer. Who had his mother been? Why had she been able to speak this dead language? How did she die and what had happened to Roronoa afterwards?

Mihawk wanted to understand, he wanted to know, but although Roronoa didn't necessarily kept his childhood a secret, he usually didn't share his memories and thoughts freely.

On the other hand, Mihawk was grateful to forget the last hours, at least for the moment. At least for the next few minutes, he could ignore this catastrophic day; although he was, of course, aware that he would have to deal with it sooner or later.

Roronoa seemed to brood for a moment, playing with the empty bottle on the table, his eyes focused on the small kitchen window. In profile, he looked quite thoughtful.

"I have no idea why," Roronoa muttered.

"One morning we just left. I never asked why." He smiled slightly. "It was my mother's decision and I decided to go with her."

"And where did you go then? What happened?"

Now the younger one looked over to him.

"You ask quite a lot," he said with his eyebrow raised.

"I'm just interested," Mihawk replied innocently, fishing for some nuts again.

"Yeah, sure." The youngster shook his head, but then he grabbed one of the old rice balls and continued between two bites: "It's not an exciting story, to be honest. We lived in a small hut on the edge of a small village on some small island somewhere in the East Blue. We didn't really have any money and my mother was too proud to look to work. She always said that 'the effort of a Roronoa cannot be measured in terms money' and that it was degrading to sell the own body for a few metal coins."

Mihawk could already understand where Roronoa had his strong will from. "Well, it is understandable that an honorable woman would not just sell her..."

"It wasn't about things like that," the other interrupted him roughly, rolling his eyes. "My mother had a lot of skills, all our clothes she had sewn herself and although I've never seen her in action, I'm pretty sure she could fight well. She was the one who taught me everything about self-defense and offense I knew before meeting Master Koshiro. She may not have been a master of the sword, but I do think she was a warrior. She had this typical posture and feline reflexes, yet she behaved more like arrogant nobility, kind of like you."

Curiously, Mihawk watched the other and ignored the small side-blow. Yes, he would have loved to meet Mother Roronoa.

Meanwhile, the other seemed have warmed up and spoke freely: "In the beginning, the people of the village tried to help us, but my mother refused any assistance and also refused to learn their language. She often said 'a Roronoa does not ask for alms' or things like 'if those people want to talk to me, why should I have to learn their language?'"

Mihawk laughed quietly. That really sounded almost arrogant and yes, also a bit like him.

"But we needed money to survive, so I joined the village's woodcutters quite early, I probably wasn't much help at the beginning and yet they gave me a salary of 500 Berry every week."

The younger one sounded grateful and proud, but Mihawk suddenly felt humble. A little boy who had to work hard because his mother was too proud for it, because the effort of a Roronoa cannot be measured in terms money. But even more, he was shocked by the miserable salary the other was praising, how could two people with 500 Berry a week survive? Especially considering that something simple as the daily newspaper had already cost 80 Berry around 15 years ago. Just now Mihawk realized for the first time what Roronoa had already told him many times; they really came from completely different worlds.

"My mother didn't approve me working, but it had been my decision."

"It seemed as it was very important for your mother to enforce your own will," he remarked, deciding to ignore the stale aftertaste.

"Oh yes," the younger one agreed. "She always told me that only I was responsible for my life and that I should take every decision seriously and no matter what, she always raised her index finger and said, 'Do not regret, Ron, a Roronoa never regrets one's decision'."

"Ron?" Mihawk repeated. "She called you Ron?"

"Oh," Roronoa muttered, looking up. "Yes, she never called me by my name, except when others were in the room. Otherwise she always called me Ron. It was a strict rule that I could only call her Ni - that means mother - when we were among us, and even then, I always called her Ro Ni, which is a respectful form of address. As soon as other people were there, even with the monks, she was always only Roronoa Zakuro."

That, on the other hand, seemed strangely familiar to Mihawk. Smiling, he recalled how his own mother had scolded him if he had not shown her the necessary respect. After all, it had always been Lady Mother and Lord Father, and since early childhood his parents had only called him son, not once they had used his name. Except for his sister and few other people, he had always been the young Lord for everybody else.

"So, Ron means as much as son?" He asked, leaning even more forward to receive the bottle the younger one handed him. Roronoa thoughtfully rubbed his neck.

"Yes, kind of, probably meant son or child she by that, but actually I would translate Ron more with descendant or offspring, it depends on the context."

Mihawk leaned back and reached for a glass next to the sink. As he poured two finger widths, he examined the younger one, who met his gaze unimpressed.

"Where does your mother come from, Roronoa? What happened before the temple? The way you describe it, she must have been of high nobility."

Roronoa shrugged. "Good question; I don't know. Except for the stories of Alciel's heroes and Harukyuu, she didn't tell me much. She almost never spoke of my father either."

"And yet she seemed very proud of her ancestry. She seemed proud of the name Roronoa."

The other nodded slightly. "The name Roronoa was her explanation and reason for everything. 'A Roronoa does not do such a thing, a Roronoa does not need...', it's pretty annoying though."

"So you do not share her view?"

Now Roronoa rolled his eyes.

"It's just a name. Just one word, something meaningless. It is not the words that matter, but the deeds. Yes, I have my pride, but not because my name is Roronoa."

Mihawk wondered just what scolding would have awaited him if he would have said something like this in the presence of his parents, even his sister had never said anything like this, and even though Mihawk did not care much for his legacy, he was proud to bear the name Dracule Hawk Eyes Mihawk.

"So, you got your pride from her and your sense of honor, but actually you do not know anything about your mother or your father or your background."

Again, his little frog shrugged. "That's just the way it is. She never called him by name when she spoke of him - which she almost never did - I believe maybe two or three times."

"Did you not ask? You must have been curious."

"Of course, but if she didn't want to answer, she didn't answer. She once said that he died before I was born and that was pretty much it. But she never spoke disrespectfully of him."

For a moment they both remained silent, both lost in thought.

"And how did she die?" It was not a question Mihawk asked lightly. He knew the pain of losing his own mother very well and yet he seemed to deal with it differently than Roronoa.

"She was stupid," Roronoa said coldly. "Because she didn't want to accept any help and my low wage was barely enough to survive, she always went to the forest to collect mushrooms and roots and stuff like that. In the beginning she also hunted, but that got forbidden because of game shortages or something soon after we moved there. She was a horrible cook and had no idea how things were prepared."

Now the youngster looked at the bottle in his hand again.

"When I was seven, I came home after work and she was just lying there, at the fire pit, she had cooked with aconite." Roronoa shrugged his shoulders. "I called the doctor even though she had been cold and stiff. He thought she could have died hours ago, probably within less than an hour."

Mihawk remained silent.

"I then left the village to become a swordsman."

"You did not stay?"

"For what reason? I had only been there because of my mother. I had already wanted to learn sword fighting from the monks, but she had been against it and I had bowed to her will. She thought a solid defense made sense, but she was against me becoming a warrior. She thought that this path would only mean disaster for me."

"Despite this, you became a swordsman."

Roronoa grinned, but his eyelids looked heavy, almost as if he were tired.

"Of course, after all, it's my life and only I decide my fate."

Now they were both calm, for minutes neither of them said a word; the old kitchen clock warned them that the early hours of the morning were already dawning, but none of them were leaving.

"Did you never think that you could be a descendant of Alciel? Maybe the last survivor?" His little frog regarded him from the corners of his eyes without responding. "The book by Hakuryuu's apprentice stated that Hakuryuu had instructed his disciples to wipe out all the citizens of Alciel, and the other kingdoms of this earth also hunted that people. Maybe that is why you do not know anything about your origins."

"So what?" With his head tilted to the side, the other turned to him. "It doesn't matter, does it? I don't care what blood flows through my veins or what name my ancestors had. It has nothing to do with me."

"I disagree, after all..."

"I don't care." Roronoa got up and stretched, flinching in-between and touching his side. Although he had just interrupted Mihawk rather rudely, he seemed relaxed and calm, obviously not looking for another dispute. "We are different, Mihawk. You grew up in this world. A world of names and titles, your ancestors settled the five islands and someone along the lines was a World Aristocrat or something, right?"

Mihawk had little time to agree to this sloppy summary of his origins, as the other continued: "But, you know, I don't care about all that. Whether titles or no titles, you can still be an asshole and my swords don't care what blood they are soaked with. The only title that interests me in any way is yours and I'll get it." The other waved to him briefly and turned to the door. "I've had a few shitty days and I'm going to go to sleep now. Tomorrow morning, we will train."

Mihawk smiled at the younger man's behavior.

"You are quite presumptuous, Roronoa. I am still the teacher and my decisions still apply."

Laughing loudly, the other waved off, but then held his damaged wrist with an annoyed sigh.

"Yeah, keep talking, old man."

Disapprovingly, Mihawk clicked his tongue. This wrist really did not look healthy, but the younger one would just make fun of his concern.

"Wait Roronoa, I want to tell you one more thought to go to bed with." Raising his eyebrows, Roronoa turned towards him. "Although you do not care what blood flows through your veins and whether you are a descendant of Alciel, I still wonder if that might explain your ability to absorb Haki. After all, the people of Alciel were seen as a dangerous warrior race for a reason, right?"

It took a moment, but then the otherwise serious eyes grew big.

"And I may be wrong, but maybe, just maybe, one of those books that only you can read contains a hint concerning your madness."

He could almost see the cogs rattling behind Roronoa's forehead before they finally clicked into place after several breaths.

"Maybe," Roronoa muttered, shrugging his shoulders, but Mihawk could see that he was not nearly dismissing it as something insignificant as he acted.

Roronoa wished him a good night and then left. Mihawk was also supposed to go to bed, he had not slept well the previous nights and today had demanded a lot from him. It felt like several weeks had moved into the country, not just a few hours. In the morning he had been looking forward to making a fool out of Nataku, but then the conversation had been so different than he had expected.

Naaku's words had hit a sore point, a point he did not want to think about. He had denied it, dismissing it as a ridiculous accusation. But he had not quite been able to get away from it. He had already noticed that the way his little frog could influence him was dangerous and he knew how important his sister had been to him. Maybe it was an obsession, maybe this parasite had actually been right.

It had not been a wise idea to drown his thoughts with alcohol, they had not been silenced by it. On the contrary, his confused thoughts had gradually agreed with the Marine, and had threatened him that his impulsiveness, his poor self-control, his raging anger would one day mean Roronoa's downfall.

Drunken, he had come to the conviction that Roronoa could not resist him at all, probably had tried over and over again, but in the end, he was too dependent on Mihawk. He had come to the conclusion that Roronoa was only with him, because he had no other choice, perhaps even so mentally limited that he could not see the danger Mihawk posed. He had almost hoped that Roronoa would see this if Mihawk would only become actually dangerous for him once. Ashamed, Mihawk looked at the empty glass in his hand. Rarely he had let himself go like this.

Nataku had been right. He always tried to act so rational and thoughtful. Seemed always calm and collected, yet he knew that it was all just a mask. A mask that he had shaped to perfection. During the last few years, he had not taken it off once, had not lost it once and then a few months ago this outrageous boy showed up and suddenly it got cracks.

For a long time Mihawk had not let himself be overcome by his desire to fight, his lust for blood, but this boy made his blood boil and Roronoa made him angry so easily, made him furious so easily. Without hesitation, Roronoa had come into his life, ripped his carefully perfected mask from his face and stared him down.

But the worst thing about it was, Roronoa was indifferent; he did not even do it with intent, it just happened to him by the way while he was constantly pursuing his own goal. Roronoa did not let himself be intimidated by him, allowed Mihawk not to have a say and certainly not command anything.

You are not the one to decide about my death, and certainly not about my life. I make my own decisions, not you.

That was exactly what the other had told him, had simply taken him out of responsibility.

You know, I'm strong and I still have an even stronger will.

Could it be that he underestimated Roronoa again?

Sighing, Mihawk rose and rubbed his face. It was true, he had repeatedly compared the youngster with his deceased sister. The same abnormal talent, the same naive righteousness, yes, they shared important traits.

But it would be presumptuous to ignore the fact that Roronoa was so different. He was not as innocent, as childishly naive as Sharak, not as good-natured and trusting as she had been, but also not as loud and cheerful, took life more seriously and at the same time did not worry about many things at all.

I am old enough to choose the people in my life. You're really annoying, but I can deal with you most of the time.

Roronoa made his own decisions and did not regret them, that he had said himself. Perhaps it was time for Mihawk to break away from the idea that Roronoa and Sharak had something in common. Perhaps it was time for him to trust Roronoa and respect his decisions.

"What a fool you are," Mihawk scolded himself and left the kitchen. All this could have been avoided if he had not tried to make decisions for the youngster, had not tried to deprive him of responsibility.

Roronoa was right, in terms of his little frog it was irrelevant what had happened to Sharak at that time, that was in the past and it was simplistic of him to hold on to it.

Scratching his head, he strode through the empty corridors. But Roronoa was a strange fellow, he had to admit that. The more he got to know him, the less he understood him. But maybe that was not necessary.

Arriving in his room, Mihawk swept the empty bottle from his bed, ignoring the fact that it smashed on the cold stone tiles before he simply let himself fall into the soft sheets. He knew he was used to a lot of alcohol, but not as much as he had been in his youth, and he knew his body would take revenge in a few hours, even if the familiar headache had not yet pestered him, it would soon.

While he was thinking about it, he fell asleep.

The early morning confirmed his fears.

The sun was still close to the horizon as Mihawk rolled out of the soft sheets and his head pondered ominously. Grinning, he recalled that he wanted to continue training with Roronoa today, but he was not even sure he would make it to the bathroom without an accident. So much for being the oh so mighty Shichibukai Hawk Eyes.

It took him a long time to get ready, on the way to the bathroom he had stepped into some shards several times and almost slipped on a bottle, it was pathetic.

After the third cut, he had decided not to trim his beard as neatly today. He disliked it, but he clearly needed coffee and something against this headache before he could deal with such delicate things. He did not even want to think about Roronoa and his training. Had he drunken so much more than he had on Sasaki a few months ago?

No, not really, he had also been much sharper minded than then, had not been nearly as unpredictable last night as he had been that evening. But this may also have been because this time he had drunk mainly one type of alcohol. With a smile, he wondered if Roronoa was also suffering from the consequences of last night.

Clumsily he stomped along the plain corridors. In the entrance area, as almost every morning, a tray of covered breakfast, newspaper, and coffee was waiting for him.

Oh, he had almost forgotten the ghost girl, she had also tried to visit him in his room the previous day, but he had made it quite clear to her that her presence had been the last thing he had been willing to bear, and that if she cherished her life at all, she would not dare to bother him. He had always been so good with words.

Arriving in the fireplace room, Mihawk took the pills off the tray and gulped them down with enough coffee. He then strolled over to the sofa and decided to doze off for another half an hour until the pills would show effect.

But his plan failed, because only after a few minutes the quiet creaking of the door woke him up. Rolling his cloesed eyes, he turned to the side. Roronoa had probably just returned from his morning run. Incredibly, even after staying up most of last night's and probably having a few bruised rips, this guy was disciplined enough to stick to his training schedule. Mihawk himself would not even have stood up if he did not have to worry about what the younger one would do again.

Half-asleep, he wondered in what form Roronoa had been training. Mihawk had advised him not to neglect Lady Loreen too much. Already by now, there was a considerable difference in power between the two forms, and if Roronoa was not careful, it would grow. It would be fatal if one day his little frog would face an opponent and then had to turn into its weaker form.

"So determined the Shichibukai Hawk Eyes trains his honorable Lady Loreen."

He jumped up.

Right in front of his sofa, no one else squatted but Rear... no Vice Admiral Cho Jiroushin, a mischievous grin on his cheerful face, a Marine cap on his blonde curls.

"Geez, you look kinda horrible, Hawky," his best friend laughed.

"Jirou?" Mihawk said bewildered and ruffled through his hair in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

The much more important question was, why had he not noticed the other?

His headaches had meanwhile scaled down to a moderate level, but he could hardly believe that he had not noticed how someone could approach him up to a few centimeters without him getting alert at all.

"Oh my God, don't look so shocked." The blond laughed again. "You were the one who invited me."

For a second Mihawk thought about how something like this could have happened to him, but then the joy prevailed that his best friend and former Vice had really come by to visit. It was an unexpected but not unpleasant surprise.

"Jirou. It is nice to see you. I have not heard from you in a long time. Since our conversation four months ago, it seemed impossible to reach you."

Now the other rubbed his neck in embarrassment as they strolled over to the dining table.

"Well, I'm sorry, but with my new position and all the preparations for the child, I had hardly any time to breathe."

Mihawk grabbed another cup from the tea cart and offered his friend some coffee.

"Lirin lets you travel just like that? Is it not almost time?"

Synchronously, they sat down and reached for a fork. Normally Mihawk would not allow anyone to eat from his plate, especially not his breakfast, but well, it was Jiroushin.

The Marine sighed deeply.

"Honestly, it was her idea. She is doing well, and she has a little more than two months left and thought it would be good for me to do something else before my paternal duties would catch up with me."

For a moment, Mihawk did not respond.

"You have a smart wife, Jirou," he said simply, concentrating on his scrambled eggs. Of course, he had immediately seen through the other's excuse, talking about no time to breathe. Mihawk knew exactly why the other had avoided him for months. It was...

"Hey, Mihawk, where the hell are you? We said that we..." Like right on the damn cue, Roronoa entered the fireplace room.

The next second stretched into infinite as first surprise and then horror glided over Roronoa's cold face, at the same time Mihawk noted from the corner of his eye how Jiroushin dropped his fork. His own gaze raced through the room. Mihawk found what he was looking for.

"Roronoa Zoro!"

Then Vice Admiral Cho Jiroushin attacked.