Hey!
First of all, I'm a non-native English speaker, so there might be some mistakes!
This fic takes place in the Cross Guild. You might find references to the chapter 1082 if you've read it, but there is no spoiler if you have not read it yet!
Also, this fic broaches the topic of alcohol pretty heavily, if you don't feel comfortable with it, you probably shouldn't read it! (There is, however, no mention of alcoholism or addiction.)
Anyway, enjoy!
It was always like that.
Something happened to the crew, be it positive or negative, the issue was resolved at some point, and a banquet was thrown. The party lasted for hours, most of the time up until the first lights of the day, and the coming of dawn would signal its end, most of the people involved going to bed, while the ones who had first gone to sleep woke up.
Buggy didn't expect it to be any different now that the two former warlords were here. What he didn't expect was for it to be worse. He didn't expect their presence to spur his men into even more spectacular feasts. Maybe it was to show off, to prove that Buggy's crew, and therefore Buggy, knew how to treat guests. Buggy didn't have a clue, but whatever were the reasons, he hated it.
He was crossing the corridor that led to his quarters, hurrying up, hoping not to run into anyone. Though, as always, Buggy wasn't a lucky man. There in the middle of the path stood Mohji.
Buggy's steps faltered as he saw his first mate. Already, Mohji was coming to meet him. The blue-haired man would have backed away, had he not been sure of getting caught in the corridor.
'Captain, here you are! I was looking for you, come and join us at the party!' His first mate shouted, his words already slurred.
Buggy made a face, trying to find a way out, in vain. Mohji had already grabbed his arm, and was now pulling him back towards the main halls. They could hear the full swing party even through the multiple closed doors, and Buggy already lamented his room.
He let himself get dragged back to the centre of the party, in the middle of musicians and dancing pirates. Next to the bar. The place he had specifically tried to get away from.
He refused the pint he was handed despite the waiter's protests, glaring at him when he didn't accept the refusal. He might have been forced to come back to the party, but he was still the captain. If he didn't want a drink, he wouldn't have a drink.
The music was loud and the counter sticky. He could see drunkards everywhere he looked, not a single sober soul in sight. He reached behind the counter where he knew they kept the non-alcoholic drinks and poured himself one. People wouldn't nag him if he had a glass in hand, no matter its content.
He rose from his stool, going to take a look around. Now that he was back here, he couldn't escape this easily. The captain had to make his presence acknowledged.
He went from table to table, smiling widely though he didn't feel like it, chatting with his men, drinking from his glass every time someone tried to hand theirs. But the further he went inside the hall, the more drunk his men were.
He heaved a sigh as he left the table he'd been at, making a face at the smell of spilled whiskey at his feet. He barely avoided the puddle before he was dragged into another group, someone pouring something in his empty cup. He tried to protest, but he wasn't able to, another man coming to grab him by the shoulders, starting a loud pirate song. The men nearby seemed to react to it as they joined the song, Buggy being forcefully tossed around as his men screamed loudly.
He actually enjoyed this boisterous mood most of the time, but there were days, nights, when it was too much, rekindling memories he'd rather forget, but would never quite be able to.
It wasn't that he didn't like drinking or didn't like alcohol –it would be a lie, even, to say so– but he could definitely go without it most of the time. Buggy didn't like to not be in full possession of his faculties. Losing his swimming abilities had been a blow, and he'd quickly understood that being drunk was a state he would now have to purposefully avoid. As the captain of a group of shady pirates, it didn't quite fit.
Buggy was forced to take a sip from the drink he'd been poured, and he made a face at the taste. The men around laughed, and he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, hating the smell.
He put his glass down, feeling a shiver run down his spine at the thought of having to swallow any more. Well, the captain had been seen, maybe he could hope to be let back to his quarters now?
He made his way through the crowd, being stopped at each step he took by men he didn't remember ever meeting before. He was actually pretty close to his escape room when he was stopped in his tracks by a singular pair of eyes.
He watched, frozen, as Mihawk walked to him, a glass of wine in his hand. There was an amused tilt in the swordsman's eyes, and Buggy sensed the danger here. He took a step back, but he butted into someone.
'Had your fill already, Captain Buggy?' Mihawk asked, and Buggy would have thought the tone highly seductive had he been in any other situation. As of now, he was forced to take yet another glass in his hand, and he could do nothing but swallow down what the strongest swordsman in the world offered him.
He struggled to swallow the tepid liquid. He felt like gagging, but he held back. He swallowed diligently, setting the glass down with a trembling hand, returning the smile to Mihawk, though he doubted it could fool the man. He was surprised to not see the smug air he would have expected on Mihawk's face, but he didn't linger on it. The need to leave was becoming a pressing issue.
He pushed his way through the crowd, startling when a hand landed on his shoulder and he was dragged by the arm to join a dance. He tried to get free, but he was losing control, his hands now shaking too much to properly grab at the fabric and push.
His breathing was growing laboured and he was starting to feel dizzy, wanting to push everyone away, to feel the breeze on his face, and block away the smell of booze that never seemed to leave.
He yelped when an umpteenth hand landed on him, trying to make him open up. He was now sure he was going to throw up any minute. There were tears forming in the corner of his eyes, and he blinked to try to chase them away. He froze when he noticed the sudden darkness surrounding him. He felt a chill down his spine as he took in the shape of the shade he was now in, and he turned slowly towards the newcomer.
Crocodile was towering over him, completely blocking out the light from where he stood. Both impressed and terrified at the sheer size of the other man, Buggy stood there, unmoving.
The other man looked at him up and down, his right hand holding his cigar. He took a drag, before slowly blowing the smoke out. Then, his hook came under Buggy's chin, and the captain was left standing there, still shaking, his wide eyes forced to look into Crocodile's. His usual smugness was missing, and Buggy felt himself being scanned, as if Crocodile tried to probe his soul.
Then, the taller man wordlessly grabbed Buggy by the waist with his hook. He pulled, giving a silent order to Buggy to follow, which the other did, too tired to try anything. Whatever Crocodile wanted, Buggy would give.
The older man led them out of the main room, and Buggy noticed how, though everyone looked at them, no one dared to stop them. They turned into smaller corridors, and it took time to Buggy to catch up on the path they were actually taking. Still, he didn't protest, and followed silently, not as much intimidated by the hook around his waist as he would have been weeks earlier.
Crocodile constantly used his hook, and Buggy had ended up pinned by it countless times ever since the start of Crocodile's stay.
Buggy watched, on his guard, as Crocodile opened the door and pushed Buggy inside. The owner of the room locked the door behind them, and walked to the balcony. He slid the door open, and gestured to Buggy to step out. The blue-haired man complied, gulping.
He welcomed the wave of fresh air gladly, letting the breeze cool his overheated skin. He took a few deep breaths, finding himself relaxing even despite his situation. It took him a few minutes to realise that Crocodile wasn't actually on the balcony with him. He was unsure of what to do. The room wasn't that far from the deck, and he could probably leave by the balcony if he wished, but it would feel quite like a ridiculous escape, even for himself. And that was without even taking into account the fact that he lived on the same boat as Crocodile. If the former-warlord wished to find him, he could do so before dawn.
Swallowing, he took a last breath before stepping back inside the room. Crocodile was there, his eyes immediately on him. He sat in an armchair Buggy didn't remember to be so massive, his hooked hand resting on his laps, the other one on the armrest.
'Better?' He asked, inquisitively.
Buggy wasn't sure of how to react, so he simply nodded, the scene seeming unrealistic to him as it was, standing there, under Crocodile's watchful eye. He wasn't sure why, but it felt like the man had not looked away from him ever since he'd come upon him at the party. Buggy definitely couldn't imagine why Crocodile would do that, but Buggy had stopped trying to understand the motive behind the man's actions. Mihawk's reactions were so much easier to read, the man either didn't look his way, or humiliated him, and there was no in between. Crocodile, though, had unpredictable bouts, just like tonight, when he'd fetched Buggy, at an early state of panic and exhaustion, away from the party.
The former warlord gestured to the seat next to Buggy, and the blue-haired man sat without complying. With his free hand, the scarred man grabbed two glasses, pouring something from the carafe that had been sitting on the coffee table. Buggy gulped as he watched him. Maybe he wasn't as out of the party as he'd expected.
Crocodile slid one of the glasses towards him with the tip of his hook, pointing it with his chin for Buggy to take, which the clown did. The blue-haired man brought it to his lips, mimicking Crocodile's gesture, unable to conceal his frown as he took a sip. A smug air surrounded the older man as he watched, downing his own glass.
Water. The man had poured him water. Buggy drank cautiously, not understanding why Crocodile would serve him water, and even less why Crocodile would keep a carafe of water on his coffee table.
Crocodile was the one to break the silence. 'It repels you, doesn't it?' He finally said.
'What?' Buggy asked, confused.
'Alcohol. You can't stand it.'
'I-.' Buggy wasn't quite sure of what Crocodile's aim was with starting this conversation. He didn't want to say more than he needed to. 'I can handle it. I just-.. It's not my drink of choice.' He clarified.
Crocodile remained silent. Buggy fiddled with his glass, unsure of what to do.
'Why?'
Buggy looked at the other man with wide eyes. He didn't expect Crocodile to actually be talkative and to want to know more about Buggy. He also didn't expect to have to talk about something like that to a man who'd spent the past few weeks simply humiliating and beating him up.
He felt bold as he answered. 'I don't see why I would answer you, there isn't necessarily a reason as to why I mostly don't drink alcohol.' He might regret his dismissive tone.
'But there is one, though, a reason.' Crocodile countered, not deterred in the slightest by Buggy's rebuffal.
'Maybe.' Buggy answered tersely. He didn't want to expose his life to a man he barely knew. Didn't want him to be able to use his emotions against him, especially when it came to a topic as touchy as alcohol. Buggy hadn't lied when he'd said that it wasn't about the taste.
Crocodile put his glass down, letting his arm lazily rest on the armchair. 'I don't drink either. Or only the finest of whiskey, but that's something rare to find these days.'
Buggy looked at him, met his eyes, but remained silent. He'd come to learn that when he didn't understand his interlocutor's intent, it was always better to keep his mouth shut than to rant. Crocodile had learned enough from Buggy when the captain had lost his temper on the stage the other day, he wouldn't have more than this.
Buggy was a discreet man, he only ever talked about himself in specific situations, and never to people who had actively tried to kill him at least once. Crocodile never had any chance.
'Alright.' the older man finally said. He sighed, setting his glass down. He rose from his seat, walking to the balcony. He turned towards him before stepping outside, 'You're free to leave, clown.'
Buggy stayed silent as he waited for the former-warlord to actually step on the balcony before he got up. He walked to the door silently, closing it softly behind him. The cold air and the tension had cleared his dazed mind and he walked the way back to his room lost in his thoughts. For reasons that could be linked to organisational purposes, his, Crocodile's, and Mihawk's rooms were situated close to each other. The two men had never crossed the limit of stepping inside his bedroom whenever he shut himself away there.
Finally locking the door behind him, Buggy heaved a sigh, letting himself slide to the ground. Legs pressed to his chest and forehead resting on his knees, the position brought memories back from another life. Reminded him of too loud music coming from parties that lasted hours, when his tired and smaller self hid behind the packed supplies in the ship's hold in search of calmness.
It wasn't that Buggy didn't like alcohol. It was pleasant at times, the buzz it brought helping to soothe his constant anxiety. But he knew too well his own moderation was not shared by his compatriots.
Buggy remembered the parties on the Oro Jackson where he was the only sober soul amongst hundreds of pirates. He remembered the time Shanks had finally taken up drinking, spurred on by Roger, leaving Buggy alone in favour of drawing the attention of older members of the crew. And if Rayleigh had been a role model in many aspects of their childhood, the first mate had never contravened the call of alcohol.
But Buggy understood, he understood that his way of thinking was not one people shared. He knew that he could never quite understand their eagerness to get drunk when he feared this state. Buggy had long since accepted that he'd always be seen as the killjoy of the night whenever he refused a drink or stopped his men from getting a refill.
So was his life. He'd come to accept it.
He looked up, suddenly feeling the urge to be outside again. He got up, walking to his own balcony, sliding the door open. The cool breeze was still welcome against his skin, and so was the sight of the stars above him. The sea underneath was less alluring.
He could stand it on most nights, having learned to will his panic down whenever he felt it rise. But Buggy would never be fully at peace on a ship. It was a reality he'd had to learn to live in, his devil fruit depriving him of his peace of mind and his body autonomy.
People never seemed to understand it when he mentioned it, so he had stopped bringing the topic up in discussions. Come to think of it, he had mostly stopped talking to people in general. But people never seemed to understand how terrifying the sea was for devil fruits' users, especially when people like the mugiwara kid loved to downplay it. But Buggy would always be terrified of the sea. And his fear would always be amplified by alcohol.
This was the main reason why he had kissed alcohol goodbye. He wouldn't let drunkenness rob him of the control of his own body, and he wouldn't let the sea be the one to take him out.
Feeling his thoughts take a dark turn, he decided that it was definitely time to go to sleep. He took a last look at the sky, and his eyes landed on the window of Crocodile's room. The lights were still on.
Buggy thought back on the other man's behaviour, how Crocodile had suddenly come out right when Buggy had been ready to let the panic take over himself. How he'd led him to fresh air in silence. As if he'd known.
It was ridiculous, really. To think that Crocodile would notice something like this. Would know the effect alcohol could have on the blue-haired man. Crocodile didn't care about him.
Buggy shook his head as he untied his ponytail, his hair falling down at his sides. Crocodile caring about him? Maybe the alcohol was actually going to his head. He snorted, laying down on his bed. Somehow, after tonight's events, the idea didn't seem as ridiculous as usual.
Hey!
Well, this is actually kind of a personal fic, maybe a tad bit too personal, but I felt like I could get some things out through Buggy, and that an aversion to alcohol from him wouldn't be that unlikely anyway! At this point Buggy is both my way to let off steam, and the character I love to coddle the most! The duality of this man, really.
I've definitely hopped on the Buggy/Mihawk/Crocodile bandwagon now and you can totally expect more fics coming from me on these pairings in the future! Also, you can suggest some ideas on the topic, it's always nice to read fresh ideas sometimes!
Also, the last part was also written after reading the chapter 1082, so it must have definitely influenced me in the way I wrote the last part!
Anyway, I hope you liked the fic, don't hesitate to leave comments and favs, it always makes me happy to read and see them!