Myth

Characters: Jean Bart, Polar Tang. Rating: K. Warnings: None

When Jean Bart had followed Trafalgar onto the submarine for the first time, he had never imagined that within a week he would be helping the Polar Tang dance her way through ice and bullets of light as they dived as fast as she was capable of down towards the seabed. As it turned out, not only was he in that exact position, but he did it successfully. A single scratch would have been disastrous at those depths, yet despite being the combined attacks of two of the Admirals, the Polar Tang never felt the fatal sting.

Some ships were more responsive than others. That was a fact of life, and powered by engines rather than the wind, Jean Bart could see how the Polar Tang could be easier to handle than a sailboat. Waves were no issue when you were below them, and the nuances of the wind were irrelevant even when they were on the surface. But at the hands of a truly genius helmsman, one of those sailboats could truly dance.

Jean Bart hadn't thought that the clunky-looking submarine could do that, and certainly not with him at the helm. He was experienced, but he was not one of the masters that could coax a ship to dance.

He was wrong.

Adrenaline was a powerful tool. Under its effects, humans could do feats far beyond their usual capabilities, and trapped alone at the helm with death pursuing them far too doggedly behind them, he had honestly thought that was it. Trafalgar's gamble hadn't paid off, and they were all going to die because any moment they'd be caught by the ice, or slashed wide open by the light. No matter how doggedly he clung to the controls, watching the sonar scream warnings as the Polar Tung lurched from side to side as if caught in a violent storm, there was no way he'd be able to guide her past the barrage in one piece.

The controls had been light in his hands. It wasn't the first time Jean Bart had controlled the ship – lessons on her unusual steering had been one of the first things he'd received, barring a medical check-up – but never before had the controls been so light under his hands. There was the thrum of life, as if the ship was a living being rather than a metal box, and determination flowed through him.

The smallest motion had her flying from side to side, twisting and looping in impossible movements as each attack passed them by. Faster and faster she went, until the altimeter was little more than a blur, and Jean Bart was terrified that they were going too fast, that her hull couldn't take the pressure, but she held out, leaving the ice far behind them and responding so quickly that it was almost as though she was reading his mind.

He mentioned it later, when they were safe (somehow, impossibly, safe), and his nakama grinned widely. Shachi rested a hand on the pipes lining the corridor fondly, dragging his fingers along the section gently.

"She's a good ship," he said, cryptically. "The best ship." Jean Bart understood the sentiment, but the implication didn't register until Shachi rested his head against the pipe as well. "Thank you." It wasn't addressed to him, he realised, but to the ship herself.

He'd spent enough time on the seas to know of the tales. Ships that became more than just ships, rising to the occasion to do impossible things to save their crews. They were just stories of superstition, he'd thought, the delusions of dying men as their ships sank. But he couldn't deny what had just happened, how the controls had moved almost before he'd guided them – how they'd escaped from certain death. There was something special about the submarine and, looking around, he could see how whole-heartedly the crew believed in her.

If Klabautermann really existed, Jean Bart mused, looking at the love his new nakama poured into her, the Polar Tang surely had one.

"Thank you," he rumbled even later, catching a moment of solitude to mimic Shachi's earlier actions and resting his hand over one of the pipes. His hand wrapped all the way around it, and he felt a pulse running through. It could have just been the natural movement of the submarine's mechanisms, but the timing was too perfect.

You're welcome, it seemed to say, the warmth inexplicably shifting up his arm, as far as his elbow. It felt a little bit like when Ikkaku had hung from his arm for no reason other than it seemed fun.

The idea of an invisible fairy mimicking her actions brought a small grin to his face.

Their escape from Marineford was awesome, but I can't see how Jean Bart could have dodged all of Kizaru's attacks, especially as he'd only been in the crew (and subsequently on the Tang) a week at the time. But if you look back to Enies Lobby, and the Merry sailing herself, maybe the Tang had some input in the evasion. We don't know all that much about what a Klabautermann can do and under what circumstances, but as usual I have a few headcanons.

Thanks for reading!
Tsari