A wine for all occasions
-Mihawk-
"Here's to Zoro!" they all repeated, cheering loudly, raising their glasses as beer dripped to the ground, and he between them, Doctor Chopper on his shoulder, the captain's arm around the other, Cutty Fram ruffled through his hair without him resisting before he bumped his jug against the sniper's, a big smile on his lips, laughing, drowned out only by the Straw Hat.
Just at that moment, he seemed incredibly young, incredibly happy, and in the absolutely right place in the world. The navigator playfully punched him against the upper arm, while he met her gaze with a mischievous smile. The next moment, Jinbei patted his back so energetic Doctor Chopper fell to the ground. Then the musician bowed to him briefly, but he only wrapped an arm around those bony shoulders and forced him to empty his beer in one gulp, a coarse saying on his lips, his hair still sticking out in all directions, cheered on by the crewmembers.
He seemed truly light-hearted, as he greeted Nico Robin's clever comment with a wink and called for a new beer, which the Chef handed him with a joking insult. Again, he laughed, not that wicked laugh when he allowed himself some mean joke, not that surprised laugh when he did not really want to laugh, not that quiet laugh he had shown so often in recent years. He laughed as if he were the happiest person in the world, here among these people, at this moment. He laughed as if he had never experienced anything bad in his life, freed from all the burden he had ever carried. It was a wonderful sound.
And then he looked at him, just for a moment before he was distracted by the sniper, but that one moment, for a split second, that smile had been for him, just him.
"Why are you sitting here all by yourself, Hawk Eyes? The party is over there." The Chef joined him, leaned against the railing, and pulled out a cigarette. "Or are you sulking? It would be pretty selfish if you're just hanging around, wallowing in your self-pity and can't even be happy for him, you know that?"
"You should be aware that I am pretty selfish," he replied calmly as the other lit his cigarette.
"So are you really sulking, or why are you hiding back here while everyone else is partying over there?"
"Then why are you here? Do you begrudge him?"
He could feel the Chef's gaze on him, but he kept his eyes on Roronoa. Then the other snorted.
"I don't want you to spoil his mood by sulking here all alone while he's so happy. That's why I'm standing here and pretending to have a civilized conversation with you."
"Daring of you to think it would relax him in any way. The last time we spoke like that, I was tempted to cut off your head."
The other groaned softly. "Yes, maybe, but back then we were rather hostile towards each other, those days are over now."
"Speak only for yourself."
"Asshole."
With that rather simpleminded reply they stayed there in silence, the Chef leaning against the railing, smoking his cigarette, Mihawk in his chair, his arms crossed in front of his bandaged chest, and they both watched the crew and him in their midst, with that smile that was so unusual for him.
"Almost like a different person, right? I barely recognize him," came from the Chef after a few seconds. "Usopp once said that he used to laugh a lot, his jokes apparently were really nasty, but... I've never really seen him laugh, like really laugh, I think. Usopp said he had stopped after..."
"I had defeated him."
The Chef nodded.
"In Jiroushin's presence, he sometimes laughs, rarely, never like he does now. One of the many reasons why I do not like this crew, because I cannot bring out that side of him."
He could feel the other's gaze on him. Was it so unusual for him to share his weakness with unwelcome strangers? Well, at least today he should be allowed some melancholy.
"What are you talking about?" grumbled the other. "Are you really that blind?"
"My eyes are of excellent quality," he remarked with a raised eyebrow.
"Then you must be pretty stupid. You do know that you are the reason for this?" said the Chef and nodded to the crowd of celebrants. "But well, I guess you don't see it that way. Maybe it's understandable, I guess, certainly not a nice day for you."
He did not say anything, and this time the Chef really kept his mouth shut. But, alas, he stayed. So, they watched the others, and he in their midst, that honest smile on his lips, that cheerful laugh in the air, and sometimes, every now and then, his gaze fell on Mihawk.
"Come on? Are you really that miserable you can't even give him a smile? Don't be an ass."
Mihawk sighed.
"The only miserable thing about this evening is your presence, Chef. Even if you cannot imagine it, I am not sulking at all."
"Oh no? Then why are you sitting here?"
"Because I do not like festivities. Loud music, bad alcohol, and exhausting people. There is nothing edifying about it. I am only here because I promised him once that I would be present at this celebration."
The Chef was silent for a moment.
"Well, that sounds like an excuse to me."
Mihawk sighed again, what annoying company he had.
"Tell me, Chef, you would call yourself a pretty passable cook."
"Don't hurt yourself," the other laughed softly. "I'm a damn good cook, yes, you're right."
"Mhm, and I am sure you have high expectations of yourself and the food you prepare."
"Of course. Every cook should."
He nodded again.
"Certainly, and now imagine that no one in the world can create food as good as you. They all try, but compared to your food, it is all... uninspired, boring, ordinary." He could feel the other's gaze on him as he continued to keep an eye on the pirate crew. "I cannot think of anything sadder for a chef."
At last, the Chef was silent, and when he had finished his cigarette, he left, leaving Mihawk his peace, as much peace as one could have in the presence of this crew.
But to Mihawk's misfortune, he came back quickly.
"I actually wanted to tease you a little bit so you wouldn't be in such a bad mood anymore," he explained, as if they were something that amounted to a friendly disposition. "But apparently you don't need any encouragement at all. On the contrary, we should rather celebrate."
"What do you think your crew is doing right now? I hope this hustle and bustle does not correspond to a usual dinner on board of this ship."
The Chef bowed his head slightly, as if he could not quite deny it, but he smiled. "Well, they're celebrating. But over there it's all about the Marimo. But you also have something to celebrate, don't you? And I think I have something appropriate for that." He pulled out a bottle that he had obviously hidden behind his back until that moment.
"It is sad that you are so desperate for someone to share your enjoyment of a good wine with that you even turn to me," Mihawk replied coldly.
"You could just say thank you and not be such an ass for a moment," the Chef objected annoyed. "And what's so terrible about it when we toast each other with some high-quality wine?"
They looked at each other for a moment.
"By all means," Mihawk sighed and rose. "But not with that booze there."
"Booze?! That's a Tignanello!"
"I know, and it may be an appropriate wine for your evening event. But you are right, I have something to celebrate, and a Tignanello is absolutely not enough for that." So he left the other behind, went to his boat, and fetched what he thought appropriate.
The voices of the Straw Hats accompanied him all the way. Among them was this warm laugh, which he had never heard so often in one evening.
When he returned, the Chef stood there, the bottle gone, his gaze caught between indignation out of conviction and curiosity out of principle. Maybe, just maybe, it would not be so bad to find someone in the Chef who could appreciate Mihawk's collection a little differently than Roronoa did.
He handed the bottle to the boy, and he held it so tightly that he trembled all the way up to his upper arms.
"A... a..."
"Vega Sicilia, correct."
Now the Chef stared at him. "But this is a Unico. There are only a few bottles of it every few years. The cheapest ones start at 500,000 berries."
"I know, pay attention to the label."
Oh, yes, it gave him pleasure, he wanted to admit that.
"1503," muttered the other, before making a loud note of surprise. "The lost vintage. Actually, this blend is from 1502, but due to an oversight it was incorrectly declared as a year 1503, which is why it cannot be found in the listings. Such a bottle costs a fortune."
"I know."
The blond stared at him, and he could almost see how thousands of thoughts rushed through his head.
"It is by no means the most valuable wine in my collection," Mihawk continued. "But in fact, it is one of my absolute favorites. Its density, its simple rich flavors and how little by little the finest nuances are revealed, which are hardly noticeable at first taste. Well then, serve it."
The Chef was only too happy to comply with this request. Hurried away with the bottle and came back shortly afterwards with a tray.
Mihawk took one of the glasses offered and for the moment just enjoyed the sight of this dark wine, let it breathe a little more. Meanwhile, his gaze fell back on Roronoa, who was chasing after his captain who seemed to have stolen something from him.
"The bouquet is truly extraordinary," remarked the Chef reverently, "and the deep color. Despite the light, it looks completely black."
Mihawk could not quite agree with that, but he also adored the dark tone of the wine.
"Maybe there's something good about you being the freaking companion of our Marimos."
"You are drinking a Unico right now, you should be a little more grateful, Chef."
Apparently Roronoa had reclaimed whatever it was, for triumphantly he raised his fist to the sky while the Straw Hat tried to reach for it, whining childish insults as he failed.
"Thank you." Surprised, he looked at the Chef, who looked back with an embarrassed smile. "You wouldn't have to share it with me, so thank you."
"Oh, a good wine should not be drunken alone."
For a moment they looked at each other, almost stunned.
"It's really creepy when you're nice. Is the wine poisoned?"
"To kill you, I would not even bother to come up with a ruse. And it would be a shame for the good wine."
"Ah, there he is, I was already getting worried."
Now they were silent again and examined their wine glasses.
"Oh, we forgot to toast," the Chef murmured, holding out his glass to him. "Don't look like that. You said yourself that it's a reason to celebrate."
Sighing, Mihawk relented and raised his glass.
"To inspiring, exciting, and extraordinary fights," said the Chef calmly, "and to the laughter of the best swordsman in the world."
He felt his cheeks getting warm, but he nodded.
"To Roronoa."
"I heard my name." With a soft grunt, Roronoa dropped to the floor beside Mihawk's chair, opened his hand, and revealed one of his earrings, which the Straw Hat had stolen from him. "You two haven't been at each other's throats yet?"
"Surprisingly, no," Mihawk replied, to which the Chef rolled his eyes. "We have just toasted to our fight and your victory."
He could see it rattling behind that sharp gaze as Roronoa looked first at his glass, then at the Chef, and then at him, leaning his shoulder against Mihawk's leg and putting the earring back on. It seemed as if he was evaluating their entire conversation without even knowing the content.
"Would you like to try the wine?" Mihawk offered, whereupon Roronoa nodded slowly and reached for the bottle.
"You don't drink a wine like that from a bottle, Marimo," the Chef immediately instructed him.
"Hey, it's my party, so I'll drink the wine as it suits me."
"Would you still be so kind to take a glass for once? For my sake?" He offered his glass and after a breath Roronoa gave in and grabbed it.
"What a waste of..." Mihawk interrupted the Chef with a clear look.
Roronoa, meanwhile, examined the glass and then sipped it once, as if he did not trust the quality.
"Oh, it almost tastes like the one you picked out for Jiroushin back then," he rightly recognized.
"It is the same winery, but different vintages," Mihawk explained with a slight smile in the direction of the Chef. "Which one do you prefer?"
Roronoa took another sip – this time much more generous – and emptied the glass.
"Definitely this one," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "It's good, we should drink it more often."
A stunned sound escaped the Chef, while Roronoa put down the glass at Mihawk's feet and, cursing, chased after the sniper who had started some strange singsong a few seconds ago, which was probably supposed to represent the ballad about Roronoa's victory.
"We should drink it more often? Is this guy nuts? This is a..."
"It was his highest praise, Chef. Even if he does not know it himself, Roronoa actually does not have a bad palate." He sighed softly. "Which only makes his enjoyment of quantities of cheap booze even more incomprehensible."
"What are you talking about?"
He just smiled gently, poured himself anew, and watched Roronoa pulling the sniper off the table and talking to him, obviously annoyed, whereupon the sniper rubbed the back of his neck apologetically, but not in the least intimidated.
"Feel free to find out for yourself. Try different wines on him and you will find that he will drink them all, because he drinks alcohol purely out of principle, but reacts differently. He will drink a wine he does not like, complaining about the fact that there is only wine, but otherwise wordlessly. Wines like this one appeal to him. He also prefers full-bodied tart aromas to light or sweet nuances. However, his simple rules apply to wine as well, the more alcohol, the better, unfortunately."
The Chef snorted softly, but was distracted by the Straw Hat, who called for him whiningly.
"I don't have the time to test the taste of an alcoholic, some of us have a real job." With that, he left. "But thanks for the wine. Next time I'll be able to offer you a better one."
Oh, he must have scratched the pride of a cook.
"Challenge accepted."
Cautiously, he put down the bottle, watched the crew thoughtfully, and noticed Roronoa's gaze, who had obviously scolded enough, took a quick look at Chef throwing new meat for the Straw Hat on the grill, and then came back over to Mihawk. Apparently, he had not wanted to interrupt their conversation just yet.
"Why are you sitting here on the sidelines? Talking to the Cook?" he grumbled with a soft grin and came back over to Mihawk.
"I just wanted my peace and quiet. It is not my fault the Chef drew the wrong conclusion and wanted to cheer me up. He really is an incorrigible do-gooder."
"You want your peace and quiet at a party? You really make no sense," Roronoa commented dryly, sat down next to Mihawk again and reached for the wine bottle. "Besides, it would be understandable if you... wouldn't be happy, right?"
"Would it?" Mihawk replied, looking down at Roronoa. "I am happy, despite my defeat, despite the loud presence of your crewmembers. Is that not understandable?"
Roronoa snorted softly. "You're in a weird mood again. But if you're asking whether I enjoyed the fight, then you know my answer."
In consensual silence, they examined Roronoa's crew. It was a pleasant night, the air was warm, accompanied by a fresh wind that smelled of the sea.
"By the way, I've been thinking," Roronoa remarked, taking a small sip from the bottle. "This one is really good. Your favorite wine, isn't it?"
"Oh dear, should I be worried?" Mihawk replied, finally putting his glass to his lips.
"I think I want to sleep with you."
He choked on the wine.
"Excuse me?" Coughing, he turned forward, had known it would be a mistake to sip on the wine. He looked down at Roronoa questioningly, not knowing why he was bringing up this topic now. "You mean... now? As in right now? Immediately?"
"No, not now. You're not fit yet, and Chopper would probably get mad," Roronoa spoke calmly.
"Oh, all of a sudden you are listening to your doctor?" Mihawk felt his cheeks warm up. Fortunately, the crew did not seem to be aware of their quiet conversation. "Well, not tonight. But have you already thought about a when? I have to admit that I did not expect this topic right now, so it would help me a bit if I knew whether we are talking about this month, this year or ten years from now."
He used many words to hide his nervousness, his insecurity, although it was Roronoa who was supposed to be nervous, perhaps even uncertain, but as often he was not, while he was probably thinking about Mihawk's many words.
"Before you leave," he then decided, before following up a little more cautiously: "Of course, only if you want to."
Now it was Mihawk's turn to laugh.
"It is quite adorable that you are questioning this." He looked down at Roronoa and this time Roronoa blushed at last. "Agreed, before I leave." Then he finally sipped his wine and was able to enjoy it. "You are spoiling me. The fight, your words, and now this."
Roronoa blushed even more, took a deep mouthful from the bottle, and averted his gaze.
"I don't like it when you say crap like that," he mumbled.
"And yet you love me," Mihawk remarked, half-jokingly, but not quite.
"Yes," Roronoa growled, rising, and looking down at him, "so don't forget that." With these words he went back to his friends and Mihawk watched him, a smile on his lips and the wine in his hand.