Chapter 4: Snail Tag
Summary: Drake struggles, as is his usual.
Notes: Art by CrowSizna on Twitter!
"Heeey, you're outta med bay," Grus grins from behind his desk, stupid hat crooked on his head, equally idiotic shoes up on the tabletop. Drake gives him a dark look. Not like he'd had a choice, what with said dumbass hatted idiot forcibly discharging him from it. He would have preferred to avoid the stares from G-14 soldiers on his way to SG-1, especially now, after Smoker and Hina's reactions. Grus' clay soldiers play chess on top of a bucket in the corner, their knees scrunched up to their chins to fit around it.
"Don't worry, I got a room all set up for ya," he spins a pen around in his hand and Drake entertains the idea of transforming and bringing the ceiling down on top of him. Kujaku takes that moment to enter the room, the young woman behind her mostly unfamiliar. A new recruit who joined some time after Drake went undercover. She gives him a shy smile from under her blonde fringe. For a second, Drake is bewildered by it, friendliness as foreign to him as decorum to Grus.
"Drake-kun, did Grus-y tell you who has arrived at base?" Kujaku asks as she sets down a folder thick with papers on Grus' desk, forcing his feet off it.
"Hey, I told you I would, what're you asking him for? I'm the one in charge, should be confirming with me," Grus whines like a child. If Drake was in a better mood, he'd have cringed. But he was not, in fact, in a better mood.
"But aren't you and Drake-san the same rank, Sir?" pipes up the newbie. Grus rolls his eyes at her and gives a thumbs down, muttering under his breath. The girl's eyes are large and innocent, and Drake wonders if one day SWORD will chew up her life and spit her back out.
"Have you seen them yet, Drake-kun?" The trace amount of concern in Kujaku's voice stings like hell. For a moment, she looks like her grandmother, arms crossed, ample hip jutting out. He hadn't spoken to Tsuru-san, not yet ready to face the Dragon of SWORD. Her face falls while looking at him, frown clashing with her pink hat and lithe blonde locks.
"That bad huh? Yeesh, it's a part of the job, they'll get over it," Grus puts his feet back up on the desk, on top of the folder, hands folding behind his head. The picture of ease, but Grus has never been undercover, never claimed to be anything more or less than he is. The newbie squeaks when Kujaku's whip wraps around the moron's neck and squeezes. It almost makes Drake feel better.
"Would you like me to speak to Hina for you?" Kujaku gives him a sympathetic smile. "I doubt it will go far, I'm sure she's angry with me as well, but–"
"No. Stay out of it, this isn't your business." The room goes silent and he realizes that his words have come out harsher than he meant (satisfaction from the discomfort on all their faces in the pit of his stomach says otherwise).
After a long moment, Kujaku sighs "men" with a shake of her head.
"Please pass on my message to Sengoku-san," Drake said into the den den mushi before hanging up. Now was an inopportune time for snail tag, but perhaps it was a blessing. After all, Drake did not feel like talking to anyone, let alone the man he considered mentor.
No, instead he felt torn between tearing something in two or jumping off a cliff.
He dragged the palm of his hand down his face, letting out a breath into the sparse room. Grus had assigned him temporary quarters in what was once a back office on the bottom floor of SG-1. He had no neighbors, only file storage rooms. At least it was quiet, and he had a view of the jail. An unlikely perk, if only because looking at it made him think of Hawkins, and not…
Her blood red lipstick is smudged, just a little bit at the corners where she smiles, and it's all his fault. His first kiss… Drake wonders if he was in a coma and this was all a dream. No one's eyes could be such a stunning shade of purple…
And certainly not look at him like that.
"You are staring," Hina says, as if he could ever tear his eyes away. Or would even want to.
"S-sorry," he mumbles, heat sprouting across his cheeks. Her fingers brush over his chin, across his lips. She smells like clean linen, like perfectly pressed dress shirts, like roses in winter.
"Hina does not mind, Hina likes to stare too."
Her eyes had been so empty. Hollowed out. Closed off. Worse than Smoker's. At least he could see the fury and rage there, the…despise. "Dammit," Drake whispered. This is not how he wanted things to go, but when was it ever? When had things ever gone the way he wanted?!
The watch was changing at the jail, the guard stalking across the dark courtyard with a yawn. Drake watched him through the window, specks of snow tumbling down.
The cot creaks on the left side, the sheets stink of dust and bleachy starch. The ceiling is speckled with dots and blobs of stucco, dark shadows filling each little cranny. The opposite of the stars.
But still, he can trace constellations of his own creation. He prefers to close his eyes and imagine the deck of the Liberal Hind, the sea rocking him back and forth. Or the rich wooded ceiling of Onigaishima. Or–
Smoker's quarters smell like cologne and cigars, the corners where the ceiling meets the walls is blurry with curls of smoke. The shorter man can't fully control his new powers yet, and the fire alarm hangs unplugged. He smiles at the snore that comes from his elbow, Smoker's face peeking out under smokey spikes.
Purupurupuru
Drake stares at the snail on the filing cabinet but makes no move to answer it.
"Call me back, pick an unreasonable hour like this one, this Emperor mess even has retirees like me being put to work." Sengoku's voice barks out from the den den mushi before hanging up. A call Drake could have answered. The guilt is just another drop in the bucket.
Snow has piled up against the window, the jail across the way a lone little light. Drake wonders if Hawkins is cold, but knows the answer.
"Damn, just got a report that the Straw Hat fleet is getting into beef with Akagami's territory. Wouldn't be a problem except a couple villages have been torched in the process." Grus scribbles notes on three different pads of paper, extra clay hands zooming across the pages.
Drake says nothing, this information having nothing to do with him and wishing the chair and table in this part of Grus's office were larger. He fits nowhere it seems.
"You ever get into beef with any of those weirdos with the Straw Hats?" This time the question is directed at him.
"Cavendish, once. He's a nonce. There are bigger threats." Like Who's Who, Ulti, Page One. Fucking Scratchman Apoo. The breakdown of Kaido's chain of command will create a power vacuum. Big Mom's too.
Drake stares down at the debrief he's trying to fill out. Sum up his mission, his life for the last five years to be filed away. All the information he'd gathered will be useless soon. Might as well be useless now.
But protocol, protocol.
"Yeah yeah, you got to rub shoulders with the big boys. Whatever." Grus' pettiness clear as day. "Vice Admiral Tsuru is supposed to call me later. She'll probably have new orders for you to get outta my hair."
Drake's pen freezes above the paper. New orders…? Another place with another role to play, another mask another lie–
He gets up, Grus blinking at him in surprise. "I need additional info to complete this." Drake leaves his barely started report on the table before he strides out the door, pretending not to see the flash of concern in Grus' eyes.
The door to the archives blows shut behind him, snow whirling to the floor in tiny flurries. Drake breathes on his hands, rubbing them together. Ever since he'd eaten his devil fruit, the cold hit him harder than he'd like. The archives of G-14 are laid out like archives on every base. Tall stacks of shelves filled with briefs on local pirate crews, nearby islands, maps. It smells like late nights under a paltry desk lamp, dust tickling his nose. He can hear the distant shuffling of feet among the shelves, folders being shifted, scarce ensigns poking about with their carts full of papers. It isn't a place those of his rank often visit. If he had a normal crew, he'd have a lieutenant request the wanted posters and dossiers he needed.
Instead, it's up to him. Alone with the memories in his head. Of Ulti and her exhausted brother, of avoiding Who's Who, of Kaido's weapons factory numbers. Drake turns down the aisle he wants and stops abruptly, a thought occurring to him. Hawkins would have additional information, things to corroborate Drake's reports, insight into the places the former Beast Pirate crews would sneak away to…
Something to bargain for his release into Drake's custody. Doll would have a much harder time denying his release if there was something to be gained. Hope –or its mimic– bubbled in his chest.
Until he saw a flash of pink in the corner of his eye.
Hina strode past his aisle, long beautiful hair flowing. Two subordinates carrying an assortment of papers follow in her wake. Before Drake could stop himself, he was at the end of his aisle, staring after her, mouth open to call out. But what? What the hell was he doing? What would he say to her?! Her name strangled itself on his lips.
Hina glanced over her shoulder, their eyes meeting for an instant, a thousand years, a night of endless darkness, a punch to the throat.
He stifled a noise against her collarbone, clean laundry and rose perfume like heroin. "Quiet or we will be caught." Hina's purple eyes sparked with heady adrenaline, her fingers brushing against his inner thigh. Folders on the shelf behind him caught the hair on the back of his neck–
Her face was a blank mask, an endless void, and she looked away, leaving him behind.
"Special Inspector Sengoku is not available at the moment, would you like to leave the best time for him to call you back?" The assistant's voice, probably a Captain in rank, hell maybe even someone Drake's own rank croaked through the line. They sounded tired.
"No, just tell him I called." Drake hung up, his den den mushi eying him in suspicion before closing its eyes to go back to sleep. All was dark in Drake's quarters, no sky outside his window, only snow packed against the glass. If he transformed, the room would go from black to shades of gray, after all, what was darkness to a beast?
He stayed human.
"I'll consider it."
"Consider-? I know he has a high bounty but–"
"I said I'll consider it. Just because you have the clearance to commit crimes doesn't mean he does. Basil Hawkins is a pirate, Rear Admiral Drake," Vice Admiral Doll states, fingers tapping on her desk. Her dig at his status as both SWORD and his lower rank is meant to irritate him. He wishes it wasn't working.
"Right," he mutters. She studies him with her dark eyes before poking at the file open on her desk. A dossier on Hawkins, his sins filling more than a few pages. Drake wonders how many his own could fill.
"Have you considered the possibility that he'll betray you the moment he has the chance?" Doll sighs. His lips tighten to a thin line. Of course he had, he wasn't a moron. But Drake knew Hawkins. Trusted him, even after becoming enemies at Onigaishima. Loyalty like Hawkins' was hard to come by and… well, if there was ever a time to earn it, it was now. Devotion was rare anywhere, and the Navy would certainly be richer for it (like it was with him, wasn't it?).
"Have you considered that he might not be the typical pirate?"
"Don't push it, Lizard Boy," she barks back through gritted teeth. The old unwanted nickname rolls so easily off her tongue but takes him by surprise. Like finding a forgotten photo packed in a box, ready to be dusted off.
A knock draws both their attention. "Vice Admiral, Lieutenant Helmeppo is here to see you," Barbie intones through the door.
"Ugh, again? Tell him to go talk to Grus!" Doll rubs the bridge of her nose. "This business with Captain Koby is a pain in the butt…"
Drake frowns, but doesn't press the topic further.
Why was it that jails, no matter where you were or who was in charge, were always the same? Iron bars, bad lighting, equally bad smell, and stone stone stone. He'd only ever been to Impel Down once before, the top level full of hollering and jeering pirates. It was enough to see it was probably the well-funded blueprint for jails across the seas. The open air prisons on Wano were just cheaper versions. But Drake had to give it to Doll, she at least kept up repairs. Granted, her goal was just to keep prisoners there alive long enough to be transferred to Impel Down or make sentencing, not work them until they perished.
Hawkins is resting on an ancient cot in the corner of his cell, the same spot Drake had seen him a week prior, good arm shackled with seastone.
"Ah, you return," Hawkins states in that calm, even tone of his. The guard down the hall shifts slightly. The guy was trying to eavesdrop surreptitiously, and failing spectacularly. Drake moves to block Hawkins from his view.
"How's the arm?" He grunts. If Hawkins had been free of the seastone, he'd be healing faster, but Drake couldn't fault Doll for following procedure, despite personal feelings.
"Lacking," Hawkins says. Drake blinks, not sure if he's ever heard him joke before. That doesn't stop a wry smile from appearing on his face. His cheeks feel like stretching a weak muscle. "It will heal in time," Hawkins adds, as if he's talking about yesterday's lunch. Drake nods, silence filling the space between them. It was odd, after more than a year of perhaps not simple, but camaraderie between them, now what can he say?
"Tell me… how is the outside?" Hawkins seems content to fill the silence.
"Fall out from Kaido and Big Mom's defeat is causing problems all over," Drake shrugs. That much is to be expected. Their own fates are just casualties among the casualties. Hawkins blinks boredly, tilting his head. His blonde hair is dirty, like straw instead of burnished gold. Dried blood sticks to his ruined clothing. The only clean thing on him are the various bandages across his body. He looks wrong, incorrect. Drake notes to bring him a change of clothes, if the guard lets him.
"What will come to pass will come to pass," Hawkins drawls. A silly aphorism. No one could stop the future from being born, no more than they could stop the wind from blowing or the sun from rising. But from Hawkins, it holds meaning.
"No readings for me huh?" The cold air of the jail seeps through Drake's leather coat.
"My cards are lost to the winds," Hawkins shrugs, palm up, gesturing to the air. To god. To fate. Drake frowns sheepishly. He'd forgotten that Hawkins likely lost them in the fires and fury of Wano. "But it is alright, I do not need them any longer."
"Oh?"
"I have decided to take fate into my own hands from now on," a light enters Hawkins' eyes and Drake almost smiles, wondering at the odd feeling of relief in his chest.
"So what's your firs-"
"Oi, visiting time is up!" the guard interrupts, eyes darting back and forth between them. He notes the white knuckled grip the soldier has on his rifle. As if a simple bullet could stop Drake. It would be easy to tear the man in two, better still to eat him entirely. Leave no trace of his actions, he'd done it before. The thought makes him ill. He nods at the guard, his comrade in arms, turning to go. With a last look at Hawkins, Drake leaves the jail behind.
The sun is bright, the sky a piercing penetrating exhilarating blue as he emerges from the dank prison. The storm from the night before had passed, pristine white snow sitting pretty across the base. Gunpowder had yet to stain it gray gray gray.
Going back to his quarters holds little appeal, though it was safe from stares and whispers. All that waits for Drake there is silence. For a moment, he misses his ship, his crew, the raucous sounds of the Beast Pirates. Misses Smoker bickering with Hina over plans for shore leave, Hina's jabs sharp and bright, Smoker's a low growl underlaid with warmth–
Drake sucks in a breath, clenching his fist.
Sudden shrill child's laughter echoes out, bouncing around the corner of the barracks building. He freezes in place, confused. Children? On a Navy post as close to action as this? He follows the sound, curious.
Around the corner sits one of the training areas covered in a thick layer of snow. Children, several of them of various unexpected sizes, dash back and forth across the snow involved in a game. Drake stares, mouth open, bewildered.
"Tashigi-san Tashigi-san! Watch me!" cries a young boy just before he dives headfirst into the snow. He's easily Drake's height, an absurd size for a child. He pops up from the snow a moment later, ice crystals clinging to his fuzzy hair.
A pretty woman in a pink coat smiles at the boy, black hair pulled into a bun on top of her head. She's a solid foot shorter than the huge children racing around, though Drake spots a few who are a more typical size darting between the legs of the larger ones. A group of girls are making a snowman a little ways from the rowdy group. The smallest one is proper child sized, and the snowman towers over her.
"He needs a nose!" the little one cries, face pink from the cold. "We don't have any carrots though," says a girl taller than Drake, but she can't be any older than ten. Drake has seen many odd things on the Grand Line, but this was certainly going on his list.
The woman, Tashigi, a Captain now that Drake takes notice of the epaulets on her shoulders, notices the group of girls' plight. "Smoker-san! Can the girls borrow one of your cigars please?"
The breath catches in Drake's throat. So distracted by the scene of carefree joy before him, he hadn't noticed the man watching carefully from the edge of the field. Drake jerks backward, into the shadow of the barracks, recalling the absolute fury in Smoker's eyes from just a few days prior.
But he can't seem to force himself to leave the scene.
Smoker plucks a cigar off his coat and hands it to the smallest girl who has rushed over to him, an enormous smile on her face. Her purple pigtails bounce on her head as she scurries back over to her friends, prize in hand. The dark haired woman smiles at Smoker.
And Smoker smiles back. Small, relaxed, reserved, but oh so kind. The type of smile he used to give Drake after a long night on watch, or after a good spar, or after–
Pain lances through Drake's chest more blinding than the purest snow.
His room is dark, silent, only the light from the jail across the way shines in, illuminating the floor and the outline of Drake's boots. He stares up at the ceiling once again, this time tracing patterns in the stucco.
There, one looks like a ship, below it, a triceratops. Off to the left, two people dancing. Hina used to love to dance with him, even though he was terrible. Fuck . In the right corner of the room is the shape of a wakazashi. The tip of it leads to the feathered head of a microraptor above an iguana lying in wait. The rounded shape of a snowman sits near it.
Smoker smiling flashes before his eyes. "Dammit," Drake sucks in air, covering his eyes with his hand. He had to stop thinking about them. They weren't his anymore! The dark haired woman, cute with warm brown eyes… Of course Smoker wouldn't wait for him. Why would he?! Hina had probably moved on too.
He was alone. This was what he had signed up for wasn't it? Alone but they were safe right? Except Smoker had a new scar on his face (that damned scar on his chest!), Kaido's downfall spitting out pirate territory spats, Hina's subordinates had scars, her eyes so cold. Had he done anything worth it?! He couldn't even stop Kaido! The faces of terrified Wano citizens fired rapidly across his mind.
Smoker laying on his arm on the left, smiling gently, strands of Hina's long pink hair splay across them both. She snores when she's truly exhausted though she'll never admit it.
"God dammit!" Drake slams his fist into the wall above his head, throat tight. He'd fucked up everything! What good had he done?! Years of effort to become a powerful and feared pirate, to be brought inside Kaido's inner circle! And for what?! What was the point now?! To get another assignment, another mask, to screw with another Yonko crew to–
Purupurupurupuru
He turned slowly to stare at the snail, before his hand flew out to grab the receiver.
"Diez Drake here."
"About time we finished this game of tag," comes Sengoku's voice. The scrappy sound of paper being chewed floats over the line.
"Yeah," he says, dragging his palm down his face. Years of training keep his voice steady despite the painful lump in his throat. Despite the pounding of his heart, despite the trembling in his hands. Someone says something on Sengoku's side, their voice muffled. More paper shuffling, footsteps. "HQ is really busy at all hours huh? Should I be worried?"
"Tch, the damn seas are a mess. Glad I am Fleet Admiral no longer," Sengoku chuckles darkly. Now there's the sound of a bag of crackers being opened. "How are you readjusting to Navy life?"
"Fine, the hardest part is the uniform," Drake responds. A soft goat bleat in the background, then a cracker crunch.
"Mmn. Tsuru-chan tells me you've bumped into Smoker and Hina already." The words hang in the air, and Drake curses Kujaku. Of course she'd say something to her grandmother.
"I…" Drake trails off, gripping the receiver tightly. More cracker crunching noises, more paper shuffling, more muffled voices in the background. Then the sound of a door shutting and the background noise disappears.
"The hardest part is the uniform huh?" Sengoku's voice is kind. The lump in Drake's throat throbs.
"Y-yeah, it uh…" Drake takes a deep breath. Or tries too. It gets stuck around the lump. His eyes are tight. "I… I believe they hate me," he whispers hoarsely. Sengoku sighs on the line, the snail which has taken on his eyes and hair, gives him a soft look.
"Well, what do you want to do about it?" his mentor says after a minute, long enough for Drake to recover some of his composure. He swallows, knowing the snail on Sengoku's line is probably looking like a kicked puppy. He'll feel embarrassed later, when the pain lessens.
"I don't know. Apologize?" Drake almost laughs. He was pretty sure neither Hina or Smoker wanted to speak to him at all, let alone let him get that far.
"You have nothing to apologize for, you did what you needed to do in the line of duty. Justice requires sacrifice." Drake winces from Sengoku's suddenly harsh tone, speaking like the Fleet Admiral he used to be.
Silence stretches between them. Sengoku sighs, his eyes closing briefly and Drake is slightly amazed that the den den mushi gets across aged regret so well with just bushy eyebrows and a tight frown.
"...But you might want to start with giving them an explanation. And if they don't want to hear it, well, that's their call." Drake nods, running a tired hand through his hair. "Now, I hear you captured Basil Hawkins…"
Notes:
Getting into the meat of it now. Angst time~