Over the years, it had become the norm for the Roger Pirates and Whitebeard Pirates to get together and party whenever the two crews were on the same Island while traversing the Grand Line. Whitebeard and Gold D. Roger had long maintained a friendly rivalry that involved fighting to a draw and then drinking until they were too drunk to stand up. Because of their Captains' unusual friendship, the two crews were close.

So it wasn't unusual for the two crews to come together when they had new members to introduce—much to Crocodile's chagrin. She hated the fanfare both crews gave those moments and that it would inevitably devolve into more socialization than she'd prefer.

So when Roger showed up one afternoon with Rayleigh, Roger's longsuffering first mate, and his two new apprentices in tow, Crocodile knew that it wouldn't be a quiet night. And there'd be no sneaking off to her room until the party was in full swing.

"Whitebeard. You're looking old and feeble," Crocodile rolled her eyes at Roger's pathetic attempt at a quip. Whitebeard was not old, and he had never been feeble a day in his life.

"Roger. Still the same irritating little bastard you've always been," Sitting on his large chair with a drink in one hand, Whitebeard propped his chin on his closed fist. Crocodile stopped paying attention as the two men devolved into increasingly petty insults. 'Same old, same old," She thought as she glanced at Silvers Rayleigh and the two preteens hiding behind the blonde woman's coattails. The boy was small and thin, with the most vibrant red hair Crocodile had ever seen. He looked like a troublemaker, boldly staring out from behind Rayleigh's hip with eager, wide eyes at the fight that was steadily increasing in volume and threats of bodily harm.

On the other hand, the young girl was hiding firmly behind Rayleigh. Crocodile only caught a few glimpses of her; sky-blue hair, big fairytale princess blue eyes and a big, goofy-looking red nose.

Not the youngest kids Crocodile had ever seen as part of a pirate crew, but they weren't much older. Crocodile leaned sideways, curious despite herself.

When Captain Roger told Buggy and Shanks that they'd be going with him to visit the Whitebeard pirates so that he could introduce them to Whitebeard himself, Buggy had been a little frightened by the prospect of boarding the infamous Moby Dick. She had been ready to protest and fight to stay aboard the Oro Jackson, but then Rayleigh put a gentle hand on her head, assuring her, "I'll be right beside you, Buggy."

And the voice of reason in the back of Buggy's mind knew that neither the Captain nor Miss Rayleigh would let anything bad happen to her or Shanks.

But it was hard to pull on that knowledge when she saw Whitebeard. He was so much bigger than Captain Roger and didn't have the Captain's easy friendliness and charm. Or rather, not any that he displayed while Roger bickered with him. But the longer he and Roger continued to argue with each other, Buggy could admit that he seemed to have a kind light in his eyes. Her grip on Rayleigh's coat loosens just a little, some of her fear easing.

"Pssst! Buggy!" Shanks wasn't even trying to whisper, but he was making the gestures like he was even as he leaned out further from behind Rayleigh.

Buggy turned to him, her blue eyes narrowing dangerously at her fellow apprentice. Above them, neither notices that Rayleigh's shoulders start to shake, "What, Red-Hair?" Buggy is whispering because she's not an idiot.

"Look at that girl; she's pretty!"

Buggy was confused, "What girl?" She asked, leaning out from Rayleigh's other side.

"On the other side of Whitebeard," Shanks told her, and Buggy's eyes found her. She was older than them, maybe eighteen. She was pretty, but she also looked annoyed as hell, rolling her eyes at the two men bickering in front of her, red lips pulled down in a frown. Her eyes are sharp and a dark, forbidding green that reminded Buggy of a particularly testy cat. Her glance moved, glancing between Buggy and Shanks, annoyance slipping away, replaced by a brief smirk of amusement.

Buggy eeped, startled at being caught, ducking back behind Rayleigh. Shanks doesn't. The dummy just gave her a bright grin and waved. Buggy grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him back. He pulled himself out of her grasp, a mildly annoyed look in his eyes, pushing her lightly.

She pushed back. A lot harder.

Rayleigh pinched the bridge of her nose beneath her glasses as the kids started brawling.

His argument with Roger interrupted by the scuffle, Whitebeard paused mid-sentence to watch in fascination as the two preteens started rolling around on the deck, punches and kicks, and hair pulling and biting. Well…The tiny blue-haired one was biting the boy.

Roger sighed, his usual grin teasing the corners of his mouth when he glanced back at his apprentices. Unsurprised to find that Buggy had Shank's pinned down while rubbing his face into the ship's deck.

"Vicious little thing, isn't she?" Whitebeard asked, chuckling under his breath.

Roger grinned, "When she's not spooked by something, sure," He laughed, "She keeps Shanks outta trouble when she's not causing any herself."

Rayleigh made an exasperated noise and reached down to pull the fighting pair apart, one kid held in each arm, and Buggy got in one more kick before she settled down. Shanks went limp defensively as though trying to ooze out of Rayleigh's grasp. Rayleigh simply adjusted her grip on him.

Buggy started arguing, "He pushed me first." She was sitting on Rayleigh's arm, arms crossed petulantly and glaring down at Shanks.

"He usually does."

"He shouldn't start fights when he knows I'm gonna beat him."

With a softness in her voice that betrayed her fondness for the small girl, Rayleigh said, "He'll learn eventually."

Buggy met her eyes, saying bluntly, "I don't think he's capable."

Rayleigh fought a smile, "Buggy, that's not very nice."

She frowned, squinting at Rayleigh momentarily before giving an exaggerated eye roll, "Fine. He might be capable of learning. Slowly. With extreme difficulty."

Shank's stopped trying to wiggle out of Rayleigh's grasp. He twisted to look up at her and shouted, "That's mean, Buggy!"

"True, though," She grumbled, frowning at him.

Whitebeard laughed, "Well, Roger? Are you going to introduce your newest crewmates?"

Roger grinned, gesturing at Rayleigh. His first mate let go of Shanks, the red-haired boy hurrying to his Captain's side, beaming up at Whitebeard. Roger dropped his hand onto Shanks' shoulder.

"This is Shanks." Whitebeard leaned forward, examining the boy and accepting his offered hand. Crocodile bit down on a chuckle. She couldn't help herself; Shanks was the same size as the hand he was shaking. "It's an honour to meet you, Captain Whitebeard," He chirped with a disarming smile lighting his face.

Rayleigh doesn't bother putting Buggy on the ground, recognizing the rabbity look on her face. Instead, she hands the girl off to Roger to hold. Roger doesn't question it, just smiles at Buggy, who squirms to try and get out of his arms. He waited for Whitebeard's attention before he popped Buggy onto the deck in front of him, not allowing her to scurry off, "And this is Buggy."

Buggy's eyes were wide and fearful, but she gamely shuffled closer to a patiently waiting Whitebeard. She offered her hand, same as Shanks, "It's nice to meet you, Captain Whitebeard."

"And you, young lady," Whitebeard hid a smile, shaking her hand carefully. He looked up at Roger and grinned, "The addition of such fine young members of your crew calls for a celebration, Roger."

Roger guffawed, "Couldn't agree more!" The surrounding Whitebeard Pirates all cheered, and before long, the remaining members of the Roger Pirates were aboard, and the party was in full swing. Crocodile avoided the worst of the party by seeking out Shanks and Buggy. When she sat on the deck next to them, where they had tucked themselves against the starboard railing on the quarter deck, Shanks stared at her, curiously asking, "Who're you?"

"Crocodile," She offered, amused when the boy seemed satisfied with that, not bothering to ask her anything else.

Buggy, on the other hand, tilted her head, "That doesn't tell us who you are."

Crocodile chuckled, "Fair point," She nodded and offered her hands to either child, "Crow Newgate, but you can just call me Crocodile. Oyaji," She gestured to where Whitebeard was drinking Roger under the table, "is my dad."

Buggy shook her hand, blinking, digesting the information. Shanks shook her other hand, "A lot of the others call him Oyaji, too. Are you his…hey, Buggy, what's that word?"

The girl turned her head, sipping her juice and giving him a confused look.

Shanks rolled his hand, "You know, the word you say when someone is someone's real kid."

She shrugged, "Biological?"

He snapped his fingers, "That's the one." He grinned at his friend, "You're so smart, Bugs."

Buggy sneered at him, "Or I actually listen when Rayleigh teaches us things." She looked at Crocodile, pointing accusingly at Shanks, "He just sleeps through lessons and expects me to know everything."

The older girl snickered, shaking her head.

Shanks smiled at Buggy, "I'm good at other things." He downs the rest of his juice, "Like swimming."

"That's about all you're good at." Shanks pouted at her, but Buggy ignored him, looking back to Crocodile, "So are you? Whitebeard's biological daughter?"

"Yup," Crocodile stretches her legs out in front of her, leaning against the railing behind them, like both kids. "My mama was Oyaji's wife. But my brothers and sisters are as much his kids as I am." She scans the main deck, watching Whitebeard Pirates and Roger Pirates drinking and singing and dancing. She tilts her head back, closing her eyes. "Blood doesn't make a difference to us. Family is family. The only special treatment I get is my own room."

Buggy looked enviously at Crocodile, "I wish I had my own room."

Crocodile opened her eyes back up, giving the girl a curious look out of the corner of her eye. Buggy doesn't notice, pouting slightly.

Shanks rolled his eyes at her, "You basically do have your own room, Buggy. You only have to share with Miss Rayleigh. Even Captain Roger sleeps with the rest of us."

Buggy shrugged, "I guess. Still, it would be nice to have my own room." She smiled shyly, "Rayleigh says she likes having someone around. Plus, we get an actual mattress, not hammocks."

Crocodile wondered if either of them understood why it was that Buggy and Rayleigh had their own space, and Roger slept with the rest of his crew. Technically as Captain, he had the right to claim any space he wanted. But Roger wasn't the type of man to put the women in his life at risk. Same reason the Whitebeard Pirates had different crew quarters for the men and women. Barring a few exceptions like Crocodile, Marco and Thatch, Whitebeard and a few other division commanders that preferred having their own space, there weren't enough empty rooms to give everyone their cabin. Hell, Crocodile's room was a loft connected to Whitebeard's cabin. And Marco and Thatch's room was only big enough for a bed and their footlockers.

Even the most honourable crews had less than honourable members.

"There you two are," Rayleigh's voice startled all three of them. She stopped next to them, smiling at Crocodile and eyeballing Shanks and Buggy. "I hope you're staying out of trouble."

Two quick "Yes, ma'am"s were her response. She smiled, "Good. Go and find Crocus. He had treats for you." Both kids jump up without hesitation and hurry off to where they'd last seen the Roger Pirates doctor, waving bye to Crocodile as they darted away.

Crocodile stood back up, "They seem like a handful."

Rayleigh looks to where they had run off to, "Not as much as you think. Definitely more than my kid was at the same age."

"I always forget you have a son. He's my age, isn't he?"

"A little younger. Just turned fifteen," Rayleigh huffed fondly, "Likes to pretend he's a lot older, though. He left home a few months ago to go off on his own."

"Already?" Crocodile's eyebrows lifted, "What's the rush?"

Rayleigh smiled softly, leaning her elbows on the railing, her chin resting in one hand, "He wanted to know where his father came from. Besides, he's always been a little restless." She shrugged, blue eyes staring out towards the sunset-painted ocean. "I'm not worried. He knows how to take care of himself and checks in weekly."

Crocodile gripped the polished wood, frowning to herself. "How old were you when you went out to sea?"

"The first time? About the same age that you are now," Rayleigh's head tilted, blonde hair golden in the evening sun. "What? Got itchy feet?"

Crocodile narrowed her eyes, admitting, "A little."

"Well, don't wait too long once you make a decision. You may never leave otherwise."

Crocodile stared at her without seeing her, thoughts wondering. She didn't think she was quite there yet, "I'll keep that in mind." She smiled, "Thanks, Rayleigh."

"Anytime, kid. Pretty sure you can't really ask your old man or the rest of them. They'd just tell you to stick around." Rayleigh grinned, "And if you ended up stuck here, you'd make everyone around you miserable."

"Didn't think you knew me so well," Crocodile snorted.

"What can I say? You remind me of me."

–

It took Crocodile a while to make up her mind. Yo-yoing the decision until shortly after her nineteenth birthday. But with her decision made, she didn't waste any time, keeping Rayleigh's advice at the front of her mind. Her bag was packed, and the letter she'd written for Oyaji was sealed and placed on her bed.

It was finally time for her to leave the Moby Dick, leave her family, go off on her own to find adventure and make a name for herself outside of her father's realm of influence.

She loved her family, her Oyaji, but wanted to do this. Needed to do this.

Crocodile took one deep breath, steadying herself before she grabbed her bag. She hesitated at the top of the ladder down from the loft. Listened to Whitebeard's soft snoring. He'd forgive her for this, maybe not right away, but she doesn't think he has any illusions about Crocodile staying forever.

Sneaking down the ladder was nothing new for Crocodile, and she reached the bottom, her boots whispering over the wood. She glanced around Whitebeard's room, stepping up next to his bed. On his side, one arm curled under his pillow, blonde hair falling into his face. Crocodile blew out a soft sigh. She bent down and pressed a kiss on his cheek. "Bye, Oyaji." Straightening up, she left quietly.

She doesn't notice blue eyes pop open when she turns her back and doesn't hear the quiet, "Be safe," he sent after her as she shut the door. Whitebeard doesn't sleep much that night.

The Moon was high in the sky when she got up onto the main deck. It was quiet as she crept closer to the gangplank. There were only a few men on guard, with the island they were anchored off the coast being both uninhabited and a winter island. Only one guard was by the gangplank.

Sitting on a barrel, humming under his breath and whittling a piece of wood, Marco glanced up as she stopped beside him. He smiled at her, "Got everything?"

"Everything I need."

Marco nodded, placing his wood on the barrel next to him and stood up, "You really want to do this, little sister?"

Crocodile sighed, her breath fogging the air. She gazed out over the snow-covered forest, her eyes thoughtful. "...Yeah, I do," she tilted her head, smiling at Marco, her hands fiddling with the straps of her bag. She had packed only the essentials, a few changes of clothes and the like.

She wore her favourite, simplest pieces of jewelry. A golden charm bracelet Whitebeard had gifted her when she'd turned eighteen, two small golden hoops in each earlobe, an emerald pendant hanging on a delicate-looking chain around her neck. Only one piece screamed its value, and that was her mother's engagement ring. She'd left the majority of her things behind.

Her parents hadn't had the most conventional of relationships. After all, their romance had started when Raven, Crocodile's beautiful and vivacious mother, had stowed aboard the Moby Dick while running away from a group of bounty hunters.

But, despite the rocky beginning, her parents had loved each other deeply until the moment of her mother's execution. Whitebeard had yet to love another woman after losing his wife. The ring was one of the few things Raven had treasured, and she made sure to make it known that the ring would be given to Crocodile if she died. And Crocodile would be dead before she took it off.

Marco examines her face, sees the unwavering resolution, and his shoulders relax. "I won't say anything to Oyaji. You wrote your letter?"

Crocodile hummed in affirmation, buttoning her dark, knee-length winter coat and pulling the strap of her bag over her head, resting across her back. "I left it on my bed."

Her brother nodded. He asked himself when his sister had grown so tall and confident, carrying herself like a queen. He tucked his chin down to his chest, thinking with a grin that his sister had a real chance of ruling the seas. By nothing but her iron will and demanding personality. He peered back up at her once his smile was under control, "Just promise me you'll be careful."

"I'll be fine, Marco; you all made sure I'd never be helpless." She reached out and gripped Marco's arm. "I can take care of myself."

He couldn't argue with that and didn't want to, "Thatch brought the supply ship to the south end of the Island. It's an hour's walk."

"Then I should get moving."

"You have your log pose?"

She gave him an exasperated look and didn't respond. He snickered, "Yeah, you do. Alright, little girl. Get going." He opened his arms in a brief offer, and Crocodile took him up on it, hugging him tightly.

"Bye, Marco," She whispered. Marco kissed her temple, smiling into her hair. If he heard her sniffle, he didn't say anything.

She took a moment to compose herself before she stepped away from him, avoiding his gaze as she stepped down the gangplank and disappeared into the darkness.

–

Marco and Thatch, as promised, don't say anything. Marco joined Thatch to bring Whitebeard's breakfast to him. They find him sitting on the edge of his bed when they enter his cabin. And they're only a little surprised to find Whitebeard had Crocodile's letter clutched in his hand, open and likely already read a dozen times.

Whitebeard looked dejected, "She reached the ship okay?"

Marco nodded, exchanging an unsurprised look with Thatch, "Yeah, Oyaji. I flew over to make sure."

Whitebeard sighed glumly, "Your sister is more grown up than I had thought," He grumbled.

"She needs to do this, Pops," Thatch whispered, completely understanding her sister's drive for independence.

"I know, Thatch," Whitebeard assured her, and both Thatch and Marco blinked, startled. Whitebeard gave them a small smile, "I honestly thought she'd be with us a few more years before she'd be ready to go off on her own. You and the others all came to me of your own accord. Crow was born on this ship, and I knew she'd want to fly free one day."

–

Her first stop was Maverick, a sprawling city that acted as a trading hub trading on a neutral winter island on the first half of the Grand Line. Crocodile planned to catch a merchant ship from Maverick to the South Blue. From there, she would get her hands on a ship and gather herself a crew. Being born and raised on the Grand Line, Crocodile had seen a lot of it, especially since Whitbeard's territory stretched from the Reverse Mountain to deep into the New World.

The weather was thankfully mild, with the Island in the middle of its brief "summer," a generous term for the month of no snow and zero to negative ten degrees Celsius temperatures. Still colder than Crocodile would like, having grown up on either Sphinx, with its warm summer climate, or the fluctuating climate of the Grand Line while aboard the Moby Dick.

She looked into charting a ship as soon as she made landfall, not interested in wasting time. And it didn't take long for her to find a captain willing to take her berries and give her a spot on board his ship, "We'll be raising anchor in two days, just after sunrise," He told her, white teeth flashing in a quick grin, weathered skin crinkling like old leather, "Be on board tomorrow night. We won't wait in the morning."

"That's fine." Crocodile agreed, stepping out of the way as another cart filled with trade goods descended from the ship's ramp. "Know of anywhere I can book a room for the night?"

Captain Shotz lifted a hand to tug on the wiry grey hairs of his beard, thinking, "It's been a few years since we lasted docked here, but if I recall, there should be a small inn just north of the city's central square." He shrugged at her, "Always had clean sheets and warm food."

"Sounds like just what I need," She thanked him, once again assuring him that she'd be on the ship the next evening when he reminded her before she left the docks. She weaved her way through bustling crowds of people, heading west to the center of the city. The constant cacophony of voices and movement was overwhelming to her after years of quiet islands and small towns. She had to step into an alleyway to catch her breath and gather her nerves. She had no desire to look weak.

Her eyes skipped past the body and the boy crouching over it, her brain not registering what she had seen in its overstimulated state.

When the girl had stepped into the alley, he had frozen. She hadn't seen him when she entered and had turned to face the opening of the alley, looking frustrated. He silently begged her not to turn.

Daz Bones was sixteen, and the body he was crouching over was the third man he had ever killed. Daz's eyes were darting between the girl's back and the spreading pool of blood beneath the face-down body.

Maverick had been his home for three years, but it had been only a few months since he'd eaten the Supa Supa no Mi. Three times since the existence of his particular abilities had been made known, he had been given money to slit the throats of specific people.

And It had been good money, too. Too good for a hungry boy to pass up. Even if he'd been scared shitless at the prospect of killing someone the first time. Even if he still woke up in a sweat, shuddering at the memory of his first kill. The man's body was always twisted and bloody in the dream, much worse than the quick, clean death Daz had given him. Much worse than reality.

Daz liked to think that he had gotten used to seeing the bodies but knew that he was still scared by the way he lingered over them.

The girl didn't hear his silent pleading.

Crocodile spun around, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up, the feeling that someone was watching her pricking her senses. Her eyes widened, flickering between the boy and the body.

Daz was impressed that she seemed so calm. Not many people would stick around upon finding a corpse, and even fewer would stick around when the killer was still crouching over it.

"What did he do?" Her voice was throaty and pleasant and strangely soothing.

Daz found himself responding to her without meaning to, shaking his head his head, "I don't know." The people who paid him didn't pay him to know why.

"Ah, an assassin." She looked at him more closely, and Daz swore she was staring into his soul. She tilted her head, long black hair falling forward, silken strands sliding over the fabric of her coat.

Silence fell between them momentarily, and Daz's heart pounded in his chest. No part of him expected her next question.

"Is this what you want?" Crocodile had to ask. He was so damn young. Too young to be working as a hired assassin. He had probably never been offered a different choice.

He looked bewildered, "It's all I'm good for since I ate my devil fruit," He shrugged, pulling his eyes away from hers, huddling into himself.

"Do you know which devil fruit?"

"The Supa Supa no Mi," He had a wary look in his eyes like he expected her to ask him to kill someone now too.

Seeing that look, Crocodile was struck with the strangest urge and wondered idly if her Whitebeard's desire to adopt stray kids was hereditary. "Your devil fruit doesn't define who you are or who you can be," She walked forward, stopping when the corpse was between them. "Assassins don't tend to have long careers. So, I'll ask again...Is this what you want?"

Being alone most of his life, he couldn't remember the last time someone had asked him what he wanted. His mom had died giving birth to him, and his dad had died when he was six. He'd survived for ten years on his own. Barely scraped by most times, but he was alive.

When he'd found the devil fruit, he'd had been on day three with no food and had eaten it thinking it was nothing special. He hadn't eaten it expecting anything but a meal.

The fruit had tasted terrible, and nothing had happened.

Not until nearly a week later when his fingers had turned into blades while running from an irate vendor, who he'd snagged a few sausages from. He'd grabbed one of the supporting poles on a shop stall to help launch himself into a side street.

But instead, the pole had splintered. He'd let go of it in surprise, staring when several chunks of neatly severed wood clattered to the ground. He hadn't had time to linger, the vendor had been closing in, and Daz had jerked back into motion, eyeballing his hand, fixated on the strange shining edge on the inside curl of his fingers.

That moment had changed everything.

And with a few soft words, he was given another chance to alter his fate.

He took that chance, accepting the hand she held out to him. "C'mon, let's go get some food."

–

Daz helped her find the inn that Captain Shotz had told her about, matching Crocodile's long strides, listening as she told him her plans, "I found a ship sailing for the South Blue in two days," She looked at him, smiling slightly. "I want to sail the Grand Line in my own ship, but I'll need a crew to do that."

He nodded, "But why the South Blue? Why not West, North or East?" Daz asked, curious, not even bothering to pretend he wasn't.

Her smooth stride faltered for half a step before she continued. Crocodile hadn't expected the question. She shifted her gaze forward once more, and Daz noticed she was twisting the ring she wore around her finger. "...because my mother was born there. On a small island with no name." She was no longer smiling, but her expression was softer than Daz had thought she was capable of. "I was born on a ship, sailing the Grand Line. When I was making my plans, starting from a place similar to where my mother had, seemed right."

"She was a pirate?"

"Not technically. She was on the run from bounty hunters who were only after her because of who my grandfather was. She was supposed to be safe in the South Blue with her mother's family." She stopped talking, and Daz recognized she wouldn't be saying anything more about her mother. They reached the inn, and Daz hovered nearby as Crocodile arranged for a room. "With two beds, preferably. And do you serve food?"

"The restaurant is next door, miss."

She handed over some berries for the room, accepting the key the clerk handed her. She brought her bag upstairs to the room and came back down to pull Daz next door to get something to eat. They ordered their food and were quick to dig into their food when it came out, still steaming. Daz was embarrassed when he noticed she was watching him scarf down his food. His appetite had increased since he'd eaten his devil fruit, and he had realized he ate more after recently using his abilities.

She had finished eating, her arms crossed on the table, "You got a family?"

He just shook his head, wiping his mouth and swallowing the bite he'd just taken. "Both my parents are dead. No siblings." He met her eyes, "Nobody to miss me when it's time to move on."

Crocodile nodded, seeming to decide something, "Then, be the first member of my crew." She offered, taking a drink from her glass. "A crew can be a family if you let it."

Daz thought about it. He had nothing holding him back, and his only other option was to keep going with what he had been doing. He didn't want to. He wanted to join up with this confident-eyed girl and explore the world's oceans. "I think…I'd like that."

Crocodile grinned at him, and they shook on it. Daz felt himself return that grin, smiling for the first time in a long time.