Chapter Twelve – Somewhere in a Pirate-not-Pirate Academy Biology Class
"Late."
"Not late."
"Late."
"Not late."
Nami feels the increasingly growing entity that is the vein on Trafalgar's forehead will burst if subject to one more repetition of this argument. Luffy is sitting on top of his stool, arms folded in the petulant manner of a child and about the worst face a liar could possibly wear. His lips are puffed out to the side and his eyes wander aimlessly, a sure sign of guilt. He also has no shame in only partly hiding his stash of tangerines… behind his back and in such a manner that the spherical shape of each individual fruit is clearly visible against the material.
Trafalgar does not fail to notice this either, "Straw Hat, do you think I'm an idiot?"
His cheeks become pronounced as Luffy somehow manages to purse his lips even more, "No."
"LIAR!"
Behind her, Usopp is stifling a snicker, as is a good portion of the rest of the class.
"He's in a good mood," Zoro remarks from beside her. Nami looks over at him, surprised to note he's awake for once and alert, too. He raises an eyebrow at her and continues, "Is that your doing?"
She gives him a half-smile, "Partly."
She expects him to smile back, but he only nods and from then doesn't pay her any mind.
Luffy resumes walking with her after school. Nami even manages to keep a few tangerines for herself when her bag is kept glued to the side of her hip that is not immediately close to his hand. No lack of whining is spared for her benefit, however.
"Nami~ Come on, just one! Please?"
She feels a wicked idea play at the corners of her mind.
"Be careful, I might feel a cold coming on… I may not make it this to this lunch thing…" and she feigns a stumble, bringing her hand up to her forehead to draw out extra melodrama. Luffy's jaw drops in indignation at her act and he yells, "That's unfair!"
Nami only laughs, "Are you afraid I might bail again?"
She had meant it as a joke. He, quite clearly, did not for his silence speaks a thousand words and every one of them indicates his affirmative answer. He is playing with her, Nami reminds herself, and she him. Their banter is ordinary, everyday nonsense. Non-committal. Casual.
(Meaningless.)
It didn't use to bother her this much, Nami is sure of that. Somehow over the last few minutes, hours, days, who knows when it started, she certainly doesn't; the thought of having a meaningless relationship with this particular boy has become a niggling worry (fear?) worming its way past her absent state of mind into consciousness.
"I hope you won't," Luffy replies, snapping her out of her own thoughts, and before she even begins to comprehend an appropriate response to that, he has walked on, leaving her by their usual destination to separate on the outside of a police station.
"I won't," she wants to say, to assure him, but the crowd parts for him, swallows him up, shields him and Luffy is gone.
Ace and Luffy tend not to come home unless certain situations call for it. It is generally agreed upon by all parties involved that both boys still, whilst 'unintentionally' (supposedly), tend to destroy Dadan's furniture, injure Dadan's colleagues and consume Dadan's entire month's food stock on too many occasions to warrant consistent visits. It is partly why Dadan refuses to leave the mountains she calls home – one, she could never stand the big smoke further inland no matter how many times she proclaims otherwise and two, she always thought the distance would deter the boys who caused her so much grief. It didn't. If anything, they seemed to enjoy the challenge of seeking her non-descript house in the mountains and tormenting her colleagues, especially Dogra and Magra.
Despite all this, it is reluctantly acknowledged that there is always a certain fondness mixed in with the apprehension and exasperation when the boys' laughter is heard dancing over the moor and snaking its way through the crevasses; eerily so, like that Jane Eyre must have felt when she heard Rochester's name howled on the wind.
Yeah, that must be how she feels, Dadan imagines to herself, flicking through her own copy of the classic tale. Dogra had acquired it for a steal, and Dadan found herself engrossed in the story more than what she had anticipated. She liked an independent woman who upped and left a frankly fucked-up situation, often wondering if she could just leave and sleep in the moor for a couple of days, get a bit of peace and quiet. Be Jane Eyre. The version who can hunt and thus never has an excuse for communicating with another human being ever again.
As she sits for a few minutes, actually pondering the logic of this plan, the door flies open followed by a loud, "I'm home!" and then Luffy has entered and flops unceremoniously on the couch opposite Dadan's own seat.
"Do we have food?" he asks as he lifts his head a moment later.
"How about a 'how are you' you punk!" Dadan snaps automatically, provoking the bored look on his face as he rotates his head lazily to gaze about the room, nostrils flaring ever so often as if sniffing for food.
"Don't expect me to rub your belly too," she continues, pushing herself up with a standard grumble, "I think I have leftovers. You can eat it at the table because I'm not bringing it out for you."
"Sure!" There's a thud as he hops off the couch and patters after her through the kitchen and adjoining small dining room. While he sits, Dadan opens the fridge and pulls out the usual serving she always sets aside in case of spontaneous visits from the boys. As it heats up, she asks, "So where's the other one, huh?" At Luffy's questioning look, she adds, "Ace. The grown man that still comes around here to mooch off us! Well then, where is he?"
"Not here" "Obviously!" "I think he's at Nami's" "What the hell is a Nami—" "I think it's burni—" "SHIT!"
Over the noise of trying to salvage her precious meat, Dadan keeps demanding the same question, "What is that? Who is that? Where is that? Luffy!"
"She's a nice person," Luffy replies as Dadan marches over resolutely and dumps the plate in front of him. A second later, she snatches it away again and takes a knife to the bits burnt beyond a healthy char, knowing full well Luffy would eat them anyway, the little runt, if not on purpose then by accident. After all, he hadn't seemed entirely convinced in his words when he spoke them and he looked a little out of it even with a lump of meat steaming right in front of him. It bothers her.
Ace hops lightly off the bottom step to the ground floor of the café and waves familiarly to the customers as he waits for Makino to get off the phone. He always thought it'd be more convenient if she had a regular mobile phone, or at least a wireless phone, but she likes quirky little objects like her precious rotary telephone and always refused to get rid of it. Sometimes, Ace wonders if it must have been a gift from someone equally as quirky and fond of odd items that others would easily chuck out or ignore. She has the receiver wedged between shoulder and ear as the rest of body flails to complete various little tasks around her station – replacing the sugar here, ringing the bell there and passing plates from the window to the waiting servers. Contrasting these contortions, her voice is calm and soothing as she speaks to the person on the other end of the line.
"I'm sure he's fine… Yes, he's eating, right? That's an improvement! No, I couldn't tell you how surprised I was when he refused to eat— Yes, really! He kept himself in his room all night— Yes, meat, can you believe that? I'm glad he's eating yours, in any case! Oh, could you hang on for a second, please?" And she lets the receiver dangle over her shoulder as she empties out the window to the servers, then shrugs it back to wedge between her ear and shoulder again, "Sorry about that, it's really busy down here! I need to hire more servers. I don't suppose Dogra or Magra would be interested— No? Sorry, sorry," she laughs good-naturedly and after a little longer of joking banter, Makino says her farewell and hangs up.
"Is there something I can do for you, Ace?" she asks, without a second's pause in her movements.
"I'm just going out for a while. I'll be back soon."
"Sure." He turns to go and she says, "Ace" so he turns back. She stands perfectly still now, the same kind smile on her face but he thinks he sees a slight imploring look in her expression. She says, "You're twenty years old now. You don't have to keep reporting back to me."
"And eighteen was different?" he asks, immediately wishing he hadn't. A look passes over her face, a phantom of fear and guilt, remembering the day two years ago and he mumbles an apology and turns to go before another word passes her lips.
Halfway down the street, the guilt still presses him, so he changes his plans, not heading towards the apartment of the intriguing new girl with the flame-coloured hair, but to the one of the woman he owed far more. But he had one stop to make first.
Nami starts to feel more and more accustomed to her job as the days go by. She answers the phone occasionally, when Ain isn't available, but that doesn't seem like too much of an issue lately. Ain has not been out with the officers since their little stunt, she is informed; no doubt by orders of Tashigi and approved by Smoker.
Thunk. Thunk.
"Someone could ring any second," Nami says as Ain collects her ballpoint pens from below her handmade, paper bullseye pinned up on the corkboard. It has become riddled with holes and marks over the past hour, all within the small centre circle.
"And I have every confidence you could take care of it," Ain replies. She leans back in her chair again and takes aim, "As messed up as that is."
"What do you mean?" Nami asks and Ain looks over languidly, allowing a short moment to pass between them as if letting Nami realise how idiotic her question is. Finally, though, Ain replies, "Allowing minors into occupations like this. Working for the police, answering emergency calls, tagging along with us on raids and missions as if it's normal." She pauses, "Before the Pirate Era, it never would have happened."
"But this allowed minors to receive more jobs and occupations," Nami argues, "It allowed less of them to form gangs or deviate into established ones." She racks her brain for the term Bartholomew used during Social Studies, "It's social crime prevention."
Ain gives her a disparaging look, "You sound just like them." Again, that same mocking lilt over the 'them'. Never 'us', never 'we', except for that first shift accompanied by the first smile.
"We'll get along."
"In any case, I disagree with the system," Ain continues and she gets up and tears down the hole-ridden bullseye, apparently having ruined it too much to continue, "Unfortunately for people like me, that is synonymous with 'hate' nowadays…
"Even if we have reason behind it."
The phone goes off. Nami is closer but she lets Ain answer it. The former is too busy carefully sketching a new bullseye, connecting each ring and shading in each region. Black, white, black, white, black, on and on as Ain forwards the command onto the upper echelons of the building. By the time her colleague has completed her duty, Nami has pinned the new bullseye onto the cork board, with a slight deviant. The first white section between the black centre and third ring is shaded a light grey while the rest of the target assumes traditional pattern. A pile of pens is deposited on both girls' desks.
"I'm going first," Nami says and takes her shot. As usual, the pen hits and leaves its mark just shy of home. She waits patiently as Ain lines up her own shot, wondering where her colleague will stand. Black, white, or grey?
There are few instances when Chief Smoker feels compelled to respond to a call personally. Tonight happens to be one of them.
The elevator opens with a quiet hum and Smoker starts immediately towards the door, only sparing a quick glance at the two receptionists on duty. Clearly, Ain is introducing Nami to the height of criminal recreation. Smoker always thought the damned game could be used as a crime deterrence in itself. However, even with a quick glance, it is clear both girls enjoy the game thoroughly, much to his surprise.
Even more to his surprise is that for once in her entire time of being under his supervision, Ain missed the centre of the bullseye. Yet, she doesn't seem too upset about it. Rather, the quietest smile is on her lips, as if her pen has left its mark exactly where she intended.
Nojiko always planned that waitressing would be her side-job when the time came for her to attend university.
Even though that plan was simply never meant to be and her dream side-job became a real full-time-job, Nojiko still felt a sense of pride that she excelled in her area. Waitressing came naturally and customer service came naturally to her. It would never happen, but Nojiko feels at peace knowing that had her original plans gone ahead, she would have been successful, and could still be successful in the future.
The bells chime, summoning her to the front.
"Welcome! How can I help—"
"Oh, hey! Geez, you guys could work anywhere!" laughs a familiar voice and Nojiko can't help but return the smile, albeit a little tiredly.
"What can I do for you, Ace?"
"This is Makino's favourite restaurant. If you could tell the chef that I'm here, he'll make her usual."
"Sure."
Soon, Nojiko is facing Ace again, this time waiting for the machine to accept the credit card. The plastic bag of takeaway sits between them on the counter with a distinct scent wafting from it like nothing Nojiko had ever smelt from the meals on the menu. She begins to wonder if the chef makes catered meals for everyone or only the women he's smitten with, which is exactly what she asks Ace.
He only smiles, "Only the woman he's smitten with." Nojiko doesn't miss the singular term and returns the smile as she hands over the receipt.
At the end of her shift, Nojiko picks up the phone and dials the number of the police station. She tells her little sister that the restaurant is packed even though the masses have since trickled out and that she'll be late. She takes leave of her co-workers, politely refuses to go out with them again and rushes out to her car, slamming herself into the cab and cranking up the bass-pounding music once she's driven far enough into the city that it wouldn't be unusual. She loses herself in the music for another four blocks until she pulls up in front of the imposing glass and steel building.
"Nezumi," she tells the receptionist and she is grateful her voice brooks no argument. Promptly, she is directed to the elevators and met by the man himself when the doors slide open. He smiles in an eerily friendly manner that only sends chills of apprehension racing through Nojiko's nerves.
"A pleasure. Though, I must say, early. I thought our appointment was not until tomorrow?" says Nezumi as she is led into his office. There are the white papers, silver pens, polished desks and black insignias, same as ever.
"So why did you show up at my apartment?" Nojiko demands. She has to wait as Nezumi patters over to his desk and lowers himself into the seat, both actions done infuriatingly slowly. He steeples his fingers and peers at her over them.
"I was curious. You see, Arlong enjoys informing me of his most esteemed clients. I had no idea I'd only formally met one of them." The sentences are languid, short and spoken flatly. His next ones, however, are filled with darker promises,
"Has your sister been involved with Arlong since you applied to me for custody? Before that?"
When she refuses to respond, Nezumi continues, "Now, you see, that's a precarious situation, Miss Nojiko. At my discretion as a government man, I could overlook your involvement for you are, of course, an adult and free to make your own choices as you see fit. However," his voice gains a formal and mocking edge, "Miss Nami, as a minor, is another story. You filed an application for custody knowing that she could have otherwise escaped her involvement with the Arlong Pirates. Isn't that right?"
"Do you think she could have escaped from Arlong if another family had taken her in?" Nojiko retorts, "Do you think that man wouldn't have hunted her chasing up what he thinks we owe him?"
"Speculative, Miss. We can see how well that argument will assist you in court. Meanwhile, let me tell you my evidence. I have two little girls who never reported the murder of their own mother. Interestingly, the two little girls in fact fled the scene and there were no other witnesses to the murder. The girls were then rejected from various foster families for disobedient and criminal behaviour, until the eldest herself received custody at the generous hands of a government worker. Her case," he speaks now as if addressing a true court of law, "as we all know, would have otherwise been unsuccessful due to her own tenuous circumstances and suspicions surrounding the two sisters. I should know," and again, he now speaks only to her – the malice, the dark smugness of knowledge and threat meant only for her, and he says it again, as if relishing the moment. "I should know. For, after all, you were the one who told me everything in exchange for a favour.
"Well, then. It's been a pleasure." He smiles again, a cunning rodent's grin, and pulls out the drawers, collects a mound of paperwork and pens and sets to work, effectively dismissing her. When, however, the figure doesn't move, Nezumi does not spare a glance but asks, "Do you have any other purpose here?"
"Yes."
Surprise registers on the man's face and Nojiko takes a sense of equal smugness from the sight. Then, the expression dissolves and the rodent-like, beady features fix upon her once more with suspicious – but, noticeably, intrigued – interest.
"I'm listening."
Makino returns home to Portgas D. Ace napping on her porch, a bag of takeaway lying at his elbow. She tries to move quietly around him but as soon as her foot touches the wood, an eye snaps open. Whatever ferocity lay hidden in the boy's assumption of an intruder quickly melts away as he recognises her. Instead, warmth and repentance fill those features. Before he can say anything – no doubt he wants to address what he said and therefore the incident of two years ago – Makino kneels down, dropping her keys, her basket of extra treats she always brings home for the boys if they happen to stop by and her groceries to observe him. Her cheek rests on the palm of her hand and her gaze becomes inquisitive, as if he is the same ten-year-old boy from eight years ago. Back then, he used to get flustered when she looks at him like this. Nothing had changed.
"W-What's that look for?" he stutters. Makino always takes quiet pride that she retains the power to make Portgas D. Ace stutter, a rare power that few possessed. She smiles kindly – she can see his flushed cheeks despite the darkness – as he blurts out an extremely formal apology, adhering to every rule she used to drill into him as a child, in that particular tone of voice when he is flustered or contrite or, in this case, both. When he is finished, anxiously waiting for her reply, she allows her arms to wrap around him, applying the gentlest of pressures. When he was younger, she used to be afraid of hurting him by squeezing too tightly, but she had soon learnt that, in fact, it was only the softest of touches that could break him.
By morning, all is forgiven but not necessarily forgotten. Both know that the issue of two years ago remains unaddressed and will be for some time until the next inevitable disagreement.