Chapter Fourteen – Somewhere Out at Sea
Sanji serves a dinner as beautiful as lunch. Despite the complaints and harsh reprimands of the young chef throughout the evening, exclusively to the male members who seem to have limitless stomachs; he never fails to bring out each meal, often catered to individual tastes and preferences. To Robin who often asks with genuine interest, he discusses the origins and inspiration and technique of each dish. To the new girl, Nami-swan, who occupies the fine line between youthful beauty and the charisma of someone much older and more experienced, he is infatuated.
Though, despite that infatuation, Sanji still possessed the skills that were often needed to get by in this day and age – perceptiveness, in particular. He could see the slight tense of her shoulders when he first saw her at Baratie. He could see her relax once they met and he reverted to his default ways upon meeting women. Of course, he could have put it down to nerves, but he disregarded that theory as quickly as he had formed it. Someone who carried herself as this girl did wouldn't feel nerves, at least not in a social situation. A girl accustomed to taking an advantage, then – strange, he thought. Although he believes firmly in the utility of the skills Zeff had taught him and he had honed from attendance at a place like Grand Line Academy, it didn't mean everyone had them. The members of the Straw Hat crew had them – all of them – but Sanji knew their pasts, and what each member had had to go through that required those skills.
He looked at Nami and wondered what had happened in her past that required her to possess the same.
Perhaps he'd keep an eye on her.
At the end of the night, when the members of the crew – himself included – offered to walk her home, she politely declined them all, in such an offhanded way that even Sanji doesn't insist otherwise. Her smile, when it appears, is filled with confidence and assurance, and something Sanji can't read, not quite yet. When he looks at his captain, at the look on his face, he wonders if that boy can read it, that something that no one else can. He waits until Nami goes before he brings it up.
Usually, the crew followed an unspoken law based on equally unspoken, but common, knowledge on deck. If Luffy wants to socialise, he would jump on the deck and on top of whoever was in the closest proximity (usually Chopper or Usopp). If Luffy remains on the figurehead, he wants to be alone and the crew respects that. Tonight, however, Sanji walks up, quietly in some respect of that accepted law, but of course, he is heard straightaway.
"What is it? Leftovers?"
"When are there ever leftovers with you around?" He takes the time during Luffy's laugh to light up a cigarette, leaning over the railing to tap off the excess as it burns and a soothing aroma fills the air. He inhales deeply, savouring the taste of his trusted habit that he'd been missing tonight.
"I don't think she minds if you smoke," Luffy says, "So you don't have to hold yourself back around Nami."
"Is that so? You could've told me earlier, I was itching for a cigarette all night."
"I know; sorry, sorry."
'I know'. Given their history now, Sanji doesn't doubt him, but the boy has always been more observant than he lets on, especially when it came to his crew.
"How long have you known Nami-swan, Luffy?"
"A couple of weeks. Since she moved here with her sister."
"Are they Pirates?"
"No, actually Nami hates them," Luffy laughs, "Yet, she's here with us. So, she likes us, right?"
"Hates them?" Sanji feels he can pull together a story now, though he fears what the result will be.
"Yeah, really." Despite this, Luffy doesn't seem fazed. He scoops up his straw hat and places it over his head, leaning back against the mane of the figurehead with his hands behind his head, "I asked her to join my crew and she said no! Isn't that weird? She was even dressed like a Pirate today, it doesn't make sense."
Sanji took a long drag as Luffy continues mumbling ("Doesn't dressing like a Pirate mean you like Pirates?" "You dress like a student, Luffy, do you like being one?" "That's not the same!" "It's exactly the same!") and eventually, he lowers his cigarette, burnt to a short stub now. "Do you trust her, Luffy?"
"Sure I do, even if she doesn't like Pirates…"
"You don't think she's hiding something?"
He slumps a bit at that and Sanji doesn't fail to notice. But when he speaks again, the tone isn't defeated, at first, but frustrated.
"She'll tell me, if something's wrong." A change in tone, "I don't want to fight with her again."
Sanji taps out his cigarette before it can burn his fingers. He could see it clearly – first, the spontaneous visit earlier that week when Luffy had dropped into Baratie with a sack of tangerines.
"What the heck are these?"
"Tangerines. Sanji, aren't you a chef?"
"Obviously, I know what they are, Luffy! But why did you bring them here?"
"I'm having someone over for lunch on the weekend who really likes tangerines. Can you use them?"
"By the weekend, these will be no good." At the look on his captain's face, he added, "I can experiment with them and come up with a new dish by then, though."
"You're the best, Sanji!"
Then, there was the deliberate seating at Baratie where Luffy is normally so nonchalant, placing Nami between Chopper and Robin: the first who naturally soothes and brightens anyone's presence and the second… well, Sanji assumed there must be some other reason Luffy insisted on saving that place beside Robin for his guest. Finally, the significance of Luffy's actions truly hadn't clicked until Sanji had asked Nami for her favourite food.
"Anything with tangerines."
Somehow, this girl had become someone Luffy wanted to get along with, at least to the extent he would do such things for her.
"I don't want to fight with her again."
"I know," Sanji says in reply.
Nami returns home to Nojiko passed out in her room. The plates and cooking utensils from dinner are soaking in the sink. Nami makes sure to clean up properly, fairly certain that a home inspection is due one of these days if she remembers correctly. Nezumi. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to twist some bits of her story when Nojiko asked about him. Maybe she wanted to see her sister's reaction; never considering that her sister had become just as capable as her, if not better, at hiding what others are looking for.
She finds it a bit odd that Nojiko would neglect her normally stringent habits of keeping the house in near perfect order. Though, when she passes her sister's room, she enters quietly and makes sure the blanket is pulled over the sleeping form; and tells herself she's overthinking.
At dawn the next morning, Ace meets up with Marco on the outskirts of town, as usual, to get his grandfather off his – and possibly Luffy's – back for the day.
"Why do I have to help you with these tasks your grandfather gives you again?"
"Because you're bored, and out of loyalty to your fellow crew member who humbly outdrank you at the beginning of this week."
Marco looks about to snort derisively, but is interrupted by a yawn, "I'm getting Vista to help you next time, bar bets be damned."
"Doesn't the early bird catch the worm, huh, Phoenix?"
Marco lunges with a sweeping kick. Ace dodges automatically. He doesn't counter though, nor does Marco come after him again. The latter's glare turns into a good-natured smile.
"Pest. Come on, we've got to finish before breakfast or we'll both suffer."
"Agreed." And both he and Marco begin their morning round.
Ace enjoys the mornings like this, leaving early and strolling around in dark, old alleyways – not necessarily looking for trouble, but accepting the inevitable challenge when it came. It reminded him of his childhood, with Luffy, and another brother he remembered dearly. The only difference is when they were younger, this activity was meant for fun and sometimes, necessity. Now… well, he supposed only one of the two applied.
"On your left," Marco murmurs, barely audible enough for his companion to hear. Ace responds with the slightest nod of his head, before inclining his chin forward a fraction, towards the shadow that doesn't quite seem to fit in with the rest.
"I got him," Marco responds. On their next step, both men leap forward to meet their respective targets, Ace pivoting to his left to face the second man, the distraction, and Marco intercepting the main offender who would do them harm.
Soon, both are laid unconscious at the feet of the duo. Marco yawns again as they rock-paper-scissor to decide who carries who. Marco loses the first, insists on 2/3 and loses the second, too.
"Geez, what a morning," he mutters, but he blinks as Ace hauls up the heavier of the two, "Oi, Ace, you saw me lose too, didn't you?"
"It's fine."
"Hand him over. You'll wound my pride at this rate." Reluctantly, he does so. When they start walking off with the men slung over their shoulders, Marco comments, "You went after the second man again."
Ace shrugs.
"You always laid dibs on the main guy…" and Marco has to stop, weighing the word he knows has so much potential to hurt them both, deciding whether or not to say it aloud. He tries to keep his face neutral, "… before."
Ace, for his part, only shrugs again, except the movement is a little tenser this time, a little less controlled; more like a flinch than a conscious action. Perhaps it was. Marco knows he has to talk quickly now, or risk him shutting off completely
(like before).
"Look, I don't know what role you've put me into, what role you want me to fill, but I can assure you that it's wrong, alright? Or maybe you're respecting rank now, or whatever excuse you want to give—"
"Stop getting ahead of yourself, Marco." But he bumps his shoulder as he passes, letting the older boy know he harbours no hard feelings.
How did I deal with him before? Marco wonders as he catches up and returns the bump, conveying the same message. It seemed a hell of a lot easier getting Ace to warm up to their crew before than it is, after. He is pretty sure he only told the truth before; how they accepted a man as their father because he called them his sons.
He supposes the truth was a lot nicer before than it is, after.
"Hey, I need you to do a favour for me," Ace says.
"Name it."
"I'm going to say this man," he gestures towards Marco's shoulder, "is the one who robbed that shop a while ago. He deserves worse, so it should be a mercy."
"That fashion store? I think it was women's clothes that got stolen, y'know." The joke passes over in silence and he asks, "So, why are we blaming this guy?"
"Because otherwise, my brother will find out who did it and I know he's a far worse liar than she is."
Ain rarely gets called up to Chief Smoker's office, especially at the ungodly hour of dawn on a Sunday (which she would go so far as to say constitutes the worst possible start to her week, bar none), and both parties were usually happy to keep it that way. It certainly wasn't a secret Ain strongly disliked reporting to the police and Smoker, in kind, strongly disliked disobedience on his force. Still, as long as the job was done, and each person stayed out of the other's way, a pensive truce was drawn between the woman who took care of the first floor and the man who ran the top.
Today, that had the potential to be utterly and brutally crushed.
"I'll ask one more time. What – or who – did you see when you went to F District, Ain?"
She cocks her head at him, "Pirates. Felons. Criminals. Usually, they're all the same, but not to the World Government, isn't that so?" In her periphery, she can see Tashigi physically pale at her manner of speaking. Smoker glares at Ain, and when he speaks, the voice that emerges is low and lethal.
"Do you know what makes a criminal, Neo force? Subordinates who take files without permission, scout prominent Pirate groups without permission and feed the department false leads. Now, I will ask you a final time before I will recommend a full review of your parole, what or who did you see when you went to scout the Arlong Pirates?"
"Leads change all the time," she offers, but even Ain can see the uselessness of that argument now.
"So can lies," Smoker retorts, "Unfortunately for you, our own scout – perhaps one you would have recognised if you ever gave a damn about your force—"
"This is not my force," Ain interrupts, cold venom blanching any warmth from her voice.
"For once, I'm inclined to agree! Regardless, it is that failure which made you overlook one of our own placed as a scout within the Arlong Pirates, and he can fully testify that what you claim your lead to be is a lie!"
Ain's glare never falters, but within, her façade crumbles, bit by bit. Failure. Yes, that is exactly the right term. She should have foreseen that her lie could be challenged by another; and if it would result in a matter of her word against his, she had no allies here.
Possibly none, she reminds herself. She still has to confirm some details for herself. Until then, she refuses to allow these police to interfere.
"Perhaps I misspoke," she says instead, "I acknowledge I made an error in my report; however, the basis of it remains true." She waits. When Smoker glares impatiently for her to go on, she continues. Tread carefully now.
"I heard a guttural voice on the phone when Arlong picked up," she says, "I assumed it was a male from the sound of the voice as I said in my report. The voice asked whether they were on speaker. Arlong lied and told them 'no.' At that point, the voice changed. It was clear the speaker was a female."
"And you believed this information was not important enough to include in your statement?" Smoker growls.
"It was a mistake on my part," Ain replies, not easily, "Or maybe I felt it was more important to relay the content of what was said. That is, someone knew I was at the location. The speaker gave instructions to Arlong specifically to divert my attention through sending out two decoys. I remained, as I said."
"And?" Smoker prompts.
"No names were spoken or given so the identity of the speaker remains anonymous. The speaker consistently supplies information to Arlong. That much was said." She allows a pause, prepared for rebuttal or argument. None came her way and she continues.
"The police cars are tracked, as you know. It is not hard information for any officer to access. Anyone could have known I was at the scene. The trouble you should concern yourself with now is you have an inside woman, an infiltrator, somewhere in your ranks and it could be anyone from your ordinary recruit to your highest command."
"Hey, now—" Tashigi interrupts, indignation in her tone.
"Just my perspective," Ain finishes, "I regret leaving out the information when I first made my report to Tashigi-san and I acknowledge the error of that infraction. It won't happen again."
Smoker is like a dog with a bone. "If a woman's voice was all that you had to report, why were you so reluctant to disclose that information?"
"I did not want to admit to a mistake."
"That amounts to obstruction of justice, you realise."
"I do. As I said, it won't happen again."
A long pause. Finally, Smoker says, "Our scout has been stationed in F District for a significant period of time, in operations targeting gangs before the Arlong Pirates arrived. He is not familiar with anyone in the current ranks and as a result, could not identify the voice he heard.
"The only other person who heard the voice was you. Now, ensuring you do not lie to me again, I suggest you tell me who that voice belongs to."
"This is worst place to be this early in the morning," Marco complains when the sliding doors of the police station make way obediently for the pair to step inside. The leg of one of the men they carry knocks loudly into the door as they pass, earning a glare from the officer stationed at the front desk. Both of them give an off-hand apology. The officer takes specific note of Ace and states flatly, "Commander Garp isn't in yet."
"That's fine," Ace replies, in an equally flat tone, "I caught the guy for that shop robbery on Goa. If you could take him and pass along the message to Gramps, that'd be great."
"And this other guy?" the officer jerks a chin towards Marco.
"Accomplice," Ace's own partner-in-crime inserts smoothly, "It was a joint effort."
"To steal women's clothes."
Marco shrugs.
"I don't see the clothes on them."
"They'll turn up," Ace jumps in, "We're just dropping these guys off first."
The officer eyes him suspiciously. Even after picking his side, the looks never truly went away.
(Not for a Pirate, never for a Pirate's son)
"All right," the officer finally lets out and Ace finds himself slumping back into his usual posture again, as if he'd been unconsciously engaged in some battle he hadn't known he'd accepted. By the look on Marco's face, he definitely noticed too. Two years ago, Marco might have been mad. In fact, Ace didn't have to guess that. He knew.
Today, he isn't sure how to read the expression on Marco's face, especially after he'd tried to bring it up again, before.
"Or maybe you're respecting rank now, or whatever excuse you want to give…"
He hadn't picked his own fights for two years now (even though the habits, the way his body coiled and itched for a fight, were hard to avoid); just one more thing on a list of things he didn't do on his own anymore. Marco knew that; Ace didn't have to tell him. Instead, he'd cut him off, letting the words come out quietly on their own and hang between them; a wall of defence that couldn't be breached by the other.
You and I both know that's not the reason why.
"I'll call some other guys down and they'll take care of these two," the officer is saying, "I have to take down a report though so don't go anywhere for the time being, you pair. I need your testimonies, same as any other time you'd dropped people in."
"Sure," Marco agrees amiably, contrary to the look of boredom and exasperation in his eyes.
A little off to the side, the elevator chimes and all three men watch Ain appear. Ace and Marco avert their eyes first, so does Ain. The officer is the only one who speaks.
"About time! Geez, what were you and the captain talking about? Sticking me on desk duty at dawn on a Sunday, I thought I would go crazy. Hey, these two have brought in a couple men, I called some guys down to move them, but I haven't done the paperwork yet—" Ain breezes past him, as if deaf to his voice, "Hey! Ain, you're on duty, where the hell—" And the woman has passed through the doors and is gone without so much as a nod of acknowledgement to any of them.
"Criminals," the officer forces out between grit teeth as the doors slide closed once more, "Pirates, criminals, the whole fucking lot of them." He doesn't say any more, perhaps considering the two men standing in front them, but the look in his eyes says it all.
Once upon a time, no one would have said that. Not in front of them.
Today, Ace still trembles slightly, only the slight tremor of his hand reminding him of what he could have done, what he could still do, should he allow it. But he doesn't react; not when the officer turns his back on them to retrieve the paperwork, not when he returns and asks them mundane questions as if they are two beat cops reporting for duty; not when his tone is laced with the knowledge they aren't beat cops, but Pirates.
Ace doesn't react at all.
Beside him, unlike him, Marco is still as a stone, same as he'd always been. Marco knew when to pick his fights, and more importantly, when to leave them. He doesn't say a word until asked; but his eyes and tone, too, say all that Ace needs to know.
You're trying hard. But we both know that doesn't mean a damn thing when you're too late.
On Sunday, Nojiko wakes up with a blanket on top of her that she was sure she hadn't the energy to pull on the night before. She smiles, immediately getting up, dressed and presentable before wandering over to the next room, as is her usual morning routine. Within, Nami lies like a stone wrapped neatly under her blankets. She is such a calm and serene sleeper where Nojiko is always sprawled haphazardly over whatever surface she can find. Bellemere used to joke about that, commenting on how they became complete opposites when they slept.
Nojiko walks in quietly and greets her mother, smiling merrily in the photograph. Her two daughters at her feet. They didn't have a proper place to print photos in their hometown and had to do it in the next town over – resulting in enough remaining funds for a single photo and frame. Of course, when it came to who would keep it, there was no contest. Nojiko still spoke to her photo often, on most mornings like this one before Nami woke up. It was like giving a voice to the problems she was otherwise too afraid to say, but without having to deal with worrying her. It was nice, even if the problems seemed trivial sometimes, or selfish. In the past, Nojiko remembered taking this picture and lying with it beside her as she couldn't sleep into the early hours of the day, sometimes just needing to borrow it for a little while and whisper the things she was so afraid of, seeking the comfort of a mother.
'I got rejected from another job', 'I don't think I'll make it into university', 'No one wants to hire a high school student for a full-time job… but I need one, right? For later…', 'I'll be 18 soon… I don't know what to do…' and the one she'd feared most of all, 'the application for custody is tomorrow.'
Today, as the sun peeks over shyly, turning its warm gaze upon East Blue district, Nojiko lets out a quiet exhale, bordering on a sigh. She leans against the wall, watching the sun creep through the windows and gradually stalk across the floor. Soon, it would reach Nami and she would be woken up by its bright presence. So, before that could happen, Nojiko eyes the four of them; the most important person in her life currently, the two, precious people who died shortly after that photograph was taken and herself among them with so many possibilities and so much knowledge in her eyes. Maybe she'd died too, shortly after it happened, following the lead of the other two.
There were so many questions surrounding them all, so many questions she had yet to find the answers to and would have to answer, soon.
"I don't know…" she said, her voice rueful when they reached her mother. She'd liked to think that answering smile meant Bellemere understood, but just in case: "I just don't know."
And she left then, to go about her day in the same, and only, way she knew how.
On Sunday, Nami wakes up to a reformed criminal at her kitchen table.
"It never does anyone much good to scream at an intruder to leave," Ain comments dryly, following Nami's first, quite appropriate response. "Nor does glaring at them," she adds in response to the second.
"What are you doing here?" Nami asks instead, striding over. Only then does she notice the discrepancy between this and the first unwanted encounter she'd had with a colleague from the police station. Ain does not have a cup of coffee steaming in front of her, or Nojiko in the other seat opposite. Though, Nami can see clearly the seat is pushed out and with a swift movement, Ain's leg manoeuvres the chair so it is angled towards her. An invitation, it seems.
Her next words are anything but.
"I'm going to ask you some questions and depending on your answers, I'm going to arrest you when I'm done."