Chapter Fifteen – Somewhere Opposite a Reformed Criminal
"Does Nojiko know you're here?" Nami asks her. Even though most of the fear has settled, that single fear seems to remain, as if an omnipresent consideration in the back of the girl's mind. Ain had drawn her own conclusions when she saw the older girl – Nojiko – take the only car, presumably to an early morning job. Upon entering the apartment, her theories were only confirmed. Two bedrooms. No parents. Only two sisters, one who was not much older than the other. She found no extravagant purchases in the house and a stack of bills, creased with age and frequent refolding, on the bench.
Ordinary people could resort to mixing with Pirates for less.
"I waited until she left," Ain replies, "This has nothing to do with her. So far."
She baits for a reaction, but Nami refuses to give her one, apart from a non-descript nod, a salute of acknowledgement for a courtesy that hadn't been asked for. Her eyes, similarly, have become unreadable and passive since she sat down in the opposite chair and pulled herself in. Whether that shield is intentional or not could be anyone's guess, but Ain would certainly bet in favour of it. She reserved herself to a difficult task in front of her, of breaking someone who knew how to hold it together.
Tread carefully, Z's voice orders in her mind. She feels comforted by the familiar presence of her late mentor. Quietly sealing that warm memory, she makes sure her voice is completely the opposite by the time she speaks.
"You spoke to Arlong the day you drove me to F District." Flat, monotone, a statement of fact, not question. A flash of apprehension flickers in the girl's eyes, but otherwise nothing more. Her breath is steady, her posture still fluid, comfortable. They were in her zone now, the comfortable place that a bluffer occupied. Ain presses further, "You purposely meant to redirect me by sending out two decoys. Then you fed information to Arlong about the police and their status." She is crumbling now, Ain can see it. If she presses a bit further… her voice rises, stealthily, subtly, coaxing just enough emotion to seem compelling, but controlled, "You warned them, a Pirate, to exercise caution, to stay off our radar…" Her head is bowing, as if under the weight of the accusation underlying Ain's increasingly louder words, "… encouraging the commission of their crimes, the terrible effects they have on innocent people's lives as a result—"
"So what?"
Ain's words are stopped short at those words; more specifically, the chilling tone of them… And when the girl lifts her head, it isn't a remorseful, damaged criminal or a cornered victim Ain sees.
It is a Pirate.
"So what?" Nami finds her voice demanding. Finally, finally, that cold mask has slipped comfortably into place, naturally smoothing out her features into an expression of derision and boredom. Somewhere, far, far away, is her mother's voice.
"Nami, what an unattractive look! Here: smile, smile!"
"Bellemere, it hurts!"
"Your mother will take care of it! So, just smile for me, alright?"
"BELLEMERE, IT HURTS EVEN MORE!"
"WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY, HUH?"
Even farther away is the sound of her mother's laugh mixed with Nami's own, until her tears of pain had magically become tears of laughter. Only her mother could have such an effect, to twist something so negative into something exactly the opposite. It was from her, Nami liked to think, her own variation of skills originated.
She looks up, meeting the eyes of the reformed criminal in front of her with that same mask still in place. She knows, because Ain's own eyes have lit up with surprise and apprehension. Nami leans in, Ain unconsciously leans back, away from something that seems so unnatural and chilling. Again, Nami layers another unpredictable element into the mix, another oxymoron to the illusion. She smirks and allows it to widen, letting herself hypnotise the target and draw them in unawares. Like a siren, baiting her quarry with something dangerous and otherworldly, watching them take that first step, then another and another, even though they try so hard to stay away.
Now drown.
"So, what?" she asks again.
(In a much clearer and recent memory, laughter turns into tears and they've still yet to turn back, since.)
Nami pushes the memory down resolutely, just in time to keep the mask in place. She has to pass this off. The cost is too great if she can't.
"You said you heard my conversation, right? Truthfully, it doesn't even surprise me that Arlong lied to me, but that's an issue I'll have with him. Actually, maybe I should be grateful? Since you would have heard for yourself, I encouraged Arlong and his crew to stay off the radar. I encouraged them to keep quiet over the next few weeks. Doesn't that mean I, in fact, discouraged the commission of further crimes? In its own way—"
"I don't think," Ain interrupts coldly, "It is any defence for associating with a Pirate by encouraging them to keep quiet for a period of time and then to commit their crimes more subtly so the police won't notice."
"It is by no means a defence," Nami counters, "I just thought it would be the best way to make you understand." Letting that sink in for a few moments, Nami leans forward again, knowing she achieved the desired effect she'd wanted because this time, Ain leans in, intrigued despite the disgust still marring her pretty features.
"I have been associated with Arlong for a long time now," Nami says. Not a lie. "I don't care if you know that, or whoever else you may tell." The first bluff. "It is by choice, but the circumstances when I made that choice were not." The second bluff. "In the circumstances when I saw first-hand what a Pirate could do, I chose to associate myself with him because I could do something where everybody else refused to, especially the police. In my own way, I manipulated their choices and ensured the harm they caused would, in some way, end with me. In my own way, I did something when I didn't know what else to do because no one else did anything." The third bluff.
"I understand that's a crime," Nami continues, choosing to end with a truth. When a few statements were bookended by truths, perhaps that would assist to show the parts in the middle were, too, genuine and not the bluffs of a seasoned liar, "Are you going to arrest me?"
At some point, the reformed criminal's eyes had lost the ferocious colour in them; rather they sunk into a more diluted, thoughtful hue and then hidden completely when Ain had closed her eyes, as if to better concentrate on Nami's words. To some extent, it was touching, Nami thought, that whatever sliver of trust lay between them extends far enough that one key defence was foregone in each other's presence. Or, and Nami reasons this is the more likely case, Ain had concluded long ago she could best Nami in a physical fight if it came down to it. In a mental battle, like the one they had just finished, neither party's victory seemed so sure. A few, long, painstakingly long, moments pass wherein neither person spoke, nor moved.
Finally, Ain opens her eyes, seeming to come to her conclusion.
"After all that and in spite of what I said, I never asked you a single question," she muses.
"Does that still make it an interrogation?" Nami asks, in that odd limbo between the calm and fear and not knowing which way she was supposed to fall.
"Don't know." After a pause, Ain continues, "I came here this morning with a certain theory about you and a certain vision about what would happen, but it seems I was wrong on both accounts." On this note, she sounds extremely bitter, but for the most part, it seems to be directed internally, not towards the girl sitting opposite her.
Nami wonders if that's the end of it. Surely, an arrest can't occur with uncertainty, which her bluff had managed to pull off, once more.
"I will say it is fortunate, however," says Ain, "For it appears this allows me to pursue a method I'd much prefer." And here, the first smile graces those features; and its appearance gives Nami a chill up her spine. This is not the approving, camaraderie-like smile like that first shift, seemingly so long ago. For a second, Nami believes she can see the criminal Ain was once considered to be.
"Let me ask you my first question." Ain leans in; and so does Nami; though it is the latter, this time, who is not conscious of it.
"You say no one – not even the police – will do anything about a Pirate crew, forcing you to resort to your own means.
"What if I am the someone who will?"
Ain detests quite a few things in this world and she is completely certain of what those things are. Pirates. Criminals. Those who associate with them and tolerate them. That hasn't changed upon this Sunday morning. Therefore, when Ain looked at Nami, after the latter had turned the interrogation on its head and spun it so effortlessly (but not below the standard Ain had expected, really), she saw someone she had conditioned herself – had been conditioned herself – to detest. There is no reasonable excuse for floating within a pirate's ranks, no matter the motive. Z had made that rule absolute and she believed in her mentor, and his beliefs, completely. Yet, in spite of that, she saw another opportunity this girl had somehow presented.
A means to an end. Another expression her mentor had been fond of, and again another expression he'd upheld with his Neo Force. Another belief Ain still has faith in.
"What do you mean?" Nami asks. Her mask is different now. Broken. Her voice is close to it.
"I mean," Ain clarifies, "I don't believe in the methods the police currently uphold to deal with Pirates. Imprisonment. Rehabilitation. Immunity. Doing nothing, as you say. I don't believe any of it is good enough." Echoing the words her mentor had said, the words which convinced her to desert; it seems fitting to use them now, "None of my force did. We had our own justice, and our own ways of achieving it."
"You know that's not what I meant. What do you intend to do?" Nami retorts, regaining some of her bravado. It doesn't affect Ain now and she berated herself that she allowed it to affect her so, before. She knows she has won.
"I'll do what the police refuse to. You'll do what the Pirates refuse to…" Ain only says by way of reply.
"… But, since we're accomplices now, it seems best both of us know as little as we can about what the other is doing."
In the late morning, Nami goes to the library. The pacing around at home, waiting for the police, for Tashigi to come rapping on her door, for Smoker to turn his cold, unsympathetic gaze upon her once more; for Luffy's grandfather, even, to come and throw a sack of flour at her and make good on his word, had finally worn away Nami's patience. It seems Ain actually intended to keep this tenuous agreement, though that seems like a generous term for what Nami is sure constitutes mutual blackmail.
I won't reveal your crime if you won't reveal mine.
"I'll do what the police refuse to. You'll do what the Pirates refuse to."
Nami had an idea of what Ain implied with those words; and if she is correct, it is definitely best she knows as little as possible.
How has it come to this?
Not that anything had been set in motion yet. No one but Ain would know about her involvement with the Arlong Pirates. Somehow, Nami would have to find some way to twist that to her advantage, sometime.
For now, a trip to the library is at the forefront of Nami's mind – the place she is surrounded by her precious books, of course, but also:
"Excuse me, I was wondering if I could use a computer for a while?"
After setting down the books and materials she'd brought from home onto the cramped little desk and easing the heavy, old chair into place; Nami brings the screen to life and pulls up the relevant search engine.
Nezumi, she types in and then, for extra measure, East Blue District.
Immediately, the picture of the man comes up, as well as his profile on an official government website. Nami proceeds on through, taking in what little and brief information is presented to her. Finally, she comes across the words and insignia she had become all too familiar with growing up, and understands why her suspicions about the man who'd come to their apartment are indeed founded. But, the more pressing issue: why hasn't Nojiko told me?
The return back to Dadan's was the hardest. Ace had wondered how they would react, if they would have detested him for who he was, what he had almost put them through once more or for whatever other reason. There hadn't needed to be much of an excuse at the time, two years ago. But as soon as he'd crossed the threshold, it was as if he'd never left. Dogra and Magra tackled him to the ground so hard a dent remained in the floor over there, before the rest of the mountain bandits swarmed over them, simultaneously crying from grief and happiness. During this uproar, Dadan herself held stiffly at the fire, poking the wild boar she knew he loved roasting within. She never faced him when he lingered by the entry, unsure of what to say, and she threw the carved, extra-large serving of meat at him with a gruff dismissal.
"Dadan, where's the meat on this thing? I used to hunt down way bigger boars than this…"
"Shut up, you little jerk, if you don't like it, don't come back!" Dadan retorted in her usual fashion, but Ace only just caught the slight break at the end of those last words, a fracture which prompted further tears he knew she'd been hiding.
Ace wakes up in his old bedroom he'd shared with his brothers. They still slept on mats on the floor, so there had been no need to upgrade to larger beds or change any of the furniture. It remains exactly the same as what he'd always known. In equal parts, it is both a blessing and a curse.
He pulls on proper clothes and wanders out to the main hall to find Marco passed out on the couch. They'd returned from the police station to hunt breakfast ("since when is it fair that I perform a good deed in the morning and then have to hunt for my own breakfast?" Marco grumbled) and subsequently passed out – Ace to his and his brothers' room, Marco electing to remain out in the hall. As soon as Ace passes, however, Marco says, "Hey."
"Good morning, sunshine," Ace drawls and can almost physically feel Marco's gaze shifting into a stank eye.
"Are we going to talk about what happened back there now that you've had your nap?"
"About what?" Ace yanks open the cabinets and helps himself to the bandits' stash of treats they kept in the back. He calls, "hey, remind me whether you liked mint chocolate or not" just as a shadow fell over him. He barely pulled back enough before his senior struck out with a leg, slamming the cabinet shut. Not hard enough to break, but definitely hard enough to leave a groove, a dent. This inevitable conversation seems to be heading in the same direction.
"Marco," Ace warns.
"Ace," Marco returns, the deep crease between his brows never going away. Slowly, Ace pushes himself up, leaning against the wall behind him, mirroring Marco's slouched stance against the opposite cabinets. Commander against commander. Or that's how they used to be, anyway.
"You held it out back there in the police station."
"Are you proud?"
"It looked like you were in pain."
"Take that as a no, then."
"Hey, can't you take this seriously?" Marco allows a small tremor of a growl to invade the otherwise calm tone of his voice, and naturally, Ace only responds in kind.
"Can't you see that I am?"
"If it doesn't work out—"
"It will."
"—We'll confront him alone." Marco's voice hasn't become louder, but it completely drowns out Ace's own. It isn't often such an authoritative tone will dominate Marco's voice, nor such a sad one, an apologetic one, all at once. Ace feels something dark and ugly wrap firmly around his windpipe, seeming to choke all the air from it; and the words, the words forming in his mouth now, he can't swallow them down.
The words in his head are so much more different,
"Don't fuck around with me, Marco!" Ace roars. (Useless, absolutely useless, his head tells him)
His hand has clenched at his side. He hasn't even noticed. Marco has. He doesn't say anything, but his gaze drops down quickly, allowing Ace the opportunity to look down himself, to see the tremble in his hand, the unbelievable urge to attack something, or someone. (He's right, they were right, they were all right)
"Don't you dare make a point from this," Ace growls, "You would do the same if you were in my position right now."
"And so would you, if you were in mine," Marco rebuts angrily, "Because we would both know I should have left it.
"You should have just left it alone, Ace! If you hadn't turned back, back then—" (Back then, before, before)
"It won't happen again! I've got it, alright? Don't you think I've learnt that lesson by now?" But even as he speaks, Ace knows his blood is pumping, the tremors in his body have become near earthquakes, wearing down his self-control. Even against Marco, even against his crewmate, his body reverts to a state like this… What would happen when he saw that man's face again? The face that murdered his father?
(Useless, unreliable, risky, danger, danger) taunted the whispers, first his own and then the voices of his crew that sounded so hollow, like they could no longer trust their commander.
(Danger, danger)
"Have you?" Marco only says and it is more than enough to make his crewmate crumble in front of him.
"It's been two years already, Ace. They're not waiting around forever," Marco continues saying, "Alliances are weakening, people are already leaving… Things are changing and we don't make our move soon…" but he sounds so far away now, a fragment of the present that has become muted for Ace has withdrawn into a memory of his past.
"It tastes good, Dadan—" his voice broke, his mouth involuntarily becoming the shape of a grimace and letting tears find their way down and around the planes of his face. "Really… really, good."
Up until that moment, Ace never remembered receiving a single hug from Dadan. But on the day that he did, he remembered thinking it was so different from Makino's. There was true, raw strength in her arms that held him in such a vice-like grip, in such a way that maybe for anybody else it would have been crushing and uncomfortable, deadly even. She held him as if she were the only thing holding him to this place. Maybe she was.
"You're a fool," she muttered through her own tears, her voice rising until she was all but yelling at him, "Always such an idiotic, stupid fool, Ace!"
"I'm—" Ace began, the apology lying on the next word, but Dadan cut him off.
"Fool!" A dismissal disguised as understanding, a rejection of the formalities that had never existed, never between them.
It made Ace smile and cry even harder: a small shred of peace and comfort where the outside world had otherwise lost both its own at once. For across this place in the seas and beyond, on that day, were echoed the words: "Dead! Whitebeard's dead! Whitebeard's dead!"
In his own ear, only Dadan's voice, both the blessing and curse: "You're alive, Ace. You're alive! That's enough."
No one at the police station seems to know over the next week. Nami reports for work each day and each day wondering if this will be the one that she is arrested. But each day only greets her with Ain's company and the same work habits, no different to any other. Over the week, there appear to be several in-house reforms, security checks, processing of files and renewing of old ones. All female officers and employees. When Nami raised her eyebrow at Ain after the fifth load of new files landed on her desk, her co-worker only says, "I may have planted too much suspicion in the ranks of the mysterious female accomplice."
"Then it's only a matter of time before they ask me."
"Tashigi vouches for you," Ain replied, "You made a good ally, so you have nothing to worry about.
"I don't know if I can say the same, though."
Inevitably, Ain was called up for re-evaluation. Nami was not. It takes a long time for Ain to return, her face pinched into a tight expression of restraint and barely concealed fury. Otherwise, there is no sign of what must have been a long period of accusing Ain to be what she hated most in the world. Such a civilised justice.
"I'll do what the police refuse to."
Nami turns back to her work, ignoring the obvious question which hangs between them. They haven't spoken of their so-called partnership since the weekend; but there is an expectation there. When Arlong would next contact Nami – and he would, of that certainty Nami had never doubted, nor had reason to, now – there is an implied understanding between them that Ain would be privy to the information. And then…
Again, the same assertion repeats itself in Nami's head, in the same casual, but absolute, tone Ain had adopted to deliver it. She couldn't tell if she anticipated or dreaded the contact more.
What would a Neo Force's justice look like?
"What?" Ain asks and Nami allows her gaze that had settled thoughtfully on Ain to soften slightly without looking away.
"Are you OK?"
She sees Ain stiffen slightly, the only indication that she had been pushed that little bit further in her fury, before her voice reveals the true extent of it, "Do not misunderstand our relationship with each other at the moment. I don't need any sympathy from you." Her tone adds the word they'd both detest at the end, though it went unsaid now.
Pirate.
Nami thinks about arguing, of defending herself from a title she'd grown to detest as much as the woman sitting across from her (but somehow, somehow, since coming to this town, maybe that hatred is not as strong as it once was). Instead, she only allows a single accusation to escape, "You struck that grey area too, don't forget."
"For something completely different."
"Why not this?"
"Shouldn't I ask you the same?"
When Nami stumbles, at a loss for words, Ain's berry-burgundy eyes turn, seemingly languidly, but with a dangerous sharpness that promises harm and absolute certainty, towards her.
"Why not this?" Ain asks, "Why shouldn't I treat you the same as any one of them? Why should you be the exception?"
Because I never hurt anyone like Arlong has, because I'm not there because I want to be, because I'm not a Pirate…
Hadn't she, though? Hadn't she hurt other people? She thought of Bellemere, who Nami had attacked with such harsh words despite loving her so much; or Gen-san and all the other familiar faces from her hometown, and their expressions when they saw a tattoo that represented allegiance and betrayal. Or Nojiko who changed her path in life and bore such a heavy burden so abruptly for Nami's sake. Or a boy with a straw-hat who stood, shaking and frustrated and hurt in her kitchen for trying to be her friend. Did it matter what her motives were, or whether she had good intentions and made up for some of the harm she caused? Did it change the fact she hurt them, like a Pirate like Arlong would have?
Does that make her any different?
Neither girl says a word more. Ain turns away, busying herself with preparing another bullseye to take her anger out on. This time, the rings are distinctively black-and-white. No exceptions. Nami would find herself inclined to agree, but:
"It exists. The grey area," Nami says, coming to her conclusion. Ain scoffs.
"That's a terrible argument," she replies, probably believing the bluffer to be talking about herself, and not the Pirates she'd sailed the sea with. Maybe Nami couldn't be the exception, but the exception existed, out there. They existed.
"But it's a true one." Nami said it with such conviction, Ain looked up from her work. Briefly, briefly, Nami thought Ain even heard her. But seconds later, that moment was long gone. The black-and-white bullseye is pinned up and Ain makes her mark resolutely in the centre. Unwavering. Absolute.
On the other issue weighing on Nami's mind, specifically the other name, she had also yet failed to address. Maybe the right opportunity hadn't presented itself and she always ended up convincing herself it could wait another night; maybe one more night; one more. Maybe she was afraid of the answer she would receive, because she wasn't sure what it would be if she said the name 'Nezumi' to her sister's face.
It doesn't seem important, Nami had convinced herself. Maybe the visit had already happened and she was making a fuss over nothing. She didn't remember the last time they had an inspection, or what the protocol was, and she certainly hadn't asked when the man appeared at their apartment. Maybe this was something best left to her sister's control.
In any case, something always stopped her, and for the moment, though she wondered how much longer she could toe that line between 'too much' and 'enough', it didn't seem like too much would go wrong if she kept it that way.