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Mihawk surveyed the battlefield, though he considered it a stretch calling such a mundane struggle a battle.
The East Blue was said to be the weakest sea, but he was not the sort to take rumors at face value. A swordsman should not rely on the impressions of others, only his own senses. To do otherwise was to invite disaster, whether assessing opponents, swords, or wine.
Still, Mihawk would admit he had yet to find a halfway decent opponent in his travels through the East Blue. He was certainly not making much progress on his road to becoming the greatest swordsman. Had not even needed to draw Yoru yet.
Which is not to say he hadn’t. He could afford to indulge stretching his limits from time to time. Carving up mountains and ships, however, attracted the attention of Marines. Not that they posed a challenge, as the groans and cries rising from their defeated bodies could attest.
He turned to leave, only to sidestep as a bullet whistled past his ear. If the one responsible was surprised their shot missed, it did not affect their reactions. They reloaded and fired again. Mihawk casually deflected the second shot with a short sword he took off a challenger in the South Blue months ago, and closed the distance. All these Marines, so insistent on hiding behind guns. Take them away, and what did they have?
In the case of this Marine, more than most. They spun their rifle and brought it down in a sharp overhead swing. It was not a bad effort, if woefully lacking to defeat him. Mihawk blocked easily, then pushed his attacker away with a flick of the wrist. The Marine tumbled and rolled, white-and-blue cap flying off.
When they lifted their head, Mihawk found himself facing a woman, a few years younger than himself. Her hair was cropped close on the sides, with a slight ridge in the middle. The eyes staring back were without fear.
It didn’t affect the outcome, but the Marine at least showed will and fire. She crashed to the ground again, and rose again, using what was left of her rifle for support. He’d thought cutting the barrel in half might make her give up. All it prompted was a string of curses as she tried sweeping his leg.
“Why does one so weak continue to fight?”
She grinned, ignoring the blood trickling down her face. “You late for a hot date? I thought we were having fun.”
* * *
The files from HQ don’t tell her much.
Dracule Mihawk. No known affiliation with any pirate crews or criminal organizations. No known affiliations with anyone, really. No one was sure where he’s from, or where he got that boat oar of sword he carried on his back.
Bell-mere rocked her chair onto its rear legs, smoke from her cigarette drifting to the ceiling.
Who trained him? Unknown.
What he’s after? Unknown.
All Bell-mere knew was he’s by far the strongest, and most indifferent, criminal, she’s ever met. That his facial hair should look ridiculous, but he pulls it off. Those yellow eyes, so bored, but so intense. Like he saw right through her. The picture doesn't do them justice. Bell-mere felt something when they locked eyes, but isn't sure if she wants to fuck him up, or just fuck him. Probably both, she decides.
“Why are you bothering, Sergeant? We’ll never see him again.”
Corporal Barry is sporting bandages from the fight with Mihawk. So is she, for that matter. He could have killed them all if he wanted.
“Just curious.” She feigned indifference as the legs of her chair slammed on the floor. “Let’s get some combat training in.”
Barry wilted. “Again?”
“You don’t want word getting around you can’t keep it up, do you?” She gave him a wink and cheeky grin as she started down the hall. She might never see Mihawk again, but she was determined to be ready if she did.
Barry turned red. “I thought the Captain talked to you about saying stuff like that!”
* * *
A year later, Mihawk returned to the East Blue. There were not any more promising swordsmen than last time, but he did find a quaint festival on an out-of-the-way island. The climate was a marked change from Kuraigana. Warm, with a constant breeze to blunt the edge of the heat.
He again encountered that Marine. Sensed her glare on his back, before she issued a challenging shout. Her rifle was at her side, finger resting on the trigger. She stopped outside what would be the range of an ordinary swordsman. “What is it you want?”
“I’m asking you that,” she retorted. “This is a peaceful celebration. Don’t cause trouble.”
“I have no intention of doing so,” he responded. “Nor could you stop me if I did.”
Mihawk saw the determined glint in her eye as she took a step forward. Barely time to think how foolish that was, letting her emotions override what sense she had, before she was nose-to-nose with him.
“Don’t be so sure.”
* * *
‘How strong is he?’
She’d trained her ass off, and Mihawk still made it look easy when he beat her.
“Would you stop cutting my rifles in half?”
Mihawk stared down the end of his sword (which rested against her throat). “Better you should learn to keep me from doing so.”
How the heck was she supposed to do that? Irritated, she gripped the sword and pushed it aside roughly, ignoring how it cut into her fingers. Bell-mere was in the process of grabbing what’s left of her rifle, determined to jam it up this snob’s ass, when said snob reached out and caught her hand.
She tried to pull back, but he maintained his grip, easily flipping her palm to inspect the damage. “Foolish.”
Bell-mere ignored how smooth his hands were. “What?”
“You allow your emotions to rule you, and as a result, injured yourself.”
He's not the first guy to say something about her being controlled by her emotions. While Mihawk studied her left hand, he didn’t see the right ball into a fist and introduce itself to his face.
The punch didn’t knock him down, but did knock his hat off and made him stumble back. “Have you no manners whatsoever, woman?”
“You dropped your guard because you got all chivalrous over the injured damsel,” she pointed out, mimicking his tone, “and now you’re injured.”
The swordsman raised one eyebrow, but acknowledged the point as he picked up his hat. “Shall we stop fighting and tend to the injuries? The festival has not ended yet, I believe.”
Bell-mere should try to arrest him, but she could spin this as keeping an eye on him to cut down the odds of anyone getting hurt. Plus, she’s pretty sure she couldn’t beat him alone (yet.)
“Sure.”
* * *
“What’s this made from?”
“Mulberries. An unimpressive stock, at that.”
She swirls the liquid in her glass. She's hitting that point where the buzz makes her warm. “I’ve always liked tangerines. Maybe I could make that into wine.”
“An abomination.” There’s the slightest glaze coming over the eyes. They look more golden. “I would be curious to see the result.”
* * *
Mihawk wasn’t sure where he was upon waking. The body heat and sound of soft breathing were obvious hints he wasn’t alone, as was the magenta hair in the bottom of his field of vision.
The Marine’s eyes opened, taking a moment to focus on him. Mihawk expected anger or shock, but received a lazy yawn. “Not bad. I wasn’t sure you could back up all that boasting, especially with how much you drank.”
Mihawk dimly recalled a table strewn with wine bottles. He winced at how his voice rasped, “Boasting?”
“About having the finest sword in the world and knowing how to use it,” she answered, grin still firmly in place. “I don’t know if you’re quite that level, but I’m not complaining.”
She swung one leg across his stomach and sat up to look him squarely in the eye. “Now, explain how I stop you cutting my rifles.”
“Pardon?”
“You said I should learn how to stop you cutting my rifles in half,” she repeated. “Tell me how that works.”
“Why should I do that?”
She slid one hand along his arm, interlocking fingers with him, and gently guided his arm to the headboard. Her gaze never left his, and Mihawk was too muddled to use Haki to read her intentions. It seemed clear enough she thought he would be swayed by her body. She might not even be wrong. What he could recall of last night had been quite enjoyable.
The sharp clack of a shackle around his wrist came as a total surprise.
“Because,” she said, “you’re a wanted criminal, and I’m a Marine. I can call in my guys and have you hauled off to prison.”
Mihawk sat up as best he could with his wrist restrained. “This was a plot all along? Devious. I was not aware Marines were trained to use such, pleasant, tactics to capture pirates.”
“They aren’t, I’m a natural at taking initiative.” She grew serious. “Just, give me some hints here. If there’s a way to get better, I’d like to know.”
To the extent he could tell, she seemed genuine. “If I teach you, we would need an open space. You will have to unlock the shackle.”
From how she studied him, Mihawk wondered if she already possessed Observation Haki, though he could sense no sign of it. Finally, she sighed and reached for the shackle. “If you’re bullshitting me, I’ll hunt you down and put a bullet in your tight little butt.”
* * *
Bell-mere would admit, she hoped this training would be more hands on. Instead, the criminal, her teacher now, she supposed, was having her sit and concentrate. Couldn’t she just hit things?
A finger tapped between her eyes. “You are not concentrating.”
“How would you know?”
“Because unlike you, I have mastered my Haki and can sense your intentions and emotions clearly. Concentrate.”
“How does that keep my rifles in one piece?”
“If you can read your opponent’s intentions, you can avoid their attacks.” He must have read something in her “intentions”, because he sighed. “There are other avenues. Perhaps your skills run towards Armament.”
He started to stand and she beat him to it. He drew a sword – not the big one on his back, but the smaller one he used when they first met – and she raised her rifle eagerly. She could go for a fight. The gleaming blue blade turned shiny black.
“My focused will to strike at another,” he explained, “given physical form. If you master this, no one will be able to break through what you shield unless their Armament is stronger still.”
“So I should focus on wanting to hit you as hard as I can?” She thought of all his condescending remarks. “I can do that.”
* * *
“I see you are a Captain now.”
Bell-mere ignored his comment, focus on the chessboard never wavering. Mihawk sat back, amused at her concentration. At least she agreed to play, though he had to agree to a game of darts first. (He had no objection to the game, but wasn’t ready for her to believe him so easily swayed.)
The tavern was quaint, but pleasant enough. Cozy, one might say. The owner didn’t object to Mihawk bringing his own wine, since he purchased dinner (Bell-mere rejected the offer to pay for hers, reasoning it was questionable enough she was talking with a noted criminal.)
Her queen’s bishop crossed the board. Not a bad play, though not the best available. “Fighting you makes most East Blue pirates look pretty tame.”
Mihawk moved a pawn, curious if he could goad her into bringing the rook out too far. “Unsurprising, with your having nearly mastered Armament, and having a basic grasp of Observation.”
The rook stayed put, Bell-mere advancing a pawn as her cigarette shifted to the other side of her mouth. Mihawk wrinkled his nose as the aroma of the cheap tobacco she favored reached his nostrils. “What do you mean, nearly mastered?”
She made a show of being angry, but the mirth in her Voice she hadn’t learned to mask suggested she was merely playing. Or, like the cigarette smoke, it was an attempt at distraction. “You believe you can stop me from cutting your rifle in half?”
“Absolutely.” Bell-mere frowned as his knight put her in check. “Shit, how did I miss that guy?”
Her hand hovered over her pieces, drifting from one to another as she considered and dismissed possibilities. “Are you the World’s Greatest Swordsman yet?”
“No,” he replied as she shifted her king to protect it.
“Getting closer, though?”
Mihawk took a moment to study her. She was staring at the board. A lock of hair hung off her forehead over her eye. There had been a note of real interest in her voice.
“It’s your move.” At his failure to respond, she tilted her head to look at him. The hair slid off the side of her face. “What?”
“I’m surprised you care.” Mihawk shifted his remaining bishop halfway across the board.
“I don’t get the big deal about the title,” she said breezily, “but it means something to you. So, sure, I want you to get it.”
“Besides,” her face broke into the teasing grin Mihawk found more appealing all the time, “once you’re the World’s Greatest, it’ll make my stories about beating you in a fight that much cooler.”
A tiny huff of a laugh escaped him. “When have you managed that?”
“Once I take your king.” Her queen closed in. “We’ll step outside and I’ll show you just how well I mastered Armament Haki.”
She would have him in check in two moves, Mihawk observed as he moved his knight. Sadly for her. . . ”Checkmate. I hope your mastery of Armament exceeds your mastery of chess.”
Bell-mere pushed her chair back, more calmly than he expected, radiating confidence. “Step outside and see.”
* * *
She fired, and he casually cut the bullet in half without breaking stride. Bell-mere hated when he did that, smug –
Mihawk closed. She ducked his swing, kicked at his knee. He twisted to avoid it, sweeping his sword in a diagonal slice. Bell-mere rolled away and popped to her feet. She spun, raising the rifle in a parry for the thrust she could just sense coming.
His sword cut a narrow notch in the stock before she could reinforce with her Armament. At least it wouldn’t render the rifle useless, she thought, right before she jumped backwards. Mihawk closed the gap instantly, keeping the pressure up.
(As much as she hated to admit it, he made Observation Haki look pretty useful. It was just so boring.)
She blocked another swing, pleased to note his sword didn’t break her Armament at all, then had to give ground again as he twisted his sword around the rifle to jab at her face.
She parried again, feet sliding from the force of his strike. Her Armament was holding, but her arms were starting to ache. She refused to give up. Bell-mere didn’t know what this thing she and Mihawk had was, beyond the occasional good time. They never discussed it. Mihawk didn’t talk much about himself, period. She could tell he didn’t train many people, but he agreed to train her. Whatever the reason, she’d prove it was a good decision.
She backed up, simultaneously shifting her rifle to a firing position. Mihawk closed again, maybe a little more lazily than before. She swung her rifle barrel first at his head, concentrating all her Armament there.
The barrel held when Mihawk blocked with Yoru, but she felt the warning crack of the stock through her palms. She jumped up and forward, changing the angle of the barrel so it was aimed at his face even as he tried to adjust to the shift in balance. She balanced on his sword in a crouch, Armament in the soles of her boots, finger tight on the trigger. “I don’t really want to mess up your pretty face. Surrender?”
She enjoyed his look of surprise before he lowered his sword to allow her dismount. “Very well. I surrender.”
A rush of triumph flooded her veins as she slung her rifle across her shoulder. She wiped a trickle of sweat from her forehead and watched Mihawk replace his sword on his back. He looked like he’d barely done anything.
The triumphant feeling fell away. “Did you go easy on me?”
Those gold-yellow eyes swept over her, and Bell-mere hated how exposed she felt. “I did not fight with killing intent, no. I did not believe it was that manner of battle. Were you intending to kill me?”
“I don’t need the paperwork that would involve,” she answered, too hastily.
“Then we fought at an appropriate level, and you defeated me,” he stated. “A swordsman does not make excuses for defeat. You are strong and resourceful, and demonstrated your mastery of Armament Haki. You should take pride in that.”
His eyes swept over her again, different intent lurking now. His voice shifted to a lower timbre, warm and inviting. “You should also be honored for your progress.”
Bell-mere didn’t mind feeling exposed this time.
* * *
Dracule Mihawk, recently crowned World’s Greatest Swordsman, approached the East Blue Marine base with unfamiliar anticipation running through his blood. Not what he felt when he prepared for battle, a different eagerness. He might almost have described himself as an excited schoolboy, if he knew what that felt like.
“Halt!” To the Marine’s credit, he didn’t pass out or collapse. Though it was unlikely he would have hit anything, given how his arms shook.
Mihawk heard the stampede of boots, none of the Voices hers. Nonetheless, he waited for them to arrive. Once they felt as secure in their numbers as possible, Mihawk unrolled the document he’d kept secure in his coat the entire voyage from Marineford.
He had to wait until a Marine would come close enough to read it. The brave (for a certain definition) one scanned the document. Mihawk knew the exact moment he saw the signature of the Fleet Admiral, because the Marine’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates.
He snapped into a stiff posture and shouted, “Lower your weapons, this man is a recognized Warlord!”
The others obeyed with almost relief. Mihawk would have to talk to her about improving the training of those under her command. “Now that you see I am not here to devastate your base, where is Captain Bell-mere?”
Most of the Marines projected confusion, but a few grew nervous. Mihawk recognized one as having been Bell-mere’s second-in-command when he last saw her. The man’s coat now bore the epaulets of a Captain.
The man turned white as a sheet when Mihawk's full attention fell on him. “What has happened to her?”
* * *
Save for a cliff overlooking the sea at one spot, the island he was directed to sat low. A few forested hills rose further in, but most of the land was flat plains.
Mihawk drifted to a dock near a small village and disembarked. One man sat there, bare feet swinging above the water, paying little attention to the fishing pole in his hands. He glanced briefly at Mihawk, then did a double-take, eyes focused on the sword.
“I am looking for Cap – “ He caught himself. “For a woman named Bell-mere. Would you direct me to her home, please?”
The man nodded so fast Mihawk expected his head to break loose and sail over the horizon. Pointing a shaking finger towards the village, “Tuh-take a left, I mean right, right! Take a right at the square and follow the road to a little, house, well it’s a cabin, really, it used to be a shack, or maybe a hut. . .but I guess you don’t care about that. It’s in an orchard.”
The man finished so abruptly Mihawk waited for more, but apparently that was all. It was enough. If the directions brought him close, he would sense her.
The village seemed pleasant, if bland. Like a hundred others throughout the Blues. Villagers watched from their windows and doorways. Those on the road gave him a wide berth. The scenery changed as he continued. The trees became uniformly spaced, and all of a certain type. Tangerines, he noted, though he questioned their quality. Many of trees were dominated by dead branches or missing bark, the fruit stunted and bruised.
He sensed her ahead, continued following the path. When he felt the change in her Voice that signaled recognition, he was almost to the front door. Of the different words the fisherman used, Mihawk would say “cabin” fit best, though even that might give too much credit.
Bell-mere opened the door and leaned easily against the frame. Her jeans showed patches of wear on the knees, and the flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up also carried quite a history, judging by the faded stains. Her smile was as he remembered, full of good humor, but fatigue encircled her eyes. “Hey there, sailor. Looking for a good time?”
* * *
He looked about the same, she thought. A little broader across the chest. Either that or he was wearing his shirts open more than he used to. Not that she was complaining. “Come on in, give you the 5-Beri tour.”
He stepped through the door like he expected it to be booby-trapped. Bell-mere would almost laugh at how out of place he was in her little home, with his dark expensive clothes and that huge sword, except he looked confused, almost lost.
He took the chair she offered and accepted a cup of coffee. She took a seat across the table from him. “What brings you here? How’d you even find me?”
“I asked for your location at the base. You adjutant directed me here.”
“Barry spoke to you? Without passing out?” She allowed herself a laugh. “I guess the training paid off, then. Why’d you want to see me?”
In response, he held out a piece of paper. Bell-mere scanned it. “Warlord, huh? Didn’t think that was your style.”
“I found it preferable to fending off constant attempts by pitiful Marines to capture me.”
That sounded about right. “OK, why’d they offer, instead of just sending an Admiral?”
“They did. Admiral Seijuro. It was killing him that earned me the title of World’s Greatest Swordsman.”
So he pulled it off. Bell-mere wasn’t sure how to feel. It wasn’t like she knew that Admiral, or anyone that did (higher-ups didn’t come to the East Blue much. She'd seen Garp the Fist once, at a distance.) She wasn’t even a Marine now. If Mihawk actually went as far as killing him, then Seijuro must have been strong.
She knew she preferred this outcome to the alternative. “Well, congrats. What now?”
Mihawk didn’t answer, just stared at her for a long time before asking a question of his own. “What are you doing here?”
She waited for him to expand on that. When he didn’t, she played it light. “I’m raising tangerines. Gonna try making wine. I know you’ll buy a bottle, right?”
He didn’t laugh, not that she expected it. But not even a grin, or the raised eyebrow that said he was amused but trying not to show it. Her stomach felt tight. “This is my home. That’s my orchard out there.”
She leaned her head out the window. “Nojiko, Nami, get over here!”
“We weren’t doing anything!”
“I know!” She did. She hadn’t noticed Mihawk sooner because she kept Observation Haki locked on the girls most days. They'd been great for improving it. “I want to introduce you to someone!”
Mihawk’s expression didn’t change, except the skin around the eyes got a little tighter. His Voice was locked down. Footsteps rustled through the grass, and her daughters came sprinting through the door, only to skid to a stop at the sight of a stranger. No new scrapes or scratches, but Nami’s dress had a tear. For a kid that liked to run around so much, she wouldn’t wear clothes that could take it.
“Nami, Nojiko,” she approached slowly, “this is Mihawk. He’s an. . .old friend of mine.”
Nojiko looked him over carefully. “Is he a vampire?”
Bell-mere smiled, but it faded at Mihawk’s reaction to the girls. His eyes drifted over them coldly. Nojiko moved to shield Nami, expression guarded. Nami glared right back, then stuck out her tongue.
“I see this one adopted your manners,” he drawled.
“They both have,” Bell-mere replied proudly. She felt her defenses rising at the tone in his voice. “Nojiko’s just playing nice because we have company.”
“This,” he gestured, “is why you abandoned your strength?”
Whatever good cheer she’d maintained up to then vanished. She nearly growled, “What does that mean?”
“I thought it obvious.” Even with him sitting and her standing, it felt like he was looking down on her. Like they were all the way back to square one. “You had grown by leaps and bounds as a warrior, and now you content yourself playing house?”
Her fist clenched, metallic gleam of Armament rising over her knuckles and up her hand, only to fall with the next exhale.
Mihawk noticed. Which didn’t mean he understood. “Is that all you’re capable of now?”
The last thin thread of control evaporated entirely. He didn’t know her well enough to recognize when she was holding herself back?
Her fist was flying before she realized. He dodged, arms folded across his chest. A thin trickle of blood ran down his cheek, matched by the red line on her Armament-covered knuckle. “Get out. You disrespect my daughters and my life? Get the hell out of my house, now.”
He left without a word, leaving Bell-mere to deal with the hole she put in her wall, and the question of whether the girls needed to stay at Genzo’s until she could fix it.
* * *
Mihawk was a grown man, not a petulant teenager. He was not affected by how poorly that went, the fury and disgust that shone in her eyes when she ordered him to leave.
If he attacked some unworthy pirate crew he encountered on the way to his castle, well. . . He had been sitting for a long time and needed the exercise.
Kuraigana was as usual. Sky overcast, roads empty. The humandrils kept their distance, animal instincts telling them today was not the day to attempt a sneak attack.
He absently gathered a bottle of wine and a glass and retreated retired to his study. His eyes slid over and past shelves filled with books. He had read them all. Mihawk took a seat in a chair with its back to the window. There was nothing outside he hadn’t seen before.
It was just as well. End it now, rather than drag it past the point they ceased to interest each other. If Bel – her ambitions were so limited, then there was nothing more to say, was there?
(He had thought her happiness at the sight of him a sign she was ready to escape. The longer he stayed, the more he said, the more her joy dimmed. Until it vanished entirely beneath fury.)
He banished those eyes from his mind and sipped the wine. At the first taste he lowered the glass, eyeing the contents with a puckered frown. It was sour, the sweetness typical of the vintage absent. He scanned the bottle, sniffed at the aroma. Nothing amiss. Swirled the contents of his glass, allowing it time to breathe, but the next taste produced the same result.
It lacked something. Or something lacked in him. Mihawk had known a swordsman who was fond of sake. The man opined (loudly), all that was necessary to enjoy the drink was the markers of the seasons. If it still tasted foul, he said with the air of one convinced of his own insight, the fault lay with the drinker.
Mihawk set the glass down hard enough it echoed in the empty room. He intended to invite her here someday. What would she have made of it? Joked it suited his personality? Asked about the paintings, or if she could try one of the antique rifles? Inquired as to the number of beds for them to use?
He did not understand it. Yes, many were satisfied with a life of toil and raising children. Mihawk always believed those people lacked the skill or determination for anything greater. Sh- Bell-mere was different. He had an inkling of it in their first encounter, and each subsequent meeting only reinforced that impression.
Had he misjudged her so badly?
Mihawk looked again at his castle, his kingdom. His vast, empty castle on an island devoid of other people.
He might have misjudged, but not in the way he first suspected.
* * *
Idiot. She was a complete idiot.
A complete idiot with an orchard to tend. The blight on the east row was trying to spread. She had to get it under control. She had to make this work, at least.
Which, she reflected as she stalked towards one of the sick trees, Armament sliding up her arm, gave her a good way to burn some energy.
She dragged the broken tree away, thoughts running in circles. Why had she gotten her hopes up? Why did she even have hopes for him in the first place? They drifted into each other’s lives, had some fun, drifted out. Never discussed anything more than that.
She never even considered anything more than that. Not until she found Nojiko and Nami in the ruins of Oykot. Why expect him to jump right into a domestic life with her?
Because she was an idiot, obviously.
The tree joined the others in the brush pile. The last, for now. Time to check the rest of the stand, see how things were going. She’d tried using Haki to sense if the trees were healthy, but it didn’t seem to work. She could use the walk. Still energy to burn.
The west edge was looking good. She picked a few of the best.
Her anger started to boil anew. The trees blurred together. Would it have killed him to show a little interest? At least greet Nami and Nojiko, instead of looking right through them.
Sensing Genzo's Voice, she stuffed the anger down. “What did Nami get into this time?”
“Nothing.” He looked her over, face wrinkled in concern. Such a softy. “It’s a hot day. Wouldn’t you like to take a break?”
She shook her head, pushed damp locks back on her scalp. He couldn’t see how much strength she had, either. “I’m fine. Too much to do.”
“You’ve been pacing the rows for two hours. Nojiko told me you’ve walked past this tree three times already.”
What? That couldn’t be right. She checked the sun. It was a lot further towards the horizon that it oughta be. Shit. “Are the girls OK?”
Genzo took a deep inhale, let it out slowly. “They’re fine. Just worried about you.”
He moved closer, laid one callused hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright if you want to cry.”
“Cry? Who needs to cry?” She looked away, ran a hand across her face to check. It just came back sweaty. “I misjudged him, that’s all. Nothing to cry over. Come on, you can have dinner with us.”
Genzo urged her to walk with him. “You’ve been working all day. Why don’t you all come to my house for dinner?”
“Sounds good. Let’s get the girls.” She’d improved since becoming a parent, but Bell-mere wouldn’t object to letting someone else cook for a night. She clapped him on the back, making him grunt and stumble.
“Just don’t think that’ll get you to second base.” She gave him a wink, but it felt forced.
Genzo shook his head and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I will not forgive that man for breaking your heart.”
Maybe Genzo saw her clearer than she thought.
* * *
“It’s great to see ya, Hawky!”
This was against his better judgment, but Mihawk couldn’t stay in the castle any longer. The silence was too oppressive. He sailed with no destination in mind, but wasn’t surprised to find himself on board Red Force.
As usual, Shanks insisted on celebrating the Warlord’s visit, but Mihawk was more curious in the changes he observed. Arms folded across his chest, he gave Shanks his least impressed look. “What has happened to your arm?”
Shanks looked at the stump, then at Mihawk. “A little run-in with a sea beast. Don’t fret, I’ll be back on my feet and ready to duel you in no time!”
“I find that unlikely, if your skills decayed so far you couldn’t defeat a simple creature.”
There was a sharp change in atmosphere at his comment. Shanks’ crew did not appreciate the slight to their captain. Mihawk wasn’t worried, but it had been a tactless of him as a guest. He should moderate himself better with those he would consider at least acquaintances. “I apologize. That was inconsiderate.”
Shanks laughed it off. “My hands were a bit full at the time. I told you about our Anchor?”
Mihawk certainly heard from Shanks, at length, about Vice-Admiral Garp’s grandchild. (Mihawk could just hang up, but Shanks simply tracked him down to talk in-person.) “That is why you are maimed?”
“Of course,” Shanks replied enthusiastically. “It’s a bet on the future. Anchor’s gonna be a special one, just you wait! Which reminds me,”
“No.”
Shanks’ lower lip jutted out. “I haven’t even asked yet!”
Mihawk remained stone-faced. “Yet I’m certain it will be something I have no desire to do.”
“Come on, Hawky,” the man managed a disturbing imitation of a child pleading for sweets, “I’m just asking you to visit Foosha Village on Dawn Island once in a while to check on Luffy. We’d go ourselves, but –“
“Vice-Admiral Garp is aware of your influence on his grandson and already hunting you down.”
Rather than being ashamed, Shanks grinned. “Exactly! But you’re a Warlord, so it’ll be no problem!”
Mihawk doubted Garp would like a Warlord visiting his grandson any more than an Emperor.
Beckmann, sensing Mihawk’s reluctance (while ignoring his complete lack of interest), added, “Come on, Dracule, you already go to the East Blue all the time to see your lady.”
Mihawk threw Beckmann a withering glare, but it was too late. Shanks was intrigued. “Hawky’s got a lady friend? Benn, why am I only learning this now?”
The first mate had the audacity to shrug lazily. “I was trying, futilely, to keep you out of trouble, seeing as she’s a Marine.”
Shanks was a picture of demonic glee. “Is that how they got you to accept the Warlord spot? The old honey trap? Oh, Hawky, I thought you knew better than that.”
Mihawk, patience rapidly expiring (and yes, angry at the implied dismissal of Bell-mere’s worth, and yes, guilty at his own mistakes in that arena), reached for Yoru with the intent to make something else rapidly expire.
The Emperor, showing more survival instinct than usual, raised his remaining hand in a halting gesture. “Easy now, we’re just joking around. I’m sure she’s a lovely woman.”
“She is foul-mouthed, a constant flirt, and has atrocious taste in wine.” More softly, Mihawk amended, “she also wields her rifle fiercely and refuses to ever surrender.”
A few of Shanks’ crew “oooooooh”ed, only to fall silent when Mihawk looked their way. Imbeciles, he thought, but honorable ones. Reluctantly, “I will check on this child. If I have time.”
“Great! Lemme get you a picture of him!” Yassop coughed, and Shanks snapped his fingers. “Oh right! While you’re checking in on Luffy, could you check in on Yassop’s son? The Gecko Islands aren’t that far!”
The sniper produced a wallet filled with photos. “You’ll love Usopp, Dracule! Deadeye marksman and sharp as a tack! Why this one time - ”
The rest of the crew scattered as Yassop launched into a lengthy story about his son.
* * *
The residents of Cocoyashi were, unsurprisingly, less welcoming than in his previous visit. As that hostility did not extend to anything beyond glaring, he ignored them.
Neither Bell-mere nor the children were at the cottage, its wall now repaired. A quick sweep with Haki guided him to the far end of the orchard. Mihawk studied the trees as he homed in on Bell-mere’s Voice. His expertise was drinks that contained the products of fruit, rather than the plants that produced them, but the grove looked healthier.
He found Bell-mere pruning limbs and inspecting tangerines. Some went into a bushel at Nojiko’s feet, others a basket in front of Nami, who ignored it in favor of scribbling. Others were left untouched.
Nojiko visibly stiffened when she noticed him. Nami paused whatever she doing, aware of her sister’s distress. When she saw the source, she pulled down one eyelid and stuck out her tongue. Bell-mere gave no outward acknowledgement, though her Voice revealed she was aware of him.
Mihawk waited, but Bell-mere moved to the next tree. The children hauled their baskets in her wake, Nojiko dragging her own and helping Nami with hers.
Wordlessly, Mihawk stepped forward to grab the baskets, as Bell-mere turned to do likewise. This left them face-to-face. Bell-mere wrenched both baskets away. “Nojiko, Nami. Good work today. Go take a break, have some fun. Steal Genzo’s hat.”
The children hesitated. Bell-mere ruffled the hair on their heads. “It’s alright, I’ll take care of the rest.”
“You’re gonna hit him,” Nojiko stated plainly.
“We’ll bring your gun so you can shoot him,” Nami offered, making another face at Mihawk.
Bell-mere laughed. “Thanks for the offer, but it’ll be fine. I’m just gonna use words today.”
She waited until they were out of sight before finally looking at him, fist resting on her hip. Her posture suggested she was ready to strike, but uncertainty lurked behind her eyes. “Thought you had no time for a weakling.”
“I never said you were a weakling.”
“You said I abandoned my training and my strength.”
“If you have strength, you can hardly be weak.” She sighed in disgust and resumed inspecting tangerines. Mihawk recognized arguing semantics was a poor start. He tried to break the ice. “Have you kept up your training? I hope I did not catch you unawares.”
“I wouldn’t need Haki to sense you. Could smell your cologne and that mustache wax you use from a mile away.”
“I have never worn this cologne around you before.” He’d hoped she would like it.
Bell-mere froze. “Well, no one else that visits would wear any. Process of elimination.”
Perhaps she had been keeping alert for his arrival, but didn’t wish to advertise it. She plucked a tangerine off the branch with more force than seemed strictly necessary. Why Mihawk expected her to make this easy, he didn’t know. Another misstep in a growing list. “I did not understand why one with your skill and desire to fight would leave the Marines to raise children. You could have risen to the rank of Rear-Admiral easily, and likely higher.”
“If that sort of thing matters so much to you,” she spat without turning around, “why don’t you do it? They aren’t going to take your precious, “World’s Bestest Swordsman” title if you enlist. They’d probably put it in all the papers. Just couldn’t stand to wear bright colors?”
The fire he sensed in her Voice was matched by her eyes as she spun to face him. “I thought the Marines were a way to a better life, and I liked fighting because I could protect people.”
She swept her arms in a circle, gesturing at the orchard. “But I like this life. I love Nojiko and Nami, and giving them a home. Was I supposed to let them fend for themselves to sail around the world like you? Spend my life roaming and picking fights?”
“This life offers you that much meaning?”
“It does.” She was resolute as any time they ever fought, if not more. He sensed what he missed before. This was not a flight of fancy or something temporary. She dedicated herself to this.
There were many things he would need to do, but first, “I am sorry for misjudging your reasons. A life tied to one location is not one I could envision for myself.”
“Then why are you here? Your honor demand you come make that half-assed apology?”
“It did. I also missed you. Your presence, your humor, your fire.” The skeptical expression on her face remained unchanged. “That I do not wish to remain in one place permanently, does not mean there are no people or places important to me. You are the one I consider most important.”
The tangerine fell from her hand, and Bell-mere knelt to pick it up. He could sense her using the time to compose herself. “You offering to play Dad, because I think Genzo will fight you on that.”
Mihawk had no idea who Genzo was, but doubted it would be much of a fight. “No, but I would like to be able to visit you, and I will take whatever role with your daughters you deem fit.”
“For starters, you could learn their names.”
“The taller one with hair the color of the sky is Nojiko, while her sister is Nami. Nami appears to enjoy drawing.”
“She likes making maps,” Bell-mere corrected absently. “If you’re around my kids, they’re going to ask questions. You’re going to have to answer them, politely. No making them cry or giving them nightmares.”
“How will I know what would do either of those things?”
“Guess you’ll just have to play it by ear.” Her voice carried a hint of its old playfulness. Mihawk allowed himself some hope. “So there’s no time like the present. Let’s have lunch.”
It was a start.
* * *
“Be honest. This is why you came to see me. Because you were gonna have to deal with kids?”
"No. It is simply a fortunate confluence of events. It was important I apologize, but I also agreed to a favor for an annoying acquaintance."
It had been a week. An awkward week, and not only because there was no spare bed and Bell-mere was not (yet) in the mood to share. Mihawk stayed at Genzo’s, complaining constantly about the lack of decent coffee. Genzo kept his opinions to himself, but Bell-mere didn’t need Haki to know he wanted to throw his guest in the sea.
The girls weren’t happy with Mihawk, either. Bell-mere overheard them whispering threats not to make their mom cry ever again. While Bell-mere wanted to clarify she did not cry over their last meeting, the whole thing warmed her heart. Not just them calling her “mom”, but that they thought nothing of threatening someone as strong as Mihawk. He wouldn’t hurt them, but she’d seen grown men faint from his glare.
For Mihawk’s part, he praised them on the threat’s creativity and the force behind it, while advising them to ask Bell-mere how to gain the strength to carry it out. That seemed to mollify Nojiko enough she backed off. Or she noticed Bell-mere was smiling more.
(It hurt, what he said the last time. But he apologized, and he was trying. Even if it she felt a little stupid being hung up on him, she’d missed him.)
To no surprise, Nami was slower to come around. The girl could hold a grudge like no other. Sailing on Mihawk’s little coffin-boat to visit these other kids on behalf of an Emperor was doing little for her mood.
“Why’s your boat so small?”
From her seat on the armrest of his chair Bell-mere grinned as Nojiko stage-whispered, “Nami, it’s not nice to point out that people are poor. He can’t afford a bigger boat.”
Mihawk refused to react. Some kids would lose interest. Nami just dug in. “If he’s poor, he should spend less on his clothes. His shirt doesn’t even fit.”
At the barely-perceptible sigh of the man beside her, Bell-mere intervened on his behalf. “He can’t do that, Nami. Mihawk’s what’s called a gigolo.”
A strangled grunt escaped Mihawk. She ignored the yellow eyes glaring her way. Nami tilted her head. “What’s that?”
“Someone who gets women or men to like him so they’ll give him money. The fancy clothes help. Especially since he doesn’t smile.”
“If you smile, you can trick people into giving you money?” Nami seemed interested in that notion.
Nojiko was focused on more immediate concerns. “Does that mean he’s trying to get your money?”
Bell-mere shook her head and nudged Mihawk with her elbow. “He’s interested in something else of mine.”
* * *
Mihawk rarely regretted things. It was a waste of time that could be better spent improving himself.
“Hey mister?” A reedy, nasal voice piped up. Mihawk would be hearing it in his sleep, if he was able to get any. “Hey mister! Can I use this bottle to show what a great shot I am?”
“No.”
He certainly regretted his harsh words to Bell-mere, but the course of action to improve himself had been obvious.
“Why not?”
“I have not finished drinking the contents. If you allow me but five minutes. . .”
Not all situations were so easily rectified, however.
Bell-mere nudged him. “Careful, you only have two bottles left. Unless you’re ready to try my latest vintage.”
“I will do so gladly.”
Mihawk greatly regretted agreeing to Shanks’ request.
Banchina cast a disapproving eye his way. “Does he always drink this much?”
Nojiko tugged at her mother’s shirttail, face a picture of innocence in no way matched by her Voice. “Bell-mere? Why can’t he afford as nice a boat as Kaya’s parents?”
He saw no viable course of action to address this regret. Certainly not if he ran out of wine. He removed himself to the rear of the ship.
Banchina was a pleasant enough woman, stronger than she first appeared. A Warlord at her doorstep barely fazed her. Bell-mere being a retired Marine prompted greater concern, but the presence of Nami and Nojiko seemed to reassure Yassop’s beloved this was truly a social call, rather than some attempt to lure Red-Hair and his crew into a trap.
She even agreed to Usopp accompanying them to see the child Shanks was so taken with, just not on Mihawk’s ship. The child of a wealthy couple in town was friends with Usopp, and agreed to loan their ship if Kaya could attend. While they were wary of Mihawk, Bell-mere assured them he was under her command. Mihawk was willing to agree to anything that would expedite this favor.
Bell-mere leaned on the railing beside him. “You look stressed.”
“I am perfectly calm.”
“Yeah, but you’re working harder for it than normal.” She leaned closer. “We’ve reached Foosha. We’ll check on this Luffy, let the kids play until they get tired. Then an easy run back to Syrup and then Conomi.”
Mihawk stepped away from the railing to throw the anchor over. Returning to Conomi, even if it meant lodging with Genzo and being subjected to his bluster, was deeply appealing. “Are the girls enjoying the trip?”
It seemed so, but he was no expert. Nojiko was quite interested in Usopp’s slingshot, while Nami watched the sea with open fascination when she wasn’t letting Kaya braid her hair.
"Yeah." Bell-mere smiled in a soft way he only saw directed towards her daughters. “This is great. The sea air seems to be doing Banchina and Kaya some good, too.”
“Then it has been a worthwhile trip.”
Mihawk led the odd procession into town. A short man rushed to meet them, looking put out at their arrival. Mihawk was not interested in his problems. “Party’s Bar.”
The man’s eyes drifted to Yoru and he wordlessly pointed. The establishment was empty in late morning, save a young woman with green hair, poring over a ledger. She glanced up, eyes taking them in briefly, before returning to the figures. A moment later she looked again, gaze more careful. “Can I help you?”
“Monkey D. Luffy.” Her face closed off, surprise giving way to open fear. “You are Makino, correct?”
Bell-mere patted him on the shoulder and he stepped aside. “Mihawk’s here at Shanks’ request. And not just us.”
“I tell you I defeated twenty dragons, each the size of those windmills, with just my slingshot!” Usopp marched in, nose in the air. Kaya and Nojiko seemed to be listening, but Nami was clearly scanning the bar for something more interesting.
Makino’s eyes went wide. “Usopp?”
The boy jumped in fright before trying to cover it. “S, see? My feats are known even here!”
The young woman laughed. “I should know you. Yassop showed me every photo he had of you a hundred times over!”
That was enough for Makino to inform them Luffy no longer lived in town. It appeared Shanks’ concern for the boy’s well-being was not unfounded. Thus, Mihawk found himself leading the procession, Makino added to it, through a jungle. “Your daughter is going to get herself eaten if she continues wandering away.”
More loudly, “These forests are full of beasts hungry for something small and easy to swallow.”
The fingers that clamped on his shoulder were coated with Armament. Bell-mere hissed, “Remember what I said about not scaring them?”
“It isn’t my words that should frighten them, but the likelihood of being devoured. I trust you can find your way back to us, child.”
“You perfume smells worse than this jungle, so yeah I can,” Nami shot back.
Bell-mere and Banchina laughed, while Makino politely did her best to not do the same. Bell-mere leaned in close. “Don’t worry. I think you smell just fine.”
With a sigh, he unsheathed Yoru and sent a weak wind slash ten feet over Nami’s head, where a large snake was lurking. The child shrieked and hurried back to the group as snake bits rained around her. “Mom!”
“He told you to be careful.”
Mihawk sensed three young Voices ahead. Hopefully this act of charity would soon be over. Two children were more than enough.
* * *
Bell-mere reached out with her Haki. No one around but her daughters, playing in the orchard. She brought the transponder snail out of its hiding place behind the wall. Waiting while it rang, she argued with herself. Part of her hated doing this, but she needed to talk to someone who could reassure her everything was OK and mean it.
On cue, his clipped voice answered. “Yes?”
She tried to act nonchalant. “Hey lover-boy, how are things?”
“I am on my way to what will no doubt be a tedious session with Marine Command.”
He’d never actually roll his eyes, but she could hear it in his voice anyway. “Tell them to give you raise.”
“The Warlord position has no salary or benefits, save I am not harassed by Marines constantly. It is fortunate you are retired, or I might report you.”
Bell-mere thought he also got the benefit of something to bitch about. “Figured you’d want to handle disciplining me yourself.”
She didn’t put her usual energy into the innuendo, and could feel his attention on her sharpen. “Are you feeling well? Has one of the children fallen ill? You should let the doctor work without hovering over them with your rifle.”
“No. Nami and Nojiko are fine. I only did that once.” She did another quick sweep. “What do you know about Fishmen?”
He didn’t question the change in subject. “We have one as a Warlord, in fact. They generally dislike and avoid humans. Have you encountered Fishmen?”
She sighed, reaching out again with her Haki. Still clear. “A whole crew showed up. Surrounded the island, then their boss declared himself ruler. Name’s Arlong.”
“Is he strong?”
“Not that strong.”
“Then you should kill him. The others will either fall in line, or prove easy targets.”
Bell-mere glared at the snail. Like she hadn’t thought of that already. “I can’t kill all of them instantly, you know. They promised to destroy entire towns if anyone resists. I can probably stop that, but I can’t guarantee no one gets hurt. And if I’m hunting them down. . .”
She rubbed her face, let her Haki sweep over her daughters again. “I’m not even sure I want to kill them all. Turn the island into a war zone.” Nami might not remember where Bell-mere found her, but Nojiko still had nightmares. Less frequent all the time, and Bell-mere wanted to keep it that way.
“The Marines, then. They can surround the island, give this Arlong the option to surrender. You trained them well enough to make it a credible threat.”
“Barry’s dead,” she replied. “The new guy is someone I’ve never heard of. Name’s Nezumi. Always away from his desk, never gets back to me. He’s probably bent, or maybe just a coward. They’ve got some big sea cow patrolling the waters, nobody can sail out for help.”
There was a lengthy silence. Her Haki picked up a now-familiar presence, along with a spike of fear from her daughters. “Listen, don’t worry about it. I just needed to vent, is all.”
The girls were headed her way. “I’ll talk to you soon. I have another run of wine for you to try. It’s been a big hit around here! Rolling in dough!”
Which she was gonna have to use to help people pay Arlong’s extortion if she didn’t find a better solution soon. “Tell the guy who built your castle to get ready, I may want one, too.”
She closed the connection before the smile could drain from her voice, stashed the snail and stepped outside.
* * *
Mihawk resumed his steady walk down the hall.
There was going to be trouble, but she had not asked for assistance. She was strong enough to crush this Arlong. But Bell-mere would not consider it a victory if those she cared about were harmed.
That was the risk she took, of course. It was why Mihawk lived alone in his castle, on his own terms, traveling when and where he wished. Fighting when he felt like it. If someone arrived on his doorstep looking to loot his castle or pick a fight, he could simply kill them, without worrying about anyone getting caught in the crossfire.
He pushed the doors open and took his seat, ignoring Doflamingo’s snide greeting. Sengoku blathered on and Mihawk pretended to listen, while indulging in thoughts of killing Dolflamingo. Doubtful Sengoku would care, given Doflamingo’s involvement in the death of the Fleet Admiral’s protégé. If he did, what of it? In battle, Mihawk was confident Sengoku would prove little more threat than Dolflamingo.
It would make Mihawk an outlaw, however. Make it dangerous for him to visit Conomi. Mihawk abandoned having no ties when he resolved to apologize to Bell-mere. To be a part of her life meant she was part of his.
It would be simple enough to travel to Conomi, slaughter this Arlong and his men. Could Mihawk guarantee none of Bell-mere’s friends would be harmed in the process? Possibly, probably, but not certainly, depending on how widely scattered the Fishmen were.
Mihawk let the Marines and other Warlords file out before approaching Jinbei. The Sun Pirate eyed him curiously. It was rare Mihawk deigned speak with any of them. “Is something the matter?”
Mihawk watched curiosity shift to recognition and dread as he asked, “Do you happen to know one called Arlong?”
* * *
The trip to Conomi was carried out in awkward silence.
The Knight of the Sea was too polite to ask why Mihawk would know anyone in a tiny East Blue village. For his own part, The World’s Strongest Swordsman did not care to hear any excuses for why Jinbei allowed someone ostensibly under his command to run rampant across the East Blue.
Mihawk bisected one foolishly aggressive Sea King while crossing the Calm Belt. The rest took the hint and kept their distance. He refrained from calling, but was always aware of the transponder snail. Bell-mere would remain calm for the sake of her friends, so long as Arlong didn’t force the issue.
“How likely is Arlong to kill for the purpose of instilling terror?”
Jinbei’s broad mouth drooped at the ends, eyes weary. “Arlong bears great hatred towards humans. If he thinks he can act without reprisal, he very well may.”
Mihawk began extending his Observation Haki to its furthest extent, searching for a familiar Voice. A futile act, he knew. His sense was sharp, but its range was not exceptional. Insufficient to cover miles of open water.
When the island was finally in sight, the sea cow she mentioned rose from beneath the waves. Its fierce glare melted away when it locked eyes with Mihawk, but it was Jinbei who subdued it. “Mo-moo, move aside.”
It tried to dive deep, but Jinbei easily intercepted. The sea cow rose to swim beside him, head low like a scolded child.
The reception on land was much the same. Several Fishmen advanced on Mihawk, only to stop dead at the sight of their former Captain. Jinbei’s voice was measured, controlled, and brooked no dissent. “Where. Is. Arlong?”
One blowfish mumbled, “Collecting tax from the humans.”
They headed the direction indicated. Every Fishman encountered took one look at the two Warlords, set aside their weapons, and fell dutifully in line. The villagers gathered in the doors of their homes, watching the steadily growing procession with wide eyes, their tormentors now the ones cowed into submission.
Mihawk recognized the crack of gunshots before his Haki sensed her Voice, bright and angry. Genzo was nearby, alive but injured. The two children were with him, radiating fright. Mihawk left the others behind, resisting the urge to simply flatten the orchard with a swipe of Yoru.
The clearing around her home was littered with Fishmen. Mihawk stepped out of the trees as Bell-mere drove an octopus swordsman away from her daughters with a Haki-coated rifle butt to the face. (The clinical part of Mihawk’s mind noted the Fishman would be lucky to eat solid foods in the next six months.)
Unfortunately, it left her back to a saw-nosed shark Fishman, wielding a toothed blade. The arc of the swing was long, showing only rudimentary skill. Mihawk met it with Yoru, shattering the saw-teeth, the weapon sailing into the distance, missing all Bell-mere’s trees.
Yoru stopped, just shy of Arlong’s cheek. A maelstrom shredded the Fishman’s clothes, covering him in dozens of tiny cuts. He was thrown back, tumbling like a child rolling down a hill.
Mihawk stayed where he was. The rest he would leave to Jinbei, who stalked towards Arlong in righteous fury. “ARLONG!”
Whatever response Arlong intended, the punch interrupted it. He dropped like a sack of tangerines. Mihawk dismissed the rest from his mind. What Jinbei did was irrelevant, so long as Arlong left this island permanently.
A citrus scent, mixed with the sweat of exertion, filled his nostrils as Bell-mere leaned casually against his shoulder, rifle in her other hand. “A dramatic, last-second arrival, and you brought another Warlord? All to rescue little old me?”
Mihawk kept his expression blank as he twisted to look at her. “To avenge your death, more likely. I recall you saying you had everything under control.”
“I did!” she protested. “Did you not see me flatten Hachi back there?”
“Yes, and leave yourself exposed to attack, foolish – “
She cupped his cheek and drew him into a lengthy kiss. Nojiko watched silently, keeping her feelings to herself.
Nami showed no such restraint. “Blech!”
Bell-mere smiled as she drew back. “He threatened my girls, but it’s sweet of you to worry.”
Mihawk saw no point in denying it. His presence here was proof enough. “Where is this wine you wish for me to try?”