Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s late in the evening, and the regular crowd is shuffling inside. An old man sat in his usual seat, making love to his tonic and gin. He turned to the boy on his right, a soft murmur escaping his lips as he requested a song. “Son, can you play me a melody? I’m not quite sure how it goes.. It’s sad and yet it’s sweet, I knew it completely when I was a younger man, though-”

Then, in a haze, drunken and melancholic, he began to hum under his breath.

“Hmmm, hm, hm, hmmmm, hm, hm..”

“Sing a song, dear piano man!” A voice called out over the relatively quiet crowd, all chit-chat cut short, and eyes turned to the man who dared to make a scene. And there, a man proudly stood, a lopsided grin and a single arm to raise. He clearly stated, “Give the geezer a tune! I believe I know which one it is-”

An exasperated sigh escaped Beckman as he witnessed his captain stumble over uneven floorboards to reach the two people he was yelling at. His eyes shimmered as he whispered a name to the boy, one that made him give a nod and start playing immediately afterwards.

The older man, pausing mid sip and staring with a tired, half-lidded gaze, spoke to the loudmouth. Shanks. “Oh.. Thank you.” It was a simple reply, and yet, with the way his eyes gleamed with unmentioned tears, it was clear such simple things meant plenty.

“No problem, my friend, a song, and perhaps a drink? May I sit?..” Shanks gestured to the open seat at the bar, right beside the older man, and a stunted nod followed in place. Shanks beamed as he swished his cloak behind him, sitting and gesturing at the bartender for two drinks. His usual.

Beckman took a seat behind his captain, crew in tow as well, and they settled at nearby tables, sharing words and glances as they discussed the good things in life: booze, food, and their captain’s heart.

Being a pirate didn’t mean you weren’t human.

Shanks had noticed this older gentleman since he had entered the sea-worn bar, the way he heavily exhaled and looked lost in another land. And no, the redhead couldn’t just let that be.

“Chin up, friend,” He told the man so casually, the bump their shoulders shared friendlier than the fact that they had only met today. “I’ll pay, maybe, if you share a tale or two, eh?..”

“Well, I suppose..” Hesitation led to what Shanks created best.

Laughter.

The old man spilled tales of his youth, so far to the grandline and back to the ol East Blue. It seemed like he was a pirate himself in his past life. He saw the world and all it had to offer. Now? He was a grandfather, widowed, it seemed, his children? Far, far from here. Out of resentment? No.. Out of unfortunate circumstances. In the need for safety.

And every word he spoke was with a heartbroken smile, a singular tear tracing his wrinkles and beard. Shanks listened intently. His eyes never strayed, nor his care for the scenario.

Beckman couldn’t help but click his tongue at the sight. As tiring as it was to watch over a chatterbox like his captain, he couldn’t complain at a time like this. Not when Shanks was doing this geezer a favor.

Time passed. Minutes, hours, all the way until the sun set and the moon rose, and until the whole bar was singing the same shanty. A tune well known. Far from the saddening and sobering song that the elderly man initially requested—Binks’ Sake.

Arm in arm, young and old, everyone swayed in sync to the same beat. The pianist slammed the keys, melodically and perhaps a bit under the influence, as all the attendees were too. Shanks had stolen his trusty first mate from his seat, and the geezer, eagerly insisting they engage in song with him.

“Yohohoho- Yohohoho!”

With a loud voice that could probably cross half of the grandline, Shanks led the song.

“Gather up all the crew!”

“It’s time to ship out Bink’s brew-”

“Sea blows. To where? Who knows!”

“The waves will be our guuuuuide!”

A united shout, joyful, echoed throughout the whole bar, then came the-

“Yohohohooooo, yohoho!”

This continued on for the whole night. The entire damn night.

What could be found after? Well, smart people, like Hongo (and what would be Beckman if he could leave Shanks unattended), left back to the Red Force. Yasopp was asleep atop Lucky Roux, who was miraculously resting on top of multiple empty beer barrels. And Shanks?

He was barely waking up, with an insane headache the size of a great storm and bleary eyes that felt like they had alcohol glazed over them. Sitting up on a stained table, he groaned and rubbed at his head, memories of what had progressed swarming in as he then muttered.

“Where’s the.. Geezer?”

Beckman, who was somehow the survivor of this all, sat at a table, far in a secluded corner, untouched and even with a plate of non-discarded food on it. He straightened at the sound of Shanks’ pathetic grumbling and mentioned.

“Behind the bar, the bartender let him rest there in case the few people awake trampled him.”

Then he casually sipped his pint, observing as Shanks basically fell off the table and stumbled to where the old man would be. Turning the corner and grinning down at what he saw as someone sleeping peacefully, he paused. Grin faltering, recognition suddenly in his gaze.

“...”

“Wow.. We..”

Unbeknownst to Shanks, to anyone in this bar, even to the old man himself.. He had been reaching the end. The end of his long, fruitful life.

Shanks stood silent, processing the fact that he had given this man one final party. One that probably felt like something he’d encounter in his youth with his crew.

“We sent him off quite well, didn’t we?” There was no need to question it, even with Beckman’s solemn, firm nod.. Shanks knew they sent him off in a hell of a way.

With song, a smile, and joy.

Chapter Text

Was rest so simple?

It should’ve been, like it had been every night before this.

But, he couldn’t find it in him to close his eyes. Listening to the waves lull against the Red Force didn’t help a bit. Hell, even the way he tried to pace his breathing was.. Wrong. Uneven.

It was a minor thing in the world of pirates.

Run-ins happened, injuries happened, and death happened.

This wasn’t the first time he encountered the Marines, and it wouldn’t be the last.

He shouldn’t feel like this. He was stronger than this.

But when he saw you, standing strong, wielding your blade and Haki, taking down foes with a swiftness he found as mesmerizing as the ocean wind itself. Fierce in battle, yet gentle when chosen so.

Shanks had watched you with harbored fondness and a kind smile, noticeable to all except for the one person he was gawking at, as if they were his entire world. Beckman scolded him, and Yasopp screamed in panic when Shanks almost lost his other arm because he was distracted. Shanks could care less, though. Especially when he was admiring your cunning form as you-

Wait.

You were so focused, a Marine took advantage, striking in your blind spot before you could even prevent it.. And he was stuck. Physically? No. He could’ve moved, run, saved you. But he froze in shock. It was like time slowed, like a clock in the distant began to slowly tick down the seconds..

"No.."

The strike, the scream, and the downfall of everyone around them when his Conquerors' Haki was released.

Benn had grabbed you as quickly as he could and rushed you toward the ship. Hongo met him on deck and quickly began bandaging all the damage. Shanks? His carefree demeanor, which was normally ingrained in him, was gone. He slowly walked onto the deck, absent-minded until he locked eyes with your limp body. Eyes fluttering and a sad whimper every time Hongo applied a disinfectant to your gash.

That's when he locked in.

Crouching beside their worried doctor, he had taken your hand in his, squeezing and muttering.

"You'll be okay.. It's okay.. Come on now, sweetheart."

That's also what he was telling himself right now in his bed. Mind aching with pangs of longing, guilt, and worry.

He couldn't rest. Not yet.

That's when the strained groan came, and the creak of his bed. Shanks had pushed himself upwards and sat up, shifting to the edge of his bed and tugging on a proper shirt and boots, he warily exited his quarters with the stealth of a cat sneaking toward the cream.

He didn't want to hear Benn's mouth if he caught him sneaking through the ship, "Captain's rest", "tip-top shape", blah, blah, blah..

It took less than five minutes for Shanks to reach the medbay.

When he arrived, he carefully pawed the door open and peered his head through the crack. To his luck, Hongo had gone to his quarters. All that was left was..

You. Heavily breathing in what was most likely discomfort. Sweat beading at your forehead and a disgruntled look on your weary face.

"Hey, sweetheart, you.."

Maybe he should let you rest. Maybe he should turn tail and stop himself from getting all mushy.

But it was too late.

"H-Huh?.." A quiet grunt and a questioning grumble came from your lips. Bleary vision, taking in the sight of a redhead standing in the doorway like an awkward toddler who just threw up. "Captain?.."

"Yes. It's me." He hastily replied, entering the medbay and gently closing the door behind him, then he stepped toward you. His eyes softened as he took a seat on the edge of the examination table. "Sorry for coming so late, I just.."

How was he supposed to explain he couldn't catch a wink of sleep just because he was worrying himself into insomnia?

"I couldn't sleep. Not after all of that. I.. I was worried."

"I am worried."

He muttered, his only hand coming up to shyly scratch at the back of his neck. Sure, he admitted silly things like missing you, looking for you, or just enjoying the time he spent bugging you. But.. Worrying was a step forward. It showed he cared to a deeper level. One that was almost embarrassing if Shanks had a radar for embarrassing. But, normally, he didn't-

"Worried? About me?.." A low rasp of surprise left your mouth at his revelation. Shanks didn't worry. Not about much, or you. He had faith in you.. And yet, here he was, pouting at you with an honest look, a worry-wart who had a heart full of yearning would give.

That caused a laugh to escape you.

It was a bit painful, you clutched your stomach and lay your head back on your pillow, but you smiled.

It felt nice to know Shanks cared.

"It's okay.. You don't have to worry. I'm fine-"

. . .

"I want to worry." His interjection was firm. Honest. And his expression was serious to match, as if he was saying 'don't object' with his thin lips and furrowed brows.

"Let me worry."

He grumbled at you with the sudden angst of a teenager. And suddenly, he began to move, nudging you to subtly shift so he could lie beside you. It seemed like an odd request, but you couldn't object, especially when it didn't fully seem like a request..

He lay down beside you. Still. Silent. His eyes fixated on the ceiling, and thoughts ran through his mind.

Eventually, whether you both noticed or not, your hands ended up intertwined.

Holding hands with your captain, huh..

Odd thing that most pirates wouldn't say, but for some reason it felt right.

His thumb rubbed over your knuckles, a rhythmic pattern, something soothing to both of you.

. . .

This was nice.

In a bout of exhaustion and comfort, your head lulled against his. Shanks said nothing. But his head returned the favor.

Now, he didn't have to worry.

He just had to lie here and embrace what he wanted for so long.

Chapter Text

"Shanks- Please! You know I have two left FEEE-"

Those were your last words of protest before your captain, who, most likely dazed by the fifth pint he had in the past hour, whisked you away from the barrel you claimed as your seat and into the middle of the deck.

To what he claimed was "the dance floor!" with a giddiness a bit too large for a man his age to have.

Alas, you couldn't keep arguing, could you?

No, not when he took his singular hand with yours and spun you till you were right where he desired. In the middle of the Red Force and before everyone.

He was going to show you off tonight, whether you liked it or not.

"Come on, darling! You know I'd never buy that!" A hearty laugh tumbled out of his lips as he caused you to tumble. Two left feet? No. Even if it were true, he'd fix that himself.

He secured you against his chest with a firm 'plap' and his strong arm tightly wrapped around your waist. Face in his chest? No issue, not even when the crew was snickering and pointing out "Captains' a goner!"

"Gone as in liquor or?.." Someone questioned.

"Both!" Someone yelled in reply and then laughed.

He was a goner, only for you. You and maybe a good rum.

Either way, Shanks began to set the tempo. A soft sway to the waves, humming under his breath, a peaceful thing.

That was until someone dared to add some music to the atmosphere.

An old gramophone they found last month at a port, some old lady was selling it for a cheap price. She said it was broken, Shanks named his price, and took it anyway.

Turns out? Sailor's intuition was right; it still worked, just needed to be opened and wound up.

Now that the gramophone was playing an upbeat song that an intoxicated man could jig to.

And precisely, that is what Shanks did.

He loosened his hold on you to lead your hand back into his, then he began to circle you, leading you to turn the way he'd prance and encouraging you to lighten up with a cheeky wink as the dance progressed.

Soon enough, he was spinning you in circles with him, laughing hysterically as you both went 'ring around the rosy' in rhythm to the stomps of others on deck and the elaborate notes the gramophone would hit.

"SHANKS! PLEASE!-" You gasped out between screaming, yelps, and uncontrollable giggles. The high-speed air from being spun like a ragdoll had your locks completely tangled, and your cheeks insanely flushed. You felt like a mess.

Shanks wasn't looking at you like you were a mess, though.

As the song slowed, so did you two, until you were pulled back against his chest.

Until you could feel that unsufferable grin against the crown of your head, and the soft mutter of a man in absolute awe.

"Two left feet or not.. You're gorgeous when you dance, darling."

"Especially when you dance with me." He chuckled and dipped his head down, tilting your chin up so your gaze would meet his. Smug as ever, he asked.

"Will you dance with me.. Again? Sometimes, maybe, perhaps.."

The question was so obviously placed as a tease that you couldn't help but laugh again.

And Benn groaned behind you two, "Oh, get a room.."

. . .

"WE MOST DEFINITELY WILL!"

"Shanks, wait, NO-"

Moments flat, off you went, in his arm and to his quarters with a pep in his step.

Chapter Text

"Hey.. Where do you think you're wandering?.." The words escaped Shanks' lips in a low murmur, one that sounded like a thinnly veiled threat to onlookers, and one that simply sounded like tempting trouble to you.

Shanks knew from the night he laid eyes on you, he had it bad. Did it matter what you were? No, while your name was wiped in the dirt and dragged through the mud just because of your unfortunate profession, he could care less.

Harlot? - Please..

You were an angel, sent from heaven, just for him.

That's what he thought the minute he saw you swerving toward him through tables and around patrons of the tavern, hooded gaze, batting your eyelashes like you were casting a spell on him. You were probably looking for work with that honeyed tone, "Lonely?"

"Yes, I'm quite lonely, unfortunately abandoned by all my crewmates," Shanks spoke with exaggerated sorrow, sticking out his bottom lip at you, dangerously tilting his head like a puppy asked a question.

"Oh?" You had to stifle a chuckle at the way he responded. You've spent years in this old, rickety tavern, you've seen many come and go, young and old, and every man you approached reacted the same two ways. Disgusted, or interested.

Yet, this man in a straw hat was playing this like a game. A game he fully believed he'd win.

"Yes, they're all bastards, betrayers!" Get this man a stage, with the way he threw his head back with his hand to match, your eyes widened. If you didn't smell the intense scent of sea salt that clung to him like a second skin, you would've taken a gander that he was a performer of some sort.

But, behind him, someone cleared their throat and wearily spoke. "Bastards and betrayers, aye?.. Oh, tell us, Captain, where are your bastards and betrayers now?"

Benn was giving him that look, that 'you're full of shit look' with an exhausted gaze of a man who parented when he wasn't supposed to. Gesturing sarcastically with his hand, he expected an answer from Shanks. All he got was an intense mock coughing fit to direct the attention away from his fed-up right hand.

"So.. About lonely, want to sit and have a pint, sweetheart?" His tone was finally tainted with something other than playful dramatics, something sugary and convincing. You were used to sweet talk, but his sweet talk felt like a dose of pure sugar being siphoned down your throat. You couldn't resist it.

"Sure!" You pulled out a chair, intending to sit beside him, but Shanks raised a singular finger in protest and tutted, "Here," he said, shifting his cape behind him and angling his lap out in an accessible manner. "What man would I be to let a fair dame sit on a stool of agony and splinters?" You gaped at his audacity, and he just grinned back at you. A bit too proud of his smoothness and genuine with his response.

You knew better than to sit in a stranger's lap, right?

Especially if they weren't paying.

But, next thing you knew, you were leaning back into his chest and laughing up a storm that could kill off a sea beast.

You hadn't laughed this hard since you were a kid.

And Shanks hadn't felt this type of feeling in decades.

. . .

Infatuation, but one so genuine that he felt like a boy in love.

He looked at you, giggling like a schoolgirl, your body subconsciously tucking against his chest and your head finding a comfortable spot beneath his chin.

You knocked the wind out of him, just like that.

Benn was behind Shanks, shaking his head as if he could already imagine the future just from his captain's look alone.

Children on the Red Force was something he really didn't want.

But damnit, Shanks looked ready to dive headfirst into marriage and perhaps between your legs.

"O-oh, I probably shouldn't be.." You seemed to realize your position once you had calmed down from wheezing and keeling over like an idiot. You were clinging to this guy you had met probably an hour ago, and he was letting you, that had to be wrong in some formality somewhere-

But before you could shift away, that's when he muttered,

"Hey.. Where do you think you're wandering?.."

Trouble, temptation, that stupid mug that was smiling down at you so fondly as if you were the love of his life.

"Stay, please."

He didn't demand, he asked, ever so politely with another tilt of his head and the gentle guiding of his hand to your chin.

Your nose brushed his, and you didn't even pull away.

You thought you were a tough person, determined, strongly willed, and independent. But all those thoughts faded when you blushed under his touch.

His gentle, oddly romantic touch, for just being a stranger.

"Fine.." The word ran away from you like breath leaving your lungs.

. . .

And that, that's how the love of his life, a woman on the street, came to be.

That's how come now, as he repeated those words that hooked you onto him in the first place, you could also care less. He held you like you were his, and now you were.

Years later, you belonged to a Yonko.

A fairly protective one who let you wander as you wished unless someone drew too close for comfort.

One who loved holding you by with waist with his one arm and snuggling the life out of you with his face.

Shanks, that damn 'lonely' bastard.

Chapter Text

"You met Bugs, huh?" Shanks couldn't say he ever expected you to meet his old friend. Not when you left the ship for a few weeks, handling something you labeled as 'errands' and wouldn't fully disclose to him.

But he didn't mind; he trusted you with his heart and soul by now.

He was just.. Surprised. His eyebrows subtly lifted, and he leaned forward with a curious gaze. He smiled. But it felt different. More tender and packed with unsaid things.

"Tell me, is he still as dramatic as he was before?"

"Oh, definitely." You responded, keeping casual despite noticing the small change in your captain's usual attitude. "He's like a flashy canonball that can break into little pieces.. And then repair-"

Shanks laughed at that, heartily so, maybe because he could envision your comparison so vividly.

Buggy, rolled up in a ball, covered in glitter and mayhem, shooting out of a canon, and just dispersing into fractions of himself.

The mental image was amusing, but it didn't shake the ache.

"I'm glad he's the same," Shanks mumbled after his small bout of chuckles, looking at you with a softened gaze. He turned to nudge his shoulder into yours. "I'm also very glad that you're back.."

Teasing, he expected you to retaliate, and you did. With a nudge back and a head falling his way, you replied. "I'm glad as well."

. . .

"Hey," You greeted a dark figure on deck, flowing cap and sandals giving away that it was Shanks. He leaned on the railing of the Red Force, eyes trained out on the horizon that wasn't even visible in the dark, thinking.

You could tell he was thinking after the catch-up you two had when you returned.

Thinking hard.

Walking up to him with a silent strut, you found yourself standing beside him. No words yet. Just you, the sea, and the man you believed owned the damn sea.

"What's up, Red?"

"It's.." He wouldn't avoid it, not today.

Today, he wanted to talk.

"I.."

"You've got this." You murmured to him, encouraging the emotions at bay to release.

"I.. Regret things." He mumbled a hard admission, eyes downcast toward the reflection of the moon across the sea. a reflection he swore was glowering at him as he went on. "I just wanted a happy life."

"With him, sailing, like old times."

You knew he had been off since you mentioned encountering some blue-haired freak on your journey. The way he smiled, but not at you. His eyes glazed, and his mind torn.

"I understand." It was all you could say. You couldn't guarantee Shanks the comfort that the old life he craved would ever return, but you could comfort him and grasp his pain.

"I know what it's like. Regrets, missed memories."

"Course, we all have them!" He tried playing it down, again, an uncanny cheerfulness overtaking him as he looked at you and chuckled.

You stared back at him, not as cheerful.

"Shanks.."

"I-I'm sorry.."

One moment, he was staring at you awkwardly, pained, the next? He was draped over you. Cape cocooning the two of you as he sniffled and sobbed into your neck. Trying to stay quiet for the sake of keeping this just between the two of you.

"I-I-"

"It's okay, it's okay, I swear."

As unnerving as it was to see someone you believed was a beacon of strength crumble, you didn't flake. You stood still, strong, and you held him.

Hands wandering to rub his back, card through his hair, to press your head against his and absorb the feelings he had.

You wanted to understand, like you said you did.

And he just wanted to feel comfort.

To feel like he hadn't made the biggest mistake in his life all those years ago.

"You'll be okay.."

He would, he just needed a moment.