A Preference for Rare Pairs

“I hate you. So much.”

The statement lacked bite, sitting in the Thousand Sunny’s kitchen in her tattered wedding gown, drinking the blackest, bitterest, most delicious tea she’d ever tasted, but not saying it felt too much like she was conceding… something. Pudding couldn’t put her finger on what.

“You’re a pervert. And a moron. And—will you stop giving me food?!”

Sanji paused, plate in hand. “I’m sorry. You don’t like pasties?”

“Why are you being nice to me?” She snatched a pasty off the plate, shaking it in his face. “I tried to kill you!”

“That happens a lot,” Sanji said, casually enough that Pudding knew it was true. “Besides, you helped us get out.”

Pudding scowled; she couldn’t explain to herself anymore than she could to the Strawhats why she’d guided them out of Totto Land, or why she hadn’t disembarked when they’d passed Cacao Island. Once they’d passed the last Tarte, Luffy had just stared at her, nodded, and declared her third eye “soooo coooooool” before demanding meat, and that was that.

It felt way too easy.

“I don’t want your pity,” she said.

Sanji blinked. “You never had it.”

It was so simple, so earnest, and Pudding panicked and shoved the whole pasty in her mouth so she wouldn’t have to respond. Sanji flushed, his face taking on what she recognized as his ‘You are the cutest, most wonderful woman in the world’ expression, before he shook himself and gestured to the tray he’d been arranging.

“I’m going to give Nami-swan, Carrot-chan, and those other assholes their snacks. Let me know if there’s anything you’d like.” And he was out of the kitchen, his steps maybe a touch more hurried than usual.

Pudding sank into a chair at the dining table, her heart fluttering. Somehow, knowing that he knew what she was and was still completely sincere… she didn’t know how to handle him anymore.

I want you to go away and stop making me feel things.

Nami studied her wine suspiciously, wondering who had spiked her drink and what, exactly, it had been spiked with. It was the only explanation for what she was seeing. Luffy was not staring at his plate, which had only moments before been piled with steaks rather than celery, and whimpering dejectedly. Chopper was not alternating between listening to Usopp’s story about an entire island of flying rabbits who had declared him their leader and sparkling at the new arrival. Sanji was not muttering a recipe for hasenpfeffer under his breath. Zoro was not ignoring his crewmates and the… thing in their midst to take a nap—no, wait, he was doing that. No imagination could produce snoring that loud.

Nami closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “There is not a rabbit in a superhero costume. It is not real. It is a hallucination.”

“Do I look like a hallucination?” the creature demanded, straightening to its full height and ignoring Nami’s nod. “It is I, Captain Vegetable!”

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Cobra ran his hand over the rim of the stone ring. It seemed like an obvious question, since he’d never seen it before, but he hadn’t been in the condition to notice any extra statuary when Crocodile and Ms. All Sunday brought him down here. “And it was sealed off until this morning?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The foreman motioned to where a support beam held up a crumbling section of ceiling. “We’d never have found the room if the ceiling hadn’t brought part of the wall down.”

Behind them, Igaram cleared his throat. “To that end, Your Majesty, is it safe for you to be down here?”

Cobra glanced back at him, then through the open wall to the bustling activity in the tomb proper. It had seemed pointless to hide its existence after Crocodile’s defeat, particularly given the gaping hole leading up to the Square. Now a miniature army of workers scurried through the space, clearing rubble and adding supports to keep the tomb from collapsing any further. Announcing the tomb’s existence was a small price to pay to keep it from bringing the city down in a slow collapse. “If it weren’t safe, these men would not be down here, Igaram.” He turned back to study the towering structure, walking through the ring to look over the other side. “Have you any idea what it is?”

“No, Your Majesty. Strange thing, though. There’s no way they could have brought this down after the tomb was built; they must have built around it.”

“Hmm.” He ran his fingers over the closest symbol one more time, a circle hovering above a bottomless triangle, before dropping his hand and stepping away.

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“Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“Yes, Chaka,” Pell said, studying his face in the mirror. He rarely bothered to cover his markings, but the effect was usually worth it. Somehow, no one ever recognized him without the black lines. “It’s been two months. I can handle a patrol through the marketplace.”

“I’d still feel better if one of the other officers went instead,” Chaka said, meeting Pell’s eyes in the mirror. “They need the experience.”

“And I need the exercise.” He did not say that they’d had experience; this wasn’t the first time since the revolution they’d heard rumors of Baroque Works members within Alubarna. It was just the first time Pell had volunteered to blend with the crowds while the royal family was outside the palace. With at least three pairs of Frontier agents still unaccounted for along with the remaining Millions and Billions, some paranoia was warranted.

Giving his reflection a satisfied nod, Pell turned around. “How do I look?”

Chaka stared at him for a second, taking in the pants, jacket, and makeup before giving an aggravated sigh. “Unrecognizable.”

“Good. And I don’t know why you’re grumbling so much.” He wrapped his arms around Chaka’s waist, pushing onto his toes to kiss the taller man’s jaw. “After all, you’re the one touring Yuba with Vivi-sama, with barely healed stab wounds I might add, while I’m here under Dr. Ooh’s watchful eyes.” He dropped another kiss at the corner of Chaka’s mouth. “I’ll be worried.”

“You’ll be careful.” It wasn’t a question.

“Swear on my grave.”

Chaka shot him a dark look but turned towards the door. “I’ll let Igaram-san know we’re ready then.”

“Chaka?” Pell gave him a bright smile when he turned. “You might want to wipe the kiss marks off your face first.”

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It has been far too long, Chaka realized, nuzzling Pell’s neck as he eased his partner back onto the makeshift blanket of their robes on the sand. Hands clawed at his back, teeth sunk into his shoulder, and Chaka reached for their pack, fingers groping to find something, anything, to make this go smoother.

—only to bump into a package he knew for certain hadn’t been there when they left their rooms.

“Someone’s been into the pack.”

Pell pulled away instantly, eyeing the pack warily. If something was planted by a rogue Baroque Works member or a stubborn rebel, it certainly wouldn’t be the first nor the best hidden. Strangely certain that anyone trying to kill them would be slightly smarter than to hide something within their… personal effects like this, Chaka pulled the paper-wrapped package out.

It wasn’t lightweight, or particularly large; tucked into one end was note, which Pell plucked off. He blanched, coughed uncomfortably, and read, “‘For the occasions I missed.—Vivi’.”

“Ah.” Both stared at the package for another moment before the paper was tossed aside and the box opened. There was a horrified silence, then it was Chaka’s turn to cough.

“She is certainly… practical.”

“Yes…. Oh, look, a book.” Paper rustled, and Pell placed it down carefully. “With pictures.”

They studiously looked past each other.

“She was being thoughtful.”

“Yes.”

“But it would probably be best to dissuade her from giving us another gift like this.”

“Yes.”

“Or at least,” and here Chaka glanced over, catching the faint twitching at the corner of Pell’s mouth, “keep her from buying books we already own.”

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He’d been on the wall, inspecting both the rebuilding and the soldiers with Igaram, when the messenger came. He remembered a glimpse of Igaram’s shocked face before the city was a blur, splashing through puddles and wind making his eyes water was he ran through Alubarna at full speed.

That was hours ago. Now, he sat by the bed in his—their—room, patiently reading a book he’d been meaning to finish for some time now. It was a little difficult to turn the pages at times, between the constant ache in his chest and shoulder where his stitches had pulled and the necessity of using only his left hand.

The pulse beating slow and steady in the hand grasped in his right hand was too important to let go of for even a second. So Chaka sat and read and listened to the rain, only looking up when he felt eyes upon him. He set the book aside and looked into tired copper eyes.

“Sleep well?” Chaka asked, reaching forward to brush a stray lock of hair from Pell’s face. Pell made a small sound of affirmation, turning his head to nuzzle Chaka’s fingers.

“Come t’ bed,” he mumbled, eyes already drooping shut again.

Chaka blew out the reading lamp, performed the stretches needed to reach the other side of the bed without letting go of Pell’s hand, and wrapped his arms around his friend. He buried his face in Pell’s hair, tenseness washing away with the smell of feathers and medicine.

“I’m home,” Pell said through a yawn, shifting closer to the jackal.

“Welcome back,” Chaka answered.