Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

In his previous life, Buggy knew of the unspoken arrangements between Warlords and the World Government. Most Warlords all but shirked their bare-minimum responsibilities while retaining the full benefits of their position: funding, land, and the privilege of throwing their title around however they see fit. Crocodile had thoroughly abused the position to the extent that he could – and with enough privacy to obscure his identity to boot.

For the Buggy Pirates, a greedy crew with grand aspirations, a Warlord title was an offer that couldn’t be refused.

And, truth be told, they had no other choice.

After the events at Marineford and subsequent rumors of Buggy’s fantastic exploits during the war, the crew expanded rapidly. Buggy and his captains capitalized on his rising star power and built a mercenary force: the safest (and most lucrative) way to amass power and influence. But they could only afford to serve East Blue so far, which was hardly an accomplishment. It was easy to become the big fish in the proverbial pond of the East Blue, but if they were ever going to expand their work into the other Blues or the Grand Line, it would require billions of berris – more than they could ever hope to get on their own.

Despite the approaching financial disaster, Buggy’s influence had reached new heights: after the novelty of his unheard-of escape from Impel Down wore off, his connection to both Roger and one particular Emperor became well-known. And thus, among civilians, he was the frightening other half to all that remained of a broken, once-mighty crew.

But the pirates of the Grand Line and Paradise knew one better: word that he and Shanks had rekindled their old relationship in an unexpected way spread quickly.

Becoming the lover of an Emperor was definitely spontaneous and poorly thought-out in the way that everything with Shanks went. The early days had the untamed intensity of withies thrown into the fire – powerful and enchanting to those stoking the flames, incomprehensibly disastrous for those uninvolved.

Unsurprisingly, whenever Buggy consulted his divination cards about the relationship, he inevitably pulled the Tower. And yet, against all of his better judgment, the opportunity to experience this novel side of Red – something a part of him had evidently always craved – was ultimately utterly irresistible.

Buggy’s officers grew concerned, and not-so-kindly stated that the relationship between the two former Roger Pirates was destined to lead Buggy straight toward disaster. They were dwarfed by Shanks’ men in sheer ability alone (albeit not numbers – though Buggy was always one for quantity over quality), unable to mount any sort of defense should passions cool off, or worse, sour. And that was to say nothing of Shanks’ enemies: Kaido, Big Mom, the Marines, the tatters of the Whitebeard Crew, the Kidd Crew, Thatch.

What could they do if these adversaries approached Buggy’s crew – other than pray for Red-Hair to save them? Where would they be when Shanks grew tired of Buggy, and left him to his own devices?

Though their protests were reasonable, Buggy ignored such comments and bolstered his resolve to the best of his ability – and sent a myriad of threatening statements to be broadcast across the Blues to throw off any would-be assailants.

All that infamy ultimately drew attention from gossip rags, New World crews, and – most concerning of all – the World Government itself. Kizaru had been the first Admiral to contact Buggy. He’d sent but one letter at first, only three sentences long and disconcertingly to the point: ‘The more you see of Paradise, the more aspirational the Government’s leash will become. We have a vested interest in your rancorous bark, and an offer you cannot possibly refuse.’

Buggy burned the letter without telling a soul. But the letters – now from all of the Admirals, and even Fleet Admiral Sengoku himself – came more frequently after that. Each and every one ended with a vague reference referring to Buggy as a worthwhile investment, and that their opportunity would be mutually beneficial.

The magnitude of the situation was overwhelming. While the resources and clout that came along with a Warlord title would allow Buggy to expand the mercenary business, the thought of being shackled to the World Government made his skin crawl. It brought back fears from two decades ago: paranoia about eyes around every corner and night terrors full of smiling, decapitated heads.

He ruminated on the offers for weeks, consulting both logic and his divination cards repeatedly, before finally admitting to himself that he was out of his depth. And so he deferred to what constituted his inner circle at the time: his officers – and Shanks.

First he told his officers.

They were absolutely ecstatic.

The bountiful berris and political clout provided by the World Government would guarantee success for years to come. When Buggy remained unconvinced, Alvida grabbed a tarot card from his deck without even looking, and came up with the Sun.

Perhaps Warlord Buggy had a nice ring to it after all.

Buggy expected Shanks to ultimately agree with the officers, although less enthusiastically, given the fact that Mihawk was a Warlord. Having Buggy and Mihawk become associates would undoubtedly irk Shanks; Buggy tried not to resent the lack of answers Shanks gave if Buggy asked if there were any sentimentalities between them. And yet, there were benefits to having an in into the system – ways in which Buggy could, finally, support Shanks in turn.

And, perhaps selfishly, it was a prestige of the likes Buggy had never achieved before; proof, perhaps, he was worth something. The last time they’d been considered equals was within their first few months on the Oro Jackson. Before Shanks’ otherworldly skill became evident, before Shanks’ brightness eclipsed Buggy’s shadow completely. Shanks was finally within Buggy’s grasp once more – the closest they could get to their age-old fantasies of being co-captains.

And that was Buggy’s reasoning: Shanks would be shocked, of course, but happy. Buggy expected Shanks to throw him a boyish smile, to lightly punch him in the side of his arm and ruffle his hair. To say: ‘What have you done now, Bugs?’ with a laugh. To, after expressing his shock, inevitably offer gentle, unwavering support and praise.

What Buggy didn’t expect, however, was barely-concealed panic in response.

To be fair, perhaps blurting it out as Shanks pawed ungracefully at Buggy’s pants was a poor timing choice on Buggy’s part; he’d initially thought Shanks was irritated by the distraction. But then Shanks’ face grew cold and stony. He swore under his breath and grabbed Buggy by the arm with urgency. When Buggy protested, bruising under Shanks’ haki-laden grip, Shanks ignored him and said that Buggy needed to reject the offer immediately and run far, far away from everyone involved.

And thus, Buggy was caught between the two groups of conflicting opinions. He gave the Marines non-answers for weeks, and postponed every meeting with Sengoku. Days were spent fulfilling crew-related duties and crunching numbers to make their plans work without Government support. No model was successful.

Nights, on the other hand, were often wasted on Red-Hair. It would be humiliating to admit that a single call would have him blind drunk and flat on his back in Shanks’ bed within hours, if their individual schedules permitted. Their ships crossed paths like a constrictor encircling its prey – and Buggy found himself strangled in the intoxicating embrace of indulgence. Shanks was growing more distant, now – often leaving in the middle of the night at the call of Beckman or rattle of a den den mushi.

The other officers grew frustrated with the increasingly erratic behavior of their captain. Cabaji, Mohji, and Galdino pleaded with Buggy to at least consider the opportunity more seriously. Alvida, someone with little patience on her best days, threatened to start a mutiny if Buggy didn’t get his act together.

Buggy broached the Warlord topic again with Shanks during one of their final meetups. Alcohol had made him all the more anxious and vulnerable, and Buggy needed more assurance that rejecting the Warlord position once and for all was truly the right decision.

But Shanks had just laughed dismissively and exhaled smoke from his nose. Gone were his vague warnings – clearly, the opium had loosened his tongue too much for any more lies.

‘Come on, Bugs,’ Shanks sighed contentedly, looping his arm around Buggy’s waist and palming at his chest from where they were sprawled together in his bed. ‘We both know that you wouldn’t take to the position well. The Marines clearly have an ulterior motive, and I’m frankly a bit shocked that you seem to be overlooking it.’

The insecurities that still simmered in Buggy’s chest quickly boiled over, fueled by weeks of resentment resurfacing in a tidal wave of anger.

‘Oh, like I wouldn’t be able to ‘take’ being your co-captain?’ Buggy spat. He pulled away from Shanks – or, more accurately, shoved Shanks away from him. ‘Is that it?’

Shanks tapped the ash out of his opium pipe with an unreadable expression. ‘That wasn’t what I meant, but I will let you hear what you want to hear as long as it keeps you away from the Admirals. I’m not arguing about this – you’ll be better off taking out your anger elsewhere.’

‘I want to fucking argue about it,’ Buggy had yelled defiantly, feeling his temper flare up wildly. Shanks coughed and took another hit of opium. He had reached out for Buggy afterwards – poppy always made Shanks clingy – and Buggy slapped him across the face. ‘Fuck you, don’t touch me! What grounds do you have to doubt me?!’

‘Joining the Government is a terrible idea, Buggy,’ Shanks said as he rubbed at his cheek, checking his fingers to ensure that his shrew hadn’t drawn blood. ‘The Warlords are not like other pirates. They’re thieves, cheats, and vipers – even amongst themselves.’

‘And what of Mihawk, then?’ Buggy had snapped, unable to resist going for a low-blow. ‘Is he a swindler, or a traitor?’

‘... Mihawk’s loyalties do not concern you,’ is all Shanks said in response.

And they’d left it at that.

That argument was ultimately the last time they saw each other in person. The red flags of their relationship became obvious once Buggy removed his rose-tinted glasses. Everything felt conspiratorial: it suddenly felt all-too-convenient that Shanks was trying to stem his power, keep him obedient and docile with sex and drugs and empty platitudes. Shanks had sighed wearily and asked for Buggy to call back when he was no longer in a fit of hysterics.

The proverbial hammer on the coffin nail came when Buggy learned that Shanks had met privately with Dracule Mihawk. Admittedly, he and Shanks weren’t technically exclusive – there hadn’t been any conversation about it, nor had Buggy explicitly asked for it. But such brazen dalliances were more than he could bear.

‘Buggy, it wasn’t like that,’ Shanks’ snail responder had sighed. It had deep eyebags under its stalks, and a palpable weariness. ‘Listen, I will explain soon, alright? There are… affairs I need to attend to, that’s all. Loose ends to tie up.’

‘And Mihawk helps with these ‘affairs?’’ Buggy snidely remarked. ‘Can you even be honest with me for five minutes?’

The snail sighed in response. ‘Can you just trust me, Bugs?’

Buggy hesitated and looked up to see Alvida, Galdino, Cabaji, and Mohji all wordlessly mouthing ‘no’ in response.

‘... I’ll give you two weeks,’ Buggy had said after deliberation. His officers audibly groaned, and Alvida swore angrily and kicked over a chair. ‘Two weeks, Shanks.’

‘And in a fortnight, I’ll come to you,’ Shanks whispered across the line, after a long pause. ‘I promise, I’ll come back to you. For now, just... lay out of the limelight, would you?’

Of course, the return had never come. And so it was finally revealed: just as his officers (and Buggy himself, if he were to be honest) thought: Shanks had grown tired of Buggy’s company, and had simply left. An unsurprising development, and yet devastating nonetheless.

Buggy immediately moved to re-establish his mercenary force and regain the Marines’ favor with his metaphorical tail between his legs. The coward’s way out, as was expected.

But there had been absolutely no time to wallow in self-pity: the world had continued to spin on. Buggy threw himself all into reestablishing contact with the Marines. Buggy tried not to sound too desperate on Sengoku’s call line.

‘What the fuck do I even say?!’ he screamed semi-hysterically to his officers while preparing to contact Sengoku. He’d been angrier than usual – Alvida had said he was becoming mad from stress.

The den den mushi continued eating an assortment of flowers strewn about the table, oblivious. Mohji and Cabaji refused to meet his eye.

‘We fucking told you to end things earlier!’ Alvida snapped. ‘Don’t you dare pin this on us. Just ask for the position again!’

‘‘Oh, hi Sengoku, just dropping you a line. I’m sorry for ignoring you before; see, I was cock-warming an undeserving jackass and not thinking straight,’’ Buggy mocked. Alvida scrunched her nose in distaste, and Cabaji and Mohji hung their heads low. Galdino was the only officer whose expression was unreadable. ‘‘Can I get a do-over? Please?’’

‘Just request a meeting with him, they don’t expect an explanation,’ Galdino said firmly before any true fight could begin. When Alvida motioned for her mace, undoubtedly to start breaking things, he stopped her. ‘It allegedly took Sir Crocodile several months to acknowledge their request. Sengoku is used to pirates being hard to get.’

‘But what about pirates who are hard to want?’ Buggy replied as he sunk back into his seat, his tone despondent. ‘What do they get?’

‘We’ll just have to see,’ Galdino replied in a clipped, unreadable tone. Mohji moved the den den mushi in front of Buggy and patted his arm once before retreating back to his seat. ‘Now, make the call.’