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halfvalid · 1 year

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the blade daughter, pt. 2

ABOUT

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

alternate title: dracule mihawk cures your daddy issues!

rating: mature

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!dracule mihawk | live action!straw hat ensemble

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 23.6k total | 8k this part

description: after joining the straw hats on board the going merry, you're confused as to what to do with your life from now—and you can't help but get closer to zoro.

tags: mihawk's daughter!reader, female reader, canon-typical violence, cursing, no use of 'y/n', pet names per mihawk ('dear', 'darling', 'sweetheart', 'little hawk'), emotional hurt/comfort, slow burn, patching of wounds

author’s note: second chapter! i hope you like it <3 out of the three this one's probably my favorite personally, i really like the wound-stitching scene & i think it's one of the best scenes ive ever written. i'm suchhh a slut for the patching up of wounds trope.

You rose before the sun, careful to pack your belongings all in one sack. Considering the very little amount you’d brought, it was a relatively easy task—leaving the sloop would be fine, too, as you paid for the slip for a few months longer at least. Your father had so many ships across so many seas it hardly mattered much anymore.

You double-checked that you had all of your things before shutting down and leaving the sloop, consulting some of the dock men to transfer a boat lift under the berth. You moved carefully across the east port, making quick time as you returned to the Straw Hats’ ship in slip fifty-two.

There were apparent signs of life when you reached the ship, even with the sky cast over in dark hues of navy. All of the dead bodies had been removed, for one, and dock men were loading barrels up on the deck while Sanji watched over them. His expression brightened as his gaze fell across you.

“Lady Dracule!” he called out, slipping off from the barrel on which he’d been perched to meet you at the pier. You gave him an unimpressed look.

“I have a name, you know.”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware of that,” Sanji answered, a lopsided grin pulling up the side of his face. You rolled his eyes and introduced yourself, which only prompted a brighter smile and a steady pat of his hand on your back. “A fine name, for a fine woman.”

“Sanji, stop flirting with the crew.” You glanced up to see Nami, one hip cocked to the side with her hand on her waist, staring down with an exasperated glint in her eye. “Welcome aboard the Going Merry. Sorry I was a little grouchy last night. I don’t like having my sleep interrupted.” She leaned down to offer you her hand, and you took it, climbing aboard the ship.

“The Going Merry?”

“Fits it, don’t you think?” Sanji asked from behind you. Nami eyed him again, volume dropping as she tilted her head towards yours.

“He’ll quit with the sweet talk eventually. I’ll give you a tour once we’ve cast off. We’re just waiting for Zoro to get back from town, and then we’re all set.” She turned to bark out another few orders to Sanji— “Finish up with the crates already!”

“Anything you want, madam,” Sanji said with a little bow. Nami let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Luffy already prepared a room for you. I’ll show you to it.” She led you below deck, back towards the ship’s aft. There was a collection of rooms all crammed together, one beside the other. “These are the women’s quarters. Men’s’ are all the way at the front of the ship.” She nodded behind her. “You get this one here. Sorry, it’s small.”

She opened the door to the very last room, and you stepped inside, surveying your surroundings. It wasn’t much; the cabin barely scraped by as a room, consisting of only a wardrobe, a hanging bed, and a small table and chair stuck in the corner. A round window at the very edge of the room revealed the water just a mere few feet below.

“It’ll do fine, thank you,” you said. Your room back at home was far more ornate, but you’d never been picky.

“You can sleep for a few more hours,” Nami said, lingering by the cabin mouth. “Come find me when you’re ready for a tour. We should be setting off in a few moments, if Zoro’s back.”

You gave her a smile, and she left, the patter of her footsteps dying off as she walked further and further away.

It didn’t take you long to get arranged, and afterwards, you gingerly sat down on the bed, the rope tied to the ceiling causing it to sway under you. You were still uncertain about boarding the ship, but you couldn't exactly return to your sloop now. And it wasn’t the worst idea in the world, you tried to convince yourself.

You felt the ship start moving just a few moments later, and you stood up, walking across the rocking ship to get up to the deck. You were making fast time, Loguetown’s silhouette rapidly getting swallowed in the gulp of the horizon.

Nami was bickering with Zoro and Luffy when you found her. “What even took you so long? We were due to leave a half-hour ago.”

“I was getting new swords,” Zoro said calmly. Nami eyed him, then yanked something out of his hand. A wallet, it looked like, stuffed with bills of berry. “You can’t be mad at me. I spent less than half of your budget.”

“They scammed you,” Nami scoffed, eyeing the katanas at Zoro’s hip. Zoro simply shrugged. “A sword for free? It’s probably made of plastic.”

Zoro snorted. “I’d be able to tell.”

Nami cast him a look, gaze unimpressed under the line of her eyelashes. “You can’t tell the difference between a ship mast and a tree.”

“Yeah, but I know swords.”

“Oh, hey!” Luffy, who’d seemed tuned out of his crewmates’ conversation, said as he spotted you. “Glad to see you here. Officially part of the crew.”

“Oh, well…” you hesitated. “Not so sure if I’ll be joining you forever.” Luffy looked confused by that, but not particularly offended—Nami and Zoro had turned to watch you, too, argument dying on trembling legs. “Right now the plan is to help you get to the Grand Line. From there you can drop me home. And then we’ll part ways.”

“If you change your mind…” Luffy trailed off, then patted you on the shoulder. “Nami, were you going to show her around?”

“I was, but I’ve got some mapping to do.” Nami glanced over at Zoro. “Hey. Make yourself useful.”

“I hate you,” Zoro muttered. He brushed past you, just barely motioning with his head for you to follow. “Afterdeck.”

You stepped into the small space. It was easily the most secluded place on the ship deck, decorated with three young tangerine trees in white boxy planters. “I like your trees.”

“They’re Nami’s trees.” Zoro gestured with his head again, and you followed him. The tour was brief; Zoro didn’t have much to say, generally just showing you a room before telling you what it was and departing for the next area.

You were about halfway through the tour when Zoro spoke again, the words abrupt in his throat. He spat them out rather than spoke them, and you got the impression he’d been mulling over talking for a while— “You ever beat your dad in combat?”

You snorted. “No.”

Zoro didn’t look at you, opting instead to push through the next doorway and gesture vaguely around him to show you the surroundings. “Gotten close?”

“Never.” You shrugged. “He taught me the basics, but I wasn’t the best student. He’d try to be strict and everything, but… sword fighting isn’t really my thing. You’re probably better than me.”

Zoro gazed at you skeptically. “He taught you.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you—” He paused, mouth open for a moment before resuming his sentence. He didn’t sound particularly hesitant, but the pause had you stifling a smile anyway, knowing he was at least a little bit flustered. “We should train together.”

“Was that a question?”

“Not really.” Zoro’s lip quirked, one side of his mouth tugging upwards in an odd semblance of a smile. He didn’t seem the type to smile often, though, so it didn’t look out of ordinary on his face. “Have you seen enough of the ship yet, or do you want me to show you the bilge too?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you answered primly. “Now did you want to fight me or not?”

Zoro actually smiled at that.

You decided to train on the main deck, in an area wide enough to not bump into anyone else. You shed your jacket, pulling Hiru out of its scabbard. Zoro winced as the sun hit the silver blade, reflecting a blinding gleam off its surface. “That a stylistic choice?”

“I polish things when I get anxious,” you answered. “So not really.”

“Right.” Zoro untied a black bandana from where it was fixed on his bicep, fingers working fluidly against the knot. Once he got it untied, he wrapped it around his head, tying it carefully around his head. Afterwards, he slid one of his swords out of its scabbard, holding it with his fingers to follow with the other. “How low should my expectations be?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” you answered. Zoro let a soft sound out through his mouth, but he said no more, transferring one sword to each hand. He moved carefully, arms arching over his head to lower to each of his sides. You lifted Hiru up, more casual in your movements than Zoro was.

You paid more attention to Zoro than the actual fight when you started moving. You figured you’d have time to genuinely practice later—you hadn’t kept a close eye on the swordsman in the battle against the pirate hunters, and your curiosity was eating at you. Zoro was all angles when he fought, elbows lifted and limbs pin-straight. That wasn’t to say there was no flexibility in his movements, though—he dodged your oncoming attacks easily, sidestepping with a light twist of the torso so your blade cut air instead of flesh.

Just a few seconds in you could tell Zoro was far, far better than you. You parried one of his attacks, gasp ripping from your throat as you just barely managed to block off a slash from his katana with Hiru. He spun towards you, careful not to actually cut as his blade came for the throat. You managed to dodge just in time, moving backwards with a quick patter of your feet against the wooden deck.

There was barely anything skewed in his motions, you were soon to realize. He was perfect in every sense of the word. Your styles were vastly different, of course—Zoro mainly relied on his blades, and his physicality was carefully practiced, no curves or bends apparent in the straight lines and slants of his body. In comparison, you were much more slippery, focusing mainly on your agility to carry you throughout a fight rather than your strength.

“Your elbow,” Zoro said. You barely managed to respond, letting out a grunt of effort as you blocked Zoro’s oncoming attack.

“Hm?”

Zoro’s katana came from the left. He used the other one to knock your arm up, nearly gentle in his movements, and you were reminded of how Mihawk used to train you—stopping mid-fight to reposition your limbs, using his sword to carefully push your hands in the right places. “You’re dropping it.”

“I don’t care much for angles,” you answered, ducking under Zoro’s incoming blade and sliding off to the side instead of trying to shove against it. Zoro seemed startled by that, struck off-balance as he stumbled, turning to face you.

You jerked your sword towards him, one leg coming up to shove against his torso whilst doing so. You managed to knock him fully off-balance then, and he staggered against his feet, teetering precariously backwards. “Your center of gravity is screwed.”

“You dad kept flinging me around the pier,” Zoro said. You raised your brows, the phrase nonsensical to your ears. But it did sound like Mihawk. “It run in the family?”

“Very funny.” You dodged another slash of Zoro’s swords. “The only thing I picked up well in our lessons was about keeping balance.”

“And dodging, apparently.” You snickered at that, parrying another one of Zoro’s attacks—but it was getting harder and harder, what with the immense strength of his body you simply couldn’t keep up with. As flexible as you were, you weren’t quick enough this time, and Zoro swept you off your feet so you fell to the ground, wind bursting out of your chest all in one rush. Hiru clattered a few feet away, your fingers unfolding from their grip and letting it move freely.

Zoro slid his swords back in their sheaths, letting them close with a satisfying click. “You fight too defensively.”

You lay there for a moment, trying to gather air back into your lungs. “Never found a point in attacking others, really.” You got up, straightening your shirt before bending over to pick Hiru up from the floor. “Good fight.”

“Yeah,” Zoro said, but his voice was weak, tapering off to blend in with the wind. He had an uncertain look on his face, big brown eyes all fuzzy around the edges, like there was some cloudlike film covering him from seeing properly. You frowned at him.

“Is that because I’m worse or better than you expected?” you asked, gesturing vaguely up at his expression. Zoro blinked, the fog over his eyes clearing as he glanced down to meet your gaze. You waited expectantly, but he didn’t say anything. “Zoro?” you prompted.

“Sorry,” Zoro said. “I’m—I’m going to go to my cabin.”

You watched him leave, growing more quizzical by the second. Well, you’d gotten what you’d come there for, anyway. Roronoa Zoro was a great swordsman. And he certainly had the potential to be the greatest in the world, too—a realization that shook you a little, heart trembling from where it was fixed in your chest cavity. You swallowed hard, mind replaying the firm motions of his body from the fight. He’d been confident, sure of himself. You had even forgotten he still hosted Yoru’s slash along his torso from just a week or so prior, he’d been so… perfect.

“He’s good, huh?”

You startled, turning to see Usopp sitting atop a pile of crates like a king on a throne. He was picking at his fingernails. “Zoro,” he clarified. “Best swordsman in the East Blue.”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing over at where Zoro had left. “He is.”

Usopp eyed you for a moment. “Your shell phone is ringing.”

You startled, patting down your figure before finally unearthing your phone from where it was tucked safely away in your pocket. You opened it, pushing the den den mushi in your ear as it vibrated, little mouth making soft rumbling sounds to catch your attention. Usopp clearly didn’t know a thing about privacy, though, because he kept watching even as you picked up— “Hello?”

“Back home yet, darling?” Mihawk asked over the line, and you relaxed, your entire body going slack with comfort as you heard the familiar low hum of your father’s voice. “I figured you’d go back as quickly as possible.”

“No, actually,” you said. “Luffy roped me into coming aboard his ship.”

You could practically see Mihawk’s brows lift up in surprise. “You joined the Straw Hat pirate’s crew?”

“No. They’re bringing me home. I’m helping them get to the Grand Line,” you corrected. Mihawk hummed, the sound a crackle of monotony through the den den mushi’s mouth.

“And why, pray tell, would you do that?”

You chewed at your bottom lip, glancing off the side of the Going Merry to the East Blue. The sun had risen fully, fixing itself in a warm beam in the sky. “I was curious about Roronoa Zoro. You never told me why you left him alive. Or why you let Luffy go.” You could still feel Usopp’s gaze on you while you spoke, and you just knew he’d be telling the rest of his crew this after your conversation finished. “So I wanted to figure out your reasoning.”

“Ah,” Mihawk said. “Has he healed from Yoru’s wound yet?”

“It’s not like I tore off his shirt to check, dad,” you muttered. Mihawk barked out a laugh, and you startled at the sound before settling down again. “He walks fine. I saw bandages.”

Mihawk seemed pleased by that. “Wonderful. He’s a hardy one. You should fight him.”

“Already did,” you answered. “He beat me.”

Mihawk considered that for a moment. “Eh, I saw that coming.”

You scoffed. “You have no faith in me. Where are you now?”

“South Blue, still,” Mihawk replied. “Are you at least enjoying yourself there? It’ll be good for you to make friends, sweetheart. You don’t get much social interaction other than me and the villagers, after all.”

“I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to get a ride home,” you said insistently, but your voice was weak, and Mihawk clearly didn’t believe you. Your mind wandered back to Zoro—the firm muscle of his body, the hushed tone he spoke in, and you found your face pinkening. “One of them—one of them wants to kill you. That’s his entire life’s purpose. To murder you.”

“I think you’re being a tad bit broad, darling,” Mihawk said with a click of his tongue. “You seem rather enamored with this particular young swordsman. Something to say?”

“I—” your words fumbled in your mouth, and you were certain you were entirely pink now, the sun’s glowing rays only making your face warmer than it was rapidly turning. “Stop. I’m hanging up now.”

Mihawk’s voice was tastefully dry when he responded. “I’m sure.”

“Shut up, old man,” you grumbled.

“Right. Remember the rule, dear,” Mihawk trilled, and despite his voice being as monotone as ever, you could still identify the undertones of it—laced with syrupy mocking, all teasing and dramatic. “No dating unless he can beat you in combat!”

You actually did hang up this time, practically tearing the den den mushi out of your ear. You huffed out an irritated breath, rubbing a circle into the shell of your snail as an apology just a moment later. “Sorry,” you murmured. “My dad’s a bitch.”

The snail just let out a little grumble in response. You tucked it back into its case and snapped the phone shut.

“Aw, we’re not allowed to say hi?” You spun around at the new voice, glaring upon seeing Sanji and Luffy having joined Usopp in his eavesdropping. Sanji bore a gigantic grin on his face. “Sounded like an interesting conversation.”

“None of you know what boundaries are,” you muttered, but it was light-hearted.

You didn’t see Zoro until suppertime, a fact that rang odd in your head. It seemed like he’d completely evaporated from the ship, disappearing around every corner as you spent the rest of the day getting to know the rest of the crew better. Something had happened, but you weren’t exactly sure what—and you weren’t exactly sure if you were close enough to him to even ask, yet.

Sanji had cooked up a dinner so fine you doubted it could even quality as ship food. From your time traveling with your father, rations on-board hadn’t been much of anything—a few scraps of bread or dried meat, old apples, perhaps some fish if you were lucky. Mihawk hadn’t the biggest priority on eating well, but the Straw Hat crew seemed to have the exact opposite opinion. You were served a bowl of miso soup along with a bowl of rice, and dishes of tofu and oyster sauce stir-fried vegetables were carefully laid out all across the table.

“Bon appétit,” Sanji said, taking a half-bow before slipping into the last seat around the table. “I hope it’s to your liking. Yours especially, Lady Dracule.” He gave you a little wink at that. You just stared at him.

“I thought I told you my name.”

“Well, you did, but I thought Lady Dracule had a nice ring to it.”

“It doesn’t,” you said. Nami stifled a snort, the hand not holding her chopsticks coming up to cover her mouth. Sanji didn’t look the slightest bit dissuaded. You turned your attention on Zoro, who hadn’t spoken a word throughout the whole meal. He was rather studiously focused on his bowl, eyes picking apart the grains of rice like they’d reveal the world’s greatest secrets.

Carefully, you leaned towards Nami, voice coming out in a hushed whisper. “Is he okay?”

“He gets like that sometimes,” Nami answered, her words drowned out by Usopp and Luffy’s cheerful conversation. “Nobody can crack him except for Luffy. I’d just leave him be.”

“You don’t know why?”

Nami just shrugged. “Hell, we’re all depressed sometimes. Not within my rights to question him.”

You nodded, but your gaze didn’t move away from Zoro’s figure. There was a particular squeezing sensation deep in your chest—a little flip-flop thing, a sort of panging you couldn’t quite place. He glanced up, dark eyes meeting yours for just a fraction of a second. But he didn’t flinch away. He just returned your gaze, strong and unblinking.

To your surprise, Zoro was the first to look away, craning his neck to study his bowl again and continuing on like your extended bout of eye contact hadn’t even happened. You watched him, dumbstruck, until Nami nudged you in the shoulder. The rest of the group’s idle chatter had died down, and Usopp and Sanji were staring at you, low murmurs falling out of their mouths. You cleared your throat, finally dropping your gaze from the green-haired swordsman and attempting to ignore the fact everyone had caught you staring.

You didn’t do much of anything after supper—you just returned to your cabin, carefully walking across the creaking boards of the ship. Luffy assigned you mid watch, so you had a few hours to sleep before waking up at midnight to look out for any enemies.

You couldn’t find yourself falling asleep even after you’d slipped into bed. You’d changed, a loose blouse light against your skin, black silk shorts grazing your thighs. It was cold out, so you shrugged on a robe as you headed out into the darkness of the Going Merry. You emerged out on the deck, taking in a breath of the night air as you glanced to see who had the night watch.

Just your luck. It was Zoro.

He seemed tranquil, lounging across a hammock with his white sword—the Wado Ichimonji—cradled in his arms. In the dim light you couldn’t see if his eyes were open or closed, but as you got closer, he cracked one of them open, a gleam reflecting off his right iris. “Hi,” you said, moving over to the side of the ship to watch the waves on the water.

Zoro didn’t deign to respond, so you just stood there, watching the sea lap at the side of the ship until eventually the hour struck twelve. Zoro left soundlessly. You stayed awake all throughout your watch until Usopp came to relieve you of your duties.

Zoro was avoiding you.

A few days had passed since you first boarded the Going Merry. They hadn’t been of much interest—just days of practicing with your sword and chatting with the crew, for the most part. You helped around the ship, completing various tasks apparently none of the members knew or cared enough to do. You were just emerging from the bilge, having done basic maintenance to ensure everything was working properly, when you bumped into him. The man was apparently taking a nap, though you couldn’t figure out why the storage area was a very good place to sleep. Still, he seemed comfortable enough, long body splayed along a grouping of crates.

“Hi,” you said, for what seemed like the hundredth time over a few days. Zoro just averted his gaze and let out a little grunt in response. You stared at him for a moment. The realization had dawned on you ever since the first day, but it was growing more and more apparent, and you were baffled as to what you’d done to incur the silent treatment.

“Hi,” you repeated, more purposefully this time.

“Hey,” Zoro said, though the word was clearly bitter in his mouth. You propped your hands on your hips and stared down at him.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Zoro closed his eyes, expression not even changing. “You’re not that special.”

“Ever since we fought that one time, you’ve been ignoring me,” you barreled on, entirely ignoring his quip. Zoro cocked a brow, eyes still closed, and you glared down at it. “I’d like to know why.”

“Why do you care? We’re not friends.”

“Isn’t it natural to want to know why someone is mad at you?” you demanded, perplexed. Zoro sighed then, shifting around on his boxes.

“I’m not mad at you.” You heaved out a sigh even more irritated than Zoro’s. Your experience in the realm of dealing with close-lipped men’s personal issues was, unfortunately, rather well-seasoned. You’d had to coax situations out of your father, one hand pressed against Yoru’s hilt to prevent Mihawk from lashing out his frustrations rather than explaining them. But that didn’t mean you were all too fond of it.

“Okay, well, why else would you be ignoring me then?”

Zoro’s response was annoyingly frank. “It’s not really any of your business.”

You pursed your lips, trying to suppress the irritated noise that threatened to burst from your throat. “I don’t like being on bad terms with people,” you started. “If I did something to piss you off, I’d very much like it if you—”

The floor slipped out from underneath you before you could finish your sentence. You fell with a graceless clatter, lurching forward into the stack of crates Zoro was leaning on, words dying on your tongue. The entire boat trembled, quivering from side to side as if the ocean waves had suddenly propelled a thousand more ripples at its surface.

Zoro sat immediately up, one hand pushing you off of him as he scrambled off the crates. “What was that?”

“I don’t—” Just a moment after regaining your balance, there was another dull thud and a row of quivers. You remained steady this time, glancing carefully around you before you and Zoro were both hurrying up towards the ship deck. The Going Merry was in chaos when you emerged, Nami at the helm while Sanji was firing up a cannon beside her.

“What’s going on?” you demanded, the tails of your coat lapping around your calves as you hurried up besides Luffy.

“Pirates,” Luffy said grimly, nodding towards a ship that was quickly gaining on you. “They blew through the stern railing. Do any of you recognize the jolly roger?”

You glanced up, taking in the billowing sail boasting a pure-white jolly roger with a top hat and mustache. “Nope. These things are getting more and more ridiculous,” you muttered.

“Yeah,” Luffy agreed, affronted. “Ours is way better.”

You turned your gaze up at the Straw Hat crew’s aforementioned jolly roger. “...No comment.”

“We can’t outrun them!” Nami shouted from her place at the helm. Sanji had successfully nailed a cannonball into the railing of the oncoming ship, but they had a dozen more men. “I’m going to try to get closer. Best chance we have is one-on-one combat.” She turned to fix the small grouping with a glare. “Don’t just stand there. Get to it!”

You launched into action, hurrying to climb up the rigging to get a better view as Nami veered hard to starboard. The enemy ship had dropped their cannons, and you could see them preparing to board the Merry, grabbing onto loose ropes of rigging. “They’re going to swing over,” you reported, watching as the ship tilted in your direction, gaining on you. “I see maybe two or three dozen men.”

You hesitated, glancing around at the rather stationary crew around you. Your lip tugged between your teeth, and you stood there for a moment, unspoken words heavy on your tongue. You could see the captain yelling out orders on the ship across from you, and you turned abruptly, fixing Sanji with a look.

“Sanji, trade with Usopp. I want you to nail a cannon at their port stern.”

“W—What? Me?” Usopp stuttered. You nodded.

“I want Sanji on the frontlines. That should be close enough now.” You gazed out at the rapidly thinning gap between the two ships. One final cannonball whizzed towards, and you ducked, watching as it just brushed the side of the Merry. The ship rocked, and you tightened your grip on the rigging, satisfied to see it’d barely left a mark.

“They’re coming over,” Sanji reported, and you nodded, sliding Hiru out from your scabbard as enemy pirates started swinging over on ropes. Luffy was the first to react, an arching, rubbery limb catching one of them midair and yanking them down into the ocean. Boots thudded on the ground as the enemy pirates landed aboard the Going Merry.

“Time for a fight,” Zoro murmured, barely audible from your left. You jumped down from the rigging, sword coming down to crash against one of the enemy pirates. He reacted slowly, pistol cocking towards your chest—but you just brushed it to the side with Hiru, cutting it straight out his hand and following up with a flurry of sword thrusts.

Besides you, you saw Sanji sliding into battle, spinning on his palms to deliver a mean right hook to someone’s jawbone. An audible crack pierced the air, and you winced, breezing backwards on your feet as two pirates closed in on you.

Luffy seemed to have engaged in a one-on-one with the enemy captain, who was easily identifiable due to the gigantic top hat perched upon his head. He had thick black hair tied neatly back in a ponytail, and a mustache and beard to match. A thick cutlass was tightened in one fist, thrusted towards Luffy—but every sweep was dodged with unbelievable bends of the torso.

You turned your attention away, whipping your sword at the pirates that surrounded you. Hiru clashed with their blades, gleaming silver scraping against theirs. You leaned forward, and the blade before you broke with the pressure, sword snapping under Hiru’s will.

The sword dropped out of the pirate’s hand, and you took the opportunity to pull your leg up, kicking him squarely in the jaw. The other lunged for you, and your fist dug into their torso, hands gripping tight to their belt. You bent over, twisting into his body to push him over your shoulder in a sweeping throw.

He fell to the floor all in one, and you landed a kick to his chest just to ensure he wouldn’t get up again. Another man—bigger, this time, probably half your width and inches taller—gunned for you.

You sidestepped him easily, agility tilting in your favor as you escaped his grasp. It was harder to take this one down—while you could dodge him well enough, and parry his oncoming attacks, he was simply too strong to compete with. Strength isn’t everything, little hawk, Mihawk would always tell you. Everyone has a weakness. Get them off balance. Use your points.

The man delivered a stinging left hook to your torso, and you gasped. He took the opportunity to grab onto your wrist, grip so tight you couldn’t move your hand. Hiru clattered out from between your fingers. You directed a hit with your elbow towards the pirate’s sternum, but it was oddly-placed, and he just sneered down at you.

One of his large fists rose to thud against your skull, and you braced for impact, but the blow never landed. A warm squishing sound of a sword against skin made your entire body shudder, and you turned to stare as your assailant’s head slid cleanly off of his neck.

Zoro was behind him when his body collapsed, sword slick with blood as he spun it lazily around in a hand. “Careful,” he said.

You gaped up at him for merely a second more before you realized your jaw was ajar. You flushed, bending over to fish Hiru up from the floor. “I was fine.”

Zoro just thrust his sword cleanly into the torso of an incoming pirate, eyes not breaking away from yours. He slid it out with a sickening sound, flicking the blood off the blade with a motion of his hand. “A thank you might be nice.”

“Behind you,” you said instead, but Zoro was already reacting. You watched him, an incurable sigh perched on the tip of your tongue. He was good. He was really, really good, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. “Is that most of them?”

“I think—” Zoro cut himself off, glancing over his shoulder as you both hear the familiar yell of Luffy’s voice screaming out one of his final moves. You both watched, soundless, as his foot smashed into the top hat pirate’s face, flinging him all the way across the water straight into the mast of his own ship. Only mere seconds later did the mast crack, the wooden pole falling down in a glorious, wooden heap.

“...Yeah, we’re fine.” Zoro said. He leaned down, grabbing the shirt of one of the fallen pirates to wipe his blade with before sliding it back in its scabbard. “Let’s get out of here.”

“On it.” Nami snapped her bo staff closed—when she’d jumped down into the battle, you were unsure, but she was already returning to her place at the helm. “Toss these bodies off our boat, would you, Zoro?”

“Right.” Zoro bent over, easily picking up the fallen pirate and chucking the corpse overboard without another thought. You watched him the entire time, the strain of his biceps against his skin forming solid ridges up his arms.

“I can clean your swords,” you said, words a bit too late out of your mouth. Zoro glanced up, brow creased. “While you’re doing that.”

Zoro looked uncertain, but he unstrapped the scabbards from his hip, handing the twin katanas to you. You took them, glancing over his figure again. He moved with difficulty, and while you’d originally thought that was because of the bodies’ weight, you now saw the real reason. Lines of crimson were seeping through his shirt, a pool by the left side of his lower abdomen the biggest injured site. You took an involuntary step forward. “You’re hurt.”

“I can treat them later,” Zoro said dismissively. “Gotta clean up the Merry first.”

“No, mosshead, the lady is right,” Sanji said. You startled, not having noticed him slip up beside you. “Usopp and I can manage with waste control, eh?” He winked. “Go clean up.”

Zoro glared at him, the look dripping with malice, but he didn’t argue past that. “Fine,” he said, chucking another body—this one alive—off the side of the ship before straightening. You heard the hitch in his breath as he spoke, along with the near-imperceptible wince of his face. “You good, Luffy?”

“A little hungry,” Luffy responded truthfully. He was still watching the other ship. Fire had started aboard it, and soft billows of black smoke drifted in the air. “Can you cook something up later, Sanji?”

“Got it,” Sanji said. “Tell your first mate to patch up his wound before he bleeds out all over our beautiful deck.”

“The deck isn’t beautiful, it’s got blood and guts all over it,” Zoro muttered.

“Well, have a little respect and don’t add to the mess.” Sanji fixed him with a stern look. Zoro bared his teeth at him in a grimace, extracting a sharp little laugh out of your throat. His eyes brushed over yours, a glimmer of surprise dancing in his irises, before he ducked inside.

“Why are you following me?” Zoro asked flatly, as you entered the cabin he’d gone into. You’d hastened to keep up with him, only a few steps behind before finding the room he’d gone into. Zoro had propped himself up on the hanging bed, loosening the ties of his wrap shirt to expose his bare chest.

“I was wondering if you needed any help with your wounds.” You deposited Zoro’s swords, along with Hiru, on the table in the room, moving closer to him to survey the scene. “If you wanted it.”

Zoro’s gaze met yours, and he said nothing for a moment. “First aid kit’s over there,” he finally said, nodding to the table. You moved towards it, opening up the small box to expose supplies of bandages, needles, stitch string, and disinfectant inside. You carried the box over to the bed, sanitizing your hands before carefully parting the folds of Zoro’s shirt. The cloth stuck to skin, coagulating blood making the shirt peel rather than move. Now that his entire torso was bared, though, you could fully inspect his wounds. There were still bandages from Yoru’s cut, all dirtied up now from his other injuries—you’d have to take them off and re-dress them, so he’d be in the bed for thirty minutes at least.

You turned your attention to the cut by Zoro’s abdomen, deciding it was the most important thing to focus on. The cut wasn’t too deep, but it was gushing a steady flow of blood, and you picked up a towel to press against the wound. “Hold,” you instructed, and Zoro’s fingers brushed against yours as he took a hold of the cloth. “Thanks. I’ve got to take your bandages off, then I’ll clean and dress all the wounds. That one down there might need stitches.”

“How do you know how to do this?” Zoro asked, watching as you unwrapped the previous bandages from around his chest. You were careful to touch his skin as little as possible, distracting yourself with the blood and gauze.

“My dad,” you answered. You’d spent too many late nights patching up a wound Mihawk had brushed off as unimportant, only to wind up bleeding out on your couch. Zoro raised a brow.

“Dracule Mihawk gets injured?”

“Of course he does,” you said with a huff. “Don’t be stupid. He’s a man, just like the rest of you.” The gash from Yoru had fully scabbed over, revealing a long, trembling crust of dark ochre. You finished peeling off all the bandages, and cast them to the side.

“You know a lot.”

“Jack of all trades, master of none,” you quipped. You moved away from the desk to fill a bucket with warm water, dipping a cloth into it and squeezing out the excess. You dabbed around Yoru’s scab with the cloth, careful not to break the shell while still cleaning it of any extra gunk. Then you focused on flushing out the other wounds, wiping across his skin and getting all the little nicks on his chest and arms. Zoro didn’t say a word, but you could feel his eyes boring into your skull, watching you with a hardened intensity that made your insides churn.

You nudged his hand away, examining the big cut. The rag he was holding had filled up with blood, white cotton dyed red and sodden with liquid. Thankfully, the bleeding seemed to have lessened. You wiped up all the last of it with your towel, swiping it against the pills of blood that had caught along the waistband of his trousers. Zoro hissed as you came into contact with the wound. “Sorry,” you murmured.

“Why are you apologizing?”

You frowned at that. “Because it hurt?”

“I thought you were mad at me,” Zoro said stiffly. You raised your brows. “Since… you thought I was annoyed at you, or whatever.”

“Just because you feel a certain kind of way towards me doesn’t mean I reciprocate the same feelings,” you answered, setting aside your towel after deciding everything had been cleaned out well enough. You picked up another cloth, dabbing this one with some alcohol to disinfect the wound. “This is going to sting,” you warned.

Zoro’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding against each other as you flushed out the wound. His torso clenched, and your eyes fell across his exposed midriff, watching the tight skin that was seemingly sculpted into muscles. You glanced away just a moment later, a dusting of warmth brushing over your cheeks. “On that topic,” you hastened to say, trying to distract yourself from the half-naked man in front of you, “Why were you avoiding me?”

Zoro let out a sigh, the sound stuttered as he clenched his jaw again when you brushed your towel against his wound. You waited, taking out a fresh cloth to dab at the other nicks on his body. You examined the wound near his left side again. “Stitches.”

“Great,” Zoro muttered. You ignored him, searching in the kit for some needle and thread. “Can you take the stitches out from your dad’s yet?”

“Ha ha. You’re going to need those for a few more weeks,” you said, without even looking at the scab to check. “Ask me again later. Yoru cuts are deadly.”

Zoro let his eyes flutter closed. “It’s a great sword.”

“Yeah, it is,” you said. You paused from where you were threading the needle, glancing up at Zoro’s face now that you knew he couldn’t catch you staring. He looked so peaceful in this state, eyelashes splayed along his cheeks, dark umber freckles that you hadn’t noticed before splattered across his face. There were dozens of them, skin sun-worn and bearing the marks as proof—constellations of dark brown stars, so similar to his warm, glowing skin it was easy to miss. A five-o’-clock shadow traced around his mouth, and at his left ear, his golden earrings gleamed bright.

“I don’t feel anything,” Zoro said, and you snapped out of your reverie, fingers fumbling to finish threading your needle.

“Patience is a virtue, you know,” you hissed. Zoro snorted.

“Yeah, one I don’t have.” You rolled your eyes, tying off the string and bending down to examine the cut again. It wasn’t too wide—maybe five or six stitches at most. You gave Zoro no warning except for the light brush of your fingers against the wound, and he hissed again.

You glanced up. “Do you want something to bite on?”

“I’m not a toddler,” Zoro sneered. You mouthed his words mockingly, though you didn’t actually speak them, not wanting him to catch you doing such an immature action. You fixed your gaze back on the wound, free hand resting flat against Zoro’s abdomen to steady you—his skin was warm under your palm, and you expected him to say something, but to your surprise, he didn’t even flinch.

The first puncture came carefully. Zoro hissed, the sound of a low rumble in his throat as you felt his abdomen clench under your palm. You forced yourself to continue, pulling the thread fully through the skin before moving onto the other side of the wound. You did it again, carefully to keep the string untangled as it ran through Zoro’s flesh.

“It wasn’t because I was mad at you,” Zoro said abruptly, and you paused, glancing up to look at Zoro’s face. His eyes were still closed, brows contorted tight and mouth bared down into a grimace. “Don’t stop. I wasn’t avoiding you because I was angry. Or because of anything you did.”

“Why, then?” you asked, lowering your head to continue with your stitches. Zoro took in a sharp breath at the next one, the edges of a scream cutting into his breath but not fully escaping from his throat. You were rubbing a comforting circle into his stomach before you could stop yourself—muscle memory from patching up your dad’s wounds. You swallowed hard, but didn’t stop the motions—Zoro didn’t seem offended by them.

His voice was raggedy when he spoke again. “Fighting against you. It reminded me of—my friend, from back then. I told you about her.”

Your lips pursed, but you didn’t stall your actions, running the thread through the hole you’d pricked. “The one you made the promise to?”

“Yeah,” Zoro said, the word falling out all in one breath. You fixed the string tight along the wound, fingers splayed across his stomach warning him for the next puncture. He continued speaking despite it, and your needle hovered over his skin. “We were training together—fuck.”

“Sorry,” you said again, still running your thread through his skin as he heaved out a long, ragged groan from low in his throat.

“We were training together,” he repeated. “Haven’t done that in a while with a girl. So it—” His voice tapered off in another breathy groan. “Reminded me of her. I got bitchy.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” you said. You were getting close to the end of the wound now, but your actions slowed, just to keep him talking—the words came out all harsh and hesitant, and you got the feeling speaking about his past was a laborious task. Might as well let him have the safety of avoiding your eyes like this while he spoke. “Do I look like her or something?”

Zoro huffed out a laugh. “Ha. No.”

“Okay,” you said. You pierced his skin again—he took this one better, muscles clenching as he sucked in hard. You waited until you finished the stitch to speak again. “Are you going to keep avoiding me?”

“No,” Zoro said. His words pierced the air, weighed heavy with a gasp of pain and a hiss, but it still rang sharp in your ears. He eased out a breath, long and soft. “It was unfair. Can’t help it sometimes, that’s all.”

“That’s fine,” you answered carefully. You threaded one last stitch, both of you mute as you tightened the wound closed with the suture and tied it off. You snipped the string with a pocketknife, using another damp towel to clean up any of the excess blood. “I’m going to dress everything with bandages now. Almost done.”

“Okay,” Zoro said. You reorganized your supplies, tucking away your stitching things to replace with bandages and dressing pads. You washed your hands again, then returned to bend over Zoro’s torso. When you did, you were surprised to see Zoro’s eyes had opened, soft brown irises boring into yours. You swallowed, feeling the burn of his gaze into your skin as you stared at the skin of his midsection.

“I’ll do the big one first, then everything else,” you said carefully. You worked in silence, pressing a dressing pad along the wound and tying it off with some gauze to fix it in place. You moved around his body, bandaging up any cuts you deemed worthy until you finally were left with Yoru’s cut.

It stretched the entire expanse of his torso, from shoulder to hip. It’d been well done, the cut deep but not deep enough to kill as long as someone was fast enough with treatment. You recognized the shape of the cut, the very tip of it thin before Yoru’s mouth caught the skin with the center of his blade. “He did it like this on purpose?” Zoro asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “He’s methodical with most things.” You wrapped gauze around the scab, tightening it up and then finally tying it off by his hip. “I’d keep that on for a few days before replacing it. Keep dressing it for another two weeks or so. It’ll probably start swelling soon, so I can help you drain whatever fluid develops.”

“I’ll let you know,” Zoro said. He was still watching you with those big brown eyes, and a soft shiver traced down your spine. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for saving me from that pirate earlier,” you said. You surveyed him again, though you were careful not to meet his eyes. A long silence filled the space, heavy with something you couldn’t quite place. You ducked your head, busying yourself with putting away the first aid kit. The words fell from your mouth before you could stop them— “I like your earrings.”

“Oh,” Zoro said. Nothing else.

You were pretty sure you liked more than the earrings. You liked the way he fought, even if it scared you sometimes—even if you knew one day he’d probably be able to beat your father. You liked his face; those big brown eyes, soulless at times but holding the world in those glistening irises at others. Those freckles, adorned with the entire galaxy, stars and planets and constellations dotting his cheeks like a mural of life. The way he talked, soft-spoken but utterly real, voice low in his throat, words disturbingly honest.

You didn’t say so, though. You stuck with the earrings, because those were safer.

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

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h-c-u · 2 years

Text

Eye of the storm pt 1

Summary: You can't cope with your grief and Beau is there for you.

Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x fem!reader (Iceman's daughter)

W/C: 8k

Rating: PG, age gap, canon character's death (Tom Kazansky)

TWs: Grief, unnamed ED, Panic attacks.

A/N: It's going to be long and slow. And there is a lot of feelings. Is it healthy...? Wellll.... What in life truly is healthy...? Also - the next chapter is almost ready, and will be most likely posted on Sunday.

Part 2 | Part 3 Masterlist | List of tags | Eye of the storm playlist

Personal note: I am aware that grief is a very heavy topic for some people, and if you're not in the right mindset, please skip this story. A lot of what I described here is based on my personal experiences, so if you could, please don't comment on the amount of sleeping, crying and panic attacks. From the outside perspective, I know that there are a lot of them, and that it might even sound unrealistic for someone who was able to deal with loss in a more healthy way than I did. Everyone deals with it differently and I wish none of you, my dear readers, will experience what I did. Love, G.

The last few weeks were rough for you... Mostly because you just couldn't process your dad's death properly, and you were having terrible nightmares every night and panic attacks when you were awake. And yet, you were afraid to go back to therapy; you just... weren't ready yet, because actually going there and talking about it somehow made it more... true. And because acknowledging that would break you even more.

You couldn't spend more than a few minutes at home, because everywhere you looked you were expecting to see him, to hear him... Every time you looked at your phone you were expecting to see a text from him... Every time you looked at your driveway you expected to see him getting out of the car... But none of those things happened, and every time you realized that the won't happen ever again, it was crushing you over and over.

You cling to his clothes, desperately seeking the remains of his scent... You re-read his journals every day, hoping that somehow the last unfinished sentence magically fills in with his neat handwriting the next time you get to that page... You were obsessively listening to the recording of My Funny Valentine he made for your mother a few years ago when he still had his voice...

You knew that none of those things was healthy. And yet, you just couldn't let them go, making yourself re-live the pain of realizing that he's truly gone multiple times every day...

To say that you were close with your dad would be a severe understatement. You told him everything, and he told you even more than he was sharing with your mother. You were almost inseparable, especially during the last couple of years. You learned sign language with him and you were with him in every unofficial meeting, translating, because it was much faster than writing on a computer. You were with him at every doctor’s appointment and every round of chemo, talked him through every panic attack and moment of self-doubt, when your mother just couldn't handle it anymore.

And you missed him with every breath you took and with every heartbeat...

But ever since the funeral... you just couldn't handle it. And you had no one to help you, so you hid in the place where you could weirdly still feel his presence...

You never got into military; you knew you weren't built for that life. You craved personal freedom too much and the strict routine would kill you. And yet you found yourself seeking the comfort of that, even if only by existing in the same space as it was happening.

To be honest, you assumed that getting on base would be much harder, considering that you weren't even in the academy, but almost everyone you came in contact with got sudden amnesia and selective blindness when they saw you entering the base or walking the corridors... You usually just sat on the floor somewhere, tucked in the corner of the hangar, or in the furthest part of a cafeteria, being completely quiet and re-reading one of your dad's journals. It was the only place where you didn't feel like dying...

You were extremely careful not to accidentally stumble upon something you weren't supposed to see or hear, that's why it took you so long to get into your fathers office; because you assumed it was reassigned and you didn't want to be confronted by the new occupant...

But you finally gathered the courage to open the familiar door and enter even more familiar room. You've spent a lot of hours here... Sure, all the personal belongings were packed and sent to your mother's house, but you could still see the marks he made there...

The worn place on the edge of his desk, where he rubbed his thumb over and over, when someone was saying something extremely stupid during meetings. Blinds were still in the 2/3s of the window, just as he liked. The place in the carpet where he liked to keep his right foot perpendicularly to the floor, resting it on his toe was still visible. And many, many little things that gave unimaginable comfort when you saw them again. He was still here... Maybe not alive, but he was still here, and that took that heavy weight from your chest and shoulders, even if just for a moment.

You couldn't force yourself to sit in his chair, it felt almost sacrilegious... Instead, you opted on curling up on the couch you helped choose, just for few minutes... To catch a breath from the constant grieving, even if for a moment... You didn't even notice when you fell asleep, and for the first time in weeks, there were no nightmares haunting your dreams...

- Cyclone...? - he heard a familiar voice, and he instantly turned around. - Are you ok, buddy? - Warlock looked a little bit concerned but got curious when his friend put his finger on his lips, shushing him, and closing the door to his office a bit more.

- I'm fine... - he lied smoothly, trying to position himself in front of his door in such a way, that his friend wouldn't see inside, but he failed.

- What the...!? - to say that Solomon was surprised and confused would be an understatement, when he caught sight of the young women sleeping on the couch in his friend's office.

- Shush. - Cyclone pulled his friend by the elbow further into the corridor, so their conversation wouldn't be so loud.

- Why the hell she's in your office, and more importantly, why the hell were you watching her sleep? - Warlock crossed his arms on his chest evidently judging, and Beau's shoulders slumped as he looked at the floor.

- Because she thinks this office is still unoccupied... And it's the only place where she doesn't have nightmares when she sleeps... - he bluntly avoided answering the second question, because if he did, he would actually have to admit few things out loud, and he definitely didn't want to do that in front of his friend.

- And you know that because...? - Solomon dug deeper and Cyclone sighed heavily.

- Because I overheard her conversation with her mother after I caught her for the first time...

- Jesus Christ, Beau...

- I know, believe me. - he was evidentially ashamed of what he did, and Sol didn't even know the half of it.

- How often is she here? - Warlock sighed again and let his arms fall to his sides.

- Every day... - even though Beau was much higher than his friend, right now he felt much, much shorter.

- Every...!? Cyclone, what the actual fuck!? - vice-admiral wanted nothing more than for the ground beneath him to open and swallow him whole. - Wait... If she's in your office every day... Where have you been working from? - the judgement disappeared for a moment, replaced by curiosity.

- From a conference room on the 3rd floor... - compared to the previous things, this one was easy to admit, and now Solomon just laughed quietly...

- Shit, you're in deep, aren't you... Working from that shoebox just so she can catch some sleep... For how long exactly? - usually very sure in himself and confident Beau Simpson was currently folding onto himself in front of his best friend.

- Almost two months... - he mumbled under his breath, readying for the next wave of laughter.

- Have you even talked to her? - Cyclone didn't have to reply for Solomon to know the answer. - Why?

- She's very obviously grieving. And she's Iceman's very young daughter and he would... - he couldn't even finish that sentence.

- He would what... kill you? A bit late for that, isn't it...? - if looks could kill, Solomon would be dead then and there. - And I didn't mean it like that... Everyone treats her either as a ghost or like an egg which could break any second. Just treat her as a human being, not as a daughter of a dead father. Talk to her. And don't creepily watch her sleep ever again, because you won’t have to wait for Kazansky to kill you, I'll do it for him, I'm serious. - his expression told Beau that indeed, he wasn't joking.

Cyclone sighed heavily and straightened himself, trying to put on his usual expression of confidence and nonchalance, which came surprisingly easy.

- Could you...? - he asked before they went their separate ways.

- Yeah, yeah... Your creepy little secret is safe with me... - he just shook his head when his friend's face showed nothing but relief for a short moment. - But seriously, she's a human being first, just remember that. - Cyclone only nodded, straightened himself and readjusted the flies and laptop he was holding in his hands. - Atta boy. - older man couldn't help but laugh and patted his friend on the shoulder.

But when Beau was passing his door, he couldn't help but take one last look at the sleeping girl in his office... She looked so innocent and peaceful, curled up in a tiny ball on only one couch cushion, desperately trying to occupy as little space as possible. Her breathing was steady, and he could see her chest slowly raising and coming down, even from that far. He didn't have time to study the light freckles on her cheeks that were glistening like gold in the rays of morning sunshine. He took this sight one last time and gently closed the door, leaving her completely alone, which was much more true than he realized at the moment.

Next time he saw you was on the balcony of the hangar. He was looking for a quiet space to eat, because he hated eating in the canteen with a passion. Someone was always either staring at him, or trying to talk to him, and he wasn't sure which was worse. He also didn't want to eat in his office, because he honestly thought, you were still there and he didn't want to disturb you. So, he was a bit surprised when he saw you in one of the biggest hangars, where the lights were off and the only sound that could be heard was planes landing and taking off on the tarmac.

He didn't say anything, just sat about a meter away from you, took a smoothie from his lunch bag and placed it right next to you, wordlessly giving it to you, and started to eat his sandwich in silence. He didn't ask any questions, didn't make any remarks, just... kept you company, while you couldn't stop staring at the glass bottle, he presented you with. You eventually placed your dad's notebook on the ground and cautiously took the glass bottle into one hand. Even though the intention was obvious, you still weren't entirely sure if it wasn't happening in your imagination.

- Peanuts...? - you asked quietly, without even looking at him. Your voice hoarse and rough from all the crying and screaming. You honestly weren't sure exactly when was the last time you spoke to anyone. Even your mother wasn't calling you that often, tired of your constant grief; you didn't blame her though. Cyclone only shook his head for no, which you caught with a corner of your eye.

- Cashews, apples, kiwis, coconut milk and fresh, young nettle. - he said after he swallowed the bite of his sandwich. You still held the glass bottle as if it was about to explode any moment, but eventually you opened it and took a sniff before you put it to your lips and took a sip. It was... good. Tasty.

- Thank you... - you whispered and started slowly sipping on the smoothie while he continued eating his breakfast. He only nodded once in response, letting you know that there’s nothing to thank for.

You of course knew him... For the last couple of years, you were interpreting your dad's words in the meetings with him at least couple of times a week. You didn't know much about his personal life though. But right now, he was the right person in the right place, at the right time. His mere presence brought you weird comfort, taking you back to simpler times.

He finished the meal first, but he didn't go, just reclined a bit, seeking support in the wall behind. He wasn't rushing you and didn't even give you impression that he was in a hurry, so you continue to take small sips of something that had actual sustenance, instead of tea or a single fruit that you could barely stomach. You knew you should be eating more, because you started to see bones through your skin that you weren't able to see before the funeral. The clothes were secondary, because you were mostly wearing your dad's old t-shirts and jackets, which were already much too big for you, but they brought you comfort, and you held to that small piece of support with all your might. but because of that, you haven't noticed how much weight you actually lost.

So, you were extremely grateful for that smoothie, because you just didn't have the energy to even think about the food, you just didn't know how to show it or say it, so a simple "thank you" had to suffice, at least for now.

You weren't sure how much time had passed until you finally finished the drink and closed the bottle, but it was at least half an hour, maybe even closer to an hour. You suspected that he had other things to do, yet he was sitting on the cold, metal floor of a balcony with you, as if you were kids who just met in the kindergarten. And if you had to be completely honest, you didn't mind that. Because he didn't do or say anything that was supposed to make you feel better. You were just two people. Eating breakfast. And for the first time in weeks, you smiled...

He joined you later that day again; you were still sitting on the same balcony, so you weren't exactly hard to find. This time he brought you a wrap with smoked salmon, avocado, sunflower seeds and Philadelphia cheese. He had sushi... And you sat in complete silence again, not even one word between you this time, because even simple "thank you" seemed too heavy for you.

You didn't know why he was doing that, but deep inside, you were grateful. It was your second meal of the day since forever, and he stayed with you till you ate it whole, which took at least thirty minutes, because the bites you were taking were small and far apart. And yet he didn't say a word, didn't complain, didn't rush you... Just sat there and ate his sushi, and after he finished, he leaned again on the wall behind him. It wasn't easy for you to relax, but you at least didn't find his presence overbearing, which was progress.

Small, yet somehow significant. But Rome wasn't built in a day.

After you finished eating, he took the wrapping from you to throw away and left you alone again, saying goodbye with a simple smile.

In the afternoon he brought you hot black tea, a caramel cookie and a blanket, which you let him drape over your body while you were holding thermal mug in your hands. He was really careful and made sure not to actually touch you, because in his mind it was a line, he wasn't ready to cross just yet. He again sat with you while you were slowly nibbling on the cookie and sipping tea. You suspected that the mug he brought the tea in was his personal one, because you seriously doubted that navy had yeti mugs just laying around, but you didn't say a word. Commenting on that would require much more energy than you had left in your batteries for today. Maybe tomorrow...

This time he didn't bring anything for himself, so he was just sitting next to you with his eyes closed. He was breathing slow and steady, and that quiet, rhythmic sound somehow managed to ground you enough that you finally looked at him. The sun was slowly setting over the horizon and shined its rays on both of you... He looked... tired. But at the same time calm and content. You could tell that he wasn't in any hurry to get anywhere, and if he had any worries on his mind, there weren't reaching him this high up. You could see his chest slowly rising with every breath... Unknowingly, you focused on the same things he noticed about you, when he was looking at you sleeping.

You eventually looked forward again and went back to slowly sipping from a giant mug of tea. You were surprised to learn that it was your favorite - earl grey with bluebottle flowers, with a little bit of honey. You doubted that it was an accident, but you honestly didn't care right now; it didn't matter.

Only after you finished your tea, you realized that he wasn't just sitting there... He fell asleep, and that made you smile for the second time today. You placed an empty mug on his left side, and moved a bit closer to him. The metal floor was getting colder this late in the day, and he was bound to get cold sooner rather than later, so you unfolded the blanket he draped over you, and put it around him as well. If he was tired enough to fall asleep here, he definitely deserved to get some rest. The blanket was big enough that it covered both of you, without forcing you to touch, so you could go back to re-reading your dad's journal in the last rays of sun for the day.

At first you didn't notice his scent, because the detergent on the blanket was so strong, but it finally got to you, after few minutes of sitting in such close proximity. He smelled faintly of either pine or spruce, and a hint of very good quality soap. At first it distracted you, but it didn't take long for you to stop consciously noticing it. It still surrounded you though...

You weren't sure what was the exact reason... If it was the heat radiating of the body next to you, his calm and steady breath, the fact that you actually ate today, or maybe the combination of all three, but you eventually joined him and fell asleep, sitting under one blanket with vice-admiral Beau Simpson.

When he woke up, he didn't know where he was at first. His back and ass were cold, but the front of his body was pleasantly warm. It was dark all around him and he had trouble identifying anything. But finally his train of thoughts caught up with reality, and he realized what, or rather who, was responsible for the additional weight on his thighs.

He gave his eyes few minutes to adjust to the darkness and he was finally able to see the familiar outline of your head, which made him smile. He still couldn't say what exactly possessed you to lay on him and, but the realization finally got to him, based on the blanket placement. You must have fell in your sleep, without even realizing it, and it made him chuckle a little. He couldn't help but move your hair from your forehead and you took a deeper breath when he did that. He didn't want to wake you up, but at the same time, he knew that it wasn't the best place for you to sleep, mostly because of the temperature, and he didn't want you to get sick.

But he selfishly didn't move for few more minutes, just taking in your presence. He was watching you from afar for so long, that actually being so close to you seemed... surreal, almost like a dream. Especially in the moonlight that was coming through the giant windows above you. In his eyes, you looked as if you stepped straight out of a fairy-tale to bless him with your company.

You looked so peaceful and he hated that he had to disturb that, but to his surprise, when he touched your arm and gently shook it, you didn't wake up... You didn't even react in the slightest.

At first, he wanted to try to call your name, to shake you a bit stronger, but another, admittingly more creepy plan won in his head.

Very gently he hooked your arm on his neck, turned towards you, and grabbed you under your knees and your back. You weighed almost nothing in his arms, and he could feel your shoulder blades even through the jacket you were wearing. Your head moved forward and rested on his chest, instead of lulling back, following the gravity. He left his mug on the balcony, making a mental note to come back for it later, when you'll be out of his arms.

He walked slowly and carefully, trying his best not to wake you up. There wasn't a lot of people in the corridors this late, and those who were, suddenly went quiet and found something else to look at. At first, he wanted to get you to his office, but he selfishly didn't want to leave you there alone, and sleeping on the rough carpet didn't sound that appealing... Instead, he took you to the quarters that were assigned to him. It was a small room, with almost no decoration. There was a bunk bed built into the wall, even though he was the only one assigned to this room, a small desk, a wardrobe, armchair in the corner.

He didn't spend a lot of time here, preferring his house off the base, but this room was still available to him if needed. And today definitely qualified under "if needed". He didn't even turn the lights on because he knew how harsh they were, and he was afraid that you would wake up.

He gently placed you on the lower bed.

He was torn about what to do next, but he eventually unlaced your shoes, took them off, and placed them under the bed. Not creepy at all. At last, he slowly moved the duvet from under you and covered you with it, even though you were still wrapped in a blanket. But when he was covering your shoulders, you desperately grabbed his wrist in your sleep and pulled it closer to your chest. He tried to gently pry your fingers away, so he could climb into the top bed and fall asleep, but you didn't want to let go.

He honestly considered climbing in the bed with you for a moment, but Solomon's voice slapped him over the head and instead he sighed heavily. Without moving too much, he grabbed a cushion from the armchair and placed it on the floor next to the bed. he also grabbed a pillow from the top bunk and did his best to find the most comfortable position while sitting on the floor. He eventually unbuttoned and loosened his collar. In the ideal world, he would be able to take his shirt of completely without waking you up, leaving only his t-shirt... That was a lie... In the ideal world, he wouldn't have to worry so much about you because you wouldn't be grieving... He also took his shoes off and put a pillow on the shoulder that you were currently trying to pull closer, and rested his head on it, trying to find the best angle, so the edge of the bed wouldn't be stabbing his ribs.

He looked at you one last time before closing his eyes and focused on your breathing for a moment.

It was calm and steady, which told him that even though you were clutching his arms like a lifebuoy, you didn't have a nightmare; at least that's what he was hoping for...

You woke up in an unfamiliar place, yet somehow you felt calmer than you felt in weeks. At first you didn't even want to open your eyes, in fear that if you did, that bubble of serenity would disappear in a blink of an eye. So, you laid there without even moving a finger, allowing yourself absorb every second of that bliss.

Only after good five minutes you realized that you were holding someone's hand and your eyes shot open in a slight panic, which only grew when you realized your current position.

Vice-admiral Beau Simpson was sitting on the floor, draped over the edge of the bed in which you were currently laying. Your heartrate immediately jumped, and your brain slowly started to fill in the blanks with the most rational possibility. You fell asleep. He took you to this room so you could sleep in the bed. But you didn't let him go...

So, he slept next to you. On the floor. In a very uncomfortable position.

It must have been very early, because the sun wasn't fully over the horizon yet, painting the sky with a muted orange color, that filled the room almost completely.

You took a closer look at his sleeping face for the second time during last twenty-four hours; the calmness of if somehow rubbed off on you, and you weren't panicking anymore... You couldn't place exactly why you were reacting that way to his presence, but you did... And now it was your turn to do something creepy and stupid...

Without letting him go, you gently cupped his cheek with your free hand and his eyes immediately shot open, but he calmed down when he saw you. You didn't say anything... Instead, you pulled him towards you, and moved closer to the wall, making space for him under heavy duvet in the very narrow bed, and he followed... Like a puppy on a leash... He climbed into bed with you, ignoring all the sirens in his head.

You let go of his hand and he pulled the covers over both of you, and just as he was beginning to feel unsure about what to do with his limbs, you took his arm again and guided it around your body, letting it rest on the top part of your stomach, and covered it with your own. After that his other hand easily found a place under your pillow and his left ankle rested on top of your right.

At this moment in time, this was the only thing you needed from life...

You didn't even realize how quickly your breaths synchronized, lulling both of you back to sleep.

When you woke up for the second time, the sun was high up, and he was gone... You couldn't help feeling a bit sad. You knew that he had to work, and there were total of... 12 words exchanged between you two. But to your surprise, that sadness had a different taste than the one you felt constantly for the last two months... But you knew that if you started analyzing and dissecting it, you would spiral again.

When you turned around and looked around the room, you noticed your bag resting on the floor next to the desk, your dad's journal on the desk, and a another glass bottle with a short "no peanuts" scribbled on a post-it note stuck to the side of it. But... you didn't want to get out of bed just yet. Your rational brain was screaming at you that you definitely should, because you were already abusing vice-admiral's hospitality. Not to mention that you used his body... Well, not in the most obvious way, but still... On the other hand, he wasn't exactly yelling at you and protesting.

So, staying in bed it was...

But first you took your jacket off and hung it over the ladders edge. You also took of your jeans and socks because it was extremely warm under the duvet. It definitely wasn't navy issued and even only in your underwear and your dad's much too big for you t-shirt, you were hot. But it was pleasant, because for the longest time you were always cold... It was partially to the fact that you weren’t eating enough, and partially because you were... well... depressed. So, you welcomed that warmness with your whole heart, covering even your head, leaving only a small gap for the oxygen to come in.

It wasn't long before you fell asleep again, surrounded by a very subtle pine or spruce smell.

Next time you didn't wake up on your own... Vice-Admiral Simpson was kneeling next to the bed and gently moving your hair from your forehead.

- You need to eat something... - he whispered quietly. He didn't want to wake you up, but when he came back with lunch and saw that you didn't even touch your breakfast, he got a little bit worried. You wanted to shake your head for no, because you already ate so much yesterday, and you were still full from that... Sleep sounded much better than eating. But instead of refusing you ended up following his nods. - Just a quick small meal, and you can go back to sleep, ok...? - he asked, but it wasn't a request. You propped yourself on the wall behind you and took a glass bottle you saw earlier from his hands.

It took you a good minute to hype yourself up to actually take a sip, but when you saw relief on his face... Well... It helped with every sip that followed the first one.

He stayed with you until you finished the whole smoothie and gave you a gentle smile when he took the empty bottle from your hands. You moved your pinky just by few millimeters, so you could touch his hand. You weren't entirely sure if you did that consciously or subconsciously, but he didn't pull away for few more seconds, allowing the touch to linger.

He wanted nothing more than to climb to bed with you again and protect you from both the outside world and what was happening in your mind, and you were so naively allowing him to do so... He couldn't help but feel like he was taking advantage of you, but you were a fully grown woman... Much, much younger than him, but still.

He wanted to tell you how much of a good girl you were for drinking the whole smoothie, and how proud and happy he was that you were finally getting enough sleep, but that would cross so many lines, that he wasn't even sure if he could count that high.

You were so obviously depressed and grieving, that even an idiot would have noticed, and instead of getting you professional help, he was selfishly keeping you in his room, feeding you food he prepared and occasionally climbing in the bed with you...

He clenched his jaw and finally pulled away, breaking this small point of contact between your bodies. And everything would have been fine, if you didn't follow his movements, and kneeled on his bed, and cupped his face with your right hand, forcing him to look you in the eyes. He almost immediately looked away, afraid of what you could possible find there, but you followed his gaze and intercepted it again.

- Thank you... - your voice barely a whisper, because you couldn’t make it any stronger... Not yet... He only nodded in response and moved away from your hand by finally standing up.

- I will leave the lunch on the desk... It's a crab sushi roll, please try to eat it when you'll wake up next time, ok...? - he pleaded and you simply couldn't say no to that, so you nodded - Also, there is grape juice... - "your favorite..." he wanted to add, but he didn't want to explain exactly how he knew that. But your soft smile told him everything he needed to know. - Do you... want a book? - he asked with one hand on the door handle, and you considered your response for a moment, but eventually shook your head for no. You didn't think you had enough in you to process anything new. He gave you one last, soft smile and you were alone again.

Usually, it would the prime time for a panic attack, but you stayed calm, grounded by the subtle scent vice-admiral left behind.

You laid back in bed, and closed your eyes, even though it was the middle of the day, and harsh rays of sunshine would make it extremely hard for a regular person to fall asleep. But you had 2 months of catching up to do. And you were going to squeeze everything you possible could from that bubble of calmness, because you honestly didn't know how long it would last.

Next time you woke up, it was still bright outside, and nothing in the room changed, so you assumed that no one visited you while you slept. At first you wanted to go back to sleep immediately, but you remembered that you promised Beau that you would at least try to eat... With a heavy sigh, you got out of bed; but before you got to the food, you opened a window, to let some fresh air in. What you didn't predict was, that the fresh air was cold. So, you took your lunch and grape juice, sat in the armchair, curled your legs under you and pulled a t-shirt over them.

It took you good five minutes before you actually took a first bite, and even longer to take the second one... But you kept at it, slowly but surely eating the lunch that Beau prepared for you. And you were sure that he made it because you knew canteen menu well enough to know that they didn't have sushi. If you weren't so cut from reality, you would be wondering what all that meant, but at this specific moment you could find the energy only for slowly eating. And with every bite it was easier to take and swallow the next one. It wasn't a big portion, and yet you still weren't able to eat more than half.

And this time you didn't go straight back to sleep after eating... Instead, you grabbed the journal and continued reading where you left off yesterday.

That's how vice-admiral Simpson found you... Curled up in his chair, completely hidden in a tent made from your dad's t-shirt, so even your toes weren't visible, with a very old journal in your hands. One look at the desk told him that you did your best to follow his request, and then was that feeling again... The one that demanded that he tell you how proud and happy he was, but he squashed it before it grew any bigger.

- I brought you some towels, a toothbrush and a change of clothes. You don't have to do anything, they will just be here, in case you'd want them... - he placed the small bundle on the edge of the desk. He also brought with him a thermal mug full of tea. "I'm sorry I can't stay..." he wanted to apologize while holding you closely in his arms and showering you with gentle kisses all over your neck and chest. Instead, he just put a yeti mug on the desk close to you, and was gone before you even managed to thank him.

For a few more minutes you tried to focus on your father's handwriting, but your eyes kept wondering to the bundle he left for you. You didn't have to, he said it himself... But you were curious enough to stand up from the armchair and take a closer look. Towel was nothing special... Well, at the first glance. Another thing that might have looked like it was military issued but wasn't. The one you were currently holding in your hands was much, much bigger, and softer than the ones issued in the common area. Inside the towel there was a plain white t-shirt, soft grey shorts, plain black underwear and... fluffy dark-green socks. To say that you were surprised would be an understatement. Not only underwear was in your size, but you couldn't help but wonder where he got the socks from. You gently run your fingers through the soft material, and you couldn't help but smile.

Now you definitely had to take that shower.

You correctly assumed that the second door indeed led to a very tiny bathroom. You took your clothes off, folded them neatly and stepped into the shower. Both the water pressure and the temperature were perfect, and you spent much more time in the bathroom than you initially planned. It was spruce, not pine... you realized when you saw the shampoo on the small shelf. He was using a natural, spruce scented shampoo... And now you will smell like him...

You dried yourself with a towel and put on the clothes he gave you. Both shorts and t-shirt were too big for you, but you honestly didn't mind. You did your best to dry your hair, but they were still very damp when you left the bathroom. You hang the towel on the radiator, so it would dry faster, and finally put on the fluffy socks. It was such a small thing, and yet it brought you so much joy. Not only they were extremely soft, but they were also in your favorite color. You settled back in the armchair and looked first at the journal and then at the unfinished roll... You sighed heavily and reached for the latter.

It took you more time than taking a shower to finish your lunch, but you finally did, after which you got up again to wash your teeth. You noticed that he gave you the same toothbrush as the one that was in the cup on the sink, and since you didn't want them to mix up, you just placed yours on shelf next to the mirror, which you avoided more than a plague.

All that food and hot temperature started to knock you out and you climbed back to bed, hid under the covers and almost immediately dozed off.

When Cyclone came back to his temporary quarters, he felt that nagging feeling again... You not only ate everything he left for you, but also found enough energy to take a shower, which he knew must have been huge, ever since you stopped running on that harmful autopilot and had to actually think about what you were doing. He took one look at you and the warmth spilled inside his chest... You were laying in his bed, wearing his clothes, smelling like him... He couldn't help that feeling of possessiveness that crept in and demanded that he marks you in so many more ways, but he squashed it again. Now was not the time... And he was better than his basic instincts.

So instead, he went to the bathroom and took a quick cold shower. He noticed with a soft smile that you kept your toothbrush separated from his; he should have thought about it earlier and bring you one that didn't look like his, but still... A very small thing, yet it left a mark that you were there.

You didn't wake up to the quiet hum of the water, or when he took a fresh set of clothes from the wardrobe to wear to bed. And before he climbed up to the top bunk, he took one look at you, only now noticing that you were shivering. He quickly closed the window and put the duvet over you. He wanted to kiss your forehead so badly... but he didn't, settling on tucking your hair behind your ear, so he could see your face better. You looked... a bit more like you today, than you did yesterday.

He sighed softly and finally climbed in the top bed.

You knew that something was wrong before you even woke up. Your heart was pounding, your hands and legs were shaking, your cheeks were completely soaked with silent tears, and when you finally woke up, you couldn't catch your breath. You tried to stay as quiet as you could, while attempting to take gasp after gasp of air, but your lungs just weren't cooperating. You knew what it was, you knew how to deal with it in theory. Yet when it came to actually calming down... You were desperate...

You got out of your bed and as gently as you could, put your cold fingers on Beau's shoulder, which jolted him awake. And when he saw in what state you were in, you didn't even register how he got down; you just felt his arms pulling you to his chest and surrounding you from every angle. His embrace was strong enough to ground you in reality, and his scent only amplified that. You were openly sobbing into his shirt, not really caring about the potential consequences. You didn't register when exactly he sat on the lover bunk, and pulled you with him, letting you curl up in his lap, with his arms still tightly wrapped around you. He pressed his cheek you your forehead and was whispering something you didn't understand in your current state, but his voice alone was enough to pulled you out of that spiral and try to match his breathing, even if that hurt your lungs in the short term. You knew from experience that it was the best option to pull you out of that self-loathing spiral. He realized what you were trying to do and started breathing a bit quicker so it would be easier for you to match that tempo, and only after you did that, he slowed down again...

Only now you started to process what he was saying to you... How well you were doing, what a good girl you were, how brave you were, how he was proud that you started to calm down... You weren't even sure if he realized what he was saying, because as soon as you went stiff in his arms, he immediately stopped, as if it hit him too.

The rational part of your brain was screaming at you that it wasn't normal and that you should get out, but everything else was telling you to stay near him at all costs. You weren't sure if you were getting addicted to him or what any of it meant... You just knew you felt safe, and for now... That was more than you could have said about your own home. At this specific moment, you didn't give a shit if he was using you, or if you were using him, because it just felt so good... not to feel numb.

- I'm sorry... - you mumbled against his skin, still clinging to his shirt with one hand, as if you were afraid that if you let go, all of this would disappear, and you would be alone again.

- Shhhhh... It's ok, it's ok... - he started to gently rub your back and pulled you even closer, which you thought was impossible... - What do you need, babygirl…? - a pet name left his mouth before he even realized that it started forming on his tongue, and when it reached your ears, it was already too late. For both of you...

- Just... Don't leave... Please... - you finally whispered, and he could swear you would be able to hear his heart break for you... You needed so much more than he felt he was able to give you and it broke him, but heavens and hells be damned, if he didn't at least try.

- I'm here, I'm not going anywhere... - he whispered against the top of your head. - Just let it all go, I'm here to catch you... - he said and that was enough for you to start sobbing again, but this time not because of the panic attack...

After two months of suppressing everything you possibly could, you finally felt safe enough to actually let some of those things go. It was stupid and small, but you were slowly accepting one small thing after another... You will never get a message from your dad wishing you a good day. You will never wave him goodbye from your childhood bedroom when he'd be leaving to DC or somewhere else... You will never clean up after his botched breakfast... You will never sneak into his workshop to scare him. Never fight with him about your non-existing parking skills. Never watch him start a fire in the fireplace. Never get a handwritten letter from him on your birthday. Never bicker with him about the correct way to store chopped wood. Never sing another Christmas song with him...

So many small things that clumped together into one giant monstrosity that consumed every aspect of your life, and letting it go in one move was simply impossible. So, you slowly chipped away one thing after another, spent a short moment holding it close to your heart for the last time and finally let it go...

You couldn't stop crying, but a moment came when you run out of tears, so you ended up quietly sobbing into Beau's shirt, clinging to him, as if he was the last thing on Earth.

And he didn't lie... He was there to catch you when you were falling. Every time you started sobbing harder, he gently soothed your back, started whispering sweet nothings straight into your ear, and what was most important, he didn't let you go, not even for a second.

Both of you were lost in time, holding each other to give and receive comfort you both so desperately needed, just for entirely different reasons.

It took him a moment to realize that you passed out from exhaustion, because after a while, you started to sob without making any sounds, only shaking against him from time to time... He dried your wet cheeks with his thumb and just looked at you for a long moment. The sun was getting ready to raise up again and started creeping into the room but wasn't reaching the bed just yet. He no longer gave a fuck about what was proper and what was not... Not when you broke in his arms, and he couldn't do anything more than just not let you go... He laid you down and he couldn't believe how peaceful you looked after what just happened.

Before he joined you, he lowered the blinds and shot a quick message to Solomon, so he'd be able to keep his promise to you. It was dangerously easy for him to slip into bed next to you and find the perfect position to wrap you in his arms and pull you as close to him as humanly possible. In your sleep you grabbed the front of his shirt and tightened your fingers around it, and he didn't mind that in the slightest. He rested his face in your hair and was content with just being surrounded with your scent, which was dangerously close to his own now. He placed a soft kiss on the top of your head and felt your fingers relaxing a bit, but he didn't do that again, afraid of what he could do if he'd start moving that line further and further away.

He wasn't able to fall asleep for the longest time, because he was afraid that you might wake up in the middle of another breakdown, so he just laid there with his eyes closed, listening to your breathing mixed with familiar sounds of a military base waking up... Somehow this tiny room became its own microcosm in the last 24 hours, and it felt like it was disconnected from anything else, despite being so close to, well... everything. He could hear the laughter of young pilots, running water somewhere far away, people complaining about the breakfast. And yet, all of that felt at least few universes away, when you were in his arms. But finally, this part of the base became quiet with everyone getting to their duties, and only now he was able to doze off...

Part 2

A/N 2: Please don't feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. But I would really appreciated if you commented :) Love, G.

A/N 2: Please don’t feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. A comment would be appreciated though :) Love, G.

#my writing #TW: ED #TW: Panic Attack #TW: grieving #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #beau simpson x reader #Cyclone x reader #Beau Simpson fanfiction #Beau Cyclone Simpson fanfiction #Beau Cyclone Simpson x reader #Cyclone fanfiction #🖤#📏

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