Dragon and Crocodiles relationship was an odd one. A mutual I-don’t-tell-you-don’t-tell sort of thing.
It wasn’t until Crocodile was on his way to Impel Down that the two of them even acknowledge their I-don’t-tell-you-don’t-tell.
Crocodile’s head lolled, only not jolting to stare incredulously at the Revolutionary Leader because he had more class than that.
“Monkey D. Luffy. The names not fake.”
Crocodile hadn’t really expected the name to be fake. He had known, from an abstract sort of observation in the height of finding out who was taking him on, that Monkey D. meant Monkey D. However, it wasn’t really until Monkey D. Dragon was leaning against the wall across from the seastone cell bars, thick and imposing in nature, keeping the ex-warlord encased that he understood the meaning behind that.
“So the child.” He said, voice exhausted from more than just the wounds on his body and the bags under his eyes, the seastone shackles and cell bars leaving him unable to do much, “Really was yours?”
They had been young, younger than they were now and neither of them were that old - not compared to the average of 120 years. But young, their thirties, and Ivankov had a short period of time between missions and Crocodile had just hunted them down.
Ivankov had no issue giving him the sexual-reassignment with their Devil Fruit, they were wonderful after. Though, seeing Monkey D. Dragon in the corner of the room, waiting his turn with a toddler in arm rocked gently on a binded chest, left Crocodile wondering. Left them both eyeing each other, calculating, as they sized each other up for the first time.
“Yes.” Dragon’s face was fond beyond those bars, but bagged eyes and a dipped smile gave away the pain in his shoulders, “I couldn’t raise ‘im. Not with my history with the government, not with the way they would have hunted me no matter if I turned sides.”
“Would you have turned sides?”
Crocodile didn’t know why he asked. Call it the last dredges of a man knowing he was going to Impel Down, a place even Hell called Hell.
“Yes.” It wasn’t a whispered confession, a voice of steel backing the Revolutionaries words, “I would have done anything for them.”
“Luffy’s other biological parent.”
They stared at each other. A sort of apology in Dragon’s eyes over not helping him, though a bit of anger too, for fighting and injuring the man’s son. Crocodile merely held acceptance at his fate - he deserved it he supposed, he could see that now, in hindsight - and a bit of apology for hurting a teenager. A teenager who was the son of Dragon, the renowned Revolutionary.
“You never told.” Dragon said, Crocodile knowing he meant the first time they met, the only time really, as they stared at each other, Iva a buffer, “I had always wondered if you would. Especially after you joined the white coats.”
A scowl, the first real expression Crocodile had made since his face became so bruised. The white coats pleased to take him “down a size.”
“I did not join them. I used them.”
Dragon scoffed. Crocodile glared.
But he continued, “You knew about me. Even if I wanted to use that against you I didn’t. Many of the higher ups new anyways, even after the purge you did of evidence.” He met the Rev’s eyes, “Thank you. For including my past in your purge.”
Crocodile didn’t think he would ever admit how comforting it was someone was in the bottom of this ship with him. By his side. He had nobody at the moment, just him, the seastone, and sometimes the whitecoats who had a cruel streak that put his to shame. Dragon almost … made him feel safe, for just a moment.
“Who’s the other parent?”
Dark eyes, made darker by the dim boat hull without windows and only shitty lights.
Crocodile glared, but Dragon chuckled, coming closer and to sit near the bars, leaning against the wooden wall separating Crocodile’s cell and the outside of the boat.
“Four names. Belo Betty, a one night stand I don’t remember much, Akagami no Shanks, and Dracule Mihawk.”
At the names given to him, Crocodile snorted, the first in years. He shuffled, body aching, complaining, a slow movement that had him looking even more pathetic than he felt, to sit closer to Dragon. The two of them side by side.
“It’s not the one night stand, you said you cared for them too much, implying you know them.” Dragon chuckled.
“Nor is it Belo. I know she was happily married to some Marine in the East Blue, before the women died. She took a vow of revenge or something after the government failed to help push out Arlong and she went from one of your informants to an active member.”
Dragon hummed, “She was never married. Bellemere and her had a relationship wherein they would have gotten married but Belle went to the Marines and Belo came to me. They fought, they made up only shortly before Bellemere was killed and Belo’s been celibate since.” Crocodile heard the shrug over saw it, “I don’t understand her, but I respect her devotion.”
Crocodile didn’t. Not one bit. But he understood all Rev’s had something that made them what they were. It left them all odd.
(Not for the first time, he wondered what ‘something’ was Dragon’s.)
“I don’t believe either Mihawk nor Shanks would have had relations with you. But the child had dark hair and dark eyes, I’m guessing Dracule.” He also knew Dracule and Dragon had an on and off again relationship within the last few years, something that left even Joker on edge. It had recently gotten more entangled, risking Marine notice, around the time Strawhat Luffy first appeared on the world stage after Arlong.
The voice, so fond it left Crocodile reeling, ended with a small huff.
“Dramatic fucker, that redheaded bastard.” Dragon’s word were dripping in affection, “But my dramatic fucker.”
“Ours, I suppose. Mihawk’s been dancing with us for a while now. I think Shanks has debating asking me if he can join the two of us.”
“Akagami?” Crocodile said, eyes rolling hard enough it hurt, “Really? Akagami?”
Dragon’s sigh told him the other understood. “Yes.”
“If I believed in the Gods of my home I’d pray for you.”
That got a laugh. A deep one that had Crocodile staring at a side profile of rugged handsome. That sort of rugged it wasn’t pretty, nor attractive, not unless you looked. Unless it smiled and dropped its shoulders, inviting you to really see.
Dragon’s head leaned against the wall and he stared at Crocodile, eyes searching.
“I can’t get you out of this, not even if I wanted too.” True apology, true regret, “The ships too well guarded to get you out in this condition and I don’t have the resources to spare to send anyone else for you.”
He had never expected help, so it didn’t hurt to hear he might have had it. It did, however, make something in his chest squeeze tight, taking his breath.
“You would have helped me?” He was too tired, too hurt for a game of wits or will, he let everyhing lay bare. Right down to the wobble in his voice.
“I like to think we’re friends. In our little I-know-you-know-we-both-won’t-tell.”
He was sure it was the throb of his ribs, the crack in his shoulder blade. The way his lung crackled when exhaling and one eye had swelled enough he almost couldn’t see out of it. He was sure it was the half-starvation and dehydration and aches. He was sure it wasn’t the feeling of his stomach turning and wringing itself as those words hit him that he dragged his hand toward the bars, putting them just the in middle of two imposing metal cylinders and reaching out a pinky.
He was sure it was pity that had Dragon wrap his own around Crocodile’s shaky one.
(Shanks picked him up, some months after Marineford. The red eyes of the Yonko made Crocodile weary, the grin ashamedly aroused. But his words. His words had him feeling the first semblance of safe since Arabasta.
“Dragon says I gotta protect you.” A chuffing noise too animal to be human and too human to be animal, “My own husband! Telling me to keep another man safe.” The grin went teasing, the shoulders dropping to an open invitation, “If protection is needed of course.”
Daz was looking at him, staring with a tight jaw and shocked eyes.
“I don’t know.” Crocodile smirked, watching as Akagami’s eyes followed the golden hook with something like lust, “Is there a comfortable place to sleep-” He took his cigar in one hand and blew smoke in a soft billow, “-or will I have to earn my keep?”
Dracule Mihawk sauntered over from somewhere, all legs and loose shirts and high heeled boats, golden eyes dangerous. The swordsman’s arms went around Shanks’ waist, much like spoiled bird watching its next meal as he eyed Crocodile, “Are you willing to share?”
Crocodile heard Daz swear when he moved forward, coat sprawling behind him as he moved. He brought his face to Mihawk’s, bending to do so.
Dragon found the three of them when he arrived, half dressed and sated. Crocodile and Mihawk were snipping at each other, using Akagami as their pillow. Akagami was dozing, a sort of ease to his face making him look younger than he was.
“Come ‘ere.” Shanks groaned, knowing Dragon was on his ship from the second he touched the wood, “I got room for one more.”
Dragon would never understand his husband’s love for being smothered in cuddles, but he benefited from it by gaining a nice pillow, so he would not complain.
(Crocodile looked good. In that bed with Dragon’s loves. Like a piece no one had known was missing.
“Good choice.” Shanks whispered to him, Crocodile and Mihawk still bickering - fondly as they rest their heads on Shanks’ shoulders - as Dragon laid down between the two of them, exhausted, to cuddle onto Shanks’ chest.
He was, Dragon thought when Mihawk kissed his forehead and Crocodile looped an arm around him. He was a good choice.)
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