Buggy is trans, he's on T, but surgeries are wonky at best, uninteresting and frankly a liability. He'd be down for a good deal of time, something he isn't all too crazy about. When the dysphoria gets bad, he just chop-chops his chest and uses a packer ((his packer being, of course, a drawstring back of muggy balls, and opportunities for Many Jokes)).

Due to an event in his youth, pre Devil Fruit, he was told he's likely infertile ((Got stabbed a few times and a good chunk of his reproductive system is more scar tissue than actual organ tissue)). Between that, the difficulty for conception when a parent has a Devil Fruit, and his testosterone, he's decently certain it's not an option.

Of course, Buggy D Clown, the genius jester and Flashy Fool of the Seas, is a living embodiment of doing the impossible.

It starts with a sudden nausea when he smells his usual drink of choice. Alcohol was once something he adored, maybe in a little excess, but he was a pirate and pirates party. It's a given. Shanks' alcoholism was born from their shared past, and Buggy wasn't all too different on that front.

But suddenly, during lunch, when he went to take a sip of his rum, he caught a whiff of it and had to lean back and force down a gag. He exchanged it for a water, something not TOO unusual, as sometimes he'd have things he wanted to work on with a clear head, like in his workshop. Nobody really batted an eye.

Then he declined it at dinner. Then the next day. Then he was eying Crocodile's plate and his extra tomatoes, something he NEVER does, given his general dislike of the fruit. But now...? Mm.... it looks.. really good...........

Crocodile, thinking this is an opportunity to tease the other, offers a bite, expecting a dramatic recoil and complaint. But Buggy just absolutely beams at him, takes the bite, and damn near swoons. The logia user glances over to the swordsman, both uncertain but willing to roll with it. Not too big of a deal.

Then suddenly Buggy is more emotional than usual, something nobody was expecting. He's usually pretty expressive, all of his emotional responses keyed up to at least eleven. It's only noticed as off because he's crying a lot more, and hiding it far less. He happy cries, sad cries, angry cries. And it's like a switch is flipped. Something will happen and the clown is suddenly bawling. The first few times it happens with the crew, they all panic, but it's happy tears, infectious ones at that and so the men wind up crying too, offering embraces and spinning hugs of emotional care.

Crocodile and Mihawk share Looks.

Then Buggy is getting sick. Like. Throwing up almost every meal time, sick. The only things he can keep down are water, orange juice, and toast with honey or applesauce.

The two dark haired men finally put their foot down and demand the other go to a doctor. They expect a fight, expect tears or anger or yelling or something, but Buggy just nods, blinking slowly from his place curled into Mihawk's side, in one of Crocodile's shirts. He seems exhausted, shadows under his eyes from the newly worsened insomnia.

His easy acquiescence alarms them the most.

The next day, Buggy is seen, and there's a few tests and observations done, culminating into the doctor pursing her lips and ordering a urine sample.

Buggy, pale, head on Croc's chest while Mihawk toys absently with his hair, dozes off in the office while they wait on the results. An hour, and a nap, later, she returns with papers and a tentative air.

"Well... it's not a virus," she begins with. "Your hormone levels are elevated, specifically your progesterone and your chondrionic gonadotropin levels..."

Buggy stiffens, eyes wide. "I'm...?"

She sighs, smiling softly. "Congratulations, Chairman. You're in your first trimester of pregnancy, by the levels we can see here."

Buggy gapes. Crocodile is still as a statue. Mihawk had a thousand yard stare.

There is a soft sound, and suddenly Crocodile has vanished, now but a pile of sand on the floor and partially on Buggy. Mihawk looks faint himself. Buggy just glances between them numbly. "Oh."

"Mm. Quite."

Then, the world's greatest swordsman joins his logia partner in a tangle of limbs on the floor. Buggy stares for a moment. The doctor stares for a moment. Buggy flushes an angry red.

"Those motherfuckers couldn't even stay conscious long enough to get me back?!"

The doc tries to hide her laughter. "In their defense," she choked out, "they were quite worried about you and suddenly received such news. That said, I do have some smelling salts. Here..."

Buggy does not let either of them live it down, for obvious reasons, and they do have to announce it to the Guild because Buggy is now not allowed to have alcohol, can't do his typical tricks, and will need to cut back on a lot of the physical activities he does daily, let alone the topic of fighting. He's nervous about it, because it will involve both announcing a pregnancy as well as coming out. He's made damned sure his crew is inclusive for all sorts of people, regardless of love, color, age or body. But welcoming your fellow man (non gendered), is not necessarily the same as answering to a person like himself.

The reception is largely warm, though. The crew is over the moon, they don't even follow up with a "how does that happen, you're a man", they just immediately are screaming their congratulations and vows to step up and help as they can. Buggy winds up crying again, and Mihawk just wordlessly hands him a water bottle. Hydration is important, especially with all the tears.

His pregnancy is fairly typical, and the morning sickness passes fairly quickly, though the cravings get absolutely hog wild, and EVERYONE is suffering. Buggy tries not to be too needy but he can't control the responses and everyone else is hurting for him when he's so upset. He ends up absolutely obsessed with lemon-lavender ice cream, and the Guild keeps it on hand by the buckets full in the freezer.

When Buggy starts showing, Mihawk finds he has a new favorite place to nuzzle, finding the tiny little whirls of Haki within the clown's abdomen to be mesmerizing. He often finds himself cuddling in, Listening and Sensing, even talking softly to the little life growing within his lover, singing lullabies.

Crocodile near constantly has a hand or hook pressed over the growing swell. If Buggy is within arms reach, his touch is there, protective and mildly stunned. The paternity of the baby is unknown, but none of them particularly care. The baby will be theirs collectively regardless. That baby will be Crocodile's as much as it is Mihawks, as it is Buggy's. That baby is his, too. And he will protect this one ((the way he couldn't protect another, so long ago)).

Alvida, Galdino, Mohji and Cabaji are very hands on with everything. Al never wanted kids, but she is absolutely delighted to be the cool aunt, and the fella are excited to be uncles. It's Daz's quiet excitement that throws everyone for a loop. He's second only to Crocodile and Mihawk when it comes to pampering or spoiling Buggy. He still carries himself as a stoic stone faced man, but he is the one who brings the snacks, who offers a hand when Buggy gets to a size where standing is mildly more difficult, when it's time to convince the blue haired man to take it easy or rest. When asked, he will cite that he is merely doing his duties, but everyone could see when Buggy took Daz's hand and placed it on his bump when the baby was big enough to kick and haveit be felt by others. They saw the way the blade man's eyes widened, the shimmer there, the microexpression of wonder, of care, of brewing love. That baby would be safer than anyone else in the entirety of the grandline, of that nobody had a single doubt.

Shanks could not visit, but he made frequent calls and sent countless gifts, all of which made Buggy blubber like a child or rage like a harpy. Nothing was discarded, though, and in the nursery they set up is a small little bear with a red heart embroidered on the chest.

Rayleigh showing up unannounced was not anticipated. Nor was how Buggy remained blank faced despite the tears on his cheeks. The older man just smiled sadly, wiping away the tears, and handed over a small box. "Shakky and I worked together on this. It only felt right to pass this on. To new generations."

Inside is a stuffed cat, the fabric soft, yellow and worn. It was sun-bleached in some areas, little nose embroidered with red and eyes in blue. Buggy takes one look at the cat and crushes it to his chest, nearly doubled over as he let's out a heart broken keen, falling to his knees. Crocodile and Mihawk are quick to rush to his sides, but Rayleigh is closer and faster, falling down, wrapping around the other, queezing him tightly, softly, teary eyed himself.

"I know," he chokes, hugging his boy tighter, "I know, Blue, I miss him too, baby boy...."

Buggy clings to Rayleigh, holding the cat toy tenderly as he wails.

Ray stays for a few days before Buggy just tells him to pick a damned tent and hang out, damn it, his kid should get to meet at least one grandparent.

Ray doesn't cry but it is a close thing.

The pregnancy is an ordeal all across the board, from reopening wounds to general, typical difficulties, it's a wild ride start to finish and beyond.

There's more than one night of pure domesticity. One where Buggy and Mihawk are shooting baby names back and forth in the kitchen while Crocodile writes them down in the Yes, No or Maybe column. One where Croc and Mihawk are pouring over research for the baby. One where Buggy is in an oversized shirt, feet up on the tummy of a particularly big and spoiled 'wani, singing sea shanties softly as he tinkers with some harmless little trinkets, using his tummy as a table. One where Crocodile, pressed into Buggy's back, confesses to his past and breaks to pieces under dimmed lights in the clown's calloused hands to no judgement, only understanding, only compassion. Nights where Mihawk is wired so tightly by his own past that he sits upright in their bed, a sentinel of protection because he refuses to lose them the way he lost everything before.

You have to drain the infection, the bacteria, for a wound to truly heal.

It's difficult. It's painful. It's worth it.

The 9 months, the 26 hours of labor and the little bundle of life at the end was absolutely worth it.

Especially when newly named Bronwyn D. Crown ((their little Winnie)), with her midnight blue hair and pink little nose, her strawberry marks on fair skin, the curls of her locks and the shade of her lashes around sapphire eyes, is born into the world screaming her displeasure and only settles once clean, once swaddled, once brought back to her parents. She is small, smaller than expected, but every ounce of her body is the foundations of a fighter - she got her baba's temper, that much is certain.

Winnie is the apple of everyone's eye. Cute and small and bold and boasting a nose so much like Buggy's, almost everyone is taken with her. Rayleigh especially is wrapped around her finger within less than thirty minutes together. Shanks is absolutely in love even without seeing her first hand - he meets her the first time when she is two, and he cries because she threw an elephant toy at his head and cackled.