(no subject)
Title: No Excuses
Word Count: 980
Rating: PG
Pairing: Implied Garp/Raleigh
Disclaimer/Warnings: Cold coffee. Lack of crack.
Summary: Sengoku asks. Garp answers.
Yet again, a scribe-challenge.
The silence was... unexpected, to say the least. When Garp had imagined this particular skeleton toppling out of his closet, he had dreamed up threats, screams, punches, barked orders, recriminations.
He hadn't considered slow breaths and closed eyes, twitching jaw and steepled hands.
Garp could play it Sengoku's way and go on the defensive, or he could take the risk of attempting control - and if there was one thing a D. did well, it was risk-taking (and eating, but that was more of a side-line).
"It's been going on for a long time," he announced blandly, testing the waters for a response. Sengoku didn't look up, but his shoulders gave the slight judder that warned of an impending rage.
"I know."
The Vice-Admiral rolled this quiet comment around his mind, prodding it for meaning, but each one seemed more unlikely (or undesirable) than the last. "You knew?"
A harsh sigh broke the quiet, Sengoku raising his head out of his hands and fixing his subordinate with dispassionate eyes. "Not like that. I didn't know about the two of you."
Garp lifted an eyebrow, not bothering with his idiot-persona. "Then...?"
"I knew," the older man snapped, one hand reaching for the now-cold coffee, "when I saw that damn picture. That wasn't two people having a one-night-stand. That was lovers. Lovers." He paused, tapped the cup against the desk twice. "How long?"
"Years."
"How long?"
A brief wince, almost hidden, and Garp did the math. "Technically, since before I was a Marine. Actively... about two decades."
Sengoku released a slow hiss of breath, and Garp noticed the rigidity of his limbs, the set of his jaw with careful attention. In private, the man was physical, hot-tempered, all too eager to cause mild pain (mild in terms of a high-ranked officer) to chastise someone, but this... Garp had seen this quiet, seething fury rarely, and never directed at him. It was reserved for the worst of traitors and the most imbecilic incompetents, neither of which he regarded himself as.
"It was never about position," he said, almost to himself.
A sardonic glance. Betrayed. Accusing. "What?"
"It wasn't -" Garp stopped, collected his thoughts, tried to translate them in a way that would sense to a man married to an ideal that Garp had long since given up on understanding. "I'm not a traitor. It was never about Marine and pirate. It just - when it was just us, it didn't matter. Maybe it should have. But... we didn't give each other information. Hell, Rogers hated me, you know that. Nothing even happened until after the damn man was dead."
He almost wished Sengoku laughed, but the older man didn't. Just stared, mind tick-tick-ticking behind dead brown eyes. Garp could see it happening, like a machine, piecing the data together without even comprehending that emotions had a place, let alone how.
"You didn't give information."
"No. None. He never asked." Garp leaned forward, didn't miss the way the muscles of Sengoku's body twitched in preparation against an attack. "I - I loved - I love him."
Error. Error. Does not compute. Garp watched as the sentence was heard, dissected, analysed, misunderstood by the man. "He's a pirate - a wanted pirate. A bounty of nearly eight-hundred million beri, if I remember correctly." He did.
"That doesn't matter. Not to me. Not when it comes to him." Fuck, he needed a drink. Bogart thought he didn't notice the splash of rum in his tea when things got a little too much - what he wouldn't give for that now. Sengoku's office had never seemed so damn small.
The Fleet Admiral peered into the cold coffee as though it would help him understand. The drink did, Garp thought ruefully, have a better chance of empathising with his situation than Sengoku, whose interpersonal skills had somehow found it possible to degenerate still further in the past decade since his promotion. "You think I should let this go because - because what? Because you can't get a hold of your emotions? Fraternisation, Vice-Admiral. I can turn a blind eye to dozens of lesser crimes. Hell, I could ignore you bedding some no-name criminal, or even a high-bountied one if we were getting somethng out of it. But him?"
It was the only thing he could say. "Yes."
"Why?"
Because it wasn't hurting anyone. Because he didn't regret it, and never would. Because the Government couldn't risk losing the 'Hero of the Marines'. Because Rayleigh's bounty still existed because of the wounded pride of the Marines, and not because he was actively pirating anymore. Because sometimes doing what was right wasn't the same as doing what was legal, and because - most importantly of all - there was something that Garp couldn't quite explain, even to himself, except that it was possessive and emotional and illogical. That somehow, when he was with Silvers or even just thinking of him, he felt like the light-hearted, happy persona he strutted around in had actually become real.
Because he knew Silvers felt the same way, and Garp wouldn't let anything hurt that. Hurt them. Hurt him.
"Because I deserve it," he settled upon.
Sengoku's eyes were dull and reptilian. He leaned back, looked down at a copy of the offending photograph. Garp could see him weighing, judging. The rationality of the man had never been good at predicting D's; part of why Dragon was so successful - but there was more than just Monkey D. Garp to consider here. The Vice Admiral was a single variable, if an important one, and both of them knew that Sengoku had the man by his balls.
Garp waited. Watched his C.O. decide his fate. Hours crawled past in less than twenty seconds.
"Don't let it interfere with your duty," Sengoku quietly allowed, and Garp's shit-eating grin finally broke out.
He had a call to make.
Word Count: 980
Rating: PG
Pairing: Implied Garp/Raleigh
Disclaimer/Warnings: Cold coffee. Lack of crack.
Summary: Sengoku asks. Garp answers.
Yet again, a scribe-challenge.
The silence was... unexpected, to say the least. When Garp had imagined this particular skeleton toppling out of his closet, he had dreamed up threats, screams, punches, barked orders, recriminations.
He hadn't considered slow breaths and closed eyes, twitching jaw and steepled hands.
Garp could play it Sengoku's way and go on the defensive, or he could take the risk of attempting control - and if there was one thing a D. did well, it was risk-taking (and eating, but that was more of a side-line).
"It's been going on for a long time," he announced blandly, testing the waters for a response. Sengoku didn't look up, but his shoulders gave the slight judder that warned of an impending rage.
"I know."
The Vice-Admiral rolled this quiet comment around his mind, prodding it for meaning, but each one seemed more unlikely (or undesirable) than the last. "You knew?"
A harsh sigh broke the quiet, Sengoku raising his head out of his hands and fixing his subordinate with dispassionate eyes. "Not like that. I didn't know about the two of you."
Garp lifted an eyebrow, not bothering with his idiot-persona. "Then...?"
"I knew," the older man snapped, one hand reaching for the now-cold coffee, "when I saw that damn picture. That wasn't two people having a one-night-stand. That was lovers. Lovers." He paused, tapped the cup against the desk twice. "How long?"
"Years."
"How long?"
A brief wince, almost hidden, and Garp did the math. "Technically, since before I was a Marine. Actively... about two decades."
Sengoku released a slow hiss of breath, and Garp noticed the rigidity of his limbs, the set of his jaw with careful attention. In private, the man was physical, hot-tempered, all too eager to cause mild pain (mild in terms of a high-ranked officer) to chastise someone, but this... Garp had seen this quiet, seething fury rarely, and never directed at him. It was reserved for the worst of traitors and the most imbecilic incompetents, neither of which he regarded himself as.
"It was never about position," he said, almost to himself.
A sardonic glance. Betrayed. Accusing. "What?"
"It wasn't -" Garp stopped, collected his thoughts, tried to translate them in a way that would sense to a man married to an ideal that Garp had long since given up on understanding. "I'm not a traitor. It was never about Marine and pirate. It just - when it was just us, it didn't matter. Maybe it should have. But... we didn't give each other information. Hell, Rogers hated me, you know that. Nothing even happened until after the damn man was dead."
He almost wished Sengoku laughed, but the older man didn't. Just stared, mind tick-tick-ticking behind dead brown eyes. Garp could see it happening, like a machine, piecing the data together without even comprehending that emotions had a place, let alone how.
"You didn't give information."
"No. None. He never asked." Garp leaned forward, didn't miss the way the muscles of Sengoku's body twitched in preparation against an attack. "I - I loved - I love him."
Error. Error. Does not compute. Garp watched as the sentence was heard, dissected, analysed, misunderstood by the man. "He's a pirate - a wanted pirate. A bounty of nearly eight-hundred million beri, if I remember correctly." He did.
"That doesn't matter. Not to me. Not when it comes to him." Fuck, he needed a drink. Bogart thought he didn't notice the splash of rum in his tea when things got a little too much - what he wouldn't give for that now. Sengoku's office had never seemed so damn small.
The Fleet Admiral peered into the cold coffee as though it would help him understand. The drink did, Garp thought ruefully, have a better chance of empathising with his situation than Sengoku, whose interpersonal skills had somehow found it possible to degenerate still further in the past decade since his promotion. "You think I should let this go because - because what? Because you can't get a hold of your emotions? Fraternisation, Vice-Admiral. I can turn a blind eye to dozens of lesser crimes. Hell, I could ignore you bedding some no-name criminal, or even a high-bountied one if we were getting somethng out of it. But him?"
It was the only thing he could say. "Yes."
"Why?"
Because it wasn't hurting anyone. Because he didn't regret it, and never would. Because the Government couldn't risk losing the 'Hero of the Marines'. Because Rayleigh's bounty still existed because of the wounded pride of the Marines, and not because he was actively pirating anymore. Because sometimes doing what was right wasn't the same as doing what was legal, and because - most importantly of all - there was something that Garp couldn't quite explain, even to himself, except that it was possessive and emotional and illogical. That somehow, when he was with Silvers or even just thinking of him, he felt like the light-hearted, happy persona he strutted around in had actually become real.
Because he knew Silvers felt the same way, and Garp wouldn't let anything hurt that. Hurt them. Hurt him.
"Because I deserve it," he settled upon.
Sengoku's eyes were dull and reptilian. He leaned back, looked down at a copy of the offending photograph. Garp could see him weighing, judging. The rationality of the man had never been good at predicting D's; part of why Dragon was so successful - but there was more than just Monkey D. Garp to consider here. The Vice Admiral was a single variable, if an important one, and both of them knew that Sengoku had the man by his balls.
Garp waited. Watched his C.O. decide his fate. Hours crawled past in less than twenty seconds.
"Don't let it interfere with your duty," Sengoku quietly allowed, and Garp's shit-eating grin finally broke out.
He had a call to make.