Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first real cup of tea Brook had drank in half a century was in the middle of his sixth night on the Thousand Sunny . 

In this case, it was a simple earl grey that he had found in the back of a cabinet in the galley. The label was old and faded, there was only a quarter of the leaves left in the container, and even those leaves were slightly crushed. The water he used was from a watering can in the garden, which he boiled on the stove.  He poured it directly into the grains he had put in his cup without a strainer. They swirled around in flecks of brown and brown-gray. 

Brook took a sip before it had finished steeping, and it was stale and grainy and awful and it was the best thing he had drunk in decades. 

His hands trembled, the ends of his phalanges clacking together as he drained the cup completely, tea leaves and all. It was scorching hot, he could feel it, but he didn’t feel any pain. He supposed that was a side effect of being only bones: temperatures, textures, all of that didn’t matter. Brook could discard those sensations without a second thought, as he no longer had any skin to sense them with.

Yohoho.

He set the teacup and saucer down with a clink and retrieved his cane, which he had cast to the ground in his haste. He hooked it over his arm, setting a hand on it to stop it from swinging too much, and walked past the table to sit on the floor against the wall. The creaking of the ship rumbled into the curve of his spine as he thought. Slowly, he separated all of the different layers of sound on the ship. There was the wind blowing in the sails, the bubbling of the aquarium, and one sound he treasured above all others: the breathing of his crewmates proving he wasn’t alone.

He sighed in their rhythm, though not in sleep. Brook didn’t think he would be sleeping tonight or any of the nights in his near future. As a skeleton, he didn’t exactly need sleep, but it was a nice way to pretend he was still normal, to pretend he was still a person instead of just a “used to be.” His dreams were even better, as the only time he could visit his memories of a wide blue sky and the warmth of his crew around him.

The only thing he had left of that time was the wide blue sky, unchanging. It felt like a betrayal even to think of the tone dial or Laboon or the rotting remnants of their ship, but those would never be the same as his dreams. Laboon must be so big by now, not that little whale they left behind. That he had left behind. Brook’s hands shook harder, his bones rattling loudly. That he had abandoned. Just like how he had been. His cane clattered to the floor and he scrambled to pick it up before it made an even louder noise. He struggled to muffle the noise of his joints and clenched his jaw shut.

He was supposed to be happy here, and yet he was overwhelmed and shaking on the floor like a leaf over a cup of tea. 

Brook took a deep breath (though he had no lungs) and stood, leaning heavily on the wall, his legs still shaking. Muses above, this was so frustrating. He had friends now, or at least he had Luffy and whomever else on the crew tolerated him, and there was no need for this reaction to a cup of tea. Besides that, he had already been dealing with their dea—it for a long time. He had been dealing with it for fifty years. And that fact made him want to collapse onto the floor again. But he pushed himself off of the wall and leaned heavily on it, picking up the watering can to return it. 

The door was silent as he opened it, but his bones clacked together all the way up to the garden. The stars above were cold and silent, and it was a marvel to Brook that he was able to see them once again. A lazy breeze blew across the deck, bringing the flowers to sway with it. Brook was reminded of when he was a child, watching his mother tend to the small garden she kept in the window of the kitchen. 

Brook and his parents had always been close, he knew that instinctually in the way he missed being held in the way children were. On either side of his face where it had been cupped as someone rubbed the dirt off of his nose. They had died so long ago now, and in his age, he had realized just how young they had died. He was decades older than they would ever be.

His mother and his mama had loved him. And he hadn’t thought about them for years. What an awful child he was. Brook wished he could shut his eyes, so instead he just put his head in his hands, dropping the watering can and spilling water all over the deck. His mother had always kissed him and mama on the forehead, and she always smelled like the flowers she was named for, the…

The flowers she was named for.

Stunningly cold tears spilled through the gaps in his metacarpals. He had forgotten his own mother’s name.

Brook shuddered and sobbed silently, not wanting to hear the echoes of his own grief. It ran cold through his bones with a force he hadn’t felt in decades, wrapping his throat in vines, crusting over his joints in ice, freezing him there for what felt like hours. Eventually, the tears stopped and he could lower his hands again. He looked out over the sea in its shades of gray and blue and found his gaze drifting to his hands. Or what was left of them.

There wasn’t a lot left of him, was there?

He stayed like that until Luffy shouted for a song in the morning. So he took up his bow and violin and played.

***

Around 77 years ago, an island in West Blue.

When Brook was 14, and already several dozen centimeters taller than most of his peers at the academy, he had been asked to show around another potential student. He was glad he could actually come to class that day, rather than be bound in his dorm by excruciating growing pains as he had been for the past few days. Today he had been able to get up and about, but not without his cane and a lot of back pain.

The girl in question was distantly related to the royal family and had short dusty hair and long graceful limbs. Her eyes were a bright orange that revealed her heritage, but her hands were scarred and rough. Even more so, a sharp frown cut across her freckles, and her brows were furrowed. At first, Brook was nervous as he always was around strangers and in a rush to impress his professors, but over time he realized just how much of a brat she was. 

Of course, he meant that lovingly, but Ranunculus could stand to loosen up. 

Brook was fairly sure she was guaranteed to go to the academy already, considering she was just supposed to follow him to his classes all morning before they broke for lunch and then the three hours of independent time before evening classes and dinner. They had just finished lunch in the gaping cafeteria-garden combo. The doors were open so Brook had decided to take his lunch out by the pond, Ranunculus following like a little lost duckling. He had to keep himself from laughing.

He only felt a little bad teasing her. Brook had probably been fun to tease at her age, anxious and overly conscious as he had been, and hardly ever got to interact with people who weren’t already the ‘disciplined’ students of the academy. Besides that, usually, the ten-year-olds that entered were… well , they were ten-year-olds. Enough said.

Brook sat on the benches near a long wooden table, sighing a bit in relief as he got to rest his aching joints. It turns out he was doomed to be an old man from the moment he hit his ongoing growth spurt. He set down his cane leaning against the seat between his long legs and patted the bench beside him for Ranunculus to take a seat. She set her lunchbox on the table and Brook did the same. 

He watched her out of the corner of his eye and figured it must be awkward for her to be hanging out with some random teen a few years older than her.  Brook hesitated for only a moment before speaking.

“So… what did you bring for lunch, Ranun— can I call you that?”

Ranunculus opened the box and held it up to him. She didn’t seem to mind the nickname.

“Ah, I see.” Brook looked as best he could but sunglasses against dark objects didn’t exactly mesh well. “Actually, I don’t see. Would you mind telling me?”

She ‘tch’ed. She actually ‘tch’ed at him. Brook didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended. “It’s a beetroot bread sandwich and spicy red pickled vegetables.”

“Ah, now I understand. Red isn’t a good color for me.” Brook paused. He was making this more awkward by the minute. “Do you usually eat foods in only one color?

“No! That’s stupid.” She mumbled something right after, and even Brook’s sensitive hearing couldn’t make it out.

“I’m afraid I didn’t catch that.”

“...Usually it’s two. And in a heart shape.”

Brook couldn’t help it. He giggled the tiniest bit. Ranunculus glared, but before she could open her mouth to yell at him, a few of Brook’s friends walked over to sit next to them.

“Excuse me, young lady, may I sit next to you?” That was Legeri, whose voice was light and their words quick. Ranunculus glared at Brook a moment longer before turning to them and nodding graciously. “Ah, thank you.”

“Why’re you in trouble with your shadow, Brook? Did you say something mean?”

“Ah, I just—”

“He thinks color-coordinated meals are stupid.” Ranunculus interrupted. “AND he gives stupid nicknames.”

Larch, who sat across from Ranunculus, blinked. “What?” 

“What actually happened was—” 

But Legeri had that shit-eating grin on their face again. “Ohhh that sounds super mean. What kind of idiot doesn’t know how to color coordinate their meals?”

To Brook’s eternal exasperation, all of his friends had that same look in their eyes. It was the ‘we are going to make you die of embarrassment’ look. Dastardly fiends. His first day back to school in days and they have the gall to embarrass him in front of a ten-year-old. 

...maybe his idea about the hair dye and the shampoo wasn’t such an outrageous one, after all. Yes, yes, he could see it now. Legeri’s spring green would be a muddy brown in no time, and Larch’s white-blond would be a stunning pink that would leave everyone in awe.

As Brook tuned out their teasing conversation with Ranunculus, Legeri leaned back to talk to him around Ranunculus’s back. Their eyes had softened and a genuine smile on their lips. “How are you feeling?” 

“Not great, but better.” Brook grimaced, putting a hand to his back as he leaned back. “I don’t think I’ll be rid of that cane any time soon.”

“That sucks. Do you know how tall you’re supposed to end up?”

“No, unfortunately,” Brook sighed. “I’m doomed to dodder around like an old man forever.”

“Oi, you two, care to include us?” Came a shout from Dorian.

Brook raised an eyebrow but was unable to stop a smile from forming on his face. “After you mercilessly attacked me? Slandering my name and my surname for generations to come?”

All three of them rolled their eyes, but they also were smiling. Then Dorian leaned forward, resting his chin on his arm.

“Are you feeling better today?”

“Yeah. There’s not much I can do about the pain, though.”

“Hey, actually, my mom drinks this tea whenever her hands are acting up, she says it helps with her joints. I could ask her about it if you want?”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Dorian laughed but Brook continued. “No I’m serious, that would be fantastic. And I don’t want to miss any more classes than I have to.” 

“Alright, then, I’ll talk to her about it.”

“Oh Calliope, thanks so much.”

“Of course, Brook,” he said with a crooked smile. “You know we’d always help you, right?”

As the rest of the table (save Ranunculus) nodded in agreement, Brook couldn’t help but laugh a distinctive “Yohohoho!”

***

Brook found that customs had changed over his 50 years of disconnect with the world. The slang was different, new books had come out, and whatever a ‘den den mushi’ was seemed to be commonplace. One of the unspoken rules among the Strawhats was simple: they didn’t talk about their pasts. This was not to say they didn’t know anything about each other, but they simply didn’t talk about where they had come from. Brook tried to stick to the rules of the crew and the new customs around him and it felt like an ill-fitting suit. People didn’t want him to hold the door for them, people didn’t bother keeping their elbows off the table, and he stayed seated when people entered a room. 

Perhaps he had gone a tad far in casting off those rules ingrained in him, but the loudness of his silverware banging together helped dismiss the strong urge to fold his napkin in his lap and stand when Zoro finally came in for lunch after training. Nobody else seemed to mind, except for Sanji and Nami, and so he figured he was doing things correctly. 

And besides that, Brook found that he had forgotten which side of the street to walk on when taking someone to an event. 

If he had forgotten that and the color of his old music binder as a child and a thousand other things important of him, what else had he forgotten of his manners? He hadn’t exactly had to use them that often on a ship of skulls and corpses. He didn’t have to remember which direction the handle of his teacup was facing or write thank you notes to who he had borrowed books from.

Yorki and the rest of the crew had always teased Brook about his fastidious nature. They teased each other about everything in the way he had become used to affection after everything went wrong on his home island. He figured it was finally time to cast his old manners away.

Or, he would have, if not for one Nico Robin. 

Brook knew she had a troubled past, and yet through all that, she had gained a serene composure not unlike what remnants of his Mama he had retained. Robin enjoyed books and had dedicated her life to history, much like how Mama had always learned the history of the pieces she played. This was why Brook shouldn’t have been surprised when Robin began to approach him with history questions.

It was in the middle of dinner after most people had finished (most being everyone but Luffy and Zoro, one of which was a bottomless pit and the other a slow eater) when Robin first began to talk with him.

“Brook-san,” she said, turning to him. “Do you remember the most notorious pirate crew back when you were young?”

Brook almost considered making a joke, but something in her tone stopped him, and he began to consider. “Oh my… what an interesting question. Usually, when I was younger I would have been too caught up in my studies to know much about anything else, but one of my teachers was friends with someone on their crew. I’d say it would have to be the Bright Pirates.”

"Mm. I see." And that was it. Robin turned back to her meal and Brook was left staring at the shining silverware, lost in thought. It was at this point he made the blunder, bringing up his napkin to dab at his teeth and then folding it in a perfect gentleman's fold in his lap. He looked up and found Nami staring at him. He almost startled but managed to speak out of reflex.

"Oh, Nami-san, may I see your panties?" Brook asked the first thing that came to his mind.

Instead of hitting him on the head, she considered him for a moment, apparently ignoring his question. "Where did you learn to fold your napkin like that?"

"My… ah. That." Brook wanted to frown at the napkin that had betrayed him so utterly. "Yohohoho, I guess some of my old gentlemanly habits must be coming back!"

“‘Old gentlemanly habits,’ Brook?” Nami teased lightly, a strange smile on her face. 

“Ah, but of course! I was raised as a proper gentleman, after all!.”

“Huh.” She said. She leaned forward over the table, a hand on her jaw and her smile becoming warmer. “You should do it more often, then. It suits you.” 

Brook stared. And then he sat up straight, rearranged the placement of his knife and fork, adjusted a thousand other things, turned his teacup so the handle was to the correct side, and put his hands in his lap. Nami laughed a bit, startled as his movement caught the attention of the rest of the Strawhats at the table.

“Then excuse me.” Brook cleared his throat (if he had one YOHOHOHO!) “Young lady, I’ll have to ask you to take your elbows off of the table.”

“Eh?”

“You heard me! And straighten your posture, apologies for the phrasing. The rest of you!” The Strawhats sat stupefied, especially Sanji, who stood there about to serve yet another dish that would undoubtedly be devoured by Luffy immediately. “Put your napkins in your laps!”

As most of the crew began to listen to Brook’s new ‘suggestions’ (very strong ones. Very) Luffy began to laugh. Which, of course, Brook began to reprimand him for, a smile in his posture if not on his skull. Usopp groaned and put his face in his hands.

“Nami why’d you have to go and unleash this… this… manners beast?”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” She whispered defensively. “ And besides. I was right.”

“About what?” He turned to her, curious.

“It suits him.”

Usopp looked over briefly to where Brook was now meticulously aligning his saucer and his plate, humming a tune happily to himself. Usopp sighed. “You’re right. Again.”

“Great! Now you owe me 50 beli.”

“What!” 

***

During their break time after lunch, Dorian had to go to voice lessons and Myrtle and Larch went down to the library to search for sheet music. Brook, Legeri, and Ranunculus went down to the musical hall nestled in between two of the hills on campus. The shape of the valley funneled the noise upwards and in front, letting them hear all the people practicing inside as they approached.

When they got to the hall, it was a loud mishmash of noise and chatter. To the untrained ear, it would probably be fairly unpleasant and rather jarring, but to Brook it was beautiful. As he walked, he let his eyes drift shut and the noise separated into layers of instruments and frequencies and voices. The low tones of the bass ensemble, the otherworldly soprano he recognized as Itsuki, and the accidental polyrhythms of the various drum players.

Brook opened his eyes and looked down to see Legeri smiling up at him. Ranunculus had gone off to explore. 

“What?” Brook leaned down to make sure Legeri had heard him.

“It's just always so funny to see you like this. I always pick one of the singers to focus on rather than listen to the rest of this mess, but you seem to enjoy it.”

“Well of course! It's just so… so amazing to hear how different melodies become joined and intertwined together!”

“Boy, sometimes I forget, but you really are a p—” 

But Legeri was cut off by another noise that overpowered all others in the hall.

It was a humming, and it was loud and inhuman. It washed up in waves in the air around them and rocked anyone standing so violently they fell. Unfortunately, Brook was rather skinny in the first place, so he was the first to fall. His cane clattered to the floor, skittering out of his reach, and some others made movements to help him up before falling as well. The rest of the students also began to fall one by one, staggering under the sheer pressure and holding their ears. It rocked the stone of the walls, and knocked over chairs and instruments, and ebbed like waves out of the windows.

Eventually, the noise died down and Brook looked up and laughed. In the middle of the room stood none other than Ranunculus. She held the largest tuning fork in the hall and had smashed it against the marble flooring, cracking it slightly. She looked aghast at first and held up her hands with wide eyes.

“Yohohohoho— Ranun— YOHOHOHO—- sorry— Ranunculus!” Brook laughed, nearly choking on it. “How, by Clio and Euterpe, did you lift that massive thing?”

“I dunno!” She truly sounded bewildered. “It was just in the way and I couldn’t shout over all the people practicing instruments to get someone to lift it!”

“Couldn’t you have just signed someone for help across the room?”

“No, I couldn’t have!” She scowled, her annoyance sparking at his laughter. “The bass instruments were in front for some reason!” She shouted, glaring at Bennie, who had been leading the larger of the instruments in a thrumming melody.

“S—sorry,” The offender snickered, her humor unaffected by the rebuke.

“Could you at least not have dropped it?”

“It was heavy! And wasn’t this academy supposed to teach music? Not smash it together in this unholy cacophony of a music hall?” 

That was the line that broke him. Brook rolled on the ground, unable to contain his laughter. Ranunculus’s face was just so indignant and it was so unexpected— and the way the bass orchestra had stopped and turned in horror— oh it was just too much! He laughed so hard he began to cough, and when he was done coughing he began to giggle again, which only led to more coughing. 

Legeri and a few others who had been able to stand again began to try to pick Brook up, but they were also laughing so hard they couldn’t do anything. 

“Hey! It’s not like I did this on purpose!” Ranunculus shouted over all the laughter. Legeri, who had a hand on Brook’s back, looked up and gasped. 

“Oh Melpomene the floor,” they said, turning to look at Brook. “She cracked the floor.”

Brook fell back again, further ruining any chance he had of walking out of here without a premature hernia. “YOHOHOHO— Oh Muses my ribs!”

“Don’t—” they said before breaking off into a fit of giggles. “Don’t die on us Brook, who else would get our kites out of the trees?”

Unfortunately, that only made him laugh harder. If that was possible. His back was actually beginning to hurt from pressing into the floor, and his legs trembled in pain. He really shouldn’t have rolled around, and he especially shouldn’t have fallen over with any type of force. 

“Ow— Damn it.” Brook stopped laughing, and his face scrunched up with pain. “Shit.”

“Brook? You ok?”

Brook didn’t answer, wrapping his arms around himself. Legeri put a hand on his shoulder where he lay, their brow knit with concern. Brook rarely cursed, even around his friends. Brook felt other people’s footsteps through the floor, thankfully only a few, and a few people helped to sit him up. Someone handed him his cane.

“Do you need to take the rest of the day off?” Legeri asked quietly. Brook recognized a few others who had come to help, Bennie and a few of the string players around him.

Brook sighed. He probably should. On the other hand, he was tired of laying on his bed doing nothing all day. Firmly the decision was made: he smiled, laughed a little, and used Legeri as a crutch to go sit down on one of the chairs that had been too heavy to be overturned.

“I’m fine. I’ll just rest for the rest of the period and then ask to sit in theory. Muses above, I wish I had that tea Dorian was talking about.”

Legeri frowned a bit before going along with his joke. “But what if it’s really gross?”

“I'll just pinch my nose and take it like cough syrup. And no, grape cough syrup is not good, I don’t know what's wrong with you.”

“Aww come on, I just think it tastes good! Besides, I’ve eaten worse.”

“Don’t remind me. If you mention the list—”

“Want to see the list again?”

“No!”

***

The wind was unusually strong today, even for the Grand Line, and Brook tried to stay off the deck as much as possible. The aquarium was silent as everyone else helped out against the storm, but after the first ten times of him attempting to help and consequently having to be fished out of the sea, he was forbidden to go on deck during the storm. Especially after he had forgotten he couldn’t swim and had dived into the ocean to save Luffy, only for both of them to be pulled up by Zoro.

He shouldn’t say he was alone. Sanji was also below deck, having been injured badly enough that he was out of action for the foreseeable future, but he insisted on wandering around, taking stock of the pantry, and doing just about anything except sitting still. Which he ought to be doing. 

Brook sighed a bit as he heard a clattering, and the Sanji’s muffled curses through the wood. He stood and hooked his cane around his arm to begin finding his young crewmate. He had probably fallen off of his crutches again. Despite the cook’s usual grace, he didn’t seem altogether suited to any mode of transportation other than his own legs. Brook himself used to find it difficult to exert himself in his youth simply due to the sheer amount of pain that came with his rapid growth. It slowed down in his late teens, but he didn’t stop growing until he was almost 22. Hence the cane.

He wondered if Sanji would appreciate any tips, or if his fierce independence would make him too prideful to accept. One of the things Sanji seemed to hold most closely to himself was his independence, and that became his freedom. 

The ship rocked with the waves, but Brook didn’t have any problem balancing, and so the trip was short. He peered around the door to the pantry, knocking gently before ducking in.

“Sanji-san?”

Immediately all noise stopped as the man froze, his hand grasping the counter from where he sat on the floor in the middle of a pile of scattered food items, trying to pick himself up off the floor.  He flushed, looking away as Brook approached. Brook wordlessly held out a hand to help him up, and Sanji took it with only a moment of hesitation.

Brook tucked a foot under the crutch and kicked it up so he could catch it in a nifty move he had learned during his first life. Sanji’s visible eyebrow raised and he finally spoke.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” 

“This cane wasn’t always just for show, young man,” Brook teased, patting the hook twice.

“Oi,” Sanji scowled. “I’m a grown adult. You don’t have to patronize me.”

“That may be so, but you are also 70 years younger than me. I remember thinking I was so grown up when I was your age, but I was actually all kinds of pokey. One day you’ll look back and think the same way.”

“Unlikely.”

Brook merely laughed and let Sanji lean against him to limp to a seat at the table, he put the crutch on his arm and moved to tidy up the kitchen where some items had fallen. Judging by Sanji’s outstretched hand, he had expected Brook to give him his crutch back. Brook smiled (or he would have it he had lips!) and watched his expression turn from bewildered to annoyed.

“Hey bonehead, aren’t you forgetting something?” Sanji shook his hand irritably, his other arm in a half-crossed position that didn’t quite work without the other arm. 

Brook turned back around, picking up a few jars of spice and looking down at the cupboard to see where they were supposed to go. “Oh? Whatever are you talking about, Sanji-san?” 

“You know what I mean! Give me back that crutch!”

“Yohohoho! Impatient. If you won’t rest on your own as our dear Chopper told you to, then I will simply have to make you.”

“Did he put you up to this?”

“...perhaps.” 

“Fine. Whatever. See if I care.”

Brook hadn’t exactly been ‘put up to it,’ but he could probably save both Chopper and Sanji some pain if he kept Sanji off of the leg for a while. And he had his own selfish reasons. Either way, Brook got the feeling they could both use the distraction. 

Brook leaned down to pick up a jar of… was that jam? He picked up the jar of jam and then looked at the cupboards, finding himself completely lost. Maybe it went by the bread? Or maybe Sanji had a separate storage space for preservatives and the other long-storage foods.

“Bottom shelf, third cupboard.”

The door was only slightly ajar, but Brook found it quickly. “Thank you, peanut.”

“What?”

“I thought it was a perfectly appropriate nickname, considering your culinary talents. An old man has to have his fun somehow, after all.” 

Sanji sputtered, actually sputtered, and Brook didn’t bother to stifle his laughter. It was his old person right to call his family silly endearments, regardless of how much it embarrassed them. 

“P-peanut?” Sanji said incredulously.

“Yohohoho!” 

“Peanut?”

“Yes indeed!” 

“Why you—” Sanji scowled and moved like he was about to get up, but remembered that Brook had his crutch, and stopped. “You bastard! Give me that cane so I can beat you with it!”

“Would you beat up a harmless old man?”

“You are in no way harmless!”

“Ah, but as the kids say,” Brook put up a finger. “It’s apple butter over beat feet, Sanji-san!”

“I’ve literally never heard that phrase in my life.”

Brook’s hand hesitated for a moment before he put another jar on the shelf. He had forgotten just how old he was, just how much things had changed. He began to ramble about the first thing that came to his mind.

“Well, I suppose now it would be that the kids used to say that. I remember that some new members joined and the captain and I had a hell of a time trying to figure out what they meant. And then the jerk had to go and figure it out first and never told me! I eventually had to pull someone aside and have them make a dictionary for me. It was so embarrassing!” Brook stopped again, remembering where he was. “Ah, but you don’t want to listen to an old man’s ramblings.”

“No, no I—” Sanji swallowed. “It's nice to see you talk about them.”

Brook was silent for a few moments, closing the cupboard. A fierce hole, it felt, had opened up in his chest. It burned with cold, it melted his ribs. You would think after all that time he would have become accustomed to loneliness, but it flared and scraped and it ached. 

“Is it really?”

“Yeah. You loved them and it shows.”

“Sanji,” Brook began, turning to him. His eyes were widened, his cigarette hanging loosely between his two fingers. “Forgive an outdated old fossil for asking this, but have you ever lost someone close to you?”

Sanji said nothing. He didn’t have to.

“Sometimes, looking back, I realize just how old I am. Just how long I have lived. Any of the friends I left behind are either dead or dying.”

“Brook—”

“That is why I am so happy now, to have such a fantastic new family.” Brook laughed. “And that’s why I’ll never stop until I find you the perfect endearment! Because you and this entire crew are so very dear to me.”

Brook finished closing the cupboards and walked over to sit next to Sanji, but still didn’t hand him the crutch. He tented his fingers in front of his skull and looked at Sanji very sharply.

“Now, let's get down to the dilly. What about chicklet?”

“What?” Sanji blinked. “No!”

“Muffin?”

“Not a chance,” he said, scowling.

“Dumpling?”

Sanji shook his head.

“Hmm. You’re a difficult man to please, Sanji-san.” Brook took a second to think before an idea seemed to bloom from him. “What about sweet pea?”

“...s’fine.”

“What did you say? I’m afraid my old person ears can’t quite catch your muttering.”

“I said it’s fine!” A blush rose in Sanji’s cheeks. “And I know perfectly well you can hear me! You’ve said many times that you can hear everything on the ship!”

“Yohohoho! Let me keep some secrets at least.”

“Not a chance,” Sanji said again, his eyes glinting with happiness. 

***

75 years ago on an island in West Blue

Brook got the letter on a cold afternoon. The seal was a dark purple, the parchment heavy and expensive. The messenger who had been tasked to hand it out had done so with a pale face. Brook had accepted it with two hands, staring down at it, and quickly making his way to his bed to sit down.

He hadn’t opened it yet. He knew exactly what it was. 

He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t yet. He already knew the contents, and so it didn’t much matter if he opened it or not. Instead, he sat there, frozen. It hadn’t quite hit him yet, he rationalized. If he staved it off until the weekend, he could stay with his parents before… Well. Before it happened. As amazing as his friends were, he didn’t think they wanted to deal with him being upset. 

“Oh Melpomene, there you are, sostenuto.” Legeri approached him slowly, sitting next to him on the bed, looking at him carefully. “What happened back there? Did something happen to one of your moms?”

Brook wordlessly handed them the letter.

“Fuck. Fuck!” 

Brook’s voice came from deep within his chest, dead and flat. “What am I supposed to tell my parents.”

“They won’t be angry.” Brook shot Legeri a look. “Not at you, at least. They’ll be angry at the royal family for sure, but never at you.”

“I’ve spent almost my entire life,” Brook began, his voice trembling, “studying music. Playing it. It took me a long time to find something that made me truly happy, and now?” He took a shuddering breath. “Now.” He laughed quietly. “Now it’s all gone down the drain, hasn’t it?”

“Normally I’d tell you that there's always a bright side, but yeah. I’m so sorry.” Legeri wrapped an arm around him, not quite tall enough to reach his shoulders. They were a grounding force Brook desperately needed at the moment. 

“Mama’s going to lose her shit. She’ll go right up to the Queen herself and demand that I be undrafted right away.”

“I always did love that woman.”

Brook laughed a little, but it was real this time. “She’s great, isn’t she?”

“Of course, she raised you after all.”

“Oh, stop it.” 

“Even if you do sound like an old man,” Legeri said. They looked at him reproachfully, shaking their head, although a small smile was on their face. “Your favorite candy is literally licorice. Black licorice.”

“It’s good, ok?” Brook huffed. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, aka the person who ate a dog treat for fun in the middle of Orchestra.”

“In my defense, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh Clio. Not this again,” he groaned melodramatically. Brook dropped his face into his hands, narrowly avoiding his sunglasses. “No, I do not want to hear about the pennies.”

“Want to hear about the pe— hey! I take offense to that!”

“We already offend each other all the time. You literally play the recorder.”

“It’s a perfectly good instrument.”

“Not when you’re teaching it to a bunch of kids it isn’t.”

“Fair.”

They lapsed into silence for a few moments until Brook started shuddering. He tried to stop it, pressed a hand to his sternum as if that would stop his chest from fluttering, but it was in vain. Tears were his eyelashes when he blinked, and he bit his lip to stop a sob from escaping, and suddenly it hit him all at once.

He was going to have to join the royal navy. For a stupid so-called ‘upcoming war’ that might not even happen. He was going to have to leave his life behind for a queen he didn’t care about. He was going to have to leave his parents.

“Hey, hey, it's okay. You can cry.”

That was all he needed to lean his head against his friend’s shoulder and let the tears fall.

“What am I going to do?” Brook choked on the words. He could care less if he held it together right now.

“You’re going to do the best you can to survive and come home to us. Your parents, the academy, your ensemble. We’ll all be here when you get back. You’re only drafted for a year because you’re 16, right? They can’t up the time unless you’re 17.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You're right.”

Legeri wrapped their other arm behind Brook’s back, stared at him with an intensity that held him steady. “It’s gonna be alright.”

***

Usopp woke up early in the night and was completely unsurprised by the sounds of faint but distinct laughter coming from on deck. He got out of his hammock quietly, creeping up on deck to see Brook laughing loudly, and alone. 

They were currently coming up on a summer island that was known to be particularly hot. That itself wasn’t an issue, but every night when the sun went down, the temperature would plunge. The clash of the humid warm air and the sudden cold condensed the water in the air and made an impossibly thick fog. So far, the fog had persisted every night for the past few days, and only now the time came for Brook’s turn to take first watch on the roster. Usopp had second, and Zoro had third. 

Brook had been acting more boisterous than usual, jumping around the deck and the masts way too enthusiastically for a 90-year-old. Usopp internally groaned as he thought of how Brook would scuttle along the rigging for the morning wake-up song, his light body allowing him to perch high on any part of the ship. Brook was never the most mature around the Strawhats, but this was just too much. Not to mention suspicious. Usopp knew he was trying to forget something. The guy had been alone for more than three times as long as Usopp had been alive. He couldn’t even imagine what that would be like. 

And he knew what it was like to overly-compensate for feeling bad. He did it all the time.

Usopp frowned at their newest member, remembering the fog that had coalesced around the broken ship they had found him on. It was eerily similar to the scene he saw now. And although he had, admittedly, been the teensy-tiniest bit afraid of Brook at first, getting to know the guy was fun. Brook usually didn’t act very mature, so it was easy to forget he was an old man, but sometimes he got… distant.

Night watch was one of those times. It wasn’t the night itself, Usopp thought, but the loneliness. Brook hated being alone. Usopp knew bitterly what that felt like after his mom died and his father left. So yes, Brook was lonely, and the act of being alone only made him feel worse.

Usopp had taken the musician aside earlier just after lunch to offer to take first watch in addition to the one he already had, but Brook had shaken his head and insisted upon taking it. Usopp wanted to protest, but Brook had already spotted Luffy and escaped in order to play him a rather raunchy song. Nami had gone over and smacked him upside the head, and that was it. Not to mention how Brook had made excuses all the rest of the day to do just about every task on the Sunny rather than talk to anyone who tried to get him out of watch.

Usopp had overheard a conversation between him and Robin later, totally completely by accident. 

“What kind of person makes excuses to get out of keeping their crew safe? Certainly not I, a proper gentleman.”

“I understand.”

Yeah. Usopp really didn’t understand. Personally, he thought Brook was being a bit of an idiot right now, and he didn’t even feel bad thinking it. Ok, maybe he felt a little bad. But only a little.

That feeling disappeared entirely the moment he had caught sight of Brook surrounded by thick, white fog on the deck, laughing aimlessly and staring out into one direction. He was frighteningly still, the cold so characteristic of his presence hanging more heavily in the air every minute. The fog stood frozen around him, and Brook stood frozen among it. It was more now than ever that Usopp remembered Brook was technically dead.

“Yohohoho… Yohoho…” Usopp heard him say quietly. “You’re such a fool Brook, you’ve been dreaming all this time… none of this was real, none of it was ever real.” He paused. “You should play a song for Yorki. He would like that.”

Usopp frowned, unsure of what to do. Brook usually didn’t let the crew see him like this, and he knew when he was getting bad and how to help himself out of his worse moods. He was old enough that he had actually learned how coping mechanisms worked, unlike some people he could think of.

Then, Usopp had an idea. He went back to the cabin where the others were sleeping and crept across the room to find a certain fluffy little doctor of theirs. Chopper was curled up underneath a blanket, snoring softly, and Usopp had to stop for a moment to make sure he wouldn’t die of cuteness. He really was lethal.

As gently as he could, Usopp picked up Chopper, blanket and all. He only stirred for a moment, sleepily blinking awake.

“Usopp?” he murmured, half-asleep.

“Don’t worry, we’re just going to see Brook,” he whispered.

“Oh, ok… goodnight.” 

With that, Chopper yawned, rubbed his eyes, and promptly fell back asleep. Usopp wondered if the Strawhats could kill rival crews with the adorableness of sleepy Chopper alone. Probably, and if not, then they were invincible. 

Usopp, after making sure he wouldn’t drop Chopper, made his way up to the deck as quickly as he could without tripping. Brook hadn’t moved, but the cold chill coming from his soul had made the fog on the deck so thick that it was difficult for Usopp to get over to him. And then came the next problem, actually being able to reach him. He was the tallest member of the crew, and so Usopp had to get a little creative. Luckily that was one of the things he was good at.

He nudged over a nearby crate (or barrel, he couldn’t tell through the fog) and tugged Brook’s wrists to make a cradle for Chopper. Then he simply placed Chopper there and waited. But not before moving the barrel (or was it a crate?) out of the way, in case Brook jumped in surprise or something otherwise boisterous. 

As it was, his laughter died down, the cold lessened, and Brook seemed to come back to awareness, looking down at Chopper in his arms.

“Oh, hello my dear. How did you get here?” he murmured, adjusting his hold on him. Chopper remained asleep, and Brook laughed again, but this time it was his usual happy one.

“Yes! Chopper deployment successful!” Usopp couldn’t help but exclaim. Brook let out a short shriek, and this time did, in fact, jump.

“When did you get here!?”

“I’ve been here, I’m here to take over watch!” It was a small lie, but Usopp knew Brook was still out of it enough that he would believe him. 

“Ah, now I remember. Well, then, have a good time keeping us safe. I’m sure you already have a strategy in case fearsome pirates attack! You’re one of the smartest pirates I know.”

...somehow, Usopp had forgotten just how much of a grandpa Brook was. The same feeling as when his mom laughed at one of his stories was warming in his chest. He smiled and nodded reassuringly. “Yep! Leave it into the hands of the Great Captain Usopp, who once commanded 8,000 men! I got this.”

“Yohohoho! Of course.” Brook paused, looking at Usopp, and then casting his fond gaze to Chopper. “Well, I better take the little sweetheart to bed.”

Brook walked a few steps away with his impossibly long legs before stopping and turning to look back at Usopp again. “Usopp?”

“Yeah, Brook?”

“Thank you.”

Usopp felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He hadn’t really done that much. “N-no problem. Sleep well.”

Brook nodded, and Usopp heard the clicking of his high-heeled shoes disappear as he got farther away. 

Mission success!

***

74 years ago on an island in West Blue

“Ensign Aalampour?” 

Brook looked up, startled. He had been writing out a new piece of sheet music in his precious minutes of free time when he had been called. He scowled lightly at the smudged ink, but stood without complaint and ducked through the doorway in order to follow his CO’s assistant. 

Their journey was made awkward by their differences in both rank and height. The woman was slow on her short legs, and Brook could easily overtake her. Unfortunately, protocol dictated that he had to walk at least two feet behind a ranking officer. Luckily it wasn’t long before they got to the building with the offices where the commander usually was.

The assistant left him at the door after a relatively short walk through a few hallways, and Brook watched her go helplessly. He glanced at the ornate wood carving, wondering if he could just leave and pretend he was just lost.

He took a deep breath, down through his diaphragm and his toes, and knocked.

“Enter.”

Brook ducked through the door to an office he had seen only twice before. Once when he had first arrived and had been forced to explain why a 16 year old needed a cane (bastard), and second when he had accidentally managed to knock over the flagpole with some misplaced fireworks and a few friends. He had no idea why he was here. A mixture of sticky crawling hope and burning nervousness rose from his solar plexus.

The man at the desk was barrel chested and had a trunklike… Well, he had trunklike everything. His arms, his legs, his neck, oh boy especially his neck. It was almost funny. Brook tamped down the impulse to laugh, and remained standing in a stiff military pose.

“Why don’t you sit down, son.”

Brook winced behind his sunglasses at the address, but complied. The chair wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but he cursed his tall legs from preventing him from sitting normally.

“Now.” The Commander cleared his throat loudly. “You’re probably wondering why you’re here.”

Brook didn’t say anything.

“I’ll cut to the chase. You’ve been noticed by one of our captains here, Captain Bramsbury.”

Realizing that the man wanted him to say something, he threw out what was on his mind. “For what, sir?”

“For what, my boy?” The Commander laughed, showing his horse-like teeth. Brook tried not to judge too much by appearances, and the man wasn’t exactly bad-looking, but he was just a little horse-like. And he was a prick. “For what. Oh my, for what he asks. Why, you’re so quick with that sword of yours, of course she noticed!”

In all honesty, Brook didn’t pay much attention to the ranking officers. Or the ranks. Or really anything having to do with the Navy. Most of the people he met there were either completely unwilling or utter patriots who loved the Royals a little too much. Neither were the type of people Brook enjoyed being around, and it made him feel both completely miserable and like an utter asshole. There were decent people here, fine people, but none of them were passionate about anything Brook was. Brook loved music, and all of the other arts as well, and he loved the people who devoted themselves to it.

None of them were here.

“...and anyway, he’d seen you the other day in practice, and she comes right over and says to me that she’d like to take you under his wing.”

Oops. The Commander had been talking. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Of course, son, anytime. He wants to see you right from when you leave. His office is in the third corridor. Dismissed.”

The Commander smiled lightly and Brook stood to leave. He didn’t feel particularly gracious. The Commander had always been an impatient man, no matter how hard he tried to hide it underneath false kindness. Brook personally thought he was incompetent. Brook bowed formally in the way court manners dictated and took his leave, following the hallway to the third corridor, the place where command offices were located. It wasn’t hard to find, the Navy’s penchant for organization coming in handy for something other than torturing ensigns. He gave three short knocks on the door labeled with the Captain’s name and entered at her voice.

Captain Bramsbury was a thin woman, but taller than average and surprisingly muscled. Her face was plain by choice, dark skinned and with coal-black eyes. Her expression was stiff, but there was a smile tickling the edge of her lips that was telling.

“Good E’en, Ensign Aalampour. Apologies for interrupting your free time.”

“Good evening Captain.” Maybe she would be more lax? Maybe she would have any sort of decent respect? “Permission to ask a question?”

“Granted.” 

“What exactly do you want me to do under your care?”

“Nothing much, just be yourself. I’m interested in your saber skills. The heavier weapons just aren’t for you. You’re much too fast.” She gave him an appraising glance. “And much too skinny.”

Once again, Brook remembered why he had so many cuts on the tip of his tongue. It was all he could do not to retort in a way that would most certainly get him court marshalled. He settled for silence, waiting for the Captain to continue. She clearly only wanted to use him to boost her own status. It had happened before: One strong ranking officer taking a special young ensign and raising them up to be a big strong soldier because they were such good people. Brook soured at the very thought. The people here really were foul and every time he gave them a chance, they only proved him right.

“Your tutorship with me would only involve lessons with the few others I have chosen. We are all built roughly the same, so it’s more efficient to have all of us train together. We would also take trips outside of the compound to learn to appreciate the history of the style and the importance in our culture, but then you will be encouraged to branch out on your own.”

Outside?

“The first lesson is always discipline, but they teach you that in spades here.”

They would be able to leave the compound? 

“Therefore, it is lesson two we will focus on: courage!”

… and there went Brook’s hope of having a quiet, normal time in the navy. What a load of shit.

“Ensign Aalampour, you will be great. I will make you great.”

As if that wasn’t boosting her own ego. Captain Bramsbury’s face was split by a grin, her teeth stark white against her brown skin. Brook studied her face silently through his sunglasses. He was glad of both that and his height; it made it easier to look at people without them noticing. Slowly, and horrifyingly, he realized that she was actually excited about this. She actually believed in the greatness of their military, the greatness of violence.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Dismissed. Meet me tomorrow at 0800 hours.”

Brook took another formal bow, suppressing a frown. Did this mean he was out of regular training? His fingers itched to write a member to Mama and Moth— Well. Mama. He was sure she would give him some sage advice, her eyes dark but soft, and a small smile just for him. Everything in him urged to run right out of the door and slam it behind him. He restrained himself with a tight jaw.

As soon as he left the shadow of the building, Brook actually did. Luckily people stayed out of his way, his tall stature intimidating them into either falling out of the way or being pulled by others. He threw open the door to the quarters he shared and began pacing, almost knocking his music books off of his desk. The one roommate still asleep after drills woke up groggily, but soon fell back asleep. 

Brook froze at the sight, and took stock of himself. Put a hand to his temple. Take a deep breath. 

He remembered how his Mama had told him how to catalogue things, to organize his thoughts, and it was to this discipline he held. Brook had been given a promotion of sorts, would have less time to dedicate to what he actually liked, could possibly have been taken out of regular classes—No. Objective. There were positives here. It would make a good letter to write for his Mother. And then his parents would both come and kick the Commander’s ass. 

...wishful thinking. Brook couldn’t afford to wish.

He sat down on the bed and started a new piece. This one would be called Tormentous. 

***

“Nami-san…”

“Nope! Shut up! We are going clothing shopping right now!” Nami glared at Brook. “Literally. I am literally taking you to the store as we speak, we’re most of the way there.”

Brook was presently being dragged by the collar of his old suit by the Strawhats’ lovely navigator, most of his body clattering as it was dragged against the cobblestone ground. 

“But Nami-san—”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

“Besides, Brook,” came the smooth voice of Robin. “The rest of us were going shopping anyway.”

“But—”

“Oi, shitty bonebrain, we’re going shopping. Shut up and stop giving our beautiful ladies a hard time. Nami’s already had to put her beautiful hands on your ratty old suit.”

“I’ll have you know that this suit was tailored by only the finest!”

“The finest of 50 years ago.” Brook fell quiet. Sanji sighed. “It was a nice suit. Was. But anyone would agree you need a new one.”

Brook would have frowned if he was able. As it was, he crossed his arms to let his pouting become visible. Robin held up a hand to her mouth to cover her smile. Sanji looked like he was about to explode at whatever perceived insult he had given to either of the "illustrious ladies" accompanying them. 

Just as Sanji was about to go on a tirade, he stopped and gave Nami a meaningful look over Brook's head. With a sigh she stopped and leaned over to be within his sightline. 

"I promise you we will still keep your old suit. Memories and all. We just don't want any of our crew to go neglected," Nami said. "And honestly if we had known earlier we would have dragged you around earlier."

Brook's arms loosened just a little, and Robin smiled slightly. It was only a few more seconds before they stood (and lay) in front of the shop. Brook sprung up as soon as Nami let him, and he dusted off his lovingly worn suit, adjusting the blue cravat and brushing his knuckles over the folds. It remained silky over all those years. 

“Ready?”

“Of course, Robin-san.” 

Brook hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the handle. It was in the style he was used to, but what the others thought of as exceedingly old fashioned, made of brass and corroded slightly where it met the wood. It looked rather like a pumpkin, Brook thought, sectioned off and one side shining in the morning sun. He turned back around to face Nami, who had a hand placed over the money-pouch she kept. 

“Are you sure I can’t just—”

“””Go in.”””

Brook, taken aback, simply turned and opened the door.

The shop inside was dimly lit and only slightly dusty, various lumpy cushions strewn around to serve as seats. In one corner a selection of threading string was displayed behind a cherry-wood desk, and in the other a variety of mannequins wearing several exquisite garments of all shapes and sizes. There were stripes and colors of all shades, and perhaps he was too invested in how beautiful some of the fabric was to notice the tiny old lady behind the counter.

“Hello, my dears, how may I help you?”

“Ah well. Good morrow. I was hoping to purchase a few things, and well, maybe… maybe you could take a look at this one as well?” Brook gently tugged off his suit jacket by the arms, the fabric tearing slightly at his touch. “I understand you’re very skilled, of course.”

The woman smiled softly, and took the fabric just as delicately as Brook had. She lay it on the table and smoothed it over with her wrinkled hand. They were calloused on the palms and sides of the fingers, but the skin on top was that inexplicably papery texture that older hands were. Brook fiddled with his own fingertips, roving over the joints and watching her expression.

“I’m terribly sorry, but this can’t be salvaged. The fabric is just too damaged, I’m not sure I could even push a needle through this without it falling apart.” She put one of her hands over his, and to her credit, didn’t flinch.

“Oh. That’s…” Sanji, not normally one for affection of any sort, had put a hand on his forearm. Brook started again. “I suppose I just need those new suits, then.”

“Of course dear. I’ll just go and get the measuring tapes, don’t think I didn't see you duck when you walked in.”

She shuffled off to a back room. Brook stared at the doorway where she disappeared for a few moments, and then turned to look at his crewmates. 

“I meant it when I said we could still keep the suit. We aren’t exactly short of room on the ship, you know.” Nami said, coming up to put a hand on his forearm. Brook took a fortifying breath even though he didn’t need to, and it helped to calm him. 

Distractions. He needed a distraction. 

Brook looked around the shop slowly and decided to look through the clothing on display. There were a range of colorful suits both formal and flamboyant, and many skirts and dresses in lovely chiffon and tulle. He let his hands drift over them, admiring the way the lights reflected off of the edges. He stopped at one in bright yellows and oranges, the fabric shifting to shine a heady blue. 

How exciting it would be to wear it, he thought as he picked it up. Brook felt a thrill go through him as he ran a hand under the dress to cradle it. It might be a little loose because of his skeletal frame, but it was a purposefully shapeless thing that was meant for running through fields and having a tea party in a flower field. There was even a delightful ruffle at the collar that resembled his cravat. 

But as Robin looked over, he remembered. And he rambled. 

“Oh, Robin-san, I was just thinking about how lovely this dress would look on Nami. This color compliments her hair. Besides that, she could fight in it without worrying about the waist being too tight. It’s very loose you see?”

“Brook—”

“And anyway, did you find anything you would like?”

“Brook, did you want to try it on?”

“Ah, well.” Brook tried to think of an excuse. He let out a little self-deprecating chuckle. “It wouldn’t exactly be proper for me to wear.” 

“What do you mean?” Ah, that was Nami. She was frowning slightly, her brow furrowed in confusion or… anger. He hoped she wasn’t angry.

“It’s just… It’s not very becoming of a man. Not that I—” Brook coughed. “I mean. Being a pirate is freeing, but there are still things— I’m not explaining this very well.”

“No, you’re not.” Nami said, walking towards him. She planted herself and crossed her arms. “What do you mean?”

“Nami,” Robin spoke, “Brook, you can wear the dress if you want. Nobody will judge you here.”

Straight to the heart of the issue as always. Brook stayed silent a few moments longer, folding the dress up in his hands, petting it contemplatively. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m absolutely sure.”

Could it really be? Really? He looked up at them, and felt his voice break as he echoed his statement aloud. “Really?”

Sanji smiled, a quiet, proud thing. “Really.”

There is a type of joy known only to those who have hidden for years. It’s kept quiet for so long, and so silently that it surges beneath the skin. It grows quietly in the dark, blossoms in tiny moments of expression and shared understanding. Like a plant in the shadow to reach the last dregs of sunlight, spreading like a lichtenberg figure. Carved into wood, carved into the ribs and the heart and the everything you are. Eventually the paint seeps through, and then the sky opens up. And then you find out what it is like to shiver with happiness.

Brook nearly glowed with it. 

“Really?” But he was close to tears. “Because I would love to.”

“Go on, try it!”

He walked over to the changing room, although it felt like he was bouncing, and shut the door, throwing on the dress in a flurry of motion. It was just as beautiful as he thought it would be. He was just as beautiful as he thought he would be. He couldn’t wait to show it to his crew.

His crew, Sanji, Robin, and Nami. What if they didn’t… like it. Him .

No, no. Things were different now. Brook steeled himself. In some ways, he had the feeling this was going to be one of the hardest things he would ever have to do. Slowly, he opened the door and strode to the center of the room, looking out at the doorframe instead of at any of their faces.

“Wow, Brook, you look good.”

“Yeah, it really suits you. Yellow is a good color for you.”

“My, my, don’t you look lovely. You know, you remind me of my wife. She was always tall like you, and loved to look pretty as a pin.” The store owner smiled. “And it’s in a style that's easy to replicate if you want it in a few more colors.”

“Your wife?”

“Yes, she’s off in her garden today, but sometimes she comes around the store. I’ll have to tell her about all you lovely young people. You excepted, of course,” she said, and then giggled at her own joke. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“You know,” Brook started before he could stop himself. “I think my husband would have liked to talk to you. You’re very kind.”

“Why thank you.”

Ignoring the cries of “husband!” Brook walked over to the woman and took her hand in his, holding it up to his teeth in a facsimile of a kiss. “May I ask your name?”

“Gloria,” she replied in her softly graveled voice. “Aren’t you a gentleman?”

“Why I should hope so, I was born and raised to be one. I only have one question to ask, if you will allow me to indulge.”

“Oh my, of course.”

“Are you a friend of Dorothy?”

Gloria laughed aloud, and Brook joined her. Quietly at first, and then unafraid. “I haven’t heard that one in years!” She took a hold of his other hand, smiling at him, her teeth between red painted lips. “Yes, I am. Can I assume you are as well?”

“I should hope so!” Brook proclaimed. Proclaimed! And wasn’t that something. His joy softened into something gentler. “Thank you.”

“There’s no need. We’re all the same aren’t we? Deep down.”

“Still, thank you. It truly means a lot to me.” Brook smiled beatifically. “Who knew it would ever be like this?”

“Who didn’t? I always held onto my hope. I still do.”

Hope. Yes. That was what Brook was made of, had been made of for years.

“Now let's fit you with some more clothing. We can’t let you walk out of here being anything less than stylish.”

***

68 years ago, at a port near a certain archipelago in West Blue

Brook blinked at his hands in shock. His hands that used to hold a box of reeds for his oboe. He had them custom made while out on a campaign since he couldn’t make them himself on the rocking waves of the ship, and now some absolute asshat had stolen them. Brook glowered at the thief, who smiled cheekily and sprinted off into a back alleyway.

“Hey!” And he took off in a run after the thief. He was still wearing his gray and blue uniform, but it was worn and therefore loose enough that he didn’t have to worry about ripping it as he ran. Before the thief could climb the wall, Brook had grabbed him by the collar and held him up a few feet off the ground.

“Eep!” The man had squeaked. Squeaked! But Brook supposed that he was quite intimidating when his expression defaulted to the military blankness interred into him even by his few years of experience.

“Give. That. Back!”

“Finders keepers!” The man said through Brook’s rough shaking.

“You didn’t find it, you stole it! Right out of my hands, mind you. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I had hoped you would be less… quick.”

“I only have this cane for emergencies.” Brook’s glare grew fiercer under the tinted lenses of his sunglasses. “Like when a thief steals my things and I have to beat him with it!”

“Woah there! No need for beatings, I’m sure!”

“Really? I’m not so sure.” Brook huffed. His first week of shore leave in months and his mood was ruined. “Did you even read the label of what you were stealing?”

“Um…”

Somehow he had been duped by the only thief with the intelligence of a rock. 

“This is a box of reeds. For music.”

“Ah.” The man was quiet for a few moments while Brook rolled his eyes. “In my defense, you are wearing the royal navy’s uniform.”

“So you saw the royal navy’s uniform and decided that you wanted to steal from that person out of all the people in the market?”

“Yes?”

“My Calliope,” Brook sighed, exasperated. He plucked the box from the man’s limp hands and tucked it into the side of his jacket; then ran his fingers through his cropped hair and set the poor cricket-brain of a man on the ground. From this angle, he noticed how very blond the man was. “I won’t do anything just… try not to cause too much trouble.”

The man had a strange expression on his face as he looked up at Brook. It was nothing he wasn’t used to, generally being the tallest around these parts and for several islands as a normal human, but something in the set of his eyes or the angle of his open lips made the man stand out among them. 

“You’re tall.” 

“And you’ve just noticed this now?”

“W-well, you were sitting down before!” The man sputtered, throwing out his hands in a half-pleading gesture.

“I’ll grant you that.” Brook considered the man for a few minutes more and then nudged him with the end of his cane. “Now go. And try not to rob anyone who can catch you.”

“That’s it? No jail, no beating?”

“I already told you I didn't care about that. Besides, it's too much work and I’ve had a long day.” Brook rubbed his forehead tiredly, hoping it would ease his headache a little. His sunglasses had been knocked over as he was leaving the inn he was staying at that morning, and the sheer brightness of the rising sun had left him stunned for a moment before the person that had bumped into him handed the glasses back to him. They were very apologetic, but Brook knew he would be fighting the headache all day. 

He must have stayed silent for too long because the man frowned up at him. It was the first real unhappy expression Brook had seen on his face. “Boy, you really have had a long day, haven’t you? You look tired.”

Brook blinked, a little startled. The hard expression on his face faltered for just a moment, his eyes widening at the small, sincere smile the man wore.

“Ha! I knew it!” The man cheered. “You’re not such a hardass after all!”

“What?” Brook said, standing there numbly. 

But the man had already fled, cackling. He shouted one last thing behind him as he left. “And I’m keeping the ring!”

Brook looked down at his hands and realized the ring on his left index finger was indeed missing. 

“You ASSHOLE!”

67 and a half years ago.

Brook would have been unbothered by the man if he stopped showing up in the most random of places in his life. He was on-base visiting a commander? He was there, being chased down by a group of privates. He read the paper in the morning? The man was smiling in a picture on the fourth page. Once Brook had been writing a letter home and he had opened the door to Brook’s quarters to try and find a hiding place. 

Most recently, he was on a small dinghy that had bumped not-too-gently into Brook’s vessel, presently traveling to rejoin the main fleet.

As soon as Brook saw the ship, he knew. He didn’t know how, but he just knew the man would be on that ship. The worst part was that he wasn’t even bothered by his missing ring. The man was simply the most annoying person he had ever met.

Brook’s opinion was only enforced as the man came on deck looking confused. Strangely enough, as soon as he spotted Brook, he smiled.

“Hey, Mr.Icy, tall, and brooding! I haven’t seen you in a while!”

“You!” Brook growled. The man held up his hands, attempting to be disarming.

“Woah woah woah! No need to be aggressive!”

Brook took out his sword, lifting his chin and letting the man see the steel glint in his eyes that new recruits always cowered from. He had to get back to the fleet and didn’t have time to deal with the other man’s antics. Even if he was a well-known criminal, it didn’t mean Brook wanted to hear about him all the time. If he was lucky, the man would get the hint for once and leave him alone.

“What did I ever do to you?”

“You’ve taken over my life! I can’t go anywhere without hearing about you!” Brook paused. “And you stole my ring!”

“Of course you've been hearing about me, I’m the best thief around these parts!” The man leaned forward with a self-important smile, trying to be confident despite the ragged state of his clothes.

Brook snorted. “Some famous criminal you are with a stupid code name like that.”

“Hey! I didn't choose it, the navy did.”

“You can’t pin this on us when you wont give us your actual name” Brook pointed out to the now indignant man. “The only thing we have to go on is the graffiti you put on the Warble Bridge, ‘Peccy’.”

“I was drunk ok?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t vandalize things when you’re drunk. Ever think of that?”

“Aww. So mean.” The man was pouting. The grown crime-committing ruffian was pouting. “You love me don’t you?”

“You’re a menace.”

“Harsh.” He paused. “How about a compromise.”

“What?” Brook blinked, confused. “You don't have anything I want.”

“You let me escape, and—”

“I'm not letting you run away.”

“Let me finish! And I’ll tell you my real name.” The man stopped and smiled as he thought of one additional thing. “But promise to keep it secret!”

“Why?”

He just put a finger over his lips and winked. “Now come here. I can’t whisper into your ear because you’re such a tree.”

Brook scowled, but leaned over anyway. He could feel the man’s beard brush lightly against the shell of his ear as he whispered.

“My name’s Yorki.” The man leaned back and grinned brightly at him, his teeth slightly sharper than Brook expected.

“Yorki.”

“Yeah, don’t wear it out!”

“Whatever you say, Peccy.”

Yorki winced. “On the other hand…”

“Alright then.” Brook sighed, rolling his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time that day. “Yorki.”

64 years ago, a small island in West Blue

"Congratulations on getting Captain, Captain!" Yorki shouted as he clambered in through the window. It was only the second floor, but the royal navy had such smooth buildings that it was a bit difficult to climb. Not that it was a problem for him, he had plenty of practice, but this occasion was special for one reason. The newly minted Captain Brook Aalampour sat regally on a greenish couch, his sunglasses on his face. However, Yorki could see through the dark blue tint to the shape of the irises underneath. Maybe one day he would know his eye color.

"Gah! Muses above! When did you get here?" Ah, there, the tell-tale sign of an aneurysm. Proof that Brook was happy to see him. 

“When you weren’t looking.”

Brook pointedly didn’t show his annoyance. “I can tell.” 

Yorki sidled over and plopped himself down on the couch beside Brook, who had to move over quickly to avoid being sat on. Yorki somehow still managed to spill himself into his personal space, rumpling his new uniform slightly, but Brook hadn’t moved to push him off. Yet.

The real reason Yorki had come (other than to see his favorite royal navyman) was, of course, to tease the hell out of said favorite royal navyman. He was having a portrait done for heaven’s sake. 

“How does it feel being a captain , captain?”

“Remarkably, the same as before. Only slightly more annoying.”

Yorki turned towards the artist and fanned himself dramatically. “Do you hear that? Only slightly! He does love me.”

“Yes, yes, nobody could ever hate the fantabulous Yorki “Peccy” last name.”

“Hey! I resent that.” Rude. And to think he could have trusted Brook to keep that a secret! All the same, the smile on his face warmed into something genuine. Brook looked down at where Yorki had thrown himself over his arm and that flinty look in his eyes faded somewhat. Once again Yorki wondered where he got it from. 

“Would you like to have this conversation another time? I’m a little busy.”

“Nope!”

“Well, could you at least scoot over?”

“I’ll do you one better!” Yorki got up and skipped over to the portrait artist, looking at the canvas and then back at Brook. 

“Come on now, I’m sure its not that interesting.”  

Yorki laughed at how Brook looked away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He was always so modest when it came to himself. The portrait really was quite good, the brushstrokes neat and even, the colors… accurate. Look, he wasn’t an expert. The artist leaned to let him look, but raised an eyebrow at him. She turned to look at Brook.

“Should I leave?” She asked.

“No, no, it’s fin—”

“Actually,” Brook interrupted, “excuse me, I think we should take a short break.”

“Alright.” She stood up breezily and walked out just in the same way, bringing her palette with her. Yorki frowned at Brook.

“Why did you send her away? We had a thing going.”

“You mean the thing where you leaned over her shoulder and breathed all over her work like a ruffian?”

Ouch. Actually, that time. But then Brook let out a long, long sigh, and it almost would have been funny if only for the pun of his long, long legs. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. And what I’m about to tell you really isn’t an excuse.”

“What? What's going on?”

“May I be frank?” Brook leaned forward and put his chin on his hands.

“Sure, sure, yeah.” Yorki swallowed. “Yeah.”

“There’s going to be war.”

Yorki’s face lost all expression. “What?”

“War.” 

“Nononono— why? What?”

“I know you haven’t been around lately, and it doesn’t matter so much to you, but the whole archipelago is preparing. I’m pretty sure its the only reason I’m a captain right now. They’re preparing.”

“Well shit.”

Brook grimaced. “Yeah. Shit.”

“If you ever need any help… or if you’re in trouble…”

“I’ll call you. I know.”

“And anything else you need?”

“I know.” Brook inhaled. Set his gaze forward. His eyes hardened to an ice coldness that wouldn’t thaw anytime Yorki saw him through those upcoming years. And then he stood and walked over to Yorki, putting a hand on his shoulder. “And I’m sorry for anything I might do.”

“If you’re sorry then don’t do it.” Brook didn’t speak. His mouth was set in a grim line, remnants of the man Yorki had first met, tired and serious and far from what he loved. Yorki bit his lip, thinking about how Brook had apologized for how he had treated Yorki for the months when they first knew each other. How he had explained the death of his Mama. How he had to leave the music academy. 

Yorki looked into the face of someone already grieving for people not dead yet. And then he looked at his hands. They didn’t speak again that day.

***

Surprisingly, out of all of them, it was Zoro that had fallen sick. Chopper had come to dinner that night once he had thought Zoro was safe enough to be left alone and told them. Brook, upon receiving the news, simply placed his utensils on the table and folded his hands in his lap.

“I see.”

The other Strawhats were not as composed, Sanji growling about the ‘idiot marimo’ and Usopp, Luffy, and Nami yelling dramatically and asking just how bad it was. Robin and Franky expressed their well wishes and concern, asking if they could help. Chopper sighed and shook his head, saying the best way Zoro would heal is if he got plenty of rest and medicine. 

The rest of dinner was spent only a little quieter than normal. Luffy still caused chaos, Usopp still told his stories (which he swore were 110% true), and Nami still raised Zoro’s debt for making them all worry, even if he wasn’t there to hear it.

Brook sat and joked with Robin and Franky, the two oldest next to himself. Internally he remembered roving fever-glazed eyes and blood running down pale skin from underneath a sterile mask. Externally he was grateful that his skull was incapable of expression. He wasn’t sure what look would appear on his face if he still had flesh.

Usopp, Brook noticed, was done eating extremely quickly. He excused himself as soon as he had finished, and Brook noticed Nami’s frown growing as she watched Usopp leave. She leaned over to whisper something in Luffy’s ear and whatever he said made the look in Luffy’s eyes turn from playful to serious.

Robin watched the table interestedly. She always did, but this time she had a special sort of tilt to her head that made it seem like she was paying greater attention. She shared a glance with Brook, one that reminded him of how his mama would look at him in public, like a secret only they knew. A lot could be told in a glance, and Brook understood what Robin was trying to tell him.

Therefore, Brook finished eating as quickly as he dared and excused himself as well, leaving after Usopp and following where he heard the boy going. Perks of having bones, he could feel the deep vibrations of footsteps directly from the wood.

Now. He knew he wasn’t the most relatable on the ship. Or the most mature. But there was a certain tinge to the edge of Usopp’s fingers, an angle that suggested tension. Brook had seen it many times over the span of his long life and subsequent living death. It spoke of stress and upset. 

He carefully uncurled his fingers from the same stance.

Usopp, instead of going to bed, lingered at the doorway of the sickbay. He bit his lip, a hand on the doorknob, his back curved with nervousness and his shoulders wrought with worry. Brook didn’t dare make a noise. In fact, he felt as if he was intruding on something he shouldn’t be, seeing the raw pain in Usopp’s eyes. As Brook watched, Usopp sighed and pressed his forehead against the wood. 

“Please…” he spoke quietly. So quietly that if it had been anyone else, they would not have heard. “Please don’t die.”

Brook was about to leave when he spotted Usopp actually trying to open the door, to enter the room where Zoro, their sick crewmate with a contagious illness, was sleeping. Well that just wouldn’t do. Much to Brook’s chagrin, everyone else on the ship had organs and flesh and were susceptible to illnesses. That, of course, meant that Usopp could get sick, and Brook would rather die again than have that happen.

He approached, letting the clack of his heels become heavy so that Usopp would know he was coming, and put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“It’s time for bed, Ladybug.”

“Mhm,” Usopp hummed, nodding and sniffling. Brook guided him to the bunks, saying nothing at the quiet tears beginning to drip down the young man’s face. 

It was always at the background of Brook’s mind just how young most of the Strawhats were, and yet it was only in these moments that it truly struck him. Usopp had faced countless enemies, had a bounty some could only dream of, and yet here he was, still a boy not even past his second decade. 

Brook pulled up the blankets around Usopp’s shoulders, knowing that it would be cold that night. Usopp fell asleep relatively quickly under Brook’s careful observation, almost suspiciously so, and so Brook went to his own bunk. 

He didn’t bother to pull up his own covers. He knew it would be a sleepless night.

The other Strawhats filed in, grumbling tiredly and stumbling into their bunks after whatever evening activity occupied their time. Sanji was first, as always, and he carried a sleepy Chopper, tired from taking care of Zoro all day and most of the night before. The crew wordlessly filed off to bed, and fell asleep soon after, with the exception of Robin, who was on watch.

Brook was again grateful for his expressionless skull. If he lay still enough, nobody could tell whether he was awake or asleep. It prevented the other Strawhats from asking too many questions, and let him stay up as late as he wished (not that any of them could make him go to bed anyway, he was 90 years old and reserved the right to make his own bedtime!)

An hour later, when he was sure they all were asleep, Brook rose and left the room. He took the short walk to the infirmary, his bare feet silenced by the thick socks he wore, and paused outside of the door. He couldn’t be sure if Zoro was asleep or not, but he didn’t want to interrupt the young man’s rest. Brook sat down in the hall, pouring a cup of lukewarm tea and adjusting his bonnet (and the nightcap he had pinned on top). 

He resigned himself to a long night rocking with the waves and staring out over the uneasy sea.

Or, he would have if he hadn’t heard the stirring below deck that meant someone was up. Brook tilted his head and tracked the person's journey through the ship.

You could tell a lot about someone through their footsteps. Some were light and quiet, others heavy and bold. Sanji's were almost impossible to track despite the way he grumbled and prickled like a chihuahua. Chopper's had a distinctive "click-click" due to his hooves. Usopp's were typically at two extremes, either very quick or very slow, but they were always careful. It just so happened that someone was making their way carefully towards the infirmary.

When Usopp finally appeared at the end of the hallway, eyes red rimmed, he was startled that Brook was there. His foot made an aborted movement backwards, shifting the blanket he wore, but he ended up standing there awkwardly. Brook gestured to the bit of floor beside him and Usopp walked over and slid down the wall to rest his back against it. 

He sat there quietly for a while. The only noises were Brook's clinking teacup and Usopp's occasional sniffle. Brook silently reached out an arm to pull Usopp closer and let the young man lean against him. It only took a few more minutes for Usopp to start crying for real, clutching at Brook's nightclothes.

"My old captain was so strong. Until he got sick."

Usopp shifted to listen.

"His face turned pale, his fever wouldn't break, and his head pounded whenever we played music even though it was our dream."

"What happened?" Came the quiet question from Usopp.

"A few other crewmates were sick as well, and we sent them off on one of our boats in quarantine. I remember the last song I sung to him. The way his hand felt in mine."

"Did they make it?"

"No."

"Were you…"

"Yes." 

Usopp looked up at him. "I'm sorry." 

"He lived a good life. One too short, but a good one. Sometimes I think I took all of his life force away and that's how I've lived for this long." Brook chuckled quietly at his little joke.

"I'm glad you're here. With me. Instead of one of the others. I dont… I don't think they would understand."

"Very true."

Usopp swallowed. Tried to speak. Looked away, and started again. "My mom, she…" 

"You don't have to say anything more."

"Thanks."

Brook held Usopp tighter, took his hand in his own. It was full of life and emotion. It was already a difference from Yorki's, and that was all he needed.

When Chopper found them in the morning he yelled at them about "proper sleep" and "soreness." Usopp didn't let go of his hand.

***

62 years ago. A burning island in West Blue

Everything was red. The ground, the sky, the sea. The air was absolutely choked with smoke and fire and death. Blood was boiling, filling the air with a putrid steam Brook was loathe to inhale. There was a grime he couldn't escape: sweat on his hands, dirt on his face, blood in his uniform.

Half of his ship was scorched, the other half blackened. They limped into port, the sails too damaged to hold wind, and water leaked out of the water barrels like glugging sobs. Brook leaned heavily on his cane, slumped on the railing despite the splinters digging into his forearm. He couldn't drag his eyes away from the scene in front of him.

The entire island was on fire .

It was a stupid war. A stupid opponent. A stupid set of leaders. He refused to die a stupid death, but that didn't stop them from killing others. And now so, so many were gone. What remained of his crew were stupefied in the same way: some were crying, some leaning against each other, and some in numb shock. It was silent except for the roar of distant burning.

They dropped anchor just outside of port, and piled the wounded into their one remaining lifeboat. The able-bodied of the crew were ordered to swim back, and the capable of the wounded would row the boat. Brook stood watching it all, words leaving his mouth that he didn't register. His first mate tugged on his arm and led him to the boat. 

His heart slowed down and so did the adrenaline, but a fog remained in his head. That was probably the skull fracture, he thought with an unvoiced laugh. He would never laugh again. Not even if his parents were alive.

They weren't. They couldn't be. Because if they were, it would be so cruel for him to show up broken and scratched. And so they weren't. 

He stumbled on his way over the edge of the lifeboat, and several hands caught him and guided him to sit on the floor in an awkward heap. A blink and they were in the sea. Another and someone was quietly sobbing out of pain or grief or both. 

"...don't fall asleep on us Captain." 

Brook looked up, although didn't move his head. Blood was dripping down his forehead through the bandage and he wiped it away. 

"We're almost to the shore."

Quiet conversation began to pick up. Brook couldn't find it in himself to pay attention.

When they got to the docks there was nowhere to tie up their boat, so they had someone get out and pull it onto the shore. They picked up the worst of the wounded and lay them on the flattest part of the shore. Brook remained standing by the boat and didn't join them. He knew if he lay down he might not wake up again.

Beside him, a young woman collapsed to the ground. Her face was streaming with tears and snot. Brook looked at her for a long while.  

He addressed the crew.

"Tonight… tonight we should rest." The first mate nodded in agreement. The others said nothing. "We can pick through the rubble tomorrow. Tonight we need to rest."

"Yes sir."

Brook was right. He wished he wasn't. 

When they woke in the morning from the tarps they set on the shore and tents fashioned of sails, Brook divided the soldiers into groups. One would go East, the other Westeast, and then West from the Western shore. He sent them off and began to form another group to search the shore when a spike of dizziness had him stumbling across the pebbles. 

“Captain, take it easy, please.” Several hands held onto his arms, the only part they could reach consistently. Brook regained his balance and stood upright again. Funny, another drop of blood was gathering in his eyebrow. “The rubble will be there in a few hours.”

“It’s our duty to rescue people, people that might not be alive tomorrow. It’s my duty.” 

“Captain—”

“Sailor.”

The conscious of the wounded looked between them, a cough occasionally punctuating the air. The sailor, Lieutenant Kronar, trembled minutely, her hands tucked into fists. One of her hands was wrapped clumsily with bandages, dirty and stained with ash. Blood was running down his nose and he wiped it away.

“Captain.” It was a broken voice.

“I know.” And then Brook walked away over the shore by himself.

The dark red sand of the beach was littered with scraps of splintered wood, burnt photographs, broken trinkets; All of the little things that marked people from corpses. Dolls and toys, scraps of clothing, a jar of shells, letters dripping wax from the heat. Rucksacks spilling boxes, dented cages, dog collars. Ashen fingers, ashen hands. Books, candleholders, bracelets, pipes, hats, combs, pens, the wheel of a tiny wooden train.

Staring glassy eyes.

Brook himself stared at the ground.

***

The sun was shining over the deck of the Thousand Sunny with only the occasional cloud passing by. The breeze was gentle and cooling, flowing through the gaps in his joints and whistling between his teeth. Brook hummed a light tune and swayed on the spot, although for his height his swaying made it look as if he would fall over. Luffy and Usopp were concentrating deeply on fishing and the girls were somewhere below deck with Franky. Their esteemed swordsman Zoro was out napping on the deck as usual, and Brook was ever so tempted to join him.

Of course if Brook truly wanted to, nobody could stop him, but he didn’t want to disturb Zoro’s rest, or inadvertently concern the crew. His sleeping habits hadn't been the greatest after those 50 years alone and he didn’t want them to take him off of active duty. 

At the same time, Brook should be entitled to his old-person naps every now and again, shouldn’t he? 

That was it. Nothing could stop him now. He strode over swiftly and lay down as quietly as possible, letting his hands rest on his ribcage. It was so lovely to see the sun in his after-death, although when he was trying to take a nap it wasn’t particularly pleasant to be unable to close his eyes (for he hadn’t had any YOHOHOHO!)

Zoro cracked one eye open, registered that it was Brook laying next to him, and closed it again. His voice came from low in his chest when he spoke. “You good?”

“Of course, little lamb.”

“Alright.” 

Zoro’s quiet snoring picked up again soon after. He shifted in his sleep, turning his back to Brook. Warmth filled Brook’s cold chest in the knowledge that Zoro trusted him enough to leave his back open. Like a cat showing its belly for the first time. 

Eventually he drifted off as well, only the occasional sense filtering in. Luffy’s quiet snickering and Usopp’s stories about all of the grand fishing trips he had gone on. Someone put a piece of cloth over his eyes. Someone wrapped a blanket around his old bones.

Brook was warm.

***

62 years ago, just after.

Brook's face was flushed with the heat of alcohol, but nobody stopped him from ordering another pint. He didn't think anyone could see him anyway, tucked into a dark corner where nobody could try to bring him into their bar games or songs.

It was the first time he hadn't felt like singing in… in ever. He stared into the brownish slop they called a drink, watching the reflection of the lights shimmer on its surface. He breathed in, a singer's breath out of habit, trying to will tears into his eyes. He ought to cry in remembrance or something. 

He took another slug of his drink.

Some of the patrons nudged each other and turned to look at him, their faces tragic as if they had been there, as if they had watched people swimming from a bloody shore only to bloody the water instead. And then, satisfied with their compassion, or the spectacle at least, they turned back to their conversation. The bartender refilled their drinks and turned a questioning gaze towards Brook, to which he nodded and accepted another glass.

The bar had people stumbling in from other bars and people leaving to wander the streets over uneven cobbles and flickering street lamps. 

{Brook sighed deeply, and put his face in his hands, falling silent for a short while.

“You always seem to find me on bad days.”

“That’s okay with me.” Yorki’s voice was gentler than Brook had expected from him. He looked up to meet warm, dark eyes. “Maybe that’s why I’m always there on your bad days. To help cheer you up!”

“You’ve never once made me feel better in all the time I’ve known you,” Brook grumbled. A warm feeling was rising in his chest, threatening to bubble over.

“Oh really?” He smirked. “Then why are you smiling right now?”

“I am not!” Brook lied, but only for a moment. His smile wobbled and fell, flickering out like a candle. “I’m sorry, I can’t be good company tonight.”

“I doubt anybody could be after that. And really I should be the one apologizing. I don’t really know how to deal with, well, anything really.”

“That seems very in character for you.” Yorki’s hands twitched at Brook’s flat tone. They fiddled with the table for a second before clasping together in some form of defense. 

“No really, I am sorry. I can’t imagine… I saw the sky turn red miles out at sea. You were— you were there and—and it was your home.”

“I know.”

Yorki looked away, but spoke again. “I’ve smelled burning bodies before. I’ve never smelled that many before.”

“When?”

“Once, my grandma, or well, she wasn’t actually my grandma, but she was like one. She was too slow to run away.”

“There were so many. So many.”

“I know.”

“Parents, friends, muses— children. Oh muses.” Brook stopped, his voice wobbling with almost-tears. Then he took a deep breath, finished off the last part of his drink, and returned to staring at the nothing of the table. “I just—what am I supposed to do now?”

“You know… I have a ship. If you wanted we could sail together?”

“Maybe.” Brook turned to face Yorki and took off his sunglasses slowly, the light of the bar low enough that it wouldn’t burn his leucistic eyes. “Where are you from Yorki?”

Yorki’s face looked to be a strange color with the shades off, slightly pinkish. Or maybe it was the lighting. It wasn’t important. Yorki fiddled with the silverware for a moment before answering, but the gaze they held never broke.

“I don’t think it matters. I left. We didn’t match. Or they kicked me out. Either way it’s gone.”

Brook snorted, shook his head. He ordered another drink and they sat together while they waited for it to arrive. 

“What happened to your head?”

“I was aiming for the sea. I hit my head on the way. Or someone hit me, doesn’t really matter.” He smirked. “It happened either way.”

As soon as the server dropped off their drinks, Brook raised his glass to a toast. “To things that are gone, and if they really mattered.”

Yorki bumped their glasses together. “Aye.”

They drank.

“I was serious, you know.”

Brook paused in the middle of putting his sunglasses back on. “About what?”

“If you want, I have a ship, the Arpeggio . I can take you anywhere you want, or we can just sail together. You don’t have to decide now.”

“Oh.” Oh. “That's very touching. Really, It means a lot to me. One day, I promise you, I’ll join. But not now, not when I’m… this. Give me a few months. I’ll send you a letter.”

Yorki smiled, and leaned closer. His eyes were deep and black, like beetle shells; his lips… “I’m here for you.”

And then he leaned in and… Oh.

Oh. Oh my.

And he found he didn’t even mind.

“Th-thank you.” Brook flushed even hotter than the drink. “For the offer, I mean. Not that it wasn’t nice. I mean. Thank you.”

Yorki smiled, giggling. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

***

In his defense, he hadn’t meant to piss off that marine quite that badly. He had just looked so funny with his limp-noodle hair and his distastefully patterned outfit that it was almost impossible to not have a laugh at his expense. In fact, he had been laughing so hard that he hadn’t quite noticed that the marine had been carrying a small hand pistol—a comically small one, Brook might add—and by the time he had it was too late. A sharp crack resounded in the air, drawing the eyes of the crew, and Brook’s laughter was suddenly cut off.

He almost felt sorry for the marine with the way the majority of the crew stomped over to beat the living crap out of him. Then again, he really didn’t. His sternum hurt.

If Brook had been out alone, he wouldn’t have bothered to even sit down when taking out the bullet, flicking it off and drinking a bit of milk to heal the bone up, but he was out at the port with his crew, and for some reason they cared about him. Not that he was complaining, it was rather nice, but he hadn’t exactly known them for very long, having escaped the Floridian Triangle a mere month ago. Chopper had panicked for a scant few moments before rushing over to force Brook to sit down out of the way of the battle.

The little dear (Yohoho!) truly was an expert in his craft, asking calm questions and assessing the damage very professionally once in his domain. Once Brook had explained that no, it was only aftershocks, yes he was fine, no he didn’t bleed, and no he most certainly would not die, Chopper resolved to go back to the Sunny and make a record for all of Brook’s medical oddities and such.

It was all rather touching.

“Chopper, thank you.”

Predictably, the doctor wriggled around in a happy dance all while spouting insults. Brook attempted to stand up, but Chopper snapped out of his reverie to tug him back down again. “Don’t you dare move!”

“But Chopper, I truly feel fine, look!” Brook stuck his finger through the neat little hole the bullet had made and wiggled it around, much to Chopper’s chagrin. “It doesn’t hurt!”

“That doesn’t mean you’re fine, and what if you make it worse?”

“It won’t kill me, I’m already dead, yohohoho!”

Chopper crossed his arms and stamped his hoof, preparing for a tirade most certainly filled with medical jargon that Brook would not understand, and was just about to speak when Luffy interrupted them—

“BROOOOOOOOOOK!” 

—Interrupted them rather explosively, launching himself at Brook and knocking him over to the ground. Luffy pulled back to look at Brook, his face parallel to the ground but serious in its set.

“Brook, we beat that guy up for you. You’re ok.”

Brook nodded slowly, marvelling once again at how straightforward his captain was. His captain who was so immature and yet wise beyond his years. Brook recognized the quiet question of assurance somewhere in between his words and nodded once again, laughing.

“Of course, Captain.”

“Luffy! Brook!” Chopper began to tug Luffy off of Brook, attempting to detangle his rubber limbs without much success. “Luffy don’t hurt him worse!”

“AH! Brook I’m sorry! Did I make it worse?”

“No, no, I’m completely fine. ‘Tis but a scratch. A little milk and I should be fine.”

“I’m going to bandage it anyway, it won’t do to risk your health, Brook.”

Such concern. Such caring. And over him of all people! Just an old pile of bones and an older soul. Perhaps, he reflected, it truly was others who gave life meaning. What is a chip of darkness in a void?

***

61 and a half years ago, a faraway island in West Blue

“Brook! Look over here!”

“Yorki! I’m so glad to see you” And he was. He knew his face was tugged up into a smile at the sight of his friend. Or, well. His something. Brook, although he had been trying to forget absolutely everything on that night, was grateful he remembered the.. The well… best not to get flustered in front of the man himself. Of course Brook and Yorki hadn’t avoided talking about it, but to Brook displays of affection had always been private. His mothers, muses sing their souls, had reserved their kisses for behind closed doors, and he had inherited that discreteness from them.

"I have something to show you!" Yorki took his hand impatiently and Brook allowed himself to be tugged along, holding a hand to his hat so it wouldn't fall off. He had decided to grow out his hair again since he no longer had to keep it short for regulations, and had abandoned the stiff military gray for more exciting clothes, much to Yorki’s delight. 

As they ran, people dodged out of the way and animals scattered. After everything, Brook had just sailed away and ended up at a small village. It was the exact opposite of the bustling city he grew up in. They reached the docks shortly, and Yorki’s ship came looming into view. It was very clearly his in the most joyous of ways: Upbeat music came thumping through the wood, the rigging was hung with a wide range of color, and most of all, friendly faces were smiling down at them. 

Brook couldn’t help but smile back and wondered how the feeling had almost become foriegn. 

Yorki gestured to the ladder and laughed before jumping up and down and climbing up it himself. Brook shook his head, then followed closely behind. 

When he got on the deck, Yorki’s crew was swinging Yorki around rather wildly in a hug. He couldn’t tell if Yorki was enjoying it or not, considering how loudly everyone was yelling. Brook waited patiently (and rather amusedly) until they had calmed down enough to greet him. 

“You must be Captain Aalampour! Splendid to meet you, I’m Kairos.” Brook kissed his hand briefly. Some habits he never thought he could let go of.

“It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Kairos. Call me Brook, I’m not a captain anymore.”

“Oooohh Captain Yorki you were right, he is so humble! And a gentleman to boot!” Kairos laughed, raising his eyebrows at Brook and flickering his eyes back and forth between him and Yorki. Obligingly, Brook turned his gaze to the other man and held back a laugh. Was that Yorki’s face turning red? 

“Yorki, have you been talking about me behind my back?”

“Oh no, no I would never!” Yorki said, stumbling over his words.

“You’ve said that to me before,” Brook replied with a shit-eating grin. “Are you sure?”

“No—”

“Oh he won’t shut up about you. No offence Captain. He told us about the time he was almost blackout drunk and you just about picked him up by the scruff, carried him all the way to a hotel, checked him in, and left a very stern note.” That was a new voice, coming from a short, broad woman with long locs and brown skin. Her face was painted with delicate lines of green around her eyes, a style Brook had never seen before but one that he saw on a few other crew members. She held out her hand to shake. “I’m Tyrah, I play cello.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Tyrah,” Brook said, clasping her hand and kissing it. “I suppose I don’t need to introduce myself if Yorki’s already told all of you who I am.”

“That’s true,” Yorki said with a rueful grin.

“How about we tell you about Yorki, then? I’m sure he won’t mind.” Tyrah said, smiling.

“Remember what the Captain was like as soon as he got the letter that you were joining? He was practically jumping from mast to mast! I’m Hamzah, I play a few instruments, but mostly lyre and udu.”

“Hey now, Do we really have to tell him tha—”

“He kept gazing wistfully over the horizon like a lovesick princess,” Someone else chimed in.

“The only songs in his horn are love songs by now!”

“Yohohoho! Well, well, Yorki, it seems we have a lot to catch up on, as well as a wonderful crew.” Brook strode over to place a hand on Yorki’s shoulder, and he swore he saw steam burst out of his ears. “Why don’t we all play a song to get to know each other?”

A cheer rose from the deck, and several crew members scampered off to their quarters to get their instruments and sheet music. Hamzah tapped on his arm and Brook turned to face him. “You know, hearing your laugh I think I know where Yorki got the inspiration for his newest song. Why don’t we sing that one?”

“Bink’s sake?” Someone shouted from below deck.

“Yeah!” Hamzah called out, projecting his voice. He gave Brook a sheepish grin. “I’m also an opera singer.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know that one quite yet, but if you begin playing, I can play along. Conveniently there are so many instruments on deck I can play anything I’d like.”

“Sounds good to me.”

It was with no small amount of nostalgia that Brook stepped up to the piano, a beautiful baby grand with gleaming keys and a dark stygian wood that made it stand out from the otherwise bright deck. It was perfect. 

The song started all at once with a cheerful melody from the strings and the treble horns playing something sweet underneath. Then the bass instruments, and then the voices of their lovely choir. Everybody sang, even if they didn’t have a traditional voice, but the joy in their tone made it beautiful. After the first few measures finished, Brook joined in with scaffolding melodies and strengthening chords that took on a life of their own. He looked up around him and saw only harmony, heard only happiness, and he danced around it on the keys. By the time it came back to the chorus Brook joined in as well. 

It sang of a journey, it sang of companionship, and Brook couldn’t stop the smile from ruining his singing vowels. Yorki was such a darling, no, a sweetcake. He had written a song for him. For Brook!

Once again, Brook was reminded that music was joy. 

The song eventually finished, and people began to laugh. They slapped each other on the back and hugged, giving out compliments freely. Tyrah skipped over breathlessly.

“That was amazing! I knew he left all that space in there for a reason! It’s you he left it for.”

“Why thank you. It truly was a pleasure to play with you all. You’re all very talented.”

“Oh, don’t be so modest. The one thing Yorki forgot to mention was that you’re an actual real prodigy!”

“Really?” Brook turned to Yorki. “Not even a scrap of my talent came across?”

“Oh I told them you were talented alright, but how am I supposed to prepare them for a master virtuoso’s concert?”

“My, my, what a charmer.” But still, his cheeks heated up and turned red where the patches of vitiligo on his skin were. Yorki was such a romantic, but he needed to maintain some respect on the first day. “Peccy.”

“Oh my God you wouldn’t.” Yorki said faintly. He stepped forward as if he could reach Brook’s mouth with those short arms of his.

“Wouldn’t what, Yorki?”

“Don’t you dare tell them about that!”

“About what Brook? We really would love to hear about it!”

Brook simply gave Yorki a smile, and proceeded to speak. Nobody would fluster him on his watch and get away with it. “Let me tell you something about your esteemed Captain's antics back in the day…”

***

The less said about Yorki and Brook’s parting, the better. Brook could still feel that clammy hand in his own, the croak of his voice swollen with tears as he sang the song his husband wrote for him. That was one thing Brook wished he had forgotten in those fifty years of fog.

***

Robin had insisted on seeing the museum before they left, and so naturally they did. It was a town far enough from any marine outposts that they weren’t welcome there, and so the Strawhats were free to wander as they pleased. Nami, as always, was cajoling a few of the crew into buying supplies, but Usopp had wanted to look at some of the artifacts as well, and so she begrudgingly allowed them to put it off for a bit (at a steep price to their debts, of course). 

It was a rather lovely building for such a small town, evidently it was loved by many residents.  Even as Brook had been walking around he had seen a few shops for restoration and preservation of objects. Much like his own island dedicated to the musical academy before thoughts of war had taken precedence. 

The inside of the museum was cool and clean, with white marble tiles veined with blue and gray. Even Luffy’s sandals echoed on the floor. They split off into groups, one to see the inventions and the rest to look at the art gallery. Chopper bounced behind Sanji, holding onto one of his pant legs and requesting to be held up to see a painting every once in a while. Brook found himself admiring the barely-visible brushstrokes of Shigeko and the bold colors of Linden while pacing down the gallery. 

“Hey everyone, look at this!”

 Brook looked over at the calls, coming from Usopp, who was pointing to a portrait. A familiar portrait. It lay in a new frame, and some of it had been repainted where the edges had been worn, but it was very clearly the same one he had seen those very many years ago as a Captain.

“It says it was one of the few pieces of art to survive the burning of the Occident Archipelago, apparently because the artist decided to steal all of her pieces from the royal navy’s gallery when she left to go to East Blue,” Usopp read. “This portrait is of an unnamed captain.”

He stepped back, hands on his hips, and surveyed the piece.

“What an interesting eye color, almost pure white. I wonder how his vision was.”

“He looks tall.”

“And scary! Shishishi.”

“Yohohoho!” Brook laughed joyfully, leaning closer to the canvas. “Why I never thought I would get to see this again!”

“You mean you’ve seen this before?” 

“Why of course, Robin, After all, I was the one who was being painted.” He stood and turned to them, awaiting their reactions to the new information.

“Oh, how lovely,” Robin murmured, slightly shocked.

“WHAT?” Shouted the rest of the Strawhats. Brook couldn’t help but laugh.

“That’s you? But you’re so… so…”

“Formal? Stern? Scary?” Brook offered to their enthusiastic nods.

“All of the above!” said Usopp.

“Well, I was a very different person back then. It was nice to see the portrait as a reminder of what things used to be. The woman who painted it really was most talented, and hilarious as well, although she wouldn’t be caught dead laughing in front of a superior.”

“What was her name?”

“You know, I can’t quite recall. Something starting with an ‘H’, like Hortence, or Hartro. My memory isn’t as sharp as I’d quite like it to be for that period of time.”

“Brook’s old!” Luffy laughed, but wound his way around Brook’s skinny body. 

“Indeed Captain, Indeed.” Brook shook his head, and giving one last glance to the portrait, headed for other parts of the gallery with the Strawhats  in tow.

***

In the end it did not matter how the Rumbars died. Whether by halves or wholes, he remained. The world rotated without them, and the lady sea was fickle as a faery. Quietly time slipped by without Brook knowing it, years passing by in a fog of nothingness and the occasional peek of the sun. It was nigh impossible to tell how long Brook had actually been drifting around the Floridian Triangle, and he didn’t care to look at a calendar after he had been freed. 

Because in the end, it truly didn’t matter how long it took. He was found by a face of sunshine and seven more that shone in their own beautiful way. They were full of life and happiness, strong through their struggles and oh-so-young. They teased him, allowed him to call them cutesy names, offered companionship he had never thought to experience again, and most importantly, they were kind.

“Hey, Brook.”

“Yes, Zoro?”

“You seem happier now.”

Brook smiled. Truly, more than anything, life was worth living.