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chibi_trillianTitle: Darkest Hour
Series: One Piece.
One Piece: Not mine.
Rating: PG.
Summary: You know, Enies Lobby had an impact on the Marines involved too. Inspired by The Cruxshadows' song "Winterborn."
It hurt, to see such a strong man brought so low.
T-Bone was a mess, both physically and mentally. He’d nearly drowned out there before his men could pick their way through the storm and pull him out of the ocean.
He’d been running along the tracks because there was nothing else he could do and he needed to do something, had to at least try.
Trying to stop a sea train by himself with just his sword, a sword that Smoker had watched split stone like it was paper, now somewhere on the bottom of the ocean between Water 7 and Enies Lobby.
Crossing blades with Roronoa Zoro, the Demon of East Blue, for the sake of the men he’d left behind and the men still before him. Roronoa had made it clean, at least. One shot, deliberately aimed not to kill. He’d recover fast. A mark of respect. Or pity.
Unfortunately, T-Bone wanted neither from a pirate.
T-Bone’s men—all still alive somehow, though somewhat shell-shocked by what had happened—were murmuring softly outside. The nurses had finally approved a visit by his subordinates, hoping it would cheer him up. The men had been dithering around the hospital and the surrounding town like lost baby ducklings without their mother, quacking hopelessly at the last place they’d seen him go. He was a good man, a good commander, to have his men so devoted to him.
The man’s face looked more like death than usual, and his fingers traced perfectly straight lines on his blanket. Four lines, then a perpendicular one across them. Over and over, each one a life lost at Enies Lobby because of what he hadn’t stopped.
What Smoker hadn’t stopped long ago, what he’d tacitly approved of. His old words, his blurry morals tasted like ash in his mouth, and he’d never felt so ashamed.
Ashamed of the Navy, for being so corrupt and ugly that when a truly good man entered its ranks, it didn’t quite know what to do with him.
Ashamed of himself, for letting the filth of his life rub off on him, turn the White Hunter grey and bitter. Tashigi still shone, but tarnish had found its way onto the polished blade of her soul in Alabasta and now it was only a matter of time. All he could do was tell her to be stronger, to hold onto her morals even though they burned her with acid hypocrisy and white-hot rage.
Ashamed of the world, for not being the righteous place that T-Bone saw it as. One of the last great idealists in a stained and smeared world, holding a lone light of justice against a howling Aqua Laguna of cruelty and darkness.
It hurt like dying to see that that light had finally gone out.
“I’ll get them,” Smoker said, gently squeezing a skeletally thin shoulder.
There was a long moment of leaden silence, then a slow, painful nod from T-Bone.
It’s not giving up. It’s passing the torch.
How can a man made of smoke stand before the storm?
I don’t know. But I will stand, because I am one of the last. I will stand, because the one who would take my place isn’t ready yet. I will stand, because I have to.
Go.
There were no tears in T-Bone’s eyes, but he was weeping somehow anyway. Smoker stepped out. Men in uniform, young and glowing with nascent light like what their captain had had, pushed past him to get inside with no regard for his rank.
When the last straggler made it inside, there was nothing in the hallway but a lingering wisp of cigar smoke.
Series: One Piece.
One Piece: Not mine.
Rating: PG.
Summary: You know, Enies Lobby had an impact on the Marines involved too. Inspired by The Cruxshadows' song "Winterborn."
It hurt, to see such a strong man brought so low.
T-Bone was a mess, both physically and mentally. He’d nearly drowned out there before his men could pick their way through the storm and pull him out of the ocean.
He’d been running along the tracks because there was nothing else he could do and he needed to do something, had to at least try.
Trying to stop a sea train by himself with just his sword, a sword that Smoker had watched split stone like it was paper, now somewhere on the bottom of the ocean between Water 7 and Enies Lobby.
Crossing blades with Roronoa Zoro, the Demon of East Blue, for the sake of the men he’d left behind and the men still before him. Roronoa had made it clean, at least. One shot, deliberately aimed not to kill. He’d recover fast. A mark of respect. Or pity.
Unfortunately, T-Bone wanted neither from a pirate.
T-Bone’s men—all still alive somehow, though somewhat shell-shocked by what had happened—were murmuring softly outside. The nurses had finally approved a visit by his subordinates, hoping it would cheer him up. The men had been dithering around the hospital and the surrounding town like lost baby ducklings without their mother, quacking hopelessly at the last place they’d seen him go. He was a good man, a good commander, to have his men so devoted to him.
The man’s face looked more like death than usual, and his fingers traced perfectly straight lines on his blanket. Four lines, then a perpendicular one across them. Over and over, each one a life lost at Enies Lobby because of what he hadn’t stopped.
What Smoker hadn’t stopped long ago, what he’d tacitly approved of. His old words, his blurry morals tasted like ash in his mouth, and he’d never felt so ashamed.
Ashamed of the Navy, for being so corrupt and ugly that when a truly good man entered its ranks, it didn’t quite know what to do with him.
Ashamed of himself, for letting the filth of his life rub off on him, turn the White Hunter grey and bitter. Tashigi still shone, but tarnish had found its way onto the polished blade of her soul in Alabasta and now it was only a matter of time. All he could do was tell her to be stronger, to hold onto her morals even though they burned her with acid hypocrisy and white-hot rage.
Ashamed of the world, for not being the righteous place that T-Bone saw it as. One of the last great idealists in a stained and smeared world, holding a lone light of justice against a howling Aqua Laguna of cruelty and darkness.
It hurt like dying to see that that light had finally gone out.
“I’ll get them,” Smoker said, gently squeezing a skeletally thin shoulder.
There was a long moment of leaden silence, then a slow, painful nod from T-Bone.
It’s not giving up. It’s passing the torch.
How can a man made of smoke stand before the storm?
I don’t know. But I will stand, because I am one of the last. I will stand, because the one who would take my place isn’t ready yet. I will stand, because I have to.
Go.
There were no tears in T-Bone’s eyes, but he was weeping somehow anyway. Smoker stepped out. Men in uniform, young and glowing with nascent light like what their captain had had, pushed past him to get inside with no regard for his rank.
When the last straggler made it inside, there was nothing in the hallway but a lingering wisp of cigar smoke.
