[There's murmuring, alarm, the shuffle back of a dozen pairs of boots, men who are frightened of that which they've never seen, they don't understand, even in this world of devil fruits and demons and monsters and gods. But Koby doesn't hesitate, doesn't flinch away, because he knows that bright, brilliant light Quentin contains, knows how it echoes in his words, how it laces through his kisses, how part of Koby could sense it like a softly glowing fire somewhere beneath the ribs of the man he loved. Loves -- still loves, even here, even now, years and worlds and miles apart, different and changed and transformed. Koby is taller and broader, muscular and strong in the way he'd been approaching back in Saltburnt, the potential there, even as he stayed the perfect size to snuggle up under Quentin's chin at night.
And there's an aching, endless grief at the core of him, the loss he carried like an anchor, everywhere he went, every day he woke up in an empty bed, remembering the warmth of someone beside him, someone he adored, someone he aches for with every breath. He knows Quentin is real, is there, is actually kneeling before him, looking up into his face, because he feels the echo of that same grief, that pain, laced through everything brilliant and wonderful and warm that he loves so, so much. He can feel the exhaustion, the bone-deep weariness, the shadowy monsters that haunt every corner of Quentin's mind, and there are tears in Koby's eyes as he lunges forward into that embrace, arms like iron around Quentin, hands clutching at the (smaller, leaner) shape of him, drawing in the smell of his hair, his skin with a shuddering, sobbing breath.]
It's me, I'm here, I'm right here, I'm here, Quentin, it's me... [He repeats it again and again, breath hitching at the blissful, ached-for feeling of having Quentin's arms around him again, the way his whole body seems to sing with relief at being close once more. Like he's been missing a part of himself, feeling it's absence like a wound, finally closed up, finally healed.
Behind him, Koby's conscious of Helmeppo barking order, ushering the crew away, no doubt to receive a very stern lecture about the classified nature of what they'd just witnessed. Five years scaling the ranks of the Marines, his connection to Luffy, to Shanks -- it's power Koby is very, very mindful about using, saving it for when he absolutely needs to. He's kept his tireless search for Quentin under careful classification, just in case -- it was a weakness of a very, very powerful Marine, and if they found Quentin, they might also find the Regent, and Koby wasn't about to tip him off about the search.
There's a touch on his shoulder, and Koby glances up sideways at his second-in-command, his knowing gaze, the compassion in his eyes. Helmeppo's been there all this time, seen the nightmares, the pits of despair that came periodically, even now, days when Koby was so caught up in the sunkissed remembrance of the manor that he could barely function. He knows. "I'll keep the bridge clear and call out a patrol to sweep the area. Hibari and Garp will want the update, and I'll let the Straw Hats know as well." A pause, a squeeze to Koby's shoulder, a silent completion -- We'll talk later.
Then he's gone, and Koby is alone on the deck with Quentin, stroking back his hair, turning to murmur against his ear:] It's all right, you're safe. I'm here, and you're safe. Are you hurt? Can you stand? We'll go to my cabin, where it's quieter, okay? [A slow, shaky breath in, Koby's hands finding Quentin's face, cradling it, seeking his bright, beautiful eyes.] I'm here, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not -- letting you out of my sight ever again, probably.
no subject
And there's an aching, endless grief at the core of him, the loss he carried like an anchor, everywhere he went, every day he woke up in an empty bed, remembering the warmth of someone beside him, someone he adored, someone he aches for with every breath. He knows Quentin is real, is there, is actually kneeling before him, looking up into his face, because he feels the echo of that same grief, that pain, laced through everything brilliant and wonderful and warm that he loves so, so much. He can feel the exhaustion, the bone-deep weariness, the shadowy monsters that haunt every corner of Quentin's mind, and there are tears in Koby's eyes as he lunges forward into that embrace, arms like iron around Quentin, hands clutching at the (smaller, leaner) shape of him, drawing in the smell of his hair, his skin with a shuddering, sobbing breath.]
It's me, I'm here, I'm right here, I'm here, Quentin, it's me... [He repeats it again and again, breath hitching at the blissful, ached-for feeling of having Quentin's arms around him again, the way his whole body seems to sing with relief at being close once more. Like he's been missing a part of himself, feeling it's absence like a wound, finally closed up, finally healed.
Behind him, Koby's conscious of Helmeppo barking order, ushering the crew away, no doubt to receive a very stern lecture about the classified nature of what they'd just witnessed. Five years scaling the ranks of the Marines, his connection to Luffy, to Shanks -- it's power Koby is very, very mindful about using, saving it for when he absolutely needs to. He's kept his tireless search for Quentin under careful classification, just in case -- it was a weakness of a very, very powerful Marine, and if they found Quentin, they might also find the Regent, and Koby wasn't about to tip him off about the search.
There's a touch on his shoulder, and Koby glances up sideways at his second-in-command, his knowing gaze, the compassion in his eyes. Helmeppo's been there all this time, seen the nightmares, the pits of despair that came periodically, even now, days when Koby was so caught up in the sunkissed remembrance of the manor that he could barely function. He knows. "I'll keep the bridge clear and call out a patrol to sweep the area. Hibari and Garp will want the update, and I'll let the Straw Hats know as well." A pause, a squeeze to Koby's shoulder, a silent completion -- We'll talk later.
Then he's gone, and Koby is alone on the deck with Quentin, stroking back his hair, turning to murmur against his ear:] It's all right, you're safe. I'm here, and you're safe. Are you hurt? Can you stand? We'll go to my cabin, where it's quieter, okay? [A slow, shaky breath in, Koby's hands finding Quentin's face, cradling it, seeking his bright, beautiful eyes.] I'm here, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not -- letting you out of my sight ever again, probably.