Chapter Text
Kidd is awake before Strawhat, that first day.
Time is a nebulous concept, measured by shades of grey and shifting shadows. A mouse scuttles by, looking for scraps, and Kidd lets it nip at his boot for a bit before he shoos it away.
Outside, not a single soul moves. The stone pit will be busy soon enough.
Strawhat snorts in his slumber and turns around, sleeping off his clash with Kaido one snore at a time. He’s a mess, hair plastered in place with blood long dried, the yukata he wears torn and drenched in it, too. Blue from his fingers to his wrists, and Kidd didn’t even know a rubber man can bruise. It makes him wonder whether his metal fist would withstand whatever punches the brat dished out to get those.
Kidd smirks. Something to keep in mind for the day the shackles come off.
He leaves Strawhat to it; the guards are still a while out anyways. Instead, Kidd twists in his chains, far enough to wipe his lips against his fur coat. The thing is done for anyways, crusted with dust and filth of all kinds. There’s a handsewn pocket hidden in the lining that Kidd reaches into, straining his wrist to grab what’s inside.
Despite the encounter with an Emperor (among other things), his lipstick has yet to break. The case is a little dented, sure, bullet worn almost to the nub – Kidd didn’t exactly count on being imprisoned for a week – but it’ll do. After years of daily use, Kidd has no need for a mirror or any sort of diligence for this, the shape of his mouth traced in one fluid motion.
Finding this shade of red in the New World was a pain in the ass to say the least: The rest of his stash is on the Punk and that’s another reason his ship better be fine and not at the bottom of the ocean. Lives have been lost over much, much less.
Kidd smacks his lips when he’s done. Repeats the process with the trusty kohl pencil he takes to each of his eyes, the black lines surrounding them reinforced with easy precision.
Much better.
His nails are a whole other story. In the dim morning light, Kidd runs his thumb over their smooth, lacquered texture; he doesn’t get very far without hitting scratches and the odd hole where crimson polish has chipped off entirely.
On any other day, it would be a quick fix. Just a matter of nudging Killer awake next to him and watch him paint on another coat with patient hands. Return the favor in Killer’s favorite blue, if needed.
Now, the bottle of nail polish is an odd weight in his hand. Kidd frowns. It’ll be impossible to get the right angle like this.
“What ya got there, Spikey? Food?”
Kidd doesn’t as much startle as throw a glare over his shoulder – only to realize that Strawhat is right next to him. Big, curious eyes are all the bigger mere inches from his face, and Kidd jerks his hand away before Strawhat can finish grabbing for it.
“Paws off or I’ll bite them off”, Kidd barks between clenched teeth. Who knew the little shit could be this sneaky? Strawhat straight up ignores him, climbing over Kidd to get to his chained hand.
“C’mon, share! I’m so hungr– Ah!”
Even clad in Sea Stone, the guy tastes like rubber and sweat. Urgh. Kidd bites down all the same, only letting go when Strawhat pushes at his head and scrambles for a swift retreat on flip-flopped feet.
His arm comes away bloody, teeth marks a perfect half-circle on his skin.
“You bit me!”
There’s a grin on Kidd’s lips, growing wider when he wipes at the corners of his mouth and nothing comes away smudged. “Told ya”, Kidd spits the words out along with the dirt on his tongue. Disgusting. “This ain’t even food, you stupid fuck.”
Strawhat tilts his head at him and Kidd rolls his eyes, shows him the tiny flask held between two fingers.
“Oh! It’s that stuff for the nails. The one that smells bad.”
Look who’s talking. Kidd huffs. “Yeah. Stop bothering me.”
A moment passes and Strawhat actually stays away, sitting cross-legged and slumped with his elbows on his knees. That should’ve been the end of it: By the time Kidd has shaken and opened the bottle and balanced it somewhat precariously on his leg, Kidd’s full attention is focused on the wet shine of the delicate brush.
But so is Strawhat’s. It’s unnerving.
“What?”
“Huh? I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re staring. Fuck off.”
Strawhat doesn’t fuck off. “Isn’t that kinda hard? With, um…”, a vague gesture towards what remains of Kidd’s left arm, “that. How are you gonna do your thumb and stuff?”
Kidd turns his head slowly. His pulse thrums hot in his veins. “You looking for a fight?”
“What? No.” The brat has the nerve to look annoyed. “Jeez. I’m just saying, this place is boring as hell and there’s no food. It sucks.”
Kidd stares. Waits for the connection between one and the other to make sense. “And?”
Chin on his hands, Strawhat’s eyebrows draw into an even deeper frown, cheeks puffed out. It’s… a pout. Strawhat is pouting.
“I can help with that, y’know. Robin and Nami let me paint their nails all the time.”
A laugh bubbles up before Kidd can stop it. He shakes his head, “You’re so full of shit”, turns back to the task at hand. The tip is dipped in again and–
The cuff jerks at his hand. Kidd freezes. The bottle wobbles dangerously without anything to steady it, its precious contents on the precipice of spilling all over the dirty floor.
Breathless seconds later, it stabilizes enough to screw the lid back on.
A defeated sigh. “Monkey.”
“Hm?”
Kidd tells him, “This is my last bottle”, slow and deliberate. “Break it and you will die.”
Strawhat blinks, lifts his head. A smile is quick to burst on his lips, all sunny and delighted, damn him. “Gotcha!”
A rather clumsy shuffle to Kidd’s side makes him regret his decision almost immediately but Strawhat’s fingers are careful as he takes the nail polish from Kidd, handling it like one would a fledgling bird or perhaps a rare butterfly. When Strawhat gets to work, he does so with his tongue sticking out of his mouth and a look of concentration on his face that Kidd has only seen in battle before.
Huh. Perhaps there are worse things out there than having Strawhat Luffy as a cell mate.
*
That first day in the stone pit ends with a veritable feast for both of them.
By the second, Strawhat has managed to piss off the guards enough that they hook his shackles to the wall, too, and the twisting and pulling and gnawing on the chains for hours on end had provided some form of entertainment.
On the third, Kidd catches heat right along with him for helping that old fart with not-starving, and they’re locked in two separate cells right next to each other instead. Which, as much as Kidd doesn’t care, means he can kiss the semi-functional plan he’d come up with goodbye. Strawhat attracts trouble like shit does the flies – it’s… not exactly new information. Sabaody is a little hard to forget, even two years later.
(This is the reason why Killer’s the one with the plans.)
Fuck it. He has never been the guy to shut up and follow another, no matter how many times the world will go tits up in Strawhat’s wake. No, Kidd has his own path to walk: One that will lead him to a crew to be saved and a ship to be recovered and traitors to be hunted and there, at the very end of it, to One Piece itself.
The fourth day sees Queen return to Udon under thunderous applause. By then, Kidd has slipped the guards and climbed his way to freedom without a single glance back.
*
The Wasteland is ahead, Flower Capital beyond that.
Sea Stone weighs heavier with every step, the sun too-bright in his eyes. Over and over, Kidd runs his thumb over his nails and smiles grimly.
There’s not a single crack in the polish.