I needed a doctor for Shanks' crew so I randomly selected one of the crew members who has shown up on multiple occasions and came up with a name for him. Incidentally, in the filler episode where there is a flashback to Yasopp dueling a famous marine sharpshooter who is now a bounty hunter - Daddy the Father, I think his name is - the guy that I had picked out is shown bandaging Yasopp's arm and I was like "Score!" XD Anyhoo, it's the bald guy with strange, dark-rimmed eyes (I think he has an earring in the anime sometimes). If you google "red haired pirates" and find the shot of the crew from a chapter cover, he's the one crossing his arms and baring his teeth in blue stripes. Yup. 3 Now I have a special bond with him...

Anyway! Sorry for rambling! Please enjoy!

-bows-

-S

"-and he should be coming 'round any minute now."

A surge of light and shadows quickly calmed into a familiar face, inches from his own.

"Good God, man! What the hell-" Shanks cut himself off in order to give a yelp of pain in answer to the impressive throb at the back of his head.

"Aye, and here he is like a clockwork. Morning, Captain."

Shanks groaned as he settled back into the rolled blanket acting as his pillow only to immediately repeat the offense towards his cranium as his memory caught up with him.

"Ah! Beckman! Where's Beckm-aaAOW!"

The Red-Haired Pirates acting doctor, most commonly referred to as Hack and Whack Jack, a chiropractor by trade and the ship's bludgeondry expert, had foreseen this repeated act of idiocy and forced the panicked captain back to his bed without sparing him a glance.

"I'm right here, Captain."

Fiery bangs flopped into his vision as Shanks slowly let his head turn towards the unmistakable, low voice and found his first mate half-grimacing and half-grinning back at him.

"Ben."

The continuing patter of pain in the captain's skull could do nothing to stop the ease with which Shanks' mouth spread into a small smile. The last time their eyes had met was seconds before the cannon staring them down was fired.

The narrow backside of Doctor Jack filled Shanks' vision and broke his moment of silent communication with Beckman.

"Does this hurt?"

"Dammit, Jack!"

"Can you lift yer leg?"

"I can't tell if you do it for me!"

"How 'bout the other one?"

"I'm telling you, it's my arm and that's all!"

Shanks' chest cautiously rose and fell as he lifted his eyes to the ceiling again, drowning out the still battling tones of the notoriously calloused physician and his protesting patient. He could remember nothing past the bang and missing the ground beneath his feet. He smirked slightly, humor bubbling up where disbelief or gratitude would have appeared on most other people's expressions. It had been, for the first time he could recall, someone else's lucky mistake instead of his inattention or overzealousness that brought he and Beckman to the corner of the hull reserved for medical emergencies today.

It was mildly ridiculous to conceive that bandit riffraff as clueless and wholly unqualified to be anywhere near a ship as these imbeciles had been had managed to land the two of them under Hack and Whack Jack's care and caused this nagging pain in his who-even-knew-how-many-berries head.

Without really thinking, the still pensive pirate lifted an arm in order to intercept the pint of ale that was all but attached to the good doctor's left hand and propped himself up enough to take a long, hearty sip.

Thinking back, Beckman must have performed nothing short of a miracle in order to end up in the makeshift cot next to him. He could still clearly feel the suffocating dampness of the fog fighting with the heat of cannon fire from some much too close portion of nowhere. The lump he could tap at the back of his head was from hitting the rail. Quick in his wits as ever, Beckman had heaved his captain in the direction of the projectile and as far as possible from the soon to be flying rubble. As Shanks saw it from over the rim of a second deep draw of rum, that cannon had about as little business being fired in the weather conditions as Beckman had being alive and quite literally kicking.

"Leave off already, you blood-hungry bastard! I'll be sure to tell you when I start dying and you actually have a job to do!"

Shanks took a hurried final drink before raising the now empty mug again in time for Jack to seamlessly reclaim it as he turned upon the captain, lingering just long enough over the firmly frowning first mate to make it clear that he was abandoning his bedside at his own discretion as opposed to Beckman's orders. The corners of his mouth curved down over his usually bared teeth after a dry sip. This was followed by what the red-headed patient felt was an excessively forceful taking of his vitals, through which his faint smile stuck firmly in place, stretching even further in pain only once or twice.

As the doctor carelessly flopped each of the prostrate captain's limp up and let each fall Shanks inquired through his gritted grin, "So how'd you wind up here, Beckman? Not that I'm not thrilled to see you... hate to have had to make someone like Jack me new mate."

"That would be a problem, Captain."

With a sharp grunt, the long-haired man propped himself up on his elbows, one hand stretching down to pat his pant pocket. The venture proved successful and, with some awkward adjustments in elevation, Beckman managed to get a cigarette to his lips and then lower himself completely to take a breather before trying for his matchbox.

"That's mostly why I stick around anyways." At a rough punch to the shoulder from the doctor, Shanks rolled to his left side, sparing only the briefest of seconds to shoot a scowl at his merciless medical officer before training his evaluatory gaze on Beckman as he continued, "Just couldn't live with myself after death if I knew I'd put you through the pain of finding me a replacement."

"That's quite thoughtful of you, Beckman," the captain said through a smile with a particularly gentle incarnation of his eternal humor. The quiet interjection succeeded in winning the demand in Shank's unyielding stare an answer in the form of a fleet flick of the eyes in a peripheral glance from the equally unbending first mate.

As if miffed at being neglected from the silent communiqués, the doctor reminded Shanks of his existance with a hearty prod to the base of his skull.

"Jack!" came the hissed reply, followed shortly by Shanks' best hurt expression tossed over his pain-hunched shoulder.

"So that's the spot then?"

"I should say so! Or did you think I was just wincing in anguish for a laugh?"

"A bit o' time and ice should do it, you lucky fool."

"Quit with the poking! You're set to make another bump the way you're poundin' at me head!"

Beckman took a deep breath and held it before heaving his weight up to rest on his elbows and try for the pocket again while the captain took his turn at fending off Hack and Whack Jack. He studied the bandage on his right forearm as the fingers of the opposite hand groped in the depths of his pocket for the rectangular shape of the suddenly elusive matchbox.

As far as injuries went, it was as good as nothing, especially considering the circumstances. That wasn't going to be the problem. The split second look at his captain's expression when his attention had been fully concentrated on himself told Beckman more than enough.

At last he found the corner of the quested-after box and settled back to his dorsal side, resting matches on his chest. After trying the right arm and receiving a firm denial in the form of a bolt of pain shooting up to his shoulder, the ever-resourceful mate wrestled the box open and freed a match one-handed; then removed the waiting cigarette in favor of the recently acquired box in order to strike a flame into life. As he traded the box back for the smoke using his pinky and ring finger while holding tight to the burning match between thumb and pointer, Beckman began playing out all the possibilities in their impending verbal clash.

The end of the cigarette glowed bright and then dimmed as the flame lapped at it.

"Do you really have to do th-eeh!" The red-haired captain cringed at the crack of his own neck as it turned in the large, practiced palms of the adjusting expert. Jack's smoothly shaven head tilted slightly in the same direction as his patient's as he lost no time in lolling the helpless head to the other side and killed Shanks' next protest before he even found the breath to back it.

Beckman snuffed the match between well-calloused fingers. He hated to go into battle without a plan, but his thoughts were failing to stick together.

"If ya really want to know, it's wholly unnecessary," Hack and Whack replied to the now pathetically blinking captain's earlier inquiry, moving his hands to his hips. "Not that a pop here and there hurts. You're about as maladjusted as a fish on solid ground and I don't imagine it'll do a thing for yer recovery time, iffen yer interested."

The wave of defeat that had formed over Beckman washed over to the captain at long last as they exchanged self-sympathetic glances. Jack crossed his arms - his customary stance - and looked over the only two casualties of their most recent escapade at a few feet back from the ends of the barrel and plank beds. He allowed a strange but not uncomfortable silence to settle in, reading more in the quickly broken eye contact and respective skyward stares of his two superiors than perhaps they guessed. He made a hearty sniff, passing a sturdy thumb over his sharp nose.

"Time an' ice. That'll do the trick... I'll be back in a giant's blink or so and you'll be best off if I don't have to do any searchin' for ya." He sidled between the sheets hung up to seperate his temporary hospital from the rest of the hold.

A knot of tension was released as the yellowing cloth flapped back into place, but the collective sigh of relief was premature as the gravelly voice of the doctor called from beyond the curtain, "You owe me for the drink, mind you!"

"Pah! And you owe me for every drink you've ever had while we were in port!" Shanks retorted with a good-humored huff of indignation. Beckman let a mouthful of smoke escape in a steady stream. "And you owe me an explanation."

The startled first mate choked on the last of his smokey exhale at the sound of the quiet demand and the sight of a determined Shanks, rolled back to his side and smiling steadily at him. He would just have to enter the fray blindly it seemed.

Beckman hastily returned his cigarette to its usual perch and answered with the closest thing to calm that he could muster, "The ball cleared the deck, Captain. It was aimed a little higher than I guessed and dropped right into the water a good ten feet off the starboard side. It was a saber that got me this." He lifted the stiff and bandaged limb as best he could, more out of a desire to distract than a necessity to display, but the captain's one-of-a-kind gaze, just as comforting as it was dangerous, did not take the bait.

If he could not distract the captain, he'd distract himself: Beckman freed his smoke for another deep exhale.

"A few poor devils managed to board for about a minute and a half. I didn't have much else to block with while I was trying for my gun." The loose lock of hair that never seemed to obey the confines of Beckman's sweeping ponytail fell across the first mate's sternest expression as he angled his head in order to state firmly and with some degree of optimistic finality, "And that's the end of it. No casualties, no damage taken, no reason to give me that look."

Shanks sighed through a smile and rolled to his back once more. "And which look is that, me love?"

"The one that says 'I've got a piece of me mind to give to you, Ben Beckman'."

Shanks did not look down, but continued beaming with something akin to weariness at the wooden planks above. After a few beats spent studying the tired curve, Beckman too raised his eyes to the ceiling in defeat. The captain was doing him a favor by sparing him the sight of that unsettling and alien variation of his most well-used expression full on.

"When will you learn to trust me?"

"If I didn't trust you with my life from the moment I first called you 'captain', I would have tossed your drunken carcass into the sea right then and there."

"Not that I don't appreciate it, but you take your duties to the extreme sometimes, me dear. I am capable of taking care of meself, you know."

"I know. It's not an issue of trust or care. It's chance. And when did you last hear of me taking a gamble?"

"That would be never, me love, but I can't help but notice that this, erm- how should I say it- overprotective side," Beckman suddenly felt quite strongly that he would take any bet in the world if only he'd injured his left arm instead of the right so he could discretely hide the flush exploding across the bridge of his nose from the captain, "has only surfaced just recently. As in after I told you that I thought you were the single most beddable creature I'd ever encounter in me life."

"Begging your pardon, Captain, but I believe I was the one who told you those exact words after you admitted to dreaming about me saving your life as a mermaid."

"Ha! Did I really come clean about that? I remember me telling you the fantasy where you wore your hair down and kept banging me in the supply closet under the quarter deck..."

"No, you let that one drop when we were actually having a go at it in the supply closet a week or so after. It was definitely the mermaid story."

"And I definitely came up with the beddable line, but that's not the point," the smile that stretched beneath mischievously sparkling eyes was its normal self once more and Beckman could no longer keep his eyes from devouring every inch of the beloved expression. "The point, Beckie, me love, is that I think you're mixing together what ought not to be mixed."

His sharp eyes sobered without damaging the integrity of the upward arc below.

"Am I right?"

Beckman took a thoughtful drag on his cigarette, brow evening out as it always did when he considered the words of his captain. Shanks attended with indefatigable patience reserved especially for conversations with his first mate.

It was always worth the wait.

When Beckman spoke again it was with a measured release of smoke. "No, Captain, I think you're wrong here." The addressed carefully maneuvered to his side in anticipation. "At least on your last point. This - what are we calling it, 'over-protective side' I think it was? yes- isn't showing up because of feelings I have now that I didn't have before. It's for the same reason I didn't just give you the boot on day one only deeper, I guess, at least, that's how I see it."

Again, he felt the burning desire that fate had simply let his other arm take the beating this go around, though for entirely different reasons. But it took a hell lot more than fate to stop Ben Beckman when it came to Red-Haired Shanks.

With the utmost care and caution - and no dearth of difficulty - the larger man shifted to the side of his bandaged limb and then closed the gap between the makeshift cots with the unscathed arm. The comparatively giant hand came to rest on the unshaven jaw, brushing back ruddy bangs with gentle, thick fingers.

"No matter what, you're my captain first. And a captain may chose to go down with his ship, but this ship will go down without her captain, and it may be that you'll have no say about that."

The strong digits brushed down to hold the scruffy chin, thumb straying to toy with the perfectly curved lower lip and then made to return but was caught by a fierce and flirty nibble.

"Bu' you ge' a say, eh?" Shanks managed around the hostage thumb.

"Correct."

The red-head let the hand return to its owner in order to remove the cigarette from the corner of a relaxed grin.

"And you being captain absolutely doesn't mean you have the slightest idea what you're doing. Exhibit A: faulty memories of what should be one of the greatest moments in your short lifetime."

"Ha!" Shanks flopped to his back with more vehemence than intended and was reminded with a punch of pain why he had been moving with considerable prudence earlier, but satisfied it with only a curt "Tch!" instead of the string of curses that came to his mind.

Beckman disguised a snort of humor as a strange sigh as he slid into a similar posture to save his arm from further stiffening.

"I know enough to call a brick wall when I see it. No use talking it out with you, me stubborn love." He heaved a mildly exaggerated sigh, smile still firmly in tact.

"Hm."

From where Beckman lay, it seemed a little spontaneity didn't hurt as much as he'd guessed. He took a satisfied drag only to be knocked off balance yet again by the quiet and calm tone of his captain that never failed to send a shiver up his spine.

"Though if I wasn't worried about old Hack and Whack taking me hide, I'd get up right this instant and recreate the scene just to remind you how it really all went down."

"And if I wasn't sure that Jack would snap my other arm with a glance if I so much as put a foot off this cot, I'd get up right this instant and correct you."

"Oh, drop the anchor on it, the both of ya!" The unmistakable call of the world's most accomplished sharp shooter took the debating duo wholly by surprise and was more than effective in cutting their conversation short. "You sound like you're god-damned married..."

Yasopp bobbed his foot from its perch atop the opposite knee, chin on a fist as he skimmed last weeks paper. He shook his head as he turned the page. He, after all, would know.

"And neither of you are right, by the by. Shanks opened by saying he thought Beckman was the single most incredible creature he'd ever encounter to which Beckman answered he was so glad the captain had finally noticed. After about five minutes of sloppy spit-swapping, Captain put in that it didn't hurt that he found Ben the most beddable mate in all four blues as well. Ben remarked that that was a new one and if you've forgotten the rest you have my blessing."

There was not a corner on the ship or a crewman aboard it who couldn't hear the roar of Red-Haired Shanks' laughter. Jack cracked his neck as he straightened from his position bent over the rail.

"Sounds as though they've had their dose of time. I'd best be gettin' down there with the ice."