Work Text:
Garp had downed god-knows how many glasses of liquor. He doesn’t remember when, but by some point he just stopped asking Koby to pour him a glass, and to just give him the whole bottle. Koby, who usually doesn’t give any back talk, is quick to swipe it away before he can even think about getting another drink in.
“Sir, you should stop. You’ll get sick.” Koby gently rubs his back. Garp mumbles something that even he himself cannot make out.
“That scar there. On your forehead.” He lifts a thick finger and points. Koby touches it. “Y-Yes, sir?”
“I’ve got one, too,” He tries not to slur, “But I can’t show you where it is or I’ll get fired.” The pink-haired boy in front of him raises an eyebrow. His interest piqued, “It’s just you and me in here, you know. You can tell me anything, sir.” Garp, drunk, can’t help but find the situation somewhat hilarious. He doesn’t know if it’s from the alcohol, but he bellows out a laugh, sitting up from his desk, and then pointing at his crotch. Koby blushes.
Of course, a dick injury.
His face reddens a little more.
Despite already being quite thoroughly embarrassed, he wants to pry more. He needs to get Garp’s mind off the alcohol, anyway. And, to be honest, it is a little funny to think about that happening to Garp.
“H— How’d that happen..?”
“Have I ever told you about my son, Dragon?” He shakes his head. He wonders where this is going, “Little shit tore right through me. Can you believe that?”
He didn’t quite know what he meant, but from the dick injury, to bringing up his son— Oh dear. Koby was willing to hazard somewhat of a guess. “You did.. You did that with your son?”
“Did what? Give birth to him? Of course I did!” He laughs again, putting a fist to his desk.
“…Excuse me?”
“Was 20-something when I gave birth to him. I was in the Navy back then. Just like you.”
The scar Garp had was from Dragon’s birth. Beginning at his clitoris and ending at the start of his anus. He can almost feel Dragon ripping him open, as clear as day— or as clear as the stars were in the night sky, because after all, he did give birth to him at night. He had been laying in bed that night, desperate to go to bed after facing god knows what— all he knew was that something was pissing him off. But, his rest didn’t last for long, because as soon as he drifted off to sleep, the sooner he woke up, realizing that his pants were actively being drenched in the sticky amniotic fluid that cushioned his son in his tummy.
“I was sure he’d be a girl,” Garp sighs, words slurred on liquor, shaking his glass full of nothing but ice and stray golden drops. He laughs and sighs once more, “They thought the same about me, too.”
Koby nods.
Garp really did think he was going to die. The pain was unbearable. Grit teeth and bloodsoaked. He even had to cut the cord himself. If that pocket knife wasn’t beside him, he probably would’ve passed out from the shock alone — the shock of pushing out a baby — the shock of not being able to tell him about the product of what they’d done. Garp ground his teeth, desperately swallowing down any memory he was having of him.
And there he was. Dragon.
“Cried so hard his lungs coulda gave out. I should’ve been the one crying.”
After all, he had hid Dragon for 9 whole months. Well, for 6 whole months, because he hadn’t even known he was pregnant until 3 months in.
“Why did you hide it? You could’ve gotten help.”
“And let everyone know I fucked Gol D. Roger?”
Koby resists the urge to let any indication of his utter shock show. But he can’t hide his blushing face. It is quite hard to not picture that sort of thing in his head.
Was it the alcohol that was making Garp say all of this? Or was it something else entirely? He didn’t know and he didn’t really care. He just needed to get this out.
After he pushed out Dragon, he’d fallen asleep for almost a whole day, with his son held up to his chest. When noticed missing, they came looking for him, and the secret that had been bubbling up inside of him was revealed. It was funny. They really did think he was dying, mainly because of the vaginal bleeding. He was completely fine, of course, but the tear was particularly severe. The doctors did the best they could, as they weren’t trained in any sort of postnatal care. Stitches were the only option. He hates the scar, it was ugly, so very ugly. But maybe, quite possibly, it was a reminder of Roger.
“Ruined my sex life. It healed eventually, but it didn’t quite look the same.”
When word got out about what happened, it was insufferable.
It was so long ago, but even the remnants of those words still hurt him a little bit. Perhaps he threw himself into the Navy because it was the most ultra masculine thing he could think of doing, to solidify his place as a man. But it didn’t matter with Roger. Roger saw Garp as a man and nothing but. His man . He cannot comprehend him as anything else, let alone the confused, mutilated mother, let alone the failed daughter that he had been made out to be.
“I’m glad you kids have your they/them’s and your xe/xer’s now. I don’t understand a damn thing but at least you’re more accepting than they were back then.” Garp undoes his tie, and then the top button of his shirt.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Garp can’t forget the anger in his superiors voice.
There is silence for a moment. Dragon is cradled in his hands, “I'm gonna name him Dragon.” Wiping a drop of milk from his so small, so small lips, “Yeah. ‘s a nice name.”
“You’re crazy.”
That wasn’t even the worst part. He barely cared about the misgendering and the snarky comments. What he truly cared about was Roger .
This whole situation could have been avoided. It was supposed to be a one-off fling that he would forget in his drunken stupor. Once, and nothing more. That one time, where Roger put his hands on his face and said how pretty he looked. Once, and nothing more . So how did it end up like this? Roger’s bed was soft and his sheets were clean. If Garp were better with words then, he would’ve told Roger what he meant to him, how happy he was seeing him like this. He trusted him. He was the only one who had seen him completely bared and vulnerable.
“Pretty boy.” A brushing of hands against the messily scarred bottom of his pec, and then a pinch at his manhood that makes Garp tense up. The words are flowing back to him, almost rushing. He remembers. He remembers all of it. Pressing him down, asking Garp if he was allowed to kiss.
“Hah! That was one hell of a night, Garp. Thanks for the thrill.” Garp kisses his teeth. Looking away.
Maybe that’s what made it hurt all the more. He was a coward — Garp never dared admit how much he loved Roger. When he learned he was pregnant, it hit like a punch in the gut. A punch he hoped would make him miscarry. He hopes to tell Roger about this, but before he can’t, he stops himself.
He can’t be a burden.
The last time he saw him was the day he was executed. Even then, he does not dare say what happened. Instead, Roger reaches his arms through the cell, and brings him in for a kiss before the inevitable.
Maybe it was all some sort of divine punishment for fooling around with a pirate.
Garp is just on the verge of what he believes to be crying, choking up. “Sir, maybe you shoul—“ and then he vomits.
The alcohol really was too much.
“Oh, god. Sir—!“ Koby groans, looking like he was going to cry too, “Look at what I told you! Come with me.” And he carries him away with all the strength he has.
The next day, Garp is no longer sick, and to Koby, he looks like he hasn’t an inkling of what happened last night.
They pass in the hallway, when out of the blue, Garp says:
“What we spoke about yesterday— please don’t tell anyone.”
“Yes, sir.”