Bonney was yelling again.

“You call this a course? My grandma could draw a straighter line with a hangover and a blindfold!” she barked, practically spitting over your shoulder as you adjusted the wheel.

You didn’t even turn. You just sighed, knuckles tightening. “She probably could if she wasn’t a dead piece of jerky already, Bonney.”

That earned you a hard smack to the back of the head.

“Say that again, dumbass!”

You spun, forehead to hers, eyes blazing. “How about you stop shouting every time we hit a wave?! It's called sailing, not smooth gliding on a damn kitchen floor!”

She growled. “You’re lucky I don’t toss your ungrateful ass overboard.”

“Then who’s gonna keep your pretty ship from crashing into rocks, huh?”

Silence. Just the hum of the sea and the soft creak of wood.

You both pulled back.

That was the rhythm. Yelling. Insults. Explosions of chaos. And yet, somehow, it worked. You weren’t friends. You were… Bonney and her navigator. A storm and the poor bastard trying to keep the ship afloat.

But something shifted today.

She disappeared below deck for hours after you docked in a quiet, unclaimed port near the Red Line. No food, no yelling. The air felt… wrong.

When you found her in her quarters, the door creaked. The light was low. The air was thick with the salt of the sea and something else. Something bitter.

Bonney was slumped in the corner. Hat off. Eyes red. A crumpled transponder snail receiver by her feet.

You stepped in, slow. Careful.

“Clowney?”

No answer. Just a sniff. A weak one.

You swallowed. You’d never seen her like this. Vulnerable. Fragile. Human.

“They got him,” she said finally, voice cracking. “They f*cking got him. Saturn. CP-0. They dragged my dad back like an animal.”

Kuma.

You didn’t say anything.

“I told myself I wouldn’t cry,” she mumbled, head bowed. “But he’s… he’s all I had. All I was. And now—”

“You still have him,” you said firmly. “He’s still out there. Breathing.”

She looked up at you, face streaked with tears and disbelief.

“And I’ll get him back,” you added.

Bonney scoffed, bitter. “You? You’re just the navigator.”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you stepped forward, took her beloved, ragged pink captain’s coat draped nearby, and placed it softly on your shoulders.

“If you can’t stand up right now, Bonney,” you said, voice steady, “then I’ll stand in your place.”

She stared. Stunned.

“Until you’re ready,” you continued, “I’ll be the one to take the wheel for all of us. You can scream and curse later, but now… let me.”

Your hand moved slowly—deliberately—and you reached for her hat, placing it gently on her head. Like a crown. No laughter. No mockery. Just quiet respect.

She clutched the brim, fingers shaking.

“…You idiot,” she muttered. But there was no venom in her voice. Just a broken chuckle.

You nodded, and chuckled back. “You're worst, piggy."

Then, you turned, stepping out of her quarters with her coat still warming your back, heart pounding.

The crew was waiting on deck.

You exhaled and raised your voice. “Change of plan! Set course west! We're going to Egghead.”

Murmurs spread like wildfire.

And behind you, you heard her step out—silent, watching.

Not shouting.

Not mocking.

Just trusting.

For once, Jewelry Bonney wasn’t the one holding the weight of the world.

You were.

And you’d carry it. Until she was ready to take it back.