Author's Note: "Phantom limb syndrome" is a phenomena affecting amputee victims. When a limb is not taken off correctly, it can often leave nerves intact, that still send synopses to the brain and make the person feel as if their missing limb is in pain or itching. This isn't really all that relevant, but I learned it in college so by golly I used it! XD

Author's other note: This was written as part of the One Piece Exchange on LiveJournal. It was a gift for someone; I've never written Shanks/Ben before... hope it's okay!

"You know I hate this kind of stuff."

"It's good for you. Releases your feminine side."

Shanks frowned and tried to cross his arms, frowned even more when he realized he couldn't, and spat, "I think your 'feminine side' is too far released to contain, Benjamin."

The first mate pretended not to notice the captain's snarkiness, and instead replied, "You know, I think some of our crew are going to be there."

"Doing what? Getting plastered? Of course they--"

"No, shut up and listen. Doing the poetry thing."

It was all the redhead could do to keep from bursting into laughter at that, and he had to pretend--quite unsuccessfully--to have a coughing spell while he followed Ben toward the tea cafe. He hated this outing more than any he had been on before; it was almost too much for him to bear having to drink girly drinks and listen to pirates read poetry. It was so humiliating that he had tried for days to tell himself that he didn't have to go, or that perhaps Ben might decide to mutiny before then, or even--dare he think it?--he might meet another sea monster and be stuck recovering for so long that the idea would completely be gone by the time he was healed.

But no, none of that. He was following the taller, older man to the rickety old cafe with only the mental image of Yasopp reciting poetry about his deceased lover to comfort him.

They had barely gotten within sight of the cafe when Shanks beat a fist against Ben's arm, hard, and said, "I'm not going," before turning around and trying to march away. But the first mate was ready for this, and he grabbed the captain by the collar to stop him.

"You're not getting out of this," he muttered in a low voice. "I don't care if I have to knock you out and drag your unconscious body in there, tie you to a chair, and wait until you wake up. You're going."

"As kinky as that sounds, I think I'll have to pass you up on it."

Ben gave Shanks a look that said, 'You're pushing it,' and so the captain knew he was defeated, but still he refused to go down without a fight. His next tactic was to play to the other man's sympathies, which, he reasoned, must be sensitive since he was so in tune with his "feminine side." So Shanks chewed on his lower lip for a moment before putting on his best pouting face and saying, "I don't feel so great."

"You're fine."

"No, I'm really just about to faint! I feel like I might throw up! Ohh everything is spinning--"

"Would you just knock it off?" Ben sighed. "You're ruining everything."

With a look of genuine hurt, Shanks said, "Am I?"

"You're faking being sick to get out of going. Are you really sick?"

"...No, I guess not..." The captain met Ben's gaze. "But I've got an itch that shouldn't exist!" With a completely pleased smile on his face he pointed to the air where his left arm had existed only a few months prior and laughed.

Ben shook his head, not allowing himself a moment of pity for the other man. "Maybe you should write a poem about it," he smirked, and stopped at the door of the tea cafe, which they had inevitably reached during their discussion. Shanks' face sunk visibly as his eyes scanned the building. He took in the sign, a dark green with brown lettering that spelled out, "Tea Cafe"--'How original,' he thought to himself. From there he frowned at the dark green curtains that hung at the window, and at the creaky red door with the paint chipping that stood in front of them. He could smell some kind of aroma--cinnamon, mostly--wafting through the cracks in the building, and he gave Ben one final look of pleading exasperation.

"Please... please... do not make me do this."

Ben clapped a hand on Shanks' shoulder and said, "Oh, captain. Honestly. You'll be fine." He grinned devilishly and led the redhaired man into the cafe, ignoring his horrible mood.

The moment they entered, Shanks's spirits lifted a bit--he could smell alcohol on the wind, and the raucous laughter told him that the only girls spending their time in the cafe that night were not at all the mousy, bookish type. He smirked at his men, many of whom were practically falling over each other in an attempt to buy a drink for the scantily-clad blonde at the bar.

"This might not be so bad after all," he muttered, and smirked with delight at the obvious jealousy displayed by his first mate. He took his place at a table not too far from the door and stretched his legs out on an empty chair, reclining and telling himself he might as well make the most of this dire situation.

When a waitress in a naughty maid's attire approached him, he grinned and perked up, but she only said, "Don't get too excited... I'm only here to get your order. And please don't say anything crude, I can't take it anymore."

Shanks blinked at her, his dark eyes scanning her face in an attempt to deduce whether or not she was really open for flirtation and just playing hard to get. Her brown hair was curled tightly around her face and cascading down her back, and her neckline was so deep that he had to exercise his utmost willpower to keep his gaze on her face. But the blush that crept to her cheeks and the way she kept tugging at the hem of her skirt told him exactly what he needed to know--she really did not want to be there.

"Alright, miss," he said in his most polite voice, "I won't make any suggestive comments, okay?"

She sighed and offered a nervous smile. "Really? I mean... usually we don't have too many pirates come in here, but we don't turn down customers for any reason. So when the owner heard we were renting the cafe out to a bunch of buccaneers, well, he said we had to make it worth their while."

Noting that Ben was watching from the bar, Shanks decided to carry on the conversation. After all, nothing was more fun than getting a jealous rise out of the first mate. He smiled at the girl and said, "Well, why did you work tonight if you didn't want to? You're pretty shy."

She looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching her talking instaed of taking orders, then replied, "I need the money. I'm not like the other girls around here, willing to do whatever it takes to make a little extra, but I am willing to work overtime if I have to." She shrugged, adjusted the tray and tiny notebook in her arms, and then said, "I like you. But I have to get back to work, so... what'll you have?"

Ben was walking over, so Shanks said, "Well, ah... this is tea cafe, right?"

"We have a lot of alcoholic drinks too."

"One of those, then!" he grinned. "Whichever you think is good. Best. Bring me the best one, in your opinion. ...Please," he added, just as Ben walked up. The girl nodded and sauntered to the back, glancing with a nod at the drink already in Ben's hand.

The first mate glowered as he sat down. "What was that about?"

"Just ordering," answered Shanks mildly. "What were you doing, anyway?"

"Just ordering."

Shanks opened his mouth to call Ben something nasty, but just as he did, their fellow crew member Lucky waddled into the stage and stood beneath the shadeless lights that hung from the ceiling. He cleared his throat no less than four times before finally speaking up.

"Uhh... thanks for coming... and uhh...," he stammered, woozy from alcohol already. "Pirate poetry," he finished with, as though it were a complete statement, and then stared at the bar for a long while.

Finally, a pirate from a different crew threw a bottle at him, and he continued. "Right! Uhh... am I first?" When his only answer was a groan from the crowd, he assumed he was, and cleared his throat again.

Shanks glared at Ben, who was laughing good-naturedly at their friend and paying no attention to the captain's discomfort. So Shanks, with one eye on the waitress who brought him his drink, sat back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair with a sigh of frustration, finding he had nothing to do but listen to Lucky's idiotic poem.

"Of all the ladies I have known And those that I hold dear,
No one I've loved has ever compared To rum and grog and beer!"

The cafe roared with peals of pirate laughter as Lucky made his wobbling way down from the stage and fell into a chair nearby. Even Shanks snorted into his drink, letting a cackle burst forth with the others and slapping the table. He elbowed Ben in the ribs. "How 'bout you? You got one?"

"You bet I do, but I'm not going yet."

Shanks stared in disbelief at him, as a pirate he didn't know took the stage and began eulogizing about some glorious crewmate he had lost in a shipwreck. The poem would have been rather nice, if its author hadn't been so very stoned that he kept forgetting the name of the beloved friend. But Shanks had had just enough to drink that the whole thing seemed very touching to him, and he had to remind himself that Ben was watching and if he cried, he'd never hear the end of it.

The night wore on, with almost every man from Shanks' crew reciting at least some form of poetry--although, admittedly, Yasopp's was a bawdy limerick about bar room girls that riled up plenty of the other men, but made Ben scowl angrily and mutter for awhile. Shanks grinned sidelong at him. "I knew you had a sensitive side," he laughed, and had to duck his head quickly to escape Ben's fist. He lowered his head and sipped from the peach tea the waitress had brought him--a virgin drink this time, because she claimed he'd had too much and the caffeine would bring him back down to earth. She'd apparently done the same to the rest of the pirates in the cafe, too, because they were all becoming a bit more sober with every passing hour.

Finally, after even more rounds of bad poetry, Ben stood up and made his way slowly to the front and the stage. Shanks noted how the man never seemed to show any signs of drunkenness, and he grinned appreciatively at that through his own mild stupor. The first mate stood very still before taking his place at the center of the stage, closing his eyes, and heaving a deep sigh. He was so serious and severe-looking that the whole place stood still, and even the blonde girl at the counter leaned forward over her drink to see what was going to happen.

Ben's eyes popped open suddenly, and he stared out into the crowd, a very light smirk spreading across his lips; Shanks knew in a heartbeat that he was enjoying the suspense he was earning, and therefore the redhead refused to make eye contact anymore. After another deep breath, Ben finally started to talk.

"There's something to be said of men Who drink and live life free.

Whether or not they admit it,
Their first love is the sea.

Their second loves might be those Of alcoholic type,

Or they might be keeping company With bar girl or with wife..."

Shanks rolled his eyes dramatically. "He's just repeating what everybody else said," he commented to his tea. Then, "But I guess he's not so bad at rhyming. Beats most of the others anyway."

The tea agreed, so Shanks decided to look up and watch Ben after all.

"Crewmates, too, are special ones With whom men share a bond,

And with love of ship and pirate flag,
No one can go wrong.

Brave and true are those few men Who would die for their post,

But those who love their captain best Understand the most."

The only sign that Ben was finished with his poem was the way he tilted his head to one side, as if waiting for a thunderous applause from the crowd. When none came, he slid back to his seat in silence, only allowing a smile when he was back to sipping his tea and the waitresses and bar girls were nodding appreciatively at the first heartfelt poem of the night.

The poem seemed to be what called the night to an end, and although a few more attempts at humor were made, the pirates soon began to disperse to their own respective ships and leave the girls to clean up the aftereffects of the party. Ben and Shanks made no visible sign of even knowing they were sitting at the same table, and Ben left first, exiting slowly, as if he were waiting for someone to stop him.

The waitress came back to take the dirty glasses from the table, glancing out the corner of her eyes at Shanks. He was frowning and clumsily pulling his cape over his shoulders when he noticed her watching him.

"You think that was about me, don't you?" he asked wearily.

"Yep," she answered. "I do. And I think it's sweet. Didn't know you were the captain, though."

Shanks stood and sauntered to the door, pausing for a moment to turn and say, "Then how did you know it was about me?"

"I guess I can tell those kinds of things when I see them."

"...What kinds of things?"

"Those kinds. Goodnight, captain."

Biting his lip, Shanks shut the door to the tea cafe behind him, and noticed Ben not much farther ahead on the path back to the dock. He jogged lightly to catch up, muttered inaudibly into the late night air, and patted the first mate on the back. In return, Ben slid an arm around his captain's waist, grinning at the uncomfortable blush that crept to his cheeks.

"It's good for you," he joked. "Releases your feminine side." And they walked back to their ship together.

-end-