AN: INCLUDES GENDERBENDING
_____
Jack Sparrow squinted at the woman standing before him, cigar smoke curling lazily around her sharp features as if the desert itself obeyed her breathing.
"So," Jack said, rolling his aching shoulder and forcing a grin he did not entirely feel, "care to tell me who you are, or is this one of those dramatic moments where I'm supposed to die first and learn later?"
The woman took a slow drag from her cigar, exhaled, and regarded him with a look usually reserved for insects that had wandered somewhere they very much did not belong.
"It doesn't matter," she replied calmly. "What matters is that you were unlucky enough to meet me here. Of all places."
Jack sighed. "You know, people say that to me a lot. Usually right before something explodes."
He drew his sword. The familiar weight should have been comforting—but instead, a sharp ache pulsed up his arm, radiating from his shoulder down to his fingers. He grimaced, flexed once, and ignored it.
The woman's eyes flicked briefly to his hand.
Ah. She noticed.
Jack straightened. "Right then. If this is a duel, I should mention I don't like hitting women."
She smiled.
"That's your choice."
The sand beneath Jack's boots suddenly surged upward like a living thing.
"—Bugger—!"
Jack yelped and leapt backward just as a spear of sand erupted where his legs had been. He stumbled, barely keeping his footing as the desert shifted violently beneath him.
He stared.
Then stared harder.
"Wait," he said slowly. "That was sand."
The woman chuckled, the sound low and amused. "Sharp observation."
She raised her hand, fingers spreading—and her arm unraveled, grains cascading and reforming with unnatural fluidity.
"Since you're about to die anyway," she continued, "I suppose introductions won't hurt. The name's Crocodile."
Jack blinked.
"…Crocodile."
"Yes."
Jack looked around. Endless dunes. No water. No cover. No escape.
Desert.
Sand.
Crocodile.
He laughed—once, breathless and incredulous.
"Oh, that's just unfair," Jack muttered. "Desert. Sand. And a woman named Crocodile. The universe is mocking me."
Crocodile tilted her head. "You catch on quickly."
She took another drag from her cigar and flicked it aside. The moment it hit the ground, the sand swallowed it whole.
"I ate the Suna Suna no Mi," she said casually. "Sand Logia."
Jack's grin faded.
Logia.
Of course.
He tightened his grip on his sword. "Right. Brilliant. So I can't hit you."
"You can try," Crocodile replied.
She vanished.
Jack's instincts screamed.
He twisted, Observation Haki flaring just enough to warn him—sand tore past his cheek, slicing the air where his head had been a heartbeat earlier.
Jack staggered back, barely parrying as her spade reformed and crashed against his blade.
CLANG.
The impact rattled his bones.
"Ow—!" Jack hissed, hopping back. "You hit hard for someone made of sand!"
Crocodile pressed forward relentlessly, spade morphing, stretching, reforming with terrifying versatility. Jack dodged, rolled, twisted—never staying still, never meeting her head-on longer than a fraction of a second.
"You move a lot," Crocodile noted coolly, swinging again.
"I've been told it's charming!" Jack shot back, ducking as a sand scythe whistled over his head.
He slashed.
His blade passed straight through her torso.
Crocodile's body dispersed into grains, reforming behind him.
Jack clicked his tongue. "Ah. That's still annoying."
She struck.
Jack barely avoided the blow, sand tearing his coat and scraping skin. He stumbled, breath coming faster now. His arm throbbed violently every time he swung—like lightning trapped beneath his skin.
"You're clever," Crocodile admitted. "But clever pirates still die."
She raised both arms.
The desert answered.
A wave of sand surged toward Jack, towering, roaring like a living wall.
Jack's eyes widened. "Nope. Don't like that."
He ran.
The sand chased him, swallowing ground, closing distance impossibly fast. Jack skidded, rolled, barely staying ahead as he darted sideways, then felt it—
That strange pressure.
That awareness.
Haki.
Jack flared his Observation again.
He leapt sideways at the last moment as the wave collapsed where he had been, burying the ground completely.
Jack panted, sand clinging to his hair, his coat, his teeth.
He straightened slowly.
"…Right," he muttered. "So dodging works. Mostly."
Crocodile watched him closely now. Her amusement had shifted—subtly, but unmistakably.
"You're not normal," she said.
Jack shrugged. "I get that a lot too."
They clashed again.
Spade met sword. Sand met steel. Jack danced around her strikes, taunting, sidestepping, never letting her settle into a rhythm.
"You swing like you're angry," Jack remarked, ducking low. "Maybe try breathing exercises?"
Crocodile scowled and blasted sand outward in a violent shockwave. Jack was thrown back, skidding across the dunes, pain exploding through his arm as he landed hard.
He groaned, clutching his shoulder.
Haki reflux.
Kureha's voice echoed in his mind.
Make your body ready. Or it will break you.
Jack laughed weakly. "Now she tells me."
Crocodile advanced, boots crunching softly. "You're slowing down."
Jack forced himself upright, teeth clenched. "You'd be surprised what I can do while half-dead."
She lunged.
Jack raised his sword.
Something in him snapped into place.
Pain flared—white-hot, blinding—but Jack gritted his teeth and pushed.
His blade darkened.
Not fully. Not smoothly.
But enough.
Armament.
The sword met Crocodile's spade—
—and hit.
The impact sent Crocodile flying backward, sand scattering violently as she crashed into the dunes.
She coughed.
Blood splattered onto the sand.
Jack stared at his sword, breathing hard, arm screaming in protest.
"…That," he said shakily, "worked."
Crocodile wiped blood from her lip, eyes wide with genuine shock.
"Haki?" she demanded. "You—how?"
Jack smirked despite the pain. "Talent."
She rose slowly, her movements no longer as fluid. Sand drifted off her body unevenly now.
Jack noticed.
He pointed with his sword. "You're injured. Slower. Weaker."
Her jaw tightened.
She didn't deny it.
She remembered Whitebeard's fist.
The way it had crushed her arrogance as easily as it crushed bone.
She had fled. Hidden. Crawled back to Arabasta to recover.
And now—this pirate.
Barely into the Grand Line.
Annoying. Smirking. Dangerous.
They clashed again.
Neither was at full strength.
Sand hardened. Steel screamed. Jack's haki flared and faded erratically, tearing pain through his arm every time he forced it.
Crocodile pressed harder, but her attacks lacked their earlier inevitability.
The desert held its breath.
Two wounded predators circled.
Neither willing to fall.
Neither ready to win.
And the night watched, waiting to see who would break first.