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The horizon stared at him, frustratingly out of reach. Was it out of this frustration that some foolish civilisations believed that the earth was flat?
Futile musings, brought about by the endless expanse of the sea around them.
The monotonous, provoking scenery was one of the reasons Law detested sailing above sea-level, along with the unnecessary risks that followed their exposure. However, since they were travelling with the Straw Hats, it would be a larger headache to remain close were they to submerge. Besides, he was sure that Mugiwara-ya would not hesitate to do something as stupid as jump in the ocean just to see the submarine drift by, regardless of his own death.
Another ship was sailing in their vicinity, but not near enough for Law to be on his guard and stop his crew from temporarily turning into children. He allowed himself a soft smile as they raced on the deck, playing tag and generally enjoying the open air after weeks of being cooped up within the metal walls of the submarine. If he were to be frank with himself, he was also savouring the warmth of the sun on his face and the salty air on his skin.
Law let his neck drop, gently stretching out the kinks as he heard the crew settle in several lounging positions around the deck, perfectly imitating lazy cats. All they needed were saucers of milk.
The other ship was much closer to them now, even Mugiwara-ya was on alert.
A cannonball nearly grazed the side of their submarine, effectively transforming it into a particularly savage cradle.
Between one blink and another, the crew was positioned around the ship, ready to defend each other.
Between one blink and another, they were surrounded.
Flocks of marines were everywhere, their white and blue shirts contrasting horridly with the yellowness of the Tang. Mugiwara-ya’s screams of battle reached his ears, tinged with the thrill of the fight and a pure rush of adrenaline.
Marines flew into the ocean, propelled by rubbery feet, furry legs, and a multitude of other weapons.
But there was no shortage of them.
Not that Law minded; his Room encapsulated the marines that were arrogant enough to believe themselves capable of surpassing him in close combat, promptly taking away their arms and feet. Would they attempt to walk on their ankles? They did, flopping like penguins for a singular second before they went down, where his crew were more than happy to deal the finishing blows. It was a routine they were used to with low-level marines: he’d do the show, they’d take the final bow.
Unless they were being overrun.
Then it was a massacre, blood cutting through the air in marvellous arcs, painting their planks red and decorating their overalls. (Cleaning was a bitch after, but they still revelled in it.)
The marines on the submarine thinned considerably, aided by Long-nose-ya’s projectiles, and Law was about to transport himself and Bepo on to the Sunny before he caught it.
A glint of light from the marine ship moving parallel to their own, too far for any marines to cross over– maybe they were backup?
A nuzzle, strikingly grey against the brown mast.
It was aimed at the submarine, but not at him. No, the gun was angled too much to the right to hit him.
Nobody would get to the gunman in time, not even Law.
Bepo was on his right, covering his back.
Bepo was on his right, with another gun pointed at him from the front.
Teleporting a marine in Bepo’s position would be too risky: the marine could move out of the way and the bullet would risk hitting Shachi, who was right in front of Bepo.
Fuck.
His stamina was beyond depleted, but adrenaline is a wicked drug. The blue room shimmered as it expanded, encompassing him and his first mate. ‘Shambles’ barely passed his lips before he was standing where Bepo had been, not even regaining his footing before something(s?) slammed into his chest and back, sending him to his knees.
Bepo was safe.
The room fell, its mission accomplished.
A cough forced its way out of his throat, tendrils of fiery, agonizing pain echoing from his chest and leaving his extremities tingling and laden. Huh. He’d have to fix himself up later – there was no way he could create a room at the moment.
His fingers twitched, to no avail.
He couldn’t even feel his power reaching back to him.
Liquid dribbled from his lips. Red. Blood? The darkness encroaching on his vision made it difficult to ascertain.
He tipped sideways, unable to maintain his balance, but he didn’t much care. Sleep sounded good. The expected, harsh impact with the deck never came. Instead, hands eased him down. Too many hands. One cradled his head, lowering it gently before thumbing his eyelids open – the light hurt. The same hand brushed his hair back, seemingly apologising for the distress.
Why were there so many people touching him? His legs were straightened and fingers dug into his jaw. That hurt, but his tongue wouldn’t cooperate enough for him to tell them to stop.
He attempted to pull away, heels pushing against the deck so he could scoot back.
The white-hot flash of pain washed over him like a tempest’s wave. No crewmember could stop him from being swept into it, careening with the currents before being dumped in a vast abyss of pain and spasms and fiery nerves.
His lungs burned as he struggled for air.
Water rushed into (out of?) his mouth.
His chest caved beneath the pressure.
And then, he was let go.
For a brief moment, he felt splinters under his nails.
Then, there was movement.
Pain.
His stomach rebelled, but he didn’t recall throwing up.
Sleep claimed him.
“He’s seizing!” Shachi yelled, shoving Law’s hat beneath his head in an attempt to prevent him from cracking open his skull.
Another shudder travelled through Law’s body and Shachi reflexively turned him on his side, briefly noting the other hands that helped him as Law threw up, coughing feebly when some of the vomit caught on his lip.
His teeth were tinged red.
“Poison?”
Penguin’s fingers pressed beneath Law’s jaw to track his pulse. Erratic. The rest of the crew formed a protective barrier around them, ensuring that nobody got to their captain. Jean Bart’s roar was a welcome sound as more marines were thrown overboard or else mercilessly annihilated. Bepo’s electro crackled through the air.
“We need to get him to the infirmary, now.”
A burst of undeniably powerful haki dominated the air and Shachi steeled himself as he cradled Law’s head in his lap, one hand hovering just below his nose. Still breathing, albeit shallowly. Good.
“Luffy?” Penguin looked up, smiling gratefully as he saw their allies spreading out on both ships, rage fuelling their attacks and rendering them efficient – there was no playing around with their prey now; it was kill or be killed, pure survival and protection.
“They’ll finish up. Get him inside, he’s in shock.” Chopper was suddenly there, hooves thumbing back Law’s eyelids to reveal nothing but inky whiteness.
“He seized, vomited blood, and now he’s wheezing.” Penguin summarised as Chopper ripped open Law’s sweater, revealing another entry wound. Shot more than once. How many gunmen had there been?
“There’s only one exit wound; we need to get the other bullet out of him.” Chopper bit out, uncharacteristically sharp. Bepo lunged in, ever gentle as he scooped Law in his arms and hurried to their operating theatre. Law’s face nearly blended in with Bepo’s fur.
His limbs bounced lifelessly in the air: a puppet without strings. One that had served its purpose.
Shachi and Penguin took over the infirmary, cutting off Law’s clothing and attaching leads and inserting needles and hanging blood and saline. Chopper manipulated Law’s head, carefully yet efficiently pushing a breathing tube down his throat. Their captain’s oxygen levels started improving, the digits lighting orange and then green despite his high heartrate.
In moments like these, Penguin thanked any and all entities for his captain’s refusal to skimp on medical equipment just because he could heal them with his powers. If it weren’t for his meticulous obsession, he would have died from something ridiculously easy to fix just because they’d have to scramble from ship to ship to get what they needed.
A commotion sounded from the hallway. Sanji and Nami stopped at the door, keeping well away from the disinfected area, “Chopper, you can’t operate on him.”
“Why not?”
Chopper stepped back, recognizing an order when he heard one but still waiting for a legitimate reason to follow it.
“Karoiseki bullets, you can’t touch them or him – his blood could weaken you as well.” Nami warned, sorrow tinging her tone as she caught sight of Law’s unconscious body.
Chopper’s mouth set in a hard line as Shachi and Penguin, along with some others, continued to ready the room (and Law) for surgery.
“Have you ever assisted in medical procedures?” The question was undoubtedly directed at Penguin, who had led everyone with clear, if urgent, familiarity and was already getting out the necessary tools.
“Yes, but he was always doing the important work.” He pointed out, wary of the direction the conversation was taking. He’d always perform his duties, but he’d never put his captain’s life at risk. Not like this. Law deserved the best, especially with such injuries.
“I’ll guide you.” He had no choice. “Nami, can you stay as well?”
Penguin loathed the very idea of operating on his captain. Yet here he was (again), looming above a nonresponsive, sedated, and intubated Law. He didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse that they had to lie Law on his stomach, preventing Penguin from seeing his face.
Blood splattered on his gown as he made the first incision.
The bullet that pierced his left lung had gone straight through, so they simply stitched the organ and inserted a chest tube to drain the blood that had already sloshed within it.
They weren’t so lucky with the other bullet.
It had shattered upon entry, showering the vicinity of his spinal cord with shrapnel. One of the shards was too close for comfort, especially considering that Penguin had only ever assisted in a single spinal surgery. He still shuddered at the thought of him and Law elbow deep in Shachi’s back, and knew that it was delicate work. Chopper’s continuous warnings also served as a constant reminder that they had to be careful.
“Be careful, Penguin.”
“Gently, Penguin.”
“Easy does it.”
As if he didn’t know he held his captain’s future in his hands.
The tweezers shivered in his grip as the bullet fragment slipped from its hold again, sliding back into the delicate mass of muscles and nerves and arteries. What if the fragment fell into his spine and permanently paralyzed his captain? What could a paralyzed captain do? He’d jeopardize them all, and Law wouldn’t stand for it.
“Penguin, give the tweezers to Nami. She’s steady-handed.”
The reindeer’s voice was silent yet authoritative but this was Penguin’s captain. His to save. Law had drained his stamina to save them countless times; the least Penguin could do was pull out a bullet coated with sea stone. He wiped the tweezers on his gown - uselessly, because it was going back in liquid, but somehow it helped.
The bullet didn’t slip this time.
All the foreign bodies were gone, supposedly.
He staggered back, limbs trembling against the tension that he had been holding himself with. Someone slipped a hand under the elbow, subtly supporting him until he regained his equilibrium.
He left it to Shachi to close Law’s back – hopefully, the stitches wouldn’t scar over the tattoos too much.
Chopper hadn’t felt comfortable removing the tube, so Law lay flat on his back, head cradled by a soft pillow. The bandages swathing his chest were obscured by a light blanket, but Chopper had uncovered his right arm so as to accommodate the IVs that flowed into his inner elbow and the back of his hand – antibiotics, saline, painkillers… Penguin lost count. At one point, there had been a bag of blood attached. It was gone now, but there were still leads on Law’s chest, replicating his heartbeat on the monitor behind him; it had calmed and stabilised as his blood volume climbed to safer levels, but they remained wary of sudden declines.
A blood-pressure cuff, inflating every half hour, was attached to his arm as well, hiding the scars of the impromptu amputation that he had suffered on Dressrosa.
Other tubes snaked in and out from under the gown that they had dressed him in, including a catheter. Penguin allowed himself a faint, sardonic smile – Law was going to be absolutely thrilled when he found out he had been peeing in a bag.
If he ever did, that is.
Don’t think like that.
He would.
Law’s eyes roved beneath their lids, clearly restless despite him supposedly being in a drugged oblivion.
‘Supposedly’ had no place in this scenario. Had anybody ever documented what happened when karoiseki interacted with a fruit user’s blood? Would it disintegrate him from the inside, forcing them to witness their captain dying a slow, painful death right under their noises?
Would his power be permanently inhibited?
At least his movement wouldn’t be.
Just after settling him, Chopper had gone through all the mobility tests, ensuring that Law was not paralysed in any capacity. Penguin had never felt so glad to see his captain’s body jerk in response to external stimuli.
The next day, they attempted to remove the vent. Chopper disconnected the tubing, allowing Law to breathe on his own.
And Law didn’t.
His stats immediately started dropping, screens screaming about the lack of adequate oxygen intake, and despite giving him almost a minute, Law didn’t draw anything more than shallow breaths.
Reconnecting him felt more gutting than tubing him in the first place.
Through it all, Law didn’t even flinch.
-
An hour later, Penguin noticed the slight flush that was adorning Law’s otherwise grey face, and the weakness in Law’s body made sense. Nothing pointed towards an infection, but a fever was ravaging Law, even if the captain was too heavily medicated to do more than flicker his eyelids or twitch his fingers every now and then.
Weakness was a common symptom of being in contact with sea stone, let alone after having it in your bloodstream. Law was going to be fine.
Had they missed a piece somewhere?
Shachi and Sanji settled next to him and Penguin didn’t say anything when the cook started swearing at their captain, reminding him of everything that Luffy had promised on Punk Hazard. (As if Law needed reminding; their captain had an impeccable memory.)
The promise that they’d be allies.
Friends, even if Law seemed to be allergic to term.
And that Luffy would never let his friends die. (Not exactly surprising.)
“So don’t die, shitty surgeon.”
Law’s knee jerked beneath the blanket, seemingly responding to the insult. Then his spine arched upwards, a muffled grunt escaping his throat, and Penguin barely had time to worry about the stitches before Law started seizing again. Shachi tossed the blanket down to the foot of the bed, making sure that it didn’t get twisted up in Law’s limbs or in any of the tubes as he and Sanji attempted to hold Law down without hurting him further. Penguin rushed to the cupboards, fetching a syringe and haphazardly jamming it in Law’s IV port.
Their captain choked around the tube as he settled down, left leg slightly crooked and right arm bent outward. Shachi gently arranged the askew limbs, ensuring that Law was lying comfortably on the bed and that the tubes had not been dislodged before straightening the comforter in an attempt to ward off the chills of the fever and the residual shakes that had settled in Law’s frame. Penguin wisely didn’t comment on the tremors in Shachi’s own hands, and Shachi didn’t call him out either.
Their captain’s eyes fluttered weakly but remained closed.
Penguin spread his palm over Law’s ribs, allowing his warmth to sink through the bandages. Hopefully, Law could feel it and realise that he wasn’t alone; that his crew was here, safe and unharmed. Law seemed to sink deeper into the bed (or maybe Penguin was just hallucinating it), exhaustion evident even in his sleep.
Sanji’s hands fidgeted near his pockets, clearly itching for a cigarette, but he remained still for a moment, worried eyes raking over the bed’s occupant before he squeezed Law’s ankle and left to start lunch.
In the afternoon, Chopper deemed it safe enough to take out the chest tube. Robin accompanied him, using her disembodied arms to help staunch the blood flow and hand Chopper what he needed without getting in the way.
One hand brushed back Law’s fringe, resting momentarily on his sweaty forehead. Law’s eyes rolled upwards, seemingly questioning the unknown weight, before flickering to the side once again.
By the evening, Law’s body was attempting to roast itself from the inside out. Chopper glanced worriedly at the monitor that registered the rapid heartbeat, hanging up a fresh bag of saline and another of antibiotics while he waited for the thermometer to finish its reading. 103 flashed at him again, just as it had for the last couple of hours.
Nightmares pervaded Law’s sleep, drawing his features in a tight frown, but he didn’t wake, not even when his muscles visibly cramped, undoubtedly triggering jarring pain. Then again, a muscle cramp was probably inconsequential in the face of his other injuries.
Bepo dabbed Law’s face and neck with cold cloths, wiping away the sweat in a (vain?) attempt of keeping his temperature under a semblance of control. Everything in him wanted nothing more than to curl up at his captain’s feet, allowing his familiar weight to serve as a routine source of comfort, but Chopper had bidden him to keep his fur away from the overheating skin.
Bepo didn’t want to endanger his captain. (At least, not any more than he already had.)
He should have been more careful, more homed in to his surroundings. He should have noticed both guns pointed at him and been able to evade them. His captain shouldn’t have had to sacrifice himself for him. Bepo would have survived under Law’s watchful gaze; Law could never just sit by and watch his nakama suffer, regardless of the ill-effects threatened by the seastone.
Bepo knew that Law lived to protect them, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
Despite Chopper’s concerns, Bepo lowered his furred head next to Law’s face, giving him a gentle garchu before pulling back, wary of the tubes and wires. Law’s brows loosened for a fleeting moment, serenity softening whatever terror his mind was forcing him to face.
Maybe the garchu had reminded him that his crew was waiting for him to get better.
Penguin and Shachi walked in silently, hands wrapping around Law’s wrists and worryingly noting the incessantly rapid thrum beneath their fingers.
“Chopper said that his lungs improved – he’ll try to take out the breathing tube tomorrow,” Bepo updated them as he moved to the foot of the bed, resting a paw gently on Law’s calf.
“Hear that, cap? You’re going to be fine.” Shachi rinsed another cloth, squeezing out the excess water before wiping down Law’s face and arms. The shadow of a grimace, prevented from forming fully by the tube contorting his face, flashed across his features just as Bepo felt the muscle beneath his paw spasm, drawing taut against the skin.
“Whoa, no need to react so harshly to our presence, Law,” Penguin teased, swiftly switching places with Bepo to pull down the sheet and dig his fingers into Law’s calf, massaging the cramp away. A choked off sound bounced off the walls, accompanied by a tear that leaked from the corner of Law’s eye before it was swiftly wiped away by Bepo’s paw. Shachi rested a hand on Law’s chest, seemingly bracing him against the ravaging pain until Penguin placed the limb back on the bed.
“Penguin, don’t.” Bepo grabbed Penguin’s arm, beady eyes shining with terror as he stopped Penguin from settling the sheet over Law’s body.
“A sheet won’t overheat him, Bepo.”
“Look at that.” A tremoring claw pointed towards Law’s left knee. It was blemished by a white patch, horrifyingly stark against his tanned skin.
“Oh shit.” More patches stood out, marking a path across his body before disappearing underneath his bandages.
“How did we miss this?” Shachi gently touched one of the patches, marvelling at the dry texture that seemed to resonate from the centre and radiate outwards.
“Chopper and Robin didn’t see anything either when they removed his chest tube, so it could be a recent development,” Penguin murmured, brows creasing as he gazed at Law’s unresponsive face, “Maybe it was triggered by the high fever?”
“His fruit saved him from White Lead; does this mean that his illness is back?” Shachi’s voice trembled, the question hanging heavily in the air. Law slept on, encumbered only by the horrors within his mind.
“It could be just a flare up; they happen when he’s badly injured or sick. We’ll wait till tomorrow morning, then see how to proceed.” Penguin clung to a semblance of normalcy, covering the patches from view.
Bepo draped a cold cloth over Law’s forehead.
“I thought he had cut it out of him,” Sanji lit a cigarette, blowing out a ring of smoke, “we got to talking one night; he explained what he did to the children on Punk Hazard and said that he had done it on himself the first-time round.”
A collective wince went around the Sunny’s deck, where most of the two crews had gathered in an attempt to figure out how to help Law.
“There are no studies on it; any records were eradicated.”
“Flevance was wiped off from the face of the Earth, Chopper, don’t even try.” Penguin dismissed the academic lens immediately.
“We removed the vent earlier; he’s holding strong with an oxygen mask, so I’m assuming that the seastone is dissipating from his system. However, fighting it off is leaving him with no resources to combat the upsurge of White Lead; you said this tends to happen when he’s sick or exhausted?” Chopper piped up; eyes narrowed in thought.
Shachi and Penguin nodded, “Not always, and usually it’s milder, but it seems like a regular flare up; his stats are holding steady despite the visible symptoms.”
“I’ll keep monitoring his vitals, but our biggest concern is getting the fever down; it’s triggering his seizures and he’s getting a lot of cramps.”
“Zoro helped me massage his extremities; it seemed to help for a few hours.” Clione shot a grateful glance towards the swordsman, who replied with a stoic nod.
“We avoided his back because of the stitches. His hands are the tensest; he may be unconsciously trying to access his powers.” Zoro grunted as he sharpened his blades.
“His seizures are shorter now, at least, and he’s not choking on his own vomit. Ikkaku and I cleaned him up after the last one.” Nami remarked,
“The seizures are brought on by the seastone and the high fever. If he’s trying to use his powers, it may mean that his access to them is slowly returning, so the seastone should be leaving his system completely.” Penguin hedged, unsure whether to be relieved or not at Chopper’s nod.
“I’m going to see him. Alone.” Luffy’s firm voice carried across the deck, “I’ll call you if anything happens.”
Jean Bart levelled one look at the straw-hat captain before nodding a greeting and leaving the infirmary.
If he had to put it in words, Luffy would describe Torao’s presence as being simultaneously unassuming and overpowering; a restrained strength that could be limitless, if Law wanted it to be. This was nothing but a husk; a wraith of the authoritative man that Luffy had grown to know and trust.
A weak blimp showing up on his haki, not even classified as a threat.
Luffy was not going to pretend that he knew what the machines around him were saying or doing, but he knew that he shouldn’t touch them. Not that he would.
“I’ll take care of your crew for now, Torao, but you need to get better. I won’t let a friend die under my watch again.”
He hitched an ankle around the leg’s chair, dragging it closer to the bed so that he wouldn’t loom over the other captain. Law’s eyes roved beneath their lids, but he didn’t appear troubled. Rather, it seemed as if he was searching for something. (The way back to the living, perhaps?)
Luffy’s hands itched with curiosity, but he restrained himself from lifting the blankets to peek at the white patches that had terrified the Hearts. Law was guarded, and if Luffy didn’t respect that, Law would never trust him again. (Despite Law’s taciturn moods, Luffy knew that had the other captain not trusted the Straw Hats, he would never have let them near his crew. He was driven by the same instinct that pushed Luffy to become stronger – to protect those that chose to follow him.)
He slid his hand under the blanket, careful not to disturb any wires as he grasped Traffy’s cold fingers. Law twitched, fingers half curling to form the familiar gesture for ‘room’. A tremble ran through the entire limb before his hand loosened again, fingers rough against Luffy’s rubbery skin.
“You still have some seastone in your blood – Chopper can’t remove that. But it will pass, Torao; you’ll be fine. You just need to wake up.”
Law sighed in response and Luffy withdrew his hand so that he could wipe down Law’s face with the cool cloth, making sure to wet Law’s lips before draping it over his forehead. A choked off sound of discomfort tumbled from Law’s lips, head tossing slightly in a vain attempt to remove the cloth. Luffy made sure it remained in place; Chopper had told him that keeping him cool was necessary to ensure that Torao’s brain did not roast itself – it was like meat; too much heat wouldn’t be good for it, and Luffy didn’t want a world where Torao was not smart and calculating.
“Stay here, Law. You still need to gather more stories to tell Cora-san and Ace before you join them.”
Law’s lips twitched, a peaceful smile smoothing out his features for a brief moment. Luffy smiled before gently placing his hat on the bedside table, right on top of a medical book.
Lunch awaited.
When he first started shifting oddly, Penguin wrote it off as a side-effect of the fever and encased his wrists in soft restraints, preventing major movement and protecting both the IVs as well as his stitched back. (Despite the palpable misery, Penguin was glad of the movement; it was further proof that Law was not paralysed.) Shachi and Bepo attempted to cool him down further by removing the top sheet and his gown - leaving a towel over his groin to preserve modesty - but even draping freshly iced towels over his pulse points proved to be in vain. His temperature kept soaring, the screens blaring as it hit the 104 mark and his oxygen levels plummeted in response to his heaving chest.
And then he started talking.
At first it was just a few mumbles; hoarse, incoherent gibberish as his body twitched and jerked, reacting to whichever film was playing on the back of his eyelids.
At one point, his gibberish started making sense.
Predictably, his first call was to Bepo. Unseeing eyes flickered open, shimmering with unshed tears and utter agony, “Bepo? It hurts, get it out, please. GET IT OUT!”
They didn’t know whether he was referring to the White Lead or the seastone. In any case, they couldn’t up the dosage of painkillers without making him OD – he was supposed to be beyond feeling anything. Yet, Law’s agony was beyond anything that Penguin had seen before, even if anything he administered now could do more harm than good. The two facts pickaxed at his brain, sharp pains that paled in comparison to Law’s torment.
“I can’t, captain,” Bepo choked out, wiping down Law’s face and draping a towel over his forehead even as he twitched away from his ministrations.
“My powers are gone.” Sheer horror laced his tone as he choked on a sob, pulling at the restraints with a strength that could have broken his wrists had Penguin and Shachi not pinned down his arms. “It’s back, isn’t it? It’s going to kill me – the fruit was the only thing keeping it at bay.”
“We won’t let you die from it, captain,” Penguin said, rearranging the oxygen mask that Law had dislodged with his shifting before resting his hand on Law’s ribs, feeling the erratic rise and fall of his chest.
“Why are you doing this, Penguin? At least kill me outright, not subdue my powers. Not like this, please.”
Law never begged. He didn’t even plead, let alone grovel for mercy.
To be reduced to such a husk of himself…
He couldn’t listen to Law’s deepest insecurities. Not when his captain wasn’t even aware that he was spilling them.
How could he be so selfish?
He’d take the guilt of hearing Law’s secrets over the guilt of not helping him face his demons, even if he wouldn’t be leaving him alone.
Law writhed, his attempts to turn on his side foiled by the restraints. He kicked at nothing, heels dragging against the sheets as shivers wrecked his frame hard enough to make his teeth audibly chatter before he clenched them, veins popping out in his neck.
“Was I that bad of a captain? I’m sorry - Just throw me in the ocean and be done with it!”
A strangled sob left Law’s throat, tears welling in the corners of glazed eyes. Shachi grabbed one of the towels, soaking it in cold water before wiping Law’s face and neck. Law bared his neck willingly, head angling back in either a show of trust or a silent plea to sever his carotid arteries. Shachi was as gentle as possible, letting the cool towel linger over his neck before resoaking it and wiping down Law’s arms, leaving the towel near his armpit in an effort to cool him down.
“You’re a brilliant captain, even if you’re a pain in the ass sometimes,” Shachi said, taking his time to wipe down Law’s legs as Penguin draped a towel near Law’s groin, respectfully keeping his gaze averted even if the likelihood of Law remembering this conversation was slim to none.
Law’s eyes rolled to him with significant difficulty, taking an extra second before settling on his face. The yellow looked like molten gold, misery and pain and horror bleeding out in the form of tears and grimaces. There was none of the fondness (and exasperation) that he usually looked at his crew with. Instead, self-preservation had taken over, an eagerness to escape the pain overriding everything.
“Shachi? You and Penguin take care of the crew – you’ll be great captains; everybody loves you already. You’ll do a better job than me anyway.”
Law’s eyes fluttered and for a moment Shachi was relieved: if Law fell unconscious, then the self-disparaging comments would stop. However, his body did not relax as it usually would when he was asleep or unconscious. Rather, there was an air of resignation; a denial to acknowledge the room in which Law was usually at his most powerful.
“We don’t want to be captains, baka,” Penguin mumbled, fingers threading through Law’s hair. Bepo wiped down his arms again, letting the towel rest against Law’s wrist.
“The crew loves you more than you think; you just need to let them show it,” Shachi said, resting a hand against Law’s twitching thigh and gently pushing the limb down.
“Not much to love,” Law mumbled, voice gravelly. Penguin pushed an ice-chip against Law’s cracked lips, holding it in place as the surgeon eagerly sucked on it to sooth his throat.
“Everyone here loves and respects you, captain; we would have marooned anyone who didn’t. They visited while you slept, but they’re mostly ensuring that the Tang stays running,” Shachi said, gently kneading the tense muscle beneath his hand.
Law didn’t answer. Given that his eyes had slipped closed, Shachi suspected that he had lost consciousness again. His breathing gradually deepened, the mask fogging over in a more regular rhythm. Shachi stole a glance at the monitors, sighing in relief when he acknowledged the calmer heartbeat, lower blood pressure, and higher oxygen levels.
After a few minutes, Law’s head rolled towards Penguin, eyes fluttering half-open. They were still bleary, but somewhat focused: Law was conscious.
“Pen?”
And lucid.
“Captain?” Bepo’s voice startled Law, shoulders jerking minutely as he turned his head to the other side to catch sight of both Shachi and the mink. Relief flooded his eyes when he realised that they were unharmed.
“Hey, you with us?” Penguin asked, resting a hand against his ribs as Law’s chest rose up to meet his palm.
Law attempted to shift, frowning at the restraints and choking on a groan as his whole body, particularly his back, protested the movement.
“Stay still. You’re fresh out of spinal surgery and a fever is still trying to bake your brain,” Penguin said, removing the oxygen mask to mop Law’s face with a fresh towel. He rested the thermometer against Law's bottom lip, prompting him to open his mouth and raise his tongue. Given his cognizance, Penguin loosened the restraints, soothingly rubbing the skin around Law’s wrists.
“102.5, thankfully,” Shachi removed the thermometer the moment it beeped, replacing it with an ice-chip before stepping out to call Chopper.
“Cold.” Law murmured, shivers wrecking through his frame as he groped blindly for a blanket.
“That’s the fever,” Penguin reassured him, fetching a new gown. Law’s cheeks tinted slightly when he realised that he was naked, but the arduous task of getting his hands through the armholes was taking too much energy for him to actually comment on it.
“What happen’d?” Law mumbled around the ice-chip that Shachi had pressed to his lips, exhaustion audibly dogging his words.
“What do you remember?” Penguin countered, draping a light sheet over Law’s frame.
“Marines were about to shoot Bepo…” Law said. He stopped, swallowing convulsively. His face drained of the meagre colour he had regained. Despite Penguin holding out hope for the contrary, Law was, predictably, not handling pain meds well.
“You shambled us.” Bepo growled. His furious demeanour was belied by the paw that rested gently on Law’s head, claws scratching against his scalp in a way they all knew relaxed the captain.
“They shot you with kairōseki bullets,” Penguin cut in before Law could argue about how it was his duty as their captain to protect his crew. “They hit your spine and lung. We got everything out, but your body is struggling to flush out the seastone. You’re going to feel like shit for a while, but you’ll be fine.”
“Powers-?”
Law’s words were cut off by a deep-throated gag that distended the veins in his neck, his pallid face taking on a distinctively green tinge. Penguin promptly turned him on his side, shoving a basin under his chin and keeping it in place as Bepo slipped an arm around Law’s chest, bracing him against the jerking motions and preventing him from popping his stitches. He only brought up bile and acid, but the effort left him shaky and drained as he slumped in their holds, chest heaving and sweat pouring down his face. Tremors chased themselves up and down his limbs.
Law coughed, groaning low in his throat as Bepo shifted him, raising his head just enough to keep him from choking on the glass of water being pressed to his lips.
“Wash the taste out, Law. Basin’s right where it was.”
Law did the task mechanically, eyes fluttering shut before they could even resituate him on his back.
“Sleep, Law, we’ll talk later,” Penguin traced Law’s brow with his thumbs, smoothing out the frown before ruffling Law’s hair. Law muttered something back, but it was incomprehensibly muffled behind the mask that Penguin had resecured over his face.
The fact that he hadn’t even commented on the IVs or the catheter easily told Penguin that Law wasn’t fully aware yet, but at least he had recognised them. He remembered what had happened. Anything else could be tackled. Penguin didn’t think the Heart Pirates could survive with an amnesiac Law.
Bepo curled up over Law’s feet, allowing his warmth to ease the ravaging pain in Law’s muscles and joints. Law was susceptible to musculoskeletal pains, so between the cramps and the fever, Bepo had no doubt that his captain’s entire body was smarting and throbbing, if not positively agonised. His ears remain pricked for any signs of distress, but Law’s frown had smoothed out and he seemed calm, lips slightly parted and one arm thrown over his stomach.
If he ignored everything else, Bepo could almost pretend that Law was just sleeping.
Law was still asleep by the time Chopper came around. The doctor took his time noting down Law’s vital signs before rousing him again, running him through a battery of mobility and respiratory tests that Law did with his eyes half closed, a mixture of exhaustion and pain prominent in his gaze. Yet, he was lucid enough to refuse another ice chip, arm curling protectively around his stomach.
“He doesn’t do well with pain meds and the fever isn’t helping,” Penguin explained as he switched out the mask for a nasal cannula, smiling softly at Law’s huffed thanks. “He already threw up the first time he woke up.”
“We’ll hook him up to an anti-emetic and reduce the opiate dose. In the meantime, incline the bed; it should help him maintain his oxygen levels and, ideally, prevent some of the nausea,” Chopper said, noting everything down in Law's file. “I’ll check on your stitches later, Traffy. Rest for now.”
Law was asleep before Chopper had even stepped out of the room.
Law had always been a terrible patient.
Penguin resisted the urge to swear at his captain, knowing that Law wasn’t to blame for feeling so miserable. He had woken up 6 times in the last few hours, each time punctuated by dry heaving and/or vomiting, and the accumulated exhaustion left him trembling and ashen - as grey as he had been directly post-surgery.
Despite the angle of the bed making it easier for him to simply lean forwards and throw up (rather than them having to agitate his wounds by turning him on his side every time), the incline made it difficult for him to get comfortable and the restlessness was only making him crankier.
The last bout had left Law shaky and sweaty, low wheezes accompanying his breaths as he drifted off again, floating somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. His eyes were sunken in, swimming in eyebags so dark it was as if he had twin blackeyes, and a faint grimace pulled his features tight even in his sleep, the shadow of a frown permanently highlighting his discomfort.
Penguin unlaced the gown and carefully sponged him down, attempting to make the procedure as fast as possible; Law hated feeling exposed, especially when he was feeling so wretched. Not that any of the Heart Pirates would ever perceive their captain as weak, especially since he was recovering from such a major injury, but Law would undoubtedly see it differently.
Penguin met no resistance as he deftly manhandled Law in a new gown. The pliability alone sent icy shivers down Penguin’s back; only utter exhaustion or unconsciousness made Law this submissive.
At least the white spots had faded again, otherwise Law would be completely non-responsive. He always clammed up whenever his old disease made a reappearance, struggling to differentiate between past and present and refusing anyone’s help to do so. Delirious hallucinations had been common symptoms in the late stage of his disease, and Law was still terrorised by the inability to rely on his own senses.
“Sanji made you some soup – you need to eat.” Shachi cut off Penguin’s musings, walking in with a steaming bowl in his hands. Penguin’s own stomach nearly grumbled at the absolutely divine smell that trailed after Shachi, even if it wasn’t overpowering. Rather, it was a perfect blend of bland and appetising - perfect for someone who wasn’t too keen on eating.
“Too nauseous.” Law’s voice was hoarse and gravelly, ravaged by the continuous vomiting.
“Chopper gave you his strongest anti-emetics, Law,” Penguin said, despite Law knowing that very fact. “You’ll be even more nauseous if you don’t eat. At the very least, you’ll have something to throw up.”
“Still painful.”
Penguin frowned, his composure slipping in the face of Law’s stubbornness; he couldn’t fault him for being grouchy, but this argument was an old dance - one that Penguin was tired of.
God, he was absolutely exhausted.
“If it were any other patient, you’d be spoon-feeding us by now,” Shachi said, attempting to inject some humour in the situation. He was rewarded by an amused huff and a half-lidded glance.
“Plus, I’m pretty sure you don’t want to face Sanji’s wrath if you waste his food.”
“I can play the sick card,” Law quirked an eyebrow, turning to face Penguin again. The sudden haziness in his gaze made it clear that the slight head movement had triggered a wave of dizziness, so Penguin remained still until Law’s eyes refocused. A faint pink dusted Law’s cheeks as he sighed, presumably realising what had just happened. (Penguin almost scoffed at the notion that feeling faint after a major surgery - especially when Law hadn’t stomached anything in days - was something shameful, but he managed to school his features before Law could pick up on any incredulity.)
“It won’t fly and you know it. We can always get Luffy to convince you. Or Bepo; you can never say no to his eyes,” Penguin smirked as Law glowered at him.
“Let’s aim for half of it, yeah? You don’t need to eat it all,” Shachi cajoled, placing the bowl on the food tray so that Law could grow accustomed to the smell.
After a minute with no gagging in sight, Shachi handed him the spoon.
Hands and paws braced him, leaning him forwards until his head rested on a familiar jumpsuit.
A gust of air against his back.
Someone had cut off the bandages.
The antiseptic stung and his breath hitched.
Law pawed weakly at Bepo’s arm; it didn’t feel like he had thrown up in his sleep, as he was prone to do when drugged up to his eyeballs, so why were they interrupting his rest?
“Your fever broke while you were asleep, cap. We already wiped you down and changed the sheets. Chopper is just changing your bandages; Robin is helping, that’s why you’re feeling so many hands on you.”
After slathering the stitches with some type of salve, Chopper forwent the bandages, instead covering the wounds with gauze patches. Law heaved a sigh of relief; the bandages had been constricting and itchy, and only his own medical training (and apparently the restraints) had prevented him from tearing them off.
“Rest, Law.”
The first thing Law registered was that the head of the bed had been mostly lowered again, allowing him to rest a bit more comfortably for the first time in days. Next, the tickling sensation of the nasal cannula was gone. He braced himself, awaiting the churning stomach that had been accompanying his return to consciousness, but was pleasantly disappointed. Was he finally turning a corner?
While his joints ached, it was more likely due to his prolonged time in bed rather than the wounds themselves. How long had it been now? How many days had he spent in this bed? Was his crew all right? Had they been attacked again? How close had it been this time?
His reverie was interrupted by someone’s voice. Belatedly, his haki picked up on two more people in the room. Strawhats, not his own.
“His fever’s down, Luffy; he’s recovering.”
“His powers?”
“He has to regain his stamina first; give him time.”
“His back?”
“Stitches are holding; everything’s fine, Luffy.”
“Is he still throwing up everything?”
“No. We switched out the meds for milder ones and he’s tolerating them better.”
“Then why is he still sleeping so much?”
“Side effects of the seastone and the surgery; quite expected.”
“How long?” Law opened his eyes, wincing at his garbled voice and gratefully accepting a cup of water from Luffy – the other captain had probably clocked his awakening before Law had even picked up on their presences. (His hand shook. He hated it, but it was to be expected.)
“About a week. You were unresponsive at first, then your fever spiked,” Chopper explained, “You had a couple of seizures and muscle spasms, but they tapered off once you started recovering.”
Seizures? That explained why a shudder ripping through him - violent enough to make his shoulders jolt - had alarmed his crew to the point that Shachi had produced a syringe in mere seconds. It must have been diazepam, not painkillers, as he’d originally assumed. How many seizures had he had? What if they resurfaced? He filed the thought away – he’d consider the possibility later, preferably when he was alone.
“What’s the prognosis now?” Law sat up, brushing away the dizziness as he rolled his shoulders, the pull of the stitches muted by the relief of popping joints. The covers pooled in his lap and Law carefully arranged them so that his ass was not on display (cursed gowns).
“Your bloodwork came back normal, your vitals are stable, and there are no signs of paralysis. All things considered, you should be fine to get out of bed by tomorrow,” Chopper said, jotting down his vital signs while he spoke.
“So I can remove the catheter?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Torao.”
Luffy’s tone turned his blood to ice, freezing any kind of witty retort. It was his captain voice – the one that promised love and protection while simultaneously threatening pain and destruction. From the corner of his eye, Law caught Chopper frowning at the screen behind him, undoubtedly tracking the rapid heartbeat.
“Try to use your powers.”
“Luffy-”
Law blinked. He hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on the idea that his powers were gone, refusing to believe that it was even possible. He could still feel the power thrumming through his veins, but it was somewhat muffled by the pain and the drugs. At least, that’s what he wanted to believe – what if he was so used to feeling it that he was simply imagining the sensation? It couldn’t be muted forever, could it? If that were the case, his crew would lose half of its might; they would need to develop new battle strategies, centred around the fact that Law’s powers were gone.
And what would he do when the White Lead resurfaced? Maybe he couldn’t escape death forever. He’d finally experience what had been in store for his parents and sister, had the marines not prevented them from feeling anything ever again.
No use in remaining in the dark.
“Room.”
The blue dome expanded over the infirmary and beyond, wavering for a second as Law steadied his nerves against the sheer, overwhelming relief of seeing the room. Had he not been sitting down, he was sure that his knees would have given out.
“Shambles.”
He swapped the empty glass on his bedside table with one of the cookbooks from the galley, the heavy tome landing with a slight thud. None of his usual finesse - his stamina was still mostly depleted and the effort left him dizzy, blood roaring in his ears and cold sweat breaking out on his skin. His greying vision receded as a cool cloth wiped down his face, the ringing in his ears replaced by Chopper’s high-pitched voice as he admonished Luffy. Hooves pressed against the inside of his wrist, tracking his erratic heartbeat.
Most importantly, his powers were still there.
Luffy’s gleeful laugh was drowned out by the chorus of “CAPTAAIINN” from every corner of the Tang, the unmistakeable relief in their voices sparking a flash of warmth in his chest.
“I told you; none of my friends die on my watch,” Luffy said, his usual grin on his face, “I’m telling Sanji to prepare a feast!”
He woke up to Sanji and Robin by his bedside, of all people.
“Torao,” Robin inclined her head before he had even fully opened his eyes, attention torn from the book in her hands, “How do you feel?”
“Where are Shachi and Penguin?” Given that they usually remained by his side even during a mild illness, their disappearance was worrying – had they been injured as well?
“Chopper made them get some uninterrupted sleep. They’re fine, just exhausted. I left them in our galley eating lunch. The rest of your crew are doing the daily chores,” Sanji said, thumbing his lighter with one hand and offering a cup of ice chips with the other.
“Don’t smoke in here,” Law mumbled around a chip, shifting minutely to assess himself. His body still ached, weak pangs of pain shooting up from each limb and igniting a fire in his back, but he felt remarkably better. The catheter was absent – who had removed it? Not that it mattered. Even the saline solution was gone; if he were to hazard a guess, the bags dripping in his IV were antibiotics, painkillers, and anti-emetics.
“Bepo would maul me,” Sanji muttered, putting the lighter back in his pocket, “Do you need Chopper?”
“No.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice; Dr. Chopper made me promise to notify him when you woke up.” A smile played at Robin’s lips as she gracefully walked out of the room.
“Your crew lost their shit, you know.” Sanji said.
“They do that even when I get a cold,” Law claimed fondly, eyeing the readings on the monitor. Holding steady.
“You were almost dead; your body wasn’t healing.”
Law blinked owlishly. The monitor beeped as it recorded a skipped beat.
He knew, to some extent, that things hadn’t been looking good for a while. The random bursts of memories, accompanied by missing chunks of time, attested to that. He could remember hands on him, massaging limbs and easing pain away. Fingers carding through his hair, resting on his forehead, or wrapped loosely against his wrists. A palm flat against his ribs, like Penguin was wont to do when things felt dire. (Sometimes, Penguin resorted to it when Law was lost in his head, the familiar weight dragging him back and grounding him. The implication was not lost on him.)
Coldness.
Snippets of conversations.
Shachi crying. Bepo consoling him.
Penguin, begging him to hold on.
Apparently, he hadn’t dreamt those instances.
“CAPTAIN!”
Penguin and Shachi toppled in, twin grins of reassurance stretching their faces wide. Despite their eagerness, they were careful when they wrapped him up in a three-way hug, their warmth permeating his skin.
Dimly, Law heard Sanji walk out, the door closing gently behind him.
“Good to see you, Law.” Penguin ruffled Law’s hair, squeezing the back of his neck before his hand slid down Law’s arm to rest on his ribs, its warmth a welcomed comfort. Law inhaled deeply, Penguin’s hand rising and falling gently in turn. (He deliberately ignoring the twinge of pain that rippled through his back.)
Shachi’s thumb rested idly on his pulse point, but his face was unreadable, eyes obscured by the shadows of his hat. “Don’t do that again, baka.”
“A captain protects his crew, Shachi,” Law replied.
“How can you protect us if you’re dead?” Penguin raised an eyebrow, fingers twitching against Law’s skin.
“You’d manage-”
“No, we wouldn’t. Get it through your dense skull, Law; we want you as our captain. No one else. The crew loves you, even if you struggle to believe it.” Penguin growled.
Law rested his free hand over Penguin’s, intertwining their fingers as he swallowed down the contrary comments that instinctively rose to his lips. Shachi’s grip tightened around his wrist, but the ginger didn’t get the chance to say anything because Chopper walked in, smiling softly as he took in the scene in front of him.
“We’ll take his readings, Chopper, and change his bandages. Anything else, apart from maybe getting him on his feet?”
“No, do you need any help?”
“We’re versed enough.”
“I know,” Chopper said softly before turning his attention to Law, “Penguin dug out the fragments from around your spine, Law. You trained them well.”
“Spine?” No wonder Chopper had mentioned paralysis.
“Yeah. One of them shattered on impact.” There was a lingering terror in Penguin’s voice that Law knew he’d never be able to fully assuage, but the succinct explanation justified his crew’s overprotectiveness; they hadn’t just feared his death – they were petrified they had paralysed him. (Law didn’t think the crew would have survived the misplaced guilt, had that happened.)
Any reprimand he’d been about to give them for neglecting their own health to take care of his died on his lips. Had the roles been reversed, nothing short of collapsing would have taken him away from their bedside. Besides, apart from the light grey circles under their eyes, they looked healthy enough – clearly, someone had been taking care of them in his absence. Probably several someones.
“Thanks, Penguin.”
“Don’t do it again, baka.”
Law scoffed softly, smiling at the chastising squeeze before Penguin untangled their fingers and started going through a vitals check.
Temperature normal, blood pressure slightly low.
Shachi didn’t let go of his wrist, fingers tapping idly against his skin as Penguin warmed the bell of the stethoscope and eased Law forward to access his back.
Penguin’s touch was featherlight as he removed the gauze and palpated the area around the stitches, presumably checking for infection. A burst of warmth spread through Law’s chest, his breath catching with the overwhelming clarity that his crew cared more than he thought himself deserving of. Maybe they were right; he should be more open to their affection. Penguin stopped, mistaking the cause of his reaction for pain, but Shachi wasn’t fooled. He perched on the side of the bed and pulled Law into his embrace, allowing the captain to hide his face in his neck. Since he couldn’t wrap his arms around Law, he contented himself with grasping Law’s hands and letting his own calming presence wash over his captain.
Penguin’s touch returned, replacing the gauze. Deft fingers ran down the protruding bones of his spine, thumbs pressing into the knotted muscle in his lower back. Law groaned softly, inching forward into Shachi’s embrace and letting himself slump there as Penguin ran practised hands up and down his back, soothing the sore, stiff muscles. He skilfully avoided the stitches, focusing instead on his shoulders and lower back, and Law shuddered softly at the relief that chased his ministrations. A shaky inhale followed as the both of them enveloped him in a tight hug, allowing forcing his haki to pick up on the relief and love pouring off them in waves.
“Come on, let’s get you on your feet. Don’t be a hero, Cap.” Penguin pulled the blankets back while Shachi disconnected the IVs and the leads, but neither of them reached for Law. Instead, they let him ease his feet to the ground at his own pace; after so much time being coddled, this was something he needed to do himself.
“We’re here, Law,” Shachi said, arm hovering under Law’s elbow. It should have felt frustrating, but Law didn’t trust himself not to need it after so many days cooped up in bed.
He shifted his weight forward, inching himself off the mattress. His knees trembled, threatening to buckle under the weight that they had grown unaccustomed to. Law consciously locked them in place until the shakes abated, allowing him to take one, two, three steps towards the door.
“Wanna go to the bathroom, relieve yourself?” Penguin’s question didn’t revolve around what Law wanted more than what Law felt himself capable of doing. In fact, Penguin was, quite strategically, leaning against the wall midway between Law and the bathroom.
“Are there pants in there?”
His butt felt too aired out for his comfort, and Shachi’s snort easily told him that his sentiments were not exactly discreet.
“Yeah, call if you need help.”
He closed the door, allowing himself a deep breath in private for the first time in what felt like eons. He loved his crew, but the constant hovering - justified as it had been - was beginning to grate on his nerves, especially since he was still being half roused from his sleep by hooves and/or hands all over him, taking vitals and manipulating his limbs to avoid stiffness.
His vitals being constantly broadcasted and recorded was another source of annoyance, but he understood the medical necessity behind that, especially if they had been unstable for a couple of days. A deep part of him understood that had the roles been reversed, he would have been hovering just as much, if not worse.
But he was the captain.
His job was to keep an eye on his crew, not be stuck in bed like some helpless damsel.
What if they needed him? What if there was another attack and he couldn’t be there to protect them?
A sharp pang of pain bloomed from his lower back and sent tremors down his thighs, reminded him that he didn’t have much time. Not if he wanted to get back to bed without being carried there. If that came to head, he didn’t want to think about the increased number of times they would rouse him from sleep, especially if he hit his head in the process. Or ripped his stitches.
They’d probably kill him.
Or simply refuse to trust him on his own again until he was back to full health.
He'd better hurry.
He relieved himself, washed his face, and donned his pyjama pants, sighing in relief as he felt the warm fabric against his legs.
Next order of business, socks. His feet were cold, despite the warm air in the room.
The bed seemed further away now. Shachi and Penguin hadn’t moved; close enough to help, but not to crowd – they wouldn’t shift a muscle unless they decided that he was at risk of aggravating his injuries, or he specifically told them that he needed help, and he wasn’t ready to do that just yet. His feet were dragging by the time he managed to sink into the mattress, muscles protesting against further movement, but he was too relieved with having moved under his own steam to care. He heaved a deep, grateful sigh, sinking into the pillows as Shachi and Penguin made quick work of hooking him up to the monitors and the IVs again.
Someday, he’ll find the words to thank them properly, instead of through abrasive remarks or backhanded compliments. He knew they got the message, veiled as it was, but they deserved to have their compassion reciprocated without needing to parse through his emotional stuntedness to get to it.
“Drink a bit, Law, you need it.” A hand lifting his head and the bowl pressing against his lips jarred him out of the half doze he had unknowingly slipped into.
Why would they give him water in a bowl?
He nearly choked on the startling array of flavours that exploded on his tongue, but the broth settled easily in his stomach, warmth spreading to his limbs in its wake. Clearly Sanji’s work.
Law’s eyes were drooping by the time he finished the bowl and he allowed himself to sink into the mattress as Penguin tucked the blankets around him, making sure that he was comfortably snug.
“Rest, baka, and keep in mind that you’re the only captain we’re going to follow in this lifetime.”
A hand combed back his unruly hair, nails scratching pleasantly against his scalp. Why was Penguin’s comment so specific? Had he… Oh. He had probably been delirious, spilling more than he was aware of (or comfortable with). Well, at least it had only been Penguin and Shachi. And probably Bepo.
“Delirious and then some. But it’s okay, Law. Just rest.”
He was out like a light before he could even think of a reply.
He woke up to socked feet and a cocoon of warmth that nearly coaxed him back into sleep’s embrace. But the blankets alone wouldn't generate that much heat.
A huge paw was wrapped around his back, supporting him as he lay on his side, face pressed against snowy fur. One of his arms was squished between himself and Bepo, the other thrown haphazardly over Bepo’s stomach.
The IVs were gone, but the oximeter clip was still pinching his finger. In the absence of the constant stream of painkillers, the pain pangs were slightly sharper. Nonetheless, they were tolerable. Way more bearable than they had a right to be so early in the healing process. (Was it early in the healing process? He was tired of losing track of time – he couldn’t even remember how many days it had been since he was shot.) If the grumbling of his stomach was anything to go by, his devil fruit was clearly working overtime, accelerating his recovery at the cost of burning through his limited energy. Gods, he was exhausted.
“Sanji left some chicken broth for you, if you can handle it.” Penguin’s voice drew him out of his musings and he forced himself to open his eyes, Bepo’s arms falling from around him the moment he shifted. He instantly missed the weight, the solid warmth a reminder that he wasn’t alone. That seemed offensive to think, given that Penguin was standing in front of him and Bepo was still in the same bed, but he had always found it easier to anchor himself to physical touch rather than people’s presence, especially since the latter had been missing for most of his teenage years. If he was prickly enough, then people wouldn’t get close. That way, he could convince himself that it didn’t hurt when they inevitably left.
But his crew wouldn’t leave. Not now. If anything, they’d stop him from attempting to leave them again.
He needed to stop thinking.
He pushed himself up, resisting the urge to stretch in fear of popping the stitches that pulled at his back.
“What time is it?” His voice was raspy, throat dry and mouth feeling as if it was stuffed with cotton candy.
“’Bout 3pm, bit over a week since you got shot. Chopper’s been taking care of you; he’s amazed by how fast you’re healing, so prepare yourself for a barrage of questions when you’re back on your feet,” Penguin said.
Of course the tanuki would be curious; for all intents and purposes, Law should still be on some heavy-duty painkillers and definitely not able to sit up, on his own, against the headboard. Penguin handed him the bowl of broth once Law had situated himself, making sure that his grip was steady before letting go. Bepo snored away, one paw thrown over Law’s thighs and face pressing against his hip.
Law scratched behind Bepo’s ear, smiling at the pleased huff of breath that hit his thigh as Bepo sunk deeper into sleep with some incomprehensible mumbles.
The broth was different from the one before, revitalising him instead of encouraging him to rest. Then again, maybe it was just his desire to leave the bed that was making him imagine the effects. Knowing Sanji skills, Law doubted how much of it was in his head.
“Do you need any painkillers before heading out on deck? The wounds are healing nicely; we’ll take out the stitches in the next few days.” Penguin had switched to what Law called his ‘doctor-mode’; critical eyes skimmed over the monitors, noting his vital signs before scanning Law’s movements for any sign of discomfort. Shachi called it Penguin’s x-ray vision - and it did feel like that at times - but Law didn’t protest, knowing that Penguin needed to assure himself that Law was actually recovering well.
“No, I just want to get some air.” Law said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pushing himself to his feet. Bepo was up and next to him in seconds, paws soft against his lower back as Law staggered the first few steps, legs still unused to supporting his own weight.
“I would recommend wearing a shirt before going outside, cap.” Penguin smirked, easing the soft hoodie over his head and helping him thread his arms through the sleeves without pulling at his stitches. Warmth instantly enveloped him – Penguin had probably left the shirt on a heater before giving it to him, anticipating the chill that usually clung to Law after any kind of blood loss.
His crew really did spoil him in their own little ways.
Echoes of his crew’s laughter bounced off the metal walls of the corridors, settling around him like his furred cape; soft and warm. The door to the deck was wide open, allowing him to adjust to the bright sunlight before welcoming its warmth on his face.
He had barely stepped out before he was surrounded by his crew, Jeanbart throwing a shadow over him – so much for soaking in the sun’s warmth.
Shouts of “CAPTAIN!” hit him from all directions as hands patted his arms and back, shepherding him to the sunny patch where Bepo had already laid down, despite despising the heat.
“Thanks, Bepo” Law squeezed Bepo’s arm as he settled against the soft fur, its pillowing warmth muting the residual pain in his back and allowing the tension to bleed from his frame. The crew spread around him, arms thrown over Law’s legs and arms as fingers ‘subtly’ pressed against his pulse points before inching away, only to be replaced by someone else.
Penguin.
Shachi.
Jean Bart.
Ikakku.
Clione.
“Glad to see you back on your feet!” (He wasn’t on his feet more than he was slumped on the deck, winded from the short trek and still tapering down the fiery tendrils snaking outward from his spine, but he appreciated the sentiment.)
“The ship wasn’t the same without your loving remarks, Captain.”
Sincerity and sarcasm dripped off the latest remark, a teasing smile highlighting the genuineness.
“I almost thought we’d have to nominate another captain, or end up under Mugiwara’s hand, gods forbid,” Ikkaku claimed as she patted Law’s thigh, giving him a rare, warm smile before it turned wicked, “as if anyone else could corral these idiots except for you.”
Bepo’s arm snuck around his waist, giving him a subtle squeeze as he chuckled at their antics, soaking in their companionship. He wasn’t the greatest of captains, sure, but maybe this bunch truly did see him as their best option. At the very least, they respected him as their captain.
“We love you as our captain, baka,” Shachi mumbled in his ear, pulling gently on his hair, “don’t doubt that.” (How obvious had his thoughts been? Sometimes, it scared him how known he was to the crew. On most days, his darkest nightmares revolved around losing them.)
Law huffed, acquiescing the point as he leaned his head back against Bepo, the sun washing over him.
“TORAO!” Luffy landed right in front of him with a huge grin, flipflops slapping against the deck.
“I’m fine, Mugiwara-ya.” Law barely even opened his eyes.
“Chopper wants to check you out,” Luffy said, dropping the tanuki from behind his back as if he had been holding him there for the element of surprise.
“I’m fine, tanuki-ya.” He’d had enough of being poked and prodded by the straw hats, even if he had been unconscious for most of it. The weight of his own crew prevented him from curling his legs toward his chest, but the jerking motion was enough to disperse them. Most of them moved to the sidelines – still close, but far enough to allow Chopper to move closer without intimidating him with their combined presence.
“Let him, Law. He helped.” Penguin and Shachi leaned into him from both sides, effectively pinning him in place. “Go ahead, Chopper.”
Chopper didn’t move until Law sighed and subtly inclined his head, allowing him to take his temperature and measure his pulse and breathing.
“How’s the pain?”
“Manageable.” Insofar as he didn’t move too fast or stretch too much, but his crew were more than ready to help him avoid that.
“Is he healthy enough for a party, Chopper?”
“He needs rest, Luffy,” Chopper protested half-heartedly, knowing that it was in vain.
“But he’s okay, right?”
“On the right track.”
“SANJI, PARTY!”
Luffy’s hand ghosted over Law’s shoulder, squeezing briefly before he catapulted himself to the Thousand Sunny, his demands for a party and meat trailing off into the wind as Sanji warded him off.
The party was in full swing less than three hours later, food and alcohol flowing freely amidst the jaunty tunes Brook was playing; it didn’t escape his notice that most of the songs had originated from the North Blue, and clearly it hadn’t gone over his crew’s head either – they were singing merrily, good voices mixing with ones horrendous enough that Law needed a full barrel of ale just to forget them.
Law rested against Bepo, nursing a tankard of ale as the food settled in his stomach. (Sanji had made him his own dish, ensuring that his digestive system wasn’t overly taxed while guaranteeing a flavourful dinner. When he could stand for longer than an hour, Law needed to find a way to thank him.)
He still tired easily, but not so much that he couldn’t bear to be out in the open, especially knowing that he had two crews to protect him should they be attacked. Besides, sitting here beat the stifling silence of the infirmary, warding off the loneliness that often accompanied him when he was a patient and his crew were carrying out the mandatory chores. (That being said, they almost always worked around their schedules so that he was not left alone for longer than a few minutes, especially if he was sleeping and/or drugged up to his eyeballs.)
His crew flitted by, checking on him, leaving him a drink or a snack. Others even dared to brush his hair back, allegedly checking for potential fevers before ruffling his hair or squeezing his shoulder. The straw hats didn’t shy back. Zoro dropped by to talk to him about Kikoku (no, he wasn’t yet fit to spar, even if he wanted to. He didn’t want to set back his recovery). Nami and Robin wheedled him into a game of cards - he lost spectacularly, but he blamed that on his still recovering state and weaselled out of paying Nami. Eventually, the ebbing hubbub soothed him into a doze and he was only dimly aware of Penguin and Shachi settling on either side of him, a huge, warm blanket covering all three of them.
Maybe it had taken him way longer than most people to understand what it meant to have loving companions, too shrouded by the desire to avenge his past, but if it meant that he had a soft place to land regardless of whatever ailed him, then Law could get used to this.
A part of him would always be terrorised by his past, a fear that anyone he ever loves would die (for him) and leave him alone in the world, but maybe letting people in outweighed the loneliness and the pressing need to always look out for himself, with the bonus that he’d get to ensure that the people so dear to him remained healthy and hale.
Yeah, he could get used to this.
(Maybe not the snores in his ears, but he wouldn’t push them away for something as trivial. Yet.)