A/N: Warnings for references to past sexual assault/abuse. Not graphic, but touched upon.

Read the endnotes for background to the series.

Chapter One: The Little Match Girl

"Psycho."

Marco sent his flame over his own body to give him some light, matching the Room Law kept lighting up, and under which he was – what? – splitting matchsticks - with his freaking nodachi - in what might count for the hull of the ship - or a wee, dank, dark cell-like part of it. Marco hadn't known this space even existed.

Did that freak's eyes just flash gold?

"Benn's gonna kill you. He'll kill us all, all of the crews, if he can't find his matches." Bepo shot through with bullets. See if Law could live with that.

Law spliced the wood together again, and then split it. How could he even see the matches in this darkness, and how did he manage to make that massive blade do something so finicky? So exact? How was there even room to swing it?

Marco's haki had crawled every square millimetre of the ship trying to locate this brooding, seething menace. His brooding, seething menace. Apparently. Jeez. What had got into the doc? What had Marco got into? Nothing yet. Not at this stage of the game.

Benn had a lighter anyway, and Marco guessed this was one way to encourage him to give up, but he didn't think that was Law's intention. Was it true then? The Heart ultimately cared only for himself? He was pissed about something now, and he'd take them all down with him? Over matches?

Did it take effort, this fretwork, this lacework, this creation of geegaws and gimcracks, or was it just that it was so dark and cramped that he could hear Law's breath echo throughout the room? Steady, not laboured, but some exertion – concentration perhaps – was in place. As if breath - the turning of bearings under a conveyer belt - motored the whole thing. Rhythmical in a way, almost soothing, if it wasn't so . . . compulsive.

Law had been next to him in bed that morning. Or he'd been next to Law in Law's bed. They'd fucked before as in – not last night before – but in the past before, but they hadn't been something before, so they didn't fuck last night, because they were something now. Weren't they?

And Vergo and Doflamingo hadn't cocked their legs (in lieu of tails) spraying the Red Force with their tom cat repulsiveness at any stage when Law and Marco had got into each other's skin, before. And all of a sudden he now knew more than he probably should know about Law, and here the doc was, slicing up matchsticks. Spooked to kingdom come. Wielding a nodachi. Very precisely.

The Phoenix had used Law to ease the ache of the long absence of Ace from his life, six years now. No-one had replaced him, but in moments they could. And Law was probably feeling the more recent loss of Luffy on those nights. Raw. But it evolved, step by step, beyond the carnal. Law so often closed himself off from all touch anyway – except from some of his own crew – that it was a once in a blue moon mixture of weather and ale that brought them physically together. Before.

But they were beginning something now. They'd spent the night together, Law wanting company after the Don Quixote two jerked off all over him again – figuratively – and Marco wanted to give that company. Shanks had practically ordered him to check up on the doc, but he was going to do it anyway. At Law's request, the Phoenix hadn't touched him, not in that way though they'd gone to bed together. Marco had dropped off in the morning light, and when he awoke Law was no longer beside him.

He sure as hell wasn't joking about needing time if last night was anything to go by. What the fuck? He was a freaking pirate, and pirates took and took and took. Anything between them previously was quick and hurried and Law left as soon as he could. But Marco figured he'd still been processing his break from Luffy – or maybe that's why they broke.

The sex left him feeling pretty empty, but he hadn't sought it out to fill any long-lasting spiritual need. Marco knew he'd probably have been as happy with anyone on the crew. After Ace, there were just some times and it didn't really matter who did the job, except that Law was quiet, discreet and skilled. And pretty to look at. Then after the event they'd proceed with their days as if no semen or saliva had passed between them at all.

And they'd never treated each other badly. Just not that well. Yesterday was something, but at some point last night, in the midst of this beginning, Law shut down. He'd been so happy when Marco had knocked on his door he wasn't sure he'd got the right one. So tentative when Marco had run across him on the deck, wary about what Marco's attention meant, but Marco thought he had accepted that he was there for Law, not for his past.

And then.

Ace was simple.

Despite everything.

Law hadn't moved from the bed like he had in the past – it was his own bed, after all – but he didn't move into contact as he had just before, skin against skin – not even an hour before. Marco lay with an arm slung over his sinewy waist. There'd been a shift in the air. Law didn't escape Marco's touch, but Marco could no longer tell if it was because Law felt he had to be there or he wanted to be.

He felt Law kept himself beside him as an exercise of control. Over his own self. Over his ice cold blood and flight tendencies. A test of trust. He'd kept that stone he'd told him about last night, but they hadn't gone through any of the exercises Law had walked him through. He guessed they weren't at that level yet. Maybe he hadn't needed it.

In this dingy hold now, Law's shirt was discarded in the corner, crumpled on a bench. Not the same one he wore to bed last night. A bundle of fucking confusions, this pirate. Law had pulled a tee over his tatts before they'd settled in, though he'd been more than happy to have Marco trace them earlier. Had returned the favour.

"Law."

.

Fuck, couldn't Marco see he was busy? Fucking Vergo. Couldn't get him out of his head. Shook that head. Split another matchstick, added it to the pile. Had they made him do this at some stage? To hone his skill? Punishment? He didn't care. He needed to do something.

He remembered something like this, over and over. Severing, splintering, everything perfectly on edge – his frazzled brain. Splitting wood for the woodpile, splintering pieces for kindling. Some putz he'd had to torture – separating one layer of nail from the other, paring hardened epithelium from the deeper skin.

"Law."

Law exhaled - annoyed - and moved from Marco's sphere, away from him. Whitebeard's first division commander. What the fuck did he want with him. Doflamingo's whore? Doflamingo's torturer? What the fuck could he ever want with him after hearing what he had yesterday? Most of it from his own whining mouth - a thin, grim line at present. The weak don't get to choose. Marco should know that.

Law couldn't remember what he had and hadn't verbalised, but all the events touched upon, whether mentally or spoken, were his life. Did they all see what he saw? Feel it? Pity them. They'd need the economy pack bleach. His surface was all hooks and hatchets, not an elbow crook of comfort.

"Law."

He glanced at the Phoenix.

"What are you doing?"

What did it look like? Splitting matchsticks into further matchsticks and putting them back together again.

"What'd I do? What happened?"

Law paused. Rested the nodachi, his breath articulated. Just when things go right, they fall.

The blond picked up Law's shirt from the bench and brought it across. The black one with the white patterning. One of the black ones he guessed. Law looked at it as if it were a foreign object, magnificent freaking chest rising and falling. Why? The pectorals that Law had willingly allowed Marco to run his hands over the night before, which he had pressed into the swirl of his tongue.

Law turned from Marco, barely giving him a glance. You don't know me. He tipped his hand upward in the blue of the Room and assembled all the matchsticks so they looked like the installation he'd made of the marine ship, boulders and river on Punk Hazard.

Fuck, had Law scanned and gathered every single pack of matches on board the ship? That was an impressive model. Some fixation. Was that a smile? A leer? Law's own appreciation of his malformation? Strutting his mangled self across the stage of the oddotorium with a fuck you limp and a hobble?

The Phoenix quirked an eyebrow and dimmed his own fire. Last thing they needed was the ship to go down or up in flames. Cook would also be livid that his matches were gone, but he had other means of igniting the hot plates.

.

Was his crew okay? Law. A random thought chasing another. He hadn't even asked – some captain he was – the presence of those bastar – the way Doflamingo swaggered into Shanks' galley as if it were the very cell he kept Law in those two years.

Law added more matches to the highest level of the model so the whole structure was top heavy. The only thing keeping it afloat was his power.

He could smell it emanating off them, marking their territory, marking him to let Shanks know, anyone know, Law was his. This person, this property, this person, this prostitute, this shit, this slut, this shit, this Doflamingo slave. What effect would neutering have on that bow-legged prick?

He had to be ready, in that cell, in the mornings, and if he wasn't - well, that's what the strings were for. He'd almost dropped to his knees out of conditioning, standing next to proud Marco, trying not to shake in front of resolute Benn. Kikoku rattling with anger, Law with fear.

The strings would pierce the membrane of his lips and hold his mouth open when he wasn't willing. Or asleep. Damn it. Sometimes he just didn't wake up fast enough. It hurt, it fucking hurt. Those things could slice a building clear through. So he complied. It was better to be willing.

He turned back to his sculpture, wiping sweat from his face with his shoulder, before his colour showed. As if it could be seen in this light. His own skin wasn't much of an absorbent.

The Heart pirates were on reconnaissance somewhere. Doflamingo used the cloudy skies to travel. Who knew how Vergo was moving? They probably still had that hideous ship and the World Government probably let them sail it. Though he had some fondness for it. Dellinger sitting on that canon. Oddball. Even if Law had no clue what was normal. He was aware of this. Tried to work on it.

He wanted Bepo. He began to disassemble the art, a cascade of matches. As long as the Polar Tang remained submerged they should be okay. Bepo was a sentient being, not his fucking plush toy, but he wanted his goodness. His lack of judgement. Where the fuck was he?

There was no way the Phoenix wasn't judging, especially after this display. Luffy had dumped him for Zoro. True, he'd never told Luffy about the Zoro attack the morning after they'd removed the seastone chip, and he'd never told him of the nightmare, but it just showed that Roronoa was right. He wasn't good enough.

What was Marco's greeting? Psycho. Who could love - no, like (no need to get ahead of yourself there, white m . . . Law) - this fucking venomous heart? Fucking his body was another matter. No-one ever had trouble with that. He still felt the curl of their arms around his waist. He spat to the side. Away from Marco.

What had Zoro said? Nothing that hadn't been said before and that the bounty posters didn't also say.

And what did Doflamingo and Vergo say? What did they tell Shanks and Benn? All of it. Fucking all of it. Every vile, bile-inducing, wretched experience.

"Go, Marco. Leave. Can't connect. I can't …" He was going to vomit all over those Roman sandals if the commander stood there for much longer.

Law pointed to the jumbled matchsticks. They were quite beautiful in their colourless Kandinsky kind of a way. Neo-Kandinsky. That's how the paths within were. Sixes and sevens, apples and oranges, giraffes and chalk, devil fruit and devil fruit, removed from any direction leading anywhere.

Vergo's breath was right by his ear. If Marco touched him now, it wouldn't be wise. He ran his hands down his own body, slick with perspiration, and tried to shake it off. The feeling. Picked up his shirt and wiped himself down with it, before pulling it over his head. He wasn't ready, he just wasn't ready.

.

Five things he could see. Well, he couldn't see fucking anything in here. He lit up five of the matches and doused them before they ignited the whole structure.

"You're fucking playing with fire?"

Duh.

Four things he could feel.

Depressions around his wrists. Nails ragged on the fingers of his hand. The almost gentle, sensual, lattice work Doflamingo had made of his entire body. Doffy loved to trace the marks left by his strings when he was being magnanimous, Law drowning beside him in that mammoth bed. It sure beat the hell out of the cell floor.

Hair spiked, he ran his tongue against the roof of his mouth – still felt the imprint from it being scored. And one more. Well, it wouldn't hurt if there was one more. Five things he could feel instead of four. Luffy's agate. Had he brought that with him?

Three things he could hear. He put his hand in his pocket for the stone. Fuffufu He lit three matches again. One-fu-buckle my-fucking-shoe. Three-fu, knock on the –. Five, six, light all the sticks. The flare of fire, na Law? He snuffed them quickly.

Two things he could smell – sulphur and, yeah, somehow – he'd spent the morning in the bath – but the feel of crust all over him lingered, a layer of dirt under his nails, and, but, wait – Marco's fire, a particular burnt autumn? A scent that had something warm in it. Resin? Leaves? What had Marco smelt like last night? Law rubbed at the curve of his own neck.

Now, he could mostly recall a metallic chill. He knew that wasn't all there was. And he knew the Phoenix hadn't touched him. Not in that way, and he knew because he didn't sleep. Waiting for the snaking of fingers across his stomach and lower. Would Law have rolled toward the touch, toward him? Just let him do what he wanted? Wanted him to do what he wanted? Kicked him out?

One thing he could taste.

Vergo.

He wasn't ready.

A/N:

Thank you for reading. This chapter follows on from chapters 14-17 of Repossession. 16 and 17 are chapters detailing the beginning of Law and Marco's relationship. 14 and 15 are when Doflamingo and Vergo visit the Red Force. 14 and 15 are not pretty chapters, so heed the warnings if you read them.

In this AU, Doflamingo escaped from Dressrosa, Vergo from Punk Hazard, taking Law with them as a captive for two years. All is detailed in the first chapter of Repossession.

This fic will cross between Law's past (this chapter) and his present (Luffy being pirate king, Marco and Law growing old together). We'll see how it unfolds, anyway. Not too much angst in it, I think (who am I kidding?).

Certain chapters in this are explicit in the Repossession vein. There are softer chapters too though. The tougher chapters are on AO3 at the moment. I will think what to do in terms of bringing them to FFN.

Note: Dec 8, 2018: The Vivre Cards have come out with Marco's height, and he's got 12cm on Law. When I started writing these two, a post on Oro Jackson had Marco at about 184 cm, which I prefer. I initially wrote Marco taller, and readjusted everything. Now, it seems I need to go the other way! BUT, I'll just leave author notes instead. It's always an AU anyway.