A/N: There are many ideas/elements in here borrowed from stories such as the wonderful Worth, by Doctor Cyance, Luminary, by xDrifter, and from various doujinshi and some brutal pieces of work I've come across here and there.

Though nowhere near as explicit as Doctor Cyance's Remedial Lesson, or Luminary, where Law suffers while being held by Doflamingo, the main idea was to have Law arrested, along with Doflamingo and Vergo (yes, he lives), by the marines, two years after Dressrosa, "rescuing" him from similar brutality.

Only trouble is he's moving from one captivity to another. Initially, one bad situation spirals into the other, but it's not too long before Law manages to get "repossession" of himself, through his own resilience and the kindness of others. But you don't go through that kind of trauma without being traumatised, even if you're a supernova. Ultimately, a story of recovery and reflection, but it's a bumpy, angsty road. And with good reason! Not a whole lot of fighting action in this fic.

Trigger warnings for rape, non-consensual sex, language. This chapter, implied/remembered.

Chapter 1 – Capture/Captive

Law was cuffed to the chair, hands behind him. His legs were chained too. His black hair was still rippled through with blue – spiky and well-kept in terms of the way his sideburns framed his face, his trimmed goatee accentuated his sharp angles, his cheekbones. Someone was taking care of himself. The grey eyes glared at him nominally, before glancing down. There was no sass, no snarl, but no expectation of being treated well, of the marines thinking that he was anything but a full-fledged member of the Don Quixote crew, Doflamingo's willing underling. And even if they were able to see beyond that, he'd been a pirate in his own right before Vergo had captured him and brought him back into the poisonous folds of the Family. So, he was wanted, whichever way you looked at it. Depending on the marine that interrogated him, they were the lesser of two evils.

Under hooded eyes, he looked up at Smoker again as the older man called his name. There was some relief it was Smoker. They had some history, had fought together against Vergo in the past, but Law had also removed the man's heart and humiliated him in front of G5. Even so, he was fair in his own way.

"Law?"

How the mighty have fallen, Smoker thought, biting down on his two cigars. Law wondered if they'd find a way to his skin, though he hadn't known Smoker to act that way before. Then again, he'd never been captured by him. He felt numb. Had done so for most of the last two years. Detached, dissociated.

Vergo and Doflamingo had punished him, brutally, reminding him he was nothing but a pretty and skilled mouth. His body a receptacle for their whims. They still liked him to play doctor, and if they could only tame him, they'd have loved to have harnessed his devil fruit ability.

They dressed him up in a suit now and then to join the family meetings, to be sneered at by the other family members as a traitor. Which is why the marines had found him with them when they invaded.

Any other day he might have been shackled in either Doflamingo's or Vergo's bed, restrained to his own, or even in that fucking dungeon down in the freaking basement. There was no better word for it. Generally, without a stitch on. Perhaps covered and caked with the remnants, the excess of the night before, or clean, waiting for the assault to occur.

He wondered what might have happened if the marines had found him in that state? He shuddered inwardly, wasn't sure he'd be able to live down the shame, but thought that at least he wouldn't be subject to this suspicion, this wrongly levelled blame that he was on the side of Doflamingo.

That man had not made his life worth living: from childhood and now adulthood. A slight reprieve when Law had been able to run away in his late teens. There had been ten years physically free from him, though never from the threat of him. Execution would be a blessing.

Law sighed and looked up at the vice-admiral. He knew he was broken.

"Smoker. They chipped me." He tipped his head so Smoker could see the top of his ear, or the chip through his hair at least, seastone. "It's like two years of nicotine poisoning, and these make it unbearable."

He shook the heavy chains they'd secured his hands with, shook his shackled feet as much as the restraints allowed. He was barefoot. If the prisoners didn't come in with shoes, they didn't get them. Smoker wondered what had happened to Law's, but noticed that his nails, feet and hands, were manicured. As fitting an executive, perhaps. On the other hand, he seemed exhausted, the bags under his eyes permanent.

Where was his fight, his caginess, his nimble tongue? There was little fire at the edge of his eyes, and not even sadness. Resignation. No sense of entitlement that you'd expect a Quixote pirate to have. Was it the seastone? It wouldn't help. Why would an executive be chipped?

Smoker couldn't touch the cuffs either. He was a fruit user too. He ordered one of the lesser marines outside the office to come in and unlock them. The rookie's face betrayed his fear and doubt as he approached the pirate, but Law looked as if he couldn't give a shit about any of it, and not in his usual mouthy, bratty way either.

He glanced at the slats of light across the concrete of the interrogation room. It seemed a nice day out. The weather didn't give a fuck about what went on in the marine holding tank. Then again, the stone was cold under his feet. Maybe the weather was as vindictive as everyone else.

He wore the same striped convict uniform as the others of the Family who had been captured. It was loose fitting, probably a size too big. The officer released both his hands and legs, a seastone net at the ready. Smoker had his jutte nearby. There's no way they'd try this with Doflamingo. Then again, he wasn't chipped with kairoseki. Not a bad idea.

Law ignored the officer, no nod of thanks, no glare, as the chains fell behind him, and were loosened from his ankles. He stretched out his legs, stretched his arms above him, his shirt rising slightly. Was that a new tattoo, a brand? Smoker caught a flash of colour but didn't say anything. It didn't match any of the patterns they had on record for the pirate.

Law felt around his wrists where the cuffs had been. Smoker noticed the imprint, deep, of shackles that must have been applied before his capture by the marines, and for some time.

The Heart Pirate followed the vice admiral's gaze, then looked back at Smoker for a moment. He was tired – that seastone really was toxic. The other officer had scuttled out of the room to stand guard by the door.

"Could you move me from Doflamingo and Vergo?" he drawled, not maintaining eye contact, looking down at his tattooed fingers. He couldn't suppress a shudder. They were shackled as well in the cell they were sharing. Doflamingo was so powerful he was well and truly chained up. Vergo could use haki, but wasn't a devil fruit user, so he was in ordinary chains. They could move somewhat though, and they could move Law between them, close to them. And they did. Even in freaking crisis, couldn't leave him alone, but he was more of a threat now too.

Smoker tipped his head. "What are you to them?"

Law shrugged. Looked out the window, lethargic. Green out there. A few trees here and there. He imagined the grass under his feet, then turned back to Smoker, speaking without emotion. "Rag doll, fuck toy, something dispensable to be fucked and fucked with, over and over." He looked back down at the "death" tattooed on his fingers. Now, wouldn't that be welcome?

He regarded Smoker again. There was no sugar coating it. The vice-admiral took in Law's good looks. Still. Was his manner coquettish? Only from habit. Smoker could feel how hardened Law was. How unable to interact. Was it resentment for the marines, or the result of whatever he'd been up to for the last two years? They were some disturbing words, but Doflamingo was a disturbing kind of a guy.

"Who'll have me here, Smoker? The grunts? Kizaru? Akainu? You? Seems it's all anyone wants of me."

That's all he was good for, what he excelled at – and Doflamingo and Vergo had repeated it so often and got him to repeat it in the midst of their very unwanted ministrations that it had started to shape his neural pathways. Again. Reshape them? Return them to a previous very unwanted form.

He shrugged once more and folded his hands neatly on his lap. A patient measure, a feline grace. Law never lost it. Even beaten like this.