Thank you so much Letharnbjorg for your help with this fanfic! I do really appreciate it!


Scars

There were lots of scars on his body. His chest, his back, his arms and even his legs were covered with thin pale-white strips or rough marks, which most likely were healing slowly and painfully. They could've looked abominably, repulsively and even frighteningly a little bit, in case someone was to think about person's past and ways he had gotten all those marks. But they didn't. At least for him.

Just as many times before, Law's fingertips traced over a specifically ugly scar, which started at the forearm and ended almost at the collarbone. The man under him froze, like he always did, and went quiet, afraid of moving or taking a free breath. He wasn't ashamed of his past, didn't have any regrets about it, and didn't have a desire to prove anything – there was no reason or necessity for that: the past was the past, – and yet every time, with fear and pinching deep in his heart, he waited for a certain inevitability.

Who came up with this tale that scars make men more attractive? Probably those, who do not have even a single tiny pale mark; those, who are used to making money on other's misfortunes and writing loud and catchy slogans. What could those people possibly know about scars? Should they even know anything about them?

Rosinante could've heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes, but… But other man's fingertips moved to another mark, which also used to be painful back then. Brown eyes cautiously watched the face before them searching for the smallest changes in features, but not finding them – his fosterling was able to hide his feelings perfectly even as a child, so why try now, when he was already a grown-up?

He never said what he thought about those scars, which covered blonde's body, out loud. Many years ago, when Law was still a child, he moved his small hand across Rocinante's chest for the first time, frowned his thin eyebrows and abruptly wrapped his arms around man's torso, pressing against the warm belly with his cheek. Couple years later, Trafalgar's reaction has changed. One night, he surprised his guardian by running his hand across one of his old scars and then pressing against it with his lips. In the next few years, this didn't stop with just one touch.

But throughout all these years, he had never said what he actually thought about all those scars. Not that it was really important. Although for Rocinante, who was used to not paying any attention to profanity and crowd's persuasion, an opinion of one particular dark-haired man was truly significant. Though he himself, scared of quite an expected outcome, would never dare to ask what the younger man thought about all that. And yet…

«I'm sorry,» softly, almost silently, whispered Law, without looking up at Rocinante's face.

Elder man's lips trembled; he swallowed hard. The answer he had been afraid of all these years seemed to be right there. Blonde opened his mouth, not understanding what exactly he wanted to say or what he had to do, but Trafalgar, without letting him figure everything out, continued, throwing his head back and staring at darling facial features.

«I'm sorry I wasn't there with you».

Brown eyes opened wide, when he saw endless tenderness and pain in grey ones: not because Law had to abide this ugliness, but because he was too sorry he wasn't near blonde, wasn't able to protect him, the adult man, or wasn't able to share that suffering and bitterness with him. His breath was taken away, his arms, which were holding other man's shoulders, shook. Rocinante gazed into beloved face, soaking up emotions Law risked to show in front of him for a few moments; smiled softy and hugged dark-haired guy a little bit tighter.

«Don't be. You're with me now. That's all what matters».

END