Title: That's For Last Time
Author: AppleL0V3R
Beta-reader: N/A
Fandom: Naruto and One Piece
Pairing: Trafalgar D. Water Law and Haruno Sakura
Other Characters: OC (minor), (mentions of) "Corazon" Donquixote Rocinante
Chapter: One – Unpaid Debts
Summary: The one where they don't really meet the first time they meet, and despite what they say it's not about the one-upmanship.
Word Count: 2,650
Rating: T
Type: Mini-Story – Incomplete
Genre: Canon Divergent (Naruto), Canon Compliant (One Piece), general, pre-relationship, slow burn
Warnings: Mentions of character death, spoilers (One Piece: Dressrosa Arc)
Disclaimer: If you've heard of it before, then it's obviously not mine.
Started: November 21, 2016
Completed: November 21, 2016
Note: The first part was supposed to be longer with the second part as more of an after note. I really should know better by now than to set expectations on what my writing turns out as. I am, however, quite pleased with the turn out. On that note: yes another crossover. I'm still stuck on One Piece (though I'm officially caught up) and Trafalgar Law was an instant favorite alongside Ace. Naturally that led to a Law/Sakura one-shot. Which led to thoughts of continuing this (thus the title) and now I have so many bunnies hoping around for sequels to this that I'm not sure how the multiplied so fast. And if you enjoy my crossovers, know that I have more ideas (including a modern AU) and an Ace/Saku story in the works.
Also, I'm aware Law's eyes are yellow in the manga, and usually I'm prone to side with the manga over the anime. But in the anime they are grey and that's kinda my mental image of Law now. Which is why I will continue to portray him with grey eyes instead of yellow.
Lastly, this set after the Naruto storyline (diverges from canon before the end), and before the beginning of One Piece. For clarification, Sakura is 17 and Law is 22.
"Co…ra…-san…?"
Sakura blinked as she ran the syllables over in her mind again. If she didn't know better she would have assumed he had said 'kura-san' but in his delirium, even if he did know of her—which was impossible—it was highly unlikely he would recognize her. Rather than correct him however, she hummed softly, "It'll be alright, I've got you."
A heavy exhale, carrying relief and confusion. "…how…?"
Instinct told her he wasn't asking how it would be alright, or how she would help him. She'd bet it had more to do with the 'Cora-san' he had mistaken her for. Mostly, she knew that tone—it denoted a feeling she was more than a little familiar with.
Loss. Grief.
Her heart ached for the man she carried on her back.
No doubt, if he remembered any of this, he would not remember her. He would remember his 'Cora-san.'
And she hoped like hell she could make it a pleasant memory. Touched with the bittersweet knowledge of remembering a lost loved one, but full of the warmth of believing in them once more. Granted, she knew that playing to the memory could also be considered cruel by some. To offer him something that simply was not real and could never be true.
Still.
If someone had allowed her to believe, even for a moment that she could feel Naruto's warmth, be covered under Kakashi-sensei's protection, remember Sai as something other than cold and pale, she would give anything. Oh it would hurt when reality kicked back in. But for a moment she could believe. And that was how she hoped he would remember this.
She didn't miss a beat as she adjusted her hold on him, careful not to undo the chakra strings that held her cloak closed against the biting wind.
"It will be." She promised him softly, and told herself that surely, if he was lucky enough to have someone like her run across him in a time of need that the rest of his pain could also be taken care of. The little town at the base of the small mountain was not much farther, and she was glad that she had booked a room at one of the small inns before she had gone trekking up the mountain.
It made her wonder what he had been doing there—injured and woefully underdressed for the freezing temps, the thin air and the heavy snowfall. A damaged hoodie and a fur hat did not count. Thus why she had taken out her only spar cloak to wrap around them both and relinquished her favorite red scarf in favor of keeping the thin skin around his vitals insulated and warm. She would worry about getting his body temp up to proper levels once she had him safely in a bed and his wounds properly dressed.
Lost in her considerations and the task of safely heading down a mountain, she had assumed he had either relapsed into sleep or was so drowsy that he soon would be. His second exhale, softer than the first, but just as deliberate startled her enough to jar her from her musings but not enough to physically react.
"I know…I'm almost ready to avenge you."
Her green eyes widened and she bit the inside of her lip to keep from responding. She did not know this man, she reminded herself. And despite the illusion she was playing to, he did not know he was divulging such personal details to a complete stranger. Now was not the time to ask questions and or make comments about circumstances she knew nothing of. No matter how against vengeance she tended to be.
But he had not fallen asleep yet; seemed to be fighting unconsciousness, like this exchange was more important than anything. And so she carefully pieced together a reply. "Hush, now. You need to recover first before you can do that." She paused, thought about leaving it there as it was vague enough to pass for something that perhaps his own thoughts could conjure and explain. But she could not help herself—vindication for any reason always reminded her of Sasuke and just how tragically his situation had gone—and so she tacked on: "But I hope you have more dreams. After all; the best way to honor a memory is remembrance of the best parts."
She had no way of knowing if that was in-line with his memory of his 'Cora-san' or even if it was something he would ever tell himself. But it needed to be said. Revenge was a hollow victory, rarely bringing any feeling of completion or closure. But to deny the need for it outright did not work for everybody.
Another exhale against the hypersensitive skin of her own neck, and she waited for him to reply. But after a moment of prolonged silence, she realized his breathing had evened out once more, his heartbeat just as steady.
Apparently, he had gotten what he needed, no longer fighting to stay conscious.
She smiled softly, and returned her attention to the snowy wilderness and the path in front of her.
When he woke again, it was to the feeling of being cocooned in warmth, though he was stationary again and the warmth was different.
Cora-san.
His eyes shot open and he made to sit up. But his body protested such abrupt movements via dulled radiating aches that had him returning to his original position. Law was a doctor—and not just because of his Devil Fruit—so he knew better than to push his body without understanding the source of the pain. Reclining once more, he took stock of what his senses could gather.
The first thoughts were of what he last remembered: the mountain, being surrounded, sustaining too many injuries. The next were of his current state: still recovering from the heavy damage, but definitely at the tail end of it. And finally the realization that he was in a warm bed—warmer than the thin sheets should be able to offer even with what his own boosted body temperature could account for. Surrounded by plain though not unpleasant wooden walls in a relatively small though not really tiny room.
He was at an inn.
How had he gotten from bloodied and immobile on a snowy mountainside to a cozy room?
Cora-san.
Except…Corazon was dead. Had been for almost a full decade.
The sense-memory of being carried, of a soft voice promising him that it would be alright, competed for the pain of remembered loss. But he'd lived with his grief for long enough to build up an immunity to the worst of it.
The best way to honor a memory is remembrance of the best parts.
Swallowing the lump in his throat before it could turn golf-ball-sized and choke him, he tried to remember the source of the voice, of the words. They were not Cora-son, as much as he wished they were, but they were warm—seeking to pay homage to the loss rather than judge the results of endured heart wrenching pain.
Try as he might he could not remember the woman who had carried him from the barren wilderness to this bed, the one who was responsible for the bulk of his recovery.
Slowly, he tested his muscles and limbs by sitting up and stretching them cautiously to gain a fuller idea of his newly healed state.
She'd done a bang up job.
The least of the bruising was little more than phantom aches, and the worst of it were the pinkened remnants of gashes sown together and underlying tissues mended and bones reknitted. He would bet he would not have so much as a tiny scar when all was said and done. Like he had never been wounded in the first place.
Had she done them herself? Or had she gotten someone else to repair the damage he had sustained?
Didn't matter, he decided. He was healthy enough to venture out of the bed. Certainly well enough to no longer need the cloak and scarf tucked snuggly around him.
Grey eyes blinked. Cloak? Scarf? But sure enough, a thick but lightweight snow-white cloak tied loosely around his neck, the hood fallen to cover the one on his own warm hoodie. Over the tied cloak, was a vibrant red scarf, looped and tucked to cover the entirety of his neck, the lower half of his face and there was enough left over of the thick material to rest on half of both shoulders.
The hell…?
Had she left them? Probably as an unsubtle reminder that he was not dressed for this island's chilly weather.
Belated he realized that he could feel the slight circulation of air around his ears and rustling the ends of his short hair. Frowning, he twisted around to see if she had brought his hat since she had been gracious enough to leave him clothing that did not belong to him.
His favorite fur hat hung from the headboard's bedpost. And as he reached out to grab it, he noticed the silver, covered dish on the nightstand.
Was that food? A small sticky note on the silver cover read in neat handwriting: 'Caution: still hot.'
Hell. Whoever she was, she was definitely not from these parts. The people here had been as warm and fuzzy as their island.
He doubted that the food would still be hot given that he had been unconscious long enough for her to fully dress his wounds, tuck him in bed, and, apparently, get him food. Forcing aside thoughts of who in their right mind did something so selfless for someone they didn't know, he picked up the platter the dish sat on, careful with it because he had no idea of what was beneath the cover dish. Even before he settled it in his lap, the heat coming off the metal was hard to miss.
Considering that maybe, he had not been out for as long as he assumed, he glanced back at the table—saw the money with another sticky note attached and mug but not much else.
He closed his eyes briefly and decided to just be grateful for this particular stroke of luck and call it good. The other option was to consider himself indebted to someone he could only remember the voice of and did not have time for that. He had a damn plan to see to fruition and could not go looking for someone he couldn't even recognize on-sight.
Her words filtered through his thoughts again as he uncovered the dish. A bowl of ramen that had various vegetables and bits of meat with a side of a few onigiri and cubed fruits. His first thought was no bread, his second was to wonder why she would say something like that to him. Did she know him? Did he know her?
Dropping it, he reminded himself. After all, she was clearly the opposite of a threat to him and his plans and judging by the tone she'd used with him it was unlikely she would become so.
He ignored the rumbling in his stomach, given that he had every intention of finishing everything on the plate, and instead, focused his thoughts on his next few steps. Once the dish was empty he shuffled around until he could hook his knees over the side of the bed and exchanged the dish for the cup—also still warm and the beverage a sweet tea that lacked in fragrance. Honey, green tea extract, and what he would guess were few other near tasteless herbs meant to help the body's own natural healing processes and protect it from infection.
As he downed the cup as quickly as he dared, he picked up the note that had been left on the money. Paid the innkeeper for the room already (two days' worth). Do me a favor and tip him though.
Law picked up the small stack of beris and noted that there was probably about a five-hundred-thousand in total. Not exactly pocket change, but not really something to balk at. More than he would give a stranger though.
Hell.
Separating out one of the 10,000 note beri he pocketed the rest along with both sticky notes and stood up to search for the rest of his things. She'd stowed Kikoku so inconspicuously that if he had not been looking for it, he would not have seen it by the small closet area where she'd put the rest of his things on the high shelf. Unsurprised by the thoughtfulness in the wake of all she'd done for him thus far, he gathered his belongings and headed for the door once his shoes were properly fitted on his feet.
He paused at the door—there was another note stuck to it with her handwriting.
Warded: open door only when you're ready to leave.
Warded? Considering it, he turned his gaze along the entirety of the door frame in a bid to find the traps she warned of and frowned when he didn't see so much as thread or notch. Whatever she had done, there was no indication that bore him any threat.
The second part of the note, he realized meant that her warding would only hold up until the door was opened. That in mind, he opened the door slowly, conscious of any changes, subtle or otherwise. He perceived nothing. Still frowning, he took an experimental step over the threshold. Nothing. Only once he was completely out of the room did he realize the near imperceptible difference in the weight of the air around him.
Whatever trap she'd laid had been completely harmless to him, but once more it was a case of only finding it because he was looking for it. Idly, he wondered what, exactly, it would have done to an intruder.
He continued to turn the thought over in his head as he made his way to the first floor and paused at the entryway long enough to gain the innkeeper's attention from behind the simple desk he was seated at. The middle aged man, eyed him curiously, clearly assuming that Law had no reason to stop by the front desk at all. Before the man could say a word, he slid the note he'd separated out earlier across the light-colored wood. The man's eyes widened before blinking confusedly at Law.
It didn't take long for the confusion to fade as he smiled and shook his head. He reached out to the generous tip and moved to slide it back to Law. "Thank you, however, the young miss already paid for your room."
Repressing a scowl, Law shrugged at the man and made no move to take the money back. Wasn't even his anyway. "She said to give it to you."
More blinking, a bigger smile. The gratitude made Law uncomfortable, given that the money wasn't from him. He was in the same boat as the older man in that respect so he shook his head slightly, and took a step back in an effort to distance himself from favor that hardly belonged to him. But the man was undaunted and quick to inform him that he was welcome to stay at the inn again if he ever returned to the frosty island. Sighing with the realization that the man would not be told no over the matter, Law nodded and mentioned that he'd pass it along to the 'young miss' when prompted. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the three scrawny little boys of no more than eight playing behind the counter.
Town like this? 10,000 beris probably went far.
Turning on his heel, he exited the little inn before anyone else could say anything more. The scarf seemed to burn a hole in his bag where he had stowed it for safekeeping.
He had plans, damn it. He didn't have time for unpaid debts.