A/N: This story follows on from and reflects back to the long fic, Repossession. At the end of that fic, Marco and Law are partners, and Marco has helped Law through some pretty horrific situations. Read the end notes for more information.

Chapter 1: Teaspoon Collectors, Bottletop Hoarders, Dishcloth Dames

He could always depend on Robin. Marco pled needing to prep the bar, walk the dogs – they were currently looking after Luffy and Zoro's mutt while they attended the new, improved, Reverie – and wishing to be surprised by whatever crime against humanity Law brought back to the house. Would there even be room? The bungalow was already a floor-to-ceiling shrine to tea-towels.

Robin had always got Law, though. True, she would prefer accompanying him to the morgue to look over and select abnormal body parts for the surgeon to dissect, analyse, and then preserve, like Auntie Mame's pickles. But beggars couldn't be choosers, even if Law's tea-towel hobby was as innocuous as your average plain-faced, boy-next-door, neighbourhood serial killer. The kind who spent far too much time chatting to his rotting mother, tucked into her wizened, cobwebbed and slowly rocking recliner, sequestered in the corner of his room. That's when not quietly terrorising the upright citizens in their weatherboard houses.

She sighed and slipped her arm into his as they left her house. He couldn't help his vibe. Personally, she and a great many of the pirate world who actually knew him found him as sexy as fuck, murderous vibe or no. Innocuous nerdy murderous vibe or no. The rest were ready to label anything he did, from growing vegetables to running his own practice, as creepy as fuck. They didn't know him.

He tipped his head to hers. Wondered if Lamie would be as delightfully twisted if she'd lived to see the day. Although of course, using that line of reasoning, Robin was his older sister, but he never was much of one for defining relationships between adults by age. There was only four years between them.

She held his hand, Kikoku was wrapped in his other. Chopper had been invited. Bepo, Penguin and Shachi too, but they all staved off, citing the important and crucial work they did at Law's clinics. Which they did. Assault centres needed staff to remain operational, without a doubt. But it wasn't as if they couldn't have a day off.

"Boss, I love being featured on them." Shachi puffed out his currently covered chest. His last modelling assignment for the tea-towels had shown him baring his abs. "But I'm not joining you."

The designs featuring Penguin and Shachi were usually well below Chopper's in popularity, and no-one could draw in the coin like Bepo, but that bare-chested one walked out of his clinic. Literally. Or literally in the grip of thieving hands. Law's practice was in the seedier part of town, which harboured its fair share of manhandlers, panhandlers, conmen and spivs, pickpockets, burglars, shoplifters and kin. It was only that Law treated so many, no questions asked, and at a discounted price if they really couldn't pay, that the clinic itself hadn't been broken into a thousand times over.

Stealing the commemorative towels on sale to support the crisis centres Law ran was low though. He'd trained Mercury – rescue dog number three – to growl when someone didn't seem to have a hand on their wallet as well as on Shachi's glistening one hundred thread count body. The receptionist had a pretty good drop tackle on her, and once they figured the Heart pirate's pecs were the hit of the season, they guarded the dish cloths ferociously, and made sure correct recompense was offered for their removal. It all went toward the clinics of course.

And they tried to tell him it was an old biddy's hobby with no hint of excitement.

In his books, a day spent just with Robin was a day more than well spent. The others didn't know what they were missing. The dark haired woman adored the Heart captain, so it was no hardship on her part either to indulge him in whatever esoteric hobby he was pursuing at the time. She ran her fingers across the stubby nails of his hand, the hardened keratin that had never properly grown back from past torture. Oh god, just to have him near and alive, and also happy, so happy, was nectar to the Ohara survivor. She'd found her own peace many years before life finally fell into sync with Law's own wants and desires.

After the Kid attack, some years ago now, she and Chopper had both visited, and Law came to the island on occasion. They toured some of the galleries as they often did. The tall man was polite and courteous as ever, as sardonic, but his wicked gleam and his confidence were dulled for a while. Law's friends weren't sure they'd get him back.

He stopped flirting, and even when he'd been little more than stripped back skin and raw nerves on the Sunny after his escape from the marines, he'd had room and time for a special smile and understanding for her. He didn't flirt with everyone. He did so with those he loved. Those he loved and trusted. It seemed a rare thing, but once you had it, you had it, and you never wanted to lose it. Maybe banter was the better word. It depended on the Strawhat.

In the aftermath of the attack, that smile disappeared. He constrained himself. Acting with the propriety of a Victorian gentleman, with the self-recrimination of a flagellant.

She was glad when his aloofness proved temporary. The two got on so well maybe because they were securely ensconced with their own sexual preferences and in Law's case, his own loved one. Robin had a series of relationships. They both knew that if Law were straight he'd be with her. The fact he wasn't, meant they could be open and giving without fearing it was leading somewhere else. She held no illusions of being together, nor harboured any regrets that they weren't.

It was Marco's idea, not Law's, to get the rescue dogs, but what a good move it had been. Law knew what he had to do to get through trauma and to not let it control his life, but it took huge effort. He had his practice, Marco, and good friends, and all that helped enormously. Shipping Kid off to Ivankov and eventually opening the clinics also enriched his life, and lent it a stability that he hadn't felt before. It took some time for him and Zoro to get over and beyond what they'd both been through, but they did.

It was the dog that really pulled him through, as tired of a concept as it was, and Zoro, though Robin knew less of that. They'd all been so proud of Law leading up to the attack. He was their favourite errant child anyway, but his guard had dropped with the relatively trouble-free years after the new world stabilised, and with the unstinting love and support of Marco. They'd all enjoyed seeing him regain his confidence, loved the way he opened up to them after his captivity with Doflamingo and the assaults he'd endured when imprisoned by the marines had pared his self-esteem to the bone. Regaining his psychological foothold had taken years. Then Kid. Law, though initially seemingly able to tumble with the worst of the assault and still rise for air, shut down a month or so after.

He still needed to see his friends, and be with them, but the gentle teasing was gone, and his affection was reserved only for Marco, and even then, he was hesitant about expressing it in public. That was the traumatised Law they knew when they'd rescued him from the marine internment, the hidden smile aside. It was painful to see him regress. To deny himself and those around him touch, and the reassurance that came with it, especially because Law could communicate a thousand words in the sweep of a hand.

Now, though, he leaned into Robin, and moved a lock of her hair behind her ear, and she was so glad to have him back.

Law did all he could to gain the trust of the rescue dogs. He crouched on the floor at their level. His height was intimidating. Offering his hand to be sniffed, he'd scratch them behind the ears, if they let him. He walked them in the park, and didn't mind when they pressed into his legs, growling under their breath, when another person approached.

As they grew more secure, so did Law. As they grew braver, they demanded affection and didn't shy from slobbering over the Heart Captain to express their own. And so his hand, when chatting across a cup of tea, maybe rested on Robin's arm and admired her new ring. She remembered the day he once again let her kiss him goodbye without ducking out of the way. Any conditioned misguided guilt he felt that his actions had caused Kid's attack fading.

A kiss to her cheek, or lips even, was not disloyalty to Marco, and the Phoenix had never implied as such. Kid's words were a constant as if he were still holding him down, whispering what a deserving and willing slut he was. That his promiscuity around Luffy and Smoker, in front of Zoro, Tashigi, and worst of all, Marco, had brought this all on himself. Of course he'd been anything but. Tactile and giving yes, but not wanton. And even if he was, it didn't justify Kid's assault anywhere, but especially not on his home turf. Where he had felt safe.

oOOo

They knew him. The teaspoon collectors, the bottletop hoarders, the dishcloth dames - the tea-towel grannies, as Marco termed them. Robin loved how he was at home, or not at home, with them all, as equally awkward and focused. Letting that charm shine through when he had the urge.

"Trafalgar, you came." An older lady with short spiked hair, salt and pepper, greeted the two dark-haired pirates as they dropped far more than the recommended Beri donation into the admission box. Trinity.

"Of course."

Law carried his sword with him when he was away from home. Robin wondered if it got heavy. It was almost an extra appendage for him when they first knew him, but he'd been more relaxed with island living for a while. After the attack it again rarely left his side.

"Trafalgar?" Robin teased.

"It has a certain gravitas, wouldn't you say?" Law said over his shoulder to the archeologist.

The older woman tapped the top of the table in front of her, flashy rings taking up most of her hand.

"We put some aside for you, Love."

Law's face perked up. To the side of Trinity were three rolled up cloths. She unfurled the first and it had all the tassels and intricate patterns of a Turkish rug.

It's not linen," Law said, feeling the cloth. It obviously wasn't linen.

"No, silk, cotton, wool and some camel hair woven into this beauty."

Robin inhaled at the design, dipping in, out, over and within itself. Rose bled into carmine, darkened with mahogany, lit with vermillion and traces of gold thread. Lush. It reminded her of Alabasta.

"What's the story?" Law murmured.

"Both of these are some kind of song line."

Law wondered about the third. "They were sung into being?"

Trinity nodded, and unfurled the second towel.

Law admired the ochres, the white motifs and paths indicating the wandering and meandering of a dreaming.

"Some of the desert women did this one. Marg has just come back from a world trip, and she kept an eye out for things you'd like, and the rest of us of course."

Law spied a paw print, so like Bepo's in the corner. He ran a hand over it.

"She told them some of your story. How you survived genocide."

Law and Robin both looked up sharply. Had either of them ever divulged that information?

"Your crew, hon. They buy all your presents from us."

Law coloured slightly. Of course. He was still defensive though. There was a reason there were very few survivors of genocide. Those remaining learnt to keep tight-lipped about their status, especially when the World Government had been the instigator of most atrocities and did not look kindly on those who bore witness.

"Marg understands, Law. There's a reason she has contact with the communities."

The tall man nodded.

"They're protective of their culture, as you'd appreciate."

oOOo

"What's the last one?" Robin asked.

"Marco commissioned this."

Two dark heads turned her way again. Though there was a fair smattering of grey in Law's.

"Marco?"

"Does he even know where your shop is?"

Trinity tcched. "Do the gifts you receive ever vary?"

Law smiled quietly. No. He was easy to buy for.

Trinity's lip curled a little in distaste, but it was lost on Law who eagerly reached for the last tea-towel. The linen quality was good, the best, Irish, crisp and white. The centre was a (scanned) photo of Misery, with Mercury, the dog still with them, gazing at some spirit cloud to the side, and Mephistopheles, the poor sick dog, not cat, that had only been with them for six months before she passed, actually seeming to look at the camera and straight at them. What uncoordinated positioning. What a bunch of clowns. Like some pastiche of circus dog rejects. The composition was hopeless.

"Thank god he didn't decide to put this on a t-shirt or sweater. Can you imagine having to wear it?" Law said with a shudder, a delighted grin on his face. Small dog biscuit shapes were scattered throughout the design, and vomit-inducing pink hearts that Cora would have died for. He would have had to wear it at least once, for Marco.

The three dogs and mishmash of designs were all superimposed on a greyed-out kennel.

"I'm sorry, Law. He insisted. The more we told him the colours clashed, the rendition had no clarity due to being taken from low res photos, and that none of it would go with the thread count, the happier he seemed and he agreed with our observations as if they were recommendations."

Trinity shook her head. She wasn't sure that the tea-towel association wanted to put their name to this atrocity, but Law and those around him were some of their best customers. They certainly paid well for designs that would have burnt the eyes of a hobby-Tex enthusiast. From what she understood, the strange tattooed man in front of her reacted to all of them with glee.

"That sure is ugly as fuck," Robin breathed over his shoulder.

Law stroked the photo of Misery. "She never had any taste either, but she didn't care." She'd loved him fiercely. Growling if Marco went to fill her bowl instead of Law, except when it was prudent. There were times that the doctor just wasn't around.

The world had pretty much rejected her for her brokenness.

"It's perfect." He said to Trinity. "I'll take it."

"That blond cutie of yours has already paid for it, doll. You've got no choice."

"You guys are a couple of freaks," Robin said, but her lips curved at the light in Law's eye, his obvious infatuation with that hideous dishcloth, purely because it was hideous. And featured Misery. And Marco had commissioned and paid for it.

"Thank you," Law murmured, shot her a quick look, eyes high and frivolous. A word one didn't associate with Law. Except when it came to tea-towels. And even then, he took his 1950s, conservative-housewife interest as seriously as any pop vulture with a penchant for getting married in an Elvis chapel. It took some dedication. She knew nothing could shake the phoenix and the heart. She was pleased they'd found each other. Let the other in.

"You'll take these too?" the dark-haired woman asked about the almost sacred artefacts with the Turkish and Dreaming designs.

"Of course. They're beautiful," he said, "Though nothing could best Misery on a good day." Or his Marco, he thought, passing his Beri to Trinity as she wrapped all three cloths.

oOOo

He found a blue cotton weave scarf for Marco. A light material of the kind he liked to wear, for show, for sweat. It graduated in colour from azure to the deepest indigo, like his Phoenix glow. He didn't need to consult Robin, and so he didn't, but she was right nearby as he picked it out and brought it to Trinity, along with the few lighthouses, submarines and scalpel design . . . tea-towels he'd also chosen.

"Love, are you sure you haven't made a mistake?" The grey-haired woman unfurled the blue scarf and admired its luminescent beauty. It outshone the other dross he'd selected by leagues.

"Oh?" Law looked a little confused, though he remained relaxed and easy.

"It's just . . .," she gulped. Law was really stylish in his . . . in front of her, that never changed, and Robin was the epitome of class. "This is gorgeous, Trafalgar, it's not your usual style. Is it maybe a little too chic for your home?"

Robin chuckled lightly and Law didn't mind. He really didn't. It was only with the tea-towels he went overboard. And maybe the Polar Tang.

"You don't think it'll suit Marco?"

"Only too well. But you don't seem to be interested in . . ."

"Good taste?" Robin interjected. Better that it came from her.

Law smirked at Robin and sat on the table near Trinity - a no-no, but she didn't mind. His legs stretched to the floor, he crossed them at the ankles, and Kikoku rested beside him. He pulled a heart shaped locket from around his neck. Again, it wasn't a travesty, but an anomaly. There was some damn fine craftsmanship that had gone into the design etched into the silver. He wore it under his clothes usually against his chest. And he didn't always wear it. It depended on how he was feeling on any given day. The heart was on a long chain which he pulled over his head.

He opened the locket and ran the edge of a finger over the rim holding the picture of Cora. Opposite was a much smaller rendition of his family.

"This man loved me," Law said, "That meant everything to me, and was all I had at one stage of my life. He was the first to let me know I wasn't a monster, after the fall of Flevance – the genocide you mentioned – when I was a kid. His care convinced me that he might be right. I had an illness, and he helped me survive it, but he paid with his life."

He passed it to Trinity. She looked down and frowned. What in hell's name was the man in the picture wearing?

"In very dark times the memory of that smile was a salve."

Robin leaned in. Trinity looked at a man, his face wreathed with a harebrained grin, wearing a Sherpa-like cap, or maybe a night cap, heavily made up with garish face paint reminiscent of Commedia dell'Arte, and wearing a shirt covered with hearts. His pose was very similar to the last visual memory Law had of him, the man riddled with bullets and beaten by Vergo, but with a mouthful of teeth for him as he told tiny, vulnerable, just-reprieved-from-dying, thirteen-year-old Law he loved him.

Maybe it was a surveillance pic, or one Sengoku had taken of his adopted son before he went undercover, in his undercover outfit. Law wondered how undercover it was though. Cora had not removed any of that make-up, even when he could, away from Doflamingo's prying eyes, as they camped out in the snow on the mountain. Then again, Joker's eyes had been freaking everywhere.

"He died for me," Law said, matter of fact, ignoring the guilt the Don Quixote Family had drilled into him, that Sengoku had levelled against him, that it was natural to feel. "And if one way I can honour him is to be as tasteless as possible, then so be it."

"Except Law's actually too dapper to pull that off." Robin wandered over and leant against the desk next to him.

"Dapper?" Law looked at her puzzled, picturing X-Drake, or perhaps Bege. "It's not like I try," he huffed.

"And those tattoos drew themselves."

She felt him stiffen slightly, thinking about the ones he had no say in.

"Almost."

The Strawhat pirate turned her head toward Trinity.

"So, you know, if you're a clothes horse, looking good in whatever you wear, you've got to express your vulgarity in other ways."

"Tea-towels," Trinity breathed. She and the other women who ran the NPO had been frightened of the lanky man at first, and sometimes still were, or some of them were. He'd come in with the Admiral Smoker once and, though Law was more charming than the older man, those who were wary of his background lost a little of their distrust once that friendship was known.

"I like them," Law said simply, standing up from the table, and taking back his locket from Trinity's outstretched hand. "What's wrong with that?" He slipped the chain back over his neck, and tucked the pendant under his shirt.

"It's just that your judgment can be appalling and contradicts everything about the way you dress and hold yourself." The older woman had not wrapped up the scalpel design tea-towel yet.

"Heart tattoos, letter tattoos, circular tattoos, smiley face tattoos," Robin murmured.

"They all hold together," Law said.

"They do, but maybe only on you. Snow Leopard print hat, yellow and blue hoodies, spotted jeans."

"It's a consistent colour scheme."

"You've got quite the eye, Law," Trinity said, again holding up Marco's scarf.

"Some folk are just born with it. But no," he anticipated her next question, "It doesn't extend to tea-towels."

That would defeat the purpose.

End Notes: Luffy is now the Pirate King and Zoro is his faithful partner. Law and Luffy were a couple for two years. All characters live in a kind of One Piece AU on a series of islands a ferry ride away from one another. The World Government is a lot less corrupt than it used to be. I hope these stories can stand alone without knowledge of the prior fic. I think they can. Sorry for the confusion if they cannot.

In this AU, Law is in his thirties.

Thank you for reading. Thank you so much for past readers.

I have taken down thirteen chapters of this fic, leaving this as a two-chapter piece, including the first and last chapters. If you are interested in the other chapters, they can be found on AO3 under Harmonica_Smile, but some chapters have an E rating.

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.