Summary:
Damn.
Law's tongue was numb.
He makes a brief mental note, to be reviewed whenever he regained vertical abilities: First, find that bottle and read the damn label. Second, drive back to Sabaody and kill Shachi, because obviously the little prick had roofied him.
DISCLAIMER: I have no ownership rights with either One Piece or its Characters. Those belong to Eiichiro Oda. I'm just the crazy lady listening to the voices, acting out dialogue in the shower and spending most of my life staring at blank pieces of paper.
-x-X-x-
Chapter One: Downtime
It's after 1 a.m. when Trafalgar Law pulls in, tires crunching over gravel as the silver Camry crosses the last few feet of parking lot, into an unmarked space farthest from the building marked 'office'. The car's windows are rattling from the crappy, maxed-out stock speakers—currently blasting out some local channel's latest rendition of bubblegum pop.
Not Law's taste, but at least it has a lot of base. Keeps the mind from drifting.
Law reluctantly kills the engine, his ears still humming from the lack of noise pollution. He pulls the the keys from the ignition, making the lights inside turn on, but he quickly reaches up and flips them off again. He doesn't want to be part of a lit-up showcase for the rest of the dark lot. Even if it is nearly empty.
Two-thousand miles now stood between here and there, and it still didn't feel far enough. He supposed, for now, it would have to do; considering he was nearly on empty and this had been the first turn off in the last hour or so.
There was always the option of filling up, because this was a town, and towns had gas stations just for that purpose—but his car wasn't the only one running on fumes. Energy drinks could only get you so far. He'd been driving nearly twelve hours and couldn't really remember the last time he'd slept—hell, he'd nearly dozed off on the highway. The vacancy sign stood offering a nightly reprieve. He could rest up for the night, and then tomorrow he could—
Could what?
Two-thousand fucking miles.
For someone who always had a plan, Law still had no-fucking-clue where it was he was actually going. He hadn't known when he'd left—rented a car and just took off—and he sure-as-shit didn't know now. Hell, maybe he was already there. Law leans to the side, looking at the neon sign this time actually reading the florescent words spelt out above the word vacancy.
"…Party's Bar and Inn?" Law snorts, and almost laughs.
What the hell was an Inn? That was like, a hotel or something, right?
Maybe. Maybe it was one of those more 'long-term' type arrangements. When he thought the word "Inn" the first thing that came to mine was "The Holiday Inn" or "Days Inn" and those were hotels. But this didn't really look like a hotel—more like, a bunch of random pieces of buildings, all glued together with railings and walkways and staircases. It wasn't just the layout itself that was chaotic either. It might have been the middle of the night, but even in the bad lighting, it was obvious that each of the different attachments were painted in a wide range of colors. Some of the landings had tables and chairs, there were even potted plants fixed to some of the rails.
And were those blue fairy-lights hanging some of the downstairs widows?
Lack of cars aside, the whole thing definitely reads as 'Long-term'. But the turn off had said "Lodgings" and the sign itself said "Inn" and he hadn't seen any other hotel-motel-looking buildings, and coming in it'd been obvious that this was a pretty small town…
And dammit, Law was just too tired to care
"Fuck."
Law needed sleep. Like real sleep. His hands are shaking and he can feel the migraine right behind his eyes building. He pockets the rental keys and reaches over to open the glove compartment. An orange prescription bottle rolls out, the small pills inside rattling as they tumble around inside.
He was kinda glad now that he'd had them filled before taking off. When he'd told Shachi he couldn't sleep his friend hadn't bothered asking any questions, just wrote the script and told him not to take them on an empty stomach.
Looking at the refuse that was currently strewn across the passengers side floorboard, Law could attest to the fact that, no, his stomach was notempty—it was filled with four energy drinks, half a bag of chips and a whopping whole pack of skittles.
Did Law even like skittles? Well he must have, because there was the rainbow packaged evidence. He highly doubted they would have given him a practically brand new rental car with skittles wrapper included.
Whatever.
Law sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He reaches out, taking the bottle out, and weighing it in his hand. He tilts it back and forth, the listening to the little pills shifting around inside, before thinking 'Fuck it,' and popping the safety lid, taking out two and swallowing them dry.
He grimaces at the bitter taste and chalky consistency, and after a few coughs, decides to chase them with his current energy drink (Number five, but who's counting?). God, how did his patients make it look so easy? He'd never been one for pills of any sort, other than the occasional Tylenol, and then he'd always bought the sugar coated ones, which these vile little things most certainly were not.
He swigs another mouthful of energy drink, just for good measure, swishing it around until the carbonation inflates his cheeks like ready-to-pop balloons, then he swallows hard.
"Shit," Law groans, giving one last cough before tossing the pills back in the glove compartment and slamming it shut, It wasn't until he was sitting back, head resting against the headrest, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, that he realized—he had no idea what he'd just taken.
Had it been a sedative? Maybe a tranquilizer?
Anti-psychotic…?
Even for a Doctor, Shachi had exceptionally bad handwriting, and he hadn't bothered to read the print on the bottle…
… And Law was the smart one.
This time, a short self deprecating laugh does escape, just before Law clamps a hand over his mouth, because there really wasn't anything to be laughing about.
He takes a few deep breaths through his nose before dropping his hand—his hand, which was still fucking trembling. It was just one thing too many. Normally calm and rational, the sight of this newest, physical manifestation breaks through the fragile hold he'd been keeping on his own anger and frustration.
"Sonnofa—Fuck!" Law swears, before slamming his fists forward, unintentionally punching the horn—the sound is deafening in the silence. He jerks back, shaking out both of his damn hands, before running them through his disheveled hair, not sure if he was trying to pull it out or scratch his own scalp off.
Well, shit, if they hadn't noticed him before, they damn sure had now. Screw it.
Law inhales deeply, in and out, closing his eyes, and then lets it go. As out of character as it was for the man whom some labeled "control-freak" he just couldn't bring himself to care enough to take out the stupid bottle and read the label.
Honestly, he didn't give a flying fuck what it was if it made him sleep.
Hell, maybe he needed an anti-psychotic… Not that Shachi would have written him a script for one of those.
Would he…?
No, Law decides, probably not. He was much too afraid of Law's retribution to risk labeling Law as crazy. If Shachi had honestly thought Law needed those kinds of pills—he'd have made Penguin write the script.
And Law was not crazy; of this, he was mostly sure. Though thinking back on the latest events—maybe being crazy would have made things easier…
It was so easy to get lost between the "What-ifs" and the "Probably should've-s". Easy to fall in and lose track of time. Especially all alone in a dark parking lot. Especially if what you're thinking of the sadistic events that have shaped your life. Even if some of those events had happened close to 16 years ago…
Law pulls out a pack of cigarettes—just one more healthy purchase—not giving a fuck whether his hands shake or not, and before long, one smoke turns into two, then three, then another.
After that Law loses count.
He's not sure how long sits there in the dark, it must have been awhile, because, while his thoughts weren't any more organized, his eyelids are now a lot heavier. And his face is feeling kind of funny. Maybe that meant those pills were working.
Shit, if so, then he needed to get inside and into a bed. He really doesn't fancy a night folded up on the front seat of the rental.
His limbs are already feeling a little weighted.
Unlocking the car, Law pushes the door open and uses it to hoist himself out; only to realize, far too late, that yes, the pills were indeed working—working far too well in fact.
Leather shoes slip over the gravel like marbles. He tries to gain some traction, grasping at the door frame, but then it's down-goes-up and up-goes-down, and so does Law. One minute all was right in the world, maybe a little skewed, but it was still an improvement to the upside down version Law accomplishes as his feet slide out from beneath him.
"Shi-i-i-IT!"
Law's back hits the ground with a hollow thud, causing his diaphragm to contract, and knocking the wind out of him. He probably would have let out a whole new stream of profanity if he'd been able to breathe; as it is, all he can really do lay there on his back, gasping, like a goldfish.
While waiting for his lungs to recover, enough to adequately inflate, Law blinks, and realizes he isn't really hurting like he should be. (This should've been his first clue—well, second, if you counted the fall itself.)
The experience itself had just been kind of shocking and was now mildly inconvenient.
After a few long seconds, when he could suck some air back in, he starts noticing all the stars—honestly there isn't much else to look at when you're flat-out on your back in a parking lot after midnight.
He must be out in the country somewhere, he thinks, far from the bigger cities, for them to be this bright.
The world's oldest lightshow.
But man, it was still pretty, wasn't it? Bright ones, shining ones, twinkling ones, all of them—like thousands of little fireflies, all stuck up in the blue-black goo…
And wasn't there a movie-line about that?
Aw, fuck.
Law groans. "What did Shachi give me?" is what he's trying to say, but what actually comes out is more like a garbled: "Mmm-whauuh Saahshh-ee ehmme?"
Damn.
Law's tongue was numb.
He makes a brief mental note, to be reviewed whenever he regained vertical abilities: First, find that bottle and read the damn label. Second, drive back to Sabaody and kill Shachi, because obviously the little prick had roofied him.
But…
It was pretty.
And… getting suspiciously darker?
Law blinks, frowning in disappointment as his vision dims. And yes, he is lucid enough to conclude that it is, in fact, his vision that's on-the-fritz and not the actual stars themselves blacking-out.
One by one, the bright sparkly lights go dark.
'Figures,' he thinks. Like most pretty things, it hadn't lasted for very long.
With nothing left to look at, Law is just about to drift off, when faintly, somewhere in his foggy state of consciousness, he registers the sound of footsteps, crunching across gravel. Its more than one person, and they are getting closer, then suddenly he can see them, leaning over him.
His vision might be crap at the moment but he can tell that there are two people. He can't make out any defining facial features, but he can see their outlines, silhouetted above him by the dull orange glow of the lot's security light.
Law wants to mentally slap himself, internally rolling his eyes, because, of course they are people. What else would they be?
One's taller and larger—most likely a man. While the other is shorter, and very slender, so it's harder to tell male or female.
"Whatcha think Luffy?" asks the taller figure, deep voice, kind of rough; definitely a man, probably an older male, by the sound of it.
And Law wonders, 'What the hell is a Luffy?'
"Looks uncomfortable," replies the shorter figure. The vocal pitch is higher, but still, also discernably male. And apparently a Luffy.
"Drunk?" asks the taller man.
"Doesn't smell like alcohol." The smaller figure disappears from Law's limited field of vision; he can hear him clambering into the car, whose door Law had left wide open, of course.
Law's face screws up.
'I am not drunk.' Is what he wants to say, instead, his words slur together, and what comes out is more like: "Ermm-naah drnnk."
And Law thinks: 'Shit.' because what just came out of his mouth didn't even make sense to his own ears.
There's some clanking, something metal, sounds like cans.
Then the boy laughs.
And it is a boy's laugh. Too light, and carefree to have come from a grown man.
It's a nice sound, Law thinks.
"Oh, you're drunk alright..."
Law's face scrunches up. He understood that mess?
And—hey—he was not! Law is quickly taking back what he thought about the boy's laugh when he finishes: "—but not on liquor." And even though Law can't actually see him, it just sounds like the kid is grinning ear-to-ear. "Just had one too many Red Bulls."
"Hrmmph," Law tries to nod. Fails. 'Damn right.'
Law wasn't some irresponsible-ass out drinking and driving—he was only on his ass now because some other irresponsible-ass had apparently misinterpreted 'Law needs sleep' as 'Law wants to be seeing Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.'
Shit. No wonder Shachi's patients always seemed to be so much happier than Law's—even Law himself was finding it hard to muster up the appropriate amount of anger towards the little asshat.
It was strange, especially given his current predicament, but he was actually feeling more miffed than angry—and Law as almost always angry, at one thing or another…
Oh man.
Law was stoned.
"Ughh," Law groans. This explained everything, why Shachi's patients were always complementing the young doctor—it wasn't the jokes, or the charming beside manor, and certainly not the skill—No.
They were obviously all doped out of their minds.
Law laughs now, not sure why, but at least this actually sounds like a laugh. No wonder these guys had thought he was drunk.
God, he never should have helped that bastard pass Pharmacology back in med school. He should have just let him flunk, because he'd obviously needed the repeat.
"This guy just needs to get some sleep," concludes Luffy.
'Bravo!' Law thinks, sarcastically, and would've started clapping if he could. Somebody get this kid a doctorate—or better yet, someone just give him Shachi's—because at least he gets it.
"Alright," the older man sighs. "We better get him inside."
"I call top half this time," calls the boy. Law can hear him climbing back out, shutting the car door behind him—that'll save him a dead battery in the morning.
'This time?' Law wonders. Like, this happens often? Strangers passing out in the parking lot?
And then he remembers, 'Oh, right.' Duh. It is a bar parking lot.
Party's Bar and Inn.
"Whatever, just don't drop him," chides the older man. Law can't tell if he's joking or not.
'Yes,' Law wants to stress. 'Let's not drop the invalid.' It probably wouldn't hurt right now, but it most certainly would tomorrow.
"Yeah, yeah," comes the carefree reply, as if dropping someone wasn't such a big deal.
Law begged to differ.
More gravel crunching and the kid is back, leaning over his face. Suddenly there are two pairs of hands, one pair at his feet, the other is sliding beneath his shoulders, and then Law is being lifted. "Man, this guy is big." The world is tilting again, but at least Law knows this time it isn't all in his head.
It's still a pretty disorienting experience though.
Was Law nauseous before this?
'Whoa…' Law presses his lips together tightly, mentally begging anyone who might be listening, 'Please don't let this night end with me puking on strangers.'
Not even two steps in and there's a loud thunk, followed simultaneously, by a sharp, reverberating pain.
'Ouuuch!'
"Jesus Luffy, watch his head."
"Oops." There's that laugh again.
"Uuhgh..."
'This sucks,' is the last thing Law remembers thinking, before the blackness swallows him up.
A/N: Okay so... I have no freaking clue where this is going, I only have a very vague idea of what the next chapter will be like. I think it started because I thought a stoned Law would be... interesting. Lol. And I was feeling snarky. Sorry Law.
I didn't actually intend to ever post this, but then I made the mistake of showing it to a little Monkey just for shits an giggles. And said little Monkey told me I'd better not dare bury this and never let it see the light of day. Because apparently I do that. Like a lot. So THANKS for that Anea. Here it is. Hope your happy, it gets to live.