-x-
The Pressing Silence of the Sea
-x-
It's an internal clock that wakes him up in the early hours of the morning, and the first thing Law registers is the low hum of the submarine's hydraulics at work over the pressing silence of the sea. That, coupled with the chill air, is familiar and comforting - the sound of someone else breathing in his cabin is not. Law bolts upright, twisting around to face the open room, hand groping for his nodachi where it rests between himself and the wall. The mattress springs and metal bed-frame groan in protest at the movement.
It's only Bepo, sitting in the floor by the foot of the bed.
He's asleep, slumped back against the side of the mattress with his arms crossed, his head nodding to one side.
Slowly, the nodachi finds it's way back to the mattress and Law releases a quiet sigh. He lays there a moment longer before sitting up, pushing back the thin quilt and leaning up against his knees, looking around the cabin in the diffused blue light that passes for "dark" when the primary lights are out. Everything else is exactly as he left it. The door closed; the window dark except for the occasional flicker of a passing fish; the communication tube from the bridge silent, because it is not open; his books crammed into the shelves; his notes and charts stacked and sprawled out across his desk.
Bepo is the only thing out of place, and there is no telling when he decided to sneak in. It was probably too warm for him to sleep in the main cabin with the others, being so close to the engine room, and they've been under for nearly two weeks, now. It gets downright stuffy in there sometimes and - being a huge bear in a not-so-spacious submarine - Bepo tends to be more phobic about the closed-in spaces than any of the others.
He's a real whiner.
The captain's cabin isn't exactly the largest, either, so what possesses the bear to cram himself into the smaller quarters is completely beyond Law.
He sleeps a bit better - maybe that's all that matters.
He isn't sleeping so well, now, though. Law's eyes are well adjusted to the flat lighting, so he doesn't miss the twitching, rapid eye movement and the occasional tremor through his animal companion's sleep-paralyzed muscles. The agitated breathing is another clear indicator. Honestly, Law isn't surprised by that, either.
Restless nights for everyone has been a given lately; being so near Marine Headquarters, and the sacred land of Marijoa, where human trafficking (and the trafficking of rare breeds) is in abundance... it's enough to make anyone nervous. Law doesn't let it bother him - few things do - because in it's own way, it's good that the crew is more anxious than usual. It means they're aware of where they are, what they're doing, and what's at stake.
It will keep them on their toes, and that's one less thing he has to concern himself with.
Law leans back on his hands, then, looking around the room, trying to decide if it's worth getting up yet or just lying back down.
The sub tips suddenly, makes his mind up for him. The movement's almost imperceptible, but the subtle rocking of the vessel - first one way and then another before it finally settles - does not escape Law's notice. He's trained himself to feel that sort of thing, because a submarine isn't like a normal ship. It doesn't rock and sway unless it's on the surface. Undersea currents are bigger, the ride is smoother (which is one reason he prefers the sub in the first place), so if it's moving in a way that is anything but perfectly steady then something is wrong. The papers on his desk and walls rustle, a pen slides off his desk and to the floor, and Bepo makes the smallest noise of discomfort, his brow knotting up as his body tenses.
Law's first thought is cyclone.
They're down anywhere from 200-to-300 feet, but that depth is less than half of what a cyclone generated on the Grand Line can reach.
The metal bed-springs creak and pop noisily when he moves. Law swings his legs over Bepo, laying his hand on top of the bear's head as he pushes himself to his feet. Bepo shifts as the mattress does because his back is against it, but aside from a small, disjointed moan, he doesn't take much notice. Law rubs his fingers through the warm fur at the top of Bepo's scalp, scratching near the base of his ears as he steps away across the room, and Bepo relaxes again, expelling a long sigh.
The interior lights are all dimmed, but the corridor still casts a line of light across the room as Law pulls open the heavy door and goes outside. He leaves his nodachi lying on the mattress, and the cabin door ajar.
-x-
Shachi and Penguin are the two on duty, maintaining their course and operating systems while the others get some rest - and Law knows it's the two of them because he recognizes their voices carrying down from the bridge as he climbs up the ladder from the bunker below. They're laughing and talking, which is a good sign that his original suspicions were wrong. They're not idiots; they wouldn't be screwing around if something were wrong, and the sub has been steady since that first initial tilt. Just a few aftershock-wobbles, nothing like the deep, churning lurches pedantic to cyclone movement on the surface.
Still, it's better to be safe than sorry, and Law draws level with the open door as Shachi gets up from his seat and moves across the bridge to raid the nearby box of donuts. Penguin is the first to notice him in the doorway, and it only takes a second. He sits up straighter in his chair, but doesn't rise.
"Ah! Captain, good morning! When did you get up?"
"Just now," Law says, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, "I felt the sub roll, about five degrees. Is there a cyclone over us?"
"No, sir, nothing like that. We just left the eastbound current."
Shachi pipes in, then, gesturing with the box in one hand, a half-eaten donut in the other, "We should be within sight of the Archipelago by tomorrow afternoon, Captain." The logpose is sitting out on the panel near Shachi's abandoned chair, pointing down and to the furthest right; still ahead, but not the direction they're moving in. Not yet.
Law is silent for a moment.
"Any vessels on the surface?"
Penguin checks, "Nothing on sonar."
"Alright... Go ahead and wake some of the others, then, and take us up."
The two chorus, "Aye, aye!" and quickly get to work. Law observes for a few seconds before leaving the doorway and moving on down the corridor. Shachi pauses what he's doing long enough to look up and call after him, "You need anything, Captain?"
Law tosses his hand up over his shoulder.
-x-
The galley is dark except for the spare bit of light coming in from the corridor and the filtered blue lighting above the main counter. Law prefers it that way. He doesn't care to rummage around in the half-dark, looking for something to eat. He knows where everything is, anyway, and knows their supplies are running low. There aren't a whole of of options, and it's a last, reluctant resort when he pulls open the refrigerator looking for left-overs from the midnight meal. There is a large tupperware bowl sitting right at eye-level, on the top shelf, labeled "CAPTAIN" with a piece of clear tape and marker, and Law lifts it out and turns it over cautiously.
These guys can get... creative... when they're up and hungry at all hours of the night. Law considers setting it back in on the shelf. It obviously pasta, but he can hardly tell what else they've added around the smudges on the inside of the container. He examines the contents as best as he can as he stands in front of the refrigerator - the chill air creeping up his legs, across his bare feet - popping the lid to smell it and looking again at that gigantic, plaintive label.
With a quiet sigh, he steps out of the way, takes the pasta with him.
The refrigerator door falls closed, and Law sets the bowl on the counter while he starts a pot of coffee, absently eyeing the bulletin board on the wall in front of him. There are a few stupid notes and drawings (mostly pin-ups, hearts and names scribbled in between doodles). Mostly, though, the others have started some kind of on-going game with dot-covered paper; each time you take a turn you draw a line, from dot-to-dot, and if you happen to make a box, you write your initial in the center.
Law scans the dotted page, snapping the lid down on the coffee maker, and takes the pen off the top of the board. He completes every three-sided box he can find and leaves his initials, puts the pen back, and locates a fork.
Law leans his hip against the island counter and eats his pasta cold, listening to the coffee pot gurgle and hiss as it brews, and then the stifled, yawning conversations and heavy footfalls passing the galley door as Shachi fetches his crewmates from their bunks. Someone ducks in periodically to fill a coffee mug, grab another box of donuts, say "Morning, Captain", ask if he needs something; and Law exchanges his quiet good-mornings without moving away from the counter, while the others maneuver around him.
He asks if someone's dislocated shoulder is feeling better, if another's broken fingers are giving them any trouble.
No one asks if he likes the pasta, but he finishes the entire bowl.
Distantly, once the crowd has thinned and everyone has found their stations, he hears the valves open, and long, huffing sigh of high-pressure air hitting the ballast tanks. The galley shudders a little as the seawater is forced out. The cabinets and drawers rattle, the papers tacked to the bulletin board flutter, the coffee pot clinks as the glass bumps the back of the burner - and Law shifts his weight back against the counter as the sub slowly starts to rise.
-x-
(A/n) Some Heart Pirates fic! IT IS A /YELLOW SUBMARINE/, Y'ALL, COME ON!
-BobTAC