AN: Warnings: Past sexual assault lightly referenced. Not an explicit part of the chapter.

Chapter twenty - When the bough breaks, the Cradle will Fall (present - mountain time)

Aokiji could sleep anywhere. Lazy justice. Although both he and Law had a fondness for wandering, Law had curbed the instinct over the years. Living on an island meant he resided on land that didn't really belong to any other. The ocean was always there, even if he was a long way from one at present.

Sengoku had two futons, and Law could sleep with his own crew at a squeeze (apart from certain members), and had been known to rest exhausted with the Strawhats, and was not always averse to sharing a bit of space with Shanks or Benn, but he wasn't going to lie down with two ex-admirals.

Taking the clean blankets Sengoku offered, he settled with Bleat for the night, scanning and scouring her corner of the room for fleas and excess dirt – and dealing with them if he came across them. He rested against the wall, stretching out his long legs.

The goat had pushed through the door ahead of him as they'd returned from the crisp night after Marco hung up. She'd curled onto her blankets, and looked up, surprised, as Law sat near her soon after. But then, as she had outside, she leant against him, her head in his lap, eyes closing.

"I'll keep watch," Law said, knowing there was little need for it now.

"It's warmer over there anyway," Sengoku grumbled. "I'll keep watch of your sword."

"Turn on some Buddha love and the fire within will melt any ice." Aokiji was smoothing the top cover of the futon.

The two admirals exchanged a look. It was true.

Aokiji glanced over at the man Roci had given up his life for. The kid seemed okay, even if charred inside and out.

"He's a D," Sengoku had said. A lot tougher than he looks. Like Saul. Ds saw things clearly, whether good or bad. Wrong actions were wrong to them, whether endorsed by the government, or by Joker.

"I'm an early riser." Aokiji's muffled words rose behind a very comfy futon. Both protectors bore a flower design last popular thirty years ago. "You can sleep here in the morning if needed."

Law nodded. "I'm not happy with you keeping my nodachi." He flexed his hand practicing the "Room" action, but bringing nothing to light, not intending to. Like playing the scales, practice made perfect.

"We're not going to sleep when you've got it nearby," Sengoku grumped. "Period."

"Tcch." Law brought a blanket up to his chin. He'd be chasing sleep without Kikoku next to him.

oOOo

Marco's eyes flew open and he scrabbled across the bed for the lapis in the bedside drawer, the sheet half draped over his body, scrunching along with him. Mercury barked, startled, from her blankets at the base of the bed. The mattress was damn wide without Law. The Lapis was on Marco's side, but he spreadeagled when sleeping alone.

Marco and Law had worked through imagery rehearsal therapy together, intensely after Marco's assault of Law, as a ways and means of salvaging their relationship and, Goddamn it, if Marco didn't taste Law's nightmares now; though he also knew many of the keys, the ways, the tricks to changing and owning the narrative.

Something was wrong.

He picked up the Den-Den New World.

oOOo

What was Dellinger doing in the hut? The light from the moon spilt through the rough windows and the clack of those heels would wake anyone, but there he was bending over a very still Aokiji. Blond head turned Law's way, sharpened teeth all red, Aokiji's neck a mess, his larynx ripped from his throat, Dellinger smiled at him. Aokiji was usually dead to the world, but now he really was dead to the world.

Doflamingo's real underling giggled and placed a heart trump, the Ace of Hearts, over the ex-admiral's blood-soaked chest.

"They'll wonder why you didn't do anything, onii chan – why didn't you?" Dellinger waved something at him. His own leg? His own foot? "You think I can't see you over there? Banished to sleeping with the farm animals again? The grunting, snuffling, dirty pigsty, Law, I'll always check there first for you. Though it's sometimes difficult to spot the difference." He pushed a long nailed finger on the snub of his nose and oinked, a smear of red left on the bridge.

He then squatted, Law's leg tucked under his arm, and ran his hand along the gaping hole in Aokiji's throat and lifted his wrist to his face, slowly licking his pointer, middle and ring fingers, face turned to his brother.

"Delish." He sighed contentedly. He rose and circled the body. "They'll think you did it. That he sliced off your leg with Kikoku in defence. Froze it off, perhaps. Are you cold, onii-chan? You've always been so cold-blooded."

Law looked over trying to figure out what he was seeing. Attempted to sit up, scramble up. Pain shot through him. But was it a concept? Could he feel it? Or just thought he should? He was cold.

"Kick a man while he's down, would you Law?" Dellinger booted the very immobile Aokiji with Law's severed leg, globules of fat and stringy muscle spilling from the top.

Law paled staring where his leg should be, and yeah, some jagged kind of incision of the fret saw string variety. Not Kikoku then. She was a clean cut, always, unless Law used her otherwise. Where was the bastard? Where was he hiding? What was left of his thigh was like the frayed denim of the shortest pair of shorts, strands dyed pink.

Sengoku stormed over from the kitchen area. And Law shakily turned his head that way. What had the Buddha been doing? Just hanging out in the shadows? Law looked up at him. So slow, everything was so slow. The dark. Was it encroaching his eyes, or the hut itself? Blood loss? Law could see it in Sengoku's face – he'd fucked something up.

"Howcouldyou?" Sengoku flicked his forehead. "Shit eating scum." Law started shaking. Bad, he was bad. What punishment did he deserve? Was losing a leg enough? Sengoku reached behind Law who sat tight with confusion and pain. The ex-admiral pulled out Bleat's innards - her long long long long intestine, her pancreas, liver and kidneys, and draped them over Law, arranged them around his head and shoulders like a mantilla. Hadn't he read a book about sweetmeats and saints once? He never wanted to wear an animal's insides, and he was far from a saint. Had no desire to experience an ablution of Bleat's vital organs. He absently brushed fatty tissue and fibre away from his eyes.

Dellinger giggled in the dark spaces of the hut – just as he had throughout the fucking laughing clown hijinks – Law not being able to see or feel anything but Vergo's body and his own panicked air-grabby, throat-throttled attempts to just survive. But Dellinger's high-pitched excitement climbing the rungs of ecstasy at Law's reduction to a human glory hole had cut through it all. Law lifted a bloody hand to his mouth to check it wasn't sewn open and Sengoku slapped his hand away pushing Bleat's heart into his palm.

"You're always so funny, onii-chan." Dellinger was sweeping the floor of the hut with his leg now. "Such an idiot."

Bleat's heart wasn't beating. The darker colour of the animal dripped through his fingers. The extraction hadn't been done with the benefit of his Room. He looked at Sengoku. He'd done this? Why couldn't Law make any noise? He felt his tongue with the hand not holding the goat's heart, also bloodied somehow. Still there. He'd hurt Bleat?

"What was it? A sacrifice to the devil or something? What did she ever do to you?"

Sengoku was bawling, shoulders folded wing-tight. Hiccoughing. In more pain than when they'd spoken at Dressrosa. He'd done what? Law looked down at the heart, tattooed fingers curved around it. He'd killed Cora's childhood friend? They were right. He was a monster.

oOOo

"Yeah, he's having some trouble Marco, but it's all internal. He's safe."

Marco thanked Viola. She ran a Messenger to the Gods service, among other otherworldly things. Law often joked she should start up a Messenger to the Dogs service, and they'd visit whenever they missed Misery or Mephistopheles. Considering the reciprocal worship either creature had of the other, Marco wondered if the first title actually wasn't the more apt.

"Do you want to try to reach him?"

The Phoenix pushed across the basalt he'd brought home to remember Ace by, and the lapis lazuli grounding stone.

oOOo

Dellinger walked into the hut, Law's leg tucked under his arm like a clutch bag.

The fuck?

Law felt in his pockets for the agate. When he shoved his hand into the left pocket he baulked at the lack of resistance from not feeling a leg, from not feeling the expected body mass slowing down his search. He hoped Bleat hadn't somehow swallowed the gem but then she was disembowelled, right? Or was that him?

He ran his hands over his stomach pressing in. All intact. Something screwy going on. The basalt. Marco's basalt. His fingers came across that first, and it was warm as if just fallen off the lava truck. Okay, not that warm. Maybe it had fallen off the back of the Volcano Express some time ago. Warm enough to generate some heat but to not give third-degree burns.

The third-degree. That's what he had to do now. What was going on? He put the basalt to his ear and opened his mouth to ask.

"You've got this kid."

"Marco?"

Was Aokiji a bloody corpse on the floor? What had Dellinger done with his leg?

"They got you in seastone, Law?"

"Zoro?"

He looked down at his wrists, his one foot, ran gunky fingers over his ear. No seastone. Their voices were tinny, the crossed wires of CB radio.

He called his sword to him. She flew across the room. He had control of this. His hands were clean. Bleat was clean and whole and nuzzled beside him. He turned his sights on Dellinger then back to his nodachi. Kikoku had no blood on her. That bastard was here somewhere then. Kikoku hadn't severed his leg, nor eviscerated Bleat. Maybe Law hadn't killed anyone.

"Takt." He had a room up, so his limb was safe. He upended it over Dellinger so the half-fishman wore some of that good internal stuff that kept the body pumping. The stuff that made any rational person recoil as all that should be inside spilled out. He gave it a good shake from the sole of the boot so that the blood that was settled down by his ankle, his toes, his foot, covered the half-fishman. The fucker started to eat it, giggling like the lightning-frazzled maniac he was, shovelling everything into his mouth, grinding Law's adductors with his pointed teeth. Jesus. Law was the sane one of that fucking family. Believe it or not. And this was Dellinger's human side.

"You got this."

Just change a few things and he'd have it.

He flicked his fingers upwards, across. The leg smacked Dellinger in the face, then the crotch, sending him sprawling, an irate mark across his skin. Law didn't feel the movements in some phantom kind of empathy. He had this. His adductors were whole and compact, his blood not quite flowing, but not pooled in some plantar dwelling swamp.

He called Kikoku to him. Some drag there. But hadn't he called her already? Law glanced to the side. Not there. Who had her?

He tipped his face upwards. Aokiji held the nodachi in his icy cold grip. At least he was whole again. Not a touch of blood upon him. Law would just have to use what was at hand. Which was his amputated leg. Luckily he'd swapped out his island sandals for those hobnailed boots when he climbed the mountain.

Yeah. Hobnailed pogo-punking boots.

Those hobnailed . . . when had he started wear . . . hob . .? . Hobnailed boots! Perfect for mashed potatoes. Dellinger didn't stand a chance, though he went down laughing. Tittering as if it was most amusing that Law smashed his head open with his own leg. Law had two den-den mushi circled on his ears so he couldn't hear the words the brat vomited as he collapsed, all about Vergo, that cell.

Law breathed out and looked down at Bleat nibbling at his shirt and Aokiji fitting his leg right back into his trunk – look how magically the material just reached out and wove the thread together – maybe Leo was around. Law rested a hand on the ex-marine's shoulder for balance and to make sure Aokiji lined everything up right. Had Law ever thanked Leo for sewing on his arm? He'd not been conscious at the time.

Sengoku. Where was the old man?

Making coffee in the kitchen.

A knock on the door, Law turned his head, and Kizaru stood there with a freaking chess set under his arm, the sun streaming behind him. Well, it beat an amputated leg — but Ki-za-fucking-ru. Tie me kangaroos, down mate. More likely to be Law compromised if that bastard was paying a visit. Law lifted his leg, bent it. All well, all good. He congratulated his system on recognising its own flesh and blood.

A knock on the door and Aokiji took leave of Law to answer, giving the pirate's shoulder a squeeze as he stood. The Heart captain shivered at the Antarctic squall. The door swung wide. Kizaru with a fucking chess set under his arm.

"Have you heard of our Lord and Saviour, the Great Mountain Goat, Bleat?"

"Not today, thanks, we have our own false idol to ogle," Aokiji yawned.

Bleat protested quietly on Law's lap. She wasn't a mountain goat, but she didn't want Kizaru to hear.

"Ah, c'mon, Kuzan. The only saviour is the World Government. The Gorosei. Akainu."

"That's three, not one, and not today, thank you." Aokiji closed the door in his face.

"A holy trinity, then." Kizaru's muted words seeped ithrough the closed door. Aokiji shook his head. Akainu. Really.

"Now Trafalgar, about that leg," Aokiji wandered over, and Law looked down to make sure it was still attached.

A knock on the door. Kizaru stood with a chess set under his arm.

"Ah, the clean-up team," Sengoku said from the kitchen and pointed at the bludgeoned Dellinger lying on the floor. Kizaru apologised for not wearing his scrubs.

"Ping, ping, ping, ping."

"I think you mean, pew, pew, pew, pew," Aokiji said. He sat down next to the Heart.

"Bam, Bam BAM, bam." Sengoku in the kitchen, hitting teaspoons against the cups at each point.

"Bang, bang-bang, BANG!"

Kizaru looked pointedly at Law with the last, and Law didn't know if the man was double entendre fucking him or not. The doctor didn't stop the sneer from crawling along his features.

Either way, after Kizaru's light show, all that remained of Dellinger was a pair of scorched high heels. Where was that other bastard? A feather fell from the ceiling - - the rafters? Did Sengoku's hut have rafters?

Law's skin stretched and swarmed up and over his ears, his lips, his eyes in a cocoon of paralysis? The wasp was in the house. Kizaru? Law was the host? Ah, god. Imagine a colony of Kizaru faces bursting from his chest after feeding on his insides to ready the ex-admiral's larvae to pupate. He'd chew on something toxic to clear the greater poison from his system, to self-medicate before he gave birth to his enemy. Chopper might be able to help him.

Law teleported himself and Bleat out of the hut. The sun was up, that was good, but it was cold. "Boy, am I glad to see you," he said to his blond lover, sitting on one of the rock outcrops, the salmon-barked trees twisting smoothly behind him.

"You cold?" the Phoenix asked him.

"A little," Law said.

Marco pulled him to him for a second, and it was warm. "You got this kid. You've trained for it. You've got it."

oOOo

Dellinger ran through the hut with Kizaru's yapping torso, and the light man tried to entice the boy to a game of chess. "I'll play with one hand tied behind my back. Trafalgar's too scared to play with me. Knows I'd wipe the board with his sorry arse."

Law doubled over. The fucker. Did someone have his heart? No, but he had Kizaru's. There, ready in his hand. He gave it a squeeze, and the who-knows-what-the-fuck-the-marines-called-him-nowadays ex-admiral grunted. Grunted. As if he'd stubbed his toe. "The door's that way." Law panted. Kizaru hadn't laid a finger on him. He pointed to the only way in and out of the hut. "Piss off." And they did. Law held the agate.

xxx

Aokiji was over him. Not good, not good, not good. He grasped his hand, not the one in his pocket, and wouldn't let him form a room, but no seastone.

"The futon's yours, pirate, if you want it. Open your eyes now. Nice and slow."

So noisy. Remind him to never visit Sengoku again if Trafalgar was in the neighbourhood.

"Marco says to tell him where he is, who you are and what you're doing." Sengoku spooned instant coffee into a few cups.

"I can't say I'm your friend, Law - but I'm not here to hurt you. You're fucking loud though. You interrupted my beauty sleep. God knows, at my age I need it."

"Tell him your name."

Squatting, Aokiji glanced up at the older man in the kitchen, before turning again to the pirate in front of him. Law's hand exited his pocket. Plucked at the cloth of his trousers. Searching for something. The admiral kept the one he'd seen Law use the most with his Devil's fruit enfolded.

"Aokiji. Ex-marine. Iceman. Chill, baby before I chill you for you."

He seemed pretty cold already. Cold and sweaty. Was that a thing?

"Marco says that won't help."

Arararara. Aokiji stood up and walked away from the still asleep Law, the quack's face still tight and his breath short. The pheasant didn't feel like taking orders from outlaws.

"Should we restrain him? We don't want him to decapitate us."

Sengoku murmured into the portable transponder.

"Marco says not in any circumstance are we to restrain him." He tipped his ear to the phone again. "But keep his sword away from him."

"When did we become babysitters to pirates?"

Sengoku shrugged. "Let's take our coffee outside. The Phoenix says Law'll come out of it soon enough. Bring the blade."

"Okay, but she bites. Luckily I can freeze the burn." Aokiji carried the nodachi with him, and adjusted his grip so that he held it loosely. "Who do you think's responsible for the darker paths of their minds?"

"Renegades? All paths are dark, aren't they?" Sengoku pushed he door open. Bleat remained asleep near the fitful Law. "Fucked-up minds lead to fucked-up paths?"

"He won't hurt Bleat, will he?"

Sengoku placed the pots and cups on the oil tins and, with a worried frown, called Marco.

"He adamantly says no."

He placed the snail back in his pocket, and sat on the bench outside the hut, Aokiji next to him.

"Are they all dark? There's Nico Robin, then there's Blackbeard. Roci saw something in Law, and you must too, or he wouldn't be in your hut." The Pheasant took a sip of the coffee.

"Genetic disposition," said Sengoku, pushing his glasses up his face. "Just something corrupted in their DNA. Could be that nightmares are an internal form of divine retribution, right? A delayed conscience kicking in?"

Aokiji thought of Saul, dead under his own hand. "An Unknown Known? The conscience they get to have without having a conscience? Whatever you say, Buddha. You're the one who should know."

oOOo

Bepo sure had got whiskery, and why was he giving him a Mink greeting in Sengoku's hut? Law twitched his head to the side, away from the fur.

Meh-eh-eh-eh.

Oh, that other white-haired creature. Eyes still closed, Law patted a clumsy hand to his head. No hat. She better not have eaten his hat. When did he last see it? On Kizaru's head in a net shopping bag, toted around by Dellinger. Laughing. What was it with villains and their penchant for hilarity at the expense of others? Though, it was Kizaru who had lost his body that round. He'd found that hilarious too.

Groggy. Law smacked his lips together a few times - a goldfish chasing flakes of food - and let out an exhalation that woke him. His hand dove into his pocket and he scanned his limbs. Plural. Good. The basalt was warm. Strange. The agate cool in contrast. He patted the other pocket and pulled out the mobile Den-Den, the constant mucous bubble indicating battery life was damn low. He'd leave it free to chomp on some grass to recharge as soon as he got up. There was just enough power for now.

oOOo

Marco picked up. Luckily he kind of knew and recognised Law's breathing patterns and this was the barely-awake-just-having-got-away-from-a-nightmare kind of lack of coherence. Not jerky, not pitter-patter, not staggered gasps for air. Just – a sleepy, musky, not necessarily cognisant Law.

"Hey."

Law tapped a finger on the snail's shell, and Marco understood that was as woken up as his communication skills were at the moment. His eyes would be fully closed or half-lidded.

"You did well, Law. You okay?"

He tapped twice. Couldn't remember Cora's code.

"Kikoku?"

Law looked around. Sleepy. He let the rammed earth floor of Sengoku's hut cool under his toes.

"Not here." His tongue moved like the stiffest and starchiest of unwashed socks.

"Good. You haven't killed them then."

Law let out a low laugh. As if he could bring down those two, but he'd be happier if she was near.

"I didn't kill Bleat, Marco." Law's fingers petted her neck.

"I know, babe. You wouldn't. Did you redirect it?"

"A new one. Gotta write it down. Dellinger. Kizaru. Fuckface hiding in the corner somewhere." Law cast an eye to the ceiling. They weren't high enough for Doflamingo to hide. Plus, he was dead.

"The redhead fuckface, or the pink prick?" Or the one who wore his dinner on his face, or the one made of molten lava?

"Flamingo."

Marco turned his basalt. "You got your basalt?"

"It's warm as fuck, Marco."

"I know. Was I there?"

"Yeah. Thanks. You could feel it?"

"My basalt's warm too. Think I know your nightmares almost as well as you do nowadays. You're safe though, right? Nothing happened?"

"No, nothing happened. Safe." Law lifted his hand from Bleat's hide and dipped it into his pocket, brought out the stones.

"Who won, Law?"

"We won. I won. Redirected it. Took a few tries, but I kicked them out."

"Good. You tired?"

Law pushed his hair off his face, and checked again that he had all his appendages. "The usual."

"Sengoku and Aokiji have a coffee waiting for you. You'll need to convince them you're not the living dead, though."

"I'll put on a happy face."

"Steady there. Don't want to scare them to death."

Law practiced smiling, full teeth - Bleat turned her head away. "Way to make me feel human, goat."

Cupping the stones in his palm, He felt the silver band on the arm holding the phone to his ear. Nothing tied him down – to protect himself and to protect others. That was an improvement. If he'd woken bound, he had no clue where his mind would have gone.

"Battery's almost out, Marco."

"Okay, pirate. You got this. Go sweet-talk them into letting you have your sword."

oOOo

"It's not a ghost, because it has feet."

Law glanced down checking he had two legs, yet again. Ordinary hiking boots scuffing through the dirt outside Sengoku's hut.

"Are you sure? He's pretty ugly."

Law bared his teeth.

"Not at all friendly."

"Ghosts have to be ugly?"

"Scary at least."

"He is that."

Law sat on the bench not too far away from the two, and pushed himself into the corner, bringing his knees up and crouching into them.

"Honey badgers have the sweetest of names . . . "

"He can be sweet to look at, that's for sure. What's wrong pirate? What're you curling your lip for? Should be grateful we didn't string you up."

Law breathed into the cloth cladding his knees.

"You interrupted my beauty sleep with your shenanigans." Aokiji sat back, his hands interlaced behind his head, taking in the early morning rays.

Sengoku stood and pushed a tin mug of tea into Law's hand. Law eyed the coffee on the makeshift table.

The ex-fleet admiral rolled his eyes, and wondered at his increasing hospitality towards this weed. "Tip it out, and I'll fix you up."

Law did as he was told. Sengoku then poured coffee so thick it was almost standing.

Law took the mug from Sengoku, and could only send him a glance of thanks. He sipped it and felt better. Sengoku repositioned himself on the other side of Aokiji.

"Nothing to sweeten?" Aokiji asked Sengoku as if Law was incapable of speech.

"Not much about this guy is sweet."

Bleat padded over and remained near Law, ignoring Sengoku's beckoning.

Law eyed Kikoku, in between the two admirals.

"Sword."

Aokiji turned to Sengoku. "Is the brat talking to us?"

Sengoku glanced at Law over the lip of his cup.

"Sounded more like a croak to me. You think he can express himself beyond monosyllables?"

"They're not the brightest. Pirates. I don't think his vocabulary's matured yet."

"It will mature?"

Sengoku gave up trying to get Bleat to come to the one who fed her, and raised his hands. "Who knows?"

"How old do you think I am?" Law lowered his legs. He finished the coffee and placed the mug on the bench beside him.

"Ooh, he can do polysyllables! I dunno, Kuzan, what do you think?"

"He's younger than you, that's for sure, but then, so am I. Actually, is anyone older than you?"

"Garp's a year younger."

"Really? Kureha?"

"Of course."

Law stared out at the yard. He knew he could walk over and get the sword. Could even use his power to bring it to him, but he didn't want to be too close to the admirals yet, nor give them any reason to invade his space.

"Hard to think he was Roci's charge."

"As different as chalk and cheese."

Aokiji picked up the pot of coffee. A pot of instant coffee. Or was that Law's dream? And poured the two of them – the two marines – another cup. "Sorry, Trafalgar. You'll have to brew some more."

Law tilted his head.

"He stabbed Roci once, he told me." Sengoku jerked his thumb in Law's direction. "Thought it had been enough to kill him, that the blade went clear through. A little ten-year-old. So homicidal."

"Seems he's closer in temperament to that other one."

"You don't say."

Law had never denied it.

"Just as well we didn't give him back his sword."

"Find ourselves serving as some kind of ex-admiral shish kebab."

"If Marco was in the middle, then we'd have pineapple."

Aokiji turned to the Buddha. "You put pineapple on your shish kebabs? What kind of barbarian are you?" His wisdom obviously didn't stretch to the culinary.

"Roci liked it."

Law ran his hand along the weave of his pants. He was happy that Aokiji had reattached his leg even though he hadn't really. He wasn't sure if he was properly awake now. He tried Image Rehearsal to see if he could change the whirlpools of conversation around him.

"If you added Akainu to the mix, it'd have a nice smoked infusion. Chargrilled."

"I wonder who might give it a bit of a zing, a bit of zest. Not Garp. Tough as old leather."

No good. He was awake, and the two were talking cannibalism and self-cannibalism

Law pulled his cap lower on his face. He'd located it before he bore the bright morning, and these two. "He threw me out of a window. Miles out of a window. Six stories at least. Landed in a scrap heap."

"And yet you kept crawling back."

"Until I didn't."

"And he didn't either."

Ah. Law had enough of his own guilt without others piling it on. As if they hadn't sent Vergo. Actions done under legislation somehow avoided scrutiny. But he also knew they were winding him up. He formed a quick room and called Kikoku to him. The admirals didn't react.

"You think he's going to stalk off and be all moody?"

"Kind of like Heathcliff on the moors?"

"Heathcliff was from the middle east?"

"Spain, I hear."

Law stood. "I gotta find some grass to recharge the Den-Den. You guys?"

Sengoku and Aokiji exchanged looks again.

"Babysitting you takes some effort, Law."

"Sorry."

Sengoku pulled out his transponder. "Yeah, give this little guy some sustenance." It still wore a blue scarf wrapped around its neck, making Sengoku's bush of hair and rounded glasses look almost stylish. Law's fatigue lifted for a beat.

He looked over at the fleet-admiral.

"We called him, Law. It seemed he was waiting for it. Couldn't wake you, kid. I was worried about Bleat."

The goat had finally gone to Sengoku's side with Law's departure. The Buddha fed her a cracker.

"I killed her in the dream. Or you said I killed her. I couldn't remember killing her. The first cycle around. My dreams have cycles."

Sengoku's eyes narrowed.

"I wouldn't hurt her, ever. Even in that state." He looked down at his nodachi and at the two marines. Yeah, people were a different matter.

"Go put your snails out to pasture, Law, and stop creeping us out."

"And I'm the sane one of that family, including Cora-san."

Sengoku fed the goat another cracker.

"How would you measure sanity, Kuzan?"

"On a scale of batshit to Law?"

"Mmm."

"On a scale of Garp to Tsuru?"

"Definitely on the Tsuru side of things, wouldn't you say?"

"Wet blanket?"

"Wouldn't invite him to one of my parties unless I wanted to play Simon Says."

Aokiji looked at Sengoku quizzically. Law too.

"How's that work?"

"Doctor Death here could call up a room, dismember half the attendees and not touch the other. Simon says - put someone else's hands on your head. Simon says touch someone else's knees. Simon says . . . "

"How'd you get to be fleet-admiral?"

Law wandered away. Maybe he was the sanest one here too.

"Law?"

He turned and faced Aokiji.

"See any missionaries out there, give them short shrift."

"Is that likely to happen?"

"God works in mysterious ways, Law, mysterious ways."

Thank you for reading. Info about Law and Marco's journey with Image Rehearsal Therapy can be found in the longer version of Teaspoon Collectors on AO3. My user name there is Harmonica_Smile. All feedback is greatly appreciated.