Later, when Law remembered that night, he thought it all went so smoothly it was almost dull. But back then, he could barely sit still for the jitters. Sanji pityingly looked at him, and made him chamomile tea.

"What's that," Law said.

"Can't have you getting a premature stroke here," Sanji lazily said, "that'd be bad for business. Drink up, drink up." He disappeared in the kitchen.

As Law was drinking the last of the tea, Luffy magically materialized by his side at the counter.

"You're late," Law grumbled. Luffy just laughed.

"Photo sesh," he said, "that shit is so stupid. But this time was fun, though! I got to ride the Striker, and they told me to bring Barto with his bike, too! He's so cool! I didn't think he'd agree to a photo sesh, but he did. He's awesome! We did all the tricks for the camera! But they got me to just — pose on the Striker, too, kinda like this," he leaned on the counter, legs apart and his hand in his hair, his lips slightly open. Law gulped, mouth dry. Luffy looked far too good like this, unfairly good, "that part was so boring. Barto kept making me giggle, so the camera guy got angry. But he did say they got some decent photos. I think it's for some magazine or other; I don't know, Jinbe deals with that stuff."

"Who's Barto," Law said.

"Oh," Luffy blinked, "he's a great friend! Sometimes we fuck."

His words shouldn't have knocked the breath out of Law, but they did.

He knew Luffy was poly. He fucking knew Luffy wasn't just his.

So why, why did it feel like he was dying, Luffy looking at him with that innocent baby face and the dregs of chamomile tea getting cold in Law's cup?

"Did you two—" Law started. He didn't want to finish that question. He needed to finish that question, and hear "no" for an answer.

He was going to hear "yes", wasn't he?

"Oh, Zoro!" Luffy suddenly rejoiced.

Indeed, there was one Roronoa Zoro striding to the counter with a smudged lipstick mark on his cheek.

Law was very dubious he'd actually make it. Sanji did say there was a big fundraiser or something, and Roronoa was supposed to accompany his employer to things like that. Did he seriously ditch her just to deal with Law's problem? Or could he really have convinced her to put aside her plans? It sounded extremely unlikely, but lately, unlikely things were happening left and right around Law, so he didn't dismiss the option entirely.

"You have lipstick on your left cheek," he helpfully pointed out.

"Hmm?" Zoro dubiously rubbed his right cheek with his palm.

"That's your right cheek, Roronoa," Law said. "Can't you tell right from left?"

"Shut up! You weren't clear enough!" Zoro said, a curious angry flush on his ever-serious face, and furiously wiped his other cheek.

"That's better," Law told him. "You fresh from a date or something?"

"Huh? Date?" Zoro blinked. "No, that's just Hiyori."

"…Your employer?"

"Uh-huh."

The heiress to a billion-dollar fortune and an Internet celebrity, widely considered to be one of the most beautiful women in the world, just casually giving her bodyguard a goodbye kiss on the cheek.

"You two are — friendly," Law slowly said.

"She's nice," Zoro said with a smile on his face, a smile that looked very much out of place on his usually stony mug.

"What are you two idiots talking about?" Sanji demanded, joining them.

"Roronoa's employer," Law answered, watching the way Zoro's face instantly went back to blank.

"Ah, the radiant Hiyori! The most fragrant flower in the garden of dreams!" Sanji cried. (What, Law thought.) "Did she say anything about me, Moss Head? Did she send me kisses?"

"Why would she, you shithead," Zoro said. "You met once. You made her one cocktail."

"The Cocktail of Love! You lucky, undeserving bastard," Sanji said enviously. "I wish I was her bodyguard. I wish I was the rug under her feet. I wish I was the towel on her bre— ack!"

Zoro cuffed him over the head, looking bored.

"That's my employer you're talking about," he said. "Keep your dirty fantasies to yourself."

Franky was already waiting for them in Sanji's large SUV, a wide grin on his face.

"Get in, you suckers," he said, "Imma show you snotty brats how to drive."

"Yay!" Luffy enthused.

"Be serious, damn you!" Law snapped. "We're not going on a picnic, we're rescuing someone who might be dying right now!"

Those deep scratches on Doffy's face — Law couldn't imagine Doffy'd let the one who left them go unpunished.

"Chill, Traffy," Luffy sagely said, "a rescue mission can be fun, too! Ha ha ha!"

"Argh!" Law nearly took out his own eye with his forceful facepalm.

"Fasten your seatbelts, ladies," Franky grandly announced, "it's time to get freaky!"

Law grumpily fastened his seatbelt, and the next second, a relentless force slammed him into the seat.

"You're driving over the speed limit!" he yelled.

"Yeah, so?" Franky casually said.

In the mirror, Law could see Zoro and Sanji's wide grins. Luffy was laughing and apparently having the time of his life. Law silently despaired.

"Why are you all so crazy," he complained.

"Why are you so boring, Traffy?" Franky chided him. "Live a little, won't you!"

"If you don't slow down, I'll have very little left to live!" Law screeched.

Then there was a hand on his dick.

"Luffy," he growled, "this is no time for—"

And then there was a mouth on his lips, and Law couldn't even complain anymore.

"There," Luffy said with satisfaction, "now Traffy's less grumpy." He licked the come off his palm.

"Ugh," Sanji complained.

Now there was a mess in Law's pants, and he couldn't even muster the will to be angry.

Law wanted to go with them, so that there was at least one reasonable man among those idiots, but Luffy said no.

"You're such a nerd, Traffy," he declared. "You can't run or jump for shit, ha ha ha! Just wait here and let us handle this. Your old man will need you if he's hurt, so make sure you don't get hurt before that."

"You gotta hit the gym, man, seriously," Zoro sagely nodded. "Your muscles are like noodles, it's pathetic."

"Excuse you," Law said. "I work out twice a week."

"Well, I don't see the result! It's all about the result!"

"The result is that I'm trim and my physical fitness is optimal for my health. Not all of us are meatheads like you, Roronoa."

With all the bickering Law didn't even notice how they arrived to the place. He only realized the car stopped when Zoro and Sanji jumped out of the SUV.

There it was, the tall, gloomy building guarding the most precious person in the world. Law's breath caught in his throat.

"Want me to go with you, in case there are any alarms?" Franky asked.

They didn't even account for this little detail?! Law wanted to scream.

"Nah," Luffy grinned, "we'll manage somehow."

They were doomed. Their mission was failing before it so much as started. Law was never seeing Roci again, was he?

"Stop pissing your panties, Traffy. It's gonna be fine," Sanji told him with great swagger.

"I'm still going with you," Law stubbornly said, and made to get out of the car.

Luffy kissed him, making him forget their circumstances, their purpose, his own name.

"I told you, Traffy," he grinned. "Wait for me. I'll be back in no time."

"Call me Law, damn it!" Law belatedly demanded.

"Maybe I will," Luffy laughed, and closed the car door. From the window, Law watched them run, lightning-fast, and disappear into the dark.

It took them about an hour or less, Law reckoned later. But back then, it felt like a gut-wrenching eternity.

Law hated just sitting around like that, feeling useless. He knew he wasn't, of course. He was the operation's medical staff. He was supposed to stay safe in case anyone in the strike force needed medical attention. And while he definitely wasn't as weak as Luffy and Zoro made him out to be, he wasn't exactly an athlete, too. Not like those guys.

Luffy's stamina was explainable; the guy was a dancer, after all. Yeah, Luffy had great stamina. Go away, boner, Law irritably thought.

Also, ballet training was apparently the toughest shit ever. Well, it had to be; male dancers were supposed to spend half their day lifting their female partners, sometimes one-handed, and ballet dancers worked six days a week. Sometimes seven, if Nami was to be believed. No wonder Luffy was so damn strong.

Zoro — well. He was the biggest a man could get without steroids, through strength training alone. And he was a bodyguard, so being a quick, able fighter was a part of his job description.

Sanji, though, was a mystery. He was a damn cook in his daddy's jazz club. How was he that strong? How did he swing those legs around like he, too, was a ballet dancer?

To distract himself, Law opened his laptop and got down to work. He seriously hoped Kuzan's info was accurate and the SWAT teams were raiding the House in about five minutes, because he didn't exactly need Doffy to notice what he was doing.

He did all the prep work beforehand; the rest was fast and easy. Overall, the whole job turned out to be rather underwhelmingly simple. A bit of social engineering was all it took.

Law closed his laptop. Hopefully, Doffy wouldn't need the money anyway after tonight, so what if a relatively insignificant amount just — disappeared from his accounts? Law did need to pay for school somehow. Besides, he was just collecting his compensation for all the work he did for Doffy on vacations, so Doffy really couldn't complain.

Law's job was done and Luffy's team still wasn't back, and Sanji's car had a strong smell of bread. Law hated bread. It was insufferable. Law's knee kept jumping.

Damn it, he should seriously stop worrying that much. He would really be useless like that, his faculties compromised and his concentration shot.

What if Doffy came now, he suddenly thought, and then, all he could think about was Doffy.

That man was infallible. Law grew up knowing this. Everyone in the House knew this. Everyone in the whole damn city knew this. You do not fuck with Doflamingo, unless you want to die a long, imaginative, painful death.

No matter how Law tried, he couldn't believe Doffy's empire would just fall like that. Doffy was almighty. He had people everywhere. Cops, politicians, you name it. There was no mess Doffy couldn't handle, there was no one in the city who didn't bow down to him. Doffy was the smartest, strongest, nastiest motherfucker in the world. He pulled all the strings, and he had no weaknesses. He had all the money, he had all the power, he'd fuck the hottest people and then toss them out like they were garbage. He'd easily let his own Family die if it got him what he wanted. He already did, once — and everyone in the Family somehow thought that just leaving Vergo for dead like that was perfectly fine.

Doffy had no weaknesses, none at all — well, save for one, apparently. Law'd never believe Doffy would let his guard down like that, hadn't he witnessed it with his own two eyes.

Doffy was never anything but sharp. Sharp eyes, sharp words, sharp knives. Spiraling out of control like that, just because of an old, worn jacket one treacherous man used to wear thirteen years ago… Law still couldn't believe it.

He understood it alright, because he loved that man to a distraction, so much that his love made him do a great lot of foolish, harebrained things. But Law wasn't Doffy. Law was human. He had a heart.

Doffy was never human, he thought. So why did he suddenly act like one?

That man did always thrive on control, like a big fat spider sitting in the center of his web. He wanted to control everything and everyone, and he never took it well when someone defied his authority.

Law saw him deal with someone like that once. It was a mobster, someone who got a bit too big a bit too fast, and thought he could spit in the Joker's face.

There was nothing left of his own face by the time the Joker was done with him, and there was nothing left of his gang by the next morning.

Law saw: Doffy got up, wiping his hands on the wet wipes Baby 5 gave him. He turned his head to the left, as if to look at someone, his grin wide and satisfied.

But there was no one to his left. Was Doffy seeing ghosts now?

Doffy's grin went pale, but then he turned his head back to Baby 5, and it was like Law never even saw him do that strange thing.

The Joker was always in control, Law thought. So why did Doffy make that unbelievably stupid, careless, human mistake?

Then Law thought of the precious person locked up somewhere in that gloomy building in front of Law's eyes. So close, so very close.

He couldn't help but think Doffy'd come any moment now. He always knew everything — wouldn't he know about Law's half-assed plan? Wouldn't he swoop in, his grin wide and his gun gleaming, wouldn't he give Law that long-deserved round of bullets, wouldn't he chase after Luffy and his friends, wouldn't he spill Luffy's pink, glistening guts on the grey asylum floor?

Doffy, who always knew everything, except for pity.

Law took a deep breath, and another, and another. He couldn't afford panicking right now. He'd safely lose his shit when it was all over, or he wouldn't at all.

Back in the House, Law kept a small, secret collection hidden in his father's dog-eared History of Cardiothoracic Surgery, where the Family or the cleaning staff probably wouldn't think to look.

It was his second greatest treasure, old and worn and somewhat wrinkled. A stash of exactly ten photos, all bearing Roci's face.

Today, Law took that treasure, and brought it to the Baratie, and made the strike force diligently study every photo, so that they knew whom to look for.

In most photos, Roci looked the way Doffy liked him. That was something he told Law when Law asked him why he wore makeup. Most guys didn't, after all.

"Doffy likes me like that," Roci said.

"But do you like it?" Law skeptically asked.

"I like Doffy," Roci said, his smile weird and unusual. "Personally, I don't care for makeup. But it makes Doffy happy, so I wear it around him."

It was true. Roci never wore it when he took Law on walks, to shops, zoos, or theme parks. He'd buy Law all the cotton candy, and he'd take him on all the roller coasters, and they'd scream and laugh and scream and maybe sometimes puke their guts out (well, there was that one unfortunate accident…), and they'd have so much fun, and Roci would grin so widely and stupidly, his lips pale and his eyes bright.

Then they would come back home, and Doffy would frown at the cotton candy stains on Roci's pale lips and silk sleeves, and Roci's face would change in the blink of an eye, that pale, subdued smile back on his pale lips.

He'd put Law to sleep and kiss him goodnight, and the next morning, his lips would be red and his throat would be purple with bruises.

Law looked at those photos, mementos of a time long gone. He looked at Roci's flowy silk shirts, at the silly makeup that made him look like one of Baby 5's dolls, at the golden hair covering Roci's ears — at everything that was home and love.

"Dude looks like a lady in these photos," Sanji dubiously said, lighting his cigarette. "But he'll probably be without the makeup now. How do we recognize him?"

Law pulled out a photo from the hospital, the only one he had. Giolla took it when she came to visit him after his third chemo; apparently, she thought the scene was cute.

In the photo, Law was eight, pasty white, and propped up with a tall pile of pillows. Judging by his face, he was either demanding something or telling Roci off.

Roci was sitting by his side, not a trace of makeup on his face. He looked emaciated, huge dark circles under his eyes. His shirt was dirty, and in his hands he held a book. Law immediately recognized it: it was that book. Doffy's favorite.

He remembered. The first day he was admitted, he spent the night in horrible silence and darkness. There was no one around, no one to hold on to. Law thought he felt the ghost of death creep up on him from the shadows, and hid under the blanket to keep it away.

He couldn't sleep for fear that death would come and drag him away before he hugged Roci one last time. He cried until he couldn't breathe, until there were no more tears left, but morning still wouldn't come.

Still, eventually it came, and in the morning came Roci.

"Why didn't you come yesterday?" Law demanded.

"Sorry Law," Roci said, hugging him tight and kissing the top of his head. "Something came up."

"Don't leave me again," Law ordered, trying to hide how scared he really was.

"I won't," Roci said, smiling at him with such overwhelming love in his face, just the way Law's mother used to. No one smiled like that at him anymore; only Roci did.

Law thought he'd wept out the last of his tears, but apparently he still had an emergency supply left.

And Roci stayed. He spent his days and nights with Law, forgetting all about the Family, about his funny makeup and his beautiful silk shirts. Sometimes, he even forgot to eat or shower.

Law could tell Roci sometimes went back to the House: his shirts changed, and he brought terrible food he obviously cooked himself. But Roci was there when Law woke up and when he went to sleep, and all the time in between. Back then, it seemed only natural that all his time belonged to Law. Now, Law wondered how Roci managed to make trips to the House without leaving him alone even once when Law was awake.

Roci even forgot about Doffy back then. Doffy visited the hospital several times, ostensibly to check on Law. But his attention would remain fixed on Roci all the time, and he would always drag him away in about a minute or three.

Roci'd come back disheveled and subdued, and Doffy wouldn't come at all.

Law didn't mind. Doffy was kinda scary, for all that he was his late father's good friend, and Law didn't really want or need his attention when he had Roci all to himself.

How naive he was, and how happy. In between rounds of chemo, when his hair was falling out and he was so weak he could barely move his mouth, when he spent all his days cramping and vomiting, Law was happy. Because he had Roci, and Roci wouldn't let anyone or anything hurt him.

He really believed it, back in the day.

The worst thing was that it was true.

A hail of steps broke Law's haze. They were fast and loud, and they were coming closer. Law jerked. Was it finally Doffy, here to kill him and fuck up this joke of a plan?

The sound of the steps told him there were three people running. Law didn't dare hope. With a shaking hand, he opened the door, and got out of the car.

Indeed, he saw three men running towards him, breathing heavily but otherwise looking fine. Sanji was smoking on the move. Law would marvel at his ridiculousness if Zoro didn't have someone thrown over his shoulder, butt up. A tall someone with very long, very thin legs hanging limply along Zoro's body.

Law shook.

Luffy was running behind them, waving at Law.

"We got your guy, Traffy!" he screamed. "Franky, start it!"

"Aye, aye," Franky grinned.

Law remembered to breathe, and opened the back door.

"Get him in the back seat," he said. "Any of you injured, back seat, too."

Luffy dove in and carelessly dragged the long body into the car.

"Careful, damn you," Law screeched.

"Chill, Law," Sanji lazily said, "the dude's fine. Well, more or less. He was certainly lively enough when we found him."

"Shut your mouth and get in the car," Law snarled. "We're leaving, pronto."

"Thankless dick," Sanji said, offended, and got in the car after a brief squabble with Zoro. Franky hit the gas, and then they were off and speeding away.

Roci was sitting by his side, looking at him like he couldn't believe his eyes.

Roci.

Golden hair, blue eyes, pale lips, Roci, his Roci, here with him at last.

"Thank you, Vinsmoke," Law said in a shaky voice, "Roronoa, Franky. Luffy. Tha—"

He couldn't finish the damn word. It got stuck in his throat, choking him, and Law couldn't fucking breathe.

"Law?" Roci said, trembling hands lightly touching his face. "Is it really you?"

His voice was trembling, too, but oh, it was Roci's voice, the same as thirteen years ago, deep and a bit husky and so very kind.

"You grew up so much," Roci said. He had some wrinkles now, and his hair was longer, but his eyes were the same, and so was his smile. That Smile, the one he only ever had for Law.

Law told himself not to cry. He failed miserably.

"Hey, hey, baby bunny, don't cry now, it's all over, it's all behind us…" Roci clumsily held him, just like thirteen years ago, after he brought Law back home from the hospital. That time, Law got snot all over his black silk shirt.

Just like that time, Roci was holding Law close, awkwardly, like he forgot how to hug.

Zoro and Sanji were fixedly staring ahead. Law cried and cried, and felt familiar large hands gently stroke his back.