The Shichibukai: What Time Cannot Heal

Tsuru had agreed to let Sengoku and Law tag along with her to Marineford, which now held the G-1 base. She'd said that she had some things to talk with Momonga that were best discussed in person, but Sengoku knew he owed her a drink or ten for this favor.

This was likely the only time Law would be allowed to set foot on Marineford without any hostilities involved. Sengoku had never been in the habit of deceiving himself; he knew Law wouldn't be a Shichibukai for longer than whatever plan he'd come up with required.

The gossip had already reached G-1 by the time Tsuru's ship anchored at the harbor, but the soldiers had the decency to stay back and whisper to each other from a distance. Momonga welcomed them at the port, his stance somewhere between tense and uncertain (not so deep down, Sengoku knew the knowledge that he had a pirate grandson would gain him some level of distrust, just like Garp with his family) but left with Tsuru shortly after.

Sengoku advanced somberly through the restored streets of the island, Law a silent figure behind him. There were no words to be exchanged, not now. The entire trip from Mariejois, as short as it had been, had been a sober affair in which they had exchanged few words. Sengoku had never thought there would be a day in which he could bring Law to Marineford, not after Law had set sail as a pirate, and neither had Law thought he would ever be here.

Now that Law was here, words were unnecessary.

After nearly half an hour of walking, they left behind the city and the curious looks of its inhabitants, walking down a well-kept path that led to the extensive cemetery of Marineford. They passed headstone after headstone, some well kept and others abandoned by time, until the city was a silhouette in the background and only tombs surrounded them. Most people would be lost here without any form of guidance —there was, in fact, a map showing the numbered rows of graves, and each headstone had a number carved at the bottom right corner to identify it— but Sengoku had been here often, to the point where he could follow this path blindfolded.

Finally, they came to a halt. Tombstone 5683 didn't stand out amongst the others; it was the standard model used throughout the cemetery, and the text in it was simple: name, rank and dates of birth and death. But it was that same plain information that made it so special. That name.

Donquixote Rosinante.

Law stopped before the grave, his posture stiff and his knuckles white around Kikoku. His face was unreadable.

Sengoku placed a hand on Law's shoulder, squeezed it briefly, and then walked away. He had been here plenty of times, sometimes talking, others just sitting silently, and he could come back whenever he wanted. Today was for Law, and right now Law needed some time alone.

As he walked away, Sengoku heard the telltale sound of fabric rustling followed by a soft thus and a second, softer sound of something hitting the ground. He didn't turn around, and instead headed into a parallel row of graves. Most of the tombstones here were unattended, coated in grime and with grass and the occasional wild flower taking over them. It made sense, this was a relatively old area of the cemetery, the newest graves over a decade old, and few families of deceased marines remained at Marineford unless they had other relatives stationed here. Most took their departed loved ones with them when they left, but others didn't. This cemetery was a place of rest for those whose entire families were marines, those whom their families would rather forget and those that no one would miss once they were gone.

Kneeling down before a random grave, that of a nineteen year old petty officer who had perished almost twenty years ago, Sengoku opened the bag he'd brought with him and started cleaning out the grime that had darkened the tombstone over the years.

Two hours later and out of rags to use, Sengoku returned to Rosinante's grave. Law was on his knees before it, head bowed low, knuckles gripping blades of grass that had long since been pulled out of the ground by the roots and Kikoku lying at his side, forgotten for the time being.

Law didn't react when Sengoku approached, though he did raise his head when Sengoku crouched next to him. His eyes were red at the corners, but whatever tears he had shed had long since dried. The look on them, however, was that one of self-doubt that sometimes took over him and which Sengoku hated to see.

Laying a hand on Law's shoulder again, Sengoku hesitated for just a moment before drawing him in. Under normal circumstances Law would have complained, teleported away and perhaps tried to attack him. Right now, he just sagged into Sengoku.

"He'd be proud of you," Sengoku said, well aware that Law was plagued by what Rosinante would think of him. "Despite being an annoying pirate. You're a good person, Law, and whatever you're planning," and Sengoku really didn't want to know, "it'll help free a country. He'd be really proud." And you're alive. Sengoku didn't say this out loud, aware that those words would only trigger Law's survivor guilt, but he knew that Rosinante would be grinning that wide grin of his at the fact that Law had lived to turn twenty-six, the double of the time anyone had expected him to survive.