A/n: Lmao hello everyone. Yes, I live and let's just say 2021 made me its bitch and I had to take a step back. Things are good now, but I definitely never forgot this story or any of you guys and will absolutely be finishing it.
The epilogue's essentially been written already. Just needs some tightening etc. I've split it into two parts, because the balance wasn't working for me. The second, much longer part I'm aiming to release on Doffy's birthday. Also mind, this chapter flows directly from the previous one, so it might be confusing without some re-reading.
Thank you so much for all the reviews while I was gone, they were so wonderful to receive. As always, hope you enjoy!
epilogue part 1: multis post annis - "many years later"
"That's all you need to know." Law stands and slides Kikoku off the table. Her hilt scrapes the dusty wood, blade thrumming through her scabbard.
"Take the first ship out," he says, "I'll follow in a few days."
On the rug, Shachi, Penguin and Bepo fidget, their questions creased into their bare faces, unspoken between the dust specks. Expected, Law supposes. Over the years, he has proffered only the barest scaffolding of his childhood. This little narration might be the longest he's ever spoken of it and even then, it's an assemblage of fragments. Cigarette ash and bottle shards. More amalgations than men. Just as he had seen them as a child.
"Captain," Shachi speaks first, "you remember the last guys we met in the groves? About five months ago, with the stupid beanies in the Fifty-Fifth?"
A hot breeze plumes the room with the smell of roses and cannoli from town. A fly tumbles in too and takes bumbling circuits around the room.
"I'm not your captain," says Law, "And yeah, I remember."
"Real wasted bunch. Like talking about faeries and shit."
"I remember, Shachi, what's your point?"
Shachi fiddles with a half-bent paper clip. "Just that…well, they were idiots, boss. And it's been ten years. And it gets dark early in North Blue…I just feel that maybe, given the circumstances, they didn't actually see anything."
He hurries on, jumpy about admonishment, though Law has merely looked at him and said nothing.
"Everyone's always claiming they've seen something somewhere out here. And you never heard from him again after Minion. Don't you think he's probably gone? Maybe he got off land and fell into the ocean. Or bled out on the beach or something."
The fly loops past as Penguin's elbow launches into Shachi's gut, complementary with a scorching glare of disapproval. A more apologetic look is presented to Law, which Law disregards. They have floated this same assessment at him one way or another multiple times now, last night included, and it's fair enough.
Perhaps in another world, they are right.
Perhaps there, Minion had been the end and Law had been saved from all this ugly trouble. Could've been so.
Not true by far in this world, but still. It's a nice thought.
Shachi wheezes something foul at Penguin. Above them, the fly makes determined charges at the ceiling. Its disoriented little collisions flit like blips of static in Law's ears.
"What he's trying to say," Penguin says, "is that it could be dangerous. I mean, from how they see it, you deserted the crew. Can't imagine there won't be hard feelings. And then to go back because of beri of all things—you don't need us to tell you it's not the smartest approach. Just let us come with at least halfway—"
"No. Board the next ship."
"We can—"
"You're to leave in a few hours."
"But captain—"
"I'm not your goddamn captain." Law's teeth flash. "You'll get in my way."
Hurt bleeds over their faces. Their eyes dart across him—a narrow column of spine and purple rings, someone even the wind seems a worthy opponent of—but they make no more of their opinions known. Only nod eventually and scoot to another corner to discuss logistics.
Law stares at their backs. He stands in the congealed mire of silence he is so adept at creating these days, and waits for the inevitable shame to eat into his gut. Why had they come? He'd told them not to follow. Why had they come?
The fly speeds past and Law thinks about smashing it into the wall. He leaves for the balcony instead.
Wisps of a moon still hang in the sky and spill on the floor. The metal deck cools his soles. A headache is needling along his temples, many sleepless nights coating his skin in buzzing tension. The empty malt bottle rolls on the floor towards him. Law folds his arms on the rail. Though it's barely six a.m, he considers the tavern again.
"You should go help them," he says when Bepo's shadow trots up, "I wouldn't make good company for you right now."
In fact, he's been nothing but awful company for the past five months, ever since the rumors began. Bepo's always been too tender to quip about such things though and shakes his head.
"Captain, is this really gonna be okay?"
Law settles his chin on his arms. "What do you mean?" he asks and Bepo hesitates.
Law spends that beat scanning the ground floor. A discarded parasol lies among the decorative stones, wedged like a crushed flower. Not ten feet away, a child's wagon sits in the shade. Perfect Shambles targets, he realizes now, with no small amount of exasperated regret.
He could've eluded the three of them last night if he'd been thinking clearer. If his resolve had been stronger. Distance and detachment had been the best protections he could've offered them.
It wasn't your fault, something whispers and he replies, I know.
Odd static continues to rise and fall in his ears, rhythmic as swell. Is the fly back again?
"I don't know," Bepo finally says, "It just sounds like he might've...really let you down at some point. Did something bad. Won't it be hard seeing him again?"
Hard. What a description. Bepo doesn't know the truth, and in many ways doesn't even know what he's asking, but Law mulls the question over with due thoughtfulness.
"Hard" is an apt term, because he expects it to be astoundingly hard. He's worked all his granted life for this moment. Wore Kikoku into the grooves of his blood-blistered palms. Honed the Ope Ope until it beat as natural as a second heart. His strength is unmistakable. Irrefutable.
Who knows if it'll ever be enough.
But in the other respect, regarding matters of conscience and soul, it won't be hard at all. It'll be so easy. Probably the easiest thing he'll ever do.
Not something Bepo needs or deserves to have thrust upon him, so Law shrugs.
"I can handle it."
"Money isn't everything. How much do you owe? Penguin says we can make up the losses. He's great at figuring that stuff out."
Law shakes his head. "It's not your price to pay."
"But Penguin says he can do it. We want to help."
"I know, Bepo," Law says, turning to watch the dawn, "I know you do. But I'll be fine. And if it is him, then I want to go see him alone."
Bepo's ears droop. The air stirs with those terrible questions again, swimming in their frenzied, anxious circles. They never find their way out though, because they shy from the light. Because they resist the surface, as most terrible questions do.
"Okay," his friend says in the end, "I hope everything works out."
Kikoku's sageo snakes in the air. The black feather, cinched at its end, lifts like a tattered flag. It is frayed with age. Coarse and bent wrong from the old pressure of a small, sweaty palm. It rests on his knuckle.
(And he is dead. He is rubble and he is dust. Even this last scrap of him is withering away. And this here, what Law's attempting, it may change the world, but it'll never change that.)
"It will," Law says, and brushes the feather aside.