FOR AS LONG AS HE COULD RECOGNIZE THE WORD, Law had been haunted by his precocity.
Growing up, he loved to read. His father, being an overly zealous and ambitious man, had little time for his children, much less for himself.
Ironically, the first few years following the death of his wife were the happiest since his marriage.
Law's father had vowed, with a vigor of no source, no rhyme, and seemingly no reason, to sweeten a bitter pill.
He devoted all of his love and affection towards his two children only minutes after the news that his wife had died in childbirth. To him, they were gifts, the last of which his wife would ever bless him with. Both were to be loved, cherished, and while incredibly expensive, they were worth every minute of his time and more. Only by being happier than he ever was, could he convince his children of this truth.
Law read as many books as he wanted.
Luckily enough, he was unbothered by his selection that was limited to those that his father had already owned, caked with dust from his University days. Though years apart, their interests and passions had overlapped.
Thus, those old books became a blissful happenstance; oblivious to the limitations that bound them by circumstance.
It didn't matter if Law only had a few tattered yellow books that smelt of dust and decay—some stolen from libraries, some rentals from days of a high school past—they were his father's, and they kindled the flames of his lifelong cultivation of knowledge.
Old, moth-eaten books 30 years out of the loop since the date of its last revision, despite themself, stoked flames of the passion in Law's heart for human hearts.
It was inevitable. inevitable as the day Law's freedom fell into the clutches of a blonde, pink ostrich-feather wearing tyrant.
Long before any of this world of hurt could even steal a strip of film from Law's bittersweet childhood memories.
Long before he even knew what it meant to truly hurt.
Preceding this...so hopelessly, lovingly, sickeningly sweet—in a sweltering barrage of startled 'ah's, late-night reading, strained eyes were filled with a swirling mixture of curiosity, thinly veiled by child-like wonder.
At age 8, Trafalgar Law fell helplessly in love with medicine.
And at age 23, Donquixote Doflamingo fell in love with the idea of exploiting this talent, and those of others.
For a man of his power, this very well meant that there was nothing that could stand between him and his goals. Nothing was out of his reach.
Certainly not an 8 year old boy who despite giving the doctors that he paid a run for their money when a case of cardiomyopathy exploded in his ER, still held a characteristic naïveté that was impossible to ignore.
If you asked Doflamingo, some people were destined for greatness—that being said, some people were destined for self-inflicted ruin at the hands of such greatness. Law, as much as he struggled, had his role assigned the moment Doflamingo laid eyes on him— ruin .
If he didn't take the path of greatness with him, Law would capsize into ruin without him.
At age 8, Trafalgar Law had the Donquixote Family crest branded across his back with hot tongs—meant to forever scar the tissue. It mattered not if the little boy didn't know it yet— that small, gaunt back had a damned fate stamped across it.
If it wasn't covered by Doflamingo's mark of ownership, it would simply regress into desolation. A fate that had been sealed the moment Law's small legs trudged through those hospital doors.
The world of hurt began, in a constant flux of bistable regression:His father collapsing at work...His father sitting in a hospital bed and promising to take the two of them camping once he got better. Lammy's bright, hopeful eyes, the way they dimmed when he died from a stroke hours later.
Attending his father's funeral—a small, cheap gathering in the dining reception of a cremation parlour. Family members bemoaning the burden of two sick children. Aunts and distant cousins voicing concerns about the Amber-lead.
Some inconvenienced by the fact that the state medicaid grant for a little girl suffering from cardiomyopathy wouldn't outweigh the immense undertaking it would be to raise her...
Promptly being thrown into the foster care system after an unwelcomed stay with their aunt.
Only to be adopted a day later by a man sporting rose tinted shades.
He would never forget the way his heart lurched with hope, and the fear that followed, as it plummeted seconds later when the man pointed to Lammy.
'I have no use for that one.'
It seemed like stepping into that hospital and catching Doflamingo's eye was the defining moment for his entire life—the tentative poke before the array of dominos fell—but years later, Law could find no definitive catalyst.
Simply, as Doflamingo had told him many times, that had merely been the eve. Carved into his back was the word ruin. It could change shape and grow with his skin...even appear faded in certain light, but nonetheless he belonged to the Donquixote Family.
Destined for ruin.
Minutes after 9, Law was snapped back to the present.
Whatever vague feelings and flashing images that he had in his mind of his first meeting with the drug lord were quickly snuffed out like the cigarette he smoked yesterday morning.
His eyes were trapped on the dark phone screen. After staring at the words so long, it didn't matter that they were no longer there. He saw them all the same.
Have you settled in yet?
...So something happened.
Your father loves you, son.
Muscle memory worked—the bony joints of Law's tan fingers keyed in a number he rarely typed, but couldn't forget even if he tried.
He remembered when Corazon first got the number—specially requested after looking through a list of available options. 01060, a sequence that fell somewhere in the middle of the 10 digit code.
"Look, Law," he had said, his free hand jutting the phone into his face as he drove, his voice dripping with fondness. "Forwards and backwards, it's the same as your birthday."
"You dumb old man, focus on driving!" Law had hissed, grabbing the phone from him. But his eyes had lingered on the silly sequence of numbers, and he gave a crooked smile before he shut off the phone.
When Corazon had lost the number, he even went out of his way to contact its current holder and buy it back from them. Now, the dial tone ringed once before it connected.
"..."
Quiet.
Law puffed out air, vaguely confused when he didn't see smoke rise from his lips. No cigarette, he thought. He really should've just bought that entire pack.
After a few beats of silence, the chicken soup in his stomach churned, as if the uncomfortable waves of silence were strong enough that even his food wanted to digest quicker.
A gentle breeze fluttered by, unaware of the cold air hanging between Law's ears and the phone. His dry lips parted.
"Corazon," he muttered.
There was silence on the other end of the line. He could tell his father was there listening—could hear the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He was icing him out, and Law knew he deserved it.
At a loss for where to start, Law settled for a less incendiary conversation starter—"You took the camels out of my suitcase when you visited."
More silence.
Law toed the grass beneath his feet. In the gazebo a few feet away, across the plush green lawn, a familiar looking kid sat down, head buried in the brush, stick in hand. Was that the kid who sat with Luffy on the plane? Why was his head in the bushes? Playing with insects, maybe.
Law sighed.
"..."
Coazon's patience was not to be trifled with. When he and Lammy first moved in together, Law was still stalwart in not getting too comfortable. The chest of drawers in his room remained empty, his dresser completely barren. Law stored all of his clothes in a tattered, beat up suitcase, ready to make a run for it if anything ever happened. It took him 3 years to finally transfer everything into his wardrobe. 3 years Corazon spent patiently, silently, but with his own gentle determination, convincing Law that he was safe, and that he'd never let Doflamingo hurt him and Lammy again.
Meanwhile, Law had vowed the same thing.
"Will you just talk to me?"
Patient breathing was still the chorus on the other end of the line.
"I-" Law paused, shifting his weight, as a frown dented his features once again. Then he brought the phone back to his ears. "...I'm sorry."
For a moment the air was still. Law hovered in a vacuum, waiting for his father's voice. Whenever the other man spoke, the air around them always seemed to still—no stray waves of sound could interrupt the unique frequency that left his lips.
"Law..." he finally said, and Law's chest thumped in habit. "Do you think I'm nagging because I'm overprotective?" Corazon's voice held no bite, no bitterness, no hurt. It was patient, exceedingly so, and it made Law feel like shit.
"I'm nagging because if i don't," he said slowly, "you'll completely spiral out of control."
Law brought his free hand up to cup his jaw. Callous hands swept over his lips, nose, forehead, where they rested to blot out the bright sun shining in his eyes. His mind flitted back to moments prior, when he encountered Vergo in the bathroom and felt like he was going to explode into a fit of rage.
But he couldn't.
"I know."
"You know?" came Corazon's prodding tone. He sounded hurt. There was a soft huff—but it held a tinge of disappointment. "What happened to staying in touch? You insist on texting; I know how to adhere to boundaries. I know you don't like a barrage of calls. But maybe the less immediate medium has made you careless. Do you think I wouldn't be able to tell that something happened because you're two oceans away? Do you think I'd keep still?" More silence. It sounded like he was shaking his head.
"Robin contacted me."
Law's free hand yanked away from his face with starling speed. "What?"
"What's with that tone?"
Law silently tsked. Corazon knew him too well.
"If you blow up at her I'm cutting you off," Corazon threatened. "We haven't spoken in so long . She didn't need to tell me a single thing."
Didn't need to tell you a thing? Law hissed in his head. Of course she didn't, we haven't spoken in years! His mind didn't even dwell on wondering how Robin had gotten his father's number—if not from the years prior, thanks to Corazon's staunch dedication to keeping his cheesy phone number—it could've been from when she had taken Law's phone and saved her own number.
Regardless, Law was more concerned with what she had said to him. Law hadn't told Robin to keep his confession between the two of them—something told him the mood implied it, and Robin was— is —a smart woman. But no words had been said to bind her to that tacit agreement.
After 4 years apart, what if Robin had changed? What if they didn't understand each other as well as they used to? What if, despite that, Robin simply wanted to be more proactive in her own way of looking out for him? Worse, what if, conversely, she wanted to royally fuck him over for ghosting her for years?
"Law?"
His eyes snapped back to the phone screen, as if he could see Corazon's amber eyes probing him patiently.
"...I'm doing fine now," Law settled for instead. To an extent, it was true. He felt better than he did yesterday. Maybe it was the healthy breakfast consisting of chicken broth, the cloyingly unhealthy Italian dinner before that, or maybe it was his insufferable neighbour who had boked all over him last night. Either way, he definitely felt alive, which was better than how he had the second his eyes spied Vergo.
Sun singed his skin, and his temperature rose to a warm haze that hovered over the top layer of his epidermis . A lone drop of sweat sluiced down the side of his face, and he ran his hands through his hair as he walked towards a nearby bench in the shade.
"...Are you going to tell me what happened?"
No.
There was no way Law could.
As far as Corazon knew, his debt to Doflamingo had been paid after he finished his residency.
Corazon didn't even know his brother was a major shareholder of the hospital. That was because he did so under a different name; an alias not even Corazon had known when he was a part of the Family.
2 hellish years spent working 3 part-time jobs and completing his residency. 2 hellish years of Corazon groveling at his father's feet and promising to pay back the money he borrowed; 2 years of Lammy being deployed for the higher pay—a decision she was still facing the consequences of.
How could he tell them, that after those 2 hellish years of saving, it had only been a tiny drop in the ocean? How could he?
"...Not much," Law settled for. If he wasn't careful, Corazon could hear the way his voice trembled. "The jetlag hit harder than usual, is all..."
Law's eyes narrowed. "...What did Robin tell you?"
Law had to remind himself to breathe. His heart was almost in his throat. Corazon's silence stunk of suspicion.
"...That you fell sick," he finally revealed. "I'm not sure whether to be relieved that you have an excuse to rest, or concerned that it needed to come to that."
Law let out a hollow laugh. "Even if I wanted to work here, there's nothing to do. So far, I've slept some of it off."
Though I had insomnia last night, Law thought to himself. My bank account's looking thin, by the standards of the debt.
No matter how high his pay became, it never seemed like enough. Though he was using his PTO, and could expect a stipend by the end of the week, Law wasn't sure just how much more of that he could scrape up to afford daily expenses here.
Every day Doflamingo made it harder for him to live a life of peace that wasn't under his control.
"Put the watch back on," Corazon ordered. "I don't act like an authoritarian much, but I will on this matter. And I'm going to call you everyday."
Law wanted to groan, and insist that he stick to texting, but look where that ended up.
For Corazon, no reply was an agreement. "How is it there?" he asked, his tone changing. It sounded curious, and also hopeful. Law could only comment on the views he had seen so far. He'd only been there for two days, and was embarrassed to admit that he hadn't seen much of the island at all. He only had 12 days of this left.
"It's alright," Law began, knowing his father would insist on more than that. "The sun's so hot it might turn my skin into rubber," he scowled. "And my neighbour's an idiot—this short kid. He's loud and obnoxious, and he eats like a pig."
Corazon seemed amused by this bit of information. "Chubby kids are always endearing," his voice had a smile. "When you were a kid you were so uncute it wasn't even funny. Even when you were getting good meals your cheeks were still gaunt and skinny."
Law scoffed. "He's not an actual kid," he corrected. "He's in university. Same as mine, actually." It surprised Law just how much he knew about Luffy, even though they'd known each other for less than a day. "And he's not chubby either, though he damn well should be..." he muttered, but it sounded like he was saying it to himself.
Law's mind sifted through his memories like a rolodex, locating the card that documented their brief contact in the dining hall. When the younger man's body had crashed against him, Law remembered faintly noting how skinny he had felt. His shoulder blade had poked into his chest harshly, and the young man's wam body vibrated with spirit. Then he had pulled away.
"...for Robin."
Law snapped back to the conversation at hand. His throat felt dry.
"What?"
"You need to treat Robin," Corazon advised, with the tone of a mother who was appalled that their son had visited a friend's home, been treated to a warm dinner, and had even stayed the night, completely empty-handed. "Ask her if she'd like to visit when she leaves, too."
Law raised an eyebrow. "You can ask her this yourself. You guys are like the secret service, maintaining a correspondence while keeping tabs on me, yet you're scared to invite her over for dinner?"
Corazon made a sound of annoyance. "Of course not! I can't simply invite her to our house when she doesn't even know where she stands with you. You know how polite she is. I don't know if you plan to be friends with her again, but I certainly plan for you to. Stop the foolishness, and invite her over for when you get back. You know she has no family in the states."
Law's jaw worked. All of Robin's family lived abroad in Russia—and by family, it mainly consisted of her foster mother, her husband, and the husky the senior couple had adopted. If they had, at the very least. When Law last spoke with her, she said they had been considering it. Maybe they hadn't gone through with it after all.
"I'll talk to her," Law settled for instead. "I'm going to hang up now."
Corazon sounded like he had expected it. "Just so you know, Lammy flew back to Australia last night. She should land around 2pm. Give her a call."
Law was thankful that gave him a few hours to spin his story straight.
Corazon knew not to pry—after years of dealing with a moody, secretive teenager. Lammy on the other hand—Law didn't know if it was because he simply spoiled her too much, or that she simply knew he wouldn't tell her no and wholly exploited it. Besides her proficiency for krav maga, she also knew how to zero in on his lies and chinks in his cover-ups like a swiss-army knife, personified. If Corazon picked up on it and didn't ask, Lammy would invite him over for a homemade pot pie, serve him a whole, roasted turkey, then explode it with an assault rifle and call him the next turkey if he didn't dish all the contents of his lies.
Law gulped.
Corazon sang a goodbye, reminded him to eat, drink, and get some rest, and also to stop smoking, then he hung up. Law sat on the bench for a while longer, feeling the warm, moisture-laden wind hum past his hair. Absently he mused about going to the convenience store and buying shampoo—knowing full well that whatever small tube of shampoo the hotel had prepared for the villa wouldn't even be enough to lather a single strand of hair with.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spied that the little boy across from him in the gazebo was no longer there. In a lazy curiosity, Law's eyes swiped over the open space—flagstones separating the lush lawn beneath his bench from the lawn with the gazebo nestled in the corner. For the first in minutes, Law finally realized there was a small shack/bar a few paces behind him. The venue was quiet, but there was a steady hum of conversation that began to filter into his ears—no longer tuned out because of his earlier phone call.
"Just one glass?" a high voice whined. When Law turned to look behind him, he realized the little boy was standing by the bar, head barely above the counter as he stared accusingly at the bartender.
"Your parents would need to pay, little boy," came the bartender's voice. "Tell me the room number and I can call them for you."
The boy huffed. "I told you, she's all the way down by the beach!"
The bartender seemed confused. "That's just a little walk away." Law wanted to snort. What little walk? This may have been the lower terrace of the mountain, but beaches don't just spawn on top of hillsides. How long was the trek to the base?
"Follow this stone path, and after a few minutes it'll fade into white sand. Ask her to come with you."
The little boy's dark brown eyes scoffed, if that was possible. It held the same cheek as when he had called Luffy silly on the plane. "Fine! I'll just stop bothering you!" e turned to walk away, then paused when he saw Law sitting on the bench, regarding him a few steps away. Annoyance morphed into realization.
"Oh! It's you!" the little boy ran over. He looked to be about 8. Maybe 9. Was his name...Theo? He was on the chubbier side, but it was a rectangular pudginess in the way his belly and flabby skin fell over his swim trunks, yet his legs were thin, spindly sticks. A kind of awkward half and half. You could tell from his sweaty face that he was parched.
"You're Luffy's friend, right? Have you seen him?" The boy looked a little hurt, a mixture of boredom and loneliness. "I can't find him."
"I'm not his friend," Law said tersely, despite knowing exactly how to answer that question, and in a way, he didn't. He knew where Luffy was supposed to be. Instinct was telling him maybe that was as good as it would get when it came to tracking him down.
"Aren't there other kids on the island?" Law heard himself saying. "Why don't you make some friends?"
The kid pushed out his lower lip and averted his eyes, but made no effort to reply. Law remained silent for a few beats, before getting up and lingering for a few seconds, eager for wind to brush by and air his warm thighs. An uncomfortable sweat lingered on his legs from sitting, and he silently cursed the Poneirian heat. Theo seemed a little awed when Law got up, staring up at him with his mouth hanging a little open, before he closed it as his eyes followed Law walk past him and towards the counter.
"Can I get a bottle of water," Law said, passing his gaze over the bartender who had been watching the exchange discreetly. "And a glass of orange juice."
Theo's eyes widened and he ran over, chubby cheeks bunched as he grinned. "Thanks! My mom says I must always say thank you, so thanks old man."
Law ignored the jibe and didn't bother suppressing the small curl in the corner of his mouth. Children were amusing when they weren't yours. "It's not 'my mother said'. It's just called manners." Theo didn't seem all that interested in Law's reply, fascinated by a butterfly that had flown in and was hovering around the two of them.
When the bartender handed Law the bottle of orange juice, a cup with crushed ice in it and a straw, Law handed them to Theo wordlessly.
"Luffy is going to be busy on a tour of the hotel this morning. If you go to the dining hall at 10 you should see him."
Theo took greedy sips directly from the bottle of orange juice, then winced when he noted it was warm and flat. "Ewwwwwww."
Law blinked, a little appalled. Were all children this slow? "That's why he gave you a cup of ice."
Theo's mouth flew open. "Oh. I forgot cuz I was just so thirsty! Haha!" In a way, this stupid action reminded Law of Luffy, and a part of him felt endeared, and another part unsettled. However, he couldn't exactly place why.
Taking the bottle of water, Law noted that this one was also room temperature. There was a cup of crushed ice sitting there for him too. "Can I get this chilled?" Law asked. Seconds later he had a cold bottle of water, the condensation dripping over his fingers.
Law gave the bartender his card, and the tab was charged to his room.
Then, he turned to leave, ignoring the dryness that clung to his throat even after the bottle had been emptied.
He needed a distraction.