Thank you's to these refreshingly chilled fruit pops: Potential Paradox, SNicole25, AquilaAudax, DemoniaDew702, Nurofen, Shiningheart of Thunderclan, geckogal077, ace's hat, luffys, oshawott, Alkitty, Lucinda M. H. Cheshir, findingzoro (i love that name omg), Lucy Jacob, 10th Squad 3rd Seat, Mivichi, Mugiwara-Kaizokudan, Cottage, NarrantNart, iko0756, somebody, Boba Butt, sourcream crisps Synodic, nana, Guest, and sereneskydragonslayer.
—
methyl nitrate pineapples
hypothesis #15
the democratic republic of stars
—
The Oasis-Moon Feast took place in the dead heat of summer, during a cloudless night when the stars shone brightest.
A long night of games and dancing and drinking in a desert city, where the waters ran sweet and pure. This was Machinastein. The island that, according to legend, was where ancient humankind first developed complex mathematics in order to chart distant cosmos. On a joyous night like this, even pirates gathered in a temporary truce (drinking competitions and arm-wrestling notwithstanding; gotta defend your team somehow).
But it was a festival, and as with all festivals, it wouldn't do if there wasn't at least one thing amiss.
Unfortunately for Sophie, that thing amiss—or rather, 'a chemist, pterodactyl screeching into the abyss of the night'—was her.
Now, to go back a few steps: on the night of this grand jamboree, a rooftop garden on one of the highest temples in the city was the emergency landing site of a particular pair whose fates had been knotted together by some capricious god, laughing madly over vodka shots in their cosmic abode.
"W-w-what in the n-n-name of the Gorosei's saggy b-bottoms is your p-p-p-p—problem?"
"My problem? Why were you running!?"
"Survival instinct, you rotten plum!"
Words of a tender reunion.
"What the pineapples was that!?" she hollered, yanking feathers out of her hair. Seething, she tugged her disheveled silks away like he would contaminate it with his scummy pirate fingers. "I c-cannot believe you had the audacity—"
And here Sophie went a coughing spree from all the potting soil she inhaled.
Law was untangling himself from birds-of-paradise and ivy creepers. What the hell, his peaceful night had already been abandoned by the wayside of a highway to nowhere. To cement this fact, Sophie headbutted him with her floofy medusa curls and snarled that he was to stay on his side. She was determined not to waste a single inch of this rooftop garden. This led to several minutes of strained, awkward silence that neither was willing to break.
Law planted both palms back and sighed, wondering why the hell this girl was like this. Then he wondered what he wondering what happened to the little boring cottage on the little boring island she and her father were supposed to sail to. He decided both were rather senseless questions.
Sophie, on the other hand, would've beat him over the head if she wasn't certain Law would fashion a glider out of her robes and see how far she could fly. Instead, she threw a feather at him. The breeze buffeted it back and attacked her face, which she spent a good minute fighting off in a dignified manner.
It would've been great—well not great, but better—if they had bumped into each other at the market. Then they could've made the customary polite hello and feigned interest about each other's lives, before promising to catch up sometime soon and never see each other again. This situation that she—nay, Law! Part-man, part-butt, all uncouth dastardlyness—plopped her in was so, so, so uncomfortable.
Except instead of cackling at his malicious exploits, Law was just kinda… sitting there. Cross-legged. Fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He pulled out a long thread and flicked it off into the air.
"Littering."
"Already going to hell," he assured.
Law gave her a smirk. He had a bruise over his panda eye and a cut lip, and it was so offensively normal and almost endearing she nearly barfed. Nearly. It wouldn't do to get her nice clothes ruined, especially ones she borrowed from the President.
"So?" She brushed the hanging plants away from her eyes, like a leafy wig. "Don't you have a plan to get us down from here?"
"Yes." Law paused. "We wait."
Sophie buried her face in her hands, conveying her vexation in one long, monotone groan that she stretched out for as long possible.
And today, of all days? When she was supposed to blow out a beautifully even twenty candles on a three-tier rainbow ice cream cake? Sophie thought about the cake melting away in her guest bedroom and shook her fist at the moon.
"You want to tell me now what you're doing here?"
She considered sticking her tongue out. She did. Law poked it.
Sophie threw up a little and made a real effort to shove him two hundred feet to his doom, which he fended off with one hand.
"Can't you Room us down?" she demanded desperately.
No, because he'd pass out after, and that would be a rather uncaptainly sight. So Law did the mature thing and ignored her.
"Fine! Fine, w-we'll sit here until the e-end of time in total awkward silence, contemplating how uncomfortable this makes us."
Three weeks wasn't a long time, in the great span of the universe, Life itself, etc, etc. But. But her hair had grown out, feathering over her neck. Her arms were bigger, bulkier. She winced earlier, when they crash-landed, gripping the side of her stomach. New wounds, new scars.
"I'll have to poop here," Sophie reminded.
"That is a normal bodily function," Law agreed.
"Got a look at my bounty yet?"
That threw him off guard. Before he could think of a counter to the wholly reasonable question, Sophie shot him a sharp glance—it was always sharp with her, fast and fidgety and graceless, and he almost felt relieved at this familiar thing—and grinned nastily. The temple lights below lit her eyes blue-green, like the phosphorous depths of an iceberg.
Familiar things, he thought.
"No."
With that firm reply, Law mulled over when exactly his life had spun so madly out of his control.
—
two weeks earlier
—
Fifty million.
Chin flab.
Hint of black hair? Or it could just be the shadows under the marine hat.
(He couldn't believe the only picture they got of Gas Mask was in a marine uniform.
That was just pathetic.)
Fifty. Million.
And the appaling photography had to be intentional. The lighting was bad, the angle was frankly horrifying…
"Did you fuckin' hear me?"
Someone walked in front of him, blocking Law's view of the bounty posters.
The pirate captain stood in a seedy warehouse on the outskirts of Machinastein, with half a dozen chop shop workers surrounding him. He analyzed their walking gait, the way they held the wrench/toilet seat/meat cleaver they were planning on pummeling into his head. Law loosened up when he realized they were amateur fighters at best, sighing, and steadied himself on a cane Hai Xing lent him.
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "My crew's waiting outside. I'm not going back until I get the evaporator."
"I told already 'em it's not going for less than half a million."
"And I'm offering you ten percent of that."
"Fuck off."
'Did he really just', 'god it's too early for this', and 'but fifty million?' crossed his mind. The evaporator wasn't even the best model, and it was clearly smuggled like everything else in the warehouse. His mechanics were insistent they needed to replace the one onboard, which was great because clean fucking water was high among his priorities. But then Law had to make a personal appearance when he heard they were trying to swindle a bunch of fucking pirates. In particular, one irritated pirate who had spent the past few days comparing a chemist's height, weight, bust, hip, and waist ratio to that of a certain bounty poster's, and hating his own remarkable memory.
Law readjusted the cane to keep pressure off his leg. "I'm not here for a fight—"
"You got thrashed on Kunlun, Trafalgar," one of them laughed. "Six on one, you're not gonna win."
"I heard you got your ass kicked."
"Yeah, obviously. He still looks like shit. For the love of everything evil, go take a shower."
He was either talking about the furry creature over Law's face, his sweatpants colored with unidentified stains, dead-eyed gaze, or a combination of all three. Either way, they surrounded him. Six on one, who also happened to be incapacitated with a cane, it was an easy win.
"This is your last chance, Trafalgar."
Law just stared at them.
Then he thrust the cane into the closest eye so hard it squelched, turned the man into a human shield, and put him in a headlock.
"Gentlemen, this is your last chance," Law said in a flawlessly polite tone, over a face that was gradually turning blue and crying blood. Then after a moment's contemplation, he shrugged. "Well, no, that chance passed."
He wrenched the cane out, eyeball attached at the tip.
It really was quite early, and he hadn't had his coffee yet.
—
"What are we still doing here?" Penguin asked on the fifth day of landing, when their stocks were full and the sub was checked thrice-over and Bepo had finished his spring shedding.
Information.
(Black market. World events. Rival pirates.)
Recovery.
(Got a splitting migraine whenever he tried to Room. Hai Xing was still limping. Won't do to progress through the Grand Line in this manner.)
Relaxation.
(The crew deserved it after all they went through.)
His mechanic nodded—what else was he supposed to do?—and handed him a newspaper and a bounty poster.
"Came in this morning. Thought you'd wanna read it."
—
Law had accumulated ways of entertaining himself during his caffeinated life. Sometimes he'd leave the submarine at midnight and explore the dark spaces of whatever island they were at, half wanting someone to jump him as a breather from his gnawing boredom. When they were out at sea, he'd be in the training room until dawn or hang around Bepo when he manned the control room.
He slept in brief fits, often in the diving chamber where he upped the oxygen concentration to hyperbaric therapy levels. The bullet wound CP5 so kindly left him healed over with new skin, raw and pink and itching like a motherfucker.
It still burned when he dreamed.
More than once, Law jerked awake thinking his leg was on fire, his arms outstretched like he was trying to block the swing of an ax.
Though Anko and Hai Xing were recuperating well, wherever they were on the submarine, Law wasn't far behind. Sometimes when Shachi lingered in the corner of his vision, red hair covering most of his face, he stopped whatever he was doing and twisted to squarely look at his mechanic. Just to make sure the tissue and muscle were still there.
Sleep was continuing to be a problem.
On this particular morning, day ten of Machinastein Landing, erstwhile known as Satan's Sweaty Pits, Law did not 'wake up on the wrong side of bed', so much as 'wake up under desk, confused, hit head on bottom of desk, bump head again on chair, which unloads week's dirty dishes on face.'
All in all, not his worst morning.
At least Penguin hadn't barged in raving that the showers were broken and they required a new distilling apparatus stat, pronto, Captain please get up from the pile of garbage you're drooling on, we have an all-male crew and this is a dire predicament. Which begot Law smelling like the refuse that invaded eighty-three percent of his room. The other seventeen percent being oxygen and other questionable fumes.
He was just trying to turn his Room, Shambles into a literal meaning, that was all.
(The captain, the crew decided unanimously, was not taking his recovery from Crazy Axe-Murdering Cipher Pol well.
"Why don't I knock on your door every few hours to make sure you're still alive?" Bepo had taken to asking. Law saw no point in disagreeing with this. "And the newspaper?"
He blinked like he'd forgotten he was cradling it. The picture of Gas Mask who was Undeniably Strangways Sophie But Could Be Someone Else, What the Fuck Did Law Care Anyway was smack-dab on his chest. He practically threw it at Bepo and retreated back in his cabin. Bepo sniffed the air. Yep, his captain was definitely developing a new strain of mildew in there.)
Law gave the trash heap a noncommittal middle finger. Too lazy to even raise his arm for a proper fuck you. He rubbed his eyes and left for the galley, passing by the storage closet, door open, fungi jar gathering dust. He didn't spare a glance.
The galley was bustling when he arrived. Penguin mock-gasped around his fried plantains. "Captain, there's an animal sleeping on your face."
"Someone capture it!" For this, Shachi had the distinction of getting his sunglasses flicked.
Hai Xing's cane was on the drying rack, scrubbed clean of eyeball tissue and other miscellaneous artifacts. "Captain," the cook mumbled, passing him a cup of coffee, "the dishes you have in your cabin…"
"I'll clean them."
"That's what you've been saying for the past week…"
The submarine's temperature system kept it nice and cool inside, but the pirates were prepared for a day trip on the island. They wore light, colorful cloths around their waists, Machinastein-style, patterned with stars and suns and flowers. They were gathered around the counter, discussing the infamous newspaper article. Law's eyes narrowed.
Penguin was saying, "Even if it is her, she doesn't actually have that bounty until they identify her. Gas Mask: Fifty mil. Strangways Sophie: zero."
"Ah, you're just jelly your bounty isn't half that high."
Penguin told Shachi where to shove his pinto beans. Meanwhile, Anko was muttering under his breath about how long it'd take him to sail to the closest Marine fortress. Shachi shook his head, disbelieving. "Fifty million, dudes. Fifty million! I don't think I could earn that much in my life, even if I started stripping."
"You'd make a great stripper," Law said supportively.
"Of course I would. But this? I'd have to be, like, Pirate Empress or Red-Haired Shanks status to earn this much."
"That's it." Anko left the table with a steely glint in his eye.
"Let's frame it if she comes back," Bepo suggested.
"'If'? You bet on her death, too," Penguin said coldly. (This somehow spurred on Hai Xing to list a variety of interesting ways to die adrift at sea, involving an anchor, a lightning rod, and three pairs of underwear.) "And we should stop treating her like something she never was and move on with our lives."
"Is Sophie-chan an A or B cup?" Shachi asked distractedly, squinting at the photo.
Law waved for the poster, which the mechanic passed over, innocently waiting his captain's verdict. He mashed the stupid thing in his fists.
"Captain!" Shachi protested.
Bepo made pawing motions at the crumpled paper ball, which Law steadfastly ignored as he marched over to the galley's porthole and yanked it open.
"What's Anko doing?" Law asked suddenly.
Dead chemist theories forgotten, they joined their captain in peering out the porthole.
"He's gone rogue," Penguin remarked.
"Bounty!" Anko screamed, paddling into the horizon with a stolen boat.
"Sophie-chan broke him."
"He'll be back for dinner," Law said, and tossed the bounty poster off the starboard side. It vanished undersea with a satisfactory little blup.
"NOOOO!"
"It's just a bounty poster—we can find more in the town," Bepo reminded. The resulting silence was punctuated with an 'ah, yes'.
"Keep it away from me, I have better things I need to focus on," Law said tersely.
"We're going out today, Captain," Shachi chirped.
"Fine. Ask Hai Xing for funds."
"Moooom!"
As Hai Xing swatted Shachi away with a shamoji, Bepo enthusiastically clarified, "And you're coming with us!"
Their captain got that tense, stoic look about him, which the Heart Pirates knew meant he was about five eye twitches away from a tantrum. They backed off quickly with a chorus of alright, alright, alright.
He relaxed and stepped over to Hai Xing's bubbling pots for breakfast. Taking advantage of his dropped guard, Bepo picked up his captain, to the horrified stares of his crewmates, and fled out the galley with Law's face buried in two feet of polar bear pelt so he couldn't threaten to replace all of Bepo's meat rations with unspeakably evil celery sticks. They passed Manta, who held the door open with a blink. "Oh, Captain! Long time no see!"
"You're suffocating him!" Shachi hollered, bolting after the polar bear's abductee, who was muffled-screaming celery sticks!
"Shit, we're gonna get the worst chore duties after today," Penguin declared, slamming his hands on the table and running after them.
—
Having been dealt a harsh climate that lesser islands would've buckled under, Machinastein turned itself into a city of green friendliness and renewability.
Pebbles of yellow glass formed every rooftop. Crystalized Lamp Dials, Penguin explained, tech from Sky Islands. Superheated into glass, capable of storing a shitton of solar energy. Law did not pay much attention to this, as he was busy using Kikoku as a) a cane, since Hai Xing got upset that Law used his in spontaneous eye removal, and b) to passive-aggressively jab at the heels of people were walking too slow in front of him.
Their first stop was, of course, food.
Law loitered outside the tamale shop, half-listening to a heated debate breaking out among astronomy priests by the bakery next door. The sun baked the white sacbe roads and he hung his hat on Kikoku's hilt, sweating lightly underneath his shirt. The heat on Machinastein was languid, the sort that made you want to lie on a couch with nothing on and curl up like a lazy cat.
But it had no effect on the islanders. They went about decorating the street with signs like 'Guess the Weight of THIS SEA KING?' and 'Bump of Chicken Performs'. The Heart Pirates arrived in time for festival preparations.
His mind wandered to another place, where plum wine lingered on his tongue and cranes nested among bamboo trees. A crowded bar where the tables were sticky with old grease.
He thought of a chemist smiling, duck sauce smeared on one cheek, and shook his head.
Getting tired from standing, he sat in the shade of a jaguar statue. His eyes closed, feeling the siren lull of an afternoon nap. If he drifted just so, in the realm between wake and sleep, he was back in Flevance. Rattling carriages. Intermingling voices. The taste of apricot still between his teeth, freshly stolen from his mother's garden.
"—recovering in the Civic Hospital, the chemist—President's new favorite—"
His eyes flew open. The crowd milled around the bakery, voices lost among the chatter.
"Captain!"
His crew bounced towards him, their arms laden with Machinastein delicacies. Law accepted a tamale, blowing on his hot fingers.
Nothing. It was nothing.
But Law kept his ears sharp as they strolled around the plaza. G-13 was in Alabasta searching for Gas Mask. If the rumors were true, the Nefertari princess didn't take any shit with marines infringing upon the reconstruction of Alubarna; she kicked them out the city gates within the day. And then there was something about another strong pirate crew docking in Machinastein, one that Law personally thought did their shopping in a Halloween store.
The city cooled pleasantly when sunset rolled around and Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo decided that their captain had enough wholesome recreation. It had been a decent day. He hadn't wanted to lie facedown on the street in passive protest as much as he thought he would.
When they got back to the sub, he mentioned in merry passing that the three of them were in charge of barnacle duty and laundry for a week. This led to three pairs of watery eyes and a synchronized wail of despair that was quite melodramatic, in Law's opinion.
—
When he was checking Shachi's vitals, the redhead talked about Machinastein's train. It was the city's main way of transport, from the ballgame courts in the back alleys to the fish markets.
He could guess why Shachi would mention what he already knew. Law was edgier than normal when he was out in public, but it was worse when he was alone in the sub while everyone else was out. And lately everyone was enjoying Machinastein. Anko went off to empty his pockets in the gambling houses; Hai Xing and Shachi were out shopping for food. Their recovery was speedy; by the third week they were running through the submarine while he was still choking down antibiotics and using Kikoku as a cane.
He'd watch from the porthole as they strolled into the city. He'd spend the day researching how to expand his Ope Ope no Mi powers (sitting by the Den Den Mushi) and jotting down notes (waiting for a panicked call from his crew, for an explosion, for something gone terribly wrong).
But Shachi's insinuation made him think. If it got to the point where they were unnecessarily worrying about him, the least he could do was get out of the submarine.
So Law covered his head with Penguin's new Mach silks and limped aboard the train, clutching Kikoku a little bit tighter. No one in the crowd recognized him. His unshaven reflection gazed back at him, with eyes that hadn't seen a good night's rest in weeks.
No one in the crowd recognized him, and why would they?
Maybe something called his soul there (or maybe he felt a kindred spirit to drills, needles, and other torture devices), because on this morning, he ended in front of the Machinastein Civic Hospital.
Law entered a massive atrium. Sunlight streamed through the high, arched ceiling, shaped like a glass flower bulb. Amapola trailed up the walls and twined around golden railings. A spectacular fountain gurgled in the center of the atrium. The air was fresh here, not scrubbed and recycled through ventilation. It smelled of life, of cleanliness, of affluence. They say a nation's prestige can be measured by its doctors; if that was the case, Machinastein was at the pinnacle.
Doctors passed by in a flurry of white robes. A busy receptionist was checking in patients. On the other side of the fountain, a father rocked a baby and cooed softly.
Gold silk flashed on the edge of his vision.
Law was walking under the mezzanine when he saw it again. Behind a row of baby palm trees. It made him pause and look twice.
"Here again?" his sharp hearing picked up. "Your father hasn't woken up yet."
And there—a sliver of a neck, yellow-on-black curls.
Law stopped—
He wasn't even sure he knew what he saw, but—
But then his baby Den Den Mushi rang and he didn't remember picking it up, only thinking fire, gunshots, CP5.
"Come by the ball courts!" Penguin shouted over a buzz of static that sounded like a cheering audience. "They're hitting the ball with their hips and the hoop is like fifty feet in the air, and they're going into overtime, it's insane—"
Telling him he'd be there soon, Law glanced up at the mezzanine. It was empty.
All this fresh air was getting to his brain.
—
It was midnight on the submarine, and Law and Hai Xing were the only ones awake. He was silently patrolling the hallways when he passed by the galley and saw dim candlelight through the door, nudged it open with his foot. The cook was bent over the sink, studiously peeling carrots.
"Can't sleep?"
He flicked some carrot skin off the knife. "Something like that."
"I have pills."
"And they work?"
"Fine as any."
"Why aren't you on them?"
Law leaned heavily on the counter, listening to the submarine's quiet hum. The noise seemed larger in the empty galley.
He dropped the carrots in the bowl and threw away the shavings. "I don't need pills. Gotta die sooner or later."
"Don't say that."
Hai Xing shrugged.
"Captain's orders," he said tersely. "Finding another cook would be troublesome."
When a few minutes passed and Law didn't leave, Hai Xing wiped his hands on his apron. He boiled a cup of hot water and tossed in freshly dried flowers and leaves from his herb jars.
It tasted bitter, but it wasn't bad.
Law watched Hai Xing prep tomorrow's breakfast, drinking his cup of tea slowly, listening to the submarine hum and the quick chop-chop-chop of the knife.
—
The next day, he went back to the Machinastein Civic Hospital. And the day after that. And the day after that.
He told himself he wasn't looking for anything. And he wasn't. The hospital was big enough that he could investigate something new every day: the green courtyards out back, the little cafés across the bridge, the patio where interns took their lunch break and debated Machinastein's healthcare policies…
And sure, he may have passed by the receptionist's desk, and the patients list may have accidentally fallen into his hands, and his eyes may have glanced to see if there was a name he recognized… yes, what a random coincidence… life, incidentally, is full of coincidences… But there was not a name on the list he cared for, and it was sitting back on the receptionist's desk right as the man wondered where he misplaced it.
"The wharf's got an octopus wrestling match going on, let's check that out," Anko whined, his sandals slapping the granite floor.
"Feel free to go. I'm not forcing you to stay."
"Come on, Cap. There are only dead people here. Or people who're about to die—what? Yeah, I'm talkin' to you."
Law had to drag Anko away from starting a fight with the terminally ill.
He sat on the edge of the sun-dappled fountain to rest his leg. Outside, people were decorating trees with colorful streamers and hoisting up big festival lights. Some nurses went out to help them and clapped along as drummers practiced their songs. He glanced at his helmsman, wondering if he was bored yet. Apparently not.
Anko was crouched in front of a bush, his mouth stuffed with honeyed flowers. He uncurled his sticky palm. "Want some?"
"No. Bring some home for Bepo."
A good samaritan pointed at the pirates. "That's stealing!"
"On second thought, take the whole bush," Law added.
Anko cackled in glee.
His eyelids drifted lower as he relaxed in the sun. Then he heard it again, underneath the bubbling fountain:
("He hasn't woken up yet—"
"—two weeks is a long time, is that safe?"
"—stable condition, don't worry, I know the President's keeping you busy with research—")
Anko paused from hefting the entire hedge of flowers. "Alright, Cap?"
A spark of gold in the corner of his vision.
It might've just been the sunlight gleaming off the floor, the reflection of the fountain—
But there, a shimmer, a ghost—
Room!
A blue sphere appeared around his palm for a split-second, then vanished, compressing back into his skin, his bones, and squeezed. His brain was on fire. He could distantly feel Anko's callused hands grabbing his arm, but he couldn't see; he was doubled over, palms screwed tight against his face, flames searing behind his eyes.
"—Cap?"
"I'm fine," he growled, shoving Anko aside harder than he meant to. He took the stairs up the mezzanine two at a time, as Anko yelled from the ground level, "Dude, what the hell!"
A hand clapped his shoulder, yanking him back. He caught his balance and swung around, reaching for Kikoku and realizing he left it by the fountain.
"Why, you're the Surgeon of Death! I recognize those tattoos!"
He quickly tugged his sleeves down, but it was too late.
"In the flesh!"
"My god!"
A group of medics congregated around Law, talking all at once.
"We're big fans of yours! Well, not the burning of islands—but everything else!"
"Get out of the—" He stopped and stared at them. "What."
"I'd love to have you peer-review my thesis!" another gushed, investigating his beard. "Wow, you look so different from your bounty poster!"
"Are you sure it's him? I didn't think he'd look so…"
"Maladjusted?"
"Unkempt?"
"Do you need to see a doctor?" someone asked worriedly.
"Homeless," the first doctor finished. Jaw clenching, Law tugged his hood lower over his forehead.
"Oi! Back off, ass maggots!" Anko was elbowing people out of the way, stuck in the back of the crowd. "I'll save you, Captain!"
If they weren't convinced before, they sure as hell were now.
"I work for a pharmaceutical company, we could use your talents!"
"Have you considered going on a year-long expedition to research the migratory habits of turtles!?"
"I am a killer," Law told them. "Of many people. A deadly killer. These hands have strangled the life out of things."
Someone yelled at him to autograph their face.
Anko was threatening bodily harm and started batting the doctors away with his sandals. That distracted them long enough for Law to untangle himself and clamber up the mezzanine. Hospital staff leaped out of the way as he slammed open doors and glanced inside, one after another. No. No. No.
A nurse gasped and dropped a stack of papers with a shrill, "Pirate!"
"Did you see a woman—" Law began, then stopped.
He pointed at the doctors. "Is there a wounded marine here? In this hospital?" They immediately all spoke at once and Law closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. "One at a time!"
"Absolutely not! Get back to work, you're all on the clock!" the nurse interrupted with authority. After making sure the doctors scattered like scared hens, she turned and wagged a finger at Law. "That's none of your business. You're not welcome here."
Anko was at his side, passing Kikoku to him and glaring at the old nurse. "Is she fucking with you? You want me to kill her?"
"I raised five children," she snapped. "Don't try me."
"I'm looking for someone," Law said. "A… girl. A girl in gold." This was the most stupid fucking thing he'd ever said. He suddenly felt like decapitating the pretentious, stuck-up chemist all over again.
The nurse tsked. "If you need your eyes checked, I can refer you to an optometrist."
"Talk to him like that one more time—"
Law raised Kikoku in front of Anko and he fell silent. If the nurse wasn't threatened at this point, she wasn't going to say anything.
"Thank you for your hospitality," he murmured. "Happy festivities."
The nurse gave them one last harrumph, picked up her papers, and strode off with an angry click of her heels. The noise of the atrium died down as the two Heart Pirates trudged past them and out the hospital. Well, that was a fucking waste of time. And he was pretty sure he lost his 'trolling about the hospital' privileges. Law was angry at himself, but more than that, he was angry at this goddamn hospital and these goddamn people and especially the goddamn people whose goddamn fucking voices wouldn't leave him the fuck alone, but this was going to end. This was bullshit, no, this was medically diagnosable bullshit and he wasn't going through that again, he was putting his foot down—
A group of white-robed, college-age medical students crept past them.
Law's hand curled around the arm of the closest student and he said, "Hi."
They jumped back, properly frightened. The girl squeaked and he relaxed his grip, though not enough for her to completely pull back, and he could still pop her arm out of its socket if he wanted to.
The kid made rapid hand motions to her friends. Law discerned the letters of his own name. He wasn't rusty on his sign language, not by a long shot. Cora-san taught him what he knew and he coached himself for the past eleven years. He let go of her arm and signed, Do you know of a marine recovering in this hospital?
She blinked in surprise, then slowly—after glancing at her friends—signed back, No, sorry.
What about a woman who recently arrived on this island? Yellow or black hair, blue eyes, unpleasant to be around.
Her reply was even slower than before. I don't know. Lots of immigrants here. We're quite late for class—
What class? Law's reply caught her off-guard and she looked desperately at her friends.
Advanced Human Pathology, another kid signed.
That's a difficult course.
Are you offering to help us with our homework, sir?
Ah, these tenderfoot young students with bright futures and cheeky mouths. Law politely wished them good luck before they scampered away.
"Hospitals are lame," Anko said, which was his way of comforting people.
He glanced at Law furtively, like he wanted to say something else, but got distracted by a group of people limping into the hospital and complimented them on their bloodied clothes.
—
Still, however lame Anko thought Law's hobbies were, he stuck around for the rest of the day. The library temple was adjacent to the hospital, nestled between a café and a small cloister of trees. Inside, frantic students appeared to be testing how much coffee they could swallow before overdosing. Nothing unusual there.
In fact, there was nothing unusual, period.
No pineapples or mangos or mentions of sticking dangerously sharp objects up apricots, nothing. It was when Law was banging on stalls in the ladies' bathroom that security threw them out.
He sat on the library's high stone steps, watching dusk give way to the dark blue of evening. This was a conspiracy in which the whole of Machinastein was involved in, though others, namely Bepo, would've called it a delusion.
There was a sinking feeling in his chest that he might have noticed if he wasn't so irked. Law ignored the fact that he didn't truly care, that he wasn't actually bothered by a couple of lying kids and pissed-off nurses, and focused on the easy feeling of irritation. Fucking nurses, fucking doctors, fucking kids, he thought, even as he picked apart the busy streets, searching for curly hair and bronze skin.
This was pointless, he eventually decided. He looked over his shoulder, searching for Anko.
Gas Mask stared back at him.
The bounty poster was plastered on a pillar, among dozens of other bounty posters.
Law leaned over and ripped the poster down, crumpled it in his fists, squeezed the paper ball so tight it hurt. He wanted to throw it down the steps, wanted to watch the flimsy thing roll into the street below and get crushed underneath the carriages and oblivious passerby.
He carefully unwrapped the poster and smoothed it out on his knee.
The photograph was crinkled, but he liked it better that way. It really was a terrible photo.
He folded the poster into a glider, something that was both familiar and not, nostalgic and not. He creased Gas Mask's face into crisp wings, the eyeglass, the only part of the mask that wasn't stark black, reflecting the light of a fake sun. Not even her eyes were visible. The fucking photographer couldn't even give him that.
Law examined his handiwork, then jerked his arm back and hurled the wrinkled little glider into the air. It drifted lazily with the wind, over street lights and garden rooftops, further and further until the train came rushing by and when it passed, the glider was gone. He released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
He was getting sick of this island.
"So," Anko squatted beside him, setting down a humongous bush of honeyed flowers, "you think Sophie-chan's here."
Law did not need this right now. "Where the hell is this coming from?"
"I'm kinda offended you think I'm that stupid."
"…Had to try."
"I missed an octopus wrestling match for this."
They sat in silence, watching the faint outline of the oasis-moon drift over the horizon.
"Better off this way." Anko nodded, and Law didn't think he meant the octopus wrestling match. Proving his point, he continued, "Her. Us. Two different worlds."
"Yeah," he said, and was glad it didn't sound as hollow as he felt.
Law thought of his bedroom—and the withered cockroach he found in the pillow yesterday—and was enticed to spend all night skulking around the hospital. But his crew was waiting. He stood and Anko followed, hefting the stolen bush in his arms.
"Everyone in there had a total fucking doctor boner for you. Gross shit, man."
"I have that effect on people."
"Pfff," Anko said, trying and failing to pretend like he'd never felt The Effect before and did not believe the existence of it, at all. "Anyway, that nurse. Think she had the hots for me?"
"The old lady?"
"Yeah."
"Not a goddamn chance."
—
"We'll head to the next island immediately. There's nothing left for us here."
Shachi stopped on the mat. "What? Can we at least stay for the festival tonight?" Caught off-guard, Penguin's kick came out of nowhere and smacked Shachi straight into the ground.
Law considered. "Alright, but we have to be ready by tomorrow."
The redhead stood up, running his sore arm. "But Sophie-chan—" He stopped when he caught the sour look on Law's face and adjusted his sunglasses. "I heard rumors around the city that reminded me of—"
"I don't see how that matters."
"She could be back in the city! She could be here!"
"We already said our goodbyes."
"Not to us," Penguin cut in. "Not even to Bepo."
Shachi blinked at Penguin. "I thought you didn't—"
Before he could finish, Penguin shoved the redhead back on the mat with a single-handed push. "Your loss."
Swearing under his breath, Shachi stood, made several rude gestures behind Penguin's back, and stomped off to the punching bag. They were getting itchy feet. Being marooned on an island will do that to a sailor. They might start thinking they were staying in Machinastein for a reason. A cringeworthy, unpleasant reason, which was in no way true, ever, until the end of time. But he also knew what empty talk sounded like.
Law shucked off his shoes and shirt. "Penguin, let's go."
He stood in the center of the mat with a calm expression. This was just a simple test to see how well his leg was healing, nothing more.
Penguin lowered his canteen and regarded him warily. "Hand to hand?"
"It'll be fist to mouth if you don't shut up and fight."
Penguin finished toweling off, tossed his junk down, and strode over to the mat. The training room was charged with static energy. With a primal sort of eagerness, the pirates watched their leader assert his superiority.
Penguin sized him up—and his grin was all teeth. "Yes, sir."
Law sensed danger and for a hot second wondered if he hadn't just made a terrible mistake.
When the fight was over, he peeled himself off the floor. His crew was hollering ("Fatality!" Anko shouted), or it might just be the ringing in his left ear…
"Have you been practicing your kata?" Penguin asked, though he sounded giddy.
Law rolled his eyes, impressively unconcerned for someone who just got his ass kicked. "Would it be deceitful of me to say that I have?"
"You're my captain, I'm supposed to forgive you. It's kind of in my contract." Penguin grabbed his hand and hauled him upright. He took a deep breath, like he was trying not to laugh. "To be fair, I think the little pet you're keeping on your face was throwing off your balance."
"Don't get cheeky, kid."
"I'm older than you!"
"Barely."
The training room buzzed with reinvigorated laughter. All talk of their earlier conversation was forgotten after Penguin showed off his chi sau moves. Law stepped away from the group, wiping his brow with his shirt. "We leave at daybreak," he told his men.
A chorus of distracted 'yeah, yeahs' followed.
This is how you lose a battle, but win a war.
—
On the day of the festival, the streets were packed. He picked out Alabastian accents and even languages from the distant Blues. The sky was a crisp, clear twilight, and people gathered on rooftops with their telescopes to watch the full moon.
Law fished out some coin and bought a cotton candy ("Rough day?" the vendor asked sympathetically; "You should see the other guy," he responded through a cut lip), then sat on a bench and just stared at it. He was either going to set the cotton candy aflame or make passionate, angry love to it, bystanders were certain.
Eventually, he picked off some cotton fluff and ate it.
"Want some?" Law offered some candy to Bepo.
"No, I've seen what stuff that does to the little niblets," he refused politely. "It's a drug to induce mania."
"That's called a sugar high."
"Hi, Mister Bear!" a niblet chirped, passing by.
"Hi."
She screamed.
"That's actually an appropriate reaction to a talking bear," Law noted calmly (asshole).
"I'm so sorry, sir, your costume is just so realistic." The dad picked up his kid and hurried away.
"Or that." (Asshole).
Bepo absorbed this, took Law's cotton candy from his hand, and stuffed it in his mouth.
Law partook in the local festivities by watching Bepo play the how-many-goldfish-can-you-scoop-up game. He felt a surge of pride when Bepo's honed instincts bested the other children, resisting the urge to gloat to their mothers. The rest of his crew were off having fun, but Law was just here for the fireworks.
Bepo snacked on the goldfish as they ambled along the road. He stopped, sniffing the air, ears pricked.
Law was on alert. "What do you smell?"
The bear tilted his head, almost… puzzled. He turned abruptly and walked fast in the plaza, where the noise was loudest. Thousands of people were crammed in the plaza. Dancers in fierce masks rattled shells, sending prayers to their Mach gods, and drummers rang thunder over the music.
"Can a nation vanish in a single night? Impossible, you say!" A street performance. An actor shouting to her crowd. "Well, my friends, listen closely to the Tale of Apolleon…"
Did he smell a fresh seal? Law wondered as he squeezed through the crush. "Bepo, if this is just for a fucking fish, I—"
Cora-san was walking across the street.
Law and Bepo both stopped.
He glanced around, as though uncertain where to head next. A light robe covered his head—but underneath that were blonde bangs and bright red lips. His face was a blur, and then there was a crowd between them, and the ghost disappeared under a small archway.
Not real, he thought blankly, rubbing his leg.
Wait a minute, he thought again, wait, Bepo also saw him—
Oh.
The hair.
Yellow roots bleeding into black dyed tips.
Bepo's roar echoed over the music, the noise, and even Law felt a shiver race down his spine.
"SOOOOPHIE!"
—
Gallivanting off into the festival, it didn't take long for the Hearts to get into a fight. In fact, they were sitting at a bar when Anko swiveled around on his stool and called, "You wanna fight?"
The man in the mask looked up.
Penguin snorted, his butt planted firmly on his seat. "I'm going to drink in peace, thanks."
"I recognize him." Shachi snapped his fingers. "His bounty's larger than yours, Penguin."
Penguin stood. "Let's kill him."
The blue one rasped over his shoulder, "Wire! Get over here!"
The six pirates met each other halfway, right in the middle of the bar.
"Kid," the masked man introduced.
"Heart," Anko said, because manners were manners, and cracked his knuckles. "You wanna dance, flotsam? Let's dance."
—
Sophie froze in the middle of licking the grease off her fingers. She'd eaten fried sausages earlier. The oil around her mouth, with the scarlet glow from the festival, made it seem like she was wearing lipstick. Big, greasy, red lipstick. She heard her name shouted again, followed by people screaming.
When she turned, this was what she saw, in order:
A homeless man sprinting full-tilt at her.
A polar bear thumping through food stalls and lighting them on fire.
And a horde of festival security charging after them with pointy sticks.
So it could be forgiven that her first instinct was to pick up her skirts and bolt. Wait, she thought, dodging around a drunken conga line, I know that man. I know that bear.
…Why am I running?
Sophie chanced a glance back and saw the horrific glare of a very pissed Surgeon of Death in pursuit.
Run! she screamed internally, Run run run run!
Law caught up to her in five seconds and scooped her up around the middle. It wasn't a friendly or gentle embrace—Law picked her up under one arm like a heavy log and threw her, kicking and screaming, "ABDUCTION! ABDUCTION!" on a nearby Giant Quetzal. The driver of the carriage jerked awake, blinked at the homeless man with a crazed glint in his eye, the screaming burrito, and then turned around with a drunken snore.
"I found you," he hissed in her ear and oh god, Sophie wasn't ready to die!
The second Law unhooked the bird from the reins, it shot off into the sky like a cannon. Bepo tried to belly-flop on, but he was too heavy.
"Leave meeee!" the bear cried, disappearing into a white dot beneath them.
Afterwards, Sophie wished she had said something cool and witty to the Heart Pirates' captain's reappearance. But she looked at Law and her first word to his face after three weeks was, "AHHHH." She looked at the bird and went, "AHHHH." And then she looked at her surroundings and, "AHHHHGHHH."
Then she hysterically floundered right off the bird, shrieking at sixty miles per hour.
This brings us to the doctor and chemist dropping amidst piles of dirt and manure on a temple two hundred feet in the air.
Fast forward a bit.
"Please let this terror end," Sophie beseeched the stars. "Can I just go home and have a nice, relaxing evening with a hot bubble bath? I've learned my lesson! Don't get kidnapped by men with gross beards! Please, just—I just w-wanna go back and stuff myself with pudding and roll around in a potato-esque fashion, is th-that really so much to ask? Tell me! T-tell me, you pitiless balls of cosmic flatulence! Teeell meeeee…"
Meanwhile, Law was thinking about Bepo. He'd be alright. It wasn't like he'd get lost. The stars were too bright.
She exhaled and looked at him glumly. "I thought I heard your voice in the hospital the other day. I thought you might've become involved in a smuggling scheme, or turned into a gun-for-hire. But you know what?" She jabbed his shoulder with her finger. "Screw! That! You don't need to do horrible things to be horrible! I can't believe what just happened! You went so overboard!"
In retrospect, Law did once strap himself with grenades and threatened to blow himself up if a band of pirates didn't accept him into their crew. Sophie had a point.
"I heard your voice, too." It was an awkward admission, and he scowled at the city lights as he said it.
She faltered.
"But you left."
"…That's kind of what I do, isn't it?" She grinned, like she meant it to be funny, but it wasn't. Sophie cleared her throat. "I see you haven't changed a bit. Except for that bush. Do you, like, pick berries out of there?"
He scratched his neck. "Been meaning to shave."
Sophie scoffed like she didn't believe that. Law was skeptical himself. Either way, she ignored him. He went back to examining the plants. Ah, chamomile. Hai Xing might find a use for them. He ripped a handful of flowers off their stems and stuffed them in his pocket. Her jaw worked like she was aching to reprimand him, but she only huffed and didn't say a word.
The air was thick with unasked questions. But as one had been living with severe emotional trauma for fourteen years, and the other was recently called a monster by her father, Dealing with Feelings in a Healthy Manner for Dummies was a guide book quite out of their price range.
Law was growing more and more certain Sophie wasn't about to break the silence. She was tracing a finger along the edge of a pot. Her brow was furrowed—in anger, he assumed, but she was actually fighting off embarrassing flashbacks of her earlier unintelligible screeching.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "How's this?"
"Th—what?"
"This meeting."
"…Inelegant," she replied, and his eyebrows rose. "Yep. Really uncoordinated, you even lost Bepo-san there. I'd have thought you would've sent Penguin-san or Shachi-san to scope me out before making a move. You know, to see if I've dyed my hair again, maybe talk me up a bit. And then you'd accost me in some dark, empty alley, demanding an eye or a thumb, but I cleverly dissuade you with my winsome smile and endearing chemistry puns."
"That never happened," he said flatly.
"Says you."
"I'd rather strangle myself with my hat."
"Poor hat." Sophie stuck her tongue out again, then quickly covered her mouth and faced forward. Then she smiled. He could tell by the ways her eyes crinkled. It was a small smile, but it was there.
She was laughing all of a sudden, and Law's cut lip stung as his mouth pulled into a grin.
Things weren't back to normal, but it was getting pretty close, and she was smiling at him in a certain way Law wasn't entirely sure she was cognizant of. But it didn't matter, because he was feeling lighter than he had in weeks.
A cold breeze rustled the plants and she wrapped her robe tighter around her shoulders. "So, Fearless Surgeon? How are we going to get off this thing?"
"We wait," he said sagely.
"I think I can knot some of these plants together and make, like, a rope—"
"Sophie, that shit doesn't work in real life."
"Non-believer! I will not accept that from a prime example of a bad science fiction novel."
Down in the darkness, the train whistled. A single, bright light grew steadily larger and brighter. Law gave her a Look: eyebrows raised, smirk cocky. A chill crawled up Sophie's spine.
"Don't do it," she said lowly.
His smirk widened. He was waiting this whole time.
She held her hands up as though to ward off the Devil. "Stay away!"
He leaned in close and she scrambled away, all of a sudden prepared to live on this tiny garden for the rest of her life. "You know, actually, I'm pretty comfortable here? It's roomy if I, like, huddle up and crouch. Yeah, I think I'll just stay here for the foreseeable future, really, there's no need to worry about me ha ha ha—"
"What's the point of being a criminal if you don't fuck around sometimes?"
"Law-san, don't you d-dare discuss e-ethical principles with me right now—OOOMPH!"
He tackled her straight off the ledge.
Stars flickering past her eyelids—
(freefalling wind roaring in his ears)
His fingers gripping her waist and her back—
(harsh blue meeting his eyes and)
weightless
They slammed on top of a train carriage as it zoomed by. Law absorbed the brunt impact, Sophie's elbows digging into his stomach. He rolled over with a sore chuckle, his hands resting on her back. His eyes were closed, savoring the wind and the exhilaration, and he could hear Sophie swearing up and down a pineapple. Her voice thrummed into his chest.
She pushed him away, the wind blowing her silks up like a hurricane. Machinastein flashed by in silvery temples and blurring festival lights.
Finally, the train slowed to a halt at Central Station. He jumped down first, unconsciously reaching up and helping Sophie hop down, steadying her as she regained her balance on solid ground. She patted down her clothes and calmly thanked him.
"Law-san?"
He inhaled as she wrenched his shirt collar.
"N-n-next time you th-throw yourself and me—mostly me—into the p-path of a s-speeding l-l-l-locomotive, how about you give me a proper warning?"
It was the adrenaline, increasing blood circulation and breathing and impulsiveness. Even pirates were at the mercy of biochemistry, for it was only explanation as Law smirked at her pink face and assured her that he was making no promises.
—
"Three… two… one… chug!"
Heat finished first and banged his flagon on the table.
"Unfair!" Anko shouted immediately. "You had less beer than we did!"
"Blah blah blah, bitch to your captain, bitch!"
"Hold on, Anko's right," Penguin interjected. "The winner of a drinking contest is someone who can't even open his mouth all the way. That's only possible if he had less beer to start out with."
"You," Killer pointed calmly, "are a fucking nerd."
Anko was personally offended by Heat's aesthetics. "Why would you do that to yourself?"
"We ain't the ones prancing around in marshmallow costumes!"
"These are clothes outfitted for battle, you uncultured swine." Shachi slammed his palms on the table. "Can you believe this, Anko? Coming from a guy who's late to his job as a birthday party clown?"
"Shut the fuck up and drink!" Heat snapped.
"Don't tell him when to shut the fuck up!" Penguin got to his feet.
Killer stood up as well. "Don't tell my mate what to do."
Penguin's eyes narrowed.
"More. Beer," the pirates growled.
—
Fireworks set off when they left the station. Law's eyes were lit up in blazing colors. Sophie didn't take him as someone who'd enjoy fireworks, but he was watching them with a soft expression. Softer than anything she'd seen before.
…No, that was false. She'd seen that look once, when he threw her decapitated head around a dinner table and laughed with his crew.
Funny how one notices these things only in retrospect.
The fireworks were distant enough that they could still talk to each other without shouting. Sophie asked, because old habits died hard and she wanted to join them so, so badly, once: "How's the crew?"
"Doing well."
"And your wound?" She tapped her thigh, where CP5 shot him.
"Itchy as hell."
"Why, you're a poet and you don't even know it!" At Law's expression, Sophie laughed so hard she snorted, and the ugly pig sound made her laugh even harder. When her tortured gasps for air finally died down, she nudged his elbow. "Hey, Law-san."
"Hm."
"I missed you."
"Of course."
—
They bumped into a forlorn and sweaty polar bear a few blocks down from the station. Bepo took one look at Sophie, who stuttered a hello, and glomped her in a giant bear hug. She looked just as surprised as Law before she vanished into a Death By Fluffy Asphyxiation. Law had to haul him off her.
"This is a glorious way to die," Sophie's voice wheezed from somewhere in the fur.
It was a storm of cyclones, she said. Blew them off track and straight into Machinastein. The next thing she remembered was walking up in the hospital. The island's patrollers bumped into her ship en route of chasing slavers. They didn't manage to catch them, but they brought her back for first aid. Since they weren't a World Government protectorate, Machinastein had to fend for itself when the slavers attacked.
They were passing by the Civic Hospital when a nurse did a double-take and called, "Miss! Your father's awake!"
At this point, Law would've wished her a good night and left. He didn't care about her father. But dawn was approaching fast, and the Heart Pirates were all set to leave for the next island… they'd only have an hour together, at most…
Law and Bepo glanced at Sophie, who's face was eerily devoid of any emotion. The pirates shared an unspoken look and followed her inside. She remained silent on her way up to his room. She spoke only once to Bepo, and that was to ask if he could stand guard by the door.
"In case anyone tries to kick me and Captain out?"
"In case anyone tries to stop me from committing patricide," she snarled and stalked inside.
The marine was sitting upright, sipping a bowl of soup. His skin was nearly as dark as Law's and he had wiry black curls: he and Sophie looked nothing alike. Maybe the curls… and if the mother had a lighter complexion…
A bolt of realization crashed through Law.
Ah, he thought, quite stupidly for a man of his intellect, she's adopted.
The marine paused, taking in the sight before him. His expression was a whole cocktail slurry; Law saw some guilt in there, a shot of relief, and a lemony hint of trepidation. What was this? Wasn't this man supposed to be Sophie's most important person? The one she gave up a spot on his crew for?
Sophie was shaking in anger. The look she was giving this man was reserved only for those messing around with her bombs, or Law.
Mostly Law, now that he thought about it.
"Sophie-chan," the marine began.
Her eyes blazed in righteous outrage and he stepped back to enjoy the show.
—
By the tenth round of beers, Penguin and Killer descended into arm-wrestling that neither were sober enough to properly engage in. They kept missing and drunkenly slapped each other's faces, culminating in a karaoke session of Bink's Sake that they wailed together.
Needless to say, when they left the bar after the bacchanalian orgy of glitter and song, Killer muttered, "This never happened. My ship sets sail tonight an' we leave as enemies."
"I look forward t' kickin' yer ass an' maybe drinkin' with y' again sometime in th' future maybe," Penguin slurred with as much dignity as he could muster. "But mostly kickin' yer ass."
"The sentiment is mutual," said Killer, before lifting up his mask and vomiting in the trash. The other two helped him teeter down the street.
The Heart Pirates stared at their retreating backs.
"Oh my god," Penguin whispered.
"He was pretty," Shachi whispered back.
"I'm soooo drunk!" Anko yelled at the sky.
Penguin and Shachi clapped him on the back, laughing so hard they tripped over themselves. The sky was lightening in hues of rosegold and all the temples pointed like arrows up to the stars.
—
With the reflexes of a marine veteran, Hippo dodged or caught every pillow thrown his way. "I know you're upset—"
"Ohhhh, th-that d-doesn't even come close to what I'm f-feeling right now!"
He missed one and it hit his bowl. "Ow! This is hot soup!"
Sophie gasped. "Did I burn you?"
"Yes!"
"NOW Y-YOU KNOW W-WHAT IT FEELS LIKE, MANGO!"
She crawled on the bed and was trying to bite Hippo's shoulder off. Called over by the screams, a nurse rushed into the room. The face of a Chthonic Deity of Vengeance stopped him in his tracks and howled at him to get out.
"Aren't you a doctor?" the nurse pleaded at Law. "Can't you do something?"
Sophie gnawed on Hippo's shoulder like a rabid chipmunk as he screamed bloody murder.
"Sophie." Law pointed at his neck. "Aim for the jugular."
Bepo tapped the nurse's head and opened his jaw wide, showing off his shiny teeth. He left quickly and Bepo shut the door with a quiet, "Kill him, Sophie! Good luck!"
Hippo finally threw Sophie off him and they were both yelling at the top of their lungs, trying to out-shout the other. When she took a second to inhale, he pointed at Law. "And who the hell are you?"
Law gave him a cheerfully indifferent smirk.
"Wait a—I know who you—she told me about you, Trafalgar!"
"I'm flattered," he said in a pleased voice, directing it to Sophie, who mimed vomiting.
"You did this to her!" Hippo snapped. "You brainwashed her with your stupid tattoos and piercings and over-designed pants!"
"I didn't make Sophie do anything that she wasn't already capable of on her own."
"'Make'? Who allowed you to make my kid do anything!?"
"Calm down before you get an aneurysm," Law said evenly and ducked just in time to avoid a bowl slamming into the wall, spilling soup everywhere.
"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, YOU UPSTART LITTLE SHITSTAIN OF A DOCTOR." He was struggling to get out of bed to throttle Law with his bare hands. "HAND ME A PHONE, I'M GOING TO CALL CIPHER POL AND GET TERESA TO FINISH THE JOB."
"Sensei! D-don't you r-remember w-w-what I told you about him?"
"Like what!?"
"He s-saved my l-l-life!" Sophie shouted as Law replied, "I stuck a needle full of poison in her foot."
He did a little two-step away from Sophie as she attempted to kick him. Hippo swelled into a maroon balloon.
"I'M GOING TO SEND A BOMB SQUAD TO BLOW UP YOUR STUPID SUBMARINE. WHO EVEN SAILS A SUBMARINE? YOU'RE AN IDIOOOOT."
"Do I h-have to tranquilize you?" she roared and pinched his cheek.
"Ow! Sophwie, stahp!"
Well, now he knew where Sophie got it from.
She huffed and smacked him around the head, then stormed back to Law's side on the other end of the room.
Hippo glowered at him. Then, in a strategic move that piqued Law's interest, changed tactics. "That bounty's going to kill you."
"It's technically not Sophie's until they identify her as Gas Mask," Law reasoned, studying Hippo with a lingering smirk.
Sophie crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive reaction.
"And when they do? Sophie, this is hardball. Fifty million is Big Leagues. We both know this bounty isn't based on your own abilities. This means the Marines want you dead as fast as possible. If you had just let me take you back to G-13, none of this would've happened. Lettidore would've been angry, but he wouldn't have killed you like he's going to now!"
Law watched Sophie's expression go from indignation to uncertainty as Hippo continued his verbal onslaught. She hunched her shoulders, making herself smaller. And he was angry, suddenly.
"You don't know that," he interrupted. "It's highly probable they would've executed you on the spot."
Hippo stared at Law, incredulous. "Why are you still here?"
"Whatever you did, it kept you alive," he told Sophie. "That speaks for itself."
She shot him a look of… gratefulness? Then her expression hardened again as she stared down the marine.
"I am not having this conversation with a pirate in the room," Hippo gritted out.
Law studied the marine with thinly veiled distaste. He didn't know what went down between them, but he didn't have to. He could theorize it, with the conflicted look on Sophie's face and the guilt on Hippo's when she entered the room.
"Sophie," Law said, "this man is a hindrance and should be taken care of."
He picked up an empty chair sitting beside Hippo's bed and hefted it.
"Law-san!" ("Law-san!?" Hippo repeated with a choke.) "You are not beating my sensei with a chair!"
"I was thinking about euthanizing him with a lethal injection of sodium thiopental, but the cabinets are locked and I don't have a pick."
"L-L-L-L-Law-san!"
"It'll be quick," he defended. Sophie wrenched the chair away from his hands. "…Fine. Would've gotten messy, anyway. I'll smother him."
She stomped. "Honestly! You're being ridiculous!"
"I have seventy-eight other ways to silence him using the objects in this room. Shall I run them all by you?"
"Holy frick—I mean, n-no, that's—"
"This marine could put my crew in danger." He pointed at Hippo without looking at him.
Sophie shook her head. "M-M-Machinastein is powerful sovereign territory. It's only allied with the W-World Government on a trade pact. It's impossible to contact them, and he has no friends here. You must've realized it by now," she said to Hippo.
He rubbed his brow and shrugged, significantly more tired than his earlier actions. "I'm all but a political prisoner."
There was a gleam in her eye. Retribution, perhaps? But it was shadowed as she turned around.
"This is a waste of—whatever. I'm done. Come on," she muttered, tugging on Law's elbow, and walked over to the door. He allowed her to lead. She probably wouldn't have heard him if he told her to let go, anyway.
"Wait! What happened to the research documents? Are you leaving with the pirates? You can't show it to them, Sophie-chan, they're World Govern—"
"Do you know," Sophie started, and broke off.
Inexplicably Law thought she was going to cry.
But the moment passed, and she didn't, and whatever it was that peeked through the crack, it was gone. She balled her fist around the doorknob and turned around. "Do you know how it felt," she continued, "when the refugee ship left me behind? Do you know alone I was? How scared? It felt like this."
Without another word, she walked out, tugging on Law, and slammed the door.
In the hallway, Bepo woke up from his catnap. Her hands were shaking as she released Law's elbow. She tapped her thigh, jittery, reaching for a cigarette that wasn't there.
"Bad habit," he said.
"I'm f-fine."
"I'm not talking about the nicotine."
You have a bad habit of losing, he once told her. Her lip curled. "Sentiment is for idiots? Please, I'm not letting you kill my sensei."
"Right."
She side-eyed him. "I really want to kick you in the shin."
"Why?" Law did a decent impression of acting hurt.
"Because you'd deserve it."
She wasn't wrong, in the grand scheme of things. Sophie noisily exhaled and forced lightness into her voice. "This has been fun and all, but why don't we call it a night?"
Yawning, Bepo seconded that. They took the elevator down to the lobby and slipped past a sleepy receptionist. The plaza outside was silent, except for a few festival-goers straggling home. Sunrise peeked over the buildings.
They were heading in opposite directions. Up the street was the President's temple where Sophie was an honored guest and the pirates were taking the train down to the docks, so they said their goodbyes. Law could tell she was distracted when she only gave Bepo a brief pat on the shoulder. The bear, drowsily lagging behind, was ready to go home, but Law asked Sophie one last question.
"What are your plans now?"
"I have a date with an ice cream cake, actually." Her eyes lit up as she remembered. "It's my birthday, though the cake's probably melted in my room by now…"
"Happy birthday," Law said, and meant it.
"Thanks." She bit her lip. "Um, c-can I stop by tomorrow? I have a bunch of G-13's classified research you'll be interested in. And… and I'd like to say hi to the crew."
Tomorrow.
The Heart Pirates were leaving now.
She made a motion to stuff her hands into her pockets, except she had none. Sophie settled for awkwardly planting her hands on her hips and grinning. She didn't need to bait him with research papers, though it was a nice bonus. She didn't need to pretend to laugh about celebrating her twentieth birthday alone in her room, either.
What did she go through, that would make her miss a pirate?
It startled him, then, because he felt something… sting. Before the Heart Pirates, before Bepo, it was just him, sailing alone through North Blue. He remembered when he lived with a loneliness that seemed like all the oceans in the world couldn't fill.
Sophie was looking at him uncertainly, the false enthusiasm slipping away.
What was another week on Machinastein? His crew wouldn't complain.
When Law spoke again, it wasn't with an ulterior motive, or ill intent, or because it suited his purposes. He just… wanted to.
"Get some sleep, we've got a busy day tomorrow."
It was worth it, when a real, small smile appeared over her face.
—
Bepo and Law returned to the submarine by daybreak. As per the captain's orders, everything was packed and ready to go, and the only thing they waited for was the call to weigh anchor. As Bepo left to spread the news, Law set a handful of crumpled chamomile flowers in the kitchen for Hai Xing, then made for the bathroom.
He studied the mirror, thinking about which scourge to tackle first…
As Law set the razor blade down, he heard a distant 'What!?' and Shachi's jubilant screaming echo down the submarine. He glanced at the washcloth on the wall, blue flickering around his fingers, and signed, here.
The washcloth appeared in his hand.
Trafalgar Law was back.
to be continued
trivia
machinastein: based off of the ancient mayan empire on the yucatán peninsula. machina means machine in latin and it's a reference to the dial technology they use on machinastein. also the islands the hearts visit are meant to be a parallel to the straw hat's journey (civil war and royalty for cat's eye and alabasta, indigenous cultures for skypiea and machinastein).
two moons: supposedly the world of one piece has, like, five moons? as seen in professor clover's library in ohara, which explains a lot of the crazy weather out in the ocean. many islands probably have moon-themed festivals!
giant quetzals: are based off of the actual bird called the resplendent quetzal! machinastein's quetzals look more like final fantasy chocobos and people use them to pull carts or ride them like horses.