•Alright guys! I should be updating my other story! Put I really like this one so here ya go! :P oh and did I tell you all that's I'm now up-to-date with the one piece manga? AHHAHHH.•

—The lake is still, lifeless fish decorating its edges. The exterior of the water begins to turn a murky, infected red. The greenery surrounding the lake has already wilted, save for the last spring flower. The sky, dark, conflicting, sends down the third and final singular raindrop as the calm before the storm.—

4. Death

The guilt ate at Marco while he slept. The guilt of lying to Luffy about his brother, no matter how much Ace promised the fault didn't lie with him, it did. No matter what, it did, and Marco could not stand the fact.

The blonde prepares to leave, kissing Ace on the forehead, promising a swift, safe return. All the other could do was smile, and even that hurt him, Marco could tell. As he straightened, the black haired grabbed his hand weakly.

"It's time," he says softly. Marco smiled emptily. "Hell no, it's not," he says, jerking his hand away.

"Please stay with me," begs Ace, and then the fight's over, because now Marco had to. He can't say no to that voice. To his begging. To a dying man.

To Ace.

He just can't.

And now he sits by his side, staring into his lover's dark eyes, eyes that were fading away, eyes that begged him to stay by his side.

The man lay on the cot, still, his face pale, his chest a vibrant red. All of the fans were unplugged, as per Ace's request. His dark, wavy haired was plastered to his face, drenched in sweat. He could barely manage to crack open his eyes at the point of time, the pain was so immense. Just looking at his lover squeezed the breath out of his lungs.

"I'm going to die," Ace says, as if finally realizing his fate. "I'm honestly going to die."

Marco is silent, his head in his palms.

"Can you please be here when I go from this world?" Ace asks quietly, and Marco chokes on a sob. He promised he wouldn't cry, he really did, but there was no resolve behind he words, none at all.

Because Ace.

"Dammit, you're a handful, even at death's door," Marco whispers quietly, wiping his teary eyes.

And then he takes a breath, a shuddering one. Ace smiles, weakly, one without sunlight behind it. Closes his eyes. "Please don't cry. You've cried enough for me," he whispers. The blonde shakes his head, not saying a word.

"Marco," Ace sighs, placing a shaking, weak hand on the top of his lowered lover's head.

"I love you."

"I...love you too," Marco whispers.

He hears an approving grunt, low in volume, low in strength. A clammy hand over his own. But it was all the man could produce, all he could do to portray his feelings.

Then the freckled man moves no more.

Marco stays still for a long time, and so does Ace.

"Ace..?" the man begins after a spell, drying the tears he would never admit to on his shirt.

He gets no response, and Marco sits up immediately, eyeing the man on the bed. His heart races. His eyes go wide. His breath quickens. No.

"Ace," Marco says a bit loudly, reaching forward to touch the still man. The air had turned to dense, dense water, his arms, like paper. The task was impossible. His cheeks glistened with the sadness of his eyes as he looked down at Ace.

"No," moans the blonde, gulping as he realizes the dried blood running down from his nose. "No," he repeats, at the red coming from his mouth. "No, no, no," he cries, staring at the closed eyes, the pale face, of Ace. This could not be happening. No. This was a dream. Yes, all a mirage, nothing more than an illusion. There was no way that—

Then Marco's eyes swivel, catching a glimpse of the will that still lay on his desk.

And he fucking loses it.

Pained screams rip through the empty apartment, wailing sounds of agony filling the empty cup of air quickly, and overflowing. His tears flow freely once again, and in abundance, next to his lover's corpse. The man had passed with a smile planted on his freckled face, his hand still covering Marco's. The blonde jumps up from his bed, the bed he used to sleep in, the bed he nursed Ace in, the bed that Ace died in, and runs, runs far from the man, from the house, runs from reality. Because he can't take it. It can't fucking take the pressure and the emotions, the heart break and the sadness, the blood or the sight. It's all too much. He needed a break, needed to get away.

But this was Ace.

And he couldn't. No matter how far he ran, the younger would chase after him. His ghost would, haunting his very thought and action, following him to the ends of the earth.

Marco runs out of the room. Out of the house. Out of the situation. Leaving it there. He'll try to run away. Hell, he'd try. If he didn't, he would surely succumb to his emotions, and drown into the depths of despair.

Hopefully, when he had returned to a calmer state of mind, if even possible, he would confront him again. Ace. Acknowledge his death.

Biting the inside of his cheek, hard, for even thinking such a thing, the blonde sprints through the trees, through blurry eyes and away from Ace.

But little did he know, he left his door wide open.

And little did he realize the shadow lurking next to his house, eyeing him with narrowed eyes.

Little did Marco know, the shadow had also looked at the open door, a mere second from giving in to one of man's more older instincts.

Curiosity.

—•—

It is Saturday. March 4th. Early morning around nine. Luffy gets this swirling sensation in the pit of his stomach, a horrible, horrible premonition, an instinct, a gut feeling.

Something dreadful had just transpired, and the teen had missed it.

And he knew something had happened, too, something always did when his stomach did loops as it was doing now. But this? The dark haired had not experienced a feeling like this before. Maybe it had something to do with his missing brother.

Brother.

Brother.

Ace.

And that's when Luffy springs up in bed, wide eyes staring into anything and nothing. He gets up as his heart sinks, and walks as his mind tells him to stop. Enters the kitchen. Grabs a pen. Stares at his older brother's sprawled handwriting on previous dates before placing his poised fist, pen in its grip, over the current date.

Ace is missing.

For the second day in a row.

And the three words carry such a finality to them that it tightens his throat. Luffy is so lost, so confused, so scared, and the emotions where new. So brand new, and different, and he hated the feeling. He didn't want to feel these things at all. The only person he wanted was the person not here.

A swirling feeling in his gut tells the teen of the ominous undertone to the words.

Sick of the silent, tense air around the house, and doing nothing but running from his feelings, Luffy flees. Quickly walks to the door. Opens it. Closes it. Locks it. Renews his brisk gait away from the melancholy apartment. Down he stairs, turning left, and into he driveway, where spring leaves are thrown at him, the gentle wind caressing his cheeks.

And then he feels peace, fleeting, but peace, nevertheless, and everything seems okay, even for the moment.

"It'll be okay," whispers Luffy, the opening line of the mantra he and Ace had made up in their younger years. "He'll be alright."

He doesn't stop the tears from forming, nor does he stops them from sliding own his face. "Ace'll be okay."

The wind picks up, and leaves are tossed as carelessly as forgotten dolls, a misplaced utensil, as paper.

"We'll be alright."

Blonde, pink, and tears flashes past him.

The teen's wide eyes turn slowly to look at the form, watching the heaving shoulders of the man. His face, obscured by his arm, had gave birth to a lonesome spring rose, dew drops adorning the flower. He looked as if he was in just as much, maybe even more pain than Luffy, and invisible hands squeezed around his heart. He knew what the man was feeling. He understood. Whatever he was going through, that made him shed so many tears, that made him look so weak and broken down, what left him so open and exposed; Luffy knew. He understood.

Because he was exactly the same.

The dark haired had taken all of this in in the few milliseconds the stranger ran by. He had now stopped, the emotions too much. Frowning, and pushing aside his own sadness, Luffy reaches out to tap the male on the shoulder.

"Hey," the younger begins, bending a bit to peer up the underside of his arm. His voice is soft, understanding the feeling, but questioning, curious. "What's the matter?"

And the man tenses, and almost shakes off Luffy, surprised at the teen's interference, and runs. Runs hard, fast, his sandals slapping against the pavement of the driveway, leaving Luffy in the dust. Sighing, but knowing why the guy might want to be left alone, the dark eyed teen stares after the man. Maybe he wouldn't have something new to add to their Calendar, after all.

So it wouldn't be Ace.

He chokes on a silent sob at the name, and takes a big gulp. Looks up. Sees the man walking. Then slowing further, into a complete stop. Stoops down, with his head in his hands, the crying audible from where the younger brother stood. Luffy simply looks at him with sympathy. There was nothing else he could—

The teen's eyes ago wide.

The tattoo on his chest was exposed, open, due to his pink vest flowing in the wind. A navy blue cross with a similarity colored crescent moon, the opening facing upwards. There was only one man in the world he knew with that tattoo, the only man is brother was very, very close with, the only other man he trusted with his life.

"Marco," whispers Luffy brokenly, the quiet name surfing on the wind, crashing into the ears of the intended. The blonde tenses, jerking his head downward. Slowly, slowly, turns, faces Luffy, tears streaming down his face. His eyes, wild, sad, in pain, and the sight hurts. Everything hurts.

"Luffy," he whispers.

And it's the way he says it, the desperate tone in his voice, the way he holds himself tight enough to draw blood on the ground, the way he looks like the world was stabbing him in the heart over and over and over, that Luffy finally realizes. Only one person that Marco would shed so many anguished tears for.

"Ace?" he breathes, heart in his throat, eyes wide, anticipating, ears alert, sharp, straining. Marco nods ever so slowly, blinded by his tears, blinded by this crashing wave of despair, drowning him. And Luffy just pauses. Stops. The air, heavy, the sunlight, dark, the leaves, going, floating into the air, ands whirling around, only to be blown aside.

Luffy's face reflected that of a coffin— gray, dead, still, unchanging.

Blank.

And it was this expression, this precarious verge in the edge of total insanity, that set Marco off. He was terrified. If he continued to speak, to talk, Luffy would snap. He would figure out details. The teen didn't even know that his brother died.

But he knew something bad had happened to him.

The hint alone brought him this close to a mental breakdown?

Shaking his head, almost unnoticeably, the blonde gets up, turns, and sprints off in the direction he was originally heading. He wasn't able to do it. He wasn't able to face Luffy, not when he was practically broken. What would happen if he completely broke the news to him? He would shatter.

The man couldn't do that to him, not after he lied to his face, not after his brother died in his care, before his eyes, no, not after all that.

So he runs.

Runs away from the fear, the brother, the dead, the situation, the feelings, the world.

And leaves the deceased's sibling alone, in the road, empty orbs staring after him.

Luffy takes deep breaths. What had happened to his brother? Nothing good, he presumed. No, he knew. Because Ace wouldn't normally do this. Luffy visibly shakes at the possible scenarios going through is head.

Was that why he wasn't home? Is that why think sinking feeling in his gut only got heavier? Is that why Marco's reaction caused him to almost relax into the firm grip of mental instability?

The teen's breaths then come in short spurts. No, no, no. He had said it, over and over, since childhood. They had said it ever since their childhood. That no matter what, they'd be alright, they'd be okay. His chest contracts, and getting gulps of oxygen quickly becomes difficult. Something had happened to his brother. Something bad. Something horrible. He couldn't help. He was helpless. Where was he? Where was his brother?

"A...ce," murmurs Luffy softly between pants, sinking to his knees, his heart much too heavy for his small frame.

The leaves from the nearby trees twirl into the air, gracefully landing back on earth, surrounding the tiny body which lay on the pavement. His breathing was dangerously shallow, the intervals between his breaths becoming longer and longer, and Luffy was gripped with so much anguish and worry that no other thought came to him, none at all but stop.

Exactly what was stopping, however, was out of the teen's control, out of his grasp. There he lay, collapsed on the rocky bed, wheezing, sweating, dying. Emotionally.

Maybe physically.

His coal sockets lowered to half mast, his vision quickly blurring. The green around him fluttered quickly and suddenly turned into gold. Wavy gold. A smile. And then darkness.

—•—

The stranger peers after the blonde man racing out of his house from the shadows before revealing himself, formally dressed in suit. Adjusting his tie, a queer habit he had acquired, he fingered the small electronic in his hand. He stepped into the sunlight, his dark hair reflecting nothing, his dark face revealing nothing. Pursing his lips, he enters the house, closing the door behind him, and the sunlight ceases.

Narrowing his eyes to adjust to the lack of light, the tan man's sharp nose realizes a stench. Not so strong yet, but the familiar smell sets his reflexes on high alert.

The smell of a corpse.

The gray eyed walked further into the home, letting his nose lead him. As he walked, the more the vile smell attacked his senses. He narrows his eyes. Something was amiss. At long last, he turns a corner, walks down a hall, and walks into a bedroom. Law stares at the white sheet, tainted with the occasional red, covering the bulky body underneath. Tears his gaze from the body. Stares at the piece of paper on the bedstand. Lets curiosity take over him yet again. Knows he's trespassing. Doesn't give two fucks.

Because before he looks at the paper, he pulls back the sheets a bit.

And it's Ace.

The man whom, not more than two days before, had been smiling and laughing as he thanked Law for bailing him out of jail.

The realization shocked him and, with a quick glance at his chest before covering him again, comes to a conclusion. One he doesn't like, but, one nevertheless.

The man had be sick with Akainu. Which puzzled Law— if he had the serious disease, then he would've known. Ace wouldn't have had half of the energy he showed when he helped him out of jail. And because the disease took twelve to twenty four hours to kill...

Widening his eyes, the surgeon put pieces together in his head. This meant that the man had contracted the illness soon after he had left. Law jerks his hand back, covering the corpse. It was mind numbing. He had only seen the man for about an hour, completely healthy, only to find him the next day, dead, unmoving, cold.

Clearing his throat and adjusting his tie, the man blinks before composing himself. He had seen plenty of dead bodies to last him a lifetime. But he didn't know any of the people personally. Bowing his head, he payed some quick respects before moving towards the piece of paper that had caught his eye earlier

Gently handling the thin material, the man brought the paper to his eyes. Looks over the document for anything that popped out to him. Finds his name. Snaps his eyes back to the top. Reads the title. Immediately backs off. A will? For Ace? Now he really felt like he was intruding.

But his name had been on the paper. At least just reading that part would be okay...right?

Taking a deep breath, he reads his section of the will, pushing the guilty feeling of invading personal space down, down deep into his heart. The recesses of his soul. And reads.

Finishes. Puts the paper down. Focuses on taking deep breaths.

...What the hell? Take care of Luffy? His brother? The guy he saw at Ace's apartment? What the hell did Ace think he was, a babysitting service?

But something intrigued him. Something about the mention of the boy, especially now that's he's met and seen him, has him more interested than ever. He would remember the name. Luffy.

The man stares at the paper for a while, and thinks, thinks hard, about everything. About this will. About the dead man that resides beside him. In the midst of his churning thoughts, his cell phone rings, a harsh, dark contrast against the pale, soundless air.

"Law, we need you at the hospital, now!" cries the frantic voice on the other line. Law sighs as he hold the phone a little ways from his ear. "We just got this new patient and— shit—...yeah, just please come over here quick. He might need some— just calm him right the fuck down, okay? Annoying as hell. Right, Law! Please? Hurry?"

Closing his eyes tightly against the waves of annoyance slowly washing over him, Law adjusts his tie before responding. "I have told you several times, Shachi, that it is Dr. Trafalgar to you at work." Without another word, or frustrated cursing from his friend, the surgeon hangs up. A eerie feeling of dread creeps up his spine as he makes his leave of the room, back down the hallway, maneuvering through the the house quickly and silently. At last, he exits, glancing back into the home for a quick second before dashing off in the direction of his current employment.

—•—

"Is this the patient?" asks the dark haired man, tugging on his colorless latex gloves, his smile hidden behind a bacteria mask. Donned in his professional doctor's coat, devoid of his hat, and clad in his glasses, the young man switched into his surgeon mode.

Shachi nervously fiddles with a strand of pink hair. "When he was brought in, he had such a weak heart beat, and he was unconscious."

Cold, menacing eyes travel from friend to patient, whom was below them on a stretcher, covered in a white sheet. A dark eyebrow was raised in question. "Why is this cover over him now, as if the patient is dead?"

Shachi's eyes lower, and he speaks quietly. "Well, you see, when he woke up, the guy went nuts. Batshit insane. We literally had to strap him down to the stretcher and cover his eyes because, well...if you were there, you'd understand. It was too crazy, everything happening so fast. We had to stop him quickly, or he'd end up dying."

Waving off the worried eyes of his friend, the surgeon turns to the body before him. Pulls up his gloves, the habit he developed at work when he didn't have a suit on, and stares at the whiteness spread before him. Reaches down. Pulls the covers away. Hears Shachi's sharp intake of breath. Blinks. Furrows his eyebrows. Blinks again.

"You're shitting me..." mutters Law as he stares at the boy below him.

It's the boy he saw in Ace's apartment. His brother.

Shachi lets out a small, high-pitched squeak and shrinks back a little. Noticing the look of awe and surprise on the other's face, the pink haired frowns, confused. "You know him, Law?"

Pushing the informative way of addressing him aside, Law nods almost unnoticeably, secretly, indiscernibly. "I've seen him before."

Luffy's wide lids open upon the removal of the blanket, the never ending white plane that obscured his vision, removed. His wild dark orbs dart about, taking in everything at once, and, after a few seconds, land on Law. And stay there. Law stares back, unfazed by the crazed look. Shachi's head faces Law's, faces Luffy's, then to the former.

The man maneuvers to the edge of the bed to look at his clipboard, searching to put a name to his face. "Monkey D. Luffy...Luffy-ya," he begins, tapping the wood with the attached pen.

"Where the hell is Marco?" growls Luffy, in such an uncharacteristically deep, gruff voice that it raises hair on Law's arms, which seldom occurs. Taken aback, the surgeon pauses in his tapping, narrowing his eyes at the teen.

"Where the hell is he, I said?!" screams the black haired, a tinge of red decorating his face and eyes, jerking out against the restraints. "Bring me that blonde bitch!"

Tsking at the foul language, and the pointed looks he received from nearby staff, the surgeon stares at his patient. Ace wanted him to protect and look after this broken down child? Studying the teen, Law allows for the smallest hint of a smile to shine through his stormy countenance. He would have to wait and see. See if Luffy is worth his attention, his consideration, his thought.

The teen bears his teeth at Shachi, whom of which decided to sneak back up to the stretcher. He immediately scrambles back. "Oi, Law—"

"Dr. Trafalgar."

"Dr. Trafalgar," continues Shachi easily, "I just remembered some...important documentation I had to complete at the main desk. So, I'll be...taking my leave." The pink haired rushes out of the room, leaving the surgeon to glower after him, sending daggers of disappointment. Sighing, the man focuses pack on the patient below him. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, he was brutally cut off.

"Do you know where Ace is?" quietly asks the teen.

Law frowns deeply. He was done with the shit this teen had to had to throw at him. He had a crappy day, and he wasn't about to just let this guy walk all over him. He had pride to upkeep. "The guy's dead," Law says casually, as if the words were normally used on a daily basis.

What he has expected was angry yelling and cursing.

What he hadn't been expecting were quiet whimpers of pain.

Dumbfounded, the older simply looked on as silent tears made their way down the teen's face, his expression a blank canvas. The sight was honestly a bit frightening. Through the little time he had seen him, Law concluded that he was the type who showed his emotions clearly, easily. Not once had he ever imagined that the younger, seemingly full of life, could be so devoid of it.

Next, comes the shaking. The unbearable, uncontrollable shaking that rattled the stretcher. That drained the last of any color from the teen. That made his hands clench and unclench. That made his teeth chatter, his eyes water even more.

The sight was enough to put Law on edge.

"You're lying," the dark haired whispers, his mouth curving into a shaky smile that didn't reach his eyes. "That's right. You're lying. There's no other way. Because that's just not possible."

Law shakes his head sadly, all anger having long left him.

Luffy's breath comes in short, alarming huffs. "You're a liar."

The surgeon doesn't respond, averting his gaze to the interesting wall opposite of him.

"Don't you dare sprout shit like that in front of me," spits Luffy, straining against his restraints. They both hear the creaking at the same time. The ominous sound fills the room, only to cease to be the next second. Puzzled, Law looks down at the bed. Sees the broken restraints. Curses. Loudly. Gets those looks again. Contemplates whether or not to flip them off. Goes with the latter. Ignores them and focuses on Luffy.

"Your older brother is dead, Luffy-ya," Law repeats, pursing his lips afterward. "Nothing you do, or say, can change this reality."

Luffy's eyes widen, his pupils all but mere dots. His mouth, agape, tugged downward. And then a flash and Luffy is in top of Law, pounding hell into his chest, releasing frustration and disbelief and pain and sadness, and the blows don't deter Law because he's used to it. His job had some crazy people involved. A certain part of him, though, whispered ever so quietly that this case was different.

Grunting against the increasing brunt of the hits, Law quickly overpowers Luffy, grabbing each arm in his respective hands. Pushing the younger back onto the bed, Law hovers over him, staring deeply into his eyes in search for any remaining shred of humanity, of sanity, of rationality.

None.

He's completely gone.

At the moment, at least.

"Luffy-ya, get yourself together," Law whispers. Luffy is silent. Stops squirming. Looks back into the gray, conflicting, worried, but cloudy eyes of his doctor. The simple look morphs into a glare. "You," he begins breathlessly, shaking his head side to side, mouth quivering, his tears skew lines of water on either side of his face, "are such a liar."

Law looks down at the boy, calm, collected, level-headed, whereas Luffy was crazed, devastated, grief-stricken.

And it was the face of the younger that reminded him of his early teens. The wild features, the bared fangs that would bite at anyone within range, the unforgiving eyes. Luffy was him in the past. Him exactly.

In a single thought, Law decided.

He would care for the boy. Protect him. Look after him.

He was intriguing, that was for sure— he does not escape one's mind easily. But as of now, the teen needed help, and Ace depended on him to give Luffy that in his stead. Not to mention how relatable the situation was. Law understood the pain of losing someone dear to him, understood it with a burning passion. But then, he was all alone.

He would guarantee Luffy wouldn't have to go through that nightmare.

"I'll care for you," he mutters ever so quietly, the words only brushing the air for a few mere seconds. The teen below him scoffs, fresh tears escaping from his eyes.

"Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" he cries loudly, struggling against the tanned, muscled arms of the older. "You're a liar, and I fucking hate you!"

Law sighs. It was going to be a long recovery.

Luffy whimpers, a broken sob escaping his lips. "I hate you..."

In a fixed, precise motion, the surgeon whips out a mild sedative from the nearby counter. Luffy's muscles tense and shift. "What are you doing?" he asks, hyperventilating.

"Stay quiet for a few," the grey eyed mutters, and the shot is injected into Luffy's forearm. The younger below him bares his teeth a final time, dried salt on his cheeks, before collapsing back onto the bed, snoring away, freeing Law's ears from his chatter. Shachi peeks through the doorway to the room, his bright head recognizable anywhere.

"Is it over?" he asks shakily. The doctor, already exhausted, nods. "Yeah. Why?"

Shachi jabs a thumb behind him. "There's some guy wanting to see the patient. He's a little nuts."

A raised, dark eyebrow. Who could the person possibly be? Sparing a single glance at Luffy, the older turns and clicks his way out of the patient's room to meet his visitor.

He walks slowly to the doorframe, stops, and leans on it, clipboard tightly held in his right hand, his left adjusting his glasses. Smiling tiredly, he looks upon the blonde stranger. "Care to tell why you want to entertain me with your presence, Mr..?"

The man shudders in his seat, clasping his hands tightly, leaving bright red in their wake. His face is parallel to the floor, shadows encasing his face, silky strands obscuring the dark countenance. "Marco," he says quietly, slowly, deathly, smoothly, annunciating the syllables with such sharpness that the silence was severed in two.

Law tsks. He doesn't like the attitude this guy gives. "Marco," the surgeon repeats, as if the name was sour on his tongue, "what do you want with my patient?"

"What do I want with your patient?" the man repeats, balling his hands. "What do I want with Luffy?"

Gray eyes widen at the name. Marco notices the action. He walks up to Law and takes deep, shuddering breaths. "What do I want with the boy I lied to, the boy who's brother's now dead, the boy who's suffering because there's no one by him anymore? What do I want with him?!"

Law is silent. Shachi is silent. Marco pants, eyes narrowed, wild. "Let me into the room," he whispers. "Let me see him. Let me talk to him."

The surgeon narrows his eyes. "No."

Marco frowns deeply, grinding his teeth. "Let me see him."

Law shakes his head. "My patient does not currently have the mental strength nor capacity to deal with visitors at the moment. Please come back another time."

Marco is devastated, the emotion written clearly on his broken face. Yet, all traces of anger immediately disperses, and his eyes widen. "Luffy...he needs rest, right?"

Law closes his eyes, covering the surprise at the other's sudden yielding. "My patient does not need any intrusions at the moment."

"I see, I see, okay, I see," Marco mutters, mostly to himself, looking down at the floor in wonder. "Okay. I'll come back. Yeah, I'll...I'll do that."

Coughing slightly, and trying to cover up his stare and failing, Shachi watches as the man walks down the hall, turns to the right, to the staircase, and escapes from their vision. At which the man released a large breath.

"I swear that guy's high off of something," he says, a nervous smile adorning his young features. "Right, Law—"

"Dr. motherfucking Trafalgar, Shachi-ya."

"Dr. Motherfucking Trafalgar, then," Shachi begins, ignoring the glare sent his way. "Do you know that guy?"

Sighing, the man enters the room again, his stormy eyes resting on the napping teen. "Not a clue," he huffs. "But he knew Luffy-ya."

Humming out of curiously, the pink haired waited for elaboration, which, to his disappointment, did not receive. The surgeon was much to deep in his own thoughts, in his own world, to be thinking of his friend.

Who was that guy, indeed? How did he know Luffy? How did he know his situation? How did he know where to find him? Though every shred of human flesh within him screamed that it was none of his damned business, a small corner of his heart said it was.

Because he accepted the offer Ace have him.

He would protect and look after Luffy.

The man wasn't going to give this stranger, who could possibly harm Luffy, a chance to do so.

Taking note of the straw hat resting a ways above the teen's head, Law walks out of the room, leaving Shachi behind to scramble hurriedly after him. "Sleep well, Mugiwara-ya."

"'Mugiwara-ya?' What is that supposed to be, a cute nickname?" asks Shachi teasingly, a smile tugging at his lips.

The tanned man adjusts his glasses, the light catching them in the process. "Let's move on to the next patient."

"Ignored, huh?"

—•—

The pink vest wearer exits the hospital and trots home in the browned sunlight, its warm gaze on the horizon. One foot in front of other, in front of other. He would make it home. To Ace. The thoughts swirled in his mind, the only energy he received to continue walking, taking baby steps up to his goal. Ace was at home, waiting for him to face him again. He wasn't running anymore, Marco was ready. Finally able to face the man without screaming bloody murder, without tearing his eyes out, without curling into a ball to cover himself from reality. No. He was ready.

He faces his house. He has arrived.

Marco is ready.

He enters the home. He is prepared.

Walks down the hallway, into the room, ignoring the smell of death that now hangs heavy around his home. But he doesn't care. Because it's Ace. Pulls back the covers. Sees the pale, blood stained face of his friend. Smiles closes lipped against the fresh wave of pain. Covers him up again.

Grabs his phone. Calls the authorities.

"911, what is your emergency?" the lady on the line asks sweetly, as if the world wasn't collapsing and closing in on itself.

"It's..." the blonde says, his voice cracking. "It's my lover."

•The last time I worked on this was two weeks ago. Then, within the last two days, I somehow came up with over four thousand words to make up for it? I don't know how? *writes fan fiction at one in the morning when I should be studying for finals* HAH. Sorry for the MONTH WAIT. UGH. I promise to update faster. Why is everyone obsessed with looking at dead Ace...idk. Sorry for spelling errors. Hope you like, though! Watch out for ch. 5!•