A/N: I do not own One Piece or any of its affiliated characters.

I fuckin' hate this job. And who could really blame me, ya know?

"I said MOVE OUTTA THE WAY."

The guy backs off, excited hands grasping the generic autograph book I see a lot of the fans toting around at these concerts. Apparently I'm losing my edge, because the euphoric grin on his face doesn't even flicker as we rush past. He and the rest of 'em just keep screaming, me and my guys doing the best we can to keep their hands inside the roped off area.

"Carry these," I hear her mutter under her breath, handing over her six inch bright purple stilettos to the nearest guy. Me, of course. Fuck my life.

"I ain't carryin' these. Not part o' my job."

"If you want to keep 'your job' ," she says, mocking my voice and waving to the crowd, "I suggest you take my shoes, and carry them like the champ I know you are."

She pats my head like a dog. I growl, probably not doing much to contradict that picture.

"HANCOCK-SAMA," a group of adolescent girls screams out, waving posters in the air. I grunt in annoyance when she stops to pat the cheek of one of them. Always with the fan appreciation…

Glint.

Split second reflex and I've pushed her out of the way, a three inch switch blade lodging itself in my gut. She falls into Percy's arms, a look of shock and fear on her face now that her sunglasses have fallen off.

"ZORO," Jay screams, then flips out his radio calling for backup. The crowd's in a panic, three or four of our guys trying to get control of the situation. One guy breaks away from the crowd, Jay pointing him out to two guys on stand by.

"GET HER IN THE GODDAMN BUILDING."

I catch her other arm as Percy hauls her through the doors and out of the commotion. My other hand's clutching the wound. I can feel blood trickling down my stomach.

She's crying, pawing at my jacket, yelling at me about what an idiot I am, what an idiot she is…

"I got this, Perc. Go help Jay at the front."

I grab her arm and march her to the dressing room, meeting Peter, her voice coach on the way. They practically have to support me the rest of the way to the room. Think I blacked out around the time they laid me on the couch.

All part of the job.

I can feel her hand in mine first thing when I wake up, so I squeeze it. I can't really see that well, but it feels like she's caressing my cheek.

"You big lummox," she quivers, kissing my hand. "Give me a heart attack why don't you…"

"This isn't even that bad…"

I look around. We're at the hospital. Probably the middle of the night. There's only one lamp on in the corner of the room. Through the dim light I can see she's in the same outfit she wore to the venue.

"I thought visitors were supposed to leave after seven."

"Not every visitor is Boa Hancock," she says, managing to boast through her sniffling.

"You didn't do the concert?"

"How could I? My idiot husband nearly gets himself killed, how am I supposed to be able to sing?"

"Psh. Killed. Hardly."

I try to sit up. Not a good idea. She pushes me back to the pillow none too gently.

"Just stay still. They won't let you out until the day after tomorrow because of internal bleeding, so just take it easy."

I frown, noticing the unsightly smears of mascara under her eyes.

"Hancock…" She doesn't move when I reach up to try to wipe some of it away.

"I don't know why you insist upon doing this," she seethes, wiping my fingers with a tissue. "There are others just as competent as you. You don't always have to be there…"

"I worry about you. And this is exactly what I'm talking about," I mutter, gesturing at my own wrapped torso. "End of story."

She pouts, pushing stray hair from my face.

"Don't say heroic things like that when you're injured," she says in that seductive tone I love, "I'd feel guilty ravishing you when you're in this condition."

My face heats up so I look away. She laughs.

"Get some sleep," she whispers, kissing my cheek and moving to her sleeping bag on the-

"You're sleeping here?" I ask incredulously, raising an eyebrow. She looks up at me, blinking her blue eyes.

"Of course," she says, raising her left hand for me to see. "When you put this ring on my finger, I promised through sickness and health. So here we are. Be grateful."

And with that, she attempts to make a cool exit by getting in the sleeping bag. After a minute, she realizes she hasn't taken off her makeup and makes a mad dash for the bathroom, grabbing her over night bag on the way. The purple heels sit innocently next to her other luggage. I laugh and close my eyes, attempting to fall asleep.

A few minutes later I hear her foot steps padding across the tiled floor. They stop at the single bed, and I feel her climb in next to me. I blush. She's completely naked.

"Get better soon," she croons, wrapping her arms around me and pulling my face into her chest.

Yeah. I hate my job.