15
When Monday came around, Law wasn't sure how things were going to go down after Sanji dropping that unexpected bomb on him. But while he was wary of him, sure that this kid was an undiagnosed mental case, Law had other things to think about. The deadline Smoker had given him was coming up, and it was really the only thing that took up his every thought.
He felt absolutely stressed about the unification process; the evaluations, counseling and mandated court processes behind it were extensive. After he'd been placed in foster care years ago, he'd done his share of running away to escape the system, and by the time he was found and placed back into it, he'd made his opinion obvious; he did not want to go back to his parents. They'd tried then, but after he'd left a foster home in the middle of the night to avoid this very same situation, that was when he'd been involved with the home invasion. A year in juvie kept him from their reach, and when he was finally settled in the Donquixotes' home, Smoker must've felt there was a very slight window of opportunity for this. He couldn't run away – not when he was so attached to Rosinante. And it was their last chance, too, considering his birthday was coming up.
Law dreaded it – he knew what sort of picture he presented, and he felt his parents would not want a part of it. He was practically a criminal – he might as well as held a gun to that old man's head himself. He was in no shape or form that little boy he was when he'd left; there was nothing of him that they could recognize, and he was absolutely sure they'd change their minds upon seeing him.
What hurt the worst was the faint glimmer of hope underneath all that layer of pain, where he felt that they would take a chance; but reject him once he started settling in. After all, he had his own mind, his own opinion, and while he couldn't speak it clearly, there was surely to be a problem with it. After all, his parents were highly educated people, whose jobs were to speak clearly, to be exact and sure of their decisions. He wasn't any of that. He was broken – he could leave them, again, too, didn't they understand that? Things couldn't be the same between them. Did they think it'd be easy to talk to him? Did they think that he'd like the same things he did as a child, have the same motivations? Did they think to recognize him after all this time? What would they think upon seeing him, this tall, gangly kid that refused to look up at the world? Maybe they'd seen him in court a few times, getting sentenced, having his case looked over by a judge that had to decide what to do with him after he'd fled the last home; Law didn't know, he never looked up.
His stomach ached, his mouth dry as he tended to Rosinante, carefully rinsing shampoo from his hair. They could hear Doflamingo and Vergo in the living room, watching a show, and the smells of dinner lingered in the halls. Rosinante was sulking, glaring at the water as he sat hunched on the shower chair, arms crossed self consciously over himself. Law wasn't sure what had made the man angry, but his mood had flipped after dinner, so Doflamingo thought it would be helpful if he went to bed earlier. Law was, admittedly, unfocused on Rosinante, and Rosinante probably recognized it. He kept glaring at Law, fists made, stubbornly refusing to answer when Law asked him questions.
When Law made to dry his face, Rosinante slapped his hand away, then pushed him, snapping at him. He wanted to do this on his own, and Law gave him the washcloth, sitting on the closed toilet. He washed as Rosinante struggle to make manageable gestures to clean himself, reaching over to steady him as he leaned over too far. Rosinante snapped at him again, then flung the washcloth at him, water splashing over Law and the sink mirror behind him. Law sighed heavily, wiping his face, wringing it out over the tub and giving it back to him. After a few moments, Rosinante sat there sullenly, upset over his own actions, over not being able to express himself properly. Law reached over to help him out of the tub, but Rosinante wasn't having it; so Law sat back down and waited for the man to settle.
When he didn't receive an answer to having his nails clipped, Law just stopped talking and focused on the Thursday meeting Smoker had set up. He would come get him before lunch, treat him to a proper meal after. He'd visited the house on Saturday, and while Doflamingo was embarrassed by the state of the house, it wasn't a dangerous mess. It was only the state of affairs of an occupied household. Rosinante had recognized Smoker, and had immediately latched onto Law, certain that Smoker was going to take him away.
'Fifteen minutes, tops,' Smoker had assured Law, passing pamphlets on the unification process to him. Rosinante made to examine them suspiciously, Law letting him take them while he focused on Smoker's words. 'Don't take off.'
The pamphlets were simple; it explained how a family reunited, where the origin group had to perform a range of services to a judge's satisfaction before they could even get in touch with their kids. There would be trusted workers on hand, to monitor the situation; they would have a room to themselves in the child services building downtown, where they could meet for a certain amount of times before it was decided that he could be removed from foster care and placed back into his parents' care.
'I don't want to do this,' he muttered bitterly.
'It's not up to you, kid. But we can decide from here what can happen. Look, things won't happen right away – we're not going to just toss you back into that household if we don't think the conditions are to our standards,' Smoker had said. 'In fact, it probably won't happen at all. Don't stress yourself over it. Time is limited. But it would help if you had some contact with them to decide for yourself what you want to do after. Strongly consider other options, please.'
'They didn't want him in the first place, that's why I have him,' Rosinante had said bitterly, reaching up to rub Law's hair with affection. 'Why is he forced to do something he is not comfortable with?'
'Our mission is to keep families together, not apart. And they've done their part. In the end, he is still their child,' Smoker had told him. 'It's up to us to determine whether or not he should be allowed home.'
'What happens to me if he leaves?'
'Your brother takes very good care of you. He's got that part figured out. But Law is still, legally, a child himself. It's time someone takes care of him,' Smoker had stated firmly. At that, Rosinante had looked guilty, and he'd dropped his hand, Law looking at him with concern. But that had been the starting point of his moodiness.
Law couldn't tell what Doflamingo was thinking; Doflamingo did not talk about his personal feelings or thoughts to Law, basing his actions only off of Rosinante's needs, but if Rosinante forgot about him as often as he did, due to his illness, then it might make it easier for Doflamingo to just replace Law entirely.
With such an uncertain future ahead of him, Sanji's confession just did not factor into Law's thoughts at all.
So when Monday came along, and his mind was still a million miles away, everything was a blur. Thursday was approaching fast, and he felt a heavy weight in his chest as every hour brought him closer to it.
How would his parents look at him? What would they say? Would 'sorry' even matter this late?
What would he say? Could he say anything? His tongue felt so dry and useless, pressed up against the backs of his teeth, unmoving; his entire body jittery with anxiety. He couldn't eat, his stomach in hard knots, his guts churning with acidic force that it left him uncomfortable long after school ended. Did they change in all these years? Or did they still look the same? The last time he saw them was in court, and while they looked devastated that he was being kept from them, all he remembered feeling was satisfaction and anger. They deserved to feel that way. They deserved this – after everything they'd been through, they glorified one child while pushing him away, making him feel worthless, so it didn't make sense that they'd change their minds, now.
But that thought wasn't fair to Lamie – she didn't ask for the illness that consumed her. He felt guilty towards her spirit, knowing that it wasn't her fault that they broke apart as they did; but shouldn't his parents have been more mindful towards him, after? Consider him precious, rather than pushing him away?
All of his anxieties returned in a nauseating grip that left him sweaty. His stomach ached, and his tongue felt heavy all over again, pressed up against the backs of his teeth with dry weight.
During lunchtime on Wednesday, he sat against the backboard of the baseball field, trying to calm the jitters in his hands as he lit a smoke. But he didn't smoke it. Just picked at his slacks with too long nails, knowing that his parents would judge him for it, but it was hard to think of one's self when Rosinante took up so much of his concentration. He made a note to cut the blasted things before bedtime, scratching the material of his pants with the tips, hating the sound that it made, but finding it somewhat soothing at the same time.
He was only aware of Sanji nearby because Sanji just couldn't stop talking. So his voice was just noise up close, filtering in through the rushing jumble of thoughts regarding his parents. Law didn't know what he was saying, just that he was saying it. His hands wouldn't stop shaking, and ashes drifted over his slacks. He remembered to smoke, brushing ash away while leaving a warm, black trail over the material.
"Rosinante nooghgh ffoooglaho up?" Sanji said, and because he'd said Rosinante's name, Law blinked, all his thoughts crashing down around him. It was silent. For a moment, he panicked because he'd thought that maybe Sanji had said something of Rosinante that he hadn't yet heard.
"Is Rosinante alright?" Sanji repeated, once he realized he had Law's attention.
For a moment, the question didn't make sense. Law pictured the man sitting in his rocking chair at home, watching Spongebob, or whatever, just waiting for him to come home. So for Sanji to ask that didn't make any sense at all. He frowned at him, uncertain of how to answer that.
"Because you're not even here," Sanji added, frowning at him. "You're here physically, but you're not even here. So it has to be about Rosinante, right? It better not be drugs, or I'll kick your ass. Or, did you have a stroke, or something?"
With a concerned expression, Sanji then whispered, "Did Doflamingo beat you literally senseless?"
"No," Law said impatiently, realizing he had nothing left of his cigarette. He rubbed it out onto the dirt. It took too much to talk; that single sound was just too much effort. He felt drained right afterward, and promptly forgot what he was doing. Would his parents say anything about him smoking? They were doctors; of course they wouldn't. Not that it should matter any to them – if they'd cared, maybe they would've had a different reaction all those years ago…
"But are you okay?" Sanji then pressed, scrunching his brow. "Maybe you should just go home for the rest of the day. No one's going to notice."
Law didn't answer because he didn't really hear the question. He just wanted to be numb for awhile.
"Look, did what I say last week bug you that much?" Sanji then asked on a huff, swinging his messenger bag around to rummage through it. He gave Law a sullen look, plucking out another cigarette. "Because it shouldn't. Obviously, my radar doesn't work. The confession is meaningless, and it's not going anywhere if you're not like me. So don't trip out because of it. How traumatizing it must have been, for you to trip out of reality just to escape it! For fuck's sake, I didn't think anything would change because of it."
He then lit the cigarette, and handed it to him. "Here. Anyway, not like it's going to affect things. It's not like I'm going to fucking attack you, or something, stupid. This is something I have to figure out on my own. I hope you're not showing up to home like this, because what if Doflamingo says something? He hasn't, has he?"
The nicotine did taste different, and while it wasn't as harsh as his, it didn't immediately affect him with the needed rush.
"This stuff is weak," he said thickly, tongue feeling impossible to move as he frowned down at the long stick between his fingers.
"Are you sick?" Sanji then asked him, peering at him again. "I'm serious, did you have a stroke? Because we have to go see the school nurse, and you need to go to the hospital."
Because it was implied that his speech was difficult to understand, Law felt that crushing feeling of fear; there was no way he could speak to his parents like this. They'd openly judge him, say something, be disappointed that he hadn't improved –
"HEY," Sanji said firmly, too close to him. "Law, I'm serious. Are you okay? Should I go get help?"
"No," Law told him again, cigarette to mouth. "Leave me alone."
"No, what if you die? No, what if something happens, and I end up on the back end of it, again? Like, I rescued you once, and look! Everyone still thinks I did it! Oh my god, they know we smoke together, they'll probably put together a story about how I brain damaged you, or something – I could go get a teacher, and - !"
"No, I'm fine!"
"No, you're not! Are you just tired? Hungry? I could go get something for you to eat – what to drink? Something? Here, how about ibuprophen?"
"I said, I don't want anything!" Law ended up yelling at him, throwing his cigarette at him. Sanji moved quick to block it from hitting his face, but Law was instantly remorse because that action could have seriously hurt him. Sanji just frowned at him, still digging in his bag. "Leave me the fuck alone."
"Give me a good reason why," Sanji said defiantly, finding the bottle he was looking for. He dumped a couple pills onto his hand then capped it, threw it back in to retrieve a nearly crushed water bottle. He held them both out. "Or otherwise, I'm telling someone you had a stroke. They'll send an ambulance for sure. You want that? Huh? An ambulance showing up to the school, ready to load you the fuck up in front of everyone?"
Law stared at him, jaw tight. He would, this Vinsmoke terrorist, he would say something like that. Those pills would destroy his stomach, with the way it churned. He couldn't quite vocalize that; it was impossible to speak. So he hit them out of his hand, instead. Sanji frowned at him.
All the anger, frustration, fear and heaviness of his thoughts hit Law all at once. It built up in his throat, coated the back of his tongue, washed over his teeth. It made his eyes sting, and his ears burn. But he could say nothing because his tongue was too dry and heavy, and it wouldn't move from the back of his teeth. If he couldn't answer a simple question, how was it going to be in front of a roomful of people that included his parents?
He finally noticed Sanji was writing something in his notebook, and when he turned it to face him, Law saw that he'd drawn a hasty picture of a stick figure with some of his characteristics.
"Point out where the bad man hurt you," Sanji said, tapping at the picture with his pen.
Law wanted to hit him – he had no goddamn idea – but with the way he felt, Sanji would be out of the way before he could even connect with him. He scowled off into the distance, feeling fed up and exhausted and so fucking angry –
"Then, at least write it. Write how you feel," Sanji then insisted, gesturing at the notebook with his pen. He held both of them out, then made a persistent motion when Law just stared at him. "Do it! Or I'll tell! Do you want Rosinante finding out later on that you're at a fucking hospital?"
"I fucking hate you."
"Yes or no would be fine."
"NO!"
"Not good enough. And you know why it's not good enough? Because you're slurring. So it's not just that! Write it. Just write it! I have a shrill, loud voice, and it will get louder if I end up shouting for help, and everyone will look out and see that you're in some kind of trouble, so fucking write it so I don't misunderstand what's going on with you!"
Law snatched the notebook and pen from him. It was so ridiculous. This was so ridiculous. Why was he here? Why didn't he just walk away? Why was he giving this stupid kid this attention?
Because Sanji would follow through on his threat. Because Rosinante would be in that chair for hours while Law was forced to the ambulance, because he couldn't fucking vocalize the things he was feeling, and why he was feeling them, and this stupid kid was just - !
So he wrote furiously. His tongue felt so fucking dry. So heavy. Pressing so hard against his teeth that it was difficult to swallow. After, he threw the notebook at Sanji, but Sanji caught it and read it.
He gestured for the pen. Law had just written, 'Stressed. Frustrated. Tired.'
'Why?' Sanji wrote, showing him before flipping the page.
Law didn't have to tell him why. Sanji didn't need to know the fuck 'why'. They were not 'friends'; he was not his worker. So he didn't make a move to write anything. He glared at him. Sanji caught the expression, giving him a bored look in return.
"You may as well as go all the way," Sanji told him firmly. "Because you're feeling 'stressed, frustrated, and tired', this illness of yours could have been the cause of your slurring. How do I know you're not physically incapacitated because of all of this? Still a health concern, right? It's my right as a law-abiding citizen to report another citizen in distress."
Trapped, Law then wrote an answer. 'Because Smoker is making me do it.'
When Sanji read it, he exhaled shortly. "Taking you away?" he asked aloud, passing the notebook back.
Law shook his head with a hard gesture.
"Then don't do whatever he says."
Grudgingly, Law wrote out, 'I don't have a choice.'
"What scares you about it?"
Jesus fucking Christ, Sanji had to be that fucking nosey. Law didn't have to answer that. He didn't have to tell this kid anything. Sanji did not need to know his business, and it was certainly everything and nothing that he could use against Law. But he tapped the notebook with such insistence, and was so goddamn stubborn, that Law wrote, 'Everything.'
"You must because you're fucking terrified," Sanji said aloud. "If it didn't matter shit all to you, then you wouldn't be so fucking tongue tied. Whatever it is, you know you're not going to get approval, and it pisses you off inside, because you've already convinced yourself of it. I know how it goes."
For some reason, that interrupted the hot, fuzzy anger of Law's thoughts. Like a train's screeching to a halt at the station, the noises just stopped. He ended up dropping the notebook at Sanji's feet, pen following suit. The boy picked them up without a comment.
"This is an easy problem to fix, you know," Sanji continued. He smoothed the pages of his notebook down, keeping his hands occupied. "Why would it hurt so much if you knew how it was going to end up in the first place? Unless you cared differently, which you do."
Law didn't say anything. He couldn't. He was going to be rejected, again, he knew. He knew because he was all these different things, and no one wanted a damaged product; already slightly dented in the first place, life just continued to break him down, and there was just no way another human being could even accept that. There was work putting something back together.
If they couldn't even fix their dying daughter, how could they think to fix him?
So lost in thought, he hadn't realized that Sanji had figured out what it was that was bothering him. The blond's face brightened with understanding, then darkened at the same time, because it was obviously a very powerful subject for Law. But it explained everything. For some minutes, they stood in silence.
"Isn't there a process towards that?" Law heard Sanji ask him. "I mean, it's not like foster care is forever, right? Aren't kids put back into their first home? Like, I watched the news and all that, so…do you think you'll be murdered, or something, if you're returned?"
Law shook his head, but he wasn't sure what it was in response to. Sanji's question, or the fact that he was having this stupid conversation with him in the first place. It annoyed him that Sanji figured out what was bothering him. Why was he still standing here? He ended up sitting back down in the dirt, against the backboard, staring off into the distance. Not even moments later, Sanji followed suit, putting his notebook and pen away.
"I'm assuming that things have to be put under review or whatnot to allow kids back home, from the place they were taken from. So I bet they have conditions to follow, right? Rules?"
"Yes," Law answered roughly.
"Then they must have followed all the right ones. I mean…putting yourself in their place, like…they have to bear all the shame of losing their only kid to the foster system, for some reason or another, and then they have to go through all this stuff to get him back… that's a lot of effort put into it, isn't it, a lot of fighting? Do you think anyone would have done so if they didn't regret their actions?" Sanji asked, thinking about Judge. "To be honest, I think my dad would let me go as to not tarnish our goddamn name. Your parents are going through all that just to get you back. Unless they're wacked out perverts, or something…"
Law wanted to hit him. His fist vibrated with the restraint needed to keep from doing so. Sanji noticed, giving him side-eye, but he didn't back away. That was the thing with this kid; he was so conditioned to physical violence that he didn't even blink when threatened with it. Unlike Law, who automatically drew back because he was tired of being hit, or handled with force.
"Then, no? They're not? Then they must be that desperate to want you back, right? They're willing to risk their names and reputations to do so. So…maybe this thing you have to do…it's not comfortable, but it's necessary. It could be closure or a new beginning for you. It's up to you. Stop being a pussy about it, stand up to it. Stop running away."
Fuck, Law wanted to hit him. He wanted to knock out all his goddamn teeth so he couldn't talk, anymore. He wanted Sanji to shut up, and stop drilling all this judgment into him, like Sanji knew what it was like to be in his shoes. He wanted Sanji to just walk away and leave him alone, stop pestering him. Stop talking to him, stop seeking him out, stop doing this to him. He wished the kid would just get hit by a bus, or something, just to leave Law the fuck alone.
But…he thought of the pamphlets at home, the process it took to get the unification process started. He thought of the court visits, the counseling, the services that needed to be completed by both parents. The 'tarnish' to the Trafalgar name, of two people that lost both their children in one year. One was still alive, but did they truly want him back?
He lowered his head, picking at his slacks. He was not that little boy, anymore, as he so aptly told Smoker. He wasn't. But his parents were capable of hurting him again, just by their reaction tomorrow, and he had to acknowledge this. He took the lit cigarette from Sanji, his hand shaking, again. But when he breathed in the smoke, it had a different taste to it. His chest didn't feel so tight, anymore.
"What if they wanted me?" he ended up asking aloud, more for himself.
"Don't give yourself up so easily," Sanji muttered around his cigarette, heels pressed together, legs spread in a wide 'v' while he rested his hands on his ankles. "Make them work for it to prove themselves. It's easy to believe a promise and a lie together when it's given with a familiar face, so you need time to let them in."
"But aren't they already working hard for it?"
"Yeah, but it should take more than one fucking visit. Just because you passed an interview doesn't mean you know what you're doing."
Law nodded. "It'll give me more time with Rosinante."
"That's something I don't know anything about," Sanji said with a sigh. "I can't help you, there."
"What made you think you were helping, anyway?" Law asked incredulously. "You stood here and threatened me with shit, until I said anything. I fucking hate you."
"Yeah, sure, join the club," Sanji said airily, looking at his watch with a wince.
Law noticed the time and jerked to his feet with a start, looking back at the school. With how silent it was, their after lunch period must've already started. Far longer than what he normally took to get to Miss Nico's class. Rushing to class at this time was just pointless. He looked back at Sanji, unsure of what to say.
"When do you see them?" he asked, not looking in Law's direction.
Was it really okay talking to this kid about these things? But he already knew.
"Tomorrow."
"Does Doflamingo need to be there, too?"
"No." All Law tasted was ash. He tried to work spit up to help lubricate the inside of his mouth, but he felt dry. He couldn't remember drinking anything, recently. He couldn't remember if he'd eaten anything for dinner. It wouldn't do if he fainted during that meeting. He had to take better care of himself, somehow. "You're so terrified of him, it's funny."
"That fucker is ten feet tall, who isn't?"
"He's not that tall. He just has a loud voice."
"And big hands!"
"You would notice that, wouldn't you?"
"Shut up! Look," Sanji then said on a huff, fiddling with his bag, "just…for what it's worth, don't let this situation scare you into zoning out, again. Because…a lot of kids are…concerned. And they're looking at me for it! I get that it's none of their business, but, you're letting them think that it's something they should step in to help. Everyone here is so fucking helpful of each other, it's disgusting."
"I haven't noticed…"
"Of course not! But everyone has been…vigilant in making sure that you're not being hassled. Because it's obvious you're not even here. It's real inconvenient for me to keep saying I have nothing to do with it, and it's obviously coming from home, because you stink so bad…"
"You're the only one that notices."
"Other kids are much nicer than I! I'm the only one that has the balls to say anything! If people think there are problems, they're going to talk about it. So if you don't want people noticing your business, make an effort to present yourself in a way that doesn't attract attention."
Self- conscious, Law sniffed at himself. He was aware of the constant sweating and agitation that produced a smell, but he was suddenly more aware of it now that he knew people were talking about it. "I guess…it's pretty bad."
"I have this," Sanji said, digging out a travel sized bottle of cologne. "It helps."
"That shit smells worse."
Sanji purpled, then stuffed the sweater back into his bag. "You're so fucking stubborn."
He finally sat in silence, glaring off into the distance. Law just looked at him from the corner of his eye. He was annoyed by how insistent the kid was, trying to throw his opinions and intentions around like they mattered. But there was always a hidden circumstance to those who tried to 'be nice' to him, and their intentions were never good. With what Sanji blasted him with last week, Law was pretty sure that this was it.
And it also sounded like Sanji was only inserting himself into this situation because of what the other kids were accusing him, of. So his motives weren't pure. It frustrated him that he would even unload his problems onto this kid that had only caused him trouble in the very first place. Giving him ammunition to use later on.
He felt frustrated all over again, scowling down at his ash-stained slacks.
"Bad little boys get detention with Garp afterschool," Ace warned them, leaning against the fence with a knowing expression. Both of them jumped at the sound of his voice. "I can hear you both all the way over to my favorite napping spot."
"God, get a life. Stop spying on everyone!" Sanji snapped at him, standing quickly. He kicked the fence near Ace's face and stomped off, Ace moving only to avoid impact but resettling moments later with a frown.
"Admittedly, I don't know what you're talking about, but it sounds serious," he added to Law, who frowned at him, rising to his feet. "You okay, bro?"
"Fuck off," Law muttered, walking off in the other direction, Ace scowling.
That kid was pricklier than Crocodile on a good day, but Ace heard what he'd overheard. This was not a conversation between enemies, or threats of intimidation. This was a give and take exchange; so it was wrong for other kids to assume that Sanji was intimidating this kid into silence when it wasn't that case at all. With how much his brothers were trying to interfere, they were hard pressed into discouraging something. Was it an image thing? Or something else? Ace had an idea, but he didn't know why it mattered so much. These things were not unusual, nowadays.
He shrugged and headed back to the concession stand to finish napping.
: :
When Smoker called for him the next day, Law could feel himself shaking again. While he had a different mindset towards the visit, now, there was no escaping the nervousness he felt. He put his things away into his locker and slowly meandered towards the front office. He was in sight of it when he heard hurrying footsteps, and he looked to the left to see Sanji coming his way. He held something out to him, and Law took it after a few moments, seeing that it was a fresh pack of his brand of cigarettes. He was suspicious by the unexpected gift. This was how things started; he knew what he looked like – smelled like – this was how the grooming started. Unexpected gestures and false, kind words. This stupid kid…
With an awkward expression, Sanji said low, "Look, I don't have anything to say that might be too helpful, but, and I don't know the whole story…at least give them a chance, okay? Hear them out. And you've got good instincts, so you'll know if something's wrong, don't not listen to it, okay? But don't run, either. Get it over with. Uhm, other than that…good luck?"
Law didn't know what to say, but he looked at the pack of cigs, cellophane crinkling in hand. Sanji Vinsmoke giving him advice on how to deal with his estranged parents; this was a laugh and a half. But he pocketed the cigarettes anyway, and walked to the office without saying anything to him. Smoker was waiting, and he frowned grimly at the state of him.
"Want to take a few moments in the bathroom to freshen up?" he asked.
"No," Law said tightly, unable to look away from his shoes.
"It'll make things a little easier – "
"For whom?"
Smoker shrugged, opening the door for both of them, heading out into the bright sunlight. "Who were you talking to in the hall? You've make some friends, here?"
"Nobody."
"Oh, so ghosts gave you those cigarettes? Funny."
The closer they got to the building, Law's heart raced, beating hard against his ribcage. It felt like he couldn't breathe, but he didn't want Smoker noticing any of his agitation. He stared out the window, watching building pass by. His fists were clenched in his sweater pockets, and his knee jiggled fiercely. His mouth was so dry – tongue stuck against the back of his teeth again.
When they pulled up to the building, he wiped his palms onto his slacks. Smoker had a cigarette dangling from his mouth, window down, and he shot him a look.
"I was a track star in high school," he warned Law, who had to process that warning as a warning before he understood what he was saying. He rolled his eyes at the window. "Look, I know how you get. If you can't say a thing, or you feel overwhelmed, pat your leg two times. We'll leave immediately, no questions or excuses given. You get it?"
Law nodded vaguely, wondering what vehicle belonged to his parents in the public parking lot off the gated lot next door. He could feel himself growing angry – a hot ball of uncomfortable weight in his chest growing as a slow simmer, and rising as they started leaving the car. Smoker stopped him just inside the private hallway, using his ID to swipe the lock.
"Let's go change your shirt," he then advised, looking at the school's logo. "So they don't know what school you're attending. That'll give you some privacy."
The building smelled like bleach and disinfectant, but the offices were optimistic. Every main door was operable by key card or pinned code, and Law knew that the visitor's center was located on the other side of the building. Top forty hits were playing from an office nearby, and phones rang, answered by brisk voices. Smoker's office smelled like him; it was plain, with nothing but a calendar on the wall that had notes written carefully within each square, but upon closer inspection, it was only a reminder of all the lunch specials in the city. His desk was cluttered with papers, but he kept all his files locked properly in the filing cabinet nearby. A cactus grew from a booted pot, with a single blossom on top. He handed Law a faded grey shirt that was often given to kids that had come the building without anything, and Law changed into that quickly, smoothing it over himself with some self-consciousness.
"This is what we're going to go over," Smoker then said, gesturing at him to sit down. Jiggling his knee, Law sat uncomfortably, Smoker going over the topics, explaining how the system worked, explaining who would all be accompanying them. He explained what Law's parents had to do to get to him. He also gave Law some current information about them.
"Your father transferred out of surgery to pediatrics. Your mother switched to dentistry. They adopted a couple of animals; a dog and a cat. It's up to you to get their names. You're not allergic, are you?" Smoker didn't let him answer. "In his free time, your father likes HBO programming and tending to their yard. Your mother likes the cooking network, but still can't properly bake a cake to save her soul. They celebrated their wedding anniversary in Portland, recently."
Law didn't care about any of that. It sounded like Smoker was selling the next family that was to take him in; which was almost what it was. But they sounded like strangers to him; he couldn't remember any of their habits, or their quirks. Unexpectedly, at that moment, he thought of Sanji.
Smoker looked at him. "You nervous? You're not talking. You're usually chatting my goddamn ears off."
Law just stared at him for his sarcasm, lips set tight. Smoker sighed quietly. "Look, kid, what do you want out of this? Besides the obvious?"
That was a difficult question to answer; it all mattered on how the meeting went. He shrugged. Smoker watched him for a few moments, then gestured at him to get up. They went outside and had a smoke, and Law could feel Smoker watching him, reading him as best as he could. When it came time, Law's heart started to pound hard once more, and his fingers tightened into fists. He felt his nails digging into his palms – he'd forgotten to clip them. His tongue pressed up against the back of his teeth. Tashigi and Hina entered the office, Tashigi blathering on cheerily about the task while Hina smelled strongly of cigarettes and expensive perfume. They attempted to engage into conversation with him, but Law wasn't up to answering any of their questions.
They'd tried for years to get to the level Smoker had with him, but it wasn't their personalities that put him off; Law just found it difficult to talk to them. But once it was time, they made their way to the other end of the building, Smoker trailing along behind him, Tashigi leading the way, Hina off to the side. Law that their position made it difficult for him to run off, almost amusing him with the thought that they intended on stopping him if he tried to escape. Not that he could; every door was locked and accessed only with a keycard, with only the front lobby being that freely accessible.
His breath grew hot and heavy in his chest. Sweat built around uncomfortable areas. It was too much for him; when they paused outside the plain oak door with a narrow window, he just shut off. His jaw tightened in place, head lowered, and he found focus on his shoes much easier than looking where he was going. He turned away from the door, looking at Smoker, who watched him carefully.
"Just get it over with, this one time," Smoker said quietly. "Less then fifteen minutes. You can do this. It's no different than walking into a classroom. Once you get seated, it'll get easier, and it'll get over with. But remember our signal."
He then demonstrated it, because Law, for the life of him, couldn't remember that simple task. Once he saw it, he then swallowed tightly, nodding. He wanted to walk away so badly; but at the same time, he needed this. A 'closure or a new beginning' – he had nothing more to lose.
A/N: This was originally one chapter, but I cut it in half, so two updates in a single day!
Naghi-Tan: Don't worry - Sanji is a stubborn little shit. : )
Snowflake97: Sanji is a challenge - not that he enjoys it, but this is how he lives life. Everything is a challenge to prove himself. He will definitely do what it takes to do so, even if it means putting himself into uncomfortable places!
Sarge1130: He can be rather dramatic, but he's not going to hold back, now! Just as he expresses himself (shrilly, as he'd mentioned here), he doesn't think too much of holding back when he feels it needs to be said. Now, after reading your comment for this chapter, I can picture him in place of that blond woman looking over all those equations in that meme I always see floating around. XD Thank you for all your comments and time!
