Discomfort

Characters: Shachi, Law, Heart Pirates. Rating; K+. Warnings: none

Shachi blinked a couple of times, dislodging his shades to surreptitiously rub at his eyes. They were itching slightly, not uncommon when the lighting was a little too bright.

"You okay?" Penguin asked him, walking besides him on the way to the mess hall for dinner. Shachi nodded.

"Just the same old," he reassured him with a grin, readjusting his shades before letting his hands fall back to his sides. Penguin sighed heavily, and he knew his nakama was fighting the urge to try and convince him yet again to go to Law and get his eyes healed. Shachi hastened his pace slightly, enough to remind Penguin that he didn't want to hear it, and lazily slid onto the bench in the mess room, mouth watering at the sight of the food their cook was dutifully serving up.

Dinner was, as always, a raucous affair. Still slightly distracted by his eyes, Shachi didn't join in as much as he usually would, instead finding himself nursing a small headache as he munched his way through the fish on his plate. His lack of a contribution drew the attention of his captain, who approached him quietly between courses.

"Is something wrong?" Law inquired. Shachi just shrugged.

"Same old," he admitted. "My eyes are being too sensitive right now. I'll go hide in the dark for a while after dinner." Law sighed, and Shachi knew he was fighting the same urge as Penguin to point out that he could and would heal him, if Shachi would only say yes. Eventually, he nodded with a despairing sigh and returned to his seat, watching Clione and Bepo compete to see who could eat more clams with a fond smile on his face. Nobody was surprised when Bepo won, triumphantly munching on his latest serving while Clione groaned miserably from where he'd slumped over the table.

The headache wasn't getting any better – if anything it was getting worse – so Shachi slipped out of the room as soon as he finished his dessert to a gentle pat on the back from Penguin and headed to the infirmary, seeking something to dull the headache. A basic painkiller was all he needed, and after locating it he threw it back, drowning it with a glass of water.

The pain didn't dull immediately, unusually, but Shachi simply shrugged it off, no longer concerned after drinking the medicine as he staggered his way back to the room, gradually becoming less steady on his feet. He couldn't pinpoint a reason for his exhaustion, but as he stumbled through the threshold into the room he shared with Penguin he decided it didn't matter anymore. The room was dark but warm, and he scrambled up to his bunk, choosing to flop face down, burying his face in his arms as he waited for the medicine to kick in and kill his headache.

His bed was warm, much warmer than usual, but they had been submerged for quite some time, so Shachi just wriggled out of his boiler suit as best he could and chucked it onto the floor to deal with later, if Penguin didn't get there first. Penguin would probably get there first. He shifted, trying to get comfortable against the headache that was still worsening –had he got the dose wrong? – and biting out a groan as his shades slipped away and clattered to the floor.

That settled it. He'd move later. Penguin, blessed underappreciated Penguin, would pick them up for him. His eyes hurt too much, despite their now dark environment, for Shachi to want to move, and what had started off as a mild headache had morphed into something akin to a sledgehammer pounding at the inside of his brain. A whine of discomfort escaped him, and the idea that maybe this was serious vaguely occurred to him.

He considered the pros and cons of finding Law – or anyone who could then locate Law on his behalf – as best his pounding head was willing to manage. Pros: treatment. His head would stop feeling as though that blasted Apoo was having a party inside it. Cons: Law would get worried. The younger man didn't need that stress. Also that required moving, and Shachi got the distinct impression that moving would not be a good idea as faint traces of nausea decided to join the fun.

Letting out a whimper, which he regretted as the sound of it reverberated though his head, he surprised himself with a yawn. He didn't recall being tired before dinner, but sleeping would stop the pain so he didn't fight it, snuggling down against his bed, which felt harder than usual, and closing his eyes, sleepily taking his hat off and resting it by his head.

There was a soft thud, as if something had fallen, and Shachi shifted slightly, burying his face more solidly in his arms. Penguin could pick up whatever that had been, he decided as he yawned again, closing his eyes as sleep took him, whisking him away from the world of insistent headaches and mild nausea.

He didn't notice his body beginning to slide sideways, nor did the sudden impact with the floor wake him.

Instead, hushed voices woke him, and he opened his eyes to see nothing. Something lay firmly over his eyes – a bandage, questing fingers discovered – and he realised that the bed he was lying in was soft, far softer than the bed he had fallen asleep in. He still had a splitting headache, which was odd because the discomfort in his eyes had gone, probably due to the bandages firmly shielding them from any light at all.

The nausea hadn't gone either, an overpowering sensation crawling up his throat and he retched, reflexively trying to turn onto his side. His limbs didn't respond, weak and quivering but unmoving, and somewhere behind the headache panic set in, low and simmering but there. He retched again, and gentle hands turned him onto his side. His unresponsive limbs were shifted around, until his body remained on his side without support.

"What's wrong with him?" one of the voices asked, quiet but not enough to prevent his headache protesting.

"Captain's looking into it, but-" another replied, cut off as Shachi's body decided to expel his dinner, spasming outside of his control. "Shachi?"

He attempted to complain, both at the headache and his lack of ability to move, only for his tongue to flail uselessly in his mouth, producing a sound that was more syllables than words.

"He's getting worse," a third voice pointed out, too shrill for Shachi's liking, as someone wiped his mouth gently. "What is this?"

"Poison," a sharp voice cut across the room. Even in his state, Shachi recognised his captain's voice. A hand rested on Shachi's cheek gently. "Can you hear me, Shachi?"

"Nrgh," was the closest Shachi's tongue would let him get to a confirmation, but as Law's thumb brushed his hair back gently he realised Law had understood regardless.

"I'm going to remove the poison now," Law told him quietly. "Hold on."

There was little else Shachi could do except wait, a pathetic whimper forcing its way past his lips as he felt Law's Room envelope him and the surgery begin. He wasn't aware enough, with his headache, trembling limbs and nausea, to tell how long it lasted before Law's hand returned to his cheek.

"Shachi," his captain said again, and he shifted, feeling no better than before his captain's treatment. "The poison's gone now, it's just some of the symptoms left. Bear with it." Shachi breathed out shakily, still thoroughly miserable but noticing somewhere that the nausea had gone. An improvement at least.

"Who did this?" he heard someone demand, wincing at the volume but now aware enough to recognise Penguin's furious voice.

"No-one," Law told them, his hand not moving from Shachi's cheek. Shachi was glad, drawing comfort from the simple touch as he listened as best he could to his captain's explanation of how he'd managed to get himself poisoned.

A plant.

If Shachi had felt better, he'd have laughed. He even remembered the stupid thing, brushing up against his hand on the island they'd just left. The idea that it had been poisonous had never crossed his mind, which was naïve when he thought about it. After all, it was the Grand Line.

"Sleep it off," Law told him gently. "I'd give you a dose of sleeping medicine, except you apparently helped yourself to it earlier, so you'll have to manage without."

Shachi had no recollection of touching the sleeping pills. All he'd taken was a painkiller… oh.

"That wasn't my bed, was it?" he murmured, closing his eyes (not that it made any difference with the bandages over his eyes) and relaxing into what he realised belatedly was an infirmary bed.

"No," Law said, sounding half exasperated, half amused as his hand disappeared from Shachi's cheek and a sheet was pulled over him. "That was one of the fuel tanks."

So... how long did you take to realise Shachi wasn't where he thought he was? All symptoms taken from Deadly Nightshade poisoning, although I used Aconite's administered-through-skin-contact to inflict it upon him.

Thanks for reading!
Tsari