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Published:2023-01-07Completed:2024-01-07Words:110,561Chapters:15/15Comments:1,868Kudos:3,326Bookmarks:1,135Hits:65,032
Losing Time (You Can't Go Home Again)
HyperbolicReverie
Summary:
He's a little thing, maybe four or five years old if she had to guess, and that would be concerning enough considering he's alone in the woods, a quarter of the way up a mountain and at least a mile away from civilization all by his lonesome. But Nami's always been the observant type of person; had to be, to get by for most of her life, and to be a good navigator, and this kid? This kid is setting off all the warning bells in her mind. Not the kid himself, mind you; but at all the little details that are telling her that he really should not be here.
When Law goes missing during a stop on a quiet, out-of-the-way island, the Hearts and the visiting Straw Hats immediately drop everything to find him. But instead of the captain, they find a small boy with a familiar face who just wants to go home.
As investigations into the strange nature of the island and what has happened bear fruit, both crews are left with the uncomfortable realization that they don't know how to predict how or if Law will be able to return.
Or worse: if he'll even want to come back at all.
Notes:
Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: 【授权翻译】失去的时光(无家可归) by lc0810
(See the end of the work for notes.)
Chapter 1: Missing
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It was a pity, Bepo mused, that autumn islands seemed to be so rare.
There was something about them, about how they never seemed to get too hot or cold no matter the time of year—at least, not for a crew used to far colder climes. Where you could sometimes find snow, but not the deep, implacable banks of the stuff that had so categorized a place like Swallow. Other times, you were equally as likely to find yourself in a summer season so balmy that even the most easily-overheated person on the crew—which was somehow not Bepo, but Jean Bart—could enjoy the weather.
Kairos Island was a little slice of perfection, after what seemed like a never-ending string of extreme places and encounters. Punk Hazard, Zou, Wano—all of them had been stressful, and even if Bepo had never laid eyes on Dressrosa it sat at the very top of the list of offenders. The aftereffects of the roles they'd played in those places weren't going to go away any time soon, Bepo knew. But this was the New World; no one had expected it to be easy, or safe, even if all of the crew wished it had maybe been a little less anxiety-inducing.
Which was why Kairos was such a nice change, he supposed, and coming off the mess that had been Wano, a necessary breath of fresh air. It was a small place, with a little protected harbor that looked like it might ever be able to handle three ships of any size at once, with a charming little town fanning out across the foothills of the single asymmetrical mountain that dominated the island's center. There was nothing important or strategic about it, and between the farms and orchards Bepo could see from the deck of the Tang, and the small fishing sculls out on the waters, it looked relatively self-sustained. That rarest of gems in these waters: an island without the influence of an Emperor, protected by their own unimportance.
It was the perfect opportunity to let the crew breathe for a bit too, and one everyone was taking every advantage of. It'd only been a couple weeks since they'd left Wano, and everything had been smooth sailing since, almost suspiciously so. Ikkaku, for her part, had insisted on giving the Tang a once over when they'd docked because of a certain someone's "dumbass dick-measuring decision to throw us off a waterfall," but even that hadn't taken too long, and now the mechanic was enjoying the gentle early afternoon weather with the rest of the crew, as everyone enjoyed the rare opportunity to just be.
Law had predictably wandered off once they'd made anchor and confirmed there was nothing on the island worth naming a threat. No one was going to begrudge him the alone time, not after the last few months they'd had. A little wander always did his brain a world of good, and nothing they'd done recently had really provided him with the opportunity to indulge that habit. Hopefully, now that this most recent—terrifying, horrifying, world-shaking—endeavor was over and done with, they could have a few days of rest and relaxation before something came knocking on their door for daring to have contributed to turning the world on its head.
"How the fuck—"
Hakugan's soft whisper of shock is enough to rouse Bepo from where he's settled on the deck, enjoying some quiet time of his own as most of the crew has decamped to the beach and the promise of a good old-fashioned barbecue. He shoots a glance up to where the helmsman had been relaxing at the base of the mast, to see him standing at attention, eyes on the horizon. He's got one hand raised halfway; finger outstretched tentatively as if pointing at something he's not sure is actually there.
Bepo raises his head, following the line of his finger out past the railing and across the bay to the open sea, where a small shape has appeared on the horizon, steadily growing in size as it makes its approach. Bepo's nose and ears had always been better than his sight, but there's no mistaking those cheerful colors and whimsical design, and definitely not that Jolly Roger.
'How the fuck,' indeed.
"What," is all he manages, then shakes his head, hauling himself to his feet to get a better look. "No. They went in the opposite direction, their log pose couldn't—"
"Log pose don't mean shit when your ship can basically fly."
Ikkaku sidles up to the railing next to Bepo, munching idly on some sort of wrap full of fish and vegetables, and carrying a drink so strong Bepo's pretty sure they could power the Tang with it, if Ikkaku wouldn't kill them for trying. Dimly he remembers Clione yelling something about lunch being ready a while back.
"What," Bepo repeats. He doesn't know why he's stuck on the questions. This is the Straw Hats they were talking about. Defying logic had proven to be their defining trait. "No. That—that's not how navigation works."
Ikkaku chuckles, frustratingly calm about this entire mess. "Franky walked me through the specs while we were doing repairs on the ships. It's some sort of short-burst high-energy propulsion rocket: simple enough logic behind it, aside from the power source, which—I'm gonna be real, don't know how he worked that out. Technically they've got one on the front of the ship too, though they just shoot people with that one, I think." She shrugs. "And they haven't shot at us yet, so we're probably good on that front."
"If it's that simple, why can't we fly?" Hakugan muses from his perch. "Captain's all about strategic shit, and that seems advantageous."
"Hey. One engineering marvel per pirate ship," Ikkaku snaps, gesturing sharply with her food. "Unless you want to be responsible for figuring out how to fly and land a submarine."
"I retract my question."
"Damn right you do," she sniffs. "Come on, though, it's the Straw Hats. They're not going to do anything if we don't do anything first and chasing Franky out of the engine room or giving the cook a kick in the rear for being weird isn't going to count. Besides," she muses as she takes another bite of her wrap, "Like two of them can be subtle, if they were planning on attacking us, we'd already know, and the captain would have already made his paranoid ass back here."
"Well," Hakugan ventures. "That's something, I guess." He jabs a thumb in the direction of where the rest of the crew's enjoying themselves on the beach, blissfully unaware of the incoming chaos. "I'm just going to go…warn everyone else. And maybe tell Clione to put some more food on." A few quick steps have him dropping out of sight over the railing, and Bepo only hopes that the news about their imminent arrivals is taken well.
He sighs. So much for rest and relaxation. "How much do you want to bet Law's about to lose track of time on his 'I'll be back sometime around midday' walk?" he says, peering down at Ikkaku, who has finished her wrap and is now making her way through her drink at possibly inadvisable speeds.
Ikkaku lets out a snort. "Oh I'm sure he's already noticed and is planning on hiding up the mountain or something. It's not like Straw Hat wouldn't be able to find him anywhere on the island if he felt like it, anyway." She makes a considering noise. "I wonder if Nami would be up for a betting pool on how long it'd take to flush him from his hidey-hole."
"I think, given previous experience," Bepo notes morosely, "that the cookout party on the beach is going to be more than enough to distract him for a long time."
"Ah," Ikkaku says, realization in her tone. "Well, fuck."
The Thousand Sunny doesn't even make it all the way into the bay before an incoming figure rockets its way across the water towards the Tang, uncaring of the wide stretch of ocean between the ships that could easily spell his death, as if it wasn't even a concern worth worrying about. And considering who it was, Bepo mused, it might not be. Logic seemed a distant stranger to this particular man.
Straw Hat lands on the Tang's upper deck with a little 'hup' and a shuffling of sandaled feet, halting his slide across the flat surface. Immediately, he's turning and hopping down to where Bepo and Ikkaku are still standing, all smiles, his Wano dress cast aside and back in the well-worn and mended cardigan and shorts he usually sported, as if the things that had happened there could be shrugged off as easily as the coat off his shoulders.
"Bear!" he says excitedly, because Straw Hat doesn't remember names, except when he does and finds it funnier not to use them—Bepo hasn't told Law the younger captain actually knows and has willingly used his name yet; he's saving that for one of his more insufferable mood swings—but he's spent enough time with the incorrigible captain and his crew to know there's no malice behind the choice.
Bepo does genuinely like the Straw Hats, probably more than he should given their status as a rival crew, but half of them had supported his captain through one of the worst parts of his life when none of the Hearts had been allowed to, and the other had helped make sure Bepo still had a childhood home wandering the seas. Call it distinctly unpiratical, or a throwback to the codes of honor he remembers hearing at Zepo's knee, but the idea of one day having to stand on opposite sides of a battlefield as the Straw Hats makes his stomach squirm, and not just because he'd seen them fight.
There was something nice about knowing that at least one of the flags on the horizon wasn't immediately going to be gunning for your head, especially now that it seemed like the whole world was going to be. And Law could go on and on, paying lip service to things like 'strategic alliances' and the pros and cons of cultivating relationships for a purpose, but in the end the Hearts and the Straw Hats had ended up working together closer than he thinks anyone had expected, and it seemed—at least to Bepo—that giving that up would be a huge shame, or at very least a tactical error.
"Straw Hat," he greets, and watches Ikkaku make her escape out of the corner of his eye. Traitor. "What are you doing here? Last we saw you, you were going in the opposite direction."
"Oh man," Straw Hat says, eyes lit up, and Bepo braces himself. "Funny story! So, right after we left, there was a—"
Bepo hears the second person incoming well before he sees them, but he still startles when another figure drops from the sky, bringing one foot down on his captain's head with not a small amount of force.
"Idiot!" Sanji yells, as Straw Hat allows himself to be shaken like a rag doll. "Don't go flying off like that. At least warn someone before you jump off the ship." He grabs his captain by the cheek and pulls on it until Straw Hat is forced to look him in the eye. "Shitty captain, what were you going to do if you fell in the ocean?"
"Sowwy," Straw Hat mumbles, clearly not sorry in the slightest, and the cook lets his cheek slap back into place. "But I saw Torao's ship and wanted to say hi! And hear some stories!" He turns to Bepo, characteristic giant smile on his face. "You've got to have had some good adventures, right?"
"We're trying not to have too many adventures right now, actually," Bepo says apologetically, and Straw Hat makes a face like he's just told him the most uninteresting thing in the world. "We all needed a little rest. And it's not like we've had time to have much in the way of adventures anyway; it's only been a couple weeks."
"Yeah, you'd think that, wouldn't you?" Sanji mutters, and Straw Hat chuckles in a way that Bepo can only describe as 'fully aware of what he did and entirely too willing to do it again.' The cook takes a long drag off his half-spent cigarette and sighs a cloud of smoke off the side of the Tang. "Anyway. Sorry for the sudden arrival. We needed a new pose point to recalibrate the log pose after—well, after the adventure, I guess, if you want to call it that." He shrugs. "This was the first place we found. I promise we're not stalking you or anything, so Law can stow all his paranoia up front." He looks around. "Where is the big grump, anyway?"
"Off on a walk around the island," Bepo says, and then realizes his mistake as soon as Straw Hat starts to excitedly peer out towards the village and the mountain. "But!" he interjects quickly, "he said he'd be back soon. Within the next couple of hours, anyway." He silently congratulates himself on giving Law a little extra time to get his shit together about socializing. He usually needed a bit of warning about things like that ahead of time, and the Straw Hats decidedly did not come with one.
When Straw Hat pouts at the delay, Bepo uses his trump card. "We're having a bit of a cookout picnic on the beach though, if you'd like to join us." Honestly, he was surprised Straw Hat hadn't detected the food any sooner. If he had, he was exhibiting far more restraint than he usually did. Bepo had had the displeasure of experiencing the flight of Onigashima, but the members of the crew that hadn't had told plenty of stories about the sheer display of gluttony Straw Hat had displayed once they'd hauled him out of Wano's sea. Not to mention that he'd seen the man eat at parties; it was a spectator sport.
Sure enough, the mention of food lights stars in the other captain's eyes, and he quickly zeroes in on the gathering on the beach, and Bepo hears Sanji let out a long-suffering sigh to his left. "Well," he says, completely shamelessly, as he winds up a stretchy arm, all other thoughts clearly gone from his head. "Why didn't you say so?"
"You didn't have to do that," Sanji says, as his captain slingshots himself off the deck. A cacophony of surprised shouts immediately follows. "I'll haul out our own supplies once the Sunny docks. It's only fair, considering the little bastard's appetite." He smirks. "And with multiple people cooking, and Luffy distracted, that'll give Law the time to get his ass in gear and admit he likes us enough to hang out, right?"
Bepo just sighs. "He really does like his walks," is all he says, but it comes out as a timid mumble. He feels like he should be protesting more on Law's behalf, to stand up more for his captain, but he's not sure anything he can muster would sound believable. Which is no one's fault but Law's, really. You don't just let yourself get attached and refuse to admit it, that's not how things are supposed to work.
Well. It wasn't how most people worked.
Sanji snorts. "Good for him. Looking forward to seeing what he looks like relaxed, the uptight mess. The mosshead keeps claiming he got him to party after Dressrosa, and I refuse to believe he knows how until I see it with my own eyes."
True to his word, Sanji sets up his own cooking station on the sand once the Sunny arrives in port, and the rest of the Straw Hats spend a good few minutes ferrying ingredients from their ship at his orders before settling in and enjoying the company. Nami and Ikkaku put their heads together almost immediately upon seeing each other, which has all the alarm bells in Bepo's head going off at once, and Zoro spends a short couple of minutes aggressively acquiring more firewood from some nearby trees before plopping down in the sand with a jug of alcohol that came from…somewhere. Bepo's not sure where.
Their captain is in the thick of it, social butterfly that he is, draping himself across his crewmates and sticking his nose into conversations, always with food in hand and a smile on his face. He's a strange mixture of charming and obnoxious, but he appears to be well and truly distracted, as Bepo had hoped. Now all they had to do was wait for Law to get back and see where things went from there.
But then the sun starts dipping low on the horizon, bathing the beach in an orange glow, and none of them can ignore the obvious anymore.
Law still hasn't come back.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It had started with some uneasy murmuring among the Hearts, but Nami and the other more observant members of the Straw Hats had picked up on their distress pretty quickly. They did a good job of hiding their worry, Nami would give them that, but between Zou and the trip to Wano, not to mention all the time they'd spent together in Wano itself, they'd all become familiar enough with Law's crew to notice the change in demeanor.
It had been Sanji, bleeding heart that he was, who had offered to use his haki to pinpoint where Law had run off to—not that he cared, you understand, it was just the polite thing to do—and even at that point, Nami thinks they had all expected that the prickly captain was just feeling particularly unsociable that day. They'd find him, there'd be some light teasing, and then Law would get unceremoniously dragged into the party, as per usual.
But then Sanji had made a face, and turned to Luffy, and asked him to help, and well—Luffy had the best observation haki on the island, no argument to be had, and when he'd come up with nothing? All hell had broken loose.
Which was how Nami found herself trudging up a mountain in the quickly waning light of day.
Luffy had immediately volunteered their help to find Law, once it became clear that something had gone wrong, and the Hearts and the Straw Hats had paired up and split the island between themselves. Everyone who could move fast was sent to the far side of the island, while people like herself were given closer places to search. Robin and a couple of the Heart pirates had gone into town to see if anyone there had seen Law at any point during the day, and a couple of people from each crew had been left with the ships, in case anything came up. It had been staggeringly efficient, and even Luffy had been taking the plan seriously—for him, anyway.
Nami had been given the closer mountain path, the easier of two ways up the mountain. It wasn't a very big mountain; it was old and worn down, and who knew how many ages had passed since the ocean had spat this place out. Every part of the island that hadn't been turned over to human habitation and cultivation was covered in big old-growth trees, and the mountain was no exception. On a normal day, in broad daylight, it was probably a very lovely walk.
But now it was getting dark, the canopy of close-knit leaves making it darker, and the mystery of what had happened to Law hung over the atmosphere like a noose. It's hard to think that someone capable of beating him in a fight had coincidentally just been lurking on this quiet little slice of nowhere; not only would anyone have been able to see the signs from miles away, but Nami thinks it must take a certain egregious level of overconfidence to go after any of the captains who'd fought on Onigashima, even if they didn't have the extra title on top of their reputations that Luffy did. Not without more careful planning than the time between Wano and now really allowed for, at least.
But she was also not stupid enough to believe accidents and bad luck couldn't happen to people who might otherwise be deemed untouchable. Luffy was certainly proof of that. So, despite her misgivings that there was something about this situation that they were missing, she kept climbing.
She's walked a ways up the mountain, following a small, but well-worn path, and eventually reaches a place where it widens into a little clearing. And that's when she sees something that makes her breath catch in her throat.
Law's sword, all six feet of its ridiculous, cursed existence, is lying on the forest floor, and Law is nowhere to be seen.
It takes a moment, but Nami shakes herself out of her shock. She's no help to anyone if she freezes up here, and if he had been taken by someone, time was of the essence. She can't think of much in the way of other options, either; the only person she'd ever met more attached to their swords was Zoro. He'd never have left it behind willingly. And that meant abduction, or worse.
She scours the area around where the sword is, looking for anything that might tell her what had happened, but there is no sign of a struggle she can identify. Nor are there any footprints of note, though she does find a pair near the sword that look like they belonged to a pair of heeled boots exactly like the pair she knows Law favors. But they don't lead anywhere, and more searching only reveals a few more faint smudges in the dirt to show he'd followed the same path Nami had to get here. Unfortunately, there are no matching ones leaving the clearing to clue her in to where she should be looking next. They just stop.
She's mentally going through her steadily decreasing number of options when she hears a noise from behind a nearby tree, and a shiver runs down her spine as she bites down on the urge to curse. Stupid, stupid, to not consider there might still be a person here.
She's already got her climatact out, but she picks up Law's sword for good measure, praying that whatever made it cursed wouldn't care too much about being handled by a stranger. The stupid thing could at least make her look more threatening, even if she had no idea how she'd even draw it, let alone use it as intended, the damn heavy piece of metal. And then, so armed, she creeps around the back of the tree, ready to ambush whatever was planning on getting to her first.
Except—it's not a villain or a kidnapper or even just a villager out on a late-afternoon stroll.
It's a boy.
He's a little thing, maybe four or five years old if she had to guess, and that would be concerning enough considering he's alone in the woods, a quarter of the way up a mountain and at least a mile away from civilization all by his lonesome. But Nami's always been the observant type of person; had to be, to get by for most of her life, and to be a good navigator, and this kid? This kid is setting off all the warning bells in her mind. Not the kid himself, mind you; but at all the little details that are telling her that he really should not be here.
For one, he's dressed unusually nicely for a small child, and not as if he expected to be outside in this weather, if at all. The cream-colored sweater vest is too light for these temperatures, to say nothing of the light blue short-sleeved button up and shorts he's wearing underneath it. All of it very nicely made, she notes—whomever dressed this kid could afford quality material, right down to the short white socks on his feet. Socks that are probably ruined now, given how covered in twigs and dirt and forest detritus they are, because he's not wearing any shoes.
There are no good reasons that Nami can think of why a kid would be in a place like this without any shoes.
"Hey," she says softly, and the kid startles. He'd been face down in his knees when she'd come around the tree, and clearly hadn't noticed her approach. Now he's staring up at her with big eyes under a messy shock of dark hair, and she can see him glancing from side to side, as if he's thinking about running.
"It's okay. I promise I'm here to help." She lowers herself slowly to her knees, so she's closer to his eye level. "Can you tell me what happened?" she says gently, doing her best not to spook him. The last thing she wants is to have to chase down a frightened kid through the woods. Especially not with how fast the light was leaving.
He shakes his head. "No," he mumbles, and it comes out shaky. Nami's not sure if it's from the cold or from fear. "I was at home and now I'm not, and I don't know where I am, and my head hurts," he continues. His mouth scrunches up like he's thinking really hard about something, or maybe like he's going to cry, and Nami inches closer, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible.
"Hey, hey," she says soothingly, as calmly as she can manage. "It's going to be all right, I promise." The kid gives her a suspicious look, like he doesn't trust her. And that's fair, and smart of him, but it's no help in getting him out of here either.
"Look, I know you don't know me," she starts gently. "But you can't stay here. It's not safe, and it's getting dark, and you're gonna get sick if you're out here much longer." If you aren't already, kid's looking too pale to be healthy. "Look, I've got a friend nearby who's a doctor, and he can make sure you're okay, and then we can see about getting you home, all right?"
It's a gamble, she knows, mentioning Chopper. In her experience, getting small children to trust doctors is like pulling teeth. She'd hated doctor's visits, Nojiko had hated doctor's visits; there were a whole lot of children who were never going to trust doctors again, after Punk Hazard, and a whole generation of kids in Wano who'd never had proper medical care and had a healthy fear of things they don't know, for good reason.
"Okay," the little kid says, defying expectations. "I think," he starts, then yawns widely, before scrunching up into an even tighter ball. "I think I have. Hy-po-ther-mi-a." He sounds out every syllable of the word deliberately, and Nami can't tell if it's because the word is tricky or if he's just exhausted. "'N that's bad."
"Yeah, probably," she says, purposefully smoothing the worry out of her voice. Slowly, she reaches up and strips off her heavy knit sweater, skin prickling with sudden goosebumps as her bare arms are suddenly exposed to the cold. Doesn't matter; she's not going to be out here long enough to get more than just a chill, and the kid needs it more than she does. She can warm up later. "Here," she says, and carefully drapes it around the boy's skinny shoulders, smiling a little as he snuggles into the warm fabric. "Do you think you can hold on if I put you on my back? I don't think you're up for walking down the mountain."
"Can't be on a mountain. Mountains have snow," he mumbles, but he manages to wobble to his feet, and Nami takes that as acquiescence. Kneeling down, she grabs Law's stupid sword, and holds it horizontal at the small of her back.
"Here, sit on this, and hold on to my shoulders. It'll be a little easier for both of us."
Okay, sword: I still don't know what your deal is, but if you hurt this kid I will drop you in the ocean, and Law can fish your cursed existence out himself when he gets back.
Maybe it listens to her, or maybe it doesn't care, or maybe Nami is still overthinking this whole 'cursed' thing. Maybe it likes kids, she doesn't know. But the kid scrambles awkwardly onto the provided seat without too much trouble and puts his hands on her shoulders and leans his head into the dip between her shoulder blades, little fingers scrunching divots into the fabric of her blouse.
He's light. Really light. She's no doctor, so she can't say if it's something to be concerned about, but her brain mentally adds that to the running list of things she's going to have Chopper check out when they get back. A possibly underweight little kid, sick and exposed to the elements, with no idea of where he is? That only reads as bad to her. Maybe the kid had been drugged? It would explain why he didn't know where he was, and the headache he'd alluded to earlier. But that train of thought led down a path she didn't particularly want to take right now, or at least not until the kid was somewhere safe. Afterwards, she and everyone else could sort out whether or not whomever had left an unprotected kid in the woods needed to be hunted down and taught a lesson.
She'd lay a bet on the Heart Pirates being willing to help if so. Even the big grump himself had helped little kids in the past, and his crew seemed to, for the most part, have a far greater amount of aggregate empathy. Which wasn't to say that she still thought of Law as some sort of unfeeling rock. Just that most of his crew seemed to take the phrase "wear your heart on your sleeve" figuratively as well as literally.
Besides, someone was going to need to make Law pay for worrying everyone, and if his crew were too cowardly to do it, she'd be happy to set him straight for them.
She feels a chill run through the body of the kid on her back, and frowns. As a precaution, she carefully pulls the arms of her sweater around from where they're dangling at the boy's sides and ties them around her waist, essentially cocooning the boy against her back. His grip on her shoulders is too light for her liking, and at least this way if he falls asleep—which seems possible—he won't fall off. It also keeps him effectively pressed up flush against her back, and close to her body heat, which is good, because he is cold and they still have to walk back. She'd run, if she didn't think the jostling would be bad for him, but she'd really like to deliver the kid to Chopper in the best condition she can.
"You know, that was really smart of you, to know what hypothermia is," she says gently after a couple minutes of walking.
"Gonna be a doctor," she both hears and feels being mumbled into her back. "Gotta know about things like that, if you wanna be a doctor."
"Oh yeah?" she says, trying to sound cheerful. "Well then, you'll love our doctor. He's the best doctor in the world. I bet he'd love to talk to you, too. He loves kids." Small wonder then, that he hadn't objected to the idea of seeing one earlier, if he wanted to be one himself.
"Nah," comes the tired reply, complete with another yawn. "Mom n' Dad are the best doctors. Everyone says so, so it has to be true. But he sounds nice."
Nami feels her heart wring. She really, really hopes his parents hadn't been the ones to leave him out here. She knows hero worship when she hears it, and this kid is brimming with it. But at least if his parents are well-known doctors, they should be easy to find, right? The port town wasn't that big, and there weren't any other settlements on the island.
It's not long after that that she starts to feel steady breathing against her shoulder blades, even and slow. The kid had fallen asleep, as predicted, but her sweater seemed to be doing the job of keeping him in place well enough. Nami decides to pick up the pace a little bit. The sooner she gets back, the sooner they can get him warmed up and in a real bed, and the sooner they can figure out how to best help him.
"Hang on, kiddo," she says, mostly to herself. The kid was too dead to the world to hear anything at the moment. "We'll get you all sorted out. You'll see."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One moment he's walking through a quiet forest, enjoying the solitude, and the next moment he's falling.
He doesn't land on the ground though, or a bush, or any of the other things you might expect to land on if one were to suddenly eat shit somewhere in the woods. No, he bounces off something and sprawls on his back on something soft. But it's not leaves or moss or grass or anything like that, and as Law twitches his fingers against whatever it is he's resting on, he's forced to come to the astonishingly illogical realization that it's carpet.
Where the fuck did the carpet come from?
His head is ringing. Did he give himself a concussion? Or is this a migraine? He'll be pissed if it is— he's actually been good about sleeping and eating this past week, now that it's finally just him and his crew again. But he's pretty sure he didn't hit his head on anything when he fell, so maybe he's just that unlucky.
Fuck, his head hurts.
Come to think of it, he doesn't even remember tripping on anything; the path had been a little irregular, sure, and the ground covered with leaves, but he's sure he hadn't felt his boots catch on anything like a hidden rock or tree root. And there hadn't been anyone near him, that he was sure of—he was supposed to be relaxing, but that didn't mean he had his Observation Haki turned off. This was the New World, he wasn't stupid.
Dimly, he hears two voices, one higher pitched than the other. There's a cadence to their voices that is incredibly familiar, but he can't manage to keep his train of thought straight enough to parse why that's so. One of them is frantically saying something about someone disappearing, and the other seems to want to check if someone was all right.
Oh. Probably me. Right.
He cracks his eyes open, failing to stifle a groan and wincing at the sudden intrusion of light on his retinas. Harsh light, too, as he's met with not trees or blue sky, but with the stark white sight of a ceiling. He's inside a building.
Well, that's concerning. Explains the carpet, though. And raises…a lot of other questions.
"Oh! He's conscious!" the higher voice exclaims, and suddenly his field of view is invaded by two faces, and as his eyesight finally deigns to adjust to the ambient lighting, he can make out actual features on the man and woman hovering above him.
Weirdly…familiar features.
Wait. Wait.
"Sorry, but—are you all right?"
Law can almost feel his thoughts screech to a crashing halt as he makes the connections in real time, as he sees his eyes his hair his fucking face staring down at him. The pain in his head is getting worse as his brain scrambles to find something, anything to explain what's going on.
Until it arrives at the logical conclusion.
"Oh," he hears himself say, and that's his voice, right? Sort of flat and toneless and far away-sounding? "Oh, I'm dead, aren't I?"
He doesn't get an answer, either from himself or the two painfully impossible faces staring down at him in astonishment from above.
He just blacks out.
Notes:
What a way to start off the new year: by trying my hand at chaptered fic! (Help).
I have a tumblr here: hyperbolicreverie. Feel free to come yell at me, ask questions about what I'm writing--or anything else, and generally watch me try and remember how social media works.
Also many thanks to the lovely people over at the One Piece Writing and Worldbuilding Discord Server, who have been listening to me yell about this fic for far, far too long.
Chapter 2: Revelation
Chapter Text
Chopper isn't expecting Nami to stumble into the infirmary only a couple of hours after the search party had left the port, but he takes one look at the small child on her back and gets right to work.
"Carefully," she whispers, as he hovers at her elbows. "He's been asleep most of the way back, and it looked like he needed it."
"Where did you find him?" Chopper worries. Dimly he registers that the long pole Nami has the boy seated on isn't a pole at all, but a very familiar looking sword. But he doesn't have time to worry about why Nami might have found Law's sword and not Law himself. There's a kid who needs medical attention. Law would understand; he's sure of it.
"A couple of miles up the western mountain path, in the middle of the woods," she sighs, curling her hands under the boy's legs to keep him from slipping down her back. "He was awake when I found him; said his head hurt and he didn't know where he was." She glances back at where the kid's face is buried in her shoulder blades, breath light but steady. There's a look on her face that Chopper's familiar with, a twist to her mouth and eyebrows that tells him she's worried about other things she's not saying. She sighs. "Where can I put him, Chopper?"
"Over here," Chopper motions, trotting over to the Sunny's infirmary bed, made up neatly as it always was when it wasn't in use. Pulling back the covers, he waits as Nami carefully sits down on the bed and frees the boy from the sweater cocooning him to her back. Chopper sees a flinch go through his body at the sudden temperature change, and gently lays one hoof on his skin, hissing sympathetically through his teeth when he feels how chill it is.
"He was even colder before," Nami murmurs. "He…wasn't dressed for the weather."
Chopper just hums, taking the boy by the shoulders and gently laying him down on the bed, choosing to ignore how dirty parts of the boy are in favor of getting him warmed up as soon as possible. The boy lets out a small sigh as he places the blankets on top of him, unconsciously burrowing deeper into the soft fabric until nothing but a few ashy locks of hair are visible. "I'll get a hot water bottle going," he says to Nami, who is busy wrapping herself back up in her sweater. Frowning, Chopper takes in her red cheeks and ears, and the slight shiver wracking her frame.
"You should go take a hot bath," he says seriously. "You need to warm up, or you'll get sick, too."
"I wish," she says, rubbing her arms fiercely. "But I need to tell whichever of the Hearts is around that I found Torao's sword first. They'd want to know, and maybe we can narrow the search a bit."
"I don't like this," Chopper mumbles, worrying his front hooves together. "I don't like thinking about what could have separated them. He carries it everywhere."
"Like a security blanket, practically," Nami snarks, but Chopper doesn't need to see her face to know she's worried. "And whatever did ignored the kid." Nami shrugs. "I found him only a few feet away. Haven't figured out how to explain that, yet. Maybe it's a coincidence, I don't know." Chopper can see her fingers tightening around the sheath. "Anyway. Gonna go break the bad news, I guess. And then I promise I'll get warm. You'll keep an eye on him?" She chuckles at the face Chopper makes at the implication that he wouldn't. "Of course, stupid question."
She turns to leave but stops at the doorway. "You know," she says. "He didn't say much, but he did say he wanted to be a doctor. I told him you were the best." She grins. "Guess you have to prove it now."
She's gone before Chopper can finish being embarrassed.
It's the work of a moment to get that hot water battle prepped and slipped between the blankets at the boy's feet, and Chopper quickly finds himself with a patient he knows nothing about and nothing to do. Outwardly, the only real problem with the boy seems to be exposure to the cold, and Chopper doesn't want to investigate any further until he's awake; the last thing he wants is to do is make waking up in a strange infirmary an even more stressful situation for his little charge than it's already going to be.
Chopper peers at the boy curled up underneath all the blankets on the bed. He's not sure how old he is; human children aged inconsistently, and he'd not been around enough to have a good idea of what to look for. Pretty young, he thinks. Definitely too young to be so far away from any adult supervision, anyway. He was lucky Nami had stumbled across him when she did; too much longer exposed to the elements and he could have suffered permanent damage, or worse.
He trots over to his desk and settles himself in his chair, pulling out his patient log and making a new page for the boy. He didn't really have anything he could put down yet, nothing aside from an initial diagnosis and steps taken—Nami hadn't said she knew his name or anything, but it was a start. Best for him to just get some rest now. He'll feel much better when he wakes up, and then maybe Chopper can see about setting him fully to rights.
It's about half an hour later when he hears the kid's breathing shift, and the rustling of the blankets on the bed.
Turning slowly so as not to startle his little guest, Chopper is confronted by the kid sitting up in the bed, blankets still pulled halfway up his face. He's nothing but bedhead and a pair of oddly pale brownish-yellow eyes looking unblinkingly back at him, muzzy with sleep but still sharp. It's a good sign; Nami had implied he'd been pretty out of it when she'd found him.
"Oh good!" Chopper cheers quietly, hopping off his chair and walking over to the bed. The kid doesn't say anything, just continues to stare at him from over the hem of the blanket. "Are you feeling any better? You were really cold when Nami brought you in here."
There's a pause, as those eyes flick side to side, and Chopper goes still and silent, letting him examine his surroundings and doing his best to be as unthreatening as possible. Eventually, they land back on Chopper, and he blinks.
"What are you?"
The question isn't unexpected, and frankly, it's a lot more palatable than it normally would be when it's coming from a small child. "A doctor!" he says cheerfully. "Well, and a reindeer. But the important part is that I'm a doctor and I'm going to make sure you're okay."
Another pause. "You're a very small reindeer," the kid says bluntly.
Chopper laughs. "I guess! I can be bigger, but" he gestures around the room. "I wouldn't be able to move around as well in here if I was. So, I stay small."
The boy gives a small nod, as if that makes perfect sense to him, but doesn't say anything further. He just keeps staring, and Chopper's beginning to feel a bit awkward.
"Do you—have you seen reindeer before?" he ventures tentatively. The island was definitely too warm to sustain a herd, and too small besides, but picture books were things. And it's not like he looked like a standard reindeer right now, anyway; confusion was a reasonable reaction.
Another nod. "Outside the city. Mama says they come from the mountains." He pauses, brow furrowing, as if he's frustrated by something. "I don't think they were doctors. Can reindeer be doctors?"
"Normally no, but I'm special," Chopper says proudly. He elects not to try and explain in detail; the boy's eyes are starting to droop again, and if his body clearly wanted more rest, Chopper wasn't going to prevent him from getting it by telling stories. In retrospect, he should have noticed sooner; his calm demeanor suggested he was still suffering some fatigue from the exposure. Else he probably would be a lot more scared about his situation in general and Chopper in particular. "Why don't you get some more rest; I'll be right here when you wake up, and then we can talk some more."
"Mmm," is all the response he gets, and it almost sounds like a protest, but fatigue has clearly caught back up, and the kid slips back down onto the pillow, fingers still fisted in the hem of the blanket. Less than a minute later and he's back out, testament to how much he really needs the rest.
Chopper double checks his temperature once he's sure he's asleep and makes a pleased noise at how much warmer he seems. Not all the way back up to where he should be, but much closer, and he's confident that by the time the boy wakes up again his body will be back to normal temperatures, with perhaps just a lingering chill to worry about for a day or so. His lips had lost the blueish tinge they'd had when Nami brought him in, though he's still a bit pale for Chopper's liking.
With the blanket not covering his face anymore, he has a better look at the kid. Very pale, but on second glance, he's not sure if that's entirely due to the cold. There's not much to speak of, but there's enough flush in his cheeks to suggest that it might just be his natural state.
His hair is short, and mostly straight, curling slightly at the ends in every direction, and it's an odd color. Black, but instead of the deep saturated color of Robin or Luffy, there was a lighter cast to it, like something was affecting the keratin. It gave it an almost gray cast in the right light, and Chopper makes a note to put that in his file. He's not an expert, but he's pretty sure human children weren't supposed to be going gray this early in life if it wasn't their natural hair color.
There were a couple of other things he'd noticed, but he wanted a second opinion on those. They weren't strictly medical, but some of the things the kid had said didn't seem to be things he should have known, growing up on a tiny New World island like this one. And there was something about the way he talked; Chopper had spoken to him in Grand, on the assumption that he'd be able to understand. And he had, but there was something…off about it. Stilted.
He wrinkled his nose. If Robin hadn't been out in town looking for Law, he might ask her for help. Without knowing how old the boy was, he didn't know if limited vocabulary was normal for his age. As it was, he'd have to wait to satisfy his curiosity. It was more important to make sure the kid was healthy, anyway, than any oddities he might present.
It's another twenty minutes or so before Nami ducks in with a quiet knock, dressed in a new set of clothes and her hair wrapped up in a towel, clearly just done with that warm bath Chopper had told her to take.
"Hey," she says quietly. "Just wanted to let you know I followed doctor's orders, after I dropped the sword with Penguin. He was…upset. Understandably." She sighs, and then gestures to the bed. "How's he doing?"
Chopper trots over closer to the door, so as not to disturb the sleeping boy. "He's doing well. He woke up briefly, but he was still pretty out of it, so I didn't ask him anything." He hums. "But. There were a couple of weird things."
"Weird how?" Nami says.
"Well," Chopper starts. "He said he'd seen reindeer before—real ones--and I can't figure out how. He mentioned a city, but there's no cities on the island, and said something about 'the mountains' but there's only one, and it barely counts. There's no reindeer either." He heaves a small sigh. "And he seems to be having a little trouble talking. Did he say much when you found him?"
"No, just simple sentences," she confirms. "I thought it was just because he was tired and cold, but—" she pauses. "There was something else; about the mountain, like you said. He said he didn't believe it could be one, because there was no snow." Her mouth dips into a deep frown. "There's no snow on that mountain, Chopper. There's no snow on the entire island."
"Nami," Chopper says nervously. "Are we near anywhere like that?"
She shakes her head. "Not that I'm aware of." She sucks in a harsh breath. "Damn it. Damn it. I knew something was wrong. No shoes, no coat, in the middle of nowhere, no idea of what had happened; something's going on, Chopper. I don't like this."
There's another knock on the door, and both of them move away at the sound as it creaks open. Penguin slides silently through the door, carrying a covered dish in his hands.
"Hey," he says quietly, correctly reading the mood in the room. "How's your little foundling?"
"Asleep," Chopper whispers back. "He needs it." He decides, for the time being, to not elaborate on the things he and Nami had been talking about. No need to speculate too much until they can get some better answers. He nods towards what Penguin's carrying. "What's that?"
"Oh, this?" Penguin slides the cover back, releasing a cloud of steam and a very familiar smell. "I made soup. Thought maybe he'd want something warm to eat if he was up for food. And, you know—soup is great when you're feeling sick. Or something." There's a crooked, nervous smile visible from under the deep brim of his hat. "It's nothing special. Not compared to what your chef can do, anyway. Just one of these little kits Clione puts together for a quick meal—some freeze-dried vegetables and chicken, some rice. Basic stuff. Just drop it in some hot water and bang: soup." He replaces the cover on the bowl. "And it was something to keep me busy, for a little bit. Figured my nervous energy should benefit someone."
"Sorry I didn't have better news," Nami says softly.
Penguin shakes his head sharply. "You had news. That's something. And I raised everyone I could on the den dens to get them to regroup, so maybe they'll find something. It's just—" his mouth flattens to a thin line. "I need to feel like I'm doing something. I know someone had to stay behind, and I lost that coin toss, and it couldn't just be Uni because he's still got a bum leg and Law—Law wants him to stay off it as much as possible for a few more days, and what if there were an emergency? I get it. But I needed to do something, so: soup."
"Thank you," Chopper says honestly. "It's a great idea." He gestures at the table near the bed where their little guest is resting. "He's probably going to be asleep for a while longer, given how tired he looked when he woke up for a moment earlier, but when he does wake up it'll be a good idea to try and get food into him. We don't know how long he was out there."
"That's fine," Penguin says, walking quietly across the infirmary to place the bowl down where instructed. "The lid will keep it warm for a while, and I've got a whole pot still simmering back on the Tang." He glances down at the small form lying in the bed. "Wish I could say I was surprised someone might have dumped a kid outside in a cold forest like this, but so what else is fucking n—"
Penguin's bitter words screech to a halt, tangling together in a subvocal noise that has Chopper's ears flattening against his head.
"Penguin…?" Nami ventures tentatively. The man in question has frozen in place.
Penguin says something distantly in a language Chopper doesn't understand—Northern, probably; there are too many languages in the Blue Seas, if you asked him, and it sounded kind of like the few words he'd heard before. A glance at Nami tells him she's not sure what's going on either.
"Penguin," Nami says more firmly. "Seriously. You're freaking us out."
"This is fucking impossible," Penguin mutters, finally having worked himself back into Grand. "He can't just—it's not possible." His hand twitches in the direction of the sleeping kid on the bed, only to jerk immediately back like he's been burned.
"What's not possible," Nami says suspiciously, marching over to stand next to him and getting close enough to peer up under the brim of his hat. "Penguin, if you have a problem with the kid, then there's going to be issues."
"Oh," Penguin chuckles nervously. "No. No I. I definitely do not have a problem with the—the kid. Far from it." He looks back down at the bed, still acting like he'd seen a ghost. "But it's still impossible."
"How can it not be possible?" Nami grates. "You just said, not a minute ago, that you're not surprised someone might have dumped a kid. Which, yeah! That's fucked up! But people are terrible, so it's definitely possible."
"No, you don't—" Penguin buries his face in his hands and Chopper can hear a barely-suppressed scream. Nami presses forward though, never one to let go when she scents blood in a conversation, and Chopper is beginning to feel very awkward and like maybe he should intervene before one of them raises their voices too much and wakes his patient up.
But when Penguin emerges from behind his fingers, it's to grit out a single sentence that turns the conversation on its head.
"It's not possible, because this is Law."
In the aftermath of those words, a pin could have dropped out on deck, and Chopper thinks it still would have sounded like a cannonball.
"You have to be mistaken," he starts nervously, when the silence starts to go on too long. "It's just…you're worried, and—"
He stops when Nami snaps her hand up sharply, a gesture for silence.
"You wouldn't joke about something like this," Nami says flatly. Penguin shakes his head emphatically. "I would—we would never joke about something like this. About our captains. Not after—after fucking Sabaody and what went down in the war. Dressrosa and Zou. Not after what our idiots did at Onigashima."
"Never."
Nami lets out a shaky breath, lowering her hand and taking a step back out of Penguin's space to stare down at. Well, at Law, Chopper supposes. If Penguin's words were to be believed, anyway.
"Fuck," Nami whispers under her breath.
"I don't understand, though," Chopper says, still skeptical, trotting over to stand by the bedside. "His coloring is off. Law's eyes and hair and skin don't look like that. And humans don't change their coloring like animals do." He tilts his head to the side, studying the face of the kid in the bed, still asleep and oblivious to the panic he's causing right above his head.
There's nothing really to suggest to Chopper that this kid and Law are the same person, but he hasn't known him for very long, at least, not compared to Penguin, and he's always been bad with human faces. The kid's face is much rounder than Law's is, but most human children seem to be that way so long as they're not malnourished. Maybe it's just that when he thinks of Law, he thinks of tattoos and spots and an air of stern, quiet competence, and those aren't things any kids are going to have. "If this is him, something has to have happened."
"I mean, yeah. There are—there are reasons for that," Penguin says hastily. "Reasons that hadn't quite stopped being an issue when we met him. Me and Shachi and Bepo, I mean. The rest of the crew never…they wouldn't—" He makes a strangled noise. "Seas, how old is he, we met him when he was fucking thirteen and this has to be years—" He stops abruptly.
"Oh shit," he whispers. "He's—if he's this young, then…" he trails off, and turns to start pacing the length of the infirmary. Both Nami and Chopper just watch, because what else can they do? Penguin seems to be the only one with any handle on what was going on and doing anything while he's still collecting himself feels an awful lot like it would be overstepping.
"Chopper," Penguin finally says, very seriously, and Chopper snaps to attention. "I can't tell you why, and I'm sorry—I know that's unfair and unhelpful, but I really can't—I need you to know that Law, like this? Is very sick." His hand gestures are emphatic, punctuating the tone of his voice. "All I can tell you is that it's not contagious, and if he's as young as I think—as I hope he is, I guess, in this case—then it shouldn't be too much of a problem. Yet. I don't think. Seas, Law why couldn't you have been more descriptive about this shit, would have been helpful." His voice trails off to a mumble, lost in his own words.
Chopper inhales. That…wasn't what he was expecting at all, but—okay. It's okay. He can handle sickness.
"It'll be harder not knowing what to look for," he says, keeping his voice as even and professional as he can. "When he wakes up, I can ask if he's got any symptoms—"
"No, that's the problem," Penguin interrupts. "He doesn't know he's sick. I mean, I don't think he does. And we can't tell him. And I can't tell you."
When Chopper opens his mouth to protest, Penguin shuts him down. "I mean it. If he doesn't know, we can't. And if he does know, he probably won't tell you anyway. I'm not putting him through—" He sighs. "Trust me on this, Chopper. It'd only hurt him."
He looks so upset that Chopper can only nod, even as his mind begins working overtime. Law had been sick as a child? And had been for a significant enough portion of his life that Penguin knew he was even if he didn't know how old he was exactly? When he'd clearly never seen Law this young?
"We have to call everyone back," Nami says, snapping them both back to the situation at hand. "And we need to talk to the k—Law. We need to talk to Law. We need any bit of information he can give us about what happened to him."
"I need to get Bepo and Shachi," Penguin says. "Before we talk to the rest of the crew. We need to decide how we're presenting this. Law keeps his secrets for a reason."
"Ominous," Nami mutters. "But okay. I'll raise our people and you get yours, and we'll have a huddle in the Sunny's kitchen about this. Not everyone; just people he's already met, your boys, and anyone else we think can be trusted to be level-headed enough to be in the room for this." She looks down at Chopper. "Do you think he'd be okay to talk in an hour or so? The island's not that big; I don't think it'd take any longer than that for everyone to get back."
"I'd really like him to get to sleep as much as he needs," Chopper says, worrying at his front hooves. "But…we can't really do anything else until we figure out what happened, can we?" He sighs. "I can make sure he's up."
"Thanks, Chopper," Penguin says quietly. "And thank you both. For understanding."
"Talk to me about understanding once we actually understand what happened," Nami grouses. "Until then, let's just make sure we're all on the same page."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was by no means an uncommon thing for them to find themselves involved in a crisis or mystery within hours of landing on a new island, but even Robin had to admit that this situation was unusual, even for them.
Her efforts to find news about Law in town had run up against any number of roadblocks; as polite as the villagers were, they seemed entirely unconcerned about a stranger having gone missing somewhere in their backyard, to the point that Robin had begun to consider utilizing the useful surveillance skills afforded her by her devil fruit. If there was something they weren't saying, an ear or eye in the right place might catch what they weren't willing to admit in front of outsiders. If Law was really missing then time was of the essence, and at this point she didn't particularly care about the invasion of privacy.
But then Nami had called, urging all of them back to the ships as soon as they could get there, and Robin knew their navigator well enough to catch that she didn't sound happy, or relieved, as one might be if a missing person had been found. Which had spurred her to return all the sooner; she was getting nothing of worth done in town, and the way Nami had spoken made her think they were in for some bad news.
What she hadn't been expecting was to arrive back to the Sunny to find Chopper worrying himself sick on the deck, or one Law's closest crewmates looking ready to commit murder or burst into tears, a far cry from his normally easygoing nature. Only Nami seemed to be totally functional, if still unsettled, and as Robin was the first of either crew to make it back, she had the pleasure of being the first person to be filled in on their little problem.
With 'little' being the operative word.
It was a frankly shocking revelation, but Robin had experience compartmentalizing and set the why and how of the problem aside for later. This situation could quickly spiral out of control as more people walked into the conversation, which was why Robin had immediately found herself on board with the suggestion that they have a short talk with, well, with Law, she supposed. A Law, anyway.
Chopper had insisted that not too many people be present, for fear of frightening him, and as the rest of the crew trickled back to be informed of what was going on, a small group self-selected itself. Brook and Franky had excused themselves promptly, citing the possibility of scaring him, with Jinbei following close after, making sure they knew to call them if anything was needed. Usopp had opted out, stating that his heart was too delicate for this sort of insanity, retreating to his workshop as he often did when he was stressed. And Zoro had, upon receiving the explanation for what was going on, taken one look at Luffy's starry-eyed desire to meet "Little Torao" and had grabbed their captain and bodily marched him out of the kitchen, muttering about this sort of shit being too complicated.
Chopper would be there, of course, and Nami, because this small version of Law had already met her and seemed to like her well enough. Sanji had refused to leave, stating that he didn't care if the kid was Law or a random urchin Nami had found by the side of the road, Chopper had said he was sick and the least he could do was get some proper nutrition into him. (No one had felt like bringing up the sort of feelings a small lost child might engender in their prickly cook). And Robin was there because unraveling this sort of mystery was going to require a logical approach, and there were too many emotions running high in the room for them not to need her ability to take the logical approach.
Bepo, Penguin and Shachi had stayed, but they hadn't contacted any of the other Heart Pirates, Penguin insisting that worrying them could wait until they had a better handle on the situation. All three of their backs were up though, and Robin was sure that if the Hearts and the Straw Hats hadn't had such a convivial relationship, or if they'd been unaware of just how seriously Chopper took the well-being of patients in his care, they might be having a very different sort of conversation. Still, the choice to not tell the rest of their crew what was happening yet was an interesting one, and given how close they all were, she had to wonder at the reasoning.
When Chopper finally leads the supposed miniature version of the captain of the Heart Pirates into the kitchen, she can immediately see why Nami and Chopper hadn't immediately clocked who they were looking at. Leaving aside that it's strange to see Law looking so…soft, for lack of a better word, his coloring is off. Law is a person of harsh contrasts, of blacks and golds and deep blues, bright eyes and dark hair and a skin tone that hovered in that nebulous place where it could have been natural or could have been the result of the sun, but this little kid is not. It's like all those colors have been washed out and made paler, his hair an almost gray and skin pale, made even starker by the fact that he's being swallowed by Sanji's old blue hoodie, the first thing any of them had been able to find to keep him warm.
The way he stares though, as if he's trying to digest everything around him silently, is very much Law, even though it's clear he's nervous about what's going on. There's no hat on his head for him to hide behind, and Robin can see how big his eyes are from here. It must be very upsetting, to walk into a room of strangers, all of them staring at you intently with no knowledge as to why that might be the case.
"Come on, there's a seat for you right here," Nami says, patting the chair next to the one she was sitting in, and Robin smothers a smile. Nami and Law's interactions could generally be classified as 'amicably combative,' in that they were both extremely stubborn people who didn't like admitting when they were wrong, but Nami had always been soft on children, and clearly it didn't matter who that child was.
After a couple of moments of silent staring he complies, shuffling over slowly, eyes never leaving the three Heart Pirates on the other side of the chair. Well, mostly Bepo, if Robin had to guess, who was doing his best to look as small and non-threatening as possible, but who unfortunately couldn't hide the fact that he was a seven-foot-tall bear.
He clambers into the chair quietly, hands politely folded in his lap, and looks around the room nervously. Bepo gives him a little wave and a toothy smile, which Robin thinks might not be the best decision, all things considered. But he gets a shy smile and a tentative wave back from their little guest, so no harm done, she supposes.
Shachi is the one to make the first move.
"Hey bud," he says quietly, speaking in Northern and leaning a little closer to Law's chair. "I know this is scary, but no one here is gonna hurt you. We just want to figure out what happened so we can help you out, is all."
It's like flipping a switch.
Robin is intimately familiar with the way a shared language can break down barriers, but the way Law immediately perks up at the sound of Northern is more than a little heartbreaking. Nami and Chopper had both described him as quiet and speaking little, and even then, only in short, slow sentences. But it's obvious now that that's only because this Law doesn't have the best handle on Grand yet. Not to mention the fact that waking up the way he had must have put him on edge anyway. It was perfectly natural for them to have assumed he wasn't talking simply because he was scared.
"What's going on? I was at home and then I was in a forest and I've never seen a forest like that, and I don't where I am. Are we on a boat? I've never been on a boat before and I can't really understand these people all that well and the doctor is a reindeer and I don't understand and I just wanna go home."
By this point he's clinging tightly to Shachi's sleeve with both hands, and the man in question doesn't look like he knows what to do, free arm wavering between looking like it wanted to embrace the boy or grab the edge of the table and hang on for dear life.
"Whoa whoa, slow down," Sanji says, maneuvering his way out of the kitchen with a plate and a mug of something steaming. "We'll listen to everything you have to say, but one thing at a time, all right?" He places the dishes directly in front of Law, who turns back from where he's latched on to Shachi's arm to give the cook a quizzical look. "You must be hungry, right? Can't talk on an empty stomach."
"Oh. Thank you." Law reaches over and picks up one of the balls of rice sitting on the plate, turning it over in his hands, eyebrows furrowed in a way that, Robin has to admit, is rather adorable. "Excuse me," he says, polite as anything. "But what are they? I've never seen something like this before."
"Ah, right," Sanji says softly. "North Blue doesn't really do rice like this, so it's not surprising that you haven't." He points to the plate of onigiri. "There's fish inside, mixed with a couple other things. Nothing too fancy; didn't want to overload your stomach just yet. And the cup is just some peppermint tea. Good for digestion and to keep you warm." He shrugs. "Something tells me you'll like it just fine."
Robin smothers a smile behind one hand. Sanji had never forgotten the food preferences of a single person he'd ever served. The choice of food was no more a coincidence than Sanji deigning to speak Northern during this exchange was. Normally, getting the man to admit he even knew the language was like pulling teeth, though he'd begun loosening up about it recently, all things considered. Still, the fact that he'd made the effort at all was encouraging. The more people this Law knew he could talk to fluently, the better.
"You sound like a doctor," Law muses, staring at the food in his hand intently.
"I'm a chef. It's my job to make sure everyone gets proper nutrition," Sanji says proudly. "So eat up, squirt; you need it, and no one goes hungry in my kitchen." With a little wave, he turns and walks back to his prep station, and soon the steady sound of his knife resumes.
Robin sees Law's nose wrinkle a bit at the name, but he complies readily enough, taking a tentative bite off the top of the onigiri in his hand, swiftly followed by a much larger one, and another. Soon, the rice ball is gone, and he's downed half the cup of tea, and is reaching for more food.
Robin lets him eat for a bit, both because his appetite suggests he does need it, and because it will help him relax. There's a possibility that once she starts asking questions, he's going to get upset, and she'd rather he has a decent amount of food in him before she starts.
Soon though, he's finished a second rice ball and is moving at a slower pace through a third, and Robin figures it's time. Slowly, she leans forward, elbows on the table and head resting in her hands, doing her best to seem as unthreatening as possible. This Law is clearly less paranoid than his adult counterpart, and this is obviously before whatever pivotal life event set him on his current path in life, but Robin knows better than to underestimate children. It takes far less than people think to make them clam up, and that is the last thing they need right now.
"Hello," she says quietly, catching his eyes and smiling softly. Northern isn't her best language, but it's more than enough for this. "My name is Robin. Can you tell me yours?"
The hesitation is expected, but she doesn't push. He's trying to decide if he trusts them, and that's not a process that can be rushed.
"Trafalgar Law," he says after a moment. As expected, he doesn't say any more than that, and Robin watches the Heart Pirates relax just a hair from where they'd tensed up at the mention of names. Understandable, considering what Law had told her.
"Hello, Law," Robin says. "It's nice to meet you. Can you tell me how old you are?"
"Six," comes the dutiful reply. "But I'm almost seven." The last part is said with the utmost gravity, and Robin nods. Older than any of them had thought, based on his appearance, but still quite young.
"And Nami tells me you don't have any memory of what happened or how you ended up where she found you?"
He shakes his head. "I was reading a book at home and then I was on the ground in the forest. It was like I fell over, but I wasn't standing. I was on the couch. And my head hurt all of a sudden, but I didn't hit it." His face screws up as he clearly tries to think harder about what had happened. "I remember thinking it was weird that the trees and all the plants were the wrong color. And then I remembered that you weren't supposed to go anywhere if you're lost so I didn't move. Even though it was cold."
"The wrong color?" Sanji murmurs from the kitchen. "What color were you expecting?"
"White," Law says simply. "I mean, I've heard about green trees. They talk about them in books. But I've never seen them before. It makes the forest look real dark."
It's such a small thing, that comment, made in innocence, but it's like the room stands still. The quick precise noises of Sanji's knife fall silent, and Robin can see the Heart Pirates tense up from across the table. Nami and Chopper clearly don't know what's just transpired, locked out by the language barrier, but only Nami seems to be aware she's missed something, because her eyes narrow and she shoots Robin a glance that promises she'll be demanding an explanation later. It's for the best, really; there was no way that Chopper wouldn't know about what was arguably the biggest medical disaster in modern history, and bless his little heart, he was not subtle.
And oh, how that one word makes her so angry.
She had already been angry, when she'd come back from town and been pulled aside to be told what happened. Even without any of the details as to the how or why, there was an immediate issue with the younger version of Law appearing before them, and that was that Law, like Robin, like everyone, had his secrets, and this small, blameless child could spill them all, and none of them could do anything about it.
Robin had known for some time that there were things in Law's background that had affected him deeply; things he wasn't saying. Back during Dressrosa—earlier, really, if she was being totally honest—it had become uncomfortably obvious that his targeting of Doflamingo came from a deeply hurt, raw place. Robin had never gotten the specifics about what had driven him so hard, and she'd never ask; some things weren't to be shared, no matter what well-meaning folks said about unburdening yourself of your troubles. And if they were, it was the utmost gesture of trust.
But he'd admitted to having once been part of Doflamingo's crew, and that was not a place one ended up without something having gone horribly wrong first.
It's obvious now, what that thing had been, and that's why Robin is so coldly, incandescently angry. Because Law—the Law they know, the one who's lived and grown around the scars of his personal tragedy—has not chosen himself to speak about this. His secrets are suddenly not his to share, and this small, innocent child that shares his name is entirely faultless. He has no context. He has no knowledge of the things coming down the road for him. There is no villain here, just unfortunate happenstance, and that's what makes this so hard.
Bitterly, Robin wishes they had someone they could point to as the cause of this mess. But as of right now, there isn't one, and the last thing this boy needs is to see anger from people who are literal strangers to him.
So instead, she folds her hands together and simply says: "You must be from Flevance, then. It's the only place I know of with white plants."
He nods, and oh, the little smile he cracks at the recognition. If there is a human element behind this time travel, she is going to take a pound of flesh from them when all is said and done.
"Yes! Do you know how to get there from here?" He pauses, brow furrowing. "Or wait, are we far away? It's not too long of a trip, right?"
"No," Robin says as gently as possible. "No, we're not near Flevance." And then, because he deserves to know: "we are on an island called Kairos, in the second half of the Grand Line, in the New World."
Law goes very still. "And that's…far?" His voice is very small, but his eyes are wide, and they're all but begging her not to lie to him. Poor, brave little boy.
"No," she says quietly, and hates that it must be this way. "No, we are very far away."
"Oh," is all he says. He pulls his knees up onto the seat of the chair and wraps his arms around them tightly, face buried in the crease between his legs. Even from across the table, Robin can tell he's trying very hard not to cry.
"Ok," Penguin says, voice low and serious. "I think we're done here." He glares across the table as if daring Robin to continue her questions, but she only nods, and he relaxes a hair.
Bepo shuffles over to kneel next to the chair, still towering over the small figure who's tucked himself into as small a ball as possible.
"I'm sorry, Law," he says, tentatively laying one hand gently across the boy's back. "We really are here to help you though. We'll do our best to get you back home. I promise."
Maybe it's because he's the first person to make physical contact with him, but Law crumples, falling into Bepo's chest face first, shaking with quiet sobs. It's all the permission the navigator needs to scoop him up and cradle him against him, face a war zone of emotions as he makes soothing noises at the child in his arms.
"Do you mind if he stays in your infirmary tonight?" Penguin says to Chopper, who has been making increasingly upset faces from his end of the table. "We don't have anything set up that's suitable for kids and…the three of us need to talk to the rest of the crew, before—" He stops, mouth a grim line. "Well—before."
"Of course," Chopper says. "The bed is his for as long as he needs it." He hops down from his chair with a look at where Bepo still has Law bundled up in his arms. "Come on. Let's get him put to bed. It's late. Maybe things will look better in the morning."
"I'll come help you get him settled," Nami says quietly, also rising. "I can catch the rest of what gets discussed later." The glance she shoots Robin as their party exits the kitchen promises that she's going to want every detail.
The door has barely shut behind them when Sanji breaks the silence.
"Fucking hell."
It's just them, Shachi and Penguin in the room now, and the latter turns to Robin, face blank. "I don't think I need to stress how important it is this information doesn't get out," he says, and the threat is so clear it's almost charming.
"Torao has extended me a level of trust that I am frankly honored to have been the recipient of," Robin says. "It would be a gross violation of that to share such a thing. And you must know Sanji is good at keeping secrets. No one will hear this from us. And, if our little guest is feeling particularly talkative, no one will hear it from anyone else on this ship either, I assure you."
"Glad to hear it, but what the hell are you talking about?" Penguin deadpans. "I'm not saying he doesn't like you or anything, no matter how he acts, but you have to understand my skepticism. As you might have noticed, the captain isn't big on trust."
"We had a conversation, back in Wano," Robin says simply. "He was seeking my input on something important to him. Unfortunately, I was unable to help him answer the questions he had."
"Something important?" Penguin muses thoughtfully, but Shachi's head shoots up, a frantic hiss snaking its way through his teeth.
"Four words?" is all he says.
"Or three and a half, depending on how you're counting," she answers easily. Penguin stiffens, clearly having realized what they're talking about, but the simple exchange seems to do the trick.
"Shit," he breathes, relaxing back into his chair. "He really did tell you." He glances at Shachi, who looks equally as dumbfounded. "Hell, I thought if he was ever going to share that with one of you, it'd be Straw Hat for—well, you know why."
"I've always thought we had a lot in common," Robin deflects gently. "We both like to know things. Apparently, I was more right than I thought." She grimaces. "I wish that that wasn't the case."
"I remember hearing about the destruction, when I was little," Sanji says, joining them at the table. He places a pile of more rice balls in the center of the table before taking a seat. Stress cooking, Robin reflects. "Judge thought it was brilliant; said it had to be some sort of cover-up, since he knew the royals made it out. He always approved of that sort of ruthlessness. Held it up as an example." He makes a face, his lip curling in disgust. "I'm guessing the bastard was on to something."
"Yeah. And if the royals are still out there, they best hope we don't find them," Penguin mutters. "Because I don't think they leave that encounter alive."
Sanji looks up from where he's lighting a cigarette. "I suppose it makes sense, that they'd be on Law's hit list. Can't really blame him."
"Who said it was his idea at all?"
"All right," Robin says, before this conversation can get any more keyed up. "Chopper was right about one thing: it's late, and we're going in circles. I don't think we were going to get any more useful information anyway, even if we were so cold as to keep pressing him for information. He clearly has no idea what's going on, and it does no one any good, least of all him, to keep harping on it."
Shachi leans back in his chair. "Question is, what are we supposed to do next?"
"He's your captain," Sanji says. "That means you get to call the shots. We're just here for support. We'll follow your lead."
"Even Straw Hat?" Penguin says, crossing his arms. "He's not subtle, your captain. And we can't just go telling the kid who he is to us. Then we'd have to explain why and—hell, I'm not signing up to explain all the things that happened to him for that to be the case. Not when he's got at least three years of happiness left. It'd just be too confusing for him. And fucking sad." He lets his head fall over the back of his chair. "Six. Fucking hell."
"Luffy can be surprisingly insightful at times," Robin says. "And he's good with children, as you may have noticed." She leans a hand against her cheek, tapping her fingers thoughtfully. "I think as long as everyone is on the same page before little Law wakes up in the morning, we'll be okay. And we can make sure to mention the things that shouldn't get discussed unless it becomes unavoidable."
"We still need to talk to the rest of the crew. Especially since Law's origins…aren't common knowledge. And then—I guess we figure out what to do next? Seas, where do we even start with this, this is weird, even for the New World." Shachi removes his hat and runs his fingers through his flyaway hair. "And I really wish it would stop finding ways to separate us from Law."
"I'm going to go back into town in the morning," Robin says. "No one was particularly forthcoming earlier when I asked if any of them had seen Law earlier, but I caught several people glancing towards the mountain. Given where Nami found him, I'm beginning to think that's not a coincidence. And small-town secrets aren't usually shared with outsiders." She smiles. "Fortunately, separating people from their secrets is one of my specialties."
"It's a good of a place to begin as any, I suppose," Penguin sighs, and stands to leave, Shachi quickly following. "Maybe once we fill the rest of the crew in, they'll have some other ideas."
"If that conversation goes well, you mean," Shachi mutters. "I'm gonna go grab Bepo. Meet you outside."
"Yeah," is all Penguin says, sighing heavily as Shachi stomps out, the door falling closed behind him loudly. He shakes his head to himself, as if trying to banish all thoughts of the worst outcome before moving to make his own exit.
"Penguin," Robin says before the man can follow his friend entirely out the door. "We will get him back."
"You can't promise that, Robin," he replies, not even bothering to turn around. "But…thanks."
Unfortunately, it's nothing but the truth.
Chapter 3: Breakdown
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Against all expectations, he wakes up.
His head is still pounding, an unrelenting drum against the inside of his skull, and all he wants to do is fall back into oblivion until it passes. While he's certainly no stranger to forcing himself through pain to get things done, he's done an awful lot of that lately, and he'd been hoping for a longer reprieve before having to do it again. Hell, he'd barely taken the last of his bandages off two days ago, the injuries from the raid having finally reached the point where they were ugly bruises and aches more than anything else. He'd kind of hoped he'd at least get to let them fade entirely.
At least whatever he's lying on is soft, and it takes all his willpower to ignore the desire to just turn on his side and burrow deeper into the comfortable give of the material, even if the fact that his legs were dangling loosely off the edge of whatever this was ruins the effect somewhat. There's something very calming about where he's found himself, a light floral scent to the fabric that he can't quite place but that his brain is registering as inherently safe. It's not a feeling he experiences a lot outside the Tang, and it should make him suspicious, but he's so tired and his observation haki can't detect any threats nearby, just two strangers that—
Wait.
It's only the lifetime of practice he's had at burying his outward reactions that keeps him from jolting to his feet as his thoughts go from syrupy slowness to the sharp edge of panic.
One breath, then two. In, and out. The familiar mantra of touch and smell and every other sensation he can sort through, a litany against the many panic attacks he's experienced over the years. He cannot afford to panic right now. If he can keep his head in front of two Emperors of the Sea, he can damn well keep it in the face of a nightmare. Because that's what this has to be, right?
He falls back on his skills at compartmentalization, honed over a decade and more of needing to put his own issues on the mental backburner to keep surviving. The part of his brain that's still trying to figure out what the fuck is going on feels like it's chiefly composed of molasses, because of course the traitorous lump of neurons in his skull wouldn't even give him the benefit of a few moments of peace before throwing him back into…whatever this was. Dream, hallucination; overdue mental breakdown, perhaps? Had the stress of the last few months finally caught up with him, or was it just his fault for thinking he might have had a chance to relax for once?
Maybe he'd hit his head. He very well could be lying face down in a ditch in the woods somewhere, unconscious, and ignominiously awaiting one of his crew members to haul him out of there, despite no memory of tripping or being ambushed during his walk. If he is, that's a bad sign, because his brief flash of seeming lucidity before he'd passed out again had told him he was inside a building, and he was pretty sure your standard mountain forest was utterly lacking in upholstered furniture.
He probably wasn't dead at least, despite his initial assessment, and he's not sure if that's a mercy or not yet. If he was, death had a shitty sense of humor, and a cruel streak. Which might as well be par for the course based on how the rest of his life had gone, but Law had long since avowed a strict adherence to atheism, if only to keep the philosophical part of his brain from running in constant, self-destructive circles.
But the two people he'd seen before collapsing were very, very dead, so the options outside of "the afterlife, I guess" were slim. Not impossible, but slim.
But, on the off chance his body wasn't a quickly cooling corpse, what was this? Traumatic brain injury? Coma? No, probably not. While head injuries were complicated at their most straightforward, it's likely that he wouldn't be able to imagine or think about anything to this degree of complexity if he'd been hurt in that fashion. And even if this is all in his head, a cursory mental check tells him that he's not nursing any new injuries on top of the ones he'd already had.
Huh. That might be a strike against the death theory, now he thought about it. He was no expert, but it seemed to him that whatever happened after death shouldn't involve the worries of mortal flesh. Not banal aches and pains like cracked, healing ribs, and splitting headaches, anyway. It would be a terribly underwhelming thing, to have to deal with things like that in the afterlife.
Unfortunately, death or injury were the simpler conclusions to this predicament. The rest of the possibilities Law could think of offered far more in the way of concerning implications.
What he'd seen could be the result of a devil fruit; he knew there were some that could do things such as alter appearances, and if something like Sugar's devil fruit existed, where it could remotely wipe the memory of the victim from everyone they'd ever had contact with, then it was entirely possible that there were others with similarly mid-altering properties. Or mind reading ones; he can't think of any other good reason for what he'd seen before passing out to reflect his own memories so eerily.
The two people he'd seen could be conjured illusions, or they could be disguised by some sort of power to convince him to let his guard down. Maybe what he was seeing was his memories being thrown outward into the world like the deepest corners of his mind were being broadcast on a damn projector snail. He didn't know; he didn't have enough information. And he wouldn't get any more just by laying here, pretending to still be unconscious.
Though, if the other two figures in the room—he refuses to call them by the familiar names stubbornly bubbling up in the back of his head—were trying at all to be subtle about trying to entrap or trick him, they were doing a very bad job of it.
"What do we do?"
"How should I know? I wasn't expecting any of this. I certainly wasn't expecting a stranger to just fall out of a rip in reality into our living room when I got up this morning."
Excuse me, a what now?
"Well, we can't just leave him here, he's going to wake up, and you heard what he said. He's clearly confused." Yes, that was accurate. He was very confused. More so with each second he spent eavesdropping on this conversation.
"Or he could be trying to trick us! Maybe he's the reason Law disappeared! Did you even think about that?"
Law feels his breath hitch at the accusation. Wait. That makes no—that makes less sense. He wasn't here—mentally or physically or whatever this was—before, how could he have been missing already?
"Oh! He's waking up!"
Well, there was no point in pretending anymore, with his reaction having clearly given him away, so Law cautiously lets his eyes crack open.
The two people from before are cautiously leaning over him, and Law uses the excuse of having just woken up to take in their faces, things he'd never thought he'd see again. After all, it wasn't often that a person woke up to the apparent situation of both their dead parents alive and well. Law had seen them plenty in his nightmares, but almost always riddled full of the bullets that had killed them or turning to ash in the fire that had destroyed the hospital. Very rarely were they good dreams; sometimes he thought he couldn't really have good dreams anymore.
His—well, his mother he guesses, there really wasn't a better name to give her at the moment— looks worried, if less tired than he remembers, pale brown hair tied back neatly in a low ponytail, practical and efficient. There's a furrow in her brow, like she's trying to work out who he is and where he's come from. It's a very familiar expression; he sees it in the mirror all the time.
His father, by contrast, is like looking at his actual reflection, with the facial features smudged a little, washed out and paler. Thin, wire-rimmed glasses sit perched on the arch of a familiar nose, and Law reflects on all the times he's considered acquiring a pair for reading, only to be stopped by the inevitable memories seeing himself wearing them would have engendered. It's even worse than he thought; like his mother, he looks less worn down than Law remembers—younger and less gaunt. None of the constant five o'clock shadow he remembers him sporting. Frighteningly close in age to himself, now he thinks about it, which is making this whole situation that much worse.
He's also brandishing a fireplace poker, and Law can't remember ever feeling less threatened in his life since the time Penguin and Shachi tried to square up to him over Bepo when they were kids. It'd be hilarious if Law weren't on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
"Are you all right?"
The Flevish words are familiar, but it's been so long since he's heard them said correctly, he almost misses their meaning entirely. If this is a dream, or a hallucination, or the machinations of a devil fruit, it's pulling at all the memories he's thought he's forgotten. Or maybe it's reconstructing them to fool his brain, and he's hearing a facsimile, inauthentic but close enough to trigger the nostalgia he's kept buried somewhere deep in his chest cavity, locked away only to be perused over in private.
But his mother's voice dances easily over the words, little details to the pronunciation that his friends, though enthusiastic in trying to learn something that Law deemed so important, had never perfected. Law had never pushed it that hard; there had never seemed to be a real point in making them stress too much over a dead language. It'd been enough that they cared to try. But the urge to call himself a liar and a fool is strong right now, when four little words are enough to make him want to listen forever. Or just cry.
She must take his staring for a lack of understanding because she repeats the words in Northern, and then, when Law keeps staring, in heavily accented but perfectly serviceable Grand.
"Sorry," he finds himself saying absently. "I just—" He stops, thinking about the best way to address this. "I'm not—I'm not entirely sure what is happening." Which is true. He has no idea what is going on, and he very much would like to, if only so he could figure out if he should be panicking or not.
"Oh, you're local! That makes things easier," she says with what seems to be not a little amount of relief, and Law realizes he must have responded in Flevish on instinct. He didn't know he could still do that. "We weren't sure, because of the whole—" She grits her teeth, eyebrows knit together, as she gestures vaguely at the air above the couch that he's still reclining on. "—portal in the air, uh. Thing."
Law blinks. "The what?" That was the second time they'd alluded to something like that.
"Oh, well—" she starts, and she looks embarrassed. If this is a person trying to get him to let his guard down, they're a spectacular actress. She's got the 'awkward-but-helpful stranger' vibe down pat. "It's just—you came tumbling into the living room from approximately three feet above the couch, and it looked like you fell through something, so. I didn't really have another word I could think of to describe it."
"What sort of person just teleports into people's houses, anyway?" his father—he's just going to have to use the familial terminology, there's no way for his head to work around it—says far more suspiciously, arms still raised like he's trying to be properly intimidating. "Where did you even come from, and why are you here, in our living room, and where in the name of all that is holy is our son?"
Right here, Law thinks bemusedly. That's the second time they've mentioned him being missing.
His mother sighs. "Lucas, put the damn poker down. You're not scaring anyone." She sounds so exasperated Law almost bursts into hysterical laughter on the spot. This is a farce, wrapped in a nightmare. He can't figure out what emotion to feel because he's feeling all of them, simultaneously.
"But Maia—"
"That's new," Law hears his own voice interrupt. "The portal thing I mean. I don't—that's not something I normally do. Or did. Or was expecting to happen." His own spatial displacement abilities were entirely of his own volition, thank you very much. A "rip in reality" was very much not. "I—I haven't been in Flevance for a very long time," he continues, rambling. "So I don't know why I'm…here."
He watches his mother's shoulders droop, and his father covers his face with his hands and starts pacing. "I was afraid you were going to say that," she says quietly. "We were hoping you'd be able to explain things, but given your reactions, I suppose it was too much to hope for." At his blank expression, she clarifies. "Our son. He's missing. He was sitting here in this room, and then we heard a yell, and we ran in to see you fall out of a rip in the air, and him nowhere to be found."
"Oh," Law says. That has…a lot of very bad implications. "No, that—that seems like a very natural reaction to have, I guess." He takes their silence to study them closer. They're younger than he remembers, but not by too much, he thinks. It was hard to tell; sixteen years—no, it was almost seventeen now, wasn't it?—had blurred his memories of his family significantly enough that he can't tell. Most of the strongest memories he has left are from the bad days immediately before Flevance had fallen, when they were tired and sick, or riddled full of bullets. It's weird to see them like this. Is whatever is causing this dream or hallucination or devil fruit-induced illusion pulling from his deepest subconscious? Or is it filling in things and making him think he's remembered it himself?
"He's just six," his father grumbles tiredly from his corner. "We've barely let him go outside unsupervised before, and now something or someone has grabbed him and taken him who knows where, and—" He finally puts down the poker, but his hands seem to feel the need to grab something, because they keep clenching and unclenching as he continues pacing. He doesn't finish the sentence, but Law wouldn't have paid it much attention anyway. Not with the bombshell he'd just accidentally dropped.
Six years old. Twenty years. Law's brain immediately latches on to the time frame. That's how long Kin'emon and the others were sent forward in the future. Is there an equivalent to Kozuki Toki's devil fruit, but for the past instead of the future?
Am I in the past?
No, because that would mean this was real, and this can't be real.
"I'm sorry, we haven't even introduced ourselves, and here we are interrogating you when you have no idea what's going on yourself." His mother is clearly trying to hold things together, and Law can't fault her for her emotional state. Of course you'd be freaking out if your six year old went missing. He can see the mask of professionalism on both their faces, the mode a doctor sometimes needs to step into to keep themselves from getting overwhelmed in stressful situations. Seas know he's used it himself to keep from breaking down at inopportune times.
"I'm Trafalgar Maia," his mother begins. "And this is my husband, Trafalgar Lucas." She gestures at Law's father, who waves a hand vaguely in acknowledgement. "We're both doctors here at the central hospital. Our son Law is the one who's disappeared and I'm very sorry if we've been rude. We're just terribly worried."
If you were to ask Law, he thinks that being suspicious of a stranger who has just fallen into your living room out of midair is a perfectly reasonable thing to do. So much so that he catches the eye of his father, who so far has been much more skeptical about his existence and receives a rather exasperated look in return that just has Law nodding in confused acknowledgment.
"That's fine," he says slowly. It's not fine. Nothing about this is fine. "I did kind of appear out of nowhere. Apparently."
His father raises an eyebrow and gives his wife a look that clearly reads see, at least someone agrees with me, but his mother's mouth is set in a firm line, and Law wonders if this is what they mean when you can tell which traits a child got from his parents. He'd been called bullheaded before, but he genuinely can't tell which one he might have gotten it from.
Both, probably.
But worse, now that he's been given names, they're going to expect a name in return, and the concept of outing his identity to these two people, who may be who they say they are and who may be just very convincing simulacra that someone has created to get information out of Law is an immediate non-starter. For one, he does not have anything resembling the mental fortitude to survive the conversation that claiming to be himself would bring about, and two, if this is some sort of illusion, then the creator either doesn't know who he is (ideal), or they do and it was in Law's best interest to be as contradictory as possible to keep them from getting whatever it is they wanted out of him while he figured out how to get himself out of this.
But what could he even introduce himself as? He'd never been prone to using or being given nicknames, the bastardization of his surname that Straw Hat had dubbed him with notwithstanding, and like hell was Law going to introduce himself under that name. He'd given up trying to get the other captain (and half of said captain's crew) from using it, but that didn't mean he was going to be party to its propagation, even to potential enemies.
Especially to potential enemies.
But if he was going to use any name, he'd need to use one he'd actually remember to answer to. It would look awfully suspicious if someone tried to get his attention and he just spaced out because he'd chosen a name he had no mental attachment to. But where was he ever going to find a name like—
"Cora," he blurts out. "My name is—you can call me Cora," he finishes awkwardly. "Just—just Cora."
Part of Law's brain is screaming what the fuck why would you say that at him, even as another, more clinical part of it notes that it is actually a good choice. Flevish given names were almost always short, rarely more than two syllables, and as Law had discovered over the course of his travels, having a surname was relatively uncommon in most places, Flevance included. Maybe in his case it had come along with the inconvenient middle initial, but it wasn't like he was going to be asking.
But at the very least, he would react to the name. It would just be…weird.
A curious noise breaks the silence following his outburst, and the attention of everyone in the room snaps to the doorway, where a tiny figure is standing, clutching a blanket, and Law has to use every iota of his self-control not to fall apart then and there.
Lami, little Lami, no older than three, is standing there rubbing her eyes and yawning, blinking slowly at the three of them with a sleepy sort of question written all over her face. Her hair is loose and sticking up in every direction, and Law thinks his heart is going to break into a million little pieces when she looks at him with no recognition in her eyes.
This is worse than his parents, somehow. Maybe because she'd been alive the last time he'd seen her, when his parents had been very distinctly dead. Maybe because she'd never looked at him with that empty expression before.
If there is a person behind all this, Law might have to reconsider his stance against needless killing. Illusions of his parents were bad enough. Illusions of his baby sister were a step too far.
"Sweetie, you're not supposed to come down the stairs by yourself," his father says, and scoops her, blanket and all, up in his arms. "Did we wake you up from your nap? I'm sorry, we were just having a discussion and it got a bit loud."
Lami yawns, and points silently at Law, as if asking who he is. Dimly, Law remembers that Lami had been very quiet as a toddler, before turning into the sassy chatterbox he remembers almost overnight. He didn't have many memories of this quiet Lami. It didn't make seeing her hurt any less.
"This is Cora," his mother says, gesturing to him, and Law finds himself pinned by a pair of big unblinking eyes. "He'll be staying here for a few days." Her tone leaves no room for argument, even though Law and his father both make a move to protest. "Nothing to worry about."
"Why?" Lami's head tilts to the side, tucking up against their father's collarbone.
"I'm a doctor," Law says carefully. "It's about…doctor things."
"You're a doctor?" both his parents say, though one voice is far more skeptical than the other. Thankfully, Lami doesn't seem to notice their confusion, as she's falling asleep again, curiosity apparently satisfied. Law catches his father eyeing his hands skeptically, and he suppresses the desire to stick them up the arms of his sweater. Usually, he could care less about what people thought about his tattoos—they never got the meaning behind the ones on his hands right anyway—but this felt different. Like he'd disappointed them.
"I think I need to…take a walk," he says slowly, instead of answering the question. "Digest everything that you've told me. I won't go far," he quickly clarifies, when his father looks like he's going to protest. "I just—" He struggles to find the words to explain himself. "I just need a break before we talk more, I think."
"That seems perfectly reasonable," his mother says. "Just don't wander too far, and don't be gone too long? If you haven't been home to Flevance in a while, I'm sure there are things that are different than you remember. Wouldn't want to be getting lost, now would we?" The undercurrent of strain in her voice belies her words, at the idea that they might lose the person that might be key to them getting their son back.
Home. Right, Law thinks as he rises from the couch. Because I'd be that lucky.
He almost does a double take when both his parents startle. "Oh my, you are a tall one, aren't you?" his mother says, and suddenly Law feels extremely awkward.
"I've…never really thought too hard about it," he replies, which…isn't exactly true. But Law had more or less become desensitized to unusually tall people during his three years with the Donquixote family, and even then the Grand Line was full of people who varied wildly in height across the board. Just taking his own crew into consideration, he was usually surrounded by several people who were taller than him. Even Penguin and Shachi, two of the three who'd known him the longest, hovered at almost six-foot apiece, a difference that wasn't so terribly big that it bore commenting on.
To say the extent of his final growth spurt hadn't initially surprised him would be incorrect; it had come late enough he'd more or less accepted his height would remain fairly unremarkable, and to have that refuted was disorienting, to say the least. But he'd waved it away with the thought that he vaguely remembered his father being awfully tall, and his mother only a few inches shorter, so perhaps he was just a late bloomer.
The reality, that his father actually probably shares a height with Straw Hat, and that his mother barely makes it to his sternum, is jarring, to say the least.
He knows that stunted growth is a side effect of heavy metal poisoning. It's part of the reason he'd never expected to be as tall as he is in the first place; effects linger, except, perhaps, when you're using a miracle devil fruit to cut it out of your body wholesale. But there had been plenty of other lingering issues from the Amber Lead, so stunted height might as well have been one of them. He had been alive, at great cost, and in the grand scheme of things, dithering over a few inches was a waste of time.
But he'd never actually put two and two together: that if he'd been affected by it, so must have everyone else native to Flevance. It's unsettling, to see the evidence of what mining the ore had done to people displayed plain as day, especially since it doesn't stop there. It's easy to see, now he knows what to look for, how much the Amber Lead has affected everything about their bodies. Not just height, but general pigmentation; Law might look like his father but he'd long ago lost the paleness the other man was affected by, the melanocytes in his body rebounding to leave him much darker in almost every sense by the time he'd reached the age of eighteen. It had been his own miniature identity crisis, learning that without a foreign poison in his system his natural coloring wasn't terribly pale at all, and between that and his increasing resemblance to his dead father, he'd avoided mirrors for a long time.
But the worst part isn't any of these particular revelations, nor anything that he'd forgotten. It's that he's held a particular idea in his head all this time, and this…this hallucination, dream, whatever it was, was refuting it. It's telling its own truth, built entirely on things that are not Law's preconceptions.
In his dreams he's always small, never an adult. In his dreams, there is no bickering or personality to his parents other than the good things he remembers, which is less and less with every passing year. Dreams shouldn't have the ability to shift so far out of the realm of the truths his subconscious has accepted.
So, as much as he hates to admit it, logic itself declares that this is not a dream.
That leaves him with some sort of illusion, devil fruit-made or not, and the even wilder third idea that's been slowly gaining traction in the back of his mind and that he very much does not want to acknowledge.
He knew illusions like this were possible; he'd spoken to Robin before they'd all left Wano, and she'd mentioned the curious ability Black Maria had exhibited during their fight. She hadn't been sure if it was an ability unique to the former Tobiroppo's devil fruit or the result of some other substance the woman had used, but she had described the effects. The place he's found himself seems to be far too solid and clear to be a power on a similar level, so that suggests that if this is an illusion, it's of a far higher caliber.
There are things he can do, to test whether this is a devil fruit or something else that's obscuring his senses, but he'd prefer to be alone while he did so. It might be impossible to hide from a potential observer that he's testing the boundaries of the world around him, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't at least try to be subtle about it.
"I'm just going to take her back to bed," his father whispers to his mother, cradling a now fully asleep Lami close. "Maybe you can, I don't know, pull out something to eat? And the good brandy?" His eyes slide over to Law. "This conversation is not over, I hope you know. But I suppose we can have it in a better place than just standing over you and yelling. It's clearly not going to magically fix things either way." And then he leaves, with one more heavy sigh, and soon the telltale sound of footsteps on stairs echoes down the hallway.
"Sorry about him," his mother says apologetically, moving to follow. "I know none of this is your fault, but…it's hard." Her voice breaks on the last word, and she hurries out the door to somewhere else in the house, and Law is left blessedly alone, feeling like someone had flayed him open and scraped him raw.
It's the work of a moment to slip out as soon as they've left the room with Lami in tow, the barest flicker of observation haki telling him no one would be lingering in the hallway to catch him. Law has had a lot of experience over the years slipping in and out of places, and he doesn't even need his devil fruit for this. And even if they knew he was leaving, old habits died hard. He'd said he'd come back, but that didn't mean he was going to tell them where he was going.
There's a part of him that expects the outdoors to melt—to fracture, to fall apart or something when he steps through the door. There's a part of him that hopes for it, if only to prove to himself that this is a dream or a prison, something to tell him that the insane possibility that is looking more and more likely the longer nothing happens to give away its artificiality can't be the truth of the matter.
Instead, he's confronted by a gorgeous autumn afternoon and a tidy little yard, separated from the street by a tall brick wall. He doesn't need to turn around to know that he'd just walked out of a small two-story house, boarding for families of long-term patients turned into a residence for the doctors Trafalgar so they could have an easier time balancing work and family. Law thinks there had been a house elsewhere in the city once, when he'd been very small, but he'd long since forgotten any details about it if so. This small little corner of the hospital grounds had been home, in a way no other place aside from the Tang had ever been.
He should be going back inside, to try and sort this whole mess out and find some lie in these familiar strangers he's being haunted by. But right now, all he wants to do is walk; walk farther and farther away, to see how far the limits of this delusion can be pushed, when he barely remembers what he should be seeing even one turn of the corner down the road.
But instead of heading further into the city, his feet turn, and he follows the outer wall back around the hospital. There's a garden back here, with neatly trimmed grass and rows of flower beds and even paving stones, a quiet place for patients to get some fresh air when the weather was fair, or for small children who were easily overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of a busy hospital to find refuge. It's empty now, maybe because the weather is a bit cold for sitting outdoors, but he's not looking for company or to fight anyone for the neat wooden benches scattered about.
There's a crack along the back wall of the garden, just like he'd known there'd be, large enough for a child to easily fit through and less so for an adult, no matter how slender, but he ignores the catches of the ragged stone against his sweater as he moves through, just like he did almost every day for years. Just like the kid his parents are looking for has likely just started to do on the regular.
The hospital backs up against one of the many small parks scattered throughout the city, and right outside the walls is a little pond, off in the corner of a copse of trees and overgrown with bulrushes and other water plants, ignored by the meticulous landscapers keeping the rest of the park neat and tidy. A little overlooked, out of the way place, populated only by bullfrogs and dragonflies and small children who'd never really fit in with their peers.
This, he remembers.
The half-rotten log is just where he remembers it to be, and he slumps to the ground against it, leaning so far back that all he can see is patches of cloudless blue through a canopy of white, white leaves.
For a moment, he just reflects, trying not to think about anything in particular and letting his breath pass evenly in and out of his lungs. But he'd never been able to silence his thoughts for very long, and soon the need to understand his predicament came roaring back, and with it any semblance of calm evaporates like dew under a morning sun.
He's turned all the possibilities of this situation over and over in his head, and he can't believe he's this close to settling on the most outlandish explanation of them all.
Time travel.
It sounds insane, just to admit the possibility in his head, but he can't think of anything else. He doesn't even have the luxury of writing it off as an impossibility; Law had seen proof of time travel with his own two eyes; had traveled with time travelers, even. If Kozuki Toki had been able to harness that power, who's to say others hadn't done the same? As he'd already noted, the fact that at least one time traveling devil fruit existed opened a whole realm of possibilities.
He sucks in a deep breath and spreads his observation haki as far as it will go. It quickly encompasses the figures of his might-be parents, and the tiny one of Lami, and for a second he thinks that he's proven that this must be an illusion, because they're all he can feel. Maybe this is an empty space, with just the faces he'd most want to see populating it. Maybe that's all this illusion is capable of. It would almost be a kindness if that were the case. Then he'd have his proof, instead of this torturous pile of what-ifs.
But then his senses light up with scores of voices. Staff and patients in the hospital building, people strolling by on the street outside. And the numbers keep growing as his steady push devolves into a frantic straining of his senses, his observation haki pushed to its outer limit as he tries to find some boundary to this impossible place, so full of very real-feeling people. Shoppers in the market square. The nuns in the cathedral. Busy workers moving throughout the city like ants, bringing goods to and from the port on the harbor.
And everything, everywhere white white white.
He collapses his senses in on himself before he passes out, breathing heavily, nausea building in his throat.
No no no it can't. It can't.
Angrily, he concentrates as much raw haki around him as he can. If this was a devil fruit, he could try to force the effects to break. And even if he wasn't strong enough to do so, there should be some resistance, some push back to tell him something was holding him here.
All he needs is one iota of proof.
But he strains and he strains and all he gets from his efforts is more bone-deep exhaustion, and the log he'd been leaning against shattering to pieces when the haki has nowhere to go.
In a fit of frustration, he bites the inside of his cheek until he can taste blood. More proof that he was still alive. A thin, thready sound escapes his lips, and dimly, Law realizes he's laughing. Hysterically, and painfully, and seas, none of the sounds he's making are even remotely sane, as his laughter increases in volume and strength until every shaky gasp is a punch to the diaphragm.
After twenty years, he was back in Flevance.
Something had swapped him, or replaced him or, hell, done something with his six year-old self, and plopped Law right down in the middle of a time of his life where he'd been convinced the world was kind, where he'd thought he'd be able to follow in his parents' footsteps. Where hope wasn't a thing that he'd had torn out of him yet, or had to painstakingly stitch back together with what scraps he'd managed to hold onto throughout the years.
When he'd just been Trafalgar Law, the doctor's son.
The idea of telling his parents—his parents, his actual parents—of what their son had become has his stomach lurching. Pirates were synonymous with death and destruction in the North Blue, perhaps more than anywhere else aside from the Grand Line. It wouldn't matter if he explained himself, if he told them—truthfully—that he'd never wanted to be a pirate to start with. It wouldn't matter if he told them his life was twice forfeit in the future; once by virtue of surviving state-supported genocide, and once by eating a devil fruit so insanely coveted it could fetch a price far beyond even the ludicrous one that had been placed on his head recently. It wouldn't matter that piracy had been his only way of wresting some control of his life out of all the factors that had striven to limit it. It wouldn't matter that he was still a doctor, and a damn good one. It wouldn't matter.
His parents only knew Trafalgar Law as their quiet, bookish son. Who loved his little sister and his parents and learning about medicine. Who was awkward around strangers and who didn't like crowds. Who was, he could admit, a bit of a nerd. All things that were still true, twenty years later, and had never stopped being true at any point, but Law had become something much darker than they would ever have expected.
And he'd be damned if they ever found that out.
Being rejected for what the world had made of him, and what he had allowed it to make of him would kill him far more efficiently than any Amber Lead or Warlord or Emperor. So, for as long as this nightmare held, as long as he was going to be stuck here reliving his memories and watching the clock tick down on a disaster he knew was only a few years away, he would pretend. He would be a stranger, and no one else.
He thanks his lucky stars—if he has any—that today was one of the rare days he'd stepped out wearing something without his jolly roger on it, just a thick navy sweater with intricate gold heart designs at the neck and cuffs. It was, he had been told, an old Northern pattern some of the craftier people on his crew had been experimenting with using in their designs. He'd worn it because he'd felt it prudent not to advertise who he was to the residents of Kairos. Now, it was going to help him hide from his parents.
He'll be Cora. Cora, the nobody doctor from the New World who happens to have, at one point, lived in Flevance. Just a person caught in the crossfire of a crazy accident no one could have predicted. He'll keep his head down, be a good houseguest, and hopefully whatever had happened will reverse itself eventually. Little six year old Trafalgar Law can go home, and him? Well, he can go back to the life he already had, if a little bit mentally worse for wear.
Then they can just…forget him.
Like they should.
Notes:
Y'all, Law is having a bad time.
Chapter 4: Meetings
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The Heart Pirates had never gotten around to designating an official hierarchy. Everyone aboard the Polar Tang had their jobs, and they were damn good at them, but between Law's need for control and the intersectional responsibilities necessary to keep a submarine running, there had never seemed to be any real point to it. And yet, something of a structure had still emerged, with the three who'd known Law the longest taking up a sort of senior staff position.
(Penguin hadn't ever let himself think too hard about how Doflamingo was also known for having his little inner circle of advisors, even within an already small, trusted force. It wasn't the same, he knew, and the comparison would do no one involved any good. Still, sometimes the parallels made his stomach turn. Thoughts of what could have been, which were now painfully, incredibly relevant).
Bepo had always made sense as a member of that group. No one was as good as getting Law out of his own head as Bepo was, and he was uncannily good at telling when the captain's moods were honest or fronts for some other problem. Law was the kind of captain who needed that sort of barometer; he'd try to do too much on his own, tunnel visioning from task to task. Bepo could get him to slow down. And more than just that, he was the navigator. You needed to give your navigator authority in the Grand Line; anything less was just asking for a swift death.
Shachi and himself, by contrast, dealt with the crew, albeit in very different ways.
Shachi had always been more outgoing than he had, falling into conversations with strangers and friends alike with ease. He always knew everything that was going on with the crew, and he was exactly the right person to go diffuse a spat between two people or add some levity to a given situation. His personal skills and occasionally extremely awkward charm had gotten the Hearts out of numerous scrapes before.
But that wasn't what they needed right now. The news they had to deliver to the rest of the crew, and the context they would need to provide—the secrets they would need to regrettably share—were going to require people to listen, and to control their reactions. Because the things that needed to be said would undoubtedly set off a whole bunch of responses from the crew; fear, disbelief, anger, sadness…emotions were going to run high. It was unavoidable.
Shachi was emotional, with too much of a temper for the clinical nature leading this meeting required. He'd try, Penguin knew, if he was asked to, but the walk from the Sunny to the Tang had seen him clenching his fists and muttering enough to tell Penguin he wasn't the right choice. And Shachi knew it.
So, like countless other times before, Penguin squares his shoulders, buries his emotions and his biases about the situation, and prepares to take his turn as the officer with authority. Because Law couldn't, Shachi shouldn't, and Bepo was a mess with the tearstains of a small child not yet dried on his coveralls, and he had a crew who deserved to know the truth waiting for him just inside.
Because while Shachi was always the friend, Penguin was sometimes forced to be nothing so much as cold, hard logic.
And he was very good at it.
"You good?" Shachi mutters as they board the Tang, bending so he can look up at Penguin's face underneath the brim of his hat. "I can always—"
"Just get everyone into the mess, no exceptions," Penguin says flatly. "Let's get this over with."
He sees Shachi hesitate for the briefest second, and then a hand claps his shoulder and squeezes tight. "Won't be but a moment," the redhead says in a low voice.
Bepo and Penguin continue their way to the mess, empty at this time of the night save for the low electrical running lights and the pot of soup Penguin had left simmering on the stove. He busies himself with putting it away for later as he waits for the rest of the crew to trickle in, trying to steady his hands with what was essentially busy work even as his brain runs at speed, trying to figure out the best approach to explaining their predicament.
Bepo had started the large kettle, placing a carefully arranged lazy susan full of tea in the center of the long table the crew shared meals at. Smart; crew meetings on the Tang usually involved some sort of beverage, and Bepo had sneakily only put out the varieties that wouldn't keep anyone awake. Not that Penguin thought they'd need the help; he doubted anyone would be sleeping much tonight after he'd spoken his piece.
The crew trickles in quickly; normally when a crew meeting was called, there were always one or two stragglers who needed to be chivvied into getting their ass in gear, but not tonight. He doesn't know what Shachi had said to get them all here so fast, but any variation on there being news about Law would probably have been enough. The Heart Pirates made worrying about their captain a full-time job.
He waits silently, a steady headcount ticking off names in his head as his crew assembles quietly, pouring themselves cups of tea to pass the time and conversing quietly. Penguin catches glances thrown his way, and the way others scour the mess as if trying to find some sign of what they were in for. They were smart enough to know that Law's return would have been met with loud celebration, and that this was distinctly not that, and he can feel the stress in the room growing like a screw being turned too tightly.
Finally, Hakugan walks in, followed by Shachi, no doubt having had to have been coaxed down from the top of the mainmast, his default place to hide when he was stressed. Shachi closes the door to the mess behind him and stays standing, leaning up against it casually with his arms folded. He gives Penguin the barest of nods, and he knows Shachi will keep anyone from making dumb decisions if it becomes necessary.
He sends a silent prayer to whatever might be listening that it doesn't become necessary.
Predictably, it's Ikkaku, with her negative tolerance for bullshit and hatred of getting yanked around, who breaks the silence.
"What's this all about, Penguin? You called everyone back from the search and then you, Shachi and Bepo disappeared for a couple of hours and left us with nothing but radio silence. That's not like you. Especially during an emergency." Her eyes narrow. "So what's really going on?"
Penguin stands at parade rest, arms clasped behind his back to hide his nervous fidgeting. The posture is enough to alert some of the crew—especially the older members—that casual Penguin wasn't joining them for this conversation. Maybe he didn't have to do things like this often, sure, but apparently the times he had had been memorable enough. For better or for worse, he supposes.
"Earlier this evening, during the search, Nami found a six-year-old child halfway up the mountain. She brought him back, and he's being taken care of on the Sunny right now. Bepo, Shachi and I have all met him, and he's why we've called everyone back."
It's not what they were expecting to hear, he can tell. And that's fair; hearing about some random brat wasn't generally how you'd expect a crew meeting to open when the captain was missing. So he can forgive the raised eyebrows and the skeptical glances getting thrown his way.
"I understand making sure the kid is okay," Uni says calmly. "It'd be a pretty fucking heartless thing to do, leaving a kid alone in the woods. But what does that have to do with the search getting called off? It doesn't take two whole pirate crews to watch a kid. We could have kept looking for Law."
Penguin takes a deep breath. Time to rip off the bandage and see what sort of conversation they were going to be dealing with. He trusts his crew with his life, but humans were funny creatures. They could have all sorts of hangups even they themselves weren't aware of. And that was dangerous.
"Because the kid is Law."
At first, there is silence, and Penguin watches the faces of his crew very carefully from underneath the brim of his hat. He sees the slight quirk of mouths as people try to decide if he's joking, and anger at the possibility that he might be joking at all. He sees eyes slide towards Shachi and Bepo as if trying to find confirmation, only to be met with equal seriousness and agitation, respectively. He sees the gears ticking in everyone's heads, that this is the New World of the Grand Line, and if something like what he'd just suggested were possible, this is exactly the stretch of sea where something like that might occur.
The explosion of chatter that follows is expected, but no less overwhelming for it, and suddenly the mess is full of the slamming of fists on tables and almost twenty different voices trying to fight each other for dominance.
"What do you mean—"
"That's impossible. I mean; it has to be impossible, right?"
"How can you be sure?"
"If the kid actually is the captain, why didn't you bring him back with you?"
Penguin latches on to the last comment as a way of making his way through this mess.
"He's six," he stresses, and there must be something in his expression or in his voice that makes them quiet down again. "He doesn't know who any of us are. He doesn't know who he is to us. He is scared and lost and the last thing he needs is total strangers fighting over him." He crosses his arms. "Chopper's keeping an eye on him, because he almost caught his death of cold up that mountain, however he got there, and I know none of you are going to tell me we can't trust Chopper."
That shuts them up right quick. After Zou, and Jack's use of chemical weaponry, the dedication the little reindeer showed people under his care was never something any of the Hearts would deny. They'd been lucky to get out of that with as minor injuries as they did, and with less things to make their own captain stress over when he'd finally returned, dead set on ignoring his own horrific injuries to double and triple-check on theirs.
Kurage's voice breaks the silence. "Assuming this isn't the worst practical joke you three have ever pulled, Penguin, how can you even tell? I know you've known the captain for a long time, but I'm pretty sure you've mentioned being teenagers when you met."
"He looks pretty close to how he did when we first met him," Bepo says into the quiet. "Smaller. Less angry, too, though that's not hard. But it's definitely him. We even talked to him for a bit, asked some questions to be sure." He looks nervously at Penguin. "He gave his name when asked. And he said something that no one else would know, so. We're sure."
"We don't know exactly what happened," Penguin says, taking the thread of the conversation up again. "Nami found Kikoku right next to the kid, but no signs of the captain. Robin has offered to go back into town tomorrow to try and coax the populace into revealing anything they might know. I'd like at least one of you to go with her, if possible."
"Hold on," Ikkaku says, raising both her hands. "This is insane. We're just supposed to accept that, what? This kid is our captain, and he came out of nowhere? Do you hear yourself?"
"Yeah," Penguin says, spreading his hands helplessly. "There's not much else we can do. Either the kid is Law, or he isn't. Maybe we're being lied to. Maybe this is one big illusion, or trick, and we're falling for it. It's possible. But I don't think so. And I don't like the idea of a kid suffering for it even if we are. So we're going to proceed as if what I've just told you is fact. But—" and he levels his voice carefully. "If we are being taken for a ride, I'm not going to stop anyone who wants to educate the perpetrator that taking the Hearts for a ride is a damn stupid idea. All I'm asking you to do is assume for the moment that we're not, and that you can trust me and Shachi and Bepo to know that we're not."
The mess falls silent again, the only sound the drips of water from a leaky faucet Penguin makes a note to find someone to bang on later, when a distraction is probably exactly what they'll need.
"Well," Hakugan says, breaking the silence with a weak chuckle. "This certainly wasn't how I expected our little vacation to go." Several other people start murmuring between themselves, awkwardly trying to navigate what they'd just heard. If that had been all Penguin had come in here to say, he'd call the meeting a rousing success.
"I'm not done," Penguin snaps, and the room quiets once again. Seas, he hates this; hates that he even has to consider that this conversation might reveal something ugly in the hearts of the people he calls his family. But Law isn't here to protect himself, so he, Shachi and Bepo will do it for him. The kid sleeping in the Sunny's infirmary won't understand why someone might react poorly to his stories about home, and Penguin is damned if he's going to let him find out.
He takes a deep breath. "I need you to understand that this is a very serious matter. Not just because we have a six-year-old where we should have our captain, but because of what he knows, and what, historically, Law has not wanted to talk about." He waits until he's sure he's got everyone's attention. "I know all of you have noticed that Law does not talk about his past. By necessity, you've all heard a bit about his time with Doflamingo, but nothing prior. There is a good reason for that. And there is a possibility, however small, that what the kid could spill accidentally is something that may cause one or more of the people here in this room to have an extremely negative reaction."
Predictably, the room explodes with protests and angry accusations. It's nothing he hadn't expected; of course they're furious. He's just implied there's a chance what he has to say could make them turn on Law. If the positions were swapped, he'd be just as angry. That's why this is so hard.
A loud bang suddenly reverberates throughout the room, and Penguin and everyone else looks up to see Jean Bart with his fist planted firmly against the metal wall. He strikes the wall a second time, a dull echo of the first, and the room hushes, almost guiltily.
"Stop this," he says sternly, looking around the room. "Think about who is talking; Penguin does not distrust anyone on this crew. You all know this." His frown deepens. "So think about how serious this information must actually be for him to be talking to us like this."
The following silence is deafening, but the atmosphere eases to something much less hostile, and Penguin gives Jean Bart a grateful nod before continuing.
"Law is originally from Flevance," he says shortly, and waits for the floodgates to open.
He isn't disappointed.
He hears several denials, more 'impossibles' than he can shake a stick at, and notes that there is a real level of discomfort at the announcement. No one's calling for quarantine or bodily harm yet, but cultural conditioning was a nasty thing to be held sway by, and even pirates who had rejected a lot of it over the years weren't immune. If they'd heard about Amber Lead and Flevance on the dead-end island that was Swallow, he can't imagine how prevalent the news must have been on more populated islands.
"It's actually kind of obvious, now that you mention it," Clione says quietly, during a break in the fervor, and the rest of the room stops its chattering to turn to him. "I—you know where I'm from," he mutters, shrinking into his hat.
Penguin does. There are a few members of the crew who had claimed origin points close to where Flevance had been, but Clione—though they'd picked him up halfway across the North Blue from there—was the only one who was from a country that had bordered it.
"I was a teenager when the city was destroyed," he begins. "Probably didn't pay nearly as much attention to what was going on as I should have, but; I remember some of how the newspapers talked about it. Almost a year of opinion pieces, articles from medical experts, warnings from the government about potential contagions. Encouragement to join the marines or the home guard to help protect people from either a deadly disease or an irresponsible neighbor to our south, depending on the day." He swallows thickly. "It was never contagious, was it?"
He doesn't need to say what 'it' is by name.
"No," Shachi chimes in from his spot by the door. "It's a poison, the Amber Lead itself building up over time in the bodies of people exposed to it. If it was contagious, Bepo and Penguin and I wouldn't be standing here today, because we had the express honor of watching Law pull the stuff out of his body. It was not a quick process."
Penguin can hear someone dry heaving in the background, and he can sympathize. It was a horrifying enough concept to think about, consciously pulling toxic elements out of one's own blood and organs. The Hearts had enough medical experience between them—and enough exposure to how Law's devil fruit worked—to be able to visualize very graphically what it must have entailed. He's not going to describe the process any further, because the reality was almost certainly worse than anything they were thinking.
"I should have figured it out sooner," Clione says with a grimace. "I thought I was imagining the accent; I've never had a good ear for things like that anyway. But the candle nights should have been the real tip off."
"Candle nights?" Jean Bart rumbles inquisitively, leaning closer.
"There's one night a year Law sets candles out on the ocean," Bepo says. "He was stuck on Punk Hazard this past year, and I think you were laid up in the infirmary when it came about during your first year with us. He doesn't talk about it, so we don't talk about it. It's one of those things everyone just sort of learns over time. So we can give him his space."
"Lots of countries up that way have ceremonies with candle traditions," Clione explains. "But Flevance was known for them. I heard stories from family members who'd visited during the holidays long before things got bad. Big carved things, lighting up the center of the city, reflecting off all the Amber Lead and making the entire place glow. It always sounded like something out of a faerie tale when I was little. But the candle nights…" He trails off, until someone nudges him to keep going.
He does, but with a grimace. "There was a story that came out, about a week or so before the…you know. All these quarantined people, lining up to the sliver of the harbor they could still access inside the barricades, floating candles out to sea for those who had already passed. One of those things the papers love to romanticize the tragedy of you know?" He drops his gaze to where his hands are clutched in his lap. "But captain floats three candles every year, so…maybe it was romanticized less than I thought."
His gaze snaps up. "Penguin is absolutely right to be questioning us," he says firmly. "I know it doesn't feel like it, but none of you here can tell me that any landbound person with full faith in the government back in the North wouldn't have freaked the fuck out with just the possibility they'd been around someone who'd been carrying Amber Lead. You can't tell me that you didn't freak out a little yourselves when Penguin mentioned Flevance. I did; I'll own that shame. The question now, is how are we going to act going forward?"
The silence is thick enough to cut with a knife, but Penguin still lets out a long breath. This was what he'd been hoping for; for the logic to outweigh the social conditioning long enough to have a real conversation.
"His devil fruit," Ikkaku cuts in. "That's how he's alive, isn't it? He just—" she makes a slicing motion across her body but doesn't finish her sentence. She doesn't have to.
"More or less," Penguin confirms. "It wasn't that easy, but—it is why he's alive."
"But wait," Kurage pipes up from the back. "Flevance was destroyed sixteen years ago. Captain's only twenty-six. Does that mean—oh shit."
"A ten-year-old operated on himself?"
"Well, no," Penguin says. "A thirteen-year-old did. The ten-year-old got picked up by someone whose name we try not to mention on this submarine, and you all know why, and by all accounts just lived in chronic pain for three years."
"It should be noted that even after three years of terminal illness and just having experienced the second round of the worst day of his life, he still had enough energy to send both me and Penguin ass over teakettle for being jerks. So seas help you all if he ever gets wind that you might be pitying him," Shachi drawls.
"My point is," Penguin continues, before they can get too off track. "Is that the kid is sick with Amber Lead Disease, and he doesn't know it. As far as he's concerned, everything will be fine forever if he can get back home, and none of you—" He bites the words out, hating how nasty he sounds. But this was important, and if he has to be rough with them, then he will. They're all adults; they'll get over it. "None of you are going to give him an inkling of what's in store for him. If you think you'll have a hard time lying? Then stay away. He's a sharp cookie, and if he's anything like he was at thirteen he won't stop asking questions, especially if he thinks someone is hiding something from him."
"Penguin," Ikkaku starts. "He's going to ask about who we are eventually. And sure, we can pretend we don't have any connection to him, but if he's as smart as you say, he's going to figure out we're pirates eventually. And pirates…well, we don't have the best reputation in the North Blue. How's he going to react to hearing that, when we're basically the monster under the bed for a lot of Northern kids?"
"Not to mention Straw Hat doesn't shut up about being the Pirate King for more than five seconds," Hakugan groans. "Ikkaku's right. It's going to come up."
Penguin sighs and runs a hand under his cap through his hair. They're not wrong. And he's not sure what to expect in that regard; Law had shared the absolute bare bones about the way he was raised, and he'd never heard anything about the Flevish opinion on pirates, nor his family's in particular. It hadn't really mattered, in the grand scheme of things.
"I think we're just going to have to cross that bridge when we come to it," he finally says. "Look; none of this is going to be easy. Not for us, and not for him. So we're just going to have to let him set the pace. Maybe he freaks out. Maybe he doesn't. But either way, we make sure he knows he's safe with us, okay? And we don't push him. No questions, no asking him for anything he doesn't give us freely." He sighs. "And when—when, not if—our captain is back here, safe and sound, we make sure he knows that he has nothing to fear from any of us."
He sighs, very ready to be done with this headache, and wanting nothing more than to bury himself under a gallon of hot tea.
"We'll make sure everyone gets a proper introduction to our small guest tomorrow. For now, dismissed. Try not to stay up all night gossiping."
The mess empties quickly, Ikkaku detouring briefly to volunteer her help with Robin's inquiries the next morning, for which Penguin is extremely grateful, and he finally lets himself sink into a seat at the common table with a deep groan. Bepo pushes a steaming cup of something across the table at him, and he grabs it like a man dying, breathing the warm steam in and letting it settle his nerves.
"Well," Shachi says, dropping into the seat next to him. "That could have gone way worse."
"Yeah," Penguin grinds out. "Let's hope the pattern continues. Because I don't think any of them are really going to get it until they see him with their own two eyes, and this suddenly becomes a very real thing that they can't ignore."
"Introductions tomorrow are going to be a disaster, aren't they?"
"Don't call devils where there are none," Penguin groans. "I'm trying not to think about it."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pessimism aside, introductions the next morning go better than Shachi expects.
If you asked him, his real fears had been overloading the kid with the sheer number of people who were very interested in him, not to mention the fact that several of those people were going to be the sorts of folks a kid from a small country in the North Blue would never have encountered before. At least, as far as their crew was concerned, that really only extended to Bepo and Jean Bart. Bepo had already clearly passed muster the night before, with how much Law had been clinging to him, and Jean Bart was big and intimidating, but steady as a rock and good at reading people, so Shachi had faith that any friction between the two would get smoothed over relatively quickly.
The Straw Hats on the other hand…the Straw Hats exemplified weird.
He's being unfair, and he knows it. The four of them that had been around last night had been perfectly professional and incredibly helpful, and even before that, they'd jumped to help the Hearts find their captain without any complaints. Nami had made a joke about repayment for the favor before they'd started, but she'd phrased it as a punishment for Law for worrying people, not for the Hearts for needing their help, and he wasn't stupid enough to not be able to tell the difference. The navigator could be plenty abrasive in her own right, but Shachi had well over a decade of experience following a man who came off as being emotionally made of sandpaper if you didn't know his tells, and he considered himself a bit of an expert on being able to call people out on their feelings.
It had been agreed upon early that morning, before the kid had woken up, that they'd try and take things slow, so as not to scare him. Everyone knew who he was now, but he didn't have any of the same context, and he might find the attention off-putting. Almost certainly would, because this was still Law either way, but at the very least everyone needed to be able to recognize him in case he got it into his head to wander. Or hide. Which he very well might if he got overwhelmed.
Fortunately, the Sunny's deck has enough space for all of them to gather, which meant Law didn't have to go too far from a space he'd already had a bit of experience with. There was nothing more that Shachi wanted to do than bundle him up and take him back to the Tang where the Hearts could circle the wagons and keep him safe, but the goal here was not to spook him, and that almost certainly would. Not to mention aggravate the Straw Hats, no matter how understanding they might be about the circumstances, and it would be to everyone's benefit if they could all keep working together on the very real problem they had.
By mutual agreement only Bepo had gone in to tell Chopper that they were ready for them, so as not to overload the kid with strangers piling into the Sunny's infirmary, and Shachi had volunteered himself, as one of the people the kid had already met, to keep the introductory period somewhat under control. He wasn't worried too much about his own crew, given the ultimatums Penguin had set down last night, but he knew the Straw Hats less well, and well, better safe than sorry.
That said, he wasn't expecting the small group to exit the infirmary with Law perched on the back of a fully-reindeer Chopper, Bepo hovering in the background as if worried the kid was going to fall off at any moment.
"Oh," Ikkaku breathes under her breath. "He's so—I know you said he was small, but—" She's behind him, but Shachi can feel the grimace in her voice. "If you'd told me that was a six-year-old with no other context, I wouldn't have believed you."
"Better get used to that feeling," Shachi murmurs as he leaves his crew to cross the deck towards the three newcomers.
"What's going on here?" Shachi says, unable to hide the mirth in his voice as he walks up. They make a funny little group, the tiny boy on a large reindeer being worried over by an even larger polar bear, somehow clearly more concerned about the bog-standard humans clustered about the deck than anything else about this.
"He told me he still wasn't sure if I was actually a reindeer," Chopper says morosely. "So I proved it."
"I'm glad I did," Law says from his perch. "You're really soft."
Chopper protests unconvincingly that he doesn't care about the praise but does not, Shachi notes, actually ask Law to get off.
The kid looks better than he did the night before, though he's still wrapped up in Sanji's hoodie. At some point someone had managed to find—or make, he supposes, he doubts any of the Straw Hats who were in the kitchen last night got any more sleep than the Hearts did—a pair of longer pants to replace the inadequate shorts he'd been wearing, and there was a pair of oversized fluffy socks wrapped awkwardly around his feet. Made sense; none of them would have shoes that fit a kid, and Chopper didn't wear them anyway.
His color—such as it was—looked a lot better though, and Shachi has no doubt he'd been both monitored extensively by Chopper all night and fed a complete and nutritious breakfast as soon as he'd woken up. But he looked incredibly nervous, which was totally reasonable; he was surrounded and outnumbered by a bunch of strange adults, several of which looked like nothing he'd ever seen before.
"Hey kid, remember me? From last night?" he says quietly and waits until he gets a nod of affirmation. "Great. I'm Shachi. And there are a lot of people who would like to meet you, but we're going to do it slow, okay? One at a time. Does that sound good?" He can see the kid's eyes sliding nervously across the deck, past the whole bundle of Heart Pirates in their near-identical coveralls, to Franky and Brook and Jimbei towering over the rest of the Straw Hats, to Straw Hat himself, who was currently being restrained from enthusiastically introducing himself via Zoro's arm wrapped around his middle. "Yeah, I know. They're all weird. But I promise they're all very nice."
When Law still looks hesitant, he tries a different tact. "Why don't we start with the people you met last night, okay? And go from there?" He waits, holding his breath, and hoping he's not going to have to ask his own crew and the fucking Straw Hats to step off, but eventually he gets a shy little nod, and lets himself relax just a hair.
"Sounds good." He holds out his hand, and Law takes it, shaking it firmly like someone had already taught him how. Shachi tries not to think too hard about how tiny his hands are in comparison to his captain's. "Like I said, I'm Shachi. It's nice to meet you, Law." He glances up at Bepo, who's been nervously hovering nearby since they came outside. "And this is Bepo. Did he introduce himself already?"
Law nods. "He said he's a person called a mink. That's why he's a polar bear. Except…not?" He looks a little confused. It's horribly endearing. "But Chopper," he looks down at the reindeer he's still sitting astride. "Chopper isn't. He ate something weird, and it made him smart, which is why he can talk and change shape and be a doctor."
"Something like that," Chopper laughs nervously.
Penguin's next, and when he gives his name Law asks him very seriously why he needs his name on his hat, which causes a lot of good-humored laughter across the deck as Penguin just hangs his head and looks sheepish. Shachi catches the little smile hiding in the shadows on his face though, and the few cheeky comments that the rest of the Hearts throw their way seem to help Law relax a bit.
Nami and Robin and Sanji all file through quickly, and Shachi notes that all three of them clearly have experience with scared kids. They don't crowd him, and talk quietly, and Sanji checks in to make sure Law had had enough to eat that morning, and to tell him if he needs a snack. They're friendly, but not overly familiar, and they let Law set the tone of the conversation. He thanks Nami for finding him and she calls him a little gentleman, and though he seems a little wary of Robin—probably because of all her questions from the night before—he still seems to like her well enough.
It's a good start.
"Good to keep going?" he checks in after Sanji has stepped away. "We're on to some new faces now."
Law nods. "This isn't so bad," he says, and he sounds a mix of confident and like he's trying to convince himself.
"All right then, we're going to start with the group me and Penguin and Bepo belong to."
Shachi doesn't particularly care about the evil eye Straw Hat is giving them from where he's being forced to wait his turn. This is their captain, tiny or not, and the Hearts have the right to see him before anyone else. Sanji had said it himself the night before: their captain, their call.
And Shachi couldn't be prouder of his crew as the introductions progress. Any lingering doubts he'd had about them reacting badly after last night's rather intense meeting were swept away, as they greeted and joked with the kid, clearly doing their best to put him at ease. He wouldn't be surprised if some of them still had their doubts that this was really Law, but if so, they didn't let their suspicions show.
About halfway through the crew, Law asks why everyone wears the same outfit, which prompts Ikkaku to wax poetic about the Tang and why the coveralls were a necessity, and the look on her face when she realizes she's gone off on her own little tangent doesn't hold a candle to the one she makes when she finds Law staring intently at her, drinking in every little bit of detail and hanging on her every word. She promises him a tour of the Tang later, and he beams.
Jean Bart comes last, by his own choice, and Shachi almost bursts out laughing at the slow way Law's gaze goes up and up and up until it finally meets the giant man's, eyes wide like he can't believe someone like this can possibly exist.
"You're really tall," Law blurts out, and the deck descends into laughter once again, Jean Bart's rumbling chuckles chief among them. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize, it's only the truth," Jean Bart says, and holds out his hand. Law studies it seriously for a moment, before grabbing the tip of his index finger and giving it a very firm shake. "Feel free to come find me if you need a bit of quiet time," he says. "I'll make sure no one bothers you. Sometimes it can get a bit loud around here."
Law nods. "I bet you're easy to find," he says very seriously, to which Jean Bart only smiles and nods.
After that, the choice of who to introduce next is made for them when, having clearly used up every iota of his extremely limited patience, Straw Hat bounces forward at speed, dodging an attempt by Zoro to grab him in the process.
"Hi, Little Torao!" the rubber menace says, and predictably immediately ignores every possible rule of decorum as he jumps excitedly right into the kid's space. "I'm Monkey D. Luffy!"
Law, quite reasonably, does not want Straw Hat up in his face, so he does the perfectly logical thing and shoves his hands out in front of him with a squawk, to try and create some distance between them.
It does the trick…sort of. Luffy stops, but slowly, and the kid's hands sink two rows of finger-sized divots into the captain's cheekbones.
There's a pause. Shachi can see Nami in the background with her fingers pressed to the bridge of her nose. Penguin is holding out a hand to keep the rest of their crew from doing anything stupid; they had said they'd let the kid set the pace, and that meant letting him decide how fine he was with certain idiots on his own.
Fortunately, six-year-old Law was clearly extremely distractable.
"What are you?" Law says incredulously, pulling on Straw Hat's cheeks as far as his little arms will let him.
"I'm a rubber man!" said man replies, seemingly completely fine with his face being manhandled in this way. "And you're Torao!"
"What's a Torao?" The kid seems to have taken Luffy's lack of caring as blanket permission to attempt to rearrange his features, methodically tugging on his nose and ears in turn, before grabbing a corner of his mouth and twisting experimentally.
"You, of course," Luffy says, a little petulantly. It was hard to tell, with the corner of his mouth all warped. At least the kid didn't seem to be having too much trouble understanding him; but then, Straw Hat had never particularly tended towards complicated language that Shachi could remember.
"Why?"
"Because it's your name."
The look the kid gives Luffy is the single most Law-like expression Shachi has seen on his face since this whole mess started, and he suppresses a chuckle. Apparently, it didn't matter what age he was: Luffy-logic was still just as incomprehensible.
"He ate a devil fruit, like the one I told you I ate," Chopper chimes in helpfully.
Law frowns. "But you said your fruit made you smarter, which is why you can be a doctor." He looks back at Luffy, who is still grinning even with ten tiny fingers poking at his face. "Are you sure his made him smarter? I can't tell."
There's a beat, and then Sanji is coughing up a storm, his hands covering his face as he struggles to hide the fact that he's cracking up laughing. He's not alone either; everyone within earshot seems to suddenly have developed a need to cover their face and turn away.
"That," Law says imperiously as he looks over at the cook, "Is why you shouldn't smoke."
Sanji just gives the kid a thumbs up and continues dying of subdued laughter in the background.
"You're definitely Torao," Luffy pouts.
"I still don't know what that means," Law grumbles.
Fortunately, they're saved from any more awkward questions by Zoro.
"Sorry kid," he sighs, grabbing his captain by the back of his shirt and yanking him backwards. Straw Hat makes an affronted squawking noise. "He's just…very excited." He holds out his free hand. "Roronoa Zoro. Swordsman. Nice to meet you."
Law takes his hand, but his head cocks to the side as he notices the swordsman's trademark. "You have three swords," he says carefully in Grand. "Do you use them all?"
"All three, at the same time," Zoro confirms, in that sort of deadpan way he always seems to talk about entirely abnormal things that any sane person would find strange.
"Cool," Law breathes, eyes sparkling, and Shachi has the express pleasure of watching the Demon of the East Blue get flustered. "Can I see?"
"Yeah, Zoro," Nami calls, smirk audible from across the deck. "You wouldn't want to disappoint the kid, would you?"
"Uh, sure. Later," Zoro mutters awkwardly. "I'm just going to…take care of this idiot in the meantime. Let you get back to the introductions. Or something." And he turns on his heel and marches off, Straw Hat in tow.
"Zoro's embarrassed," his captain teases from where the swordsman is dragging him off, still in a headlock. Shachi thinks he hears a muttered shut up as they move out of earshot.
"They're weird," Law observes after a moment. "Funny. But weird."
The rest of the Straw Hats go much smoother. Law had apparently read something about fishmen before, and was incredibly excited to meet Jimbei as a result, grinning from ear to ear when the helmsman indulgently lets him explore the webbing between his hands before stepping off with a polite bow. Franky's cyborg enhancements bring a similar sparkle to Law's eyes as Zoro's swords did, and while Usopp was clearly unnerved by the situation, no one was better at putting up a brave front, and he has Law laughing within a few moments of meeting him.
Brook he mostly just stares at, but the skeleton just tips his hat and compliments him on not screaming. Shachi makes a note to explain some things about the world to the kid; between the talking reindeer and the rubber man and the living skeleton he was taking the weirdness like a champ, but he'd caught the furrow of frustration between the kid's eyes that meant Law was pissed about not knowing something, and that was an easy enough fix.
Introductions done, both crews mill about awkwardly for a bit, unsure about what to do next, until Penguin snaps that submarines required daily upkeep and maybe some people should go see to that, and Robin starts preparing to make her promised trip into town to begin asking some very necessary questions.
Law looks a little lost, with everyone suddenly dispersing, so Shachi elects to free Chopper from his role as a living chair and moves them both over to the bench around the Sunny's mast.
"Here," he says, patting the seat next to him. "I know this morning's been a lot, so why don't we just sit for a bit. You can watch everything that's going on and take a bit of a breather. And then maybe in a bit we can find something to do. Like that tour Ikkaku promised you."
Law doesn't say anything as he hops up on the seat, tucking his knees up under his chin rather than let them swing freely. He takes up a disturbingly small amount of space, all scrunched up, and Shachi has the distinct displeasure of his brain telling him that his small size had probably helped him get out of Flevance without detection when the city had fallen.
They sit there quietly for a while, watching all the people bustle about. Several of the Hearts had taken Penguin's suggestion and gone back to the Tang, but Shachi could see plenty of others hovering around the Sunny, quite obviously lingering despite having nothing to do. An enterprising Usopp had shoved several fishing poles into their empty hands, and a whole line of people were now set to supplement that night's dinner while sneaking glances at their little guest.
The kid is quiet, and Shachi can see him fidgeting. His fingers tap anxiously against the wooden bench, and his eyes don't seem to be focusing on anything in particular. His head is ducked so low Shachi's afraid he's going to disappear into the hoodie he's wearing, and there's a little frown peeking out from underneath the folds of the collar.
"Everything okay?" he finally asks.
"Did I do something wrong?" Law blurts out.
Shachi can't help but rear back in surprise at the outburst. That hadn't been what he'd been expecting. Nervousness sure, but this?
"Where'd you get an idea like that?"
"It's just—" he starts, and Shachi watches as he fists both hands tightly in the soft fabric of the giant hoodie he's wearing. It was a habit that Law had eventually grown out of, or rather, masked better as an adult, but Shachi was very familiar with it. "It's just, everyone was really nice. And they smiled and made jokes and were friendly. When they were talking to me, I mean. But when they're not, everyone seems so sad. But there doesn't seem to be anything to be sad about, except now I'm here. So, everyone must be sad because of…me, right?"
The look he gives Shachi, peering up at him from under flyaway bangs, is absolutely heartbreaking.
The thing is, is that he's not exactly wrong. The distinct air of melancholy that hung over everyone was because of Law, just not in the way the kid thought it did. There had been plenty of laughter and smiles earlier, because no one wanted to make the kid feel bad, but the truth was, everyone was still deeply unsettled and worried, and he'd clearly picked up on that despite their best efforts. And here he is, looking at Shachi—a total stranger, and part of the weird group of people who've promised that for some reason they're going to make sure he's okay—for…encouragement? Affirmation? He didn't know, kids were weird, and kids who were the baby-faced, emotionally well-balanced version of one of your best friends were even weirder.
But he's not an asshole. Anymore. To kids, anyway.
"Hey, no. No," he says, placing an awkward hand on the boy's shoulder. "It's absolutely not anything you did. Please don't think that. If anything, we're sad for you. All of us know what it feels like to be lost, kid. That's why we want to get you home as soon as possible." He forces a smile. "But, in the meantime, we're happy to have you. You're not a—" He thinks of words whispered in quiet moments, back when it was just the four of them, when a nightmare brought all those nasty thoughts to the forefront. "—a burden, or a chore, or anything like that. You were unexpected, I'll give you that" he chuckles, and cheers a little internally when Law's mouth quirks up a little. "But you didn't expect us either, so I think we're even."
"Okay," the kid mumbles, sounding unconvinced. "If you say so."
"Look," Shachi says, hands spread wide. "You're right about something: we are all sad. But not for the reasons you think." Briefly, he considers how best to approach the topic without letting on too much about the actual nature of the problem. "You remember how, when we were talking to everyone earlier, we told you that there are two groups of us here, and how to tell which is which?"
Law nods. "Your group all have the smiley face." He points to the insignia over Shachi's heart. "And everyone else is a different group."
"Right," Shachi nods. "And the person in charge of the other group is the guy in the straw hat. The one who's all stretchy."
"He doesn't seem like the sort of person who should be in charge of things," Law mutters, and Shachi has to suppress a burst of laughter. The more things change, the more they stay the same, or something.
"On the surface, yeah, he really doesn't," he agrees. "But he'll surprise you. And it seems to work for them, so I try not to judge." He shrugs and places a hand over the jolly roger on his chest. "But the reason I bring it up is that the person that's in charge of us? Our captain? He's missing. And we don't know where he went."
"…oh," Law says quietly. "So he's kind of like me, then."
Kid, you have no idea. "Yeah, I guess. We were looking for him when we found you, but no one was gonna leave a little kid out in the woods to freeze to death, so we put that aside for the moment to make sure you were okay. We even got a clue, finding you; if you remember the big sword Nami brought back with you? That's his."
"He fights with a sword?" A little of the sparkle he'd had when he talked to Zoro earlier comes back to his eyes, and if Shachi had always doubted that Law had chosen a sword as his weapon of choice for, as he had put it, "purely strategic reasons," then this interaction just confirmed it. He makes a mental note to sic the kid on Zoro later, or bring out his own and show him some things.
"Yeah," Shachi chuckles. It looks like most of the gloom had evaporated for the moment. "Yeah, he does. I think it's a bit over the top, using a weapon that's as big as you are, but he does love that sword. And Penguin uses a spear, so I guess I'm just splitting hairs at this point." He sighs. "And he's good with it. Way better than most people expect a doctor to be with a weapon, anyway."
"He's a doctor too?" Of course that grabs his interest, Shachi thinks. How absolutely predictable.
"Best doctor I know," he says honestly. "A surgeon, by specialty, but he's no one trick pony. He keeps us all shipshape, anyway, and I know we sometimes don't make it easy for him."
"Miss Nami said that Chopper was the best doctor," Law says. "Though I'm still confused about how a reindeer can be a doctor."
"Chopper is a truly excellent doctor," Shachi nods. "Anyone who gets treated by him is going to get nothing but the best care. But I'm biased, no doubt about it. If you ask anyone on our crew, they'll all give little Tony his deserved praise, but our doctor is our captain, which makes him the best." He pauses. "Bragging aside, he is very good at what he does. You saw the big scar on Straw Hat's chest, right?" The kid nods. "He did that. Fixed it, I mean. It's kind of the reason our two crews ended up knowing each other this well in the first place."
"Oh, so they must miss him too," Law says with a nod of his head. "Your captain has a lot of friends."
Shachi pauses. Thinks of the faces he'd seen on the Straw Hats in the kitchen last night. "You know," he says quietly. "I don't know that L—the captain would think about it that way. He's bad at acknowledging things like affection. But you're right, they do." He blinks. "Huh."
"That's dumb," the kid deadpans. "Your friends are your friends. I don't have many, but they're mine. Why would I pretend they're not?"
Oh, you know, Shachi thinks. Trauma. A paralyzing fear of loss. A protective streak a mile wide you're mostly blind to.
"That's a good question," he says instead. "If you get a chance to meet him, you should make sure to tell him that. Maybe he'll listen to you." He cracks a smile. "Then you can decide who the real best doctor is, I guess."
"Oh, that's easy," Law hums, and kicks his feet a little against the seat he's perched on. "I still think Mom and Dad are the best doctors." He smiles. "If I'm here, maybe your captain is at my home. I bet they'd take care of him. And if he's a doctor, then they should get along great!"
Shachi freezes.
Nami had found Kikoku, and then immediately after, had found Law. Except it had been the kid version of Law, not the one who should have been carrying the sword in the first place. The kid was from twenty years in the past, but had dropped into the present day coincidentally right next to the sword. Which, given Nami had mentioned finding Kikoku on the ground, not leaned up against a tree or placed anywhere deliberately—and Law would never put her in the dirt like that on purpose—probably meant he'd dropped it. When he had disappeared.
"Seas, you swapped places," he murmurs, and the kid next to him makes a curious noise, then a startled one when Shachi abruptly stands up.
"I'll be right back, okay kid? You just gave me an idea, and I need to talk to Robin and Ikkaku before they leave for town. Seas, you're a genius. I mean, I knew that, but—" he takes a deep breath. "Thank you, seriously. I think that's going to help a lot."
"Okay," Law drags the word out skeptically. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Better than I was!" Shachi cheers, throwing the kid a thumbs up, and dashes off.
If anyone could do something with that hypothetical bit of information, it was Nico Robin and the Polar Tang's best problem solver.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Brook had wandered over to Robin's reading table after their unusual little morning meeting, choosing to mull over the things he'd learned the best way he knew how: while he tuned his violin. The movements were second nature to him and had been for decades, leaving plenty of energy to devote to turning over the events of the morning in his mind.
When the crew had been informed of what had happened the night before, Brook had been—well, maybe skeptical was the wrong word. Wary, perhaps. After all, he'd seen enough shadow and soul-swapping in his time to be suspicious of doppelgangers. But he'd held his nonexistent tongue, because this was the New World and there were mysteries that couldn't be explained.
However, seeing the child in question this morning had been an entirely eye-opening experience. There was no denying that the boy was scared and lost, even if he didn't look quite how what Brook might have expected a miniature Trafalgar Law to appear. But he was no stranger to the concept of changing over time, and the fact that Sanji and Robin—both naturally suspicious people—seemed to believe the boy was who he said he was counted for a lot.
Which left them the question of how the boy had arrived here in the first place, and where the captain in question had disappeared to. Robin and Law's fiery mechanic were hopefully going to get some answers with their inquiries in town today, but it fell on those of them remaining with the ships to be observant as well. The key to resolving this issue could be hiding in plain sight for all they knew, so it was on them to pay attention.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Shachi rush across the deck, making a beeline for the dock. Curious, wasn't he watching little Law? He'd been staying close to him all day, so it must have been something important to warrant such a dramatic reaction. Good news, he hopes.
He goes back to his violin, adjusting the pegs and noting that sometime soon he'll have to sit down and do a proper restring. It was unfortunate what sea air could do to an instrument.
"Excuse me."
Brook startles at the sudden soft voice near his elbow and looks down to see the very serious face of a tiny Trafalgar Law staring up at him. He'd been snuck up on while he'd been stuck inside his own skull, apparently.
Brook looks around slowly. No one else is standing nearby, and this small version of Law is still staring directly at him. Tentatively, he points a bony finger at himself. "Pardon," he says slowly. "Are you talking to me?"
"Yes," the child says slowly, tilting his head as if trying to listen harder. "I—" He stops, frowning. "I want to ask—" he says, a bit slower, and then grimaces. Brook waits for him to say his piece.
"Sorry," he finally says after a long pause, and dashes off, leaving Brook not a little bewildered. His confused state only worsens when the kid returns shortly, dragging a startled looking Clione with him.
When they reach his table, Law lets loose a long string of words that Brook recognizes as Northern at Clione, while gesturing enthusiastically at Brook the entire time. Clione goes from looking confused to understanding, and he responds in the same language before turning to Brook himself.
"Sorry, Brook," Clione says abashedly. "Think it's just the combination of your accent and the old-fashioned way you speak that's throwing him." Law tugs on the man's sleeve and adds something else that Brook can't understand. "Ah. And he has a lot of questions about how you work, and he doesn't have the words for his questions." The look Clione gives him is that of a man trying to suppress laughter. "He has a lot of questions."
Law lets out another short outburst, but Brook doesn't need to understand what he's saying to get the intent: Of course he has questions. Brook, after all, is something of an eternal one. Really, he can't fault the boy for having questions. He would too, in his place, though Brook admits that his own six-year-old self would have been terrified to approach someone like him.
But the boy is looking at him with undisguised interest, not fear, and Brook comes to a startling realization.
"You're…not afraid of me, are you?" he says softly.
That sentence is apparently not enough to warrant the need for translation, because Law shakes his head. "Nope!" he says, and the edges of the first smile he's seen on the boy all morning twitch at the corner of his mouth. Then he fires off a long string of words Brook can't understand that leaves Clione chuckling.
"He says he can't be afraid of skeletons; there's one hanging in his dad's office and he wouldn't be a very good doctor if he was scared of some bones. But he couldn't figure out how you worked when you introduced yourself earlier, so he's decided to ask."
"Of course," Brook says. It's a very specific strain of kid logic, and exactly the sort of thing he might have expected from the child who grew up to be a doctor with a bit of flair for the macabre. "What would you like to know?"
His answer is immediate and very excited. "How do you move without—" his face screws up and he fires off a couple of words at Clione. Muscles and tendons, the other man says in an aside.
"Well, I'm not terribly sure, to be honest," Brook says with a laugh, then taps a bony finger to his chin thoughtfully. "Most of me doesn't work like a body should anymore. I'm afraid my answers won't have the best basis in medical science." The pout he gets at that answer is absolutely adorable, and Brook laughs at the sight. "But perhaps we can still establish some context. Has someone explained devil fruits to you properly yet? They're why I am like this, and why my captain stretches like he does, and why Chopper is much more than your average reindeer." When the kid shakes his head with a very put-upon frown, Brook smiles. "Well then, let's rectify that first, shall we?"
After a brief second of translation, the kid's face lights up and he pulls a little notebook and a pen that Brook recognizes from Chopper's desk out of the front pocket of the voluminous sweater he's wearing. "Can I ask you more questions afterwards?"
"If Clione here will do me the honor of helping out," Brook says, to which the other man nods happily. "Excellent. We wouldn't want you to miss anything."
His answer, an absolute beaming smile, is so out of place on anything Brook would associate with Law that it gives him pause, as the boy crosses his legs and sits at his feet, notebook in his lap and what looks like dozens of questions on his lips.
Brook chuckles and sets aside his violin. This is not how he'd ever imagined being interrogated by the Heart captain, but somehow, he does not find himself minding in the slightest. He'd known the other captain had a keen mind and a degree of curiosity and drive to know things, but it's clear they were tendencies that had begun early and persisted.
And questions he does have, many of them more complex than Brook might have expected from a child. It's clear that Law's fascination with medicine had started early, as he points to places on Brook and demands to know things about how he can do certain things without muscles or organs before noting the answers Clione translates for him down neatly in his notebook.
Neither of them have the answers he wants for how devil fruits work on a fundamental level, but he does seem fascinated by the potential, if frustrated by how they seem to him more magical than scientific. Brook wonders what his response to hearing about the one he'd have in the future would be, but decides against opening that can of worms. When he explains how Robin's works, he gets particularly excited, and Brook thinks their archaeologist is likely in for a round of questions of her own when she gets back.
They talk so long, Sanji swings by with refreshing drinks and a bowl of fruit salad for the boy, and the conversation is derailed neatly when Law experiences pineapple for the first time—he declares it quite tasty, but still inferior to raspberries, his favorite—and then thrown right back on track when he notices Brook drinking and has to know, right then, how that worked without a stomach. Predictably, Brook's 'I don't know' leaves him pouting, but it's not long before he has another question, and his disappointment is seemingly left behind.
It's rather nice, Brook reflects. To have helped cheer a child. He'd been looking a little lost earlier, understandably so, but his fascination seems to have overridden his fear. And Brook had seen the looks they'd received from other people milling about. There was something very nice about having a happy child aboard, even if the circumstances were anything but. It felt like they were doing something right.
And well, Brook was a performer, and it was hard for a performer to feel inconvenienced when the audience was hanging on your every word.
Notes:
Don't worry, next time we go back to the past and all of Law's internal crises, but for now have two entire pirate crews having crises instead.
Chapter 5: Homecoming
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Lami, blessedly, goes back to sleep without too much fuss, curling back up into a ball around her favorite teddy bear before he'd even had a chance to turn the lights back out. He thanks his lucky stars she didn't catch more of the conversation in the living room, such as it was; he's not prepared to have to explain to his baby girl that her favorite person is missing. Especially not when he has no idea what they're going to do about it.
The house is quiet as he makes his way back downstairs, turning their current predicament over and over in his head but getting nowhere. This wasn't a normal situation by any means, and that limited their options. They couldn't go to the authorities and report Law missing like any other parent; they didn't have anything they could report, beyond the existence of the portal that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere to abduct him. And even then, there was no proof that the portal had existed at all beyond the unfortunate man who it'd spat out before disappearing entirely.
He grimaces as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. Cora was…a complication. He seemed genuinely confused by his presence here, and despite his initial suspicions Lucas thought it likely he didn't know what was going on. It didn't mean he was going to be less than thorough in interrogating him—some seemingly unrelated piece of information could still be the key to finding Law, depending on who Cora was and what he knew—but it did mean there was no point in belaboring the idea that he was some sort of insidious mastermind using truly fantastical ways to kidnap children.
As he turns the corner into the kitchen, he finds his wife sitting at the small table in the corner, head pillowed on her arms. There's a small plate of cheese and sausage in the middle of the table, along with an assortment of crackers he dimly remembers seeing in the back of the pantry. It's proof that she'd tried to at least get something out before collapsing, but it's the half-full glass of amber liquid and the attendant nearby bottle that tells him what's really been going on.
"How much of this have you drunk?" he inquires, picking up the bottle and holding it up to the light. It's distinctly less full than it was the last time they opened it, to celebrate a particularly tricky patient making a full recovery.
"I'm fine," she grumbles, raising one hand to run it across her eyes. "I just—I just needed to stop for a moment."
"No, you're not," Lucas says quietly, to which she flinches. "I'm certainly not. We're allowed not to be okay, Maia. Our kid is missing and there's a strange man from who-knows-where in our living room."
"I think he's left for the moment, actually," she sighs, leaning back in her chair until her head bumps against his chest. "I might have heard the door open? I'm not sure, he was very quiet."
There's a moment where a ripple of panic shoots up his spine. What if he leaves for good? What if he'd known something about what had happened, and now they'd never know the truth, because they'd let Cora get away? Would it be so easy to slip up? To never see Law again?
But no, he counsels himself. Even if he did have less than honorable intentions, Cora had nowhere to go. And he would stick out like a sore thumb; there'd be no confusing a man of his description with anyone else in Flevance. None of the merchant or marine ships in the harbor would take passengers out of the country, and without identification none of the passenger vessels would either. He was well and truly stuck here, and that meant logically he wouldn't go too far.
He hopes Cora is a person prone to logic. Panicking people often weren't.
"We'll figure this out," he says gently. Because maybe if one of them says it enough times, it'll be true. Maybe eventually they'll be faced with having to deal with a harsh reality, but for all that Lucas fancies himself a pragmatic and logical person, he refuses to entertain those possibilities just yet. It would feel too much like giving up.
He can tell Maia isn't fooled by his hopeful words, but he gets a sigh and a nod. It's a start.
An awkward thunk comes from their left, followed by a curse he doesn't recognize. They both jump at the sound, only to find that the culprit is their new houseguest, the askew nature of the hall carpet testament to him having tripped and almost fallen.
Maia was right, he thinks offhandedly. He is very quiet. I didn't even hear him come back inside.
"Sorry," Cora says awkwardly. "I didn't mean to startle you."
He looks distinctly out of place, Lucas thinks. He's just a bit too tall to not look uncomfortable standing in the room, all long legs and slim build giving him an almost scarecrow-like quality. He's darker than most everyone Lucas has met from Flevance too, a stark saturated splotch against white walls and pale blue carpet. Well, he said it'd been a long time since he'd been back. Maybe he'd moved to some place where the sun was stronger.
It's hard to tell how old he is; Lucas thinks he's about his age, or maybe a bit younger based on his appearance and physical disposition. Quiet demeanor aside, he comes off as particularly sharp though, in the way that Lucas usually associates with people who are much older. World-weary, he thinks. This man, despite his seemingly young age, has seen some things.
He looks…there's no other way to describe it other than haunted. It's hard to get a read on his entire face, with that hat shadowing so much of it, but he's clearly unsettled. His body language is that of someone maintaining control with will alone, hands shoved deep inside his pockets and shoulders up near his ears.
And well, that's certainly fair, he supposes. If this man really does have no clue what's going on, then of course he's feeling off. He doesn't think there's much that can prepare you for suddenly being abducted by an unknown force, no matter what else you've experienced.
Still, for as charitable as he's come around to feeling with a bit of thought on the matter, there is still one thing that he finds deeply troubling: that there is something deeply familiar about this man, and for the life of him, Lucas can't put his finger on why.
"Take a seat," he says, gesturing at the table. Facts first, speculation later. "Let's see what we can hash out about this mess."
He winces inwardly when Cora immediately selects Law's chair but doesn't let himself outwardly react. There's no way Cora could have known that; it was just a coincidence. And it was the closest chair to where he'd been standing, so it was the logical option. Don't read into things that don't exist, Lucas. You'll go crazy.
"Drink?" he says instead, holding up the bottle so Cora can see. "Forgive me, but you look like you could use it."
"Oh," Cora says, awkwardly arranging his knees under the table. "I don't—I don't really drink that much. You don't have to bother."
"That's not a no," Lucas replies, pouring a couple fingers of the spirit into a glass and sliding it across the table. He watches as Cora regards the drink like it might bite him, before wrapping long fingers around the glass and taking a cautious sip.
"No," he says quietly, placing the glass back on the table. "I suppose not." He takes a deep breath. Like he's grounding himself. "Well; where do you want to start?"
"To the point," Lucas nods, pouring himself his own drink and, at a grumble from Maia, topping off hers as well. "That's appreciated."
"I suspect I would like to get home just as much as you would prefer it not be me sitting here," Cora responds. "Avoiding the subject doesn't seem particularly expedient."
"No," Lucas agrees. "So why don't you start by telling us what this whole debacle looked like from your angle?"
"Not much to tell, really," Cora shrugs. "I was taking a walk alone through some woods on an island my c—my companions and I were visiting, and suddenly it felt like I was falling. I don't remember tripping or noticing anyone nearby, and the next thing I knew I was lying on your living room carpet."
Lucas notes the slight hesitation but doesn't press. Still, he files the reaction away. It's proof that Cora might not tell them everything, even if he is otherwise cooperative.
"I could not begin to tell you how what occurred happened," Cora continues. "There were no indications on my end that anything was happening at all up until it actually did. But given your description of what it looked like before and after I showed up, I'd say that my leading hypothesis is that we've just switched places."
"But that's excellent news!" Maia bursts out, smiling for the first time since they sat down. "If that's the case, the solution is simple! You can just tell us where you were, and we can send out a call to whichever island that is and find Law! And you'd be able to tell your companions that you're okay."
Cora grimaces. "Unfortunately," he sighs, "I don't think it's that simple. I was on the Grand Line, and fairly far through the New World at that. So, unless you have a snail setup somewhere around here that can send signals over the Red Line…" he trails off.
"Oh." Maia slumps in her chair. "No, all the relays in the city are only strong enough to reach the rest of North Blue. The king likely has one, and the marine base down by the water at the very least should have a network capable of getting a message that far, but…"
"But neither of those are options," Cora agrees. "Never mind the fact that instantaneous physical translocation of two completely unrelated strangers who've never met would be a hard sell to anyone as a reason for needing to use it."
He's right, of course, Lucas concedes. It doesn't mean he has to like it, but the problem with this particular course of events is that it's unbelievable from a logical standpoint. If they got too insistent, they'd only sound crazy, and then even people who'd otherwise normally be willing to help might ignore them as a matter of course. No, this was a problem they'd have to solve themselves, at least until they had more data points to go by, or a better plan of action.
"The New World?" he says instead. "That's a dangerous place to set up shop. Is there much call for doctors out that way? I would think most of your time would be spent avoiding running afoul of the powers that be, not treating people."
"On the contrary," Cora replies, and there's a bit of cheeky attitude in his voice that tells Lucas he's not normally this quiet or stoic. "I have never been busier."
"Where did you study?" Lucas presses. "I confess we know little of how medical care formally exists outside of North Blue, but I know there's at least one kingdom out there known for their skill."
"You're probably thinking of Drum," Cora says thoughtfully. "I know a doctor from there. He's very good." His eyes flicker down at his glass of alcohol, and he reaches out and takes another sip. "I have a more…unorthodox education. Medical technology varies heavily between islands; information is hoarded jealously, and the Marines and the World Government monopolize most advancements. It's usually only the bigger islands that have anything like a proper hospital."
"So…you don't have a medical license?" Lucas says, choosing to read between the lines. He tries his best not to sound judgmental, but he's not sure he's succeeded.
Cora glances up from his glass, and something like embarrassment flashes across his expression. "No, I—I was never in a place where I could obtain something like that. It means less than you'd think, out there; results matter more than a piece of paper to the people living in the Grand Line." He sighs, a barely perceptible thing, but it sounds like regret. "Not that I haven't dreamt about it before. But that ceased to become a possibility when I…left Flevance."
And yet you walk around with death written on your hands, Lucas muses, and his glances must not be as circumspect as he thought, because shortly those hands have disappeared beneath the table. What is your story, Cora?
"If you switched places," he starts slowly, deciding to follow a different angle. "Who would our son be likely to run into where you were? It's not encouraging, hearing he might have been dropped unattended into the New World."
"Fortunately, the island we were on is quite peaceful," Cora says. "And as to who he'd meet? Well…" he trails off, and something flashes across his face that Lucas can't pin down. Embarrassment, but also pride? Mixed emotions, certainly.
Cora chuckles. It's a dry sort of sound, a bit self-deprecating in its tone. "Let's just say that my friends would be extremely protective of your son. There are lots of people in our group who've spent some time lost in this world," he clarifies when Lucas raises an eyebrow. "He'll be safe with them. And they'd try to figure out what caused this problem on their end. They're nosy like that."
"Small favors, then," Maia sighs. She turns to him. "Lucas, they're going to notice we're both missing up at the hospital soon. I was able to beg some extra time by saying we had a minor health emergency with Lami, but shortly they're going to come looking. And I don't know how we explain Law being missing without getting questions we can't answer."
Lucas curses under his breath. She's right, of course. Their workplace was too close to home and too involved in their lives for one of their coworkers to not pick up on something being wrong if they had a reason to come around. Which meant they were going to have to keep up the charade that everything was okay, at least for a little bit.
"Right," he says, standing. "I'll go back to work. Maybe we can let drop that Law's visiting his grandparents or something, if it comes down to it." He glances at Cora. "I'm less sure how to explain you."
"Like I said," Cora responds. "I'm a doctor. If anyone asks, just say I'm visiting following a fruitful correspondence on…pick something. I can make it work."
Lucas can feel his eyes narrow. "You're suspiciously good at coming up with cover stories, you know."
Cora just takes another sip of his drink, and shrugs. He doesn't meet Lucas' eyes.
"All right," Maia says with a sigh. "I'll get him settled. You go do your thing. And we can talk more later. We're just going in circles now. Maybe a little time with our own thoughts will help us think of some new questions to consider." She looks down at Cora. "Now, where to put you up for the night?"
"The couch is fine," Cora says with a shrug, polishing off his drink.
"I don't think you'll fit on the couch."
"No," Cora confirms, standing to his full height. "But I've had worse. I'm used to close quarters anyway."
"Well, at least you won't be a complicated houseguest," Lucas snarks. "Or more complicated than you are already."
"Lucas!"
Cora doesn't seem particularly offended by the assessment, given the neutral shrug he gives in response, but Lucas allows himself to be bustled off by his wife along with a gentle scolding to reign in his temper before he has to see any patients.
He really does need to go bury himself in some work. He's starting to get nasty.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning things were less awkward. At least, Law would like to think so.
He's aware that his social skills aren't the greatest at the best of times. A lifetime of being the bookish kid—and then the homicidal kid—followed by what his crew affectionately termed as being in "a state of perpetual sarcastic gloom" hadn't really lent itself to developing that aspect of himself.
And well, in his defense, he's not sure even the most socially adept person in the world would be operating at one hundred percent given similar circumstances. All that matters is that he hasn't made a total fool of himself, or accidentally revealed anything that might seem suspicious during the previous day's interrogation.
He thinks.
It doesn't help that ever since he'd talked himself down from the first panic attack he'd been having upon realizing the truth of his situation, his brain had had the time to realize certain details about his predicament that he'd initially missed. Such as the fact that he was quite literally surrounded by a world of poison, and he couldn't say anything about it without having to explain exactly why he was freaking out about the most banal, ordinary part of a Flevish citizen's life.
He'd almost slipped last night, when his father had insisted on offering him that glass of alcohol. Alcohol that very well might have been relatively safe—Flevance didn't really have the appropriate agriculture to produce that kind of spirit—but served in a glass that very much wasn't. It was only a quick reminder to himself to not act oddly that had served to override the initial burst of panic at the idea of touching the glass, let alone putting his mouth on it.
Even now, a light dinner and an early breakfast later, it was still mostly sheer force of will that had him eating normally and not acting like everything around him burned to touch. He kept a litany of facts on repeat in the back of his head: Amber Lead poisoning took time to set in. He had removed it from his system before, in far worse conditions and with far less developed skills than he had now. If it came down to it, he could monitor and remove anything from his system easily enough. That is, if it even became a problem in the—hopefully—short time he was going to be here in the first place.
He doesn't allow himself to think about being the only possible living case study for a relapse of Amber Lead poisoning, and the potential possibility that he was naturally susceptible to it.
But regardless of the likely-contaminated food sitting in his gut, eaten off of definitely-contaminated tableware, he finds his current problem to be that he simply doesn't know what to do with himself.
"Aren't you concerned I might just disappear again?" he'd asked, when his mother had suggested he take a walk around the city, clearly taking pity on what must have seemed an awkward stranger twiddling his thumbs in her house.
"I won't deny it worries me," she'd responded frankly. "But even if I thought we were capable of doing anything to you against your will, it's not fair to you to expect that." She'd shrugged. "Besides, you'd said it's been a long time since you were last here; if you're all the way out in the New World, there's no telling when you'll get back here again. Go take a walk down memory lane."
It was something he'd honestly been dreading, but the idea of staying pent up in the house and surrounded by far more intimate memories sounded like a particularly vicious sort of hell. So here he was instead, making his way down the main thoroughfare of the city center, going…he's not sure where.
It's hard not to see the city with the overlay of how he last saw it provided by his mind, stark and burning as opposed to pristine and thriving. All his memories were forever tainted by those last impressions; even if he did remember how everything had looked once upon a time, he was never going to be able to totally separate them from their final disposition.
He'd forgotten how clean the city had always been; it wasn't the sort of things kids noticed, but as an adult Law was aware of just how much effort that sort of things required to maintain, especially in a place like this, where the smallest amount of dirt or refuse would show up stark against all the white.
The streets stretched out on either side of him, straight as rails and lined with white cobblestones so tightly fit it seemed unthinkable that someone might trip on a loose one. The trees and flowerbeds lining the walkways and streets were neatly trimmed and arranged in a manner obviously meant to complement the surrounding architecture. As a child, Law had barely noticed these background details. Now, the deliberate placement feels calculated, in a way he's not sure he likes. He wonders how much of Flevance was carefully constructed like this, in an almost blatant attempt to distract from any flaws that might be lingering in the background. How much actual effort had been put into fooling the people who lived here?
Dark thoughts aside, it's a lovely day for a walk, cool and refreshing, and after a few blocks, Law feels his shoulders loosen and his stride lengthen, and lets himself get lost in the familiar feeling of wandering.
It doesn't take long for him to notice that he's being watched.
He quickly realizes it's not a specific person or persons doing the watching; he's not being followed or tracked. There's no ill intent in the people around him. His observation haki pings with all sorts of impressions—curiosity, suspicion, confusion, even a light dusting of fear—but it's all background noise. So much so that it takes him longer than it should have to realize that the cause of all those feelings is him.
Once he notices it, he can't stop seeing it. Strangers glance at him in the street, and they look for just a bit too long. Kids stare at him openly until their guardians shuffle them away. No one approaches him, but they watch him intently. Like they were expecting him to do something strange.
And why shouldn't they? He stood out like a sore thumb, dark clothing and darker skin and height and all. Flevance favored whites and pastels, homage to the lifeblood of the country's economy, and here was Law in his navy blues and black spots and deep, saturated yellow, towering over everyone else on the street, practically backlit by the white architecture.
He has, he realizes with a twist to his gut, become a stranger in his own home.
It's one last nail in the coffin for the kid who'd survived; he'd changed so much that he was unrecognizable as a part of his original community. He doubts that even if he were to open his mouth and speak to some of these people, they wouldn't necessarily believe him to be local. Accents and languages could be learned. That inherent, instinctual sense humans seemed to have about who was one of theirs? Not so much.
And he'd lost that.
Quickening his pace, he ducks around the corner, hoping to find a quieter street with less people to stare at him. What a wonderful walk this was turning out to be. Maybe he should just cut his losses and go back to the house. At least there he only had to worry about his parents and Lami.
But just as he's considering the merits of that decision, he turns another corner and stops. And a whole new slew of memories dump themselves into the forefront of his brain.
He hadn't even realized it, but in his wanderings his feet had had a direction in mind. Because in front of him stands Flevance's grand cathedral, a towering edifice of white stone and shining stained glass topped with two graceful spires. The tallest building in the city barring the residence of the monarchy and looking like it had come straight out of a picture book.
When he'd last seen it, its front courtyard had been the scene of a massacre. Today, it's quiet. There are no services going on, so the only people on the grounds are the sisters going about their daily work and the odd member of the congregation seeking assistance. It's peaceful.
And bad memories aside, quiet sounds good about now.
He lets his feet continue their wanderings through the grand double doors, great ponderous things made of some dark wood that clearly wasn't native to the area. It gave the entrance a kind of gravitas that the faerie-tale coloring of the rest of Flevance had always lacked in his eyes. It made you take this place seriously.
Inside is dim, the early morning light outside not having reached the strength needed to light up such a cavernous space. It's more comforting than expected; almost like being underwater in the Tang, where natural light was a rarity every time they submerged. It makes him feel like he can relax for the first time since he'd arrived here.
As a child this place had always seemed impossibly large, with its vaulted ceilings and acoustics that meant you could hear a pin drop from anywhere in the space. Time had always felt like it stopped here, for the hour or so at a time he'd sat in these pews with his parents, even if he'd been bored out of his mind and not listening for most of it. He kind of wishes he had, now; maybe he'd have some better memories to reminisce over if that were the case.
It felt wrong to wander directly into the main space of the cathedral without reason or invitation—like he'd be trespassing on something he had no right to anymore—but Law's eyes are caught by the flicker of light from a nearby alcove in the vestibule where he's standing, and he follows it to a familiar sight.
Rows and rows of small candles—mostly unlit save for a few exceptions—sit and wait along one wall for someone who needs them to come along. A silent, private way to express grief. It seems odd that so few are lit, he muses. The last few times he remembers seeing this place, almost every candle had a flame flickering quietly on its wick, a reminder of another soul lost. Flevance burning before Flevance had actually burned.
Law had lit candles for his family before, in secret at small churches with similar setups across his travels. Once a year, when Candle Night reminded him of the few customs he's still able to carry out even half a world away from where he'd learned them, he sets three upon the waves in private. Lights are supposed to bring comfort, according to what he'd learned as a child in this same building. They guided feelings of hope and love to those who were gone, so they knew they were remembered.
It seemed wrong—or at least like tempting fate—to light memoriam candles for his family here and now, but people didn't always light candles for the dead. And there were other people Law could light them for.
Taking one of the tapers and holding it to the flame in front of the votives feels weirdly meditative, as he returns again and again to carry more and more fire to the rows of small candles waiting to be lit. Over and over he sets taper to wick, until twenty small flames burn in a row, lighting up the vestibule with their collective warmth.
He watches them quietly, taking in their soft glow in silence. He feels like he should say something—anything—but what, he's not sure. The people these candles are for deserve a conversation in the flesh and nothing less, and here he is, separated by an infinite gulf of time and space from them, arguably farther apart than they've ever been.
What does it say about him that even at this distance, he still can't put words to what he wants to say?
"That's a lot of candles," a soft voice calls from behind him, and he startles despite himself. There he goes again, getting stuck too far in his own head. "You're awfully young to have lost so many people."
The voice belongs to a familiar face, but not one Law had ever expected to see again, even here. Sister Ava had died when he was a kid, long before the crisis in Flevance had become obvious. Looking at her now, paper-thin skin pale in the candlelight, he wonders if she had been one of the uncountable number of unknown victims of Amber Lead, or if something kinder was the cause of her ultimate end. Either way, she'd missed the terror, and Law can't even bring himself to be bitter about that. At least someone had.
"They're all alive," is all he says. And that's true; only Bepo was younger than him and he'd be…what, four or so now? Jean Bart might even be a pirate already; he couldn't remember if the older man had ever said when he'd started.
"Ah," she nods, walking closer until she's level with him in front of the candles. She barely reaches past his elbows. "Something else then. An apology?"
"Something like that," Law whispers. It seems wrong to speak at a normal volume in this place, even if his regular speaking voice wasn't particularly loud. "I keep leaving them behind. It wasn't even intentional this time, but—" He grimaces. "They stick around. I don't thank them enough for that."
Sister Ava gives him an expertly raised eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "The way you're talking, you seem to feel you owe them something."
"Of course I do," Law bites back. "They deserve something better than my personal problems continuously rearing their ugly heads. Especially when I can't tell them why."
"Why not?"
"I'm not good with words," Law says truthfully. "It's not an excuse. But they keep me…grounded. And they keep insisting that there are still good things in this world. I guess I got used to that optimism. Without it—" he shrugs. "Well, I'll manage, I suppose. But it's harder. I've spent a lot of time hiding parts of myself. My name, who I've been, where I'm from—" He cuts himself off before he can get too candid. "After a while, you just get used to the façade."
"It sounds like an unhealthy way to live, if you ask me," Sister Ava sniffs, and Law makes a noise that he hopes doesn't sound too much like agreement. "Still, it seems a shame that you feel so lost when you've got family right here in the city. You would think they'd be able to help you with that."
Law flinches. "Wha—I don't know what you're talking about."
"Please," she scoffs. "As if after all these years I can't recognize a Trafalgar. You look just like a taller version of Lucas, if his father hadn't bullied him into shaving so much during his teenage years that the habit stuck. Almost as much as the little one's is going to grow up to look like her mother, I expect. Don't know where you actually hail from, and it's not my business as to why you feel the need to stay circumspect, but you're less subtle than you think you're being, young man." She grins. "At the very least, people who are fine with people knowing their names don't usually have such a bad reaction to having it called out. You should work on that."
"This was a mistake," Law says flatly, and turns to go. Where, he's not sure. Anywhere but here, with this woman and her too-sharp eyes.
"Ah ah," she says primly, and loops her arm through Law's elbow before he has a chance to make his escape. Considering her age, her grip is very strong.
"Look, sweetie," she starts, patting his arm gently. "I'm not going to tattle on you or anything if you're really that hung up on it. Your reasons are your own, and like I said, they're none of my business." She sighs. "I just think it's very sad you feel you need to hide away like this. You're just doing yourself harm, you know."
"Aren't you tired?" she says softly, gesturing back to all the lit candles. "You have all these people in your life who care. You clearly know that, and appreciate them, even if you might have trouble saying it. Why can't you let them pick up some of the slack? Friends and family are there to help with the heavy lifting, after all."
"Some secrets are meant to be kept," Law whispers.
"Because they wouldn't understand?" Sister Ava fires back. "Oh, honey. Someone always understands. Maybe not in the same way as you do, but enough to support you. And yes, there is always the chance someone reacts badly, but that's all it is: a chance. But it's one hundred percent guaranteed that you won't get any support unless you say something." She smiles. "You know, we have a saying here, about having hope."
"About it being the 'hand of salvation,' right?" Law snorts. "I've heard that before."
"And?" she asks, like his negative reaction means nothing to her. "In your experience, does it hold true?"
"Hope has…betrayed me before," Law says carefully, mind awash in snow and blood and the smell of gunpowder. "But—" he pauses. Thinks of spitting faith back in Doflamingo's face in Dressrosa. Of a choice made half on instinct to pull a rival back from the edge of perdition. Of having enough faith in himself and others that the result was two Emperors fallen from their pedestal, in large part because there had been enough belief that they could get the job done.
"But," Sister Ava stresses, picking up where he's left off. "It's helped you more than it's hurt, hasn't it?"
Law opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He's not sure how to answer that.
"It's fine, dear," she says, giving his arm one last pat before releasing him. "I just thought you needed something to think about. It's never as bad as you think it is." She chuckles as she begins to walk off. "Sometimes you just need a reminder, is all."
"Talk to the people in your life, boy!" she calls back as she disappears around the corner, voice echoing through the entire cathedral like a commandment. "You'll thank yourself for doing so!"
Once again, Law is left feeling like he doesn't understand anything at all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When he steps back outside, he thinks he must have lost track of time while he was inside the cathedral, because it's much darker out than it was when he went in. Shortly, however, he is disabused of this notion when the sky opens up and the previously unnoticed clouds start dumping buckets of water down on the city with gusto.
Law is no stranger to getting rained on or wet in general; he lives on a submarine and there's no perfect way to avoid all water in a world full of it, devil fruit user or not. But it doesn't make the fact that he's sprinting all the way back to his parents with nothing to protect him from it any better. Really, he should have expected something like this. It was just like his luck for something to show up to spoil one of the nicer parts of the day.
"Oh my," his mother says later, as he awkwardly drips all over the entranceway. "That wasn't in the forecast."
"I'm fine, it's just a little water," Law tries to deflect, acutely aware that his sweater and the thin shirt underneath it were completely, disgustingly soaked through.
"Well, you can't stay like that," she says brusquely, and gestures for him to go up the stairs. "Bathroom's second door on the left, and there are towels in the closet the next door down. Go take a hot shower. I'll go see if Lucas has anything that might fit you in the meantime."
"Really, it's fine," Law tries again. "It's just water. If I could just borrow a towel—"
"I am not letting you get sick while you are staying in this house," she interrupts. "And you should know better than to stay in wet clothes like that, if you're a doctor yourself. Especially when it's something so easily preventable." She makes a shooing motion. "Go on, then."
Law, not really having anything to rebut her argument, goes.
The shower does feel heavenly, and Law makes a point of finding more excuses to bathe places where actual water pressure was a thing. The Polar Tang was a marvel of engineering, but there was only so much you could do when you weren't hooked up to an actual network. The fact that the pipes carrying the water are almost certainly made of Amber Lead doesn't escape him either.
His pants, fortunately, were not soaked through, so laying them on the radiator before his shower means that they are mostly dry by the time he's finished, and the extra warmth feels admittedly heavenly as he pulls them back on. He somehow doubts his father would have anything to accommodate the length of his legs anyways. His hat is made of water-resistant fur, so it's in even better condition, if sorely in need of a bit of tidying.
The towel he'd snagged from the hall closet is soft and smells faintly floral, and he breathes in the scent as he makes an attempt to return his hair to something resembling order. He's aware it's a futile effort—it was unbiddable on a good day—so he's more or less resigned himself to keeping it stuffed under his hat unless he can find a spare comb to borrow. At least his facial hair didn't grow terribly fast; it'd still be a few days before he started looking horribly scruffy.
"What on earth happened to you?"
His mother's horrified voice has him whirling to face her in the doorway, the towel dropping to the floor in his haste.
"Uh—" he starts. His brain feels like someone had pulled a plug somewhere, because he has absolutely no idea how to deal with this situation. Was she talking about his tattoos? He'd already gotten judgmental looks for the ones on his hands, was this going to be more of the same?
"You've got injuries everywhere," she continues, sweeping into the room, as if Law weren't standing there, half naked and a total stranger.
Injuries. Right, the bruises. Not the tattoos.
Blinking, Law looks down at her, and flinches when he realizes how intently she's staring. He's not getting out of this without providing an answer.
"Uh. A club," he says carefully.
"A club?" Her voice rises in pitch briefly before the professionalism sets in and moderates her tone. "What kind of club does that?" She points at the constellation of round bruises dotting his torso, courtesy of Kaido's kanabo.
"A spiked club," is all he says. Nothing of what he's said is technically incorrect. He's just leaving out the specifics of how he got injured in the first place. His parents had been wary enough of the knowledge he had experience in the New World; telling them the injuries had come from two Emperors of the Sea would only raise a ton more questions.
Such as how he'd survived.
"Really, it's fine," he assures her hastily. "Just a few broken ribs, and they've healed to the point where they don't need any outside support. Bruises just tend to linger on me." Maybe some of those bruises looked a lot better than they would have otherwise due to the skills he had at his disposal, but she didn't need to know that.
She blinks, as if registering his words for the first time, and then steps back abruptly.
"Oh dear, I'm so sorry," she says contritely. "I'm making you uncomfortable. Forgive me, I just wasn't expecting—" she gestures at the colorful tapestry of bruises decorating Law's ribs. Not the tattoos, he tells himself again.
"Mmm," he mumbles. He's having trouble articulating his thoughts beyond sheer and utter panic right now. Was this what normal people felt like when their parents caught them doing something they weren't supposed to? Why was he having this reaction in the first place? It's not like he did anything wrong. Fuck this feeling very much, actually.
He thanks whatever lucky stars he might have that the injuries he'd received in Dressrosa had been tended to by the little tontatta princess, because while he has a litany of minor scars across his torso and arms, the natural consequence of the life he's lived, those wounds would have left scars worth commenting on were it not for her devil fruit. Law's half convinced it worked more as some sort of localized time reversal than by accelerating the healing process, but he's not complaining. He still has all the function in his right arm, and the scars from his traumatic dismemberment and the bullets Doflamingo had put in his torso are thankfully light and fine.
If it meant they were light enough that he wasn't constantly being reminded of what had caused them, so much the better.
"Here," his mother says, and shoves a piece of white cloth at him, which turns out to be a flannel shirt. "Lucas always complains that this is too big for him. I'm not sure if it will fit well, but it should be enough to keep you from freezing while your sweater dries."
"Thanks," he murmurs, and unconsciously clutches the shirt to his chest.
It must be obvious that he's off-kilter because she gives him a curious look.
"Are you…embarrassed? About the tattoos or—"
Now she mentions the tattoos. "Absolutely not," Law says reflexively, and desperately wanting to cut off where the rest of that sentence was going, continues. "If I was, I wouldn't have gotten them."
She chuckles. "Sorry, I shouldn't laugh," she says quickly, when Law can't help but feel a little offended. "I didn't mean to tease. It's just this is the first time I've seen you…relaxed? That's not quite the word for it. Less buttoned-up, anyway." Her eyes narrow. "It's weirdly nostalgic. Were you old enough to have gone to the academy before you moved away? You look like you could have been near enough in age to me and Lucas that we might have crossed paths briefly."
Law doesn't have a chance to respond before she's shaking her head. "No, that's silly. Even if you were who remembers little details like that twenty years on? I'm just tired."
She turns to leave, pausing in the doorway to say one more thing. "Come downstairs when you're done and I'll find us something to eat for an early lunch before I have to go in to work. You look like you could use the food."
"Thanks," he says weakly, but she's already gone.
Law is left standing there, hair swiftly drying into unmanageable cowlicks and a borrowed shirt clutched to his chest, brain whirring with the implications of what his mother had said.
"Fuck," he says under his breath.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The rest of the day goes much smoother, and even if Law is confined to the house due to the stubbornly persistent rain, it's not horrible.
Both his parents are working in the hospital, but they've got some sort of schedule arranged where although both are technically on call, only one of them is out of the house at a time. If there were a real emergency and both were needed, his mother says, they could take Lami with them and the receptionists would keep an eye on her, but they preferred to leave her at home and out of the busy rush of the hospital as much as possible. Both because it's safer, and because they enjoy having the downtime to spend with their family.
Law dimly remembers one of his parents always being around, before the problems with Amber Lead became the thing that had consumed their private and professional lives. He hadn't known the reason why; there was always just a parent there for as long as he can remember. It warms something in the pit of his stomach, knowing they'd made a point to take the time out of their busy days to spend time with their children.
He'd spent most of the rest of the day reading the books on the shelves in the living room. None of them were medical books—he knows those are locked in the study along with all the rest of the professional stuff, but it's an eclectic collection of fiction and nonfiction, many by Flevish authors whose collected works will likely cease to exist by the time half a decade has passed.
He prioritizes those. It only seems right.
Over dinner he'd been very politely asked what he'd done with his day—aside from getting soaked—and he'd cautiously mentioned his trip to the cathedral, though not what he'd talked about with Sister Ava.
"Ah," his father says, over a bite of a potato dish Law never thought he'd taste again and is desperately trying to think of how he'd ask someone who knew anything about cooking to replicate it. "Did she do that thing where she looks into your soul and makes you feel like you're five years old?"
His mother laughs, and Law just gives him a look.
"What?" he protests. "It's eerie. And she's always right." He punctuates the last word with a stab of his fork. "Science cannot explain that woman."
"Yes well, perhaps that's why she's made a career out of faith, not science," his mother teases back.
The rest of the meal had been full of those backs and forths—familiar and full of private jokes—and Law had been left feeling even more the outsider. It makes him miss his crew even more—at least with them he always felt included, even at his most antisocial.
Now he's back to biding his time in the living room, thumbing through yet another book in hopes of staving off the inevitable spiral into less than useful thought processes. He hadn't slept much the night before—he doubts tonight will be any different—and it won't have anything to do with the fact that his legs dangle off the end of the couch.
Law is brought out of his reverie by the sharp pain of something digging into his knee.
Looking down, he's confronted by Lami, standing there with a determined look on her face, hair escaping her pigtails in a flyaway frizz and clearly dressed for bed, if the soft flannel nightgown she's almost tripping over is any indication.
"Read," she says imperiously, holding a picture book up to him.
Law barely needs to glance at the cover to know what it is. The last time he'd seen this book, it had been well-loved, pages curling at the corners from countless repetitions through the same old, simple story. The Lost Little Snow Goose. At one point, he'd known this one by heart, but even when he could recite it aloud, Lami had always insisted they use the book, because she loved the pictures.
It had been sitting on the nightstand at her bedside the day the hospital burned.
"I'm not sure that's a—" he starts, when she shoves the corner of the book into his knee again, harder this time, and Law tries to remember if she had been this bullheaded the first time around. He thinks yes.
"Read," she insists.
"It's fine," comes a voice from the doorway, and he looks up to see his mother standing there, a small smile on her face. "It's just a short story, and she'll keep insisting all night until she gets her way." She raises an eyebrow. "It'd be a real help if you could do so; she'll never go down for the night otherwise."
He pauses. There's no danger in doing so. He's not going to out his identity just by reading something. It's just a story. One short tale about a lost goose, trying to find his way home. A simple little story with a simple little lesson behind it, about friendship and the definition of home and other trite bullshit like that. It'd never appealed to him, even as a kid.
But it was Lami's favorite. And he'd never been able to say no to Lami.
Slowly, he reaches over and takes the small volume from her much smaller hands, and Lami immediately scrambles up over the edge of the couch to plop herself next to him excitedly. Just like she used to, a thousand times before. Just like nothing had changed at all.
"There," his mother says. "That wasn't so hard, wasn't it?"
He doesn't reply, because he doesn't have the words to describe how very hard this really is.
"Once," he begins quietly, opening to the first page, and almost falters as he feels Lami settle next to him, face intent on the first page of the story, small fingers tracing the patterned designs on the illustration's borders, "on a tall, tall cliff overlooking the Great Northern Sea, there was a nest…"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You sure about this?" her husband says quietly over her shoulder, where she's standing watching the scene in front of them unfold. "We still don't know if we can trust him. He might not be safe around kids." Around Lami, go the unspoken words.
"I think it's fine," she says. Despite their mysterious guest's height, Lami has managed to relieve him of the spotted hat that had stayed firmly on his head since he'd appeared in their living room, revealing short dark hair, standing up every which way and desperately in need of a trim. It makes him look younger. Less rigid. "I think he's lost."
"We know he's lost. He couldn't possibly get more lost."
"No, I mean—" She stops, finger pressed to her top lip in thought. "Maybe 'lost' isn't the right word." Her gaze zeroes in on the deep circles beneath his eyes, easier to see without the hat shading them. At the way he seems to be holding himself back from any great show of emotion. Like he'll break, and little Lami, with his hat tugged over her eyes and her excited pointing at the pictures in her book, is going to hold the hammer. "There's just something about him that is very sad," she finally says reflectively. "And I think he's been sad for a very long time."
She slides a hand back across her shoulder, to find his larger one, and laces their fingers together. It does hurt, a little bit, to see a stranger doing this, she won't lie. Normally their son would be in that same spot. But they still don't know where Law is, and they can't tell that to Lami. She loved her big brother too much.
"You can't fix everyone," he says, gently kissing her knuckles. "But you wouldn't be you if you didn't keep trying."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Predictably, one read-through turns into three and soon Law has a baby sister doing her level best not to just fall asleep in his lap. He's stopped reading a few times now, thinking she's all the way gone, only for a disgruntled noise and a shove to his side to prompt him to keep going.
"Five minutes, Lami," his mother calls from the doorway. He's seen her poking her head in a few times now. Lami makes a whining noise. "Nope, no complaining. It was very kind of Cora to read you your bedtime story, but you've taken enough of his time, and you should have been in bed half an hour ago."
Lami grumbles but pushes herself back up until she's sitting. Her protests can't hide how tired she actually is, though she's doing her best to pretend otherwise. Still, the wobbily way she keeps listing to the side betrays her. It's adorable, really.
"Give Cora back his hat and come have a drink of water," his mother says. She glances at Law. "She'll be up in the middle of the night otherwise," she clarifies, before rolling off the doorframe where she's leaning and walking out of sight, presumably to procure Lami's drink.
He remembers.
Lami huffs in evident displeasure as he extricates his hat from where it's falling over her face, and Law can't help but crack a small smile. It's so nostalgic, this tableau. Lami always fought bedtime tooth and nail when she thought there were interesting things or people to be missed by falling asleep.
"Don't look at me like that," he says, setting the hat to the side. "Little lambs need their rest, so they can cause more trouble in the morning."
It's thrown out almost as an afterthought, that phrase, and he surprises himself as the words roll off his tongue. He thought he'd forgotten that, and maybe he had consciously, but the ease with which the words he used to send his sister off to bed with exit his mouth tells him that the memories are still in there somewhere, ready to be unearthed given the right triggers.
He doesn't think much of the little noise she makes as he moves to stand up, but he's suddenly pinned down by the weight of a three-year-old struggling to stand on his lap, hands clinging to his shoulders to maintain some sort of balance.
"What—" Law starts, startled by the sudden turn of events, but he's brought up short by the stare Lami is giving him, unblinking eyes wide in shock.
Slowly, very slowly, she moves one hand off his shoulder to poke at his cheek, and Law can't help but flinch reflexively. It makes her smile, and she repeats the action, traveling all over his face with her stubby little fingers. He sits there and bears it but can't for the life of him figure out what could have prompted her to act so strangely.
Until she opens her mouth.
"Law."
She giggles.
Notes:
Never, ever underestimate the observation skills of small children.
Chapter 6: Explanations
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Kairos' port is perhaps only half a mile from their town center, but the walk there feels like it takes forever.
That's almost certainly because she's stuck up in her own head, a pastime she generally tries to avoid if at all possible. Working yourself in circles never helped anyone or solved any problems, and it was better to slow down and take a break rather than obsess over the particulars of something. A fact that her captain still had to learn.
But Ikkaku couldn't help but let her thoughts wander as she followed Robin into town in search of answers—and questions, if she's being honest. The older woman seemed to have a better idea of what they needed to do, or at the very least she seemed more confident, but Ikkaku can't help but liken her mind to a boat adrift without a rudder; she doesn't have a framework for how they go about solving this particular problem.
If it could even be called a singular problem.
Ikkaku isn't sure having a miniature version of their captain, with what is apparently an entire barge's worth of attendant baggage about his background—that this version of him doesn't know about yet—and no idea why he's like that or how to get him back to normal can ever count as just one anything, but that's why she's here with Robin. To try and find one loose thread that can help unravel the horrifying knot of issues they've found themselves with.
She hadn't, despite the talk from Penguin last night, really let herself believe what they were saying. Not really. She was willing to believe the boys thought they were telling the truth, whether through worry for the captain or the sheer exhaustion left over from Wano none of them had quite shaken off yet. But to say that the random kid the Straw Hats had picked up was Law? When they were actively missing him? It seemed wishful thinking at best, and Ikkaku had prepared herself to have to act the voice of reason the next morning.
But then she'd seen the kid with her own eyes and the part of her that had tried to stay logical, had been so sure there was another explanation, had just fallen to pieces.
She couldn't tell you exactly why she knew the kid was the same person as her captain, albeit missing twenty years. She didn't have the benefit of having experienced him as a younger kid that Bepo, Shachi and Penguin had; by the time she'd come along, Law had still been comparatively young, but at least had resembled an adult. And she'd been one of the earliest recruits who weren't a member of the Hearts' core four; she doubts most of the rest of the crew could even imagine Law with anything resembling a babyface.
The kid felt like Law, though. She didn't really have another word for it. Sure, he was leagues more open and cheerful and excitable than her captain ever had been, even as afraid as he was, but there were…tells, for lack of a better word. The way he tilted his head when he listened to someone, and the way he stared unblinkingly at things he was interested in. The way he needed to know things.
The way he smiled, a much more open version of the slightly crooked one she saw so rarely on her captain's face.
"Beri for your thoughts?" Robin murmurs from up ahead without turning around.
"Too many thoughts to be worth just one beri," Ikkaku responds. "You'll have to up the price."
Inwardly, she winces at how snappish that sounds—they were supposed to be working together, after all, but Robin just chuckles.
"Indeed," Robin says, with no sign that she's taken offense. "We've been left a lot to think about, and the unenviable responsibility of having to solve a problem without one of its principal figures present. At least, in a manner that might be helpful."
Ikkaku grunts her agreement. The kid was sweet, and clever, but he had no idea of what had transpired, and they'd all agreed to keep certain details from him besides. Not useful for getting answers, but it beat traumatizing the kid more than he already was by the experience. Or would be in the future, apparently.
"At least your crewmate gave us a reasonable avenue to consider when we're looking around," Robin continues. "Them having swapped places entirely is the best hypothesis I've heard so far."
Shachi had caught them both at the base of the Sunny's gangplank, sputtering frantically about something the kid had said. It had taken them a few seconds to figure out what he was trying to say, but Ikkaku had to agree: it was their best lead so far. Not that they had had any real leads to start with, aside from Robin thinking the townsfolk had been awfully cagey the night before when the search was on.
"Have any ideas on how we're going to get people to talk about the possibility?" Ikkaku answers back. "Somehow I think going up to total strangers and asking if they know about anything that causes the child version of people to pop out of thin air is going to ruffle a few feathers."
"Oh, most likely," Robin answers easily enough. "But there was definitely something they weren't saying when I was asking around last night, and I am not feeling particularly charitable about their feelings this morning." There's a hard edge to her voice that Ikkaku can appreciate; a good reminder that the older woman could be as ruthless as she could be delicate when the situation called for it.
The situation, in her opinion, called for it.
Two hours later, and she's definitely getting sick of the delicate approach.
The townsfolk are almost comically obviously not telling them something, shuffling away and refusing to make eye contact in response to Robin's gentler queries and Ikkaku's decidedly less kind ones.
Ikkaku had even suggested getting properly piratical and just grabbing someone and leaning on them until they gave up the ghost, but Robin cautioned—frustratingly correctly—that that might cause the entire island to close ranks. And while there was nothing on this island that could threaten either the Straw Hats or the Hearts, an actively hostile populace would make trying to get answers much more complicated.
"Just like last night," Robin observes as the umpteenth villager scuttles off. "Avoidant, with glances towards the mountain."
"Nami found him up there, yeah?" Ikkaku says, kicking a stray pebble down the packed dirt main road. "All that tells us is there's something up about it, if they're being all cagey like that." She grimaces. "Could have told you that already, with tiny kids appearing out of nowhere."
"Yes, but I'd still like some specifics," Robin says, scanning the area for her next victim. "I haven't heard or seen of any of the locals going up there, and it'd be nice to know if it's fear that keeps them away, or if they're simply avoiding it while we're here so as not to reveal anything they don't want us to know."
"I'm sure we can come up with something for them to fear more," Ikkaku mutters darkly. "Show them a newspaper. Plenty to scare people with in there lately."
"Hopefully it does not come to that," Robin hums. "But if it does, well—I'm sure we can think of some delightful incentives."
But word must have traveled, because as they continue, the town begins to feel more and more empty. Stores begin to appear suspiciously closed, and the shutters on homes are noticeably locked. That was the problem with these smaller islands; even if there were plenty of people willing to talk to them, loyalty to their communities came first. They were closing ranks.
"Yeah, there's definitely something they don't want to talk about," Ikkaku mutters, casting her gaze around.
"Hmm," Robin says, mouth fixed in a disapproving line. "Let's see if I can find some stragglers."
She holds up her arms in the pose that Ikkaku knows means she's sprouting bits of herself elsewhere and her brow furrows in concentration. After a moment, she raises her eyes to make eye contact with Ikkaku and mouths "over there," keeping her head still but moving the direction of her eyes to indicate a small alleyway with several crates stacked at the end.
Ikkaku isn't the stealthiest member of the Hearts by a long shot, but she's good enough to get the drop on an ordinary person. Or at least she's fast enough to grab them when they do notice her and make a break for it, which is what happens when she gets close to one of the crates.
Their spy is a kid, probably ten at the most, and he looks absolutely scared out of his skin. Good; Ikkaku can work with that.
"What's a shrimp like you doing spying on the two of us?" She says casually, fist tight around his shirt collar so he can't get away. She doesn't have the biggest hands, but years of precision machine work and tightening countless nuts and bolts to make sure her crew didn't drown meant her grip was nothing to sneeze at. "Seems kind of rude, if you ask me."
"You're asking about someone who went missing up on the mountain, right?" The kid says nervously. "That's what everyone was saying."
"Maybe. You know something about missing people, squirt?" Ikkaku says, fist tightening further. It makes him squirm. "You'd best not be lying now. My friend and I have been trying very hard to get some answers and we are not in the mood for children's games."
"Yes! No! I mean, no one talks about it, I don't know what the big deal is," the kid protests, wriggling uncomfortably in her grip. When Ikkaku looms further over him, he continues. "It's an old story! There's a statue about it down the road off on a side street! Something the old people talk about!"
"Oh?" Robin says, coming up behind the kid. "An old story, is it? I do love those." She regards the kid with a look that could come off as kindly and could come off as intimidating. Ikkaku has no doubt which one the kid's seeing. "And it has something to do with what causes disappearances?"
The kid doesn't answer, just shakes his head frantically up and down in affirmation.
"Let him go," Robin says. "It's a lead, the best we have so far. Besides," she says with a smile. "I can always find him again." She lets a few extra eyes blossom along her arm, and the kid lets out a whimper.
"True enough, I suppose," Ikkaku grumbles. "All right kid, off with you. And hope you gave us good intel. Otherwise…" she lets her voice trail off. She wouldn't actually hurt the kid, but implied threats could do a lot of work on their own.
He doesn't stick around when she releases his collar, pointedly running in the opposite direction of where he'd told them to go.
"Well," Robin says cheerfully. "Shall we?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"A statue?" Ikkaku sighs as they arrive at their destination. "The thing that kid thought we needed to see was a statue? How's a statue going to help?"
"People don't build statues for no reason," Robin hums thoughtfully. "Maybe it's something about the statue we should be looking at."
As they draw closer, the details of the statue become clearer. It appears to be of a young woman, dressed simply. She's kneeling and has one hand outstretched before her towards the ground.
"Well, it's certainly seen better days," Robin muses. And she's not wrong—if someone had once been in charge of the statue's upkeep, clearly they weren't any longer. The statue itself was pitted in places from exposure to the salty sea air, and a layer of green patina covered most of its surface. An assortment of plant life clogged the base, almost obscuring the plinth the figure was kneeling on entirely.
"There's a plaque here," Ikkaku says, pointing to a dirty rectangle welded to the base of the statue, just visible behind a curtain of green. "Give me a minute."
It takes only a moment for her to worm the small tube of solvent out of the bottom of her tool belt, but soon Ikkaku is dotting some onto the plaque and scrubbing furiously with the cloth she keeps clipped to her belt.
"That's convenient," Robin says in an amused tone.
"Yeah, well—" Ikkaku says. "Always feels weird not to have my kit on me. Lots of things a good rag and some elbow grease can do."
A brisk couple of minutes have the plaque not anywhere close to shining, but it's at least legible, and Ikkaku leans back on her ankles, even more confused.
"'Second Chances?'" she mutters under her breath. "The heck is that supposed to mean?"
"Ikkaku," Robin's voice comes from up above her, and she raises her head to see the older woman pointing at where the statue's hand rested. "Look at this."
She doesn't catch what Robin's pointing at right away. The statue's damage is extensive, and the plants are the stubborn, aggressive sort. Ikkaku could go over the entire thing with all her remaining metal polish, and not make a dent in the patina covering it, let alone bring it back to anything resembling its original condition.
But then Robin sweeps some of the plants aside, and she can see that it's not a statue: it's a fountain.
Whatever had fed the fountain had long stopped flowing, leaving murky standing water in a ring at the base of the figure, covered over by the relentless plant life. As Robin picks more and more of it off, Ikakku can see another shape beneath the surface. It's hard to make out, given how opaque the water at the base is, but she can make out another hand, and a face that's water-worn, but very similar to the one on the figure above.
"Wow," Ikkaku says. "That is creepy as fuck."
"A mirror, maybe? This is definitely meant to be symbolic," Robin muses, leaning closer. "It was probably quite lovely when it was first built."
"Is there anything I can help you girls with?"
Ikkaku startles and is made a little grumpy by the fact that Robin doesn't seem to do the same. The interloper is only one old woman, dressed simply as most of Kairos' residents do. One gnarled hand is wrapped around a carved wooden cane, but her eyes are sharp and say she's expecting an answer.
"We were simply interested in what the story behind such a fascinating piece of artwork is," Robin responds smoothly.
"Ah, this old thing?" the woman chuckles, eyes softening, laying a fond hand on the arm of the statue. "This has been here for a long time. Was built, oh, close to a century ago, I think? Before I was born, anyway. No one's paid any real attention to it in years, more's the shame, but then people don't really seem that interested in the old stories anymore."
"Stories?" Robin prods. "I'm a bit of a historian, myself. I'd love to hear if there was a local tale attached to this fountain. I find local legends and folktales to be an absolutely fascinating study."
"It's based on an old legend in these parts," the woman says, clearly eager to talk to someone excited to hear her story. She settles down on the edge of the plinth, sighing gently. "Used to be, there were all sorts of people who said they'd experienced it, but not so much these days. A pity, really; it's such a lovely tale."
Robin gestures for the woman to continue.
"As the old tale goes, long ago a woman arrived on the shores of Kairos. She was very weak, and already dying, and she carried with her a small wooden chest. Some of the stories say she was running from something, and that the people who lived there then sheltered her from whatever and whomever pursued her. Maybe that's why what she did what she did." The woman shrugs.
"As she lay dying, she told the villagers to bury her someplace remote, in an unmarked grave, with the box and all its contents. When the villagers asked if she wouldn't rather be buried in the communal graveyard, she refused, stating that she had the responsibility to make sure her burden did not return to the outside world. A curious request, but they buried her on the mountain, in an unmarked grave, like she requested."
"Did anyone ever look at what was in the box?" Ikkaku cut in. "That seems like it'd be pretty important, and I know my curiosity would have gotten the better of me."
"Different tellings of the story conflict," the old woman sighs. "Sometimes, it's a piece of cursed gold. Other times, the box is empty except for a piece of paper with something written on it in a language no one could read. But most commonly, it's some sort of plant."
"A plant," Robin says evenly, and Ikkaku can tell from the tone in her voice that the older woman has seized upon something that she's missed. "Did the stories ever say what sort of plant?"
The old woman shakes her head. "No," she says. "Just that it was very odd, and like nothing anyone had ever seen before. Perhaps it was something sacred to wherever the young woman had come from, but it had no meaning to anyone here, as far as I've ever heard. And a plant would have just decayed along with its owner, so there would be no value in trying to steal it. Makes for a curious story, though."
"Is that the end of it?" Robin says, voice still thick with unasked questions.
"Oh, by all means, no," the woman chuckles. "The real meat of the legend takes place years later. People started disappearing for days at a time or showing up with no memory of recent events—sometimes even dressed in different clothing or asking after people who had died. There were gaps in their memories, and nothing could explain it, until days or weeks later when the problems would seemingly clear up on their own. About the only thing they could find in common was that they'd been up on the mountain for one reason or another: logging, foraging, and so on."
"People began to claim it was whatever mysterious item had been buried with the woman causing the phenomenon, but no one could remember where she'd been buried to check, and everyone was averse to exhuming a grave in the first place. Seemed disrespectful when all she wanted to do was rest. And no one was getting hurt, just…confused. Claiming to have seen things and talked to people."
"Oh?" Robin hums.
"One person claimed he was able to reconcile with his father, despite the man being five years dead. Another said she confessed to her first love. A child said they admitted to their parents some small transgression that had been making them feel guilty." The woman taps the plaque Ikkaku had cleaned with the end of her cane. "It's where the name on the statue came from. The idea that you were getting a second chance to fix a mistake."
"And these people supposedly all…experienced this in a real and physical manner?" Robin says slowly.
"Oh, that's what the legend says," the old woman demurs. "But we know it can't have been anything like that. Hallucinations, maybe; there's been lots of theories that we have some sort of natural gas underneath our mountain that seeps up to the surface and causes people issues. A geologist who came through town when I was young said the earth was right for that sort of thing around here. Something that affected memory, anyway. Still, it made for a lovely story." She gestures at the statue. "The idea you could fix a mistake, or at least correct a misconception. Or have the illusion of doing so, anyway. It was a romantic fantasy." She shrugs. "That's probably why no one wants to talk about it anymore. They find it embarrassing people could have believed such a ridiculous story, and no one likes to be thought of as backward and out of touch. Over time we've just…stopped believing. Sometimes I think it's a shame."
"But," she says, standing and dusting off her skirts. "Then again, almost no one's claimed to have experienced the phenomenon in at least thirty years, so it's not like they have any reason to believe the stories. No one except Salria. She still swears up and down what she experienced was a real thing." She sighs. "Truth be told, it's made her a bit of the local crackpot. But she's not hurting anyone. She's just…odd."
"Interesting," Robin says. "I would be very interested in getting a chance to speak with her, to hear what she has to say about the experience."
"Really?" The woman's doubt is evident in her tone, and Ikkaku can't help but feel a little bit for this woman whose found herself a little outcast in her own community. She was familiar with how easy it was to other someone. "It's just her talking nonsense."
Ikkaku grimaces at how easily this woman had gone from talking lovingly about a 'romantic fantasy' to being critical of a person who might believe it. She wonders if she even noticed her own hypocrisy.
"Oh, of course," Robin says easily. "It just sounds like a fascinating perspective. Sometimes there's a grain of truth to be found in delusions, I've always found."
The woman shrugs. "If you say so. She's harmless, and you seem like a nice pair of girls, so I suppose there's no harm in sending you her way. She doesn't get much in the way of visitors these days, so she'll probably be delighted to have someone to talk to."
She points past the fountain, indicating a slightly overgrown path that leads out of the part of town they were standing in. "It's not far. About a five-minute walk down that way. The little cottage with the grass roof; you can't miss it."
"Many thanks," Robin says. "You've given us a lot to think about."
"Of course, dears," the woman says, shuffling off. "Enjoy your visit, now."
"You look like you've got a tiger by the tail," Ikkaku says as they move out of earshot. "Something about that story ring a bell?"
"I think so," Robin says, and all the joking demeanor is gone from her voice. This is a deadly serious Robin. "Tell me, Ikkaku, what sorts of plants do you know of that cause weird phenomena?"
Ikakku blinks. That hadn't been the part of the woman's story she'd paid much attention to. "There are all sorts of plants that can cause hallucinations and other adverse effects, but weird weird…?" She hums in concentration, turning the question over in her head until the answer hits her like a bolt from the blue. "Oh," she breathes. "Devil fruits."
"Devil fruits," Robin nods.
Ikkaku wracks her brain for what else the woman had said. "But how? People need to actively use devil fruits, right? And it's not like the people here aren't going to know what they are; this is the New World. Unless someone went back and dug up whatever that poor woman had in the box with her, and the town's just had whatever devil fruit that was under their control this whole time."
"It's possible," Robin muses. "It would arguably be the better option; find the user and have them reverse whatever they did to Torao. But I am concerned that we are looking at something a bit more complicated here."
"How so?" Ikkaku presses.
"There are recorded instances of inanimate objects having eaten devil fruits before," Robin explains. "I am unsure as to what the process is, but I've encountered a few. A gun that became a dog. A sword that became an elephant. Even a little teapot back in Wano. And as far as I know, devil fruits do not expire the way normal fruit does. Put one in the ground in a wooden box, and eventually that box will decay. Exposing the fruit to the mountain itself. Being absorbed by the soil."
"That's—"
"Impossible? Logic would suggest that to be the case," Robin agrees as they reach a turn in the path, moving further away from town. "But devil fruit logic has been inconsistent to begin with. How does Torao do half the things he does?" She reaches out an arm, and a half dozen copies of it bloom on a nearby tree. "How can I duplicate myself on any surface, instead of just my own body? No, for every one thing we know about devil fruits, I think there are ten we do not."
"And we heard about Momo's ma back in Wano," Ikkaku groans, running a hand over her eyes. "So time travel is a thing we have to actually consider."
"She could only go in one direction: forward," Robin confirms. "But there are many devil fruits that seem to have complimentary equivalents. Multiple fruits that cause explosions, for example, or change your weight. So it's not unthinkable to think the Lady Toki's fruit had an equivalent that allowed travel back in time."
"Or, if we're to believe Shachi's theory, one that could swap people," Ikkaku sighs. "Great. So what? Either someone is actively screwing with us, or what? We have a…a mountain that accidentally ate a devil fruit and is passively triggering swaps on people whenever they go up there?"
"A cloud of chemicals ate one back on Punk Hazard," Robin points out. "After that, it's not so much of a stretch to think a mountain could as well."
Both of them glance upwards at the mountain towering over the center of the island, and Ikkaku suppresses a shiver.
"This was supposed to be a vacation," she mutters.
"Welcome to the New World," Robin hums. It sounds like an agreement.
The path leads them to a homey looking little cottage, tucked up against a copse of tall overgrown bushes and surrounded by carefully tended gardens bursting with harvest vegetables and late-season flowers. A line of washing hung from a rope strung between the roof of the house and a nearby tree, and Ikkaku could hear the lowing of a cow somewhere around the back.
All in all, it looked very much like any smallholder's house on any number of islands from any one of the seas, perfectly normal and not at all like the place where an avowed crazy woman supposedly lived.
A person who was presumably said woman was bent over in a bed of greens, up to her elbows in big vibrant stalks of a vegetable that Ikkaku didn't recognize. She could hear snatches of a song being hummed as they approached, the picture of a person engrossed in the task at hand.
"Excuse me," Robin starts as they approach, and the woman stands abruptly, startled but not outright scared, her eyebrows raised in confusion.
"Can I…help you?" she says cautiously. She has a nice voice, Ikakku thinks offhandedly. One of those warm, storyteller kind of tones.
"Someone in town recommended we speak with you," Robin says. "A friend is…missing, and we have found ourselves with someone else in his place.
The woman's eyes soften in understanding. "Ah," she says. She sounds sad. "But it's not really someone else, is it?"
"No," Ikkaku cuts in. "And someone said you might have firsthand experience in this sort of thing. Or…believe that you do?" Her shoulders slump. "I don't know, we're at a bit of an impasse as to what to do here."
"Ah, I see," the woman says. "Yes, I do 'believe' I have encountered what you're referencing." She chuckles. "My name is Salria. Why don't you come inside, and we can talk."
She gestures towards the cheerfully painted wooden door of the cottage and begins walking away without any further prompting. Robin and Ikkaku, without any real other option, follow.
The inside of the cottage is homey and well-kept. Rows of herbs hang drying over a kitchen counter, and a woodburning stove and hearth dominate one side of the room. Their host places the vegetables she'd been gathering on a sideboard and sets an old-fashioned metal kettle in already simmering coals to heat.
"So," Robin starts. "How did you find yourself in the position to…experience this particular phenomenon, anyway?"
"Why," Salria says fondly as she putters around the kitchen. "Because I was in love. And I let her get away."
She gestures for Robin and Ikkaku to sit at a sturdy looking wooden table and returns to bustling about the kitchen. Soon, two identical hand thrown ceramic cups are steaming in front of them, and Ikkaku can smell the grassy scent of fresh herbs. Some local tea, maybe. She could do with something a bit stronger, but even though Kairos wasn't that cold to her North Blue blood, a hot drink after their walk did sound appealing.
"Oh, where to begin," their hostess muses as she returns to her seat, her own mug untouched in front of her.
"When I was young, I had a sweetheart. She was everything to me." Her eyes crinkle at the corners, lost in fond memories. "But Kairos was far too small a place for her. She'd always wanted to explore; see what the rest of the ocean had to offer. But I had no such ambitions. I love this island; I love its peace. I still do. I couldn't fathom wanting to leave, not when the outside world was full of so many terrifying things. So I ignored her every time she told me of her plans to eventually leave."
She sighed. "Until the day it actually happened. She asked me to come with her for the millionth time, and I just blew her off like I always did. Except the next morning she was gone. And she never came back."
"Two years later, I was up the mountain looking for plants to dye some fabric with when suddenly I…wasn't anymore. I was back in my house, and not thirty seconds later who should come in through the door except someone I thought I'd never see again?"
She takes a sip of her tea. "It was like time had rewound itself. And when she asked that night if I would come with her, instead of saying no, I asked her a question. I asked her why she kept asking me, when she knew I didn't want to leave. And you know what she told me?"
Her eyes soften. "She told me that she needed to hear my honest answer. That it was fine that I didn't want to go, but that she'd been hurt over and over by my refusal to treat her desires as genuine, and to admit to my own fear of the matter. That she'd send me letters, full of pictures of where she'd gone, and things to add to my scrapbook. And that she'd come back, because she knew her heart was well-kept here."
She chuckles. It's honest, but there's a slight bitter edge to it that Ikkaku can hear underneath the mirth. "Well, I felt like a right idiot, of course. If I had just said that the first time, would I have gotten the chance to see her again? I never heard from her again, and here was this second version of her promising to keep in touch. Would I have still had that if I had been a bit more honest? Would she have come back to me permanently after her wanderlust was satisfied? I'll never know."
"I never received any of that, of course," she chuckles. "Because the next day, as I was going to the port to see her off, I found myself back where I'd started. She was still two years gone, and I was still alone, save for some new, better memories."
"How do you know it wasn't simply a very vivid dream?" Robin says softly. It feels almost intrusive, to be so skeptical, but Ikkaku knows why she's doing it. They have to be sure. They cannot afford to not be sure.
"Because this time, I got to keep a little something of her with me," Salria says, rising from her chair. Striding over to the hearth, she picks up a carved wooden box off the mantle above it, cradling it carefully in her hands as she brings it back to place it on the table. She flips the brass latch at the front with one flick of the finger, and then draws a simple, but well-made gold chain with a blue pendant at the end from the box.
"Her father gave her this when she was younger," Salria says, voice hushed in reverence as the links fall delicately through her fingers. "Not many traders come this way, so jewelry like this is rare. That night, when we talked, she put it around my neck as a promise. When I found myself home again, it came with me. Maybe because it was touching me, I don't know, but it's proof. What I experienced was real. Maybe that reality still exists, in a different time or place or dimension. I don't know, but it was real enough to give me something concrete to remember her by."
"Fascinating," Robin breathes, leaning forward to stare at the necklace. "What else have you learned?"
"More than that," Salria confirms, carefully placing the pendant back in its box and closing the lid. "I tried to study up on it, you know?" she says, leaning back in her chair, picking up her mug of tea and lightly cupping it in both hands. "The old accounts are still around, just buried and neglected in the old town hall. No one likes to think we might be descended from crazy people, so they get kept out of the regular library." She shrugs. "But this? This proves I wasn't crazy, no matter what people say. And I'm fine with that. I know what I saw—what I experienced—was real. And that's all I need."
"I eventually pieced together, between the old stories and my own experience, that the honesty was the important part. I had unburdened myself of the things I had never said, and that was the catalyst for me coming home again. Did you see the statue in town? That's what it means by 'second chances.' A second chance to right a wrong or say something you wish you'd said. You can't keep the result, can't stay in that world, but…" she trails off. "It offers something like closure, you know? A bittersweet one, to be sure, but you aren't left second guessing yourself as much anymore. It's healing. It's rough, but…it's healing."
"What if," Ikkaku starts, dread pooling in her gut. "What if the regret is so strong, or the pain overwhelming enough? What happens then? Law…Law's been through a lot. And now he's probably having to relive that, and…I don't want that for him. I don't think there's anything that could really fix what he's experienced. Not so many years later."
"Sweetie," Salria says gently. "He'll be fine. I won't lie to you, if his regrets are as strong as you seem to think, he might have a hard time. But no one can stay isolated forever. He'll have to confront it eventually."
Her eyes soften, and she reaches over and gently grasps Ikakku's hand. Her hands are warm and calloused. Honest hands. "Come now, what's really troubling you?"
"It's like—" Ikakku stops, swallowing thickly. Heart-to-hearts weren't her strong suit. Someone else should be here, to explain the problem. Shachi maybe, or Bepo with his big sad eyes that made everyone listen to him. Not her. Not the Polar Tang's resident no-nonsense hardass.
But she is the only one here who can do this, and her audience is looking at her expectantly and without judgement, so come on, strap on your big girl boots, you can do this.
"It's like having a little sibling, who you're so so proud of, because they're amazing and smart and keep spitting in the face of whatever and whoever wants to knock them down, but they're still…them, right? They're still bratty and stubborn and insufferable and you love them so much despite how much a pain in the ass they can be, and you know they care about you too, but—"
She exhales. Her breath comes out shakier than expected. "But then you find out they've been hiding so much and it—it hurts, you know? You know exactly why they did, and you understand their logic and you can't…really fault them, not really. But it still feels like you haven't been trusted. Because he knows almost everything about you, and he still didn't feel like he could offer the same."
She laughs suddenly, a harsh burst of sound. "I don't blame him at all, I swear I don't. Just the little I learned made my hair curl even harder than I thought possible. But brains and hearts don't talk the same language, just like engines and machines speak their own, and it still…hurts. Not that I'd ever admit it to his smug little face, but it does."
Her fingers clench tight around her mug of tea, callouses sliding along imperfections in the clay and glaze. "But the worst of it? I am so scared that he's not coming back. Because how do you take away what he's lost a second time? How do you make him do that? There is a small, bright-eyed little child who's only known love and care back on the ships, and now I know why he doesn't stay that way. And even so, I couldn't care less if it means I get to see our Law again."
"So," she finishes, trying her best to keep her voice level. "Please tell me I get my captain back. My friend, my little brother, the man who trusted his home to me when he'd already lost his own twice over. Because right now it feels selfish to want that. But I do. Salt and Spray and fathoms above and below, but I do."
"Of course you do," Salria says. There's no condescension in her voice, just conviction. "And you will as soon as he sorts himself out. But it sounds like you all need to have a very serious conversation when he gets back. Both for yourself, and for him. And who knows? Maybe he'll have learned a few things while he was away. I certainly did."
"Maybe," Ikkaku whispers.
"I think we've taken enough of your time," Robin says to their hostess, a comforting hand on Ikkaku's shoulder. "And we have a lot of people who will want to hear what we learned today. We should be headed back."
"Of course," Salria says gently. "I wish you the best of luck, and a swift return of your friend."
Ikkaku doesn't say anything until they're almost all the way back to the ships, and Robin thankfully is willing to give her that space.
"I hate this," she finally spits out once the port is in sight. "A power dependent on the person affected having some sort of emotional revelation? That's bullshit." She huffs a long sigh out of her mouth, letting her breath steal away into the steadily cooling air of late afternoon. "Law's got so many things he's hung up on, too."
"The thing with Doflamingo is as settled as it may ever be," Robin muses. "So it can't be that; else we would have had a different little Torao show up, and from the sounds of it he would have been a lot different from the one we've encountered. Older, too."
"That leaves…" Ikkaku trails off. She doesn't want to mention Flevance out loud, even out here in the boonies where it's likely no one has ever heard of it. It feels wrong, somehow, to put a name to that specific place without Law's permission. "But there's nothing he could have done about that. All the cards were stacked against him; he was a kid."
"Survivor's guilt," Robin says slowly and with the weight of experience heavy in her voice. "It doesn't care if you were never actually at fault for anything. You survive; others did not. Your brain tells you there has to be a reason for that, and if you managed to survive then surely others could have to, if you'd just tried harder, or fought harder, or whatever arbitrary threshold your brain decides to inflict on you. Sometimes it's just the words you never got to say, living forever buried in a part of your brain you never talk about, gathering dust. I imagine there are many things that Torao wishes he could have said to his family. There are many things I wish I could have said to the people I lost."
Ikkaku winces. That was what she was worried about. "Robin, I know you haven't known Law for very long, but come on, you have to know how he's going to react to this."
Robin raises an eyebrow, and Ikkaku heaves a sigh of exasperation before spelling out the real problem.
"He won't say something. He'll button himself up and sit on it until he explodes. If this whole thing requires him to be emotionally vulnerable to come home? We're fucked."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Zoro was no stranger to weird-ass shit.
Even if dealing with stuff like that wasn't the sort of thing every person who decided to venture into the Grand Line could reasonably expect to deal with, Zoro was a Straw Hat. Weird-ass shit had exemplified his experiences as a pirate from day one, starting with his captain. He likes to think he's gotten pretty good at just going with whatever this crazy ocean felt like throwing at them, all things considered.
Still, he thinks it's perfectly reasonable to draw a line at time travel and miniature versions of people they knew.
The time travel that the samurai on Wano had talked about had been easier to digest. The cause of it was a devil fruit, devil fruits were stupid and weird and no one knew how they worked anyway, so it was easy enough to just chalk the things they did up to something unknowable and move on from there. This? Not so much.
Especially when the proof of that weirdness was not-so-subtly staring holes in the back of his head.
He didn't mind the kid. Really, he didn't. Law was a sensible person, if a bit uptight, and the little version of him seemed to have his head screwed on tighter than most small children did. He hadn't run off or burst into tears—not that Zoro could really have blamed him if he did—and even if he was much worse at subtlety than his adult counterpart, he wasn't in your face or annoying about it.
Zoro didn't really know why so many people seemed to think kids were hard to deal with. All you had to do was be somewhat aware that their emotions were volatile—as if there weren't adults who were exactly the same—and to treat them like people and you were three-quarters of the way to having a perfectly fine interaction. Just pay attention to the way the kid acted and you were probably fine. Tama had been adventurous, and Toko needed a little more care, and this tiny Law obviously needed to go home. So long as you didn't ignore things like that you were probably golden.
Zoro had spent the morning after the meeting the Hearts and the Straw Hats had had in regards to their little problem napping in the crow's nest to get a little peace and quiet, but now he'd set up shop on the deck of the Sunny to spend some time giving his swords some proper care and attention. Enma in particular needed to learn that every time it was drawn did not necessarily mean it was going to be drawing blood. It was something that Zoro had eventually drilled into Kitetsu and damn if he wasn't going to convince the fractious sword of the same thing.
There was a bit of an ulterior motive to his location though; normally he would have just done this inside, where there was less chatter, and it was easier to let the meditative nature of sword care sink in. But Zoro had a sneaking suspicion that someone should be keeping an eye on Luffy. He'd been so excited for the little version of his friend and had straight up called him by that dumb nickname to his face. Zoro could have sworn he'd seen the entirety of the Heart Pirates contemplate murder in that exact moment, and while neither he nor any of the Straw Hats would let anything like that happen, he can't blame them for being irritated that his captain seemed to be taking the problem less than seriously.
But nothing seems to have happened while he was out; probably Nami or the cook had distracted him, or maybe Usopp with one of his stories, but Zoro figures even one extra eye is better. And, to be fair, it was a nice day out. The fresh air was welcome, and after the ever-cycling seasons of Wano, being in a place where the weather was relatively constant was a nice treat.
Except now he's less than ten minutes into his regimen and he's got a little shadow haunting him.
"You can come out," he finally says. He doesn't have the patience for this. "You're not being particularly sneaky."
The little embarrassed huff he gets as the kid pops out from behind a water barrel reminds Zoro so much of the older captain's penchant for snippy little noises when he was disappointed in you that he almost starts laughing. It'd be the wrong call, for sure—no kid likes to be laughed at, especially by total strangers—but Zoro pockets the memory for the next time Law gets snarky with the Straw Hats.
"I wasn't trying to sneak around," he says petulantly, and oh, Zoro can add 'bad at lying' to the list too. Kid's looking him directly in the eye though, so he gets points for that. Clearly lying was something Law had picked up somewhere on his travels; the stubborn temperament seemed to be a default setting.
"Sure," is all he says, and turns his attention back to Wado's bare blade. "Anyway, if there was nothing else…"
Zoro listens as the kid fidgets, weight shifting slowly from one foot to the other. Well, if he wants to draw this out, fine by him. Zoro's got two more blades to take care of after he finishes with Wado. He can keep this up for a long time.
"Can I—" the kid finally starts, and swallows his words when Zoro turns and raises an eyebrow at him. But he must find whatever it is he needs to keep going, because a second later he finally blurts out what he's been trying to say.
"Can I look at your swords?"
"You like swords?" is all Zoro says.
Law's face turns a remarkable shade of pink. "No. Yes!" he sputters. Zoro has to resist the urge to start cackling. "It's just—" he continues, clearly trying to find justification for his interest. "It's just that I don't normally get the chance to see swords. That's it."
Right. Nerd.
"What, they not a thing where you're from?" Zoro responds. He supposes statistically there have to be some places there weren't, as foreign as the idea seems to him. But what did he know; Law was from an entirely different ocean, and Zoro was damned if he knew anything about how the North Blue functioned aside from the fact that it seemed to spit out people with a penchant for dramatics and shitty childhoods.
"Some of the marines on the base near the harbor have them," Law shrugs. "But they're not allowed in the hospital, so I only ever get to see them from far away. Like when there are parades and stuff."
"Parades? What sort of fancy-ass place are you from, anyway?" Zoro chuckles, until he sees the kid's face fall. Right, weren't supposed to mention things like that. Damn.
"Ah, hell…you can stay and watch if you want, I guess," he says instead, olive branch tentatively extended. He's not sure if what he's doing is interesting enough to hold a kid's attention for long, but it can't hurt.
And apparently that was the right call because Law's face perks up immediately, and he scrambles to sit next to Zoro, knees neatly folded and hands politely in his lap. He looks kind of like an excited puppy, Zoro realizes. Well, Brook had said something earlier when he'd emerged from his morning nap about the kid being really excited to learn things. Apparently, he wasn't particularly picky about what those things were.
"Don't touch anything," he warns sternly. "I mean it. Swords aren't toys: they're tools, and they'll hurt you if you don't treat them with respect." He blinks. "Also the amount of people who would try to kill me if you got hurt is high. Please don't make me have to deal with that shit. You understand me, kid?"
"I know," Law answers assuredly. "I won't do anything."
"Do you now?" Zoro drawls, not trying to hide his skepticism. The kid seemed pretty serious, he'd give him that, but he was—what? Six?
Law's face screws up in a pout. Well, that hadn't changed, he guesses. Still bad at being called out.
"No, really," the kid protests, and he holds out his right hand palm up for Zoro's inspection.
There's a scar there, winding under the base of his first two fingers and curving down to wrap around the base of the thumb. It's thin, and relatively new—still developing the white color of fully scarred over tissue. Based on what Zoro can see, it looks like it was made with a very sharp, thin sort of blade. Probably not a big one either.
He tries to think if he'd ever seen a similar scar on Law's hand. No, but in retrospect there was no reason for him to have. Scars faded over time, and even if the palm was exactly the sort of place they tended to linger, the parts of Law's hands people tended to notice were the heavily tattooed backs, when they weren't trying desperately to get out of the range of his hands entirely. He wasn't the sort to go making a fuss about incidental scars either; it was something Zoro admittedly appreciated about the man.
"Looks like you did a number on your hand, kid," he says, and the boy pulls it back. "But I fail to see what that has to do with this conversation."
"You said you have to respect your tools," the kid says patiently. "I didn't, and I got hurt."
When Zoro just stares at him, eyebrow raised, he huffs a sigh. "Dad was going to show me how he used a scalpel, but I got impatient waiting for him. I reached up and grabbed it off the table without looking, just so I could get a peek." He traces the edge of the scar with one little finger. "But I grabbed the blade instead of the handle."
"Good way to take your fingers off," Zoro observes.
"Yeah, mom said I was lucky. I didn't damage any of the—" he makes a face, and drops into a few words in Northern Zoro can't parse. He assumes they mean something to the effect of 'the parts that make my hands work' based on the context. "But scalpels are a doctor's tool, and if I can't use them right, I can't be a good doctor." He looks up at Zoro. "You have to take care of your swords to be a good swordsman, right?"
Well, damn. Insightful little shit.
"Among other things," Zoro says. "There's a lot of things. Discipline. Hard work. Respect for your tools and for the people you fight."
Law cocks his head to the side, brows furrowed. "Oh. I didn't know that there were so many rules to being a swordsman."
Zoro weighs his options. Law's clearly not planning on being quiet. He could shoo the kid off and continue on with his day, even get someone to come distract him for a bit while he finishes the swords, but that seems cheap. The kid had sought him out and was clearly interested in what he was doing. It wouldn't hurt to humor him a little.
"To be a proper one, yeah," he says. "Otherwise you're just a butcher with a blade."
"Or three blades," Law observes. "That's not normal, right? I've never heard of anyone else fighting like that."
"No one fights like me, kid. I invented the style, and I'm going to be the one to perfect it." Zoro allows himself a bit of a feral grin and is cheered a bit when the kid nervously returns a smile of his own.
"Shachi said his missing friend is a doctor who uses a sword," Law says with not a little awe in his voice. "I didn't know doctors could use swords."
"He fights like no one else I know," Zoro acknowledges. And that's nothing but the truth; Law had taken a devil fruit, from what Zoro could tell anyway, that was not meant for combat and turned it into a frightening piece of battle utility. "And he's no slouch with a sword, either, I'll give him that."
"Could you beat him?"
"Not the point," Zoro says. "I mean, yes, if it came down to just sword against sword. I don't think even he'd argue that, and the man's stubborn as the day is long. But life isn't gonna be kind enough to always throw you even fights, kid. Sometimes it'll be really easy. Sometimes it'll be really hard. Sometimes there will be a gimmick you're in a piss-poor position to deal with. The point is how you deal with the problem." He holds Wado out in front of him, eying straight down her blade to assess the quality of his work. "Sometimes it might be smarter to run from something, but at what cost? Who gets hurt if you do?"
Law gives him a measured look, the kind that looks weird on the face of a child. He doesn't blink much, Zoro realizes. Is that normal?
"Sounds complicated," he finally says.
"Kid, less things are complicated than you think. Or rather, people make them more complicated than they need to be." Like you, and your endless plans. "The important thing is to know who you are." He pokes a finger into the kid's chest to drive home his point, almost startling at how slight he feels. Law as an adult was a beanpole, sure, but he'd never felt frail. "Who you are, and who your people are. Everything else? Well, it will fall into place eventually. Just focus on what's important to you."
"What's important…" Law says quietly, staring at the scar on his hand.
"Yeah," Zoro says with a nod. "I mean, you're going to be a great doctor, right? Seems pretty important to me."
The smile he gets at that comment might as well have been backlight by the goddamn sun.
"Yeah," Law says. "Yeah! I'll be even better than mom and dad, and I'll figure out how to do all sorts of things! Things we don't know how to do yet."
"Glad we got that sorted," Zoro says, going back to his swords. "Now, are you actually interested in these, or was that just a clever ruse to get me talking?"
"No, no I am!" Law says hastily. "Tell me about them?"
"All right, squirt," Zoro sighs, but even he can tell he's not fooling anyone by sounding put upon. "Pay attention, because I ain't gonna repeat myself on any of this."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Wow," the cook says, smug grin on his insufferable place. "The Demon of the East Blue, babysitter. What did you do, talk him to death about swordsmanship or something?"
"Shut up," Zoro snaps defensively, but keeps his voice low. There's a tiny head pillowed on his knee and his legs are beginning to cramp from keeping them so still. "He was very excited for the conversation, and he's a better listener than some people I know."
"Apparently," Sanji drawls, tilting his head to the side to peruse the open notebook in front of Law's knees. A meticulously rendered drawing of a sword takes up an entire page, neatly labeled with Northern words in childish handwriting. "Of course he's the kind of kid who takes notes on everything. I don't know what I expected."
"Was there a point to you coming over here, or…?" Zoro grumbles.
"Well, I was going to see if he wanted a snack, but looks like you tired him right out," Sanji says. "Ah, well, being around all of us is probably exhausting. I'll go see if Bepo or one of the other Hearts can come and put him up in the infirmary. The bed's gotta be a better resting place than your knee and sure as shit he isn't going to get the kind of sleep he needs on deck like this."
Law shifts a bit in his sleep, scrunching up even further into a little ball, and Zoro can see the cook's expression soften. "He say anything interesting?"
"Nothing relevant," Zoro says. "I still owe him a sword demonstration, though. He's not gonna let me forget it. Promised not to, in fact."
Sanji chuckles. "Well, maybe later we can find one of the Hearts for you to thrash a bit. I know some of them use swords. Later, though."
Zoro looks down at the kid resting in his lap. A small smile is twitching at the corner of Law's mouth as he dreams about…Zoro doesn't know. Swords? Doctor shit? Home, maybe. But…he looks good. In a way the adult Zoro knew never really had.
Shit, kid. What happens to you?
"Yeah. Later."
Notes:
10/10 Zoro best babysitter.
Chapter 7: Questions
Chapter Text
To say that Law was having an internal crisis would be a bit of an understatement.
Not that he hadn't been saddled with a host of other, related crises before now, but the simple fact of the matter was that of all the unbelievable things he'd been prepared to accept about this incredibly unbelievable situation, getting recognized by his three-year-old baby sister had been so far down the list he hadn't even been aware it was a contender.
He had been prepared—theoretically—for the possibility that either or both of his parents might eventually notice he was a near-dead ringer for his father, but he'd expected things like logic and the sheer impossibility of a person having to consider that they were talking to their son from twenty years in the future to stop those thoughts before they gained too much traction. And so far, that seemed to be the case. Even if Sister Ava had pegged his family affiliation on sight, he had so far been saved from having that conversation by the simple fact that no sane adult would make that leap of logic.
Little kids, apparently, had no such inconvenient restrictions to their thought processes.
He'd sat there dumbfounded, as Lami had poked and prodded his face without a care in the world, giggling as she tugged on his facial hair and flicked at his earrings. It was all that he could do to brace a hand on her back to make sure she didn't fall from her precarious perch atop his legs as she continued her explorations, brain misfiring as it tried to find a solution for this new problem and coming up with a distinct lack of good options.
Law was now on a timer, and he had no idea how much time was left on it. The fact that Lami knew meant it was limited—probably significantly so—because she was three and no three-year-old in history had ever been able to keep a secret for very long, even one who didn't talk very much like Lami did. Kids had other ways of communicating, and she could make her meaning perfectly clear if she wanted to.
And it hurt, because a large part of him just wanted to hug her, to promise her that yes, here he was with his strange face and tattoos and hat, but he was still Law at the end of the day and the fact that she knew that meant more than he could say. He'd changed so much over the years, and not for the better, and she'd recognized him anyway. It was the first real sign he'd had this entire messed-up trip that he still had a place here, and after a whole day of feeling like an intruder in his own country, this was an affirmation he hadn't known he'd desperately needed.
But he couldn't do that. He couldn't respond in any of the ways he wanted to, because to his parents he was still Cora, the strange man who had fallen through a hole in their living room. He'd barely been deemed safe enough to read a book to Lami; he didn't want to think what would happen if they caught their mysterious guest hugging her or treating her with the familiarity he wished he could. Not to mention the fact that even if she told their parents they likely straight-up wouldn't believe her, and then Law might be faced with accusations of trying to do any number of things. He'd had countless nightmares of losing their love over the years for any number of reasons; he didn't want to find out what outright rejection from his family would do to him in reality.
The best he'd been able to do in the moment before their mother came back to collect Lami for bed was ask her if she wanted to play a secret game. Lami had always loved games, and the object of this one was 'tell no one you know who Law is.' Did she understand why she was doing it? Absolutely not. Law was banking entirely on the fact that she was enjoying playing a game with her big brother to buy him some time. Time to do what exactly, he wasn't sure. Prepare to panic less when the truth inevitably got out? Bullshit for all he was worth, maybe.
It didn't help that now every time Lami saw him, she'd hold up her little finger to her mouth and loudly stage whisper "shhh!" before dissolving into giggles.
"Goodness, she likes you," his mother had chuckled the first (and second, and third) times she'd done it the following morning. "I know you've got other things on your mind, Cora, but have you considered a side career as a babysitter?"
Law had politely demurred.
The weather had stayed wet and gloomy, so Law found himself stuck inside rather than risk the need to borrow more clothes from his father. His mother had come around before he'd settled down for the night before—such as he was able to, with his chronic insomnia and being physically too long for the couch—with a spare comb and toothbrush, gently insinuating that his hair looked like something a bird had been nesting in, and he was grateful for even that little consideration. It felt like he'd spent far too much of the last few months disheveled and dirty, and even being able to engage in the most basic of hygiene helped him feel a bit more human, and that in turn helped him keep his head just a little bit better. Not well, by any means. But better.
The unsettled feeling in the air didn't seem to be limited to his own brain. His father had been up since the early morning, a pile of scattered papers all over the dining room table and the distinct smell of coffee permeating the air for long enough that Law could tell it was being continuously consumed. He'd avoided asking what it was he was working on; Law hated to be interrupted when he had something riding his brain, and from the looks of it he came by that tendency honestly. But eventually everyone else in the house was up, Lami needed breakfast, and his mother was bullying both him and his father to sit at the table and eat something.
"I just want to make sure the presentation goes well," his father grumbled around a bite of eggs. "You know how important it is we get this study off the ground."
"I do," Law's mother said gently, as she placed a plate in front of Law, piled high with a suspiciously large amount of food and accompanied by an eyebrow that dared him to try saying anything. He didn't. "But if you keel over in front of the royal physician, I doubt that will help your argument. Or the study."
Law's father made a noise that he would classify as 'reluctant acquiescence' and didn't argue any further, instead busying himself with finishing his food at a pace that Law knew meant he wanted to get back to work.
"Study?" He found himself asking, maybe as a way to distract himself from the fact that he was, once again, ingesting contaminated food off of contaminated plates. "Are you working on medical research?"
"We want to be," his father emphasized, waving a hand at all the papers that had been temporarily shuffled to the side to allow space for breakfast. "But getting approval for a study is like pulling teeth, so I want to make sure I've got everything locked down so I don't forget any important talking points."
"Correct me if I'm wrong," Law says, "but isn't the hospital here one of the best in the North Blue? I would think you would have more than enough funding and equipment to do whatever it is you needed to do."
"Bureaucracy," his mother replied sagely, as his father let out a gusty sigh, stabbing at the food on his plate with perhaps a bit more vigor than was warranted. "Regular medical care is left to the doctors and nurses working in the hospital and the clinics, but one of Flevance's most important resources is her medical knowledge, so the crown guards that jealously. Any official study, or work that might get published or receive any sort of public notoriety has to be approved by the royal physician, and then signed off on by a plurality of the medical board." She shrugs. "That second part isn't a problem in this case: both Lucas and I sit on the board, and several of our colleagues are just as interested in this study as we are. But—"
"But the royal physician is a self-important ass who barely deserves his medical degree," Law's father finishes. "And if he says no, we can't petition again for the study for another year."
"Oh. An appointed position, I'm guessing?" Law asks, as some worrying thoughts begin trickling into his head. It would make sense; if you just needed royal approval, you didn't necessarily need to be good at your job. You just needed to be good at politics.
All he receives as an answer is a very sarcastic toast with a cup of coffee.
A sickening feeling begins to settle in the pit of Law's stomach, which has nothing to do with the food. "If you don't mind me asking," he says carefully. "What exactly is it you're looking to study?"
"We're starting to see a rash of similar symptoms across a sizeable portion of Flevance's aging population," his mother begins, as she carefully wipes the remains of breakfast from around Lami's mouth. She was an enthusiastic eater. "Immune deficiencies, weakness in muscles and bones—normally all things you'd associate with aging, but in this case they're all presenting in a very specific and consistent way that we think it bears looking into deeper. We think it could possibly an environmental factor."
"Environmental?" Law queries. Somehow, he manages to keep his voice steady.
"Most of the people who are presenting these symptoms are or were miners or from mining families," his father says, picking up the thread of conversation. "The mines are critical pieces of the country's infrastructure, but they're still mines—they're not the safest or healthiest places to be. If the conditions down there are causing long-term harm to people's health, we owe it to the people doing that important work to make sure they can do so in the safest and healthiest manner we can. But…" he trails off.
"But the crown controls the mines, so now you're worried that they're not going to be willing to give you the free reign to possibly make them look bad," Law finishes.
His father blinks. "Yeah," he says, sounding surprised. "Pretty much exactly that."
Law leaned back in his chair, breakfast a heavy lump in his unsettled stomach. Amber Lead. It had to be, there was nothing else it could be. Law tries to plumb the depths of his oldest memories, desperately searching around for any recollection of hearing about it this early, but time and trauma have taken a lot from him, and if they were once there, he can't remember. He doesn't think so, though, because he does remember how surprised his parents were when Lami fell ill. Not something they would have been had they had proper warning.
But here they were, bare steps from uncovering the thing that would eventually kill them. Was currently killing them.
But they were a whole four years out from when things hit critical mass. Three and a half, at the worst. That was far more time than Law thought they'd been aware anything had been wrong. He'd always assumed it had snuck up on them all at once. That was what it had seemed like as a child, with what felt like every other person he'd knew coming down with the same symptoms within a month of each other.
But the way his parents were talking…they hadn't had the lack of will to chase this mysterious illness, or a lack of desire. They'd been blocked. Because Law had no illusions that his father was going to get the study he wanted. He'd come back empty handed despite his best efforts, and Law knew why.
It was a fiendishly clever way of keeping information out of the hands of your populace. It had always bothered him, how none of Flevance's vaunted medical professionals had picked up on the problem of Amber Lead until it was too late. Some of it could be attributed to the tricky and unusual way it settled in the body, which Law had discovered himself when he was pulling it out of his organs. But given enough time, the doctors could have figured it out. They may not have been able to do anything about it, but they would have been aware. The world could maybe have been told before propaganda had a chance to take over. The government could have been exposed for the murderers they were. Or at the very least, even the stories filtered through state-controlled media would have raised doubts in enough people to possibly make a difference in the future.
He'd always known the government had lied. It had become very obvious, in those last days before the fires and guns came. But this was different: this was calculated on a long-term scale. It wasn't just kicking the can farther down the road until they couldn't hide what Amber Lead was doing to their people anymore. No, it had been planned from the beginning, a network of rules and restrictions put in place to make sure the ordinary people never caught wind of what was going on underneath their very noses. All held together by people presumably like this royal physician, who were willing to be complicit in the ruse, probably for their own personal gain.
Not for the first time, Law wonders if the World Government chased pirates so hard as a smokescreen to cover for the sheer amount of blood people might notice on their hands if they were only paying a little closer attention.
"Have you considered," he says slowly, careful to keep his tone as neutral as possible. It's a herculean effort. He wants to spit nails. "Whether or not the environmental factor you're looking for could be coming from the Amber Lead itself?"
His father blinks. "I mean, it'd be foolish to rule anything out at this point, but it seems unlikely. We have studies done by the Royal Surveyor Corps, in conjunction with medical professionals. Amber Lead is still a metal, but it's inert as far as interactions with the human body."
"And how old are those studies?" Law replied tightly. He cannot lose control here, but it's quickly becoming a matter of when rather than whether. "Science advances, and new technologies are developed over time, correct? A responsible government would have made sure those studies were done regularly and were publicly available."
"I'm sure they would have," his father says, but he looks uneasy. Whether from the question or Law's own interrogation, he's not sure. But he's thinking about it, and that's the important part.
There's nothing he can do to change what's going to happen. For him to have had a chance at that, he would have needed to be sent decades further into the past, if not back to before the mines were opened in the first place. But there's a certain bitter satisfaction in the idea that maybe in whatever instance of time he's stuck in, this time the government might get called on their bullshit.
Of course, this would be easier if he could tell them why he knew there was a problem in the first place. But that would open up a whole line of questioning that Law was very much not prepared to deal with. So, subterfuge it is.
"Is everything alright, Cora?" his mother says concernedly, and Law swallows his rebuttal to his father's naïve statement.
"Fine," he says shortly, and when that gets him two pairs of raised eyebrows, he relents a little bit. "I just…don't particularly trust the government to have the best intentions."
That throws them, like he knew it would. What reason would they ever have to doubt their government, after all? Complaining about bureaucracy is not the same thing as mistrusting it, and government red tape was the most banal thing in existence. Not something to raise suspicions over.
"Any particular reason why?" his father says, and there's the suspicious tone of voice again, the one Law thought he'd finally gotten away from. It unsettles him like nothing else.
"Call it personal experience," he bites out, and winces at how borderline threatening that sounds. Time to remove yourself from this conversation, idiot, he thinks. Before you do or say something you'll regret. "They hide as much as they can for as long as they can, and because you're primed to trust them, you can't see what they're doing until the axe is right on your neck."
He stands from his place at the table. He needs to cool down. He's dropped his hints, and that's all he can do. No one will be well served by listening to him spiral down into a rant that he'd then be obligated to explain as penance for inflicting it on them. If he could even find a good way to explain the government is actively undergoing long-term genocide and you're the subjects to his parents.
Hah.
"Thank you for breakfast," he says honestly. "Sorry for being such a downer. I'll be in the other room if you need me." Then he makes a beeline for the doorway, hoping he doesn't look to eager to leave this conversation behind.
"Do you really think there's something going on we're not being told?" his father says quietly as he reaches the exit, and Law can't resist taking the opening.
"I don't know," he replies as he walks out. "But when you go to your meeting, pay attention. I bet there will be at least a couple things that don't add up. There always are, with things like this."
He can't tell if the pensive silence as he left the room was encouraging, or depressing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cora was clearly upset about something.
Maia didn't think he'd tell them; he was clearly the sort who kept his emotions and his secrets close to the chest, and this situation had been stressful enough without asking him to unburden himself of every potential negative feeling he might be thinking.
But his reaction to both the concept of trusting the government and to the details of the study were perplexing. Something about the way he'd reacted told her the two topics were linked, but she couldn't figure out how. And there was no way he'd tell her either, not with the way he'd carefully avoided mentioning the specifics of his own opinions.
The longer and longer Cora was here, the more he confused her. For every side they saw, there seemed to be an almost exact opposite one, brought on by specific triggers. He was quiet, clearly very intelligent, and good with kids, if Lami's reaction to him was any indication. But there was also a deep distrust in him, a harder edge that she could maybe chalk up to the fact that he made his living in the most dangerous place in the world, if there weren't something telling her that wasn't the only reason. Something that had happened to him, to make him like this.
Stop, she scolded herself. You're not a therapist. Don't go diagnosing things you don't understand or have the context for. It's bad medicine.
Even half an hour later, after she'd cleaned Lami and the dishes up and Lucas had sped out the door with his notes to his meeting, she found him still pacing in the living room, clearly agitated but in the way that she suspected was mostly at himself for losing his composure. His long legs made quick work of the space, three strides taking him across from one wall to the other, prompting a quick pivot on an equally short return path.
From this perspective, he looked kind of like a tiger in a cage. Too much energy, but nothing to do with it. It probably was one of the reasons he'd gotten so snappish.
Well, she might have the solution to that.
"Cora," she starts gently, trying to get his attention without being too intrusive. Surprisingly, it works, as he immediately pauses and turns to look at her, furrowed brows and frown giving way to something more sheepish in expression.
"I'm sorry," he cuts in before she can speak. "That was uncalled of me, and I should apologize. There was no reason for me to get so confrontational. I'd understand if you were upset with me. It won't happen again."
Maia almost snorts at the picture. The tall mysterious stranger, looking like he expects her to scold him for speaking his mind. It's borderline hilarious.
"Come to work with me today," she says instead.
It's clearly not the response he was expecting, because he stands there silently for a moment, blinking owlishly. "…I'm sorry?" he finally replies. "You want me to…what?"
"Come to work with me," she repeats, and then gestures to the room at large. "You're going stir-crazy in here with nothing to do. You need a change of pace. I thought following me on my rounds today might give you something more productive to do with your brain than turning our current predicament over in circles. Though," she finishes quietly, with an aching thought towards her son. "I understand why that's the case."
"It would be very irresponsible of you to let an unlicensed, foreign practitioner practice medicine on your behalf," Cora points out, still somewhat dumbfounded. It's somehow endearing, if a bit sad, that this lanky giant is confused by the possibility of something so simple as a break in routine.
"Which is why I will do all the actual work," Maia assures him. "But I'm interested in seeing what you know, and it will do your brain good to actually think about something that's not…the situation, for a bit." She doesn't mention how both her and Lucas had been using work to try and keep themselves occupied instead of panicking.
"Come on, with Lucas at the study hearing, I'll be dropping Lami off to be watched by the pediatrics staff anyway," she cajoles. "The house will be empty, and you'll have nothing to do but sit here and think too hard about things."
That earns her an unexpected chuckle, and she finds herself looking curiously at the way his mouth quirks up at the corners. There's something very familiar about it, but she can't quite put her finger on it. Still, it's a good sign if he's coming out of his doldrums.
"Sorry," he says, with that ghost of a smile at the corners of his mouth. "I just…get told something very similar fairly frequently. I suppose it's a bad habit of mine."
"All the more reason to get you out of here then," Maia states firmly. "Come on: I won't take no for an answer."
Cora dutifully follows her up to the hospital less than an hour later, with Lami in tow dressed in the little light autumn jacket with the bear ears on the hood. Cora had made a face when he'd seen her that clearly told her that he was not immune to the charms of an adorable three year old, no matter how stoic he pretended to be, and she swore Lami was aware of the fact, insisting on walking the whole way with one hand in hers and one hand in Cora's, giggling and swinging between them in midair when Cora's height was too much for her little arms to reach.
Lami makes her new favorite face at him as they drop her off, and Maia is treated to another small smile appearing oh so briefly on Cora's face. Soft on children, clearly. Or maybe just overdue for some simple domesticity if he was stuck being a doctor out on the seas for long periods of time. Briefly, Maia wonders what it would have been like if he'd shown up when Law was here; her son would probably have been fascinated by such an unusual doctor, and maybe Cora would have had two little shadows.
"Come on then," she says brightly once they've managed to extricate themselves from Lami's attention. "We just need to grab a couple of things for you before we start rounds."
They walk in silence for a while. She doesn't miss the way Cora's eyes flicker to and fro, taking in every detail of the hospital as they traipse their way through hallways full of bustling employees. Good, maybe this change of scenery will work then. He certainly seems to have been distracted from his earlier thoughts.
Surprisingly, it's Cora who breaks the silence.
"What is your specialty, anyway?" he asks as they walk down the hallway. "I realized I never asked."
"Family medicine, these days," Maia responds. "Though my main focus in medical school was diagnostics. I'm also one of the research fellows for the hospital. Lucas also, as you might have guessed, is a researcher, but his focus is on surgery. Mainly cardiothoracic, but he's very skilled with most procedures. He's got a good eye for the tricky details." She glances up to see Cora's face go studiously blank. "Yourself? You said you had no formal degree, but you must have concentrations of learning."
"Oh. Surgery mostly," Cora responds absently. "I'm…sort of known for it. But I study most everything that I can. On the Grand Line, you never know what you're going to face." He ticks a count off on his long fingers. "I've dabbled in pharmacology and diseases, enough to be able to identify most inimical substances and illnesses. I have a lot of practice in trauma procedures. Out of necessity." He shrugs. "I know what I know, and I know when I would consult someone else on the matter, if the option was available. Which, sadly, it often isn't."
"No, but it takes a good doctor with a sensible head on their shoulders to know when they don't have all the answers," Maia says encouragingly. "Breaking rookie practitioners of the mindset that they know everything is always the hardest part." She smiles. "I knew you knew what you were doing."
"Right," Cora just whispers, as she plunges on ahead down the corridor. She files his quiet response away to think about later. He sounded almost skeptical.
They reach a non-descript door, and Maia gestures to Cora. "Come on, let's get you something suitable to wear."
Inside is a storage room, full of clean linens and other fabric goods, neatly stacked on labelled shelves against need. Maia bustles over into the corner where the hospital kept its spare doctor's garb, for when the unfortunate accident meant they needed to change halfway through the day and begins rummaging around the shelves.
"I just want to get you a coat, so you look a little less out of place. The hospital keeps spares here, and I'm sure we can find one that will fit—ah, this will do nicely."
She holds up a large white coat, many times the size of the one she was wearing and pushes it towards Cora.
"It's probably a bit big around the middle, but it will at least fit across your shoulders." When he doesn't immediately take it, she stuffs it directly into his arms and waves her hand at him until he complies with the unspoken request and puts it on. As she thought, it's far too large around his torso and hangs several inches higher on his legs than the coats are supposed to, but it fits as well as can be expected on such short notice.
"Hmm, needs one more thing," she muses, turning towards a supply cabinet. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Cora finger the hem of the coat almost reverently and remembers what he'd said about never having the chance to get a real medical degree. A shame, she thinks. It clearly means a lot to him.
"Here," she says a couple minutes later, as she sticks a label onto his breast pocket. "This way everyone will know you're with me, so we won't have to play twenty questions with every person we meet in the halls. It's standard procedure for interns and visiting personnel, so no one should bat an eye."
She doesn't miss the way Cora's eyes trace slowly down to the label, where she's neatly written 'Dr. Trafalgar' in block lettering. He's almost frighteningly silent. One of his long fingers comes up to trace the letters, and she'd almost swear that there's a slight shake to his hand. Frowning, she wonders what she's missed. This isn't the reaction she was expecting. She was here to get Cora out of his head, not stuck further in.
"It's fine, right?" she cuts in, worried she's overstepped. "We can always find something else, if it's a problem."
"It's not a problem at all," Cora says, and his voice is so far away she's not entirely sure he's aware of where he is at the moment. "It's…perfect."
"Oh." Well, that was good. She's not sure what about a little nametag can be 'perfect,' when it's not even his name, but she's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Cora was just a bit of an odd duck, she supposed. At least he wasn't offended.
He seems to notice that he's acting weird, though, because a moment later he blinks and straightens up, his hands dropping to his pockets. There's a tenseness there, more of all the walls she'd been noticing he put up, but this wasn't the time to call him on it. She'd touched on something very personal, and it wasn't her place to pry.
"Good to go?" she says instead, and smiles when he gives her a small nod. "Excellent. Hope you're ready to work; we've got a busy day ahead of us."
"Lead on."
Maia learns a lot of things about Cora that day.
The first is that he's not got much in the way of a traditional bedside manner, but that that's not as much of a problem as it sounds. He's blunt and honest, and he doesn't try to sugarcoat bad news, but he was never mean about it. It was simply information given in the most efficient way, with as much clarity as he could provide so the patient understood. Honestly, she was pretty sure some of the more elderly patients she took him around to that day appreciated how upfront he was.
"Nice assistant you got there," Jonah, a frequent flyer in Maia's office for his weak immune system and stubbornness said, when Maia was walking him back out to where his daughter was waiting for him. "None of that pussyfooting around I've seen with some other doctors. Just came right out and told me the problem. Told me I was being an idiot about it too." This sends the older man into a wheezy laugh. "Which I am. You've more or less said as much in the past, and I know I'm a crotchety old goat. I'm set in my ways. But I appreciate his approach. Keep that one around if you can, Dr. Trafalgar."
She had seen him off with a smile and no further promises, as well as a prescription to keep his lung problems from progressing to pneumonia, and relayed his message back to Cora, who had seemed a little shocked by the compliment.
"No, it's just…I'm used to getting teased for the way I talk to people. Too clinical, not nice enough," he says sheepishly. "Never thought I'd hear that someone appreciated it."
"Maybe you just needed the right audience," she replies cheerfully, clapping him on the back. "There's always someone who appreciates an honest effort, however it's delivered. Now come on, I want to see what you have to say about our next case."
The second is that Cora really, truly knows his stuff.
He approached things less from an academic standpoint than that of someone with hands-on experience, justifying his opinions less by how a medical text would describe an affliction than by previous instances in seeing similar effects on the body. He's also got a frighteningly good eye for detail, reading charts and scans quickly and efficiently, and pointing out points of concern even before Maia had told him what they were working with half the time. If this was what a doctor needed to thrive in their practice on the Grand Line, it was incredibly impressive, and Maia made a mental note to see if she could find any research written by more practitioners from out that way.
The third is that he loves what he does.
It takes a bit, but as the day goes on, Maia watches Cora open up. His eyes light up when he correctly predicts the diagnosis of one of Maia's long-term patients, and his smile gets downright cheeky when he tells her what the best treatment would be, mirroring her own advice. He gets particularly excited about how well a patient is responding to an experimental treatment that Maia and one of her other colleagues had tried in response to the nasty chronic lung condition they were suffering from, demanding details and asking all sorts of relevant questions that Maia has to stop the flood with a promise to fill him in later, when they're less busy.
She had started the day intending to distract him, and it had worked wonders, but at the same time, she'd gotten the chance to see just what sort of person Cora was when he worked. And she was impressed. Strange he might be, but there was a real heart underneath the darker impression he gave off, and wasn't that the most important thing?
Altogether, she was rather pleased with herself.
"So," she says as they walk out the front door, headed back to the house. "Good day?"
"I…yeah. Yeah, it was," Cora says softly. He'd had to leave the white coat behind, but he'd almost cheekily taken the nametag with him. In case I need it again, he'd said. That strange expression had been back, but she hadn't called him on it. No need to spoil the good mood.
"Well, once you're home again, you'll have to keep in touch," Maia chuckles. "You're the best assistant I think I've ever had. I'd love to keep being able to pick your brain."
While her words had been meant as a compliment, they seem to have the exact opposite effect, as a flicker of sadness washes over Cora's face before he schools it back into that calm mask he seems to try to always wear.
"Of course," he says distantly. "That sounds like a dream." And then his mouth shuts, and Maia knows she's not going to get anything else out of him for a while.
Damn, Maia thinks as they finish the walk back home in silence. Just when I thought we'd made progress. What will it take to get you to open up, Cora?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lucas can tell when he's not being taken seriously.
He'd been waiting for nearly an hour past his scheduled appointment time in this random antechamber he'd been shuffled into when he'd presented himself at the gates of the complex that made up Flevance's royal residences and court. The aide had, in true exquisitely polite fashion, told him the royal physician would be with him in a moment and to please make himself comfortable.
Well, he was far past comfortable, and on into the realm of simmering anger.
He'd already reviewed his materials five times over in the span of time he'd been waiting, and paced the length of the room more times he could count. At one point he'd even stuck his head out to see if he could flag down another aide to ask what the holdup was, but the hallway was suspiciously empty.
He was considering the merits of just leaving, discarding them reluctantly on the basis that this was too important to reschedule, when the door finally creaks open to admit the target of his ire.
"Dr. Trafalgar, thank you for coming," the royal physician says as he swans into the room as if he weren't horrifically late. "I hope it hasn't been too much trouble."
"Not at all," Lucas replies evenly. No point in getting snippy about it now; the man in front of him was famously petty, and Lucas didn't want to risk angering him and risking the chance of getting the study off the ground just because he couldn't hold his temper. No matter how justified his irritation was.
"Excellent," the physician says, though Lucas swears he seems uninterested in being here at all. A fact that is swiftly corroborated when he continues speaking. "Let me cut to the chase so that we're not wasting any more time: your study is being denied."
"What? Why?" He'd known there was a possibility the study would get turned down—he was a realist, after all, and he knew most of the medical board wasn't the royal physician's favorite group of people—but to refuse without even listening to his pitch? That was unheard of, and downright irresponsible to a level that he didn't think even this pissant would stoop.
"I'm afraid the crown has decided not to fund any new studies at this time," the man replies, hands spread in feigned helplessness, as if he weren't the exact person who could and should be advocating to Flevance's royalty about the necessity of such things. "And on top of that it was not felt that enough evidence was provided to warrant one."
"Not enough evidence?" Lucas hisses, fighting to keep control of himself. "There's a possibility that something in the mines might be affecting a whole section of the population, and that's not enough? That's several thousand people's lives, not to speak of their extended families."
"We are willing to do a review of the conditions in the mines, to make sure they are up to our exacting standards, of course," the physician continues smoothly. "They were due for inspection anyway, and the crown does agree the health and safety of those people responsible for acquiring Flevance's most precious resource is paramount. We simply do not think current conditions warrant a broad medical study at this time."
"I—"
"The preliminary summary you sent over for your presentation last week noted that it was only the elderly suffering from what you claim are the potential effects of a new condition, yes?" the physician said, raising an eyebrow. "But you have no proof as of yet that it's affecting any of the younger workers and their families?"
"No," Lucas grits out. He sees what's going on, and he's powerless to keep the logic trap that's been laid out for him from snapping shut. Damn these politicians.
"Then it's likely you're just seeing the result of a lifetime of strenuous, but fulfilling labor," the physician concludes with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Your dedication to your craft does you credit, Dr. Trafalgar, but that doesn't mean we should fall into the trap of over diagnosing, now does it?"
Lucas knows that any further arguments will fall on deaf ears; the decision had been made before he'd even walked into the room—before Lucas had even set foot in the building, even.
"Of course," he says hollowly, and curses himself for his need to kowtow to this politician with less medical skill than a first-year intern. Politics. Everything was politics. Even people's lives. "I trust that if I find more evidence such as you have suggested, it will be considered?"
"You are welcome to bring the matter up again with new arguments during next year's petitioning period," the royal physician answers smoothly, dashing Lucas' admittedly low hopes that he'd be able to circumvent the time restriction. "I'd wish you the best of luck, but of course one hopes that you don't find anything new to worry about."
"We'll have to see," is all Lucas responds. "I suppose I'll see myself out, then."
"Give my best to your wife and children, of course," the physician says easily, as if this were simply a cordial chat between colleagues. "And thank you, of course, for all the good work that you do Dr. Trafalgar. Flevance is better for your dedication."
He doesn't even wait for Lucas to respond before he's gone, sweeping out the door with the air of a man satisfied.
Lucas gives himself a few minutes to get a hold of his temper before he steps back out into the hallway, not willing to risk being seen acting aggressive or unreasonable on royal grounds, or to start any rumors that he was volatile. But by every oath he's ever sworn, it's a close thing, and he still finds himself walking at twice his normal clip once he does leave.
Bitterly, he has to acknowledge that at least some of Cora's cynicism that morning had been right: politicians didn't care about people until the evidence became so strong it risked either implicating or embarrassing them, and right now Lucas didn't have that. What he had was charts and numbers and a well-argued petition for more resources needing to be dedicated to a potential problem before it became a real problem. A real problem that might never get the attention it needed, now.
But his hands were tied, and with his current schedule he couldn't even surreptitiously set aside some extra time to work on the problem in secret. Not without burning the candle at both ends, and Lucas wasn't willing to jeopardize the care he was giving his current patients for potential ones he might have in the future by exhausting himself. He'd done that enough in medical school, thank you very much, and it did no one any favors.
He pauses in his stride, allowing himself a petulant kick to the floor to vent his frustration, a harmless outburst that would hurt no one except his pride if he was caught, and maybe the floor itself, if he left a scuff mark.
The…wooden floor.
That was curious. Flevance wasn't built in wood, not really. Why should it, when the mines turned out countless amounts of usable stone in addition to the Amber Lead? Wood was for floors, accent pieces and smaller interior structures, like doors. Even Lucas and Maia's little house sported smooth stone walls.
But this hallway was entirely wood, and on the ground floor no less. There wasn't a trace of stone in sight. And it was all natural as well, with none of the white and pastel colors that the rest of Flevance favored, Amber Lead being an excellent ingredient for colorfast and long-lasting paint. It was so unlike the style of the rest of the country, that now he was paying attention it was downright jarring.
Come to think of it, he can't remember seeing anything in the room he was stuck in earlier being obviously made of Amber Lead, or with the subtle glitter that meant something had been treated with it. The royal physician had been overdressed like he always was whenever Lucas saw him, but none of the rings on his fingers or the buttons on his jacket had been made of the ubiquitous substance either. No, Lucas was pretty sure they had shone with the warmer colors of gold and brass instead.
As his feet return him to the grand entrance hall, he allows himself further inspection. It's a lovely space to be sure, with an indoor fountain and hanging baskets of flowers, but the intricate floors are wooden parquet, not Amber Lead tiles, and the walls are a deep rich green that the mineral could never produce, made of yet even more wood of a type he didn't think was even native to Flevance.
"They hide as much as they can for as long as they can, and because you're primed to trust them, you can't see what they're doing until the axe is right on your neck."
Cora's words had sounded like the bitter ideas of someone who'd run afoul of authority before, but the closer Lucas gets to the exit of the building and he sees absolutely nothing made with or treated with Amber Lead, the more and more his stomach sinks.
And he doesn't like the conclusion he's coming to.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lucas is late.
Lucas is frequently not home at the time he expects to be, either because something came up at the hospital or because he got distracted by paperwork, but usually someone shook him out of his tunnel vision within a couple hours of when he was supposed to leave. But today he should have been home before Maia and Cora had returned from the hospital; he'd blocked out the entire day for the study petition, and his meeting had been in the morning. Maia knew from experience those meetings didn't take that long.
But here he was, almost four hours after she and Cora had made it back, finally stumbling through the door with a look on his face that tells her everything she needs to know.
"They refused?" she sighs as he hangs his coat on the hook by the door. "But why?"
"Not enough proof there might be a problem, according to them," Lucas sighs. He sounds bone tired. And there's something else. Fear, maybe? But what could he be afraid of? "Where's Cora?"
"It's almost Lami's bedtime. She demanded more stories," Maia smiles. "Stridently."
That shakes a bitter sounding snort of laughter out of her husband. "Good, good. I'm glad she's having a bit of fun at our guest's expense. And…I wanted to talk to you alone."
That didn't sound good. "Lucas?" Maia prompts gently. "What's going on?"
The look he gives her is almost haunted, and Maia waits with bated breath for whatever it is that has put her logical and steady husband off-kilter so much.
"Do you remember this morning," he finally starts, wetting his lips with a nervous flick of his tongue. "When Cora was unusually insistent that there might be something wrong? Something that we weren't seeing?"
With the Amber Lead, Maia's brain supplies. "Yes," she confirms. "He calmed down over the course of the day, but he was quite upset. Almost personally so, it seemed."
"Yeah, well," Lucas continues, and Maia has to lean a little closer, because he's whispering. "I didn't think too much of it. He hasn't been back to Flevance in decades, there's no way he'd know the ins and outs of the country. Not enough to accuse them of dealing in bad faith."
"But…" Maia prompts. She didn't like where this was going. Lucas wasn't usually this easy to upset.
"But," Lucas hisses between clenched teeth. "I couldn't get it out of my head. And then the royal physician acted like nothing was wrong. Practically treated me like I was crazy, in fact. Gave me some nice words about looking into mine conditions, but not potential causes of illness. He didn't even let me make the presentation, Maia; his decision was made before he walked into the room."
"What?" Maia exclaimed, and then hushed her voice. "They've never done that before. They've always at least listened."
"Maybe it was the topic," Lucas replies darkly. "Maia, I left that room simmering. Probably would have walked straight out the front door without another thought except about what a waste of time it was, but I couldn't get Cora's words out of my head. And do you know what I noticed?" His mouth sets in a grim line. "Not a single part of the palace, at least that I could see, was made with Amber Lead. Wood, stone, brickwork sure: but none of our most important resource. Not even in a place of pride, as decoration. Not even to show off."
He turns and rummages around in the deep pockets of his coat. "It got me thinking," he says, as he pulls out a sheaf of papers, crumpled and folded in half. Maia can see his frenetic handwriting all over them. "So I went to the main library to pull survey records for the mines."
He hands the stack of paper over to Maia and taps a number at the top of the first page, which has been circled over and over. It's a date. "Maia, that's the most recent health and safety survey that's publicly available for all the Amber Lead mines in Flevance. I couldn't find anything newer, not even when I dragged one of the librarians down into the archives with me."
Maia feels her stomach sinking as she registers exactly what date it is. "This is over seventy years ago."
"Almost eighty," Lucas confirms heavily. He crosses his arms across his chest as Maia leaves through the rest of his notes, which all corroborate the sickening truth of what he's saying. Hopelessly out of date studies, from a time when their medical knowledge was nowhere near as comprehensive as it was now.
"I think something may actually be going on with the Amber Lead," Lucas says softly, voicing the elephant in the room. "But now I have two more questions: how are we going to research this further, and how did Cora know?"
Chapter 8: Siblings
Chapter Text
The day had dawned cool, fog wreathing between the houses in town and circling Kairos' central mountain like a scarf, and Jean Bart had been up for all of it.
It was no secret amongst the crew that he slept light, and much like their captain could be found perambulating around at all hours of the day or night looking for something to keep him busy. Too many years as a slave had destroyed his ability to rest well, and even if these days the sleep he did get was much better, it never lasted very long. His body was too used to needing to react to the whims of outside forces.
But it meant that he had a lot of time for reflection, away from the hustle and bustle of the crew. And after last night's conversation between the Hearts and the Straw Hats about where things currently stood—carefully conducted after a certain small child was well and truly asleep in his infirmary bed—he had a lot to think about.
Jean Bart thinks a lot of them hadn't gotten much in the way of good rest the previous night. Not after the conclusions Ikkaku and Nico Robin had brought back from their surprisingly productive information gathering mission in town. Because while it had certainly been good news that their captain was likely safe and going to make his way back eventually, it had not been encouraging to hear what returning would entail for him.
It was a cruel thing, Jean Bart thought, to force a man into a confrontation with his fears before he was good and ready. Maybe in the long run it would be beneficial, but in the moment, Law was going to experience a lot of pain, and there was a real chance something else would break in the process. But then, devil fruits didn't have anything in the way of actual knowledge about the human psyche. It's why normally they required an actual person to utilize their powers. Not a mountain, as Nico Robin had theorized. Just the idea of such a terrifyingly inhuman arbiter meddling with your life sent chills up his spine.
He'd been up here on the Tang's deck since before sunup, the submarine's spare sails at his feet. He thought better with something to keep his hands busy, and even though the Tang had been shipshape when they'd left Wano, it always paid to make sure your backup supplies were in as best condition as possible. It was an opinion that Law and Jean Bart both shared.
His perch atop the Tang had allowed him a view of all sorts of things as he sifted through canvas and thought processes alike. The cooks had set up some sort of fire pit on the beach and served roasted pork and warm applesauce for a hearty breakfast, with a delicious, spiced cider passed around that reminded Jean Bart of an island he'd not had the opportunity to visit in a very long time. He hopes Clione gets the recipe, if that's something that the Straw Hats' chef came up with. It wasn't often he found something to be nostalgic about.
Afterwards, in a bid to entertain their little guest, the swords had come out.
Not that the Straw Hats' swordsman ever really needed an excuse to show off his craft, but it meant that the Hearts had to put up someone of their own to spar against him. That unfortunate role had gone to Shachi, and Jean Bart had been able to hear Penguin being loudly relieved he preferred polearms to swords from all the way across the beach.
At least they'd made a good show of it; for all he was mostly known as a demon with the blade, Roronoa had clear technical skill and was good enough to temper his blows to make the exhibition an interesting spectacle. Jean Bart is not sure it's something he'd normally do—the man had his pride for certain—but they'd all gone a little soft for their tiny guest, and he'd been so excited about the concept of seeing a real swordfight that Jean Bart knew there was a certain amount of showing off going on for his benefit.
Shachi was, barring the captain himself, probably the best the Heart Pirates had in terms of a swordsman, but Roronoa Zoro was still Roronoa Zoro, and after a few minutes the redhead had found himself unceremoniously thrown back by the sheer brute force of one of his blows directly into the harbor. Which had prompted some panicking on behalf of little Law, until Shachi had decided to show off his true specialties. The sword demonstration had devolved into a water show, with Shachi gleefully shooting targets shot up into the air by Usopp with water bullets to the utter delight of the guest of honor.
It had made for an easygoing, fun morning all told, and that was probably the most important part. It hadn't passed Jean Bart's notice that the kid was looking a little strained. It was to be expected, really: a six-year-old, away from his family for what was probably the first time, among strangers and unusual circumstances, to say the least. The fact that he hadn't broken down yet was a minor miracle. Jean Bart certainly wouldn't have blamed him.
"Excuse me."
Well, speak of the devil and he shall appear.
This Law is absolutely tiny, dwarfed by Jean Bart and barely coming up to his knee where it's folded beneath him in his position seated on the ground. But he doesn't look too intimidated, which Jean Bart will grant is impressive. There likely weren't many people close to his size where he lived.
"You—um, you said before that if I needed to go someplace quiet, I could come find you," he starts nervously. "And, I—" He looks at his feet.
Jean Bart resists the urge to chuckle. Still bad at asking for help, no matter what the age. "Of course," he says instead. "Having too much of a good time this morning? I was watching, it looked…exciting."
"It was cool!" Law says with far more vigor than before, eyes sparkling. "I dunno how Mr. Zoro does what he does and I think he's probably gonna break his teeth one of these days but the way he just—" he makes a cutting motion with his arm, complete with a swoosh sound effect "And then Mr. Shachi went flying and, and—"
"And you had a good time," Jean Bart finishes as he peters out. "I'm glad. It's nice to see you smiling."
"Yeah, but now I'm tired," Law grumps, letting his arms fall back to his side, energy back to being subdued. "And I need some quiet."
He does look a little wan, Jean Bart notes. Hard to tell, with how pale he is, but there's definitely some strain around his eyes that's hard to miss. He knows technically the kid is already very sick, but to this Law this is his normal state of being—he just doesn't have a lot of energy to start with.
"I don't want to worry anybody," Law says quickly, as if he thinks Jean Bart's silence means he's judging him. "But I needed to be around…less people. So I might have…snuck off?" He looks sheepish, but there's a little bit of a nervous grin there as well that tells Jean Bart he's not as sorry as he sounds.
Jean Bart doesn't tell him that between the two crews, the number of people with Observation Haki was high enough that he very much doubted that anyone thought he was missing at all. But he wasn't going to deny the kid the satisfaction of having successfully snuck off or let him know that he hadn't really escaped the watchful eyes of the crews as well as he'd hoped.
"I think you'll be fine," he says sagely, and watches his little shoulders relax a bit. "And I understand. Sometimes people are a lot; it's okay to need to be away from most of them for a while."
"Dad says my brain and body are like batteries, and I need to let them recharge sometimes," Law says with a nod. "And that some people just need more charging time than others, and that that's okay. It's part of keeping yourself healthy."
"Your dad sounds like a very smart man," Jean Bart replies, and smiles when Law lights up at the praise for his father. "Feel free to make yourself comfortable. I'm not doing anything too disruptive, so even if you need to nap it should be plenty quiet."
Law tucks himself next to Jean Bart, pulling a small book out of the front pocket of the oversized hoodie he's still wearing around. It looks like it belongs to Chopper, based on what he can see of it. Some sort of picture encyclopedia of medical herbs—easy enough for a small kid with a particular interest to get engrossed in without having to worry too much about hard words.
They sit like that for a while, as Jean Bart continues his work to the occasional sound of a page turning and intermittent hums of interest. It's reminiscent in a lot of ways of the way Law would sit on deck when the weather was nice, doing his work quietly surrounded by the cadence of whatever work was being done. Participating in the action in his own small way.
"What are you doing?" Law asks sometime later.
Jean Bart peers down and sees him staring keenly at the canvas in his hands. "I'm making sure the sail has no holes or weak points," he says. "This is our spare, but it'll do no good if we can't use it when we need it."
"Do submarines usually have sails?" the kid asks with a cock of his head.
"Normally not, but the Polar Tang is a versatile craft," Jean Bart says, pointing to the mast, which was currently unstrung. "We spend a lot of time underwater, but there are advantages to being able to move across the surface as well."
"The sun is good for you," Law says seriously.
"That's one of the reasons, yes," Jean Bart chuckles. "But it's also easier to maneuver into harbors above the waves, for example. Most ports aren't deep enough to handle a submerged submarine all the way to the docks, and that way we don't waste precious fuel getting her into place. We can use the wind instead."
Law makes an understanding noise, and nods, then falls back into silence again. Jean Bart lets the conversation trickle off there. He'll talk if he wants to. Until then, they can both enjoy the quiet.
"Can I ask you a question?" Law says a little later. Jean Bart barely hears him, he's so quiet.
"Of course," Jean Bart says. "I'll answer as best I can."
"You," Law starts. "Everyone. On the other boat and this one. Are you—" he swallows nervously. "Are you…pirates?"
And there it was. Everyone had been afraid of telling the kid straight up, for the quite reasonable fear that he'd panic given the reputation of pirates in the North Blue. But none of them had been stupid enough to think he wouldn't figure it out, either. It was fairly obvious. Just from where he's sitting, Jean Bart can see the Straw Hats' jolly roger in all its glory. It would have been hard to miss.
"I won't lie to you, kid," he says. "But yes, we are. And I understand that that probably makes you very nervous."
"No," Law stutters out immediately, and then wilts a bit when Jean Bart raises an eyebrow at him. "I mean, yes, I guess. But pirates are supposed to be…I dunno, mean and scary and you're all weird and different but everyone's been really nice and I don't know what to think anymore." He sounds miserable, though whether that's from fear or from not knowing what to think is anyone's guess.
Jean Bart sighs. There were probably better people to have this conversation with the kid, but they weren't here right now, and as things stood now, it was a conversation that couldn't wait.
"People are always more complicated than you think," he starts, trying to find the right words to what he wants to say. "No group of people is going to be the same across the board. There are cruel marines, and kind pirates. Just like there are cruel people and kind people in your everyday life. I'm sure you know some."
"Mmm," Law hums. "The couple that run the bakery on the corner near the hospital are really nice. They give us free samples! And the sisters are all kind." He makes a thoughtful noise. "But there's one librarian who doesn't like me. She says kids my age shouldn't be trying to learn things I'm not ready for and won't let me borrow the books I want to read." He grimaces. "I can read them. I'm not stupid."
It's a childish understanding of the concept Jean Bart's presenting, but close enough. "Right. But not all the librarians are like that, right?"
"Oh no," Law says with a shake of his head. "One of the other ones sneaks me books when she's not looking. I like her."
"Pirates are the same way," Jean Bart explains. "You are correct that some of the stories you hear are real, and you are very smart for being cautious about it, but in the end, sometimes you have to get to know people beyond their reputation." He gestures at the beach, where the two crews were still mingling. "None of the people out there might fit the description of what you've learned a pirate is, but they're still pirates. There are just far more reasons to become one that simply wanting to cause chaos and pain."
"Like…exploring?" Law ventures. "Pirates go all sorts of places, I've heard."
"Exactly that," Jean Bart agrees. "Or to be free of a place where you don't fit in. Or because you've lost so much, the camaraderie of a crew is where you can find a measure of something like home."
"I'm not saying we don't cause chaos wherever we go," Jean Bart continues. "Goodness knows that's not true. But you've spent some time with us now. Do you think Chopper would harm someone who wasn't trying to hurt him or those he cared about back? What about Penguin, or Shachi? I've seen them joking with you, making you feel at home. Do you think they'd do that if they were evil people?"
"No," Law whispers. "It's just…confusing."
"Aye, kid," Jean Bart says. "But that's life. Learning to see the truth underneath it all."
"Hmm," the kid hums. He sounds thoughtful. "Thanks. For explaining, I mean." He settles back in with his book, and Jean Bart resolves to leave him with his thoughts. It was a lot for a little kid to process, after all.
"I don't think you're the bad kind of pirates," Jean Bart hears whispered a few moments later, like a secret. Or a confession.
He smiles. "Glad you think so, kid. Glad you think so."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"There you are," Uni says as Law comes walking up the gangplank of the Thousand Sunny, closely followed by Jean Bart. "We were about to send out a search party. But I see you were keeping Jean Bart here company."
"I needed quiet time," Law says seriously, and Uni nods. Made sense.
"Yeah, he's good for that," he agrees. "And you haven't missed anything interesting. Well, yet," he stresses, gesturing behind him.
He watches Jean Bart peer across the deck and sees his eyes narrow. "What are they doing?" he says suspiciously. "That's a lot of scrap metal."
"You remember how when we were headed to Wano, and half our energy was spent keeping Usopp and Franky from tinkering with the Tang and incurring Ikkaku's wrath?" Uni deadpans. Jean Bart just gives him a nod. "Well, they're still tinkering, but it's on their own ship this time, so I'm taking the opportunity to view their insanity from a safe distance." He shrugs. "I don't know what they're making, but they've already dragged two of our own crew into their craziness. I just hope whatever it is they're building doesn't level the town. Or the ships."
"They'd never be that crazy," Jean Bart rumbles. "If anything, the fear of what Ikkaku or Nami might do to them if they did should hopefully keep them on a tight leash."
"Seas, it better," Uni sighs. "The last thing I want is Ikkaku thinking the Tang was endangered. No one needs that."
"Miss Ikkaku still hasn't shown me around your submarine," Law says. Is Uni imagining it, or is the kid pouting? How very like the captain, to be upset when he wasn't getting to learn about the things he was interested in. It's far more charming on a six-year-old than a grown man, that's for sure.
"Well," Uni says pointedly. "She's been busy trying to figure out how to get you home, squirt. I think that deserves a lot of her attention, yeah?"
"Oh," the kid says, shuffling his feet. "Well, that's okay then. That's more important."
"…but you still want a tour."
"I want to be able to tell my parents and Lami all about it, when I get home!" Law says firmly. "I've only ever seen a submarine in my comic books, and that belongs to the bad guys! I want to know what a real one looks like." He looks up at Uni. "Like, do submarines all have ray guns? I want to know."
Uni has to stifle a laugh. Law must be talking about the Sora comics. He'd never gotten around to reading them himself, which had spared him from some of the more in-depth discussions of the series Law had subjected the crew to during those moments when his fences were down—i.e., sleep-deprived and a bit loopy—but cultural osmosis was a thing, and it was hard to get away completely from the legacy of Sora when you were from the North Blue.
"We have torpedoes," Uni clarifies. "But Ikkaku's definitely the better person to explain how the Polar Tang works. I'm no engineer." His brain seizes on the name he doesn't recognize. "Who's Lami?"
"My sister!" Law chirps. "She's three. And she doesn't talk very much, but sometimes I let her read the comics with me and I think she understands the important parts. She's smart like that." He beams, like he couldn't be more proud.
Ah, hell. A sister. And a younger one, too. That explained at least some of the captain's insane protective streak. Uni had three younger siblings back in the North, and even though they were all adults and off doing their own thing, that older sibling instinct never really went away. Law's had probably just changed direction after…well, everything.
"Tell you what, kid," he says, in an effort to change the topic. He jabs a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Franky and Usopp and the mysterious contraption that was beginning to take shape on the Sunny's foredeck. "We've got a few people over here building something crazy. Might even say it'd fit right into a comic book, with how weird it is. Want to check it out?"
Law's face lighting up like a Sabaody billboard and running over to perch excitedly next to Franky's knee is all the answer he needs. Uni watches as the cyborg gently claps the kid on the back and starts pointing out the little details of what they're working on. The big man was surprisingly good with kids, it seemed.
"Good save," Jean Bart rumbles from behind him.
"Yeah, well," Uni grumbles. "I don't think I have the strength of will to talk with him about his dead sister. Not when he looks at me like that, not knowing what's coming for them both. Call me weak or whatever, but it's the damned truth."
"No," Jean Bart agrees. "I understand. How do you have that conversation, when all you can think of is what a short time they have left with each other?"
"True enough," Uni sighs. "Now let's go make sure the Straw Hats don't kill him before we can get him back home to enjoy what's left."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Luffy's never cared about luck. Everything he's ever done he's done because he's wanted to and calling the results entirely due to luck—or worse, destiny—always leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He's never liked the idea that he or anyone else could be being dragged around by some invisible force, even if it seems to work out for the best. People keep telling him he has the devil's own luck, whatever that's supposed to mean, and usually all it ever did was make him grumpy.
He was never so happy to claim that luck as he was when Sabo came back.
He's not that stupid; he knows that the chances of a kid getting exploded—even one as strong as Sabo had been—and surviving were basically non-existent. And Robin had explained to him, on their trip to Zou about Sabo forgetting, and how when most people forget like that, they never remember. So both Sabo and Luffy had been doubly lucky, to get to have each other again, even if they were still only two of the three they were supposed to be. That was still one more than he thought he'd had for over two years, and even if he'd gotten to the point where he could work around the hurt, it still hurt.
Luffy didn't think Torao would be as lucky.
He hadn't known Torao had a sister. From the sound of it, most of Torao's crew hadn't either, though Luffy would bet that the bear and the guys with the funny hats knew. But Torao was like that, he'd learned; he didn't share his secrets, or his past, and Luffy understood that. Really, he did. He never shared much of his own because it never seemed to matter in the moment, but he thinks that Torao didn't like talking about it for different reasons. Reasons that were more like Robin's or Sanji's or Nami's, or even Chopper's, maybe.
He'd never talked any more about what had happened between him and Mingo, either. The words Luffy had heard about his Cora were pulled out of him reluctantly while they'd been making the mad dash up the plateau to confront the Warlord, and after everything was said and done, Torao had never brought the subject up again, though even an idiot could see it was all he was thinking about. If it had been anyone else, Luffy would have just shrugged and moved on. But the closer they had gotten to Mingo, the more Torao had been radiating anger and grief that he didn't even need Observation Haki to feel, and now, all Luffy could think of was that Torao had said his Cora had saved him, not him and his sister.
It was complicated. He didn't like it when things were complicated.
But Torao was an older brother.
Torao was an older brother, who had lost a younger sibling.
There had been a few times over the last two years where he'd thought back to the exact moment he'd woken up on Torao's submarine after the war. Most of what he remembered was more impression and feeling than actual memory, but one of the few things that had stuck with him past his grief had been the sight of Torao's sword, stuck ramrod straight into the floor next to his bed. It had been such a weird sight that when they'd run into him on Punk Hazard and he'd seen the thing again, Luffy had brought up how odd the action had seemed to Zoro, because Zoro knew swords and wouldn't ask questions.
And Zoro had given him the strangest look, and then stared long and hard across the deck of the Sunny to where Torao had been sitting, talking about some sort of doctor stuff with Chopper, that same sword leaning against his shoulder like it always did. It had been a strange, quiet moment, like Zoro was turning something around in his head, before he answered quietly that it was a sign of respect, for warriors who had given their all, even to the point of their very lives for their causes. A swordsman's way of acknowledging that sacrifice.
Come to think of it, Zoro hadn't spoken a word of doubt about Torao after that conversation. Not like the rest of the crew had.
Luffy hadn't thought that much about it after that. He wasn't dead, so it felt like a weird thing for someone to do, as far as he was concerned. But he had fought his hardest, and even though it hadn't been enough—and Luffy would carry that lack of enough for the rest of his days—the small gesture was kind of nice, like he was being seen without being forced to talk about the things he didn't want to put words to. Torao did that a lot, though; little things that spoke through actions rather than words. Quiet things.
But maybe that wasn't the entire story.
Because Torao was apparently an older brother, and if Luffy had learned anything about him, he'd learned he was fiercely protective. It hadn't taken very long after meeting his crew to figure out exactly why they hadn't been with him on Punk Hazard, especially not after how personal the fight between him and Mingo had gotten. Torao had known Mingo would want him to hurt, and so he took away the chances of him using his crew to do that, even if it meant he had to be alone. And that was before all the other stuff about Dressrosa and Torao that Luffy didn't think he was especially qualified to address.
So maybe the sword hadn't been for Luffy after all. Maybe it had been for Ace. Because if Torao had loved his sister as much as Luffy knew Ace had loved him, then he had no doubts about what would have happened if he'd found himself in Ace's position. It was a thought that sent his stomach to squirming. He didn't think he ever wanted to know if there were differences between losing an older or younger sibling. Probably not, he reasoned. At least, not when you were the one who failed them.
Luffy feels Robin approaching well before she gets to him and waits quietly until she's leaned up against the base of Sunny's figurehead, expectant and silent. She always finds him when he's like this, either her or Zoro, and Luffy lets himself feel a glow of happiness that he has such understanding people on his crew.
"Torao's a big brother," he says finally, and he can tell by the little sigh that escapes from Robin's lips that he doesn't need to explain what he means by that.
"He was, yes," Robin starts, but Luffy shakes his head violently, prompting her to stop.
"No," he stresses. "He is."
There's a beat, as he stares down at Robin, willing her to understand, and soon a soft smile has quirked the corners of her mouth. It's the smile she always gets when any of the crew comes to her for help, ready to listen and empty of judgement.
"Forgive this only child for being a little slow on the uptake, captain," she says gently, and Luffy lets himself relax back against the Sunny again. It's for the best, really; he doesn't think he could make his words say what he's thinking. Robin's good at hearing the meaning in between what he actually says, though.
Maybe she can help him figure out how to feel about all of it.
"Hey Robin," he says quietly. "Do you know anything about where Torao grew up? I think it's important. To him, anyway."
"I have some guesses," she says, in that voice she uses when she knows more than she's saying. "But that's not my story to tell." Luffy follows her gaze over to where Little-Torao was marveling at some contraption Franky, Usopp and a couple of the Heart Pirates were constructing on deck, quiet but his eyes shining at whatever is being built. "It's not his story to tell either."
Luffy makes a noise of assent. Of course Little-Torao can't tell him that story. He hasn't lived the story yet. But Torao would never say anything. He didn't want to talk about it. Which probably meant he should talk to someone about it. Luffy had had Rayleigh. Torao should get to have someone.
"Thanks Robin," he chirps.
"Of course, captain. Good luck." She walks away, leaving Luffy with his thoughts.
Robin was right that there were things Little-Torao couldn't tell them. Or things he might not want to talk about. Luffy knew that they were supposed to not want him to talk too much about himself, because Torao was a private person and Little-Torao might say stuff he didn't want people to hear, but Luffy didn't think that was particular fair to Little-Torao. What if he wanted to talk about stuff, and no one would listen? He hated being ignored, and he knew Torao did too. And how could you feel safe with people if you didn't think you could talk to them? Even if you never did, knowing you could was important.
Well, if no one else was going to do it, then Luffy would have to do it himself.
Luffy stretches an arm across the deck and gently loops it around Little-Torao, where he's sitting next to Franky. He makes a funny squawking noise as he's lifted into the air, tiny arms and legs flailing wildly. Luffy makes sure his arm doesn't snap back too fast. Little-Torao isn't made of rubber, after all.
"Luffy, what the hell?" Usopp yells.
"I'm just gonna borrow him for a bit!" Luffy shouts back at the group on the deck. He sees some of the Hearts look like they're going to try and jump him. Hmm. Maybe he should have explained his idea first. Oh, well.
"What are you doing?" Little-Torao says frantically as Luffy deposits him in his lap moments later. He sounds scared. Ah, maybe that was a bit of a surprise.
"I just want to talk!" Luffy says quickly.
"Why?" Little-Torao says, clearly confused. Well, that makes two of them, and Luffy cocks his head to the side at the question.
"Why?" he chuckles. "Because you're interesting! Because I want to hear what you have to say!"
"About what?" Little-Torao was definitely the same person as regular Torao, Luffy reflected. Too many questions.
"Well," Luffy says, head cocked to the side as he draws out the word. "You've been asking us all sorts of questions and listening to us talk a lot. What do you want to talk about? There's gotta be something you want to say."
"Oh," Little-Torao says, and he slumps a little in Luffy's lap. He's quiet for a bit. Probably thinking. Torao always spent time thinking. "I guess—I miss home? I miss my family. I haven't really had a chance to talk about that."
"Okay," Luffy says encouragingly. "Then talk about them! I'll listen."
Once Little-Torao starts talking, he doesn't seem like he's able to stop. It starts with how much he misses his family, and how scared he is that it might be a long time until he can see them again, and how he misses the familiar things about home, but it quickly turns into him gushing about his family.
Luffy learns that he has two parents, and just like he'd overheard, a little sister. Her name was Lami, and Luffy thought that was a really nice name. Law and Lami—it had a good sound to it. Like two peas in a pod.
Luffy is very familiar with siblings, but admittedly has no experience with growing up with your actual parents, and he'd always been fine with that. He had Makino and Dadan, and Gramps when he was around, and the rest of Foosha Village on occasion. He'd been perfectly happy, and the fact that he didn't learn anything about his parents at all until he was grown was nothing to lose sleep over.
But Luffy hasn't lost anything like a parent before. As far as he knows, they're all still safe at home on Dawn Island, and Gramps is running around doing Marine stuff like he always did. But he comes to the realization that, much like Torao had never said his sister was saved with him, he probably wouldn't have needed to be saved if his parents had been there to take care of him.
No wonder Torao didn't talk about stuff. Luffy had never talked about losing Sabo with anyone who hadn't known him. How did you talk about losing the entire rest of your family to people who wouldn't understand?
Both of Torao's parents were doctors, and though Luffy had a kneejerk reaction to being forced into what your family wanted you to do with your life because of his Gramps, even he's smart enough to tell that that wasn't the case here. Little-Torao glowed as he talked about all the things his dad was teaching him, and how his mother would bring him new books to read about all the things he was interested in.
He talked about how excited he was to be a big brother, because he'd been told it was a big responsibility and he was taking that charge very seriously. Luffy's heart twists a bit at that statement, because he knows his previous impression had been right: Torao would have done anything for his sister. Torao knew what Luffy's hurt felt like. He'd just had more time to sit with it, mask it. Luffy wasn't sure if he'd ever entirely get to that point himself.
"I bet you're a really good brother," he says when Little-Torao is in-between stories. "I'm a little brother, so I know good big brothers when I see one."
"You have an older brother?"
"Two!" Luffy says firmly. "I mean, one. I…lost one. A couple years ago. But he's still my big brother, so I get to keep counting him. Ace would never want to be forgotten, and I'd never want to forget. It'd be the worst."
"Oh. Sorry," Little-Torao says quietly. "I bet he loved you."
"'Course he did," Luffy says confidently. "He tried to kill me when I first met, though. But we got there eventually."
"What?"
The conversation shifts to Luffy explaining his relationship with his brothers. Which leads to him explaining the rest of his family. Which leads to him explaining Shanks, and his hat, and pretty soon Luffy is losing track of all the stories. He's not sure how Usopp does this so frequently.
Little-Torao asked a lot of questions. Maybe too many questions.
"You need a hat," he interrupts.
"What?"
"You need a hat," Luffy repeats. It had been bothering him for a while now. Torao always had a hat. First his round one from back in Sabaody, and later his more familiar one with the brim, that he liked to hide behind a lot. But Little-Torao didn't have any sort of hat. It made it easier to remember to think of them as different people, but it was still wrong. Torao's hat was important. A different important than Luffy's hat was, but still important.
"I've never worn a hat before," Little-Torao says quietly. "Why do you think I need to?"
"It makes you…you?" Luffy doesn't really have better words to explain it, and he can tell from the look on Little-Torao's face that he's' not impressed with his attempts to put it into words. "Some people need to have hats," he finishes.
"Like you?" Little-Torao says, raising an eyebrow.
"Like me!" Luffy affirms, reaching up to pull his signature hat off his head. "This hat is a promise I made, to become a great pirate." He stops short. "Ah. I don't think I was supposed to tell you that." Whoops.
But Little-Torao just shakes his head. "It's okay. I figured it out. Mister Jean Bart explained it to me, how there are different kinds of pirates, not just the ones people are scared of. I dunno if I understand, but everyone here is really nice. Not like the pirates I've heard about at all."
"Oh, good." Luffy breathes a sigh of relief. Nami and Chopper would be on his case so fast if he made Little-Torao upset. Not to mention all of Torao's crew, and he just didn't have the time or energy to deal with that mess.
"We're gonna get you home, you know that right?" Luffy says as the silence lapses on. He feels Little-Torao stir in his lap to look up at him. "Home's important. No matter where it is. We all know that. So we'll make sure you get there, I promise."
Luffy knew that Torao would never be able to get back the things he'd lost. That wasn't how the world worked. But, as a very smart man had once told him, it was important to focus on what you still had. And Torao had his crew, who loved him very much. He had people like Luffy and his crew, who were his friends and weren't stupid enough to be turned off by his silly protestations about being enemies.
But this kid hadn't lost those things yet. And if there was one thing Luffy understood, it was wanting more time. And Little-Torao should get to have as much of that time as possible.
"We won't rest until we get you home," Luffy affirms, punching Sunny's head beneath them to make his point.
"Thanks," Little-Torao whispers. He sounds small. Torao should never sound that small. But Luffy understood. He felt alone, even though he was surrounded by people. And being alone was the worst.
"Of course!" Luffy says with a laugh. "You're our friend! And we'd do anything for our friends."
Little-Torao doesn't answer that. He sits quietly, and they watch the sun start to set from the Sunny's figurehead. Luffy's always loved this time of day, watching the sun melt into the horizon. He doesn't share the view from here very often, but this is a special occasion. He'll make an exception.
"Can you tell me more stories?" Little-Torao says suddenly. He sounds like he's trying not to cry. "About being a pirate, maybe? Fun things."
Luffy cracks a wide smile. "Can I? You won't believe what we've done!"
He settles in, drinking in the colors of the deepening twilight with a boy who'll someday become a great pirate in his own right listening raptly in his lap, and tells the story of the time they went to the sky.
Chapter 9: Identity
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Law had been able to tell right away that his parents hadn't gotten the study they'd wanted. He was pretty sure, when his father failed to come home until late in the evening, that the man was out trying to find something productive to do with his frustration. It's what he would do, after all, and Law was quickly coming to realize he'd picked up a lot of his father's habits early on in his life without even noticing. It was both unsettling and deeply comforting, in a way that Law hadn't really quite managed to sort through just yet.
He'd resolved not to draw too much attention to their disappointment; he'd already been far too prickly about the subject the day before, and no one liked hearing an "I-told-you-so," especially from a stranger. No, if they wanted to talk about it, he'd be supportive, but until then he'd carefully not bring it up.
Knowing what he did now, that the Flevish government had gone out of their way to construct barriers to the civilian populace learning the true extent of the danger they were in, he wasn't sure he could have much in the way of further conversation on the topic without raising some major questions. He'd already skirted the edges of good sense with his pointed condemnation of the government and hints that Amber Lead might be the source of the problem they were chasing the day before. His parents were very intelligent people. Eventually, they would notice slipups like that and start asking questions if they weren't already. Best he could hope for is that he'd given just enough for them to draw their own conclusions about the problem without implying he had more intimate knowledge of the situation.
Still, Law is not expecting to be roused from another night of bad and patchy sleep on the living room couch by the sound of chatter from the kitchen.
He peers out of the window from his place on the couch. Dim light, probably still pre-sunrise. He's used to being awake at this time, but he was fairly certain regular people with steady jobs liked to sleep in later. He was pretty sure everybody liked to sleep later than this, his own messed up relationship with the concept notwithstanding.
He considers just grabbing the book he'd been reading the night before and leaving them to whatever has them up this early, but now that his brain was awake the steady drumbeat of a need for caffeine was beginning to thump behind his eyes, and he can smell coffee being brewed in the other room. So, against his better judgement, he moves towards the kitchen.
He is not expecting what he finds, which is two strung-out adults sitting at the kitchen table, dirty plates and glasses—some of which definitely contained alcohol at one point—scattered across the surface, mixed with an assortment of handwritten notes and what looks like copies from some sort of official document. A half-full carafe of coffee sits steaming between them.
They look awful.
"Did you…sleep?" he says, with not a little concern. They'd both been awake when he'd laid down the night before, which was well after Lami had gone to bed. He'd chalked it up to them both being possibly being night owls, but seeing the state they and the kitchen were both in, he's starting to think that something else might be going on.
"Not as such, no," his father mumbles into a coffee cup. "We've been busy."
"I can see that," Law replies evenly. "Don't you have to go to work?" He lets the unspoken should you, in this state hang in the air. Neither of them seems to notice.
"Today's a rare double day off!" his mother says cheerfully. She looks exhausted, and the braid she'd wound her hair into was coming undone, chunks of hair sticking out in all directions. "So we've decided to work on a personal project instead."
"Speaking of which, I'm glad you're up. Sit down, I need to pick your brain about something," his father says urgently, waving a hand at one of the empty chairs.
"Sure," Law says, and mentally congratulates himself for not sounding like he dreaded the idea. The less questions he was asked, the less chance he had of slipping up. This was shaping up to be the opposite of that. "Can I—?" he gestures at the jug of coffee. If he was going to do this, then it would be better to do it with all his brain cells firing in the same direction.
"Right, that'll probably help the conversation," his mother says, jumping up from the table to rummage through a cabinet. Shortly, Law has a steaming ceramic mug in front of him, and he takes it in both hands and tries not to think too hard about the chemical makeup of the glaze.
"All right," he says cautiously. There's any number of bad things this conversation could be about, but he's not going to look less suspicious by refusing to participate. "Ask away, I guess."
"You said you thought our mystery illness might be coming from the Amber Lead, right?" his father starts. "What made you say that?"
Oh boy. This is what he'd been afraid of. "Well, you said it was affecting mining families," Law spitballs. "Makes sense to look at the thing coming out of the mines first, doesn't it? If only to rule them out."
"But you also said you don't trust governments," his father follows up.
Law blinks. "I don't," he confirms. "They haven't really given me a reason to trust them." Understatement. "Is that…important?"
"There's no Amber Lead anywhere in the royal complex," his father says, in the tone of voice of a man who had been running in circles after the same problem for several hours. "Not a chip of it, that I could see the entire time I was there. And that—" he leans over, and rifles through a stack of papers, before thrusting a few pages at Law. "—led me to this," he says triumphantly.
The papers look to be some sort of medical study on the mines, dated several decades in the past. Dimly, Law remembers suggesting that the studies his father had mentioned before might be outdated. It seems he'd taken that suggestion to heart and done some digging after his meeting. That explained the late return home.
"Well," Law says, hoping he doesn't sound too nervous. "I did ask how long it'd been since the last study was done. I guess that answers that question."
"The question is why?" his mother says sharply, slapping the top of the pile of documents in front of her with the flat of one hand. "Lucas brought home copies of every study he could find in the library, and this was all there was! It doesn't make sense! Records like this are supposed to be publicly available for anyone who wants to review them!"
"Do you…want me to answer that?" Law queries slowly. "Because I think there's a very simple answer your question. It's just not a very nice one."
The look she gives him is incredibly exasperated, but also a little sheepish. "No," she grumbles. "I know why. I get the implications here. I just—" she sighs, picking up her own mug and knocking back the dregs of her coffee. "I just…don't like to think that we've been lied to all this time. It opens up too many other horrible possibilities. Like, if they lied about this, what else have they not been saying?"
"I think if we go down the road of "what ifs" we'll be here all day," Law's father grumbles into his own mug. "And I think if we do it will result in decision paralysis. We need to focus on the one thing we're sure we have evidence to follow, instead of speculating." He looks up, and Law almost flinches. He's seen that face in the mirror plenty of times: teetering on the edge of exhaustion and depression simultaneously. "Because I think we're going to have to try and take matters into our own hands, without government support. And pulling that off is going to be tricky."
"You weren't surprised," Law's mother says sadly, tapping him on the arm. "Is that because you've seen something similar? I suppose that would be a good reason to not trust the people in charge, if you'd had that experience."
"When I was younger," is all Law says, careful to not let his voice give away just which government had taken that particular slice of innocence from him. "And I've met several other people with similar stories. Lots of people end up on the Grand Line because they've become disillusioned with authority. Especially in the New World, it's easier to ignore the reach of the marines and World Government. Appealing, if you have issues with their institutions."
"That explains all the pirates, I suppose," his father sighs. "Makes sense that a problem with authority might lead to someone choosing that life."
"There are worse reasons for being a pirate," Law says quietly.
"Yes," his father replies, just as softly, and Law has the fleeting feeling of being dissected, like he's on one of his own operating tables. "I suppose there are."
Well. That might come back to bite him.
"Anyway," Law's mother cuts in, breaking the tension. "The question is what can we do now? We don't have permission for an official study, and we can't petition for it again for another year, but if they're actually hiding information on problems caused by the Amber Lead, they're not going to give it to us anyway. Which means we need to find some way to test our theories without going through government resources."
"Blood tests, maybe?" Law's father muses. "We don't have any specifically designed for detecting Amber Lead. Which in retrospect is a huge red flag, given its prevalence as a substance in our lives, but that's neither here nor there right now. We could maybe start by using current tests and then slowly adjusting parameters to see what we can catch? It's not an exact solution, though."
"Maybe. It's a place to start, anyway," his mother counters. She taps a handwritten list by her elbow. Law can see a lot of question marks and strikethroughs—an assortment of brainstormed approaches to the issue, maybe. They had clearly been at this a long time. "The problem is we don't know how it might be affecting the body, or how evidence of harm might present itself. So we're going to have to start with the broadest possible range of potential factors and narrow it down from there." She sighs. "And that will take time. Time some of our patients might not have."
"Better than doing nothing," his father says, and they both fall silent, staring pensively at the work in front of them.
"Cora," his mother says after a moment. "You said yesterday you had experience with lots of unusual illnesses and diseases. And that you've encountered plenty of odd substances in the past. What's your take on the best approach?"
Seeing them both turn expectantly to him, Law suppresses a shiver. It was weird to be consulted on a medical manner like this. Usually, he was the one giving orders, or he was operating solo. And there was a real difference in being asked by other doctors for his input, as opposed to by people who simply needed his help. He'd had a couple of conversations like this with Chopper, and one fascinating one with Marco the Phoenix regarding the use of devil fruits as medical tools before they'd left Wano, but this was different. This had weight.
And nothing he said here would help the people who needed it in the long run, because as far as Law knew, Amber Lead could not be removed from the body with currently available medical technology. Not now, and not twenty years in the future.
Amber Lead bound itself to the blood and organs of whomever was affected by it, strongly enough that some of it could even pass through the umbilical cord to a fetus in utero. Law had survived because his devil fruit allowed him to cut things apart without causing harm to the original organ. Amber Lead integrated itself into the body so completely that to do something similar with regular surgical tools, you'd have to nigh-on destroy the affected parts of the body to get a similar result. Death, either way.
Maybe someone like Vegapunk could have invented a more precise form of tool that would allow surgery on such a fine level that Amber Lead removal could be performed by an ordinary, if very skilled surgeon, but to Law's knowledge nothing of the sort had been created. And if it had, he wouldn't put it past the World Government to keep that knowledge to themselves, for the express purpose of using it only on their precious Celestial Dragons. Healthcare, after all, was just as much a hoarded commodity by the rich as money and power were.
"Do you mind helping out?" his mother says hopefully. "I know it's not your responsibility, and that you won't be here for long—" the unspoken I hope hangs palpably in the air. "But three heads would be better than two, and I saw yesterday that you clearly are a very good doctor, so I'm sure any input you could give would be valuable."
Law sighs. There's nothing he can do, but that's not going to stop them. They don't know that, and he can't tell them that. Of course they wanted to fix this. That's what any good doctor in this situation would want to do. Hell, Law's not entirely sure it's appropriate to describe him as a good anything, but if he could do anything to mitigate the suffering Flevance was inevitably about to tip over into, he would.
And in that case, maybe that just meant making sure the government couldn't get away with their campaign of total destruction. Maybe it meant making sure they didn't escape with none of the blame. Maybe it meant Flevance became a cautionary tale to those who would trust power blindly, instead of one twisted to serve a narrative the government found palatable.
He'd still have to be careful. Every word he said could potentially trigger a cascade of realizations. It'd be hard, and stressful.
But it was worth doing.
"Sure," he says. "Why don't you show me what you've got so far, and we can go from there."
"Thank you," his mother says earnestly, and while his father doesn't respond in kind, he does receive a warm smile and a convivial slap on the shoulder. It felt like approval, and something deep in Law's gut turns over at the sensation. A research project, with his parents. A childhood dream made real, if twisted by circumstance.
"Of course," Law says softly.
It was going to be a long day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They had, considering the collective amount of rest between the three adults in the room, made a lot of progress in the last few hours.
Cora, it turned out, was an excellent addition to the conversation. Maia and Lucas were used to going back and forth with each other, but Cora offered an outside perspective that helped cut through their tendency to go in circles together. He had a different education and different experiences to draw from, and it led to more productive questions being asked and less dithering over what couldn't be dealt with at the moment.
He did seem to prefer to let them do most of the talking, but Cora hadn't at any point shown himself to be particularly gregarious, and Maia suspected some of it was politeness: not wanting to intrude too far on another doctor's home turf. She wanted to tell him that he should feel free to be more forward, but a sneaking suspicion told her it wouldn't have made much of a difference.
A brief break had ensued a couple hours in so Maia could get Lami up for the day and Lucas could thrash about the kitchen in an attempt to feed everyone breakfast, but they'd soon resumed their work, fueled by a fresh pot of coffee and some rather lopsided waffles.
Lami had been set up on the kitchen floor next to the table, with plenty of toys to keep her occupied and within line of sight of all three of them. Fortunately, so long as she was nearby the people she wanted to be with, Lami was usually perfectly happy to entertain herself. If this had been Law at that age, Maia mused sadly, they'd have had to pen him in. Too curious for his own good.
They were down to two people working again though, because Maia had noticed about a half an hour before that Cora was flagging heavily. She'd known he hadn't been getting the best sleep while he'd been here, whether it was because of his uncomfortable sleeping arrangements or stress about the situation or some other third thing he wasn't saying. He always seemed to be strung out and tired, but as the clock ticked forwards towards midday, it became apparent that no amount of coffee was going to be able to help him focus.
Maia had insisted he go lie back down and at least attempt a nap before he fell over, and though he had protested, it hadn't been with any real force. Come to think of it, he'd looked more drained than usual after a few hours at the table with her and Lucas. Maybe he just wasn't used to doing so much work on so little sleep. It was, she knew, an acquired skill.
It had definitely been the right choice though, because when she'd poked her head into the living room not ten minutes after they'd chased him out, she'd found him dead to the world on the couch.
"At least someone's getting some rest," Lucas had joked when she'd returned, and she'd bopped him gently on the head for his snark, much to Lami's delight.
Now, they were back to workshopping potential avenues of research, but Maia suspected they'd have to stop soon as well, or else their fatigue would overtake their functionality and leave them with bad conclusions. That, and it was getting on towards lunch, and while Maia hadn't felt particularly hungry due to a combination of anxiety and hyperfocus, Lami would need to eat soon, and it would be silly to not do so at the same time. You had to take care of yourself if you were going to take care of other people, after all. If only to beat the stereotype that doctors made the worst patients.
She sighs and says as much to Lucas, who has been slowly nodding closer and closer to the surface of the table as he wrote his notes. His head snaps up, and he blinks long and slow at her from behind slightly askew glasses. Yeah. They were tired.
"A break sounds not half bad," he says. "Probably better to think about something else for a bit anyway, to refresh our brains." He leans back in his chair, rubbing one fist into each of his eyes before sitting back up with a sigh.
"I've lost track of how long we've been going at this," he says. "And that's probably the best reason I've heard for stopping for a while. I'm exhausted, and unlike you, I have to be at the hospital first thing in the morning." Lucas gestures with one hand at the door to the living room. "Maybe when Cora wakes up we can take another look at testing strategies. He had some good ideas for that, and especially how to do it without using so many resources they'll notice what we're doing."
"Law!" Lami chirps happily from her seat nearby on the floor. She's busily engaged in creating the highest tower of wooden blocks she possibly can. Previous failures lay scattered in pieces across the kitchen floor.
"Oh honey, no," Maia says soothingly. "Law is on a trip, remember?" She tries to keep any upset from showing on her face. She hates lying to her daughter like this. "But he'll be back soon, and I'm sure he'll have all sorts of good stories to tell you."
Lami frowns, her face screwing up in displeasure. For a moment Maia thinks they're going to be treated to a tantrum, Lami demanding her big brother or else, but that's not what happens.
"No," Lami stresses, pointing towards the living room. "Law."
"Sweetie, you can't go in there right now," Lucas says tiredly, leaving his chair to crouch in front of their daughter. "Cora's sleeping in there right now, and he needs his rest." He takes off his glasses, running one hand over the bridge of his nose. "Really, if it weren't the middle of the day, I'd say we should follow his example. I'm beat."
Lami huffs a snippy little sigh through her nose, and then Maia watches a curious thing happen. Lami looks at her father closely, staring up into his face, like she's seeing him for the first time. Then her eyes drop to the glasses he's still holding between his fingers.
"Oh." It's the sound of a realization, but what realization, Maia's not sure. Lami's usually more open than that, even with her tendency to not use words unless necessary. But she can't for the life of her figure out what sort of epiphany her daughter had just had.
Then Lami stands up carefully, and, after a moment of what looks like pensive thought, grabs Lucas' glasses.
He lets her, more out of startlement than anything else, and Lami is halfway to the living room door before either of them recover.
"Lami, no," Lucas hisses, voice dropping in pitch as he tries to scramble after her, and presumably keep from waking Cora in the next room. "What are you doing?"
But Lami doesn't listen, continuing to march purposefully forward, glasses in hand, straight into the living room and right up to the edge of the couch where Cora is sprawled in all his too long gangliness, dead to the world.
"What is she doing?" Maia whispers, as both of them follow Lami into the room.
"I don't know," Lucas responds, just as quiet. "Oh no. Lami, you're going to wake him up."
Lami had leaned up and, with all the dexterity afforded by a three-year-old, clumsily placed Lucas' glasses inexpertly upon Cora's face. Both of them wince, expecting him to wake up at the sudden intrusion upon his person, but he must have been even more tired than Maia had thought; his breath staying steady and his person bonelessly remaining draped across the couch.
Lami pokes and prods until the glasses are situated in something resembling a correct position, and then she steps back, looking satisfied with herself.
"See?" she says triumphantly, pointing to Cora. "Law."
"Really, Lami, I know you've gotten very comfortable having Cora around, but this is no way to treat a guest," Maia scolds, tiptoeing over to scoop Lami up in her arms. "You're just lucky he didn't—" She hears her voice trail out into nothingness.
"Maia?" Lucas says in concern. "Is there something wrong?"
Was there? Well, Maia didn't know. But here she was, staring down into the sleeping face of their mysterious houseguest, her husband's glasses balanced precariously on his face, and all she can think is I know that face.
Because she sees that face every day. When she wakes up in the morning, over meals and medical notes, after a long day when all any of them want to do is rest. It's Lucas' face, just blurred the barest amount. The coloring darker, the hair longer and a tad more flyaway.
"Lucas," she says quietly. "Come here for a second." She needs a second opinion, to make sure she simply hasn't gone mad. Too much stress from Law being missing. From the rejected study, and the findings Lucas had made. The exhaustion. Yes, that must be it.
Clearly curious, Lucas walks up next to her, and Maia just points rather than try to explain what she's seeing. Maybe she's overthinking it, and Lucas won't understand what she means, and she can chalk this up to a coincidence.
But then she hears him inhale sharply and knows that he's seen exactly what she's seen.
For a few moments, there's no sound in the room except breathing. The long, slow rhythm of Cora's sleep contrasts sharply with the unusually fast pace coming from Maia and her husband. And who could blame them? They were basically staring down at a person who, now that they were looking closely, looked frighteningly similar to Maia's husband.
Lucas reaches out and picks his glasses gently off of Cora's face, bringing them back up to settle on his nose where they belonged. The resemblance is less stark with them removed, but now Maia can't unsee the similarities. The shape of the nose and the cheekbones, the sharp chin, the wayward lock of dark hair that falls over the corner of one temple. Everything about Cora's face was a mirror of Lucas', except for the increased amount of facial hair. And even then, Maia could remember a time back in university when he'd toyed with the idea.
"Damn," Lucas says. "I was hoping having these back would make things clear enough to see…something else."
"Your eyes aren't that bad."
"Well, what am I seeing, then?" he hisses quietly. Still trying to avoid waking Cora up. A reasonable desire, Maia thinks. I don't want to explain to him while we're looming over him like this.
"Law," Lami stresses again from her place in Maia's arms, and Lucas stands up ramrod straight like he'd just realized something.
"She's not asking where Law is," Lucas breathes. "She's saying—" He swallows. "That's impossible."
"She's been making shushing noises at him these last couple of days," Maia says with dawning realization. "Like you might make when you had a secret to keep."
"She's confused, that's all. Missing her brother," Lucas protests. "There's nothing else it could be."
"Oh, you mean from aside your doppelganger lying there on our couch?" Maia bites back.
"A coincidence."
"Maybe," Maia sighs. It really was unbelievable. Cora had said he'd moved away a long time ago…maybe he was from distant branch of Lucas' family? One that hadn't been terribly close, perhaps. It was unusual for, say, distant cousins to look so similar, but not unheard of.
Maia seemed to remember Lucas mentioning both his parents had been only children.
Still, a thought kept tickling at the back of her mind. What if Lami was right? Nothing about this situation was remotely normal and hadn't been since Law had disappeared and Cora had shown up in his place. The presumption was that they'd swapped places, but they never had figured out why that would have happened with the two of them in particular. Presumably there had to be some sort of connection, but what? Both being from Flevance? But then, there were tens of thousands of other people Cora could have swapped with. Why Law?
She lets her gaze fall to the man on the couch, still somehow asleep despite how fervently they'd been whispering over him. He looks younger, like this, in repose. All his long limbs at rest, when they seemed to take up so much space when he was awake. Even his hands—
His hands. Of course.
Carefully, she hands Lami over to her husband. She's not sure if she'll get a reaction for what she's about to do, but better to keep their daughter out of the way of any of Cora's sudden reactions to being woken up. He doesn't seem like a good person to startle.
"What are you doing?" Lucas hisses as she reaches out, but Maia keeps moving, taking Cora's large right hand in her own.
Cora's hand is cool, and the tattoos on the backs of his fingers and palms are stark against his skin. For a moment, she just holds it there, feeling the calluses on his palm against her own hand. And then she turns it over.
There, swooping under his fingers and wrapping all the way down to his thumb is a scar that Maia would recognize even if this one had faded into a thin white line. After all, she'd been the one to stitch up the injury, at the same kitchen table where she'd been sitting at not a few minutes before.
Lucas makes a choking noise. "That's impossible." He tries to gather himself. "It has to be—it has to be fake, or a coincidence, or—"
"Lucas," Maia says softly. "You know as well as I do what old scar tissue looks like. This is a real scar. It's old. And, because our son was far too enthusiastic with where he put his hands that day, very, very distinct."
She traces the edges of the scar with the pad of one finger. Despite what she'd just said, it's still unbelievable. But the scar was natural, and even covered by calluses in some spots. It hadn't been pasted on to his hand like a piece of makeup. It was a part of him.
"But he's an adult," Lucas protests. "He has to be close to our age! Our son is six. It can't be."
"But it might be," Maia says. "This entire situation is one big mystery, Lucas. Can we really discount the possibility that something has happened that we don't understand?" He's silent at that. Not agreement, precisely, but not an argument against her point either. "What are we going to do?" she whispers.
"Let's look at the situation logically," Lucas says, waving the hand that's not clutching Lami to his chest in front of him as if he could find something to concrete to hold onto. "I'm—I'm sure we can figure out some basic facts if we—if we think hard enough."
"He fell out of a hole in our living room, Lucas. We're already starting outside normal logic."
"You can't tell me you actually believe that this is—" Lucas pauses, tempering the volume of his voice, which had started to rise rather frenetically. "You can't think this is actually Law."
"Shut up, Shachi," Cora mutters, turning slightly into the back of the couch. Maia releases his hand as he moves. "Too early for this shit."
Maia gives Lucas a look, eyebrow raised. Lucas makes a frantic hissing noise in response.
"I have to know," Maia says seriously.
"Yes, but—" Lucas whispers back. She hates how small he sounds. How scared. She especially hates how he sounds exactly how she feels right now. This is terrifying.
"I have to, Lucas," she repeats. "We have to."
"Yeah," he says back. "Yeah, okay."
Maia turns back to Cora—it's easier to keep calling him Cora until they know for sure what is going on. The idea that they've been given a false name sits heavily on her shoulders. Why would he do that, if this was their son, from some unimaginable future where he'd left Flevance? Did that mean they'd all left? But why? And what reason would he have to hide?
So many questions, just because they'd finally noticed what had been staring them in the face—literally—this entire time.
"…Law?" Maia ventures tentatively, shaking him gently by the shoulder. "Law?"
She expects confusion, maybe a sleep-muddled noise or two trying to figure out what she's even talking about. Maybe irritation at being woken to find his hosts looming over him, even. And then they could all laugh this off as the result of exhaustion, and the situation would be defused. They could all of them get some much needed sleep, and impossibilities would go back to being just that: impossible.
Instead, Cora's eyes fly wide open, like the word was a trigger. His eyes lock with hers, and she almost lurches back at what she sees there. Desperation, and fear. Panic. And utter, utter regret.
They really are just like Lucas' eyes. Same angle and shape and everything. Just…brighter.
"Law?" Maia repeats, even quieter. She can hear Lucas' breath catch behind her.
Gold eyes dart between her and her husband and Lami, like he doesn't know where to look. Then he raises his hand, like he's reaching out to grab something. Maia almost moves her own hand to take it.
"I'm sorry," he chokes out, and then Maia feels a cool sensation wash over her. Lami yelps as the living room becomes tinted a strange light blue. She catches Cora's—Law's?—eyes one last time. He looks like he wants to cry.
And then he vanishes.
Maia can't help the shout of startlement as he blips out of existence, replaced by a stone.
"What," she breathes, unable to do much more. There's too much to process. "What—"
Lucas reaches out a shaking hand, his other arm clutched tight around Lami, who's buried her face in his shoulder in fright. He runs one finger over the rock on the couch, and it comes back brown.
"Pond scum," he says. "Maia. The pond behind the hospital—"
But Maia is already running for the door.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Maia's sure someone at the hospital notices their mad dash to the breach in the wall that leads to the small pond, but she is so far past caring that she could be wearing nothing but one of Lami's church bonnets and she wouldn't even flinch.
She practically dives through the break in the wall, hands out to catch herself from tumbling too far forward and looks around frantically. If Lucas was wrong about where he thought Law—Law!—went, then who knew where he'd ended up. Not to mention that he could just…disappear, like he'd done back in the house. He could be anywhere.
Please, please be here.
For a moment she thinks they've miscalculated, but then her eyes catch on movement over by the pond banks, and her breath rushes out of her in relief. There, pacing up and down the grass, looking for all the world like he's about to have a panic attack, is a familiar tall figure.
But apparently observation goes both ways, because as she steps forward his pacing ceases and his head snaps up. He looks wild-eyed, like a horse about to bolt. And then Maia sees that hand start to raise in the air just like before.
"No, don't!" she shouts, and he flinches, but his hand continues to move into the same position she'd seen him use back in the living room. She doesn't know what that will do, but it almost certainly has something to do with how he disappeared earlier. She swallows and lowers her voice. He looks like a fox caught in a trap. Like one wrong move from her will have him chewing off his leg to get away from confrontation. "Please," she repeats. "Don't."
They lock eyes, and for a few moments, neither of them breathes. Maia doesn't move, doesn't try to get any closer, though she desperately wants to. She hears Lucas stumble through the gap in the wall behind her, making soothing noises at Lami, who must still be in his arms.
Then he drops his eyes and his hand moves to fist in his hair. He goes back to pacing, heeled boots making sharp divots in the soft bank of the pond. He doesn't say anything.
"Law?" she ventures tentatively after a few moments. She has to know. Has to find out if this impossibility is really true and is standing here right in front of her.
He stops, but he doesn't make eye contact, face pointed determinedly towards his feet. But Maia can make out the barest of nods from where she's standing.
The admission, small as it is, feels like a punch to her chest. "How?" she chokes out. All she gets is a shrug.
"Why—" she starts, and then has to stop and gather herself. She can hear the shake in her voice, the tremble that has threatened to come out so many times over the last few days, with her son missing and no knowledge of when she'd get to see him again. And here he was, technically. He'd been here the whole time, in his own way. "Why didn't you say anything?"
She feels Lucas' hand on her shoulder, his fingers digging in just slightly with the pressure of his own stress. That was the real question here. Why did their son—their mysterious, adult son who'd come here from who knows where—not feel the need to tell him who he was? Had gone out of his way to hide it, even?
It hurt.
"I'm sorry," Law says quietly, an echo of his words from earlier. "I didn't want to hurt you."
"How does this not hurt?" Maia hisses out, and Lucas' hand tightens on her shoulder. This was the way they were. Maia was the loud one. Lucas handled his anger with silence and action. Neither of them knew how to deal with this.
"You don't understand," comes the bitter reply.
"There's a lot to not understand about this," Lucas chimes in, voice heavy. "Elaborate." His tone of voice makes Law flinch, but he answers.
"I have already used up every iota of good luck I possibly could expect in this life and beyond," Law chokes out. "I don't deserve to have this. And you don't deserve to have to…suffer through this. Through me, like this. A stranger, with nothing good to tell you about the future," he finishes, burying his face in his hands.
"What could you possibly tell us that makes you think we wouldn't want to know the whole truth?" Maia says, aghast. "What gives you the right to make that decision for us?" She's beginning to lose it now, her voice climbing into the registers of the hysterical.
Law's face emerges from behind the curtain of his long fingers, stamped with 'death' and Maia thinks in that moment that there must be a reason for that that they'd missed. Because the look he gives her is one of pure, profound loss.
"Because you died, mom," he says, and Maia can hear bells ringing in her ears. He sounds broken. And a familiar voice from just days ago echoes in her memory.
"Oh, I'm dead, aren't I?"
"Because everyone died."
Notes:
I'm sorry, I promise we're coming right back here next chapter. I'm not going to make you wait two to see the resolution of this conversation.
But also: cackles
Chapter 10: Conversations
Chapter Text
Law doesn't remember exactly how they all got back into the house. Everything from the last half hour is a terrifying, adrenaline-spiked blur. All he really remembers is the silence that his last words caused, and the sheer pain he'd seen staring back at him when he'd admitted who he was.
Exactly the thing he hadn't wanted to cause.
Yet here they all were anyway, back in the living room where this all started, and the silence is so heavy that for once Law actually finds himself wishing for some sort of noise to break the quiet. They're all at an impasse, unsure of where to go next. How were you supposed to have the sort of conversation they were going to imminently have to try to have?
He had returned to his previous place on the couch, and his parents had pulled the two wingback chairs from the corner of the room close by, creating a circle with no place for him to hide. He's not sure if that was on purpose or not; it could just as well be meant to be reassuring. Or they could be as lost and adrift as Law was, moving on impulse to try and make sense of the world.
A small teapot and three steaming cups sit on the small table in between them, hastily assembled by Law's mother at some point between them returning and sitting down. It was one of those things people did to try to assert control over an impossible situation. None of them had reached for the tea yet. It was unlikely that any of them probably would.
Lami had crawled up into Law's lap the second she'd been set down, and there she remained, leaning into the crook of his arm with her head resting on his sternum. She was humming a tuneless melody, the sort of thing kids sometimes just made up on the fly, and she had Law's hand in her own, tracing the compass rose on the back of his palms with her own much smaller finger.
She was also undoubtedly the happiest person in the room.
It's his father who finally breaks the silence, leaning forward with his fingers laced together in front of his face. He looks tired; more than he should even with his lack of sleep the night before. Trying to process what was going on, probably.
"Why don't we start with the simple questions," he says. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-six," Law responds. "Almost twenty-seven."
"So, you're from twenty years in the future?"
"I honestly don't know," Law says truthfully. "That's my best hypothesis. I guess this could be an…I don't know, alternate timeline or something, but everything I said before was absolutely true. I don't know how I got here or what caused it to happen. It's a complete mystery."
"But…time travel is real?" his mother cuts in. "That's the only way to explain this…this happening, right? Because you're real. I know you are. But time travel…" she trails off.
"Is real," Law finishes for her, and winces at the way her eyes blow open. "Via devil fruit, anyway. Though this is…different than what the people I know who experienced it described. They got a one-way trip to the future at the behest of the user. Explicit cause, no swapping or substitutions required." He grimaces. "I'm not sure how I feel about there being multiple ways to time travel, especially when I can't figure out how all of them work."
"I hadn't thought of devil fruits," his father muses. "We don't hear much about them around here. Probably more than most seas do, but they're still quite mysterious. I suppose with all the rumors you hear about them when they do come up, time travel fits as well as anything into what I've heard people speculate they can do."
"Speaking of…" he continues. "Is that how you, uh…left earlier? Did you eat a devil fruit?"
"Oh. Yes." Law winces. "Sorry about that. That must have been…unexpected." Lami's attention has wandered upwards to his forearm tattoos, poking out from where his sleeves are rolled up. He watches for a moment as she walks her fingers along the spokes. "I panicked. I didn't know what to do, so I suppose that triggered the flight response."
"But why?" his mother says plaintively. She still sounds so upset, and it hurts to hear her like that. Not that she doesn't have the right to—this is a mess of Law's own making after all, and he has no one to blame but himself, even if he does stand by his reasons for doing so. Sometimes, there were no good decisions. Just the best possible ones. "I still don't understand why you didn't think you could tell us."
"Would you have believed me?" Law responds, as kindly as he possibly can. "A total stranger coming out of nowhere, telling you he's your kid from the future, all while the one you know has gone missing? It sounds like a scam."
"But you're not a total stranger, you're—"
"But I am," Law stresses. "You don't know me, or what I've lived through. What I've—how I've had to live my life up until this point." He bites his lip. And I don't want you to hangs unspoken in the air. He's not sure they notice. He's not sure if he wants them to or not. "And by everything I once believed in, I wish that wasn't the case. I cannot emphasize enough how much I wish I could have come back to that—that kind of trust. But twenty years is a long time, and people change. Kids grow up."
"And people die," his father intones.
"Yeah," Law says in a hushed voice. "People die."
"You said everyone," his mother says. Her speech is tentative, like she's not ready for the places this conversation is going to go. That's fair, Law thinks. She's almost certainly not. He's not. "By 'everyone,' you mean—"
"I mean everyone," Law says flatly, with more force than is probably necessary. "The nuns, every patient and member of the staff at the hospital, every merchant down on the docks, even the marines that make their home here. Every person inside every house within the borders of this country. Everyone." His arm tightens a little around Lami, but she doesn't notice.
His parents, however, do.
Law watches as their already pale faces grow paler, and his mother claps a hand over her mouth like she's going to be sick, eyes screwed tightly closed as if she could block out what she's just learned. His father seems to be holding it together a bit better, but Law is an expert on when people are pretending to be calm. It's a close thing.
"Okay," his father breathes, as if he's trying to talk himself down from an even worse reaction. "Okay. I need to—I need to think about this for a second." He stares down at his hands, clenched tight on his knees, and lets out a fervent curse. "Nope. Too angry to think straight." He waves his hands at the both of them. "Keep going."
"But you didn't die," his mother says quietly, turning back to Law. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be able to be here, telling us this."
"No," Law responds, declining to elaborate further. "But I'm a special case."
"It's the Amber Lead, isn't it?" his father says hollowly after a few moments. "You've been hinky about the subject every time it's come up. We hadn't even considered it might be a problem until you dropped the suggestion in our laps. Got us thinking, put our noses to sniffing out what the real problem was. Because—" his head snaps up suddenly, and Law is pinned by a fierce look of realization. "Because no one figured it out the first time, did they?"
Law can't help the grimace that steals over his face. "No," he says. "At least, not until the trap had already closed."
His parents trade a glance. It's a resigned, fatalistic sort of look. The kind you might give when you don't want to know the truth of something, but you know there's nothing you can do but keep soldiering forward. Still, there could have been a better time to have this conversation, if he was going to be forced to do so. Of course, all of his secrets were going to have to come out when none of them had the energy to spare to deal with them.
"Why don't you start from the beginning," his mother sighs. She looks so tired, but the same fierce fire is burning in her eyes as he can see in his father's, who looks like he's about to march back up to the palace and demand satisfaction from the royals himself. They're not going to let this go, and Law feels strangely proud that they're this willing to look the truth of their own deaths in the face like this.
So, he tells them. Tells them how their elderly patients were just a warning of worse things to come—that within a couple years the illness they were suffering from will have become more common, but not to the level that anyone suspected a true medical emergency. How when things did tip over, it happened all at once, people falling ill in droves until it was affecting the entire populace equally.
He sticks to just descriptions of the outbreaks and the attempts to cure it as much as possible, eschewing the personal anecdotes that make this story so much worse. Instead, he mentions the government, and how both entreaties to the royals and to the World Government at large had fallen on deaf ears despite their best efforts. When he gets to the part about the Flevish royal court being granted passage out of the country, even as the civilian populace was being prevented from doing the same, his father slams a frustrated hand down on the arm of his chair.
"Like rats abandoning a sinking ship," he growls. "No, that'd be too charitable to the rats. Parasites, feeding off a body until it's dead and dying, then leaving to find some other host to drain dry."
"As far as I know, they're still out there," Law says. "Stateless, maybe, but presumably with enough money and connections to keep them comfortable for the rest of their days."
"And they wouldn't get sick because they had little to no exposure to Amber Lead. At least, I presume, not to the critical levels the rest of…the rest of us must have received." His father slumps back in his chair. "No wonder the last few generations of royals always married someone from outside the country. A whole new meaning to the idea of keeping a bloodline 'pure.'"
"All those people," his mother sighs, staring at her hands. "There are tens of thousands of people in this country. We're not that big, but…that's still so many. To just be able to write off that many lives because the resource you've been pulling wealth from is suddenly too much of a hassle to outweigh its benefits…it's sickening. I can't wrap my head around it."
"Have you heard of Ohara?" is Law's response.
"That happened just before you were born," his mother says, clearly confused in the change of direction the conversation had taken. "We were nearing the end of university, and I was trying to balance a dissertation on fallacies in diagnostic procedures with being eight months pregnant."
"Even out here that was big news," his father says, taking up the thread of conversation. "Claims that an entire island had been working to overthrow the World Government and bring an end to civilization? It was all anyone could talk about for a while." He pauses, then his head snaps up. "Wait. Are you saying—"
"Yeah," Law says grimly. "Ohara became inconvenient, just with their knowledge as opposed to a resource. And since they were studying things the World Government didn't want people to know…" he trails off.
"It's easier if there's no one left to tell tales," his mother finishes. "Seas, how many countries has something like this happened to?" She looks at Law. "But how do you know this? If it happened before you were even born, how could you find proof of their perfidy?"
"Turns out, there seems to be something of a trend of countries the World Government feels like sacrificing leaving behind one survivor," Law drawls. "We've met. And while she may or may not have guessed where I'm from, there's a twisted bit of camaraderie in sharing such a specific experience."
"But you're alive," his mother repeats again, like it's a mantra she's using to keep herself calm. "I took your pulse myself when you collapsed on the living room floor. And if you lived, I don't— surely that means some other people must have lived, right?"
"I doubt it," Law says. Hell, this feels cruel, to dash the hope in his mother's voice so thoroughly. They didn't need to hear this. "And given what the reactions after the fact were to people finding out where I was from…if there were ever more, they were almost certainly killed for being plague carriers, or died from the Amber Lead before too much time had passed. People are still scared of Flevance's 'mysterious disease' in the North Blue to this day. The country is still barricaded, even sixteen years later. It'd be an instant death sentence if you were suspected of having it."
"That's not how you deal with potentially contagious individuals," his father protests. "There are procedures. Quarantine protocols."
"No?" Law can hear his voice take on a sharper note. The trauma of running from hospital to hospital with Cora had never really gone away, and Law could hear the voices of outraged medical staff in his head to this day. "Well, tell that to all the doctors who called the marines on me when the one man who gave a damn about me living tried to get them to help, calling me a plague rat. A threat. They didn't care about medical ethics; just about what the government had told them they should be afraid of."
"We know doctors all over the North Blue," his father whispers disbelievingly. "Good doctors. Kind people. Surely one of them—"
"None."
"Why do I feel like there's something you're not saying?" his mother says. "To provoke a reaction like that, even with propaganda—was the country simply just left to die, until none of us were left? Or was there something else?"
"You don't want the answer to that," Law says vehemently, and curses how perspicacious both his parents were. They were drawing all the correct conclusions despite his attempts to protect them. "Trust me, you don't."
"Maybe we don't but we need to," his mother hisses. "This is important! These are still our lives! And you're the only one who can give us the answers, and you're not speaking!" She slumps forward in her chair. "Why won't you tell us, Law? What could possibly be worse than what you've already said?"
What, indeed?
"You want the truth?" Law says, agitation rising in his voice. "You want me to stop hiding things? Okay. I'll stop." He takes a deep breath, and then, almost as an afterthought, places his hands over Lami's ears. She didn't ask to hear any of this, and frankly, she's just smart enough to get enough context to be distressed. If his parents weren't going to let him spare them, he can at least spare his little sister.
"Why don't we talk about the fear, first of all? Of knowing people were falling ill all over the city, and the best doctors I knew, my parents, couldn't reassure me by telling me how they were going to fix it. When I knew before then that they could fix anything. How about never being able to enjoy a public festival ever again, because I watched my baby sister collapse while we were watching a parade together?"
"What about being just old enough to understand what they were saying in the news? That we'd been barricaded on every side—all of our neighbors, and by the Marines at sea. Of learning we were trapped, and that no one was sending aid, and that even if some of us survived the sickness we'd probably starve, because no food was being allowed through the barriers, and Flevance never was one for producing crops."
"What about moving into the hospital permanently because Lami was too sick to move, and you were needed around the clock? What about being smart and healthy enough to help carry supplies and do simple tasks? What about seeing the baker's wife, or one of the nurses, or the weird old man who always played accordion on the corner by the fishmonger's die in their beds? What about seeing the hospital morgue so full the bodies had to be stacked like kindling?"
"What about being sent to the sisters when our neighbors invaded, because we'd fought back just enough that they'd decided to kill all of us in the name of keeping a plague down? Or why don't we talk about how I felt when I refused to leave with the rest of the kids the sisters had collected, because even if they said the Marines were going to allow us out, I couldn't leave my sister behind. Couldn't leave Lami."
His voice starts to hitch despite himself. He doesn't talk about this; not to anyone. There's a reason he holds his yearly vigils in solitary. "What about returning to the hospital to find it overrun by strangers with foreign accents and gas masks and guns, and finding my parents riddled with bullets and cradled in each other's arms on the floor of the research lab? Of not even being allowed to cry about it because the sound alerted the soldiers, who saw nothing wrong with shooting at a fleeing kid? I couldn't even take anything of yours with me. There was no time."
That'd been one of his biggest regrets for years, of not having anything from home. Sure, anything he could have taken out of Flevance with him was likely to be contaminated with Amber Lead, but what was a little poison in the face of a tangible reminder of his family? He'd gone over and over in his head what he could have taken with him if he'd had the time. His father's glasses. His parents' wedding rings. A watch or a necklace or…something.
Law forges on. "What about returning to the sisters in a panic, only to find every one of them along with every single kid who'd stayed behind dead on the street lying in their own blood, because there was never an escape route, just an excuse to round more people up so they could be herded to their deaths." He swallows and presses his hands tighter around Lami's ears. She makes a small noise of protest, but he doesn't let up.
"What about trying desperately to get back to the hospital, only to find it up in flames, with the baby sister you said you'd be right back to take care of stuck burning inside, along with the corpses of your parents and everyone else? And what about you finally getting out of Flevance, buried under the corpses of your neighbors, and hoping that the people in charge of disposal won't look to close before they threw you in the charnel pit."
He sighs, finally coming down from the fervent adrenaline fueling his rant. "What about knowing it was all pointless anyway, because you were still full of the stuff that killed your family and everyone else you'd ever known? What about knowing that you were just going to die anyway, and that you knew exactly how long you had left, because despite everything else, your parents were still very good doctors, and they'd learned about the disease they couldn't finish fighting?"
"What about everything that came after?" he almost says but holds his tongue. They'd asked about Flevance. Everything that happened after that was a different story, with different pain.
He gently removes his hands from around Lami's head, and she looks up at him in concern. He tries for a small smile, something to reassure her that everything was okay. Tries. By the way she snuggles even closer, he's pretty sure he's failed.
He looks back at his parents, who have remained silent through his entire rant. There are tears on his mother's face, and his father is gripping the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles are white and shaking. Both of them are staring at him with a disturbing intensity, and he can't help but feel like he's revealed more than he intended to.
"I'm sorry," he says. "This is why I didn't want to say anything. Because telling you who I am was inevitably going to lead to me having to tell you about this, and no one deserves to have to deal with that kind of knowledge about the future. I'd hoped that I could hint at there being a problem, enough for some connections to be made. Maybe this time around, the world could learn about what happened, and the World Government wouldn't get away without scrutiny."
"The way you're speaking," his father says after his parents had taken the time to compose themselves. "Is there really no hope to cure any of this? Surely something can be done with this much advance warning."
"No. But maybe it's easier if I just showed you," Law sighs, and he raises his hand and calls up a Room, just large enough to encompass the entire living room. He sees his parents flinch, and Lami buries her head in his chest with a whine.
"Sorry," he says, rubbing her back until she's peeking back out again. "I promise it's not as scary as it looks." Gently, he gestures at Lami's stuffed bear, which was sitting next to them on the couch, and makes it float over to its owner. "See? Just a funny little space where I can do things like this."
Lami looks at the bear skeptically, but Law makes it wiggle around, dancing it through the air near her until her natural skepticism breaks down and she makes a grab for the toy, making a happy noise when she realizes there's nothing else strange about it.
"Floating and teleportation?" his mother says, with the ghost of a smile quirking at the corner of her mouth. "What is this devil fruit anyway?"
"The reason I'm alive," Law says frankly. "The Ope Ope no Mi allows me to do basically whatever I want within one of these spaces, if I'm creative enough. But what it's meant for is medicine. This space is my operating room, and while I'm a damn good surgeon even without it, with it I can see and affect things that might normally be impossible. Or show you things might normally be invisible." He holds up his hand again, vertically this time. "To that point…Scan."
Everything in the room lights up, because Law had targeted Amber Lead and Flevance really and truly had found ways to use the material in literally everything. The walls, covered in Amber Lead paint, shone, and the fabrics of the furniture and the rug were laced with the telltale sparkle that the ore gave to dyes. The ink printed on the spine of every book on the shelves, every little knick-knack and tchotchke scattered about the room, even Lami's toys. Pretty much the only things that were untouched by the stuff were the few pieces of wood furniture and Law himself, though both bore trace amounts just by virtue of being in proximity to so much. Seeing it like that made his skin crawl, and he mentally repeats, not for the first time, that he'd removed it from his body before, and could do so again.
It doesn't help as much as he'd hoped.
The room looks, ironically, like the sort of faerie tale wonder that Flevance was often attributed in its heyday, when Amber Lead was still praised as the queen of all metals. But the thing that—quite reasonably—has taken most of his parents' attention is how much of the stuff is shining through their own skin.
Big swathes of the stuff can be seen in deposits across different parts of their bodies, invading parts of the immune system, hair and nails loaded with the stuff. Small bits of sparkling white could be seen circulating throughout their systems, carried by the bloodstream to and from hearts also afflicted with the substance, hugging the organs like white, shining blankets. It traced their bones and muscles like an eerie, glowing outline, a macabre echo of parts of their skeletons.
"Sparkles!" Lami exclaims from his lap, where she's cooing over the patches of glowing white she can see on her arms and legs.
"Yeah," Law says, his voice shaking a bit. "It is sparkly, isn't it?"
"It's everywhere," his mother gasps. "It's in everything." She looks over at Lami, who is still thankfully oblivious to the danger of what she's seeing. "Why does she have so much? She's so little."
"Every subsequent generation was born with more in their bodies," Law says. "The younger you were, the less time you had to start with, because in addition to accumulating more Amber Lead through exposure, if your parents were afflicted with the poisoning, you were born with a certain amount of it already affecting your system. It was a generational effect."
"Eventually," Law continues, cutting off any further questions that might be coming, "everyone reached a critical mass. People with more direct exposure tended to feel the worst effects first, but sometimes even those with less of it just got unlucky." He glances down at Lami, who's still distracted. "Most of us were doing pretty well, all things considered. I lasted until thirteen before it became critical that I get it out of my system. I think lots of people might have made it that many years, if—well. If the government hadn't stepped in."
"That's why you look like you do," his father surmises. "The darker coloring…the height. Heavy metal deposits change the color of any number of things and hamper the body's ability to grow to its fullest potential. And to think I thought the old joke about Flevish people being short because it made it easier to fit into the mines was funny once upon a time."
"Turns out removing the poison that's killing you from your body before you go through puberty lets your body do all sorts of unexpected things," Law drawls. "Still, it happened late with me. And was incredibly disorienting, all things considered. Also, I'm short by Grand Line standards, and especially New World ones. There are people out there who are taller than this house."
"We can't fix this, can we?" his mother says. "Lucas is the surgeon, but I know enough about the body to know what I'm seeing. Trying to remove this much of a substance that's this closely bound to the body would create massive trauma. It's fatal. The best we could hope for is to extend life and make it less painful in its last days."
"I'm sorry you had to find out like this," Law says sincerely. "If I'd just been a little more careful, you wouldn't have to live with this for years. I'm not sure if that's more of a comfort than the terror that I remember was, but…it was quicker, that's for sure." He looks down at his knees, bent upwards awkwardly from how small the couch was compared to the length of his legs. "My presence causes suffering. As always."
"What do you mean, 'as always?'" his mother fires back, and he looks up, startled. She's glaring at him again; with the same fervor she'd confronted him with back at the pond. "I hate this. I don't get this. I hate that you don't feel like you can talk about things—important things!—with us even though they affect us directly. But you know what I hate the most?" She leans forward in her chair, and Law represses the desire to lean back in response. "I hate that I can hear self-loathing and blame in every word that comes out of your mouth. This is not your fault."
"I know it's not," Law protests. "It's just—" He's floundering. He can feel his normal walls, his avoidance techniques trying to slam into place, but there's something about sitting here, being confronted by his parents that seems to have awoken something deep within him. He can only sit there and listen. It's like he really is six again, and he'd done something wrong.
"It's just what?" she presses.
"It's just I'm afraid of letting you down, okay?" Law yells, startling Lami almost clean out of his lap.
He can tell it's not the answer either of them was expecting, judging by the looks of shock and concern being directed his way. Well, there's nothing else to do but forge ahead. He'd let the cat out of the bag, and there was no putting it back in, no matter what came of it.
"I'm scared, okay?" he admits, burying his face in his free hand. "Terrified. When you were dead, I was safe; there was no way I could disappoint you or fail you. You were this static memory I could hold onto. Proof that at some point, I'd been a good enough person to deserve the sort of love I remember. But now I'm here and you're real and I'm not a kid anymore, I'm someone totally different and—" he trails off. "And there's so much to be disappointed by."
"Disappointed by what?" his mother asks, like it's the easiest question in the world, and Law struggles to find an exact answer, because "everything" feels like a bit of a dramatic answer even if that's how he's feeling right now, but trying to find a simple way of explaining how this situation has him tied in knots feels just as impossible.
"Because you're a pirate?" his father says suddenly, and the floor drops out of Law's stomach. His eyes search out his father's face, looking for the inevitable loathing, but all he sees is sadness, and it's not directed at him. Not exactly.
"It took me a bit to work it out," his father explains. "Lots of little puzzle pieces to put together. You said you were in the New World, and I can't think of more than a handful of government-affiliated countries out that way. The lack of formal training, and the way your skills skew towards the practical and how much experience you have with certain kinds of physical trauma. The distrust towards the government—any government. And now, what you've said about Flevance and how anyone from there became a pariah. Where else would you have gone, if the respectable part of the world didn't want you?"
"I—" Law starts, but he's cut off.
"I won't lie, when you first appeared here, I judged you harshly," his father admits. "And that's on me. That's not something a doctor should do when confronted with someone in distress who hasn't actively caused any problems or threatened harm. That's not something that I think, ideally, any person should do, but I'm not blind to human nature." He huffs a self-deprecating half-laugh. "Well, most of it. The Amber Lead thing is still sending me for a loop, but I think it's safe to say that's a special case."
"What I'm trying to say," he continues, "badly, because your mother is the one who's good with words, not me—is that it's fine. Really. Is it what we would have wanted for you? No, I think it's safe to say it's not. But we also wouldn't have wanted any of the things you've described to happen to you either. The fact that you lived through all of that—" he shakes his head. "It's inspiring, really. Terrifying, horrifying and depressing, but damn. You survived all that. How is that not the most amazing thing?"
"I don't—" Law whispers. "I don't understand."
"Let's try something else then," his mother says, rising from her seat, and Law tenses, unsure of what is coming next. More yelling? Repudiation? His brain tries to sort through all the possible negative reactions he could get in an attempt to find the best way to respond to every permutation of what was coming. Whatever she was going to say, he'd face it with dignity as best he could. Even if it ended up being very little.
But she just walks over to where he's sitting, and lifts Lami out of his lap, placing her just to his side on the couch. Then, she takes the place on his other side, so close that their knees are threatening to knock together.
"What are you doing?" he manages to croak out, his voice hoarse and, to his chagrin, shaking.
"Something I would have done long ago if I'd known who I was talking to," she says softly. "And even sooner if I'd known how much you were hurting." Her fingers clench around his hand, thumb rubbing soft circles across his palm, and Law has a moment where he realizes how small they are compared to his. Delicate, but still strong. Caretaker's hands. "Come here."
"What?" Law mumbles, but allows himself to be pulled along, too stunned to do anything else. And then he's got her arms looped around his shoulders, her face so close he can smell the light perfume she's wearing. Honeysuckle. It's an awkward position, with him being so much taller than her, but it's her eyes that Law focuses on, staring directly at him and containing no judgement whatsoever.
"If we're all going to die anyway, this is the only chance I'll have to know my son as an adult," she whispers. "My only chance to hold him. Why wouldn't I take that opportunity? Why wouldn't that be something I would want to experience?"
"I—" Law starts, but it's as far as he gets before she hushes him.
"You might be different," she continues. "You might think yourself…unworthy or broken or flawed. And I hate that I can't confront the things and people who made you feel that way. I hate that I can't know the totality of what you've been through. I can't even tell you everything's going to be okay, because we're doctors, and we know when platitudes don't help. But I can do this: I can tell you that everything is okay between us. And that you don't have anything to prove here. Just please, please stop trying to push us away."
Law doesn't respond. He can't. He can feel every fiber of his body shaking, his stress trying to find somewhere to ground itself and finding nowhere to go but his muscles. There's something misty blocking his vision, making the image of his mother swim in front of his face. Is he fainting? That would explain the lightheadedness.
"Oh, sweetie…" she sighs, reaching up and tucking a hand behind his neck. She gently draws his head down until his forehead rests on her shoulder. "How long has it been since someone held you like this?"
Law breaks.
He can't remember the last time he cried like this. Maybe as far back as when he was sixteen, when the news of Doflamingo's appointment as Warlord and takeover of Dressrosa had made the rounds in the papers. But those had been tears of rage and helplessness, and afterwards he'd dried his eyes and made himself a promise that he'd never allow himself that weakness again. That he had more important things to do than cry.
But this? This isn't rage. Law's not angry; if anything, he's relieved. Not that he can sort through what all the things he's feeling are at the moment. Law's always prided himself on being able to meticulously compartmentalize, sectioning off his feelings until he can deal with them alone, in private, where they won't get in the way of what he needs to do.
This is the opposite of that.
The only time Law's felt this raw, this flayed open as an adult was during the fallout from Dressrosa, the one-two punch of watching Doflamingo fall from the sky and his conversation with Sengoku. But this is different. Law had had thirteen years to deal with his feelings about Doflamingo and Cora. He'd had a concrete goal there, a focal point he could fix his emotions to.
He'd never had that for what he'd lost in Flevance. It had always seemed impossible; revenge against one person was achievable. Revenge against a faceless host of bureaucrats sitting on top of the world, or unidentifiable soldiers in gas masks, or a royal family he'd never even seen had seemed out of reach. So, he'd never thought he'd get the same level of closure. And this still wasn't exactly that, but…it's good. There's a spot in his chest that's loosened just a bit, a little locked box of emotions he'd always thought it would be too dangerous to touch ever again.
He can feel Lami burrow close into his side, wrapping little arms that don't even span the breadth of his waist around him best she can, sharp little nose digging into his ribs as she tries to help. He can tell she doesn't understand what's going on, but the fact that her instinctual reaction was still to offer him comfort touches him deeply.
And then, a third pair of arms closes around him from the same side, just higher up, and one hand runs up and down his spine in a soothing motion while the other clutches tight around his shoulders like a vise and shakes with just as much emotion as Law himself is feeling.
"What more could we ask for," his father whispers hoarsely. "Then that you survive?"
Law cries harder.
He's not the only one. Law can feel moisture dripping through his hair and speckling the back of his shirt, and the sounds of comfort his mother had been making have devolved into quiet sobs of her own. Her hug has become a very desperate sort of thing, and Law returns the favor, cradling her much smaller body in his own arms.
When was the last time he hugged someone like this back?
It's not that he's unused to the idea of physical touch entirely. Bepo was naturally and culturally a very physical person, and Penguin and Shachi never stopped with the casual arms around his shoulder or pokes and prods when the situation called for it—and even when it didn't. And Law made his home on a submarine, which guaranteed close quarters with his entire crew.
But there was something radically different about a hug from his family—all three of them. Maybe it was because it was an impossibility. Maybe it's because he has no real memories of something like this, overtaken as they had been by scenes of fire and death. But really, Law thinks it's the affirmation. It's not the same as he would get from his crew, though he misses them fiercely. And he doesn't think any of them would begrudge him this. So, he hangs on for dear life, and lets himself lose track of how long they sit there like this in favor of just soaking the feeling in, trying to burn the sensation into his memory so he never forgets it again.
"I don't know how long we'll get to keep you," his mother says as she eases back some time later, as many tears on her face as Law can feel on his. "But promise me, no more secrets. I want to hear everything about you. Where you've been, who you've met. And yes, what you've done. I won't let you get away with giving me half a picture of the man you are."
"And who is that?" Law says weakly. "I don't know myself sometimes."
"Well now," she says. "How would I describe the son I've just met? I think I've learned a few things. He's good with kids, for one." She pokes Lami in the side where she's still attached like a limpet to Law's side. "I've learned he's quiet, and smart, and an amazing doctor. I've learned he's thoughtful—even if his thought processes could use some peer review—and just a little on the serious side." The grin that cracks her face then is infectious. "And I've learned he's a pirate with magical powers, so there's also that."
Law chuckles despite himself. "It's not magic," he says lightly. "Just…extremely incomprehensible science. I think."
"Looks like magic to me," his father mutters from behind them. "You disappeared into thin air, Law. And you just casually made the entire room light up. How is that not magic?"
"I'll do you one better," Law says, because he's been thinking about the possibility of what he's about to suggest since the moment he'd realized the truth of where he was. "Magic or science, there's one thing I can think of that would be the best trick of all to pull off."
"Oh?" his mother says.
"Yeah," Law says, and he can feel a grin stealing over his face. Finally, something he can do that will make a real difference. "I'm going to make all the Amber Lead in your bodies disappear."
Chapter 11: Flickers
Chapter Text
"And these pipes carry water to the many places we need for it to go on the Tang. Not just for bathing or drinking either, it's also used as a coolant and—"
Law dutifully trots along behind Miss Ikkaku as she excitedly walks him through the submarine, finally getting the tour he'd been promised days before. It's fun watching her gesticulate and rave about everything they pass, from the pipes on the wall to the portholes—Law had seen some very interesting fish swimming outside them—to the incredibly well-kitted out medical theatre that she'd practically dragged him out of by the collar when he wanted to linger longer, insisting that they had a lot to see.
Law had learned a lot of things about submarines during his tour. Perhaps the most disappointing was that they didn't work like the ones in his comic books, even if the Polar Tang was as brightly colored as something that might have sprung straight off the page of one. There were no lasers or death traps for sneaky heroes to get stuck in. Which seemed weird to him. You'd think that pirates would have at least one death trap up their sleeve just in case.
But even with that disillusionment, Law can't help but understand why his guide and the rest of her crew loved the strange ship so much.
Law's seen a lot of sailing ships—the harbor in Flevance was visible from the top floors of the hospital, and sometimes when he wanted some quiet on the days he's not at home or at school he'd sneak up to the garden on the roof with a book and just watch the big sails of the marine warships and the merchant vessels as they glided in and out of the port. His parents never seemed to mind. They always knew where to find him.
The Tang isn't like any of those ships. She's about the same size as the Thousand Sunny, the ship that Law has spent most of his time on, but most of that is underwater. She can use either the wind or internal power to move and can sail above the water or below it as needed. Best of all, instead of cannons she has a row of torpedo launchers hugging her underside.
The existence of the torpedoes makes Law feel a little better about the lack of laser guns.
Everything inside is clean and efficiently organized, from the crew quarters to the mess—and Law had asked why it was called a mess, when everything in it was in perfect order. Miss Ikkaku had responded that she didn't know, but that Mister Clione would be very upset if anyone left his workspace dirty. That was reasonable, Law thinks. He'd learned very early that it was very important to keep where you did your job neat and tidy.
Miss Ikkaku was nice enough to answer as many questions as he asked, and Law thinks that she's wanted a reason to talk about the Polar Tang like this for a long time. He's gathered that she's in charge of making sure everything about it keeps running, so he can see why she's so proud. The submarine is one of the coolest things he's ever seen.
She talks very fast, though, and her accent, while Northern, is not one Law's particularly familiar with. She must come from clear on the other side of the North Blue, it's so different from what he's used to. He keeps having to ask her to repeat herself, or slow down, and though she seems happy to, he's embarrassed every time.
He'd mostly not had too much trouble with the Northern crew; not like some of the other people he'd talked to. Mister Luffy and Mister Zoro fortunately didn't use words that were too complicated when they spoke in Grand, so that had helped, but sometimes he listened to Miss Nami or Mister Brook talk and he felt lost. Why were there so many languages? Not being able to understand everyone was so frustrating.
But after listening to Miss Ikkaku talk about the submarine for so long, it's not the language barrier that he's worried about—it's just that he's desperately in need of some quiet. Just for a little bit, because he's still very interested in the submarine—they haven't even gotten to the big machinery yet—but he needs a break. Just a short one. He seems to need those a lot these days.
Maybe, he thinks, he can sneak back to the medical theatre. There were some things there he hadn't managed to get a close look at before he'd been shuffled off again, and he's pretty sure he can figure out the way back. It was one of the bigger rooms, near the central part of the submarine, so it shouldn't be too hard to find. And no one was using it right now, so it should be nice and quiet.
Miss Ikkaku turns the corner ahead of them, chattering about ducts and the importance of air flow in an enclosed space, and Law just…stops. He waits a couple seconds, to see if the fact that he wasn't following any longer gets noticed, but as he listens closely, he can hear his guide's voice getting quieter as she continues down the hallway. Success!
Encouraged, he turns and runs as quietly as he can back down the hallway, thankful for once for the silly little soft sock-shoes the pirates had made him to replace his missing footwear. They kept his footsteps nice and quiet, so he didn't bang about on the metal floor like everyone else did with their sturdy boots.
He reaches the main space without too much trouble, proud that he'd remembered the way without fail, and moves towards where he remembers the double doors to the medical theatre are, when he finds himself stopping in front of a smaller, more nondescript door.
They'd passed this door a few times as they crisscrossed the main space of the submarine. It was right next to the medical theatre, and after the third time or so ignoring it, he'd asked if they were going to take a look inside. Miss Ikkaku had shown him every other nook and cranny they'd passed, after all. But instead, she'd gotten evasive.
"Oh no," Miss Ikkaku had said, in that voice adults always used when they were hiding something. "There's nothing interesting in there."
But her eyes had looked at the door with worry, and she'd shuffled them off very quickly after that. Law thinks that probably means whatever is in there is the opposite of 'nothing interesting.' And that means he wants a peek at whatever is in there.
Tentatively, he tries the door. He expects it to be locked, especially if it's hiding some juicy secrets, but the door gives way with just a little bit of effort. It doesn't even squeak. Law remembers Miss Ikkaku telling him proudly that things like that were taken care of immediately on the Tang. No rust or squeaky hinges on her watch.
He's grateful. It means he's doing a better job of being sneaky. Between the shoes and the quiet door, it's almost like the universe wanted him to do this. Law certainly wasn't complaining.
The room on the other side of the threshold is dark, but Law can make out the shapes of furniture lining the room. Medical storage, maybe? It made sense to store your supplies close to where you'd need them. There seemed to be a lot of shelves, which backed up that idea. Hospitals were full of shelves.
Reaching up the sides of the cool metal wall, he fumbles around until his hand finally makes contact with a light switch that's so far up it's almost out of his reach entirely. Pirates, he grumbles, are all too tall.
It takes him stretching to the very tips of his toes and a little jump to give the switch enough force to flip, but eventually he gets it, and the room lights up. It's a softer light than the other ones on the submarine, Law notices. He approves. Some of those were too harsh.
The room isn't that big, but no room on the submarine seemed to be. The space had been used well, though, every bit of spare wall taken up by shelving or cabinets that ran from floor to ceiling. A simple bed is tucked in one corner underneath a porthole, and the opposite corner has a sturdy–looking desk and chair covered in bits and bobs that Law's fingers itch to explore.
It's a bedroom, Law realizes. Or maybe an office? Someone's private space, anyway. Suddenly the way Miss Ikkaku had been avoiding this door makes a lot more sense, and Law finds himself feeling a little guilty. He hadn't meant to intrude. There was just something about a door that was off-limits that was fascinating. He'd expected maybe a pirate treasure room, or maybe the place where they stored the laser guns and other things his comics had told him submarines came with. Things that little boys weren't supposed to see because they were too dangerous.
He could leave. Just duck back out of the room and pretend he'd just taken a wrong turn. That would be the sensible thing to do, so he didn't make anyone angry.
He turns to do just that when his eye catches on something leaning in the corner, and he stops.
Law has only fuzzy memories of the pirates finding him when Miss Nami had carried him down from the mountain and Doctor Chopper had taken care of him. But he remembers this, sort of. It was hard to forget a sword that was so big, and with such interesting decorations. Law didn't know much about swords, but he was pretty sure it wasn't common for them to have fluffy bits. Mister Zoro's swords didn't. But then, Mister Zoro didn't seem like a very fluffy sort of person. Nice, but definitely not fluffy.
"Hello," he says softly, walking closer. "Mister Zoro says some swords are kind of alive, and can tell things about people. I don't really know what he meant by that, but—" he pauses. "Just in case you're one of them? Thank you for helping Miss Nami take care of me."
He fidgets. It's weird, talking to a sword. It can't talk back, after all, and Law had never been good at one-sided conversations. Or conversations in general if his teachers were to be believed. He'd never really thought it was too much of a problem before. But then, he'd never tried talking to an inanimate object, either.
It came to him suddenly that this was supposed to be the missing captain's sword. Which meant that he was probably in the missing captain's private room, if the bed and the desk were any indication. He groans softly. He's really mucked this up. Of course, they'd want him to stay out of here. He's going to be in so much trouble.
"Mister Shachi said your owner was a doctor," he starts again, still talking to the sword, as if the sword can absolve him of his guilt. "I don't know any doctors with swords. All the ones I know would probably be really confused by the idea. I don't think they'd know what to do with one. Especially one as big as you." He shuffles closer. "But then, I guess being a pirate doctor is different than being a doctor in a hospital. Different rules." He hums thoughtfully. "If you're always fighting or in danger, maybe being a good doctor means helping protect your friends, so they don't get hurt in the first place."
He reaches out a hand and tentatively touches one of the crosses on the big sword's sheath. It's surprisingly warm, and hums under his hands in a pleasant sort of way. Like a cat, almost, and Law can't help but crack a smile.
"You're friendly!" he exclaims and laughs a little when another hum passes under his fingers. "I'm glad. Mister Zoro said some of his swords were 'difficult' and wouldn't let me touch them, even when they were all closed up. But you're nice!" He looks up at the sword's length, all the way to the tip of the pommel where it rests at almost twice his height against the wall. It's imposing from this angle, dark and deadly—and fluffy—but strangely, Law doesn't feel particularly intimidated.
"I bet you miss him. Your captain I mean? I would if I had a partner and he disappeared. Everyone here is so sad. I hope he knows how much he's missed. They clearly love him very much." Law drops his hand, momentarily missing the friendly warmth of the sword. Suddenly, exploring doesn't seem as exciting. "I know I miss my family. And I know they must miss me. I just hope they'll forgive me for disappearing. I didn't mean to."
He rubs at his eyes, scrubbing out any traitorous wetness that might try and make an appearance, and turns away from the sword at last. He thinks he feels a sad little shudder from the corner, but maybe that's just him. He's so tired all of a sudden.
Turning to the rest of the room, Law scans over the contents of the bookcases, momentarily energized by the selection of medical books on display. Some of them look similar to the ones in his parents' offices, but others are written in languages he can't read, only identifiable as medical books by the symbols on their spines. It's a whole library of medical knowledge tucked into a tiny room.
There are other books as well; Law can see history books, and books on everything from sailing to politics, though he ignores those once he notices the jewel of the collection: high up on one of the shelves, the recognizable design of the symbol of Sora: Warrior of the Sea on the spines of several collected volumes of comics. The pirate-doctor-captain had good taste.
Annoyingly, they were far too far up for him to pull off the shelves, which is a pity considering that Law doesn't recognize those volumes. And he thought he'd read all of them! He was going to have to double-check once…once he got home.
And just like that, his mood swings back down, and he finds himself casting about for something else to distract him from these thoughts. It wasn't like he could do anything about his situation. All he could do was sit and wait for his new friends to solve his problem for him. Like a useless lump.
Right. Distraction.
The desk, aside from a neat stack of books in one corner in a language he can't read, is tidy in a way that reminds Law of his dad's desk in his little office at the hospital. Everything had a place, carefully arranged just so. He'd say it must be a doctor thing, but Law has also seen his mother's desk, and he knows that's not true.
It's an eclectic collection of items. A small cactus sits in a pot cheerfully decorated with hand-painted hearts next to a cup filled with pens and other writing implements. Small devices that look like miniature versions of the big ones Miss Ikkaku had pointed out in navigation line the top of the desk, and a map lies open in the center. Law tries to figure out what any of it says, but the most he can make out is a line carefully meandering its way through the ocean, occasionally stopping at an island. A log, maybe, of where they'd been? If so, they'd been everywhere.
But it's the photo that really catches his eye.
It's old, judging by the faded nature of the print, but not too old that Law can't make out the subjects. Especially since most of them are relatively familiar.
It's easy enough to recognize three of the four figures in the photo. Mister Bepo was smaller, but he was still a polar bear, and Mister Shachi's red hair wasn't as bright as it was in real life, but still unmistakable. Mister Penguin's hat was different, but he was still recognizable. They all look to be teenagers, and they're bundled up against a backdrop of snowdrifts and ice.
The fourth person in the center of the photo is the only one not smiling, and he's clutching a familiar sword possessively that dwarfs him in size. He stares balefully in the direction of the camera from underneath the brim of a fluffy spotted hat, like the photographer had offended him. But for as grumpy as he looks, Law is almost certain that he's still happy. He can't say why he knows that; he just does.
He turns the frame over, to find a note scribbled on the back.
"Swallow Island gang with Captain's new sword, first plunder of our pirating career! May he grow into it!"
So, this is the captain, Law thinks. They have known each other for a long time then.
He stares at the picture for a while longer. There's something tickling his brain about this picture, and he can't quite put his finger on it. It's annoying; Law doesn't like unsolved puzzles. Maybe it's just the weirdness of finally seeing the mysterious person who he's only heard about, but he doesn't think that's entirely it. There's something about his face that's bothering him. Maybe if the photo weren't so old and faded…
With a sigh, he puts the photo down. All of this stress was giving him a headache. Maybe he should just sit down for a bit, give himself a bit of a break. Then in ten minutes or so he can go find Miss Ikkaku again and apologize for running off.
Despite himself, he gravitates towards the bed, which looks awfully inviting. It's stacked high with homemade quilts, heart designs and nautical motifs chief among the panels. He wonders if someone on the crew made them, to pass the time during long stretches at sea. It's not the image of pirates Law's been raised with, but he's learned a lot about these particular pirates in the past few days. He finds he likes their version a lot better than the stories he's heard.
There's a small shelf next to the bed above a little cabinet, and it's covered in thick folders of a sort Law has never seen before. Picking one up, he opens it to find not papers or files, but a series of recessed holes, each of them filled with a different coin.
He scans through the rows of currency, each of them accompanied by a neat little note in Northern about where it was from and marvels a bit at how many there were. Law had a small collection of his own at home—he'd always been fascinated by the different ways beri could look, and his parents would occasionally bring him home different coins that they'd found—but he had nothing like this. And they were so well-kept! He's going to have to figure out how to explain these folders to his parents when he gets home; they're a much better way of organizing than the little box Law had on his dresser.
Stretching forward to pick up another one, he accidentally leans too far and bumps into the door of the cabinet he's standing over, tossing it open by mistake. Quickly, Law ducks down to make sure he hasn't shaken anything loose, but he stops when he sees the contents.
There's not much in the cabinet, but it's what Law finds that's fascinating. A few tall candles, carved in familiar patterns sit in one corner. They're not made with Amber Lead—they don't sparkle quite right—but he's certain they were inspired by the ones Law would see every year in the city square.
In front of the candles are a couple of small books, dog-eared and worn. He recognizes the cover on the first one; it's a famous book of faerie tales and other stories. Everyone back home knew those stories. Law's read a few of them to Lami before. The other book looks much less common, a book on laws or something like that, but it shares one key similarity with the first one: they're both written in Flevish.
None of the crew he'd met were Flevish, of that Law was certain. But they seemed to know a lot about Flevance and hadn't had any trouble understanding him the same way he had trouble with some of their accents. He'd chalked that up to them being adults and simply more experienced—pirates must hear an awful lot of different ways of speaking, after all—but now he's not so sure.
Was the missing captain from Flevance? There was a pirate from Flevance and no one had talked about it?
It seemed inconceivable. If there was anything Law had learned about people hanging around the hospital, it was that they loved to talk, especially about things they thought people were doing wrong. If there was a pirate from Flevance, surely someone would have mentioned it by now. Especially if he were a captain and a doctor.
So why hadn't he ever heard of him?
The only other thing in the cabinet is a small open box, which holds two fluffy spotted hats. Law recognizes one of them—the captain had been wearing it in the picture on the desk. It's small though, almost small enough to fit Law himself, and he wonders if that's why it's in the box. The captain was an adult, so maybe he outgrew it. Law was always told you should donate your clothes when they didn't fit you anymore, because there was always someone who might need them, but he supposes that's not an option for pirates.
The hat is pleasantly soft between his fingers when he picks it up, even if it is clearly well-worn in some spots. It was obviously well-loved. It reminds Law a lot of his favorite stuffed animals, hugged to baldness in some spots but still the most comforting things he owns.
He misses them. He misses a lot of things. A lot of people.
Law hops up on the bed, tilting over despite his best efforts when he sinks into the softer than expected mattress. The pillows are just as soft as the bed, and he startles when a familiar scent reaches his nose.
It smells like my bed at home, he thinks. Like the lavender and mountain herbs mom puts in the laundry. Because she always says home shouldn't smell like the hospital.
It's such a stark reminder of home that Law doesn't even try to stop the tears flooding his eyes. He wanted to go home. He wanted to hug his sister and tell her all the interesting things he'd learned, and he wanted to be held by his parents and tell them how much he missed them. How he was sorry for disappearing, but that he'd met good people that had taken care of him.
He wanted to sit on the roof of the hospital and watch the ships again, and he wanted to go back to school and learn even more new things about being a doctor. He wanted his books and his bed and the simple, safe familiar feeling of just being home.
Sighing, he lets himself sink into the bed, comforted by the familiar smells and relaxing despite his stress. Maybe he can rest for just a little bit. It's quiet here, and that's what he needed, right? Just some quiet.
He's asleep before he can talk himself out of the idea.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bepo wasn't surprised that Law had disappeared. It had, in his opinion, been about time for that to happen. No matter the age, Law had always had periods of time where he needed to be alone—to decompress, to reflect, to finally have the quiet his overactive brain craved. When Jean Bart had confided in the rest of the crew that the kid had sought him out for the promise of a quiet place to be the day before, Bepo knew it was only a matter of time before he went looking for a place of true solitude.
He's not even surprised that it happened during the tour of the Polar Tang, something he'd been incredibly excited for. At that age, Law probably wasn't even aware that it was something he needed, and so when the opportunity had offered itself, he'd just followed along. It was terribly reminiscent of Bepo's earliest memories of him, when so much of the mental work their small group of four went through was learning what each of them needed from the others. Bepo was aware he needed closeness and affirmation. Penguin needed something to focus his nervous energy on. Shachi needed socialization. And Law needed quiet.
When Ikkaku had practically run him over in the hallway looking for the kid who'd given her the slip, Bepo had been the one to reassure her it was okay. His senses were stronger than the rest of the Heart Pirates, and he knew Law was still on the submarine and not in any sort of distress. But watching Ikkaku berate herself for letting him out of her sight for even a moment had given Bepo a moment of clarity: they were treating their little Law like he was made of spun glass and had been doing him a disservice by doing so.
Bepo still maintained they needed to be careful around the kid; he was very smart, and he asked a lot of questions, and there were some things it would be better if he didn't know. But over the last few days, Bepo had been observing how he interfaced with the crew, and he wasn't blind to the fact that Law was very aware that there was something off about how people were interacting with him. Shachi had said as much after talking to him that first full day—he'd thought he'd done something wrong. And while he'd been reassured that that was by no means the case, Bepo wasn't sure they'd done enough to keep those doubts from plaguing the kid's mind.
Nothing had illustrated that point more than the night before, when Straw Hat had monopolized Law for an astonishingly long period of time, given what Bepo had experienced of his attention span. They'd only come down off the Sunny's figurehead when dinner had been called, and the man had delivered a dozing, relaxed Law to his crew with surprising gentleness. And later, at dinner and afterwards, the kid seemed much calmer, like some of the weight on his little shoulders had been lifted.
"He needed to talk," was all Straw Hat would say. "So, we talked."
Bepo was ashamed of how they'd missed something so critical. There was no other way to describe it. And he was sure the others would be too if it were pointed out to them. Maybe they were too close to the situation; they were intimately aware of Law's need to keep his secrets and wanted to respect that, but in doing so they had overlooked the very real needs of a small, scared little boy. They'd gone into this with the best of intentions, but that didn't change the fact that on a very real level, they were failing their captain. Their Law would probably not see it that way, practical man that he was, but underneath all his walls and logic, Law was a very emotional person, and this six-year-old version of himself didn't have the benefit of years of experience compartmentalizing how he was feeling.
So, he was going to do better. He was going to talk to the rest of the crew, and they all were going to do better.
It was easy enough for Bepo to find where Law was hiding; he could smell him easily enough under the Tang's familiar scent of metal and oil. Children smelled different enough to Bepo to easily distinguish him from all the adults walking around, though he couldn't quite put a pin in the right word to describe the difference. It just was. But Bepo was used to not having the words to properly explain to lesser minks and others how he experienced the world. Right now, it didn't matter. What mattered was that he was the right person for this particular task.
In retrospect, Law's private room should have been his first guess. He knew Ikkaku wouldn't have shown him that room during their tour, and Law had always been curious to the point of self-destruction. Of course, he'd go to the one place he was told was off-limits. At the same time, it was no wonder that the room had been overlooked as an option; it was still Law's private space, and no one wanted to intrude on that, even if he wasn't here. That, and the runners Law had placed at the bottom of the door to block the hallway lights that kept him awake made it hard to tell a light was on inside. There was a faint glow at the bottom of the door, but it was easy to miss.
Gently, Bepo pushes open the door to Law's room, so as not to startle any inhabitants, but it soon becomes evident that he needn't have worried. Despite his worry, Bepo can't help but smile at the sight he's greeted by.
Law is curled up on his side on the bed, breathing softly, his need for quiet having clearly given way to the need for rest. Bepo would be more concerned about how much he seemed to sleep, if it wasn't incredibly evident that this entire situation was causing Law stress. Add to that the fact that he was still very sick, and of course he was always tired. At least he felt safe enough to let himself relax. Adult Law was a terror when stressed and sleep-deprived; teenage Law had been even worse. Bepo didn't feel the need to discover what he'd been like as a child in that regard.
Some things never changed, though, and Bepo couldn't help but chuckle at how familiar the way the kid slept was. On his side, with one arm tucked under the pillow, and the other wrapped securely around whatever soft thing happened to be in reach. Always hanging on to something in his sleep, when he couldn't pretend he didn't need it the same way he did when he was awake.
It takes him a moment to identify what Law is actually hugging, and when he does, he can't help but smile. That damn hat. Law would never throw the thing out, despite how much space on the Tang was at a premium. And it seems little Law had latched on to it in a similar way, given how closely he was clutching it in his sleep.
Bepo carefully sits down on the end of the bed, doing his best not to disturb its sleeping occupant. But the shift in weight between him and Law's slight form must have been notable enough that the kid almost immediately stirs. He looks around groggily until his eyes register Bepo's presence, and Bepo watches him shrink in on himself a bit in obvious guilt.
"Sorry," Law whispers. "I didn't mean to be gone so long. I just…got distracted."
"It's fine," Bepo reassures him, and smiles when Law relaxes a bit back into the pillow. "I could tell you weren't in any danger."
"How?"
Bepo taps his nose and grins. "Mink superpowers," he says sagely. "Very useful for tracking down missing little boys."
That gets him a giggle, but it doesn't last very long. Law's looking around the room pensively, fingers still clutched tight to the small hat in his hands. "This is your captain's room, right? The one who's missing?" The guilty look is back. "I promise I didn't know when I came in here, and I thought about leaving but then there were books, and the sword, and—"
Bepo holds up his hands to stop the flow of words, doing his best to stem the tide of panic before it gets to be too much. "Really, it's fine," he repeats. "I don't think the captain would mind at all, really." He neglects to mention that this was the finest of edge cases in that matter—Law was very protective of his private space. "It's not like he doesn't know that sometimes people need some space."
"Oh." Law settles back again, arms drawing closer still around the hat. He looks thoughtful, and Bepo waits patiently for him to say whatever it is that's on his mind.
"In that case," Law finally says tentatively. "Do you think I could be a little selfish?" At Bepo's curious look, he buries his face in the hat. "Can I stay here for a little bit longer? It—it smells like home."
Bepo smiles. Of course, the sachet underneath the pillow. Law's tiny little concession to nostalgia. "Take as much time as you need," he says. "I'll be right here when you're ready to go."
"Thank you," Law sighs happily. He looks up at the ceiling. "And thank you, Mister Captain, wherever you are. For understanding."
Then he turns his face back to the pillow, inhaling deeply, and it's only a matter of moments before Bepo can tell he's fallen back into slumber.
What are we going to do with you? Bepo wonders sadly. If this went on for too much longer, he was worried that the stress of the situation was going to hurt this little Law irreparably. The last thing they wanted was to give the kid a whole new set of traumas that he didn't have originally, and the worst thing was the matter was almost entirely out of their hands. Not to mention the ongoing stress of keeping the kid in the dark about his future or who he was to them. Someone was bound to break eventually.
Law sighs a little in his sleep, his face turning even further into the soft give of the pillow. Chasing the familiar even in sleep. It would be absolutely adorable, if it also weren't so damn sad.
Then something unexpected happens.
Between one breath and the next Law's small form starts stuttering, like a candle flame being disrupted by a sudden wind. Bepo watches, jaw hanging open as the boy's form wavers between convincing solidity and being so diaphanous he can see the mattress through his body.
And then, after only a few seconds of the phenomenon, it stops, and Bepo is once more left with a perfectly normal sleeping boy, dead to the world and completely unaware of what had just happened.
Well, Bepo thinks with not a little panic. That's a development I wasn't expecting.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"He what?"
"Flickered," Bepo repeated to the room at large. It was late in the evening, and most of the Hearts and the Straw Hats were clustered together on the beach around the remnants of the bonfire that had been lit after dinner. Law was safely ensconced away in his designated bed on the Sunny under Chopper's watchful eyes, fast asleep and away from where everyone was frantically discussing him. "Like he was a mirage. But only for a moment, and then he went back to being as solid as he was before."
"But that's good, right? Doesn't that mean that whatever happened is finally wearing off?" Uni pipes up hopefully. "Are we getting Law—I mean, our Law—back?"
"I'd bet it's more complicated than that. There was that condition you and Ikkaku learned about, right?" Nami says, turning to Robin. "Law needs to solve some sort of internal conflict and it just snaps them back into the correct place?"
"Maybe. The way Salria described 'returning,' it sounded much more abrupt and clear-cut," Robin muses. "But the thing she stated she needed from her experience in order to return was relatively simple. We could be missing something crucial here."
"What if," Jimbei rumbles from off to the side, "the lack of a similar simplicity is the problem?"
When the group turns to him in question, he continues. "I have done my best to avoid stumbling into any of Trafalgar's secrets, beyond what has been shared out of necessity. It's not my intention to pry. But it seems to me that his issues, if addressing them is what is necessary for his return home, are complex and perhaps not necessarily the sorts of things that a single conversation or interaction could solve."
"Yeah, he's always been a complicated mess," Penguin sighs. "And without sharing too much, he's definitely in possession of several issues that are intertwined with each other. Not that I can blame him, considering. But I'd believe in him slowly starting to pick apart those issues more than I would him solving them all in one fell swoop. He's too methodical to do something like that. And too bloody stubborn."
"I bet his hand was forced," Shachi snickers. "Something happened and he couldn't run away from his feelings anymore." He pauses. "Not that I'm complaining. If it gets him home, I'm willing to deal with any of the fallout that sort of tough love might cause. We've supported him before. We can do it again."
"If he is where we think he might be, he's going to need it," Bepo sighs sadly. "Even if the experience results in a net benefit for Law—if he's even going to be capable of seeing it that way—there's no way that's not going to leave some new scars. And he's already got too many."
For the first time during the conversation, Straw Hat perks up. He'd been idly lazing at the edge of their little circle, signature hat tilted over his eyes and looking for all the world like he'd checked out of consciousness entirely. But he springs up at Bepo's words and gives the rest of the group a hard stare.
"Torao will be fine," he says firmly. "Torao has his people. That's exactly what you need to remember everything will be okay. He knows that."
"I mean, he could do something stupid again," Zoro drawls from next to his captain.
Straw Hat turns that unblinking stare on the swordsman. "Torao wouldn't. Not anymore." There's weight behind his words, and Bepo thinks he's talking about something the Hearts had missed. Dressrosa, maybe, which Law still hasn't broken down for them beyond the basic facts, but that Bepo admittedly dreads getting context for, given what he has heard. Or even whatever happened up on the rooftop in Wano; they'd all agreed that they needed some space between themselves and the island before the crew began to unpack the mess that had gone down there, so Law hadn't really had a chance to speak about what the fight with two Emperors had been like, or what had happened to separate the group that had made it to the rooftop.
Zoro stares back at his captain, then his single eye shutters briefly. "No," he agrees. "I suppose he wouldn't, at that."
"If Robin is correct, and the perpetrator of this mess is actually a mountain with a devil fruit, we have no way of knowing what the return conditions really are," Clione groans. "Just what the lady you spoke to said about her experience. We can't ask a fucking mountain what it needs or wants Law to do. The mountain won't have an opinion either way!"
"He must be doing something right," Bepo pipes up in Law's defense. Everyone's tempers were beginning to flare, and that would do them no good right now. It made sense that everyone was on edge, when for the first time since this whole issue had started it seemed like they were getting closer to resolving the problem, but that didn't mean they needed to go off half-cocked at the first sign things weren't going smoothly. "If he wasn't, we wouldn't have gotten a sign like this. I think. I hope."
"Did the kid notice?" Hakugan cuts in quietly. "I know I'd freak out if I was suddenly only half-there. He seemed on a pretty even keel earlier, so I'm going to assume he didn't, but if it keeps happening, he's going to notice eventually. And, quite reasonably, freak out. How do we want to explain that?"
"Carefully," Bepo groans. "Very, very carefully."
"Well, we have to say something," Usopp mutters from the other side of the fire, where he's putting together what looks like more of the weird ammunition he uses with his slingshot. "Even if this does mean he's getting closer to getting home, he's still going to have no context for suddenly being not-there half the time. And what is he going to say when he gets back? 'I ended up in a strange place with a bunch of random pirates, but I promise they were friendly?' I bet his parents freak out something fierce. I would."
"Salria said she was able to bring that necklace back," Ikkaku muses. "Maybe we should give the kid something to carry with him. If only to explain to his parents where he was and what happened. I can't imagine our Law has any clue about what's going on. He's probably got bigger problems to deal with anyway."
"It's a start," Penguin sighs. "We'll work on putting something together tonight and tomorrow…well, tomorrow we explain to the kid what's going on. Not everything, of course, but…enough to keep him from being too scared." He throws up his hands. "Who knows, maybe an explanation will help keep him calm. It is Law, after all."
"It is," Bepo agrees. "But can we at least look on the bright side of things? Law might almost be home."
"Hopefully in one piece," Jean Bart rumbles, and Bepo feels a twinge of fear. Law would be fine. He had to be.
He had to be.
Chapter 12: Operation
Chapter Text
"Disappear?"
Law reluctantly disengages from his mother's embrace and feels her do the same, as his father leans back and shuffles back around to kneel beside her. His mother is still sniffling a bit wetly from their collective outburst of emotion, but Law thinks he sees a small smile under where her hair has loosened from its bun and fallen in front of her face. She does not, he notices, let go of his hands, letting her thumbs run softly across their tattooed backs.
It's a comfort, and permission to keep going.
Lami doesn't move, but Law's come to expect that. It's funny; he'd forgotten how clingy she could be; had actively been kind of annoyed by it as a kid. Now, he can't get enough of it. He wonders if that's a thing other siblings get to experience growing up; the missing of things that were once perceived impositions.
"Well, not literally. More's the pity," Law clarifies. "I can't will it out of existence, as much as I might want to. But what I can do—what my devil fruit lets me do—is remove it. Safely, without physical trauma or pain."
His parents are looking at him like he's suggested something akin to pulling a rabbit out of his hat, and in a way, Law supposes he has. After all, he'd just finished telling them about how hopeless the Amber Lead situation was, and now he was essentially turning that whole conversation on its head by telling them that wasn't the full story.
His father disengages from the family huddle and circles back to the chair he'd vacated, tugging it closer until he's practically knocking knees with Law. There are signs of weariness on his face, evidence of the strain the last few hours have caused them, but his eyes are bright, and shining with an excitement that's very familiar to Law.
"You said your devil fruit is the reason you're alive, yes?" he starts. "That it's meant for medical work?" When Law nods, he folds his hands in front of his face and rests his nose on top of his fingers, eyebrows furrowed. "But what a level of medical work, to be able to separate something like that from so many systems of the body." He begins muttering under his breath, presumably trying to parse through some sort of logic that would make Law's claims understandable.
"It took a while, the one and only time I did it," Law admits. "I was thirteen, and all I had was a rusty knife and a sad excuse for shelter in a cave on one of the coldest islands in the North Blue, not to mention no experience with my new devil fruit or its nuances." He shrugs. "But I was able to get enough out from the denser patches to prolong my life, which meant I had more time to study what I needed to do next. I had the worst of it out in under two weeks, but I don't think it was really out of my system properly until almost a year later. It took time to figure out each step, and back then, using my fruit even a little bit exhausted what little stamina I had to spare."
"There are negative effects to using a devil fruit?" his mother asks, clearly concerned, and Law hurries to clarify.
"Some of them. Some of them have oddly specific requirements for their usage as well. No two are alike, not even the ones that seem like they should be. Mine simply requires me to have enough energy to pull off the things I ask it to do. It means I need to be strategic in how I use it, but—" he allows himself a bit of a self-indulgent smile. "My body has acclimatized to the necessary expenditure after all these years, so it's much less of a strain than it used to be."
And a good thing, too, he thinks wryly. Else I don't think I would have left Wano alive. Not that they need to know that. Seas, what a conversation that would be.
"In any case, I have much more control and experience now, so it shouldn't be too hard to get it out of all of you. And then—" Law swallows, his throat suddenly tight. "And then you wouldn't have to worry about…what I just told you. At least, not for yourselves."
"I guess it would be too much to ask for you to fix the entire country, wouldn't it?" his father says softly. "Three people would obviously be more doable than tens of thousands. Especially if doing so is going to tire you out."
Law sighs. "Nothing would make me happier if I'm being honest. The idea of reversing a whole century's worth of damage, of spitting in the face of the people who caused that in the process?" He allows himself a bit of a grin, but he can't quite hide the sharp edge he can feel on it. "I have, unfortunately, been told I'm a bit of a vindictive bastard. But I think it's warranted here."
He leans back on the couch. "But…there are too many factors that make it an unworkable solution. For one, we don't know how long I'm going to be here. There's no telling if I'd be able to get everyone, and worse: I might just disappear again in the middle of an operation. That's even if you could convince the entire population to accept what you're telling them about Amber Lead in the first place. I know people. I know they refuse to believe the worst. We could go in there with the best of intentions and end up causing riots."
His father sighs, leaning back in his own chair, hands covering his face as he makes a noise of frustration. "Seas, just getting some people to admit they need medical help in the first place…I've had enough trouble getting a person with damaged lungs to stop smoking. You're right. If we told everyone they were full of poison and that it was the government's fault, most of them would think we'd gone off the deep end. It wouldn't matter how much proof we could give them."
Law nods. "That's not all of it, either. Like I said, in my experience the World Government is very keen to keep people from discovering its transgressions. If we start making noise, they're going to hear about it sooner rather than later, and then they might just decide to use the Ohara solution on Flevance anyway and burn everything to the ground. In any case, I can't see them letting it slide. They haven't stayed in power all these centuries by being lenient."
"And people will talk," his mother says, picking up the thread of conversation. She's fidgeting with the loose ends of her hair, clearly trying to keep herself on an even keel. "Even if we had time, and even if we did it as circumspect as possible, eventually someone would let something slip. And then we're right back to where you've stated this is going to end."
"I can't fix everyone," Law finishes, and hates how much it sounds to his own ears like he's signing the death warrants of his entire country himself. "But I can fix you. And that's something. At least let me start with that. Then maybe—" he trails off. He doesn't actually think there is going to be anything they'll be able to do, but if it helps him convince them to take his offer…well, he'll lie through his teeth if he has to.
There's a pause. "Well, I'm certainly not going to say no," his father says. "Just aside from the fact that I would like to stay alive, the idea of experiencing a surgery like you've described? It's like a professional dream come true."
"Lucas."
"What?" Law's father protests, looking awfully defensive. It's kind of hilarious. "It is! Surgery without trauma? It's a medical miracle. I would be remiss if I didn't learn everything I could, from a professional standpoint, even if I won't be able to duplicate the same procedures myself." He crosses his arms, obviously trying to look offended, but the quiver at the corner of his mouth gives away the joke.
His mother shakes her head, but it's an incredibly fond gesture. "I suppose I can't argue with that."
"It shouldn't take too long, and you'll be conscious the entire time," Law offers. His father's eyes light up even more. "I just need some place to put the Amber Lead after I've taken it out of you. And a scalpel. No other special equipment: the devil fruit does the rest and keeps things sterile."
"Fascinating," his father breathes. "Yes, why don't we—"
"Wait," his mother says, cutting the excitement in the room short. "Wait. This is the only way the Amber Lead can be removed from someone's body, right? Just you and your devil fruit?"
"That I know of," Law confirms.
"That means you're the only one who can do it," she continues, and Law can see the signs of rising distress in her face. "But you said it yourself: we don't know how long you're going to be here for. You could disappear again at any moment. And we'd have our—I mean, your younger self would be back. He'd be home, but you'd be gone. And he'd still be sick." She swallows, her face pale, and finishes he thought, voice barely more than a whisper. "We wouldn't be able to fix that."
Law hears his father exhale sharply as he comes to the same realization, and then he has both his parents staring at him, as if begging him to tell them there was another option. A loophole, to stop the tragedy they can see on the horizon before it gets there.
"Are we going to save ourselves just to watch our son die?" his mother finishes.
"The alternative is all of you dying," Law points out, feeling panic starting to thrill its way through his system. He can't let this be the reason they don't let him help them. He can't.
"But what's the point if we can't save him, too?"
"What's the point of letting yourselves die?" Law bites back, immediately feeling a flash of guilt at the way they flinch at his tone. He inhales slowly, doing his best to get himself back on an even keel, but it's hard. He's so close to saving them. He hadn't expected to have to convince them to save themselves.
"If you die, nothing changes. Everyone dies, and Flevance burns. And yeah, it's still going to be destroyed. People are still going to die. Things are too far gone to do anything about that on the grander scale. We've already talked about that." He exhales, doing his best to measure his tone.
"But if you live? If you get out of here? That's countless people you could save elsewhere, with your skills. That's Lami getting to grow up healthy and strong and all of you living a full life. It means that part of Flevance survives in a better state than the memory of one sad, broken little boy with too much rage to do anything productive with it, and too few years to remember everything about his home that bears remembering." He sighs. "It's just—please. Let me do this for you. Let me finally be able to do something."
He knows he's begging. It wasn't something he'd normally ever consider; Law didn't beg for anything. Begging was a sign of weakness, and the luxury of weakness was something he hadn't allowed himself for a long time. Every person he allowed in his life had gained their place in his heart in spite of the walls he put up, and he knew how much effort it took to fight past them to get to his misshapen, shriveled little core. It was why he'd allowed them to stay in the first place, until they'd wormed themselves into him so completely that he would never call them a weakness in the first place, no matter what they or anyone else said.
"I might never see you again, after whatever it is that has caused this situation resolves itself," he finishes. "But the knowledge that somewhere, in some life, that you are alive and thriving? It would be a gift I'd treasure until the end of time. I know it will never be the same; my brain's too clinically logical to let me dream otherwise, but it would still help, I think. To know that."
The room is silent as they digest that, and Law can't stop himself from fidgeting, picking at his nails and legs bouncing with nerves. They can't refuse. They can't.
Finally: "All right Law," his mother sighs, and his father nods in agreement. "You make a good point: there's no logic in everyone dying if there's a way to prevent it. We'll just…have to come back to—to the other problem. After." Her voice betrays how upset she still is, wavering slightly despite her best efforts.
Law breathes a sigh of relief, not even trying to hide how happy their acceptance has made him. He can understand their hesitance—of course they were worried. Outliving your children was every parent's nightmare. But right now? He can't even force himself to care that much. And maybe that makes him a horrible person, but right now that doesn't matter.
His family is going to live.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"That's fascinating. The blood just continues to act as if the arteries were still connected? It still moves through the body as if it were intact?"
"Everything functions the same, yes," Law replies absently, focused intently on fibers of muscle in front of him. He wanted to make sure he hadn't missed any pockets of Amber Lead under any of the overlapping layers. "Though once I get around to working on your legs, you're not going to be able to walk the same. Your legs will move fine, but the rest of your body won't be going anywhere until they're reattached." He flicks another tiny deposit of Amber Lead into the storage container by his knee. "I explained this to you before we started."
"Sure, but it's one thing to hear about it and another to just—" The disembodied arm in Law's lap flexes, and he almost drops it. "Ah. Sorry."
Sighing, Law turns back to the process of removing every trace of Amber Lead he could find in his father's arm. The big deposits were easy enough, already removed within minutes of him beginning the operation, but he was taking his time to go over each section of the body and clean out the bloodstream before he moved on to the next, so once he got to the heart and other core organs there'd be less to worry about still in the system. Hence, his father's right arm in his lap, excitedly trying to point out all the things that were happening to it.
Oh, yes. They were definitely related.
"This will be faster if you stop moving. Just because it doesn't hurt you doesn't mean I want to have to patch up all the places where you've made me accidentally stab you."
"Well then, if you don't want me squirming, move over so I can get a better look at what you're doing to my arm." Law finds himself crowded, his father looming over his shoulder and propping himself up with the back of the chair using his one remaining arm. He looks positively giddy.
"You're in my light."
"I think you're just grumpy," his father teases, but shifts to the side anyway. "Oh, look! You can see where I broke my arm as a kid. See, the bone growth here? I fell out of a tree in your grandparents' backyard, trying to get a look into a bird's nest." He chuckles. "The mama bird won that round."
"Lucas, you are acting like the worst sort of surgical intern right now," comes a voice from the doorway, and they both look up to see his mother leaning there watching the scene before her, wry look on her face. "You hate it when people get chatty while you're trying to work."
"Like you're going to be any quieter when it's your turn," Law's father protests, but he deigns to sit back down in the chair he'd been occupying for most of this ordeal. "Really, once you get over the weirdness of your brain telling you this should be impossible, it's fascinating stuff."
"And this is why you're the surgeon, and I'm not," his mother teases, but she comes over to peer at what Law's doing anyway. "Hmm. You really did do a number on that arm as a kid, dear. At least it healed well." She turns to Law. "I'm afraid I don't have any fun little discoveries like that for you to find."
Despite himself, Law finds himself chuckling. This is such a weird conversation, even by his own standards. "I think I'll cope," he demurs, then stops, because both his parents are staring at him. "What?"
"You should do that more often," his mother says with a smile. "Laugh. I can tell you don't do it often, and I suppose I can guess why, but—" Her eyes are soft. "You just sort of light up. Maybe you need the knowledge that you helped us to keep you going, sweetie, but that's the sort of thing I want to remember about you. That you can and will be happy."
Law doesn't answer. He just tucks his head and focuses on the work in front of him, but he can't deny the sting of tears in the corners of his eyes. Happiness. It's such a small ask, and such a big one. He wonders if she realizes that.
Judging by the way his father calms down after that, and how the conversation turns to safer topics as he continues working, he thinks she does.
The question is, can he manage it? He thinks he owes it to his parents to at least try.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lucas stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, leaning on the doorjamb and reflecting on the events of the past day.
The surgeries had gone well and had been much faster than he'd been expecting. Part of that definitely had to do with Law's devil fruit, which had been a treat to watch in action. He clearly had very precise control over it, and Lucas was strangely proud of how much dedication his son had clearly put into mastering something that was undoubtedly a fiddly ability with a high learning curve.
But just as much of it was also that Law was, quite simply, an incredibly talented surgeon. Lucas had watched his work with the scalpel as much as he'd watched the almost idle way quick flicks of his fingers moved pieces of lead and flesh around like it was nothing, and it was extremely technical. It was the sort of thing a person needed to practice for countless hours to perfect, Lucas knew that from experience.
And Law had managed to do that while a pirate, and without a permanent home or medical facility to practice in.
Lucas had always thought his kid might end up being something of a prodigy—Law had exhibited an almost obsessive desire to learn about medicine since he was old enough to start asking questions—but this was something else. This was thriving in adversity on a scale he was having difficulty comprehending.
He glances over at where his son is—it was still so odd to say that, even in his head. His son—towering over his wife, engaged in some sort of conversation related to the food on the kitchen counter. He looks calmer than he had earlier, more relaxed. Maybe because he'd done what he'd clearly so desperately wanted to do? His shoulders sat less tensely, and he looked a little less stern, in any case. Still serious, but Lucas was beginning to think that might just be his default state.
Seas, how much more similar could we have looked, if I hadn't had the Amber Lead in me? It's already so much like looking in a mirror. I wonder who it's weirder for: me or him?
Him, probably, he reflects, as he watches Maia gently bully Law around the kitchen. After all, apparently I've been dead for sixteen years. Can't imagine what that must have done, growing up alone, until the day when the face in the mirror starts looking eerily familiar. At least I might still get to see it happen in real time. He'll never have that.
Would Lucas himself have had that much of a darker complexion, or did that come from Maia's side of the family? How tall would they have been if Law was any indication to go by? It was safe to assume that the black hair, so dark that it seemed to throw blueish highlights rather than red or brown ones, would have been his, but maybe Maia and by extension Lami would have had hair of a richer brown.
Maybe Lami still would, he reflected, looking down at where his daughter was napping on the couch. The excitement had worn her out, and Law had used the opportunity to perform his miracle on her while she slept, so as not to scare her. Something about his bubble or 'Room' or whatever it was called having the ability to keep her asleep if he so chose. It was the correct choice, of course, even if it had made his stomach squirm to watch his tiny daughter be essentially disassembled and reassembled in front of him. There was something different about watching it happen to your kids, as fascinating as it had been from a professional standpoint when he'd had the procedure done on himself.
Now, three persons' worth of Amber Lead lay locked tightly inside the hazardous waste containers Maia had managed to grab from one of the hospital storerooms, just waiting for them to decide what to do with it. It seemed to Lucas such a piddling amount of the stuff, even as he'd been horrified by how much Law had managed to unwind from his body alone.
Cautiously, he flexes his fingers. He feels…different, after the surgery. Not dramatically so, which is weirding him out more than anything. It feels like there should be more of a noticeable change with that much poison taken out of his system. That he should be feeling more aftereffects of the operation. But Law had mentioned that there was no need for the body to heal from the necessary trauma sustained from removing the Amber Lead—because there was none. There would be an adjustment period, as his body shifted to accommodate his new normal, but that eventually he'd regain equilibrium. He might even eventually experience some of those shifts in color he'd been thinking about, as keratin and skin cells replaced themselves over time.
Still, he felt lighter. He could swear he had a bit more energy, that his joints flexed smoother, that his breath was just a little bit deeper. It could be psychosomatic, he supposed, but he doubted that was entirely the case. He'd just had a couple pounds of heavy metal removed from his body. And Law had stated that he'd seen immediate improvement in himself the first time he'd done the operation. Maybe this was just what it felt like when the poisoning wasn't as advanced as he'd had it.
Or maybe it was just that he was still, below the surface, seething with anger, and that anger was fueling an energy that refused to die.
Lucas was aware that he'd always had a temper. His father had scolded him for it more times than he could count, as if the man hadn't been just as easy to tip over the edge. Still, he'd had a point; anger did him no good in most instances, and no one was going to trust a doctor who couldn't keep a level head.
But this? This was something undoubtedly worth the anger. Poison, in the bodies of his family, of all the people he'd grown up with and helped over the course of his life. A death sentence sitting quiescent in their blood and bones, ready to kill them when the time came. Like it was laughing at people like Lucas and Maia, who worked so hard to keep them alive and healthy, oblivious to the fact that no matter what else they did, their patients' lives had much shorter timers than any of them had expected.
And Lucas' own government had signed their death warrants before any of them were even born.
Maia and Law had finished putting together a light dinner; after all the excitement of the day, none of them could stomach the idea of anything particularly heavy. Fortunately, Flevance didn't produce much in the way of their own food aside from a few select products and, of course, additives and sweeteners made from Amber Lead, but it was easy enough to avoid those now that they knew they had to. Lucas had even nipped down to the corner store to grab a bottle of South Blue wine to drink so they weren't stuck with anything stored in leaded glass—and fortunately they had some old tableware from Maia's family that had been produced outside the country. Between them, they had managed a meal that was uncontaminated as you were likely to get in Flevance. Given how slowly the substance seemed to build up in the body, a handful of meals probably wasn't going to cause much damage, but the idea of further exposure than was necessary rankled at him, and Law had as much admitted earlier that he didn't know if a previously exposed body would have either a higher tolerance or a higher susceptibility to Amber Lead. It's not like he'd been able to test it, after all. Best to take no chances.
He's shaken out of his reverie by the sound of Maia calling him to the table, and it makes him jump a little bit. He hadn't realized the food was that close to being ready.
As he moves to take his seat, he watches Law out of the corner of his eye. He looks tired, which is to be expected. Whether it's from his devil fruit or the stress of the day or both, he can't say, but all in all he thinks there's been plenty of excuses for them to all claim exhaustion at this point.
But Lucas can't help but notice Law had carefully avoided talking about himself since his little explosion in the living room. It feels avoidant, though he's not sure if it's on purpose or not. From what he's seen so far, this could be a survival instinct his son had developed over time. He'd seen the effects of trauma manifest that way in people before.
There are things you're not saying, Lucas thinks, watching Law take his own seat. And I don't think I can blame you for that. You clearly think you're protecting us. From what, I'm not sure. Yourself? I think it's safe to say that that isn't the case, after today. Not with how you've been acting.
So, Lucas was going to force the conversation.
"All right," he starts, after they've had the time to get a few bites of food down. "Now that all that stress is over with, I want to hear some happy stories. You must have some good things about your life to tell us, Law. Some glimmer of better times to reassure us." He tries to make the question sound as lighthearted as possible but given the looks both Maia and Law give him—a near identical raising of eyebrows—he's just made a ham-fisted mess of the attempt.
"How about…the other people on your pirate crew? You must have some good stories about them," Maia adds, a good deal more tactfully than Lucas' own attempt.
That seems to do the trick, and it's worth a lot of the stress of the previous day to see the soft look that comes over his son's face. It's unutterably fond, and he can feel himself relaxing a bit knowing that Law isn't totally alone wherever he's found himself in the future.
Maia must see it too, because she starts needling him about the subject further, in that way she had that was always so successful at getting people to open up. It wasn't an ability Lucas had had himself, but he's grateful for it, because Law finally cracks, and the conversation turns to the most open and honest and happy it's been this entire ordeal.
Law talks of several people, all of them unique and interesting and skilled in their own way. He talks about the submarine they call home, and Lucas has to stop himself from interrupting the conversation then and there to ask for more details about the ship. He talks about the brilliance of the ship's main engineer and the team that keeps her running, the people that keep them fed and clothed and, as he puts it "deal with my bullshit on the regular and don't seem to hate me too much for it." When he mentions the former slave that he'd freed, Maia leans forward and gives him a hug. It seems to surprise him. But then, physical affection seems to be something he's not used to.
He talks about three people in particular, boys who had been with him for most of his life post-Flevance, and how they'd formed a tight-knit unit of mutual support. How one of them was a mink—a race that Lucas had only read about—and the other a pair of, as Law put it "country bumpkins with far too much to offer to stay where they were born." He makes it clear that they're a big reason why he was able to pull himself out of his darker thoughts and keep moving forward, and Lucas wishes at that moment that he could meet the people who made sure his son felt he still had a life worth living.
"And all this while being a doctor on a pirate vessel?" He says once Law has taken a break. "You haven't even mentioned a captain yet either." He wonders what sort of person could have enticed his son to follow him, along with all these other eccentric-sounding personalities he was describing.
"Well, no," Law responds awkwardly. He looks awfully sheepish. "But that's because the captain is me."
Lucas blinks. "The captain…and the doctor."
"I had a clear goal in mind, and for some reason there were people about fine with helping me achieve that goal," he mumbles into his cup. "And it wasn't like I was going to trust anyone else with everyone's medical care. Not when I knew I could do it better than anyone else."
"Well, you come by your overachieving honestly," Maia quips, and Lucas is blessed with the sight of Law spluttering into his wine glass, ears cherry red.
So, this was what teasing your adult kids was like. He could get used to this.
There's something else, though; a question Lucas has been rolling around in his head for a while now, ever since they learned who Law really was. And now Law was well into the cadence of the conversation, as relaxed as he ever was going to be. It was now or never, because Lucas had a sneaking suspicion that he was not going to want to answer his next question.
"Law," he starts, and he can tell Law knows this question is different, because his attention snaps to Lucas and stays there, eyes unblinking. Seas, he's got an unnerving stare. Is it because of the eyes? Or because there's too much of myself in there for me to not know what he's feeling? No, I think it's because he's still very much a stranger; he said it himself. "Why, when we first asked your name, did you call yourself Cora? Why that name in particular? You defaulted to it very quickly."
Law sets down his cup with a very deliberate motion that looks like it involves massive amounts of self-control, and then sighs, eyes cast downwards towards his lap. For a few moments it looks like he isn't going to answer, and that Lucas is going to have to try a different tactic, but then Law shakes himself slightly and begins to speak.
"Cora was—" Law starts, then pauses again, eyes fixed to the table and mouth slightly open like he doesn't know the correct words for what he wants to say. It's hard to watch, and Lucas trades a concerned glance with his wife as they wait for his answer. It had been patently obvious that Law hadn't told them everything when he'd been prodded into opening up about the fate of Flevance, and it didn't take a genius to notice that he'd mentioned healing himself with his devil fruit at the age of thirteen. That left three years between Flevance's destruction and his eventual recovery, and thirteen more between the Law of then and the Law sitting in front of them. A whole lifetime, and something told him that between the running for his life and the piracy, his son hadn't had a very quiet one.
But pushing looks like it would be the wrong move right now, so they wait.
"I've said that my devil fruit was the reason I was able to cure myself," Law starts again. "And that's true. But without Cora, I wouldn't have had it in the first place." He huffs a sigh, a depressive sound that's so self-recriminating Lucas mentally readjusts his idea of how difficult this conversation is going to be up several notches. "Truth be told, without Cora, I wouldn't have cared about living at all."
"What?" Maia breathes out. "What do you mean you wouldn't have—"
"I told you before," Law says quietly, and it's patently obvious he's both extremely uncomfortable talking about this even as he's trying to be gentle about the subject. "After Flevance was gone, I was a mess. And why wouldn't I be? You were dead, I was dying, and there was nothing I could do about it. The first time I saw another person after I made it out of the country, they threw rocks at me, screaming for me to get away. I had nowhere to go and no hope of any salvation. So, I gave up on those things and decided that if no one was going to save me, if I was doomed anyway, then I might as well use that time to make as many people as possible suffer like I had."
"I'm not…proud of that," he admits, running a long finger around the rim of his glass. "I understand why—now, at least—why I felt that way. And sometimes I still do, but Cora's a big reason as to why I didn't stay that way."
"When Flevance fell I ran to the nearest person I could find I thought might not turn away my need for retribution. Either that, or he'd kill me, and that would be the end of it. Donquixote Doflamingo."
The way Law spits that name makes it clear what he thinks of the man. It's disturbing, hearing so much vitriol in his son's tone. Something very wrong happened involving that man. Something personal.
"I know that name," Maia muses. "You see it in the papers sometime. A very violent pirate."
"Very," Law agrees. "But again: that was the point. And he wasn't stupid enough to believe the propaganda about the Amber Lead. Decided I would be something of a pet project—raise the homicidal child into a truly terrifying adult loyal to him. Because he thought he 'saw something in me.'" He sounds disgusted, and Lucas suspects most of that is directed at himself.
What follows is a truly hair-raising description of the three years of Law's life following Flevance's destruction. Dinner sits forgotten on their plates as Law takes them through his time with the Donquixote Pirates, and they haven't even reached the halfway point before Maia is squeezing his hand in a vice grip underneath the table.
They had asked Law not to hide anything, and he didn't, but that didn't make the recitation any easier to hear, even once Law gets to the part about who Cora was.
Lucas is not too sure how he's supposed to feel about hearing the words "he threw me out a window—several times, in fact—but I stabbed him and he left off a bit after that" in regards to the man who apparently saved his child's life, but since Law is both very much alive and doesn't seem too put out by the experience, he decides to let it slide. For now.
Hearing that they owed their son's salvation to an undercover Marine, when Law had been so adamant about his distrust for the institution, is a twist he hadn't expected, but it's weirdly comforting. To hear that there are some good people out there working in the Marines and government. Far less than there should be, clearly, but there.
The end of the story, about how he'd dedicated himself to trying to help Law and had ultimately paid the final price to get him away from his brother, the pirate captain Law had mentioned before, is brutal in a way that Lucas can tell Law doesn't retell often, if ever. The words come out of his mouth clipped and dripping in guilt, and it hurts to know that he'd lost someone he knew had cared about him so soon after he'd lost all of them. From the sound of it, he'd barely started to trust the possibility of hope again, only to have it torn all away and left with only a devil fruit, alone in the world again.
"I wish I could meet him," Maia says softly. "To thank him. For loving you, once we couldn't be there anymore."
"He'd still be alive now," Law says softly, swirling the dregs of his wine in his glass before downing the remainder. "And…seas, I don't know what I'd even say to him if I saw him. He's probably not even undercover yet, so who knows where he is. Probably not in any place to hear he's going to die for a kid who won't even figure out how to properly appreciate it until over a decade later."
"So yeah," he finishes. "Herein lie all the reasons for the wildly messed up person that is Trafalgar Law. Told you I didn't make for a very pretty picture." He makes a face like he's trying to come across as lighthearted and joking, but it comes across as more of a grimace than anything else.
"Stop that," Maia scolds. "I told you: none of this is your fault. Bad luck is not your fault. You need to stop carrying so much, Law. You'll break if you don't put down some of this weight. It sounds to me like you nearly did. Don't your friends help with that? You spoke so fondly of them. Surely you can trust them with some of this?"
"Of course, I trust them," Law almost snaps back, and a little of the life comes back to his eyes. "It's just…I'm the captain. I'm supposed to take care of them. And I keep having to leave them behind for one reason or another, so…I'm not sure if they feel the same. I wouldn't blame them if they didn't."
"Have you talked to them about this?" Maia presses, and the way Law averts his eyes answers that question. "You know what I think? I think you're creating problems where there are none. And maybe there are things that you need to talk to them about, things that could become problems if you leave them too long. But the way you talk about your friends? Your crew?" Her eyes grow soft, and she reaches out and takes Law's hand. "Sweetie, you love them so much. It's so incredibly obvious."
"Fat lot of good I've done showing it," Law whispers.
"Then resolve to do better," Lucas cuts in. "What would you tell them if you could? If there was none of this nonsense about a captain holding himself apart, or your perceived failings? What then?"
"I would tell them—" Law starts, then pauses, taking a deep breath. "I would tell them that they can't know how much their trust in me means to me. That I still can't believe they saw something in me that meant they were willing to follow my lead. But more than that: that I couldn't have done a tenth of what I've been able to accomplish without their help and support. That I wish things could have been different. That I'm sorry, so sorry, about so many things. That I missed them like a piece of me was gone when we were separated not too long ago. That I trust them. That I…" he stops, like the words need to crawl out of his throat by force. "That I love them. They've become my family. My third family. The one that's lasted the longest."
"If I were one of them," Maia says gently. "I think that would be something I would dearly love to hear from my beloved captain and friend."
"Yeah?" is all Law says, and it's such a hopeful sound that Lucas' heart just about breaks. Emotional vulnerability was something he'd never been good at—Maia was the one with the words and the heart, not him—but even he can see how his son is struggling. And it hurts, to want him to have the catharsis Maia's trying to convince him he can have, even if he doesn't believe it himself just yet.
"Yeah," Maia affirms. "You—Law?"
Lucas watches as Law flickers like a candle flame, the chair and the wall behind him briefly visible as he seems to waver between physical stability and tentative existence. He looks just as startled as the rest of them feel, judging by the way his eyes fly open and he stares at the nebulous state of his physical form.
But just as abruptly as it had started it ends, and Law is once again sitting there fully corporeal, if looking a little wild around the eyes. Maia reaches out a tentative hand to touch his arm, as if to reassure herself that he was still there.
"Looks like I'm running out of time," Law says quietly, and the conversation ends after that, as they all sit and contemplate what to do with what little time they might have left, and Lucas sits there dearly wishing for the imminent return of his young son just as he hopes they have enough time to give this Law what he needs before he's gone forever.
Chapter 13: Remember
Chapter Text
The next morning dawned cool and clear, the wisps of fog that seemed constant on the island of Kairos burning off early in the day, leaving blue sky and a crisp feel to the air that felt clean and sharp when you breathed it in.
For the Hearts and the Straw Hats that had stayed up all night trying to figure out the best approach to presenting Law with the information they needed to impart to him—and what they still needed to be wary about sharing—it was less a beautiful morning and more a reminder of what they still needed to do that day, which none of them thought was going to be easy. How did you explain to a little kid that he might start disappearing, but that it was actually fine? That the disappearing was to his benefit?
Law, for his part, had slept soundly through the night in the Sunny's infirmary. When Bepo had noted to Clione the effect the sachet of herbs under the captain's pillow had had on him, the enterprising cook had ransacked his supplies to make a new one from the available stores on board, and Law had clutched it in his arms for the rest of the night like it was made of solid gold before being led off to bed, where it had remained close by while he'd slept, like a security blanket.
He was much more alert this morning, though whether that was from finally having some time to decompress, or the herbs, or a combination of the two, Shachi couldn't be sure. But he was more awake and engaged than he'd been in a couple of days, and had even asked for seconds at breakfast, a sure sign he was feeling well. Shachi was pretty sure Law's tendency to forget about food when he was upset was something that he'd had trouble with for most of his life. It had always seemed like an ingrained habit to him.
Now, the crews were lazing about post-meal, the sound of Straw Hat polishing off anything that could remotely be considered a leftover loud in the background. Which meant that it was time to switch over to what Shachi had privately been calling in his head "The Conversation."
It had been decided that he'd be the one to lead the discussion, volunteered once again for his supposed "good skills with people," but that didn't make the prospect any easier to think about. He'd take the praise, but it wasn't like he talked to kids that were as young as Law was very often. He could still fuck this up, even if Law was unusually good for his age at following adult logic.
There would only be a few people there for this discussion, something that had been decided upon by the group last night under the assumption that it would be easier for Law to focus and digest the important facts if he had less people to keep track of. As a result, members of both crews were beginning to peel off from the group, citing chores or asking others to help them with something, even as they gave Shachi knowing looks as they departed.
In the end, Shachi was left with Law, along with Penguin and Bepo and Robin. Penguin and Bepo were never going to let themselves be let out of what they considered their responsibility as their captain's oldest friends, and Robin both spoke Northern and was good at calm, reasonable discussion. She could be depended on to make sure the conversation stayed on track, and since she'd been one of the people who'd gone and learned firsthand about the devil fruit that had caused this whole mess, she could offer clarification if necessary.
Shachi expected Law would have some questions. He would if he were about to be told what they were about to discuss.
Truth be told, he wasn't sure he even knew how to start this kind of discussion. He kind of couldn't just come out and say "hey, if you notice yourself disappearing, don't worry! That's a good thing." Not without raising more questions and probably not a little amount of panic, anyway.
In the end, as he sat there twiddling his thumbs, Robin took the choice out of his hands—rather ruthlessly, if you asked him—by handing the kid a bag that looks suspiciously like it might have belonged to Chopper at one point.
"What's this?" Law asks, swallowing the last of his fruit juice and neatly wiping his mouth on his napkin. It boggled Shachi's mind a little bit how well-mannered this kid was at six years old. Not that Law had ever been anything remotely close to a slob for as long as Shachi had known him, but still. It was weird. Kids were supposed to be messy. He and Penguin had certainly been right terrors in that regard.
"A gift," Robin answers easily. "We thought it would be nice if you had something to bring home with you once you return. Some of the pictures we've taken while you've been here, for example. And I think Chopper put one of the books you've been reading in there for you to keep."
When Law goes to excitedly open the top of the bag, Robin stops him with a gentle hand. "Hold on," she says, and to his credit he stops, cocking his head like he doesn't understand why she's doing this. "We've also put some letters in there for your parents, to explain what you've been up to and what happened. I'm sure they'll still be plenty worried, but hopefully having an explanation will help them worry less after you get back."
Shachi knew what was in those letters. He'd helped Penguin write one of them himself, and they had carefully written every piece of correspondence in the language of the Grand Line, a language that Law had confirmed his parents knew and that he still struggled with. And that was because those letters contained the full truth of what had happened, up to and including who Law was to them.
That had been a hard discussion, Shachi remembers. The consensus had been that Law's parents deserved to know the truth, and that if Law was really where they thought he was it was going to come out sooner rather than later anyway—perhaps even as a condition of them getting their captain back at all. But they had argued long and hard about revealing everything they knew, because those were heavy topics to lay on some total strangers you'd never actually get to meet in person.
In the end, what had decided it was the fact that everyone agreed a parent ought to know if their kid was sick, and that if anyone was going to be able to do anything in the face of the impossibility that was Amber Lead Disease, it would be two skilled doctors with a very personal investment in the matter.
"What do the letters say?" Law says suspiciously, hands still hovering near the bag's ties.
"Like I said, they're an explanation of the situation," Robin says easily. "Spelled out as clearly as we could make it, so you don't have to get stuck trying to tell them everything yourself. Not when I'm sure you'll just be happy to be home." She puts a hand on Law's, smile knowing. "And you know, it's very rude to read other people's mail."
Amazingly, Law just sighs at that and sets the bag down in his lap. Shachi would bet good beri that he'd be tempted to snoop through the contents later, but for now Robin seemed to have safely turned his interest aside.
Which meant that he could finish the distraction.
"You know," he says casually—maybe a little too casually, but Law doesn't seem to catch it— "we've been doing a lot of investigation into what brought you here, and we're pretty sure we know what's caused it now." He grins as Law's full attention snaps over to him. "And we think that you'll be going home pretty soon."
"Really?" Law breathes, and oh, it hurts, that naked desire. Not just because this is a version of his captain and one of his best friends who'd rather be somewhere else than around him, but because Shachi's aware of just how little time he's going to have left with that reality. Unless the captain had switched with some happy, alternative reality version of his child self in a world where everything turned out fine, but based on the clear signs of illness in little Law, Shachi didn't think he was that lucky.
"Ok, so:" Shachi starts, spreading his hands out in front of him. "We asked around, and it turns out that there's a lot of stories about people going missing or swapping places with other people around here. And Robin and Ikkaku finally tracked down someone who it happened to and asked how it worked."
Law turns excitedly to Robin, who picks up the story without missing a beat.
"You've had devil fruits explained to you by now," she says. "And pretty much all of the ones you've seen with us or had explained to you are ones that effect the body, like mine or my captain's."
"Or Chopper's!" Law adds excitedly. "Or Mr. Brook's."
"Exactly so," Robin continues. "But there are so many different kinds of devil fruits, and they can do so many different things. As it turns out, there is one that can make two people swap places if they have something in common."
That was the gentle tweak to the whole truth that they'd chosen to explain why Law had been swapped; it was a lot easier to say it was with someone you 'had something in common with' than trying to explain 'you swapped places with yourself, but from the future.' The kid could make his own guesses as to what that 'something in common' was.
"Oh," Law says quietly, and then gets quiet, clearly mulling that bit of knowledge over in his head. Then: "is it because we're both from Flevance?"
Well. Shachi hadn't expected him to make those connections quite that fast.
"How did you know?" he says neutrally, hoping that someone hadn't accidentally let something spill. The kid had proved to be frighteningly observant.
"When I, uh…found your captain's room last night," Law starts sheepishly, still clearly embarrassed at getting caught someplace where he wasn't supposed to have been. "I found some candles and a book, and only people from Flevance would have those. So, I guessed. It's weird though—I've never heard of a pirate from Flevance."
"It's been a very, very long time since he was home," Shachi says quietly. "And we think that's why the devil fruit that switched you sent him back. Because he needed to. But it's very hard to get back to the North Blue from the Grand Line, and especially hard to sail into a peaceful country like Flevance when you're a pirate." He sighs. "And apparently this devil fruit affects people who it perceives as needing something, so…"
"Oh," Law says. "He needed to go home."
"Yeah," Shachi finishes. "He's needed to go home for a long time."
"But," Law starts. "I need to go home, too. I'm not supposed to be here. Not that I'm sad to have met you guys, I mean," he backpedals swiftly, and Shachi can't help the dry chuckle that escapes his lips. If you'd ever asked him if the Law he knew would care so much about near-stranger's feelings, he'd have said you were crazy.
"Seas, kid, of course you want to go home. There's no shame in saying it. That's why it's good it'll probably be happening soon. It means you're back where you belong, and our captain got what he needed."
"But how can you tell it'll happen soon?" Ah, right. Back to the explanation. It would have been too easy to avoid the hard bits. Not with this kid, anyway. Too smart. Or too curious, at least.
"Remember last night, when I found you in the captain's room?" Bepo cuts in, and Law nods slowly, flushing red with lingering embarrassment. "Well, when you fell asleep, you looked like you…" He tapped his claw tips together nervously, an old fidget all the Hearts were familiar with. Not that Shachi blamed him for the hesitation. This was a hard conversation. "You…kind of seemed to disappear for a moment, while I watched."
"I…what?" The naked fear in the kid's voice cuts through Shachi's heart like a knife, and he can see Bepo and Penguin flinch out of the corner of his eye. Robin, as ever, is unreadable, but she rests a soft hand on top of Law's head and speaks in a steadier voice than Shachi thinks any of the rest of them would be able to manage right now.
"When we talked to the person who has experienced this before, she said once the person who the devil fruit was activated on resolved their problems, they were switched back. You're not disappearing out of existence; the man you switched with is just finishing sorting out what he needs to do. So, the devil fruit is preparing to send you back, that's all."
"You're sure?"
Well, no, Shachi thinks, but he doesn't say anything. Truth be told they're very much hoping that was the case. The possibility had been brought up the night before during the crews' meeting that the devil fruit could well have a time limit that meant if its subjects didn't solve their problems quick enough, they just disappeared from existence. Some devil fruits were nasty like that. Only the fact that apparently Kairos had no stories of people permanently disappearing had stopped that thread of horror in its tracks, but that didn't mean it wasn't still on the minds of everyone who'd been around for the conversation.
"We're sure," Robin says comfortingly, with all the conviction of a practiced liar. Shachi hates that lying is the best thing they can do at the moment, but the kid doesn't need any more stress, and they have no way of preventing whatever is going to happen from happening regardless. Having to wait and pray for the best outcome was not something any of them enjoyed.
But little Law seems to buy the explanation, despite how tense the rest of the adults in this conversation were, because he heaves a sigh of relief and clutches the little bag closer to his chest.
"I'm going home," he whispers into the top of the bag. His voice is a combination of relief and glee, and Shachi thinks his heart is going to break at how much emotion there is in those three little words.
"You are," Penguin cuts in. "Hold on to that bag, now; I don't think it will go with you unless you're touching it when the swap happens. And then all these nice explanations we've written for your parents will just be wasted. Don't do that to us, okay?"
Law chuckles, face still pressed to the fabric of the bag, and the atmosphere relaxes a bit.
"Will you remember me?" he says after a moment, and Shachi finds himself caught by those big pale eyes.
"Oh kid," he says, letting the fondness creep into his voice, even as Bepo gently scoops him up from behind in a bear hug and Penguin leans in to ruffle his flyaway hair. Robin chuckles, and rises to leave, as if sensing the need for privacy on their part. "None of us could ever forget you. How could we? You're one of a kind."
The smile he gets in return is something Shachi burns into his memory.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nothing much happens for the next couple of days, aside from occasional lapses of existence on Law's part.
It's oddly peaceful, despite the stress of not knowing when he might disappear from this past reality altogether, and not knowing if he'll actually return to where he started. Technically, that's just a hypothesis with no way of being tested. Still, every flicker and return to physical stability feels like it's giving him just a little more time, and he'll hoard those moments for as long as whatever had caused this chose to give them to him.
He'd spent a lot more time in the hospital over the past few days, accompanying his mother on more rounds and even getting to shadow a few surgeries with his father. He'd even gotten into a spirited debate with the entire surgical staff about the benefits of certain procedures relative to the healing process, and it had straight up almost knocked a full-bellied laugh out of him at how argumentative his father had gotten, and how excited to try a new technique he was. These were the sorts of moments he'd miss the most; the simple domestic ones that came from just being around his family.
As it had crept along towards sunset, Law had begged off to pay a visit to his favorite place in the building: the roof of the hospital. The little tag that read 'Doctor Trafalgar' on the left breast pocket of his borrowed white coat meant that no one had stopped him as he followed the familiar route to stairs, still unforgotten after all these years.
He knew it was his habit of seeking solitude and some time with his own thoughts that had driven him up here. As happy as he was that everything was out in the open with his parents now, the situation was still stressful, especially with the continued annoyance of watching himself fade in and out of existence and not knowing when, if ever, it was going to be the last time.
But the turmoil of his thoughts was stopped, at least for a time, when he stepped out of the stairwell into the cool breeze of early evening, and looked at the sky.
Flevance was regularly graced with fantastic sunsets, the sun dipping low to shadow the distant mountains and the low clouds that almost always clung to their tops, dyeing the atmosphere in uncountable colors that shifted as it retreated ever-farther below the horizon line. It had never ceased to fascinate him, the short-lived flare of beauty that was followed by a cool, clear night full of countless stars.
But Law's favorite part had always been when the sun, in its descent, touched the city.
The spires of the cathedral lit up first, reflecting off the white stone to make them look nothing so much as giant versions of the candles the city was known for. The rest of the buildings followed, until the tops of all the buildings in Flevance sparkled with the oranges and pinks of the setting sun. For a brief few minutes every day, Flevance ceased to be a city of white and became a city of color instead, reflecting and amplifying the last rays of the day's light.
When he'd been younger, it had been proof to Law that Flevance was special, the sort of place that would always be there to perform this nightly dance with the sun. As an adult, he knew such thoughts were childish and unrealistic, but he found he still couldn't shake the awe of the sight. In a way, the few brief moments where it shone like this was just further proof of the city's impermanence.
But it was an impermanence he was glad to spare the time for.
"Here you are," a familiar voice said cheerfully behind him. "I knew I'd find you up here. It always was your favorite spot."
Law turns to see his mother marching briskly out of the roof stairwell, followed by his father with a sleepy-looking Lami balanced on one hip, presumably retrieved from whichever on-call nurse had been watching her most recently.
His mother leans against the stone wall ringing the roof next to him, closing her eyes briefly and sighing with contentment, before gazing out over the city.
"It's always so beautiful, this time of day," she says. "Do you get views like this, out on the ocean?"
"Not like this," Law says. For many reasons, there would never be anything he could compare to this. "But it has its moments, both above and below the surface. The sun bigger than you've ever seen it, turning a perfectly flat sea crimson, or the bioluminescence of creatures you've never even heard of in the deeper parts of the ocean."
"So, fantastic things," she replies. "But not the same." She smirks then, a cheeky little smile that cheers him somewhat.
"No," he says, mirroring her smirk. "Not the same."
"Is it bad that that makes me happy?" she muses, a guilty frown creasing her forehead. "That nothing will be able to replace this for you? Perhaps it would be easier to forget, to not be…haunted by these memories. Maybe there'd be some peace in that. You deserve it you know. Peace."
Law exhales. "No," he replies firmly. "Trust me, the forgetting is the worst. Every little sliver of memory that dims and dies out? That always feels like my fault. Because no one else can remember. So, I have to." He leans back from the ledge, staring down at his mother, who is studying him with an unreadable look in her eyes. "I've seen willpower do the most amazing of things. I've been called pretty bloody-minded myself, in fact. I don't think that anyone who knows me as I am today would deny that." He hears his father chuckle lightly behind them. "But for all it can do, I can't just will myself the perfect clarity of memory I wish I had. And so, over time, things get lost. No matter how much effort I put into preserving them."
"Maybe we can help with that," his father says, approaching for the first time, and Law can see in the hand that isn't holding Lami has a thick rectangular package wrapped in simple brown paper.
Law takes the package with a quizzical look, but he's halted from opening it by his father's hand stalling his before he can slip the seal at the top.
"It's a long shot," his father says. "We don't know if when you…disappear back to where you came from you can take things with you. But you're still wearing one of my shirts, and that seems to be going along with the whole…disappearing thing, so we kind of hoped…" he trails off, fumbling to find his words.
"It's a care package, of sorts," his mother clarifies. "Some gifts to remember us by, I suppose you could say. Just…don't open it yet. Not until you're back…home. I don't want you to see what's in there and then be deprived of it. Best not to until you know for sure you can keep them. And if you can't…" she shrugs. "Well, you'll never be forgotten here, that's for sure."
"I…" Law's hands wrap possessively around the little package, and he can't help trying to feel the outlines of whatever is inside. The caution makes sense to him, as much as he wants to tear it open right here and now. Better to leave the contents a mystery rather than find himself mourning a tangible memory he'd only just been given. Damn his sense of logic. Damn their logic. "Thank you. I wish I could give you something."
"You gave us life," his father stresses, slapping a hand across Law's back and squishing Lami up against his side between them. Law can hear her giggle from somewhere near his ribcage. "That's the best gift we could have gotten."
"Any plans for…after?" Law says. "You have to know you can't stay here."
"We're working on that," his father confirms. "From what you've said, we have enough time to make the smart choices about this. But still, I'd rather we leave sooner rather than later." He gazes out over the city, which is beginning to fall to twilight as the sun continues to vanish behind the mountains, pinks and oranges making way for blues and purples. "Poison should never be allowed to look so enchanting."
"If everything looked as horrid and as dangerous as they actually were, it would save people a lot of trouble," Law agrees. "Heartache, too."
He doesn't mention that sometimes that danger was the appeal. He'd managed so far to avoid discussing the depths to which his nihilism had sunk following Flevance's demise. How he'd wanted it, then. If luck held, whenever this wrinkle in time snapped him back to his reality, the Law that would be coming back would never need to know how that had felt. Oh, Law was sure there would be plenty of anger and tears, when Flevance finally succumbed to the inevitable. But he'd have support for that. He'd have his family. He'd work through it.
"Well, that's true enough," his father acknowledges. "But you have to always consider the possibility of it being the other way around, too: sometimes the things that scare you turn out all right in the end." He nudges Law in the ribs, his meaning clear.
"Hey now," Law manages without sounding too offended. "I have a reputation to maintain. People don't bother you when they'd rather avoid you."
"Sad way to live your life, dear," his mother says from his other side, leaning a head against his shoulder, still staring out over the city as the first stars started to show in the sky. "At least we know you have good friends. The ones who know you as you really are. It makes me feel better, knowing you still have love in your life. Even if we can't be there to give it to you."
"You are, though," Law whispers, almost to himself, and he sees both his parents turn to him out of the corners of his eyes. "Your memory always has been, even when I was too angry and stupid to realize it. I remember what you taught me. I remember what a family really is, what it really means—not the twisted caricatures of it I've been—I've experienced elsewhere. Lots of people and events have made me who I am but I always come back to this. The foundation. Where it all started."
He turns until his back is leaning on the wall, so he can face both his parents and Lami at the same time. Tentatively, he reaches out his hands until he's holding one of each his parents, creating a small circle there on the roof in the dying light of the sun, mind fumbling desperately with the words he wants to say and doesn't quite know how to articulate.
"I knew love from the moment I was born, and that is what kept me from losing myself entirely. It meant that as hurt as I became, I could still recognize it, and when someone else showed me real love I knew enough to trust it. Even losing it again…that little bit of hope and care kept me going. Barely, sometimes, but it did."
He cracks a smile, but even he can tell it's a wobbly sort of thing. "Don't you see? You're the reason it hurt so much, but you're also the reason I made it through. Because you were the first people who taught me what it means to love."
He pulls them closer in a quick motion, his arms long enough to wrap comfortably around them both, squeezing tightly until Lami, squished in the middle, begins giggling.
"I'm not…good at this," he confesses. "I have a hard time saying exactly what it is I'm feeling at any given time. Too many bad experiences, I think. It's something I need to work on. It's something I promise I'll work on," he says to his mother's knowing look. "But I can honestly say this: I love you all so much," he stresses. "I never stopped loving you. I will never stop loving you, for as long as I manage to keep surviving whatever the world chooses to throw in my direction. And maybe, if there is an afterlife, someday I'll get to have you back permanently. Until then, I just have the memories. And that will have to be enough."
"Law…" his mother whispers into his shoulder. She sounds so far away. "Always and forever, wherever you are. You have our love, unconditionally."
"And you have no idea how much that means to me," Law responds. "To know it, and not just hope I'd not become totally undeserving over time. Because for a long time, I really thought I had."
"Well, that's one of the important jobs of a parent, isn't it?" his father says lightly, but Law can hear the weight of emotion hiding behind the cheerful words. "Sometimes you've got to knock some sense into your kids, and sometimes you need to tell them what they need to hear." A gentle fist taps against the side of Law's head. "Feeling a little more sensible, are we?"
"Yeah," Law says quietly, leaning further into the warmth of the embrace he has around his family. He feels…good. Like something in his heart that had been screaming non-stop had gone quiet. Not dead or gone, just…satisfied.
Peace. Huh, what a novel concept.
Unconsciously, he lets himself relax and just drift. His mother has one hand on the back of his neck, brushed up against the hair at the nape of his neck. His father is a solid presence on his right side, his doctor's coat smelling of familiar antiseptic. And Lami is tucked safely between all of them, humming a tuneless melody, just happy. Like she deserves to be.
Like they all deserve to be.
Like they will get to be, now.
"Law? Law!"
Law lets his eyes crack open to see his arm flickering dramatically, spending more and more time gone before snapping back. Weirdly, he feels almost totally calm. Unnaturally so, almost. So much so that his expected panic at the inevitable is nowhere to be found.
Ah. Time's up.
"Remember," he whispers. It feels almost sacrilegious to speak loudly at this moment, when his parents are desperately trying to keep hold of him, even though he knows they're smart enough to know it won't work. But then, he supposes none of them are thinking logically right now. This wasn't a time for logic, after all. And for once, he was fine with that.
"Because I promise you, I will never forget."
He doesn't catch the last words his parents say. Law understands exactly what they were saying anyway.
Captain!"
Chapter 14: Chances
Chapter Text
It had all happened so fast.
In one moment, they were being held by Law—tightly, so tightly, like he didn't know how to let go—and the next they had an armful of a much smaller son, who had gone from startled yelling to hysterical crying the moment he'd realized where he was.
Not that Maia could blame him. So had the rest of them, on that lonely little rooftop, tears streaming down every one of their faces as the sun finished its journey below the horizon.
It had been a mad dash back to the house after that, Lucas making some half-assed excuses for them as they passed through the hallways. Maia's arms had been wrapped tight around her son, and she'd marveled at how small he seemed, when she'd just gotten used to seeing him so big and strong.
Law had tried to speak through his tears, a hiccupping, hyperventilating stream of "sorry so sorry" and "I'm fine" with some truly heartbreaking "please be real" pleas mixed in, little hands thrusting a small pink and blue bag at her like it had all the answers.
Maybe it did.
They hadn't managed anything more than holding him once they got back to the house, sitting in the living room and reassuring him that they were real and he was back and they weren't mad, how could they be mad at him? He seemed to need the stability more than he needed to explain himself for the moment, and they were more than happy to give it to him.
Now Law was curled up on the couch dead to the world in that way only small children could fall asleep. Lami had wormed her way in-between his arms, and the two looked nothing more than like a pile of kittens trying to keep each other warm. If Maia knew her children, they'd be very clingy with each other—and her and Lucas—for the foreseeable future. A fate that she did not mind in the slightest.
Part of her panicked at the idea of letting her son out of her sight for even a moment, considering she'd just gotten him back, but there were things she and Lucas needed to address, and she had a sneaking suspicion that it involved information Law was not already privy to. And he'd had a habit in the past of listening in on conversations while pretending to be asleep, curious child that he was. No, best not to risk it until they were sure what they had to say.
So, she joined her husband in the kitchen, where a small unassuming bag sat on the table, waiting to reveal its secrets.
Law had mentioned something about letters before he'd fallen asleep, excitedly murmuring about how many stories he had to tell them about his new friends as he began to calm down and relax. But he'd specifically mentioned that some of the letters were for her and Lucas, and that's what they were here to investigate.
Lucas had spread the contents of the bag across the table. The collection of items was about what Maia would have expected for the most part: a couple of letters, addressed to "Law's parents" and "the doctors Trafalgar" respectively. A handful of photographs, which Lucas was leafing through with a soft smile on his face. A couple of medical books, and a little sachet of herbs similar to the ones she put in the laundry and bedding, with a cheerful sort of yellow smiling face decorating it. There was even something that looked like a recipe card, with a note that "the ingredients might be a little hard to find in the North Blue, but they're his favorite." Maia wondered if the author was referring to the child or the adult Law. Still, the recipe didn't look too hard; she'd have to give it a go.
Lucas holds up a little notebook. "Looks like he was taking notes on the experience the entire time. This thing is full of comments on devil fruits and swords and all sorts of other stuff." He chuckles. "Kid after my own heart. There are even drawings."
"He's yours, all right," Maia chuckles warmly. "You could be in the middle of a hurricane and still taking notes."
"Priorities. Look at this," Lucas says quietly, handing her one of the photographs. "They certainly seemed to have enjoyed having him there."
"Well, if they knew who he was, that makes sense," Maia responds, taking the picture. It's a cute little scene, their son sitting hands on his knees on a wooden barrel, a grin splitting his face as he sits in the middle of a collection of colorful strangers. There's a battered straw hat sitting askew on his head, threatening to dwarf his face, appearing to have been dropped on him unexpectedly by the young man grinning widely next to him. She can almost hear Law's laugh of surprise; the photographer having caught the exact moment of glee.
The rest of the photographs in the pile are similar: happy scenes, taken candidly and showing their son being well taken care of. Mixed in are a few quieter moments: there's one of him sleeping in a bed, and another of him eating, and Maia realizes this is an attempt to show that his needs had been met while he'd been gone. She appreciates the thought more than she can say.
"They included some—well, for lack of a better term—recent pictures, too," Lucas continues, handing her another collection, and Maia can't help but smile when she sees their subject.
Law, but grown, standing confidently at the bow of the submarine he'd spoken so fondly of. A copy of what looked to be an older, well-worn photograph, showing him caught in the gangly stages of puberty, all skinny legs and peach fuzz and glowering at whomever was holding the camera with a stare that could curdle milk. An action shot, with a cocky smirk on his face and the largest sword Maia had ever seen held casually in one hand like it weighed nothing.
"A sword?"
"All good pirates need swords, right?" Lucas responded with a grin. "Fancy looking thing, isn't it?"
Maia leveled him with a flat look. "You're wishing he'd shown up with that, so you could have seen it in person."
Lucas held up his hands in protest. "I just think it would have been fascinating to see how he combined that monster with that devil fruit of his. Can you imagine? Long range surgery. The possibilities are endless."
"And it looks interesting."
"And it looks awesome."
"We're going to have to hide these older photographs," Maia says sadly after a moment, guilty at having to curtail her husband's momentary glee. "They'd bring up too many questions. From Law and anyone else who saw them. And I don't think I'm quite ready to have that conversation with him." She sighs. "I might never be. How would we even explain what happened? It still feels like a dream."
"I agree," Lucas says with a nod. "But first we need to find out how much Law already knows. There's no point in hiding it if he's aware, after all. And if he knows enough, you know his curiosity is going to make him miserable until he gets the answers he wants."
"True enough," Maia sighs. She picks up one of the letters on the table. "We should read these before he wakes up," she says, flicking the seal of the first letter open with one fingernail. "Just so we know where we stand. And what we might need to hide."
"Well, read on," Lucas says with a gesture. "I'm interested in what these mysterious people who took care of our son have to say."
Maia can only nod in agreement, as she unfolds several sheets of neatly folded paper to reveal blocky, but clear handwriting.
Hi, Law's parents. And Law's sister, but you're probably too young to read. Still, didn't feel right not to include you. Anyways—
My name is Penguin—at least, that's what it translates to in basic Northern. The island I grew up on is one of those out of the way places you can't understand the language of unless you were born there. Nothing but snow and misery. But I digress; that's not what I'm writing about. Obviously.
Sorry if I come off as nervous or flaky, but I never thought I'd be talking to you directly. Or as close as this is, I guess. You were always just memories that Law rarely talked about. And while I've met a walking skeleton (see included pictures; he's actually rather charming) I've never been superstitious enough to think I could talk to the dead. For all I know you're not reading this at all; that your reality just disappeared as soon as the swap was over and done with, a figment of Law's imagination. I hope not. I think that would be worse than the alternative.
But here we are, because of the sort of bullshit—sorry—that happens out here on the Grand Line.
Don't know how much you will have guessed about what happened, but I'll sum up what we know. A devil fruit was used on Law—the Law we know, and I guess the one you know now, too—because it sensed he needed closure on regrets. At least, that's what one of the locals explained. They've got a whole history of legends regarding the bloody thing swapping people around to deal with their unfinished business. Weird requirement for a power to work, if you ask me, but devil fruits are kind of their own thing. I've stopped trying to find the logic in them.
Anyway, that's why we ended up with each other's Laws. A devil fruit with some sort of fix-it complex.
First thing's first: your Law—it feels weird to say it like that—doesn't know who he is to us. Unless you've gone and told him who exactly was visiting you while he was gone before you're reading this letter, in which case…good luck, I guess? We thought it'd be easier that way, and let me tell you, there are few things I've done in this life that were harder. Because I need to explain just how important he is to us.
"Well, that answers that question," Lucas says under his breath. "I'm not sure if I'm relieved or not, but at least we have time to figure out how to explain things if it comes to it. I'm not sure I could deal with our six-year-old demanding to know more about his adult pirate self."
Maia just chuckles at that, nodding her head in agreement, and keeps reading.
Law is my captain—the captain of all of us wearing the matching outfits in the pictures—but he's also so much more. Especially to me, and Shachi (the dork in the orca hat) and Bepo (the bear. He's a mink. Long story). We've been with him the longest, after all, and without him, we wouldn't be the people we are now.
He was thirteen when we met. Still tiny, but he got over that eventually. Bitter as all hell, as he had every right to be. His caretaker had just been killed, and he'd just had a devil fruit he didn't know how to use shoved down his throat. And still, when he came across two miscreants beating up a walking, talking bear cub, he stopped us. And for some reason, let us all stick around despite us having our heads up our asses at the time.
"That caretaker must have been this Cora person he named himself after," Lucas murmurs. "Thirteen, though. That's only three years after—after us. Poor kid."
I am a better person than I would have been—less bitter, happier, more engaged with the world—because your son came along. Shachi would say the same. Has said as much, before. Bepo forgave us, and the four of us became a little gang of our own. Thick as thieves. And when Law made the decision to pursue piracy, well; we couldn't not go with him. He's our family. Family supports each other.
It's important to me—to all of us—that you know that. To know how much we care for him. Because we know how much you did. Do. And if anyone both needs and deserves the support, it's Law. He's bad at accepting it, seas knows he's stubborn, but I expect you noticed some of that. The rules for the devil fruit he got hit with was he had to resolve his lingering issues, and I am absolutely positive that was like pulling teeth on your end.
"Oh, you can tell they're really friends," Maia giggles, unable to help herself. "Only friends can get away with talking about each other like that."
Law solves problems for other people. Oh, he causes a lot of them, too, and I'll get to that, but he's smart and has an eye for the future. Just not when it's in regard to his own life. I think it's the doctor instincts—he just needs to fix things. People. And I'm sure you've heard all the old adages about doctors being the worst patients.
Every person on our crew comes from a place where they were in some sort of distress. Law offered them a way out of those lives. In some cases, it was stagnation in a place that didn't appreciate them. In others, an escape from trouble. In one case, rescue from literal slavery. And yet, he still seems baffled when he's shown gratitude or affection. Like he can't countenance the idea. Like he doesn't deserve it.
I promise you, we will never stop telling him he does. Not until we drill it into his bedhead-mess of a head, we won't. Who knows how much longer it might take for the idea to really stick, but we owe it to him. We owe it to you, because you couldn't do it, through no fault of your own. Maybe you got the chance to, this time. I hope so. For his sake.
Anyway, I wanted to reassure you that he's in good hands with us. Technically, he's the boss man in charge, but hierarchy is a loose thing in the Heart Pirates—yes, that's what we're called. Fitting for a doctor who needs a lot of love, don't you think?—and he allows us more leeway than he thinks he does. We'll keep him going—make sure he sleeps, eats his veggies, and takes better care of himself—and has time to just enjoy life, as crazy a life as it's been. You have our word on that. And maybe one day, when and if he gets tired of being a pirate, we can all settle down and open a hospital somewhere. I think I'd like that. I know he would. Seas know the Grand Line could use some.
Anyway, good luck with the munchkin. I'm sure he'll have plenty of stories. Give him our best wishes, and tell him we'll never forget him, and that he'd better do his best. He promised us he was going to be a better doctor than you two, the best doctors in the world, and we're going to hold him to that.
Best wishes for your future, may it be long and bright.
~Penguin
P.S. He's a very good pirate. I am positive he didn't tell you too much of what we've been up to lately—because he's him—but I cannot stress how much of a ruckus he's managed to stir up. He has a (justifiable) chip on his shoulder regarding the Marines and the World Government, and boy, has he made their lives difficult. (See the paper I've included with this letter).
P.P.S. He thinks the name is stupid, but then, he didn't get to pick it.
"Oh, that was very sweet," Maia says as she finishes. "I know he said he knew they cared, but it's so nice to have concrete proof of that."
"What name?" Lucas mutters as he pulls the pages out of Maia's hands, turning them over in search of the promised clarification. "What could he be—oh. Oh."
"Lucas?" Her husband's face had gone several shades paler as he stared at the paper in his hands. "Lucas, you're scaring me."
Lucas takes a few moments to gather himself before clearing his throat and cracking a weak smile. "Well," he starts. "I think it's safe to say he can take care of himself. But I'm not sure if we should be more or less worried about that."
He turns the page around, and Maia is confronted with a picture of adult Law, teeth gritted and looking as fierce as anything, the epithet 'Surgeon of Death' splashed below it in stark black ink. The name he thought was stupid, she supposes. It was certainly dramatic enough.
It's a bounty poster, which she supposes should be expected given what Law had told them. Still, it's uncomfortable to see her son's name next to the words "Dead or Alive," especially when she knows now that death had tried an awful lot of times to get to him over the course of his life.
Then her eyes drop to the listed price on her son's head, and she blinks. Counts the zeroes. Counts them again.
"Does that say three billion?" she finally hisses out between her teeth. Lucas just nods.
"What'd he do for the Marines to decide he's worth that much?" she demands. Nothing about the Law they'd met had indicated he was that…well, notorious. Taken seriously, certainly, but this? This was something else entirely.
"Well, according to this newspaper clipping that's attached…he was a chief participant in bringing down two of the Emperors of the Sea," Lucas replies weakly. "Him and…I think this is the young man from the picture with the straw hat. Them and some evil-looking redhead." He lets out a nervous chuckle, and when he glances up at Maia he looks a little wild around the eyes. "What was that about overachieving running in the family?"
"Lucas."
"I'm sorry, it's just funny, you know?" he says, dropping the papers on the counter and staring at them bewilderingly. "He was just sitting here, all awkward and shy, and meanwhile back in his own timeline he's doing flashy things like this."
"Well, this Penguin fellow was right," Maia says, unable to keep in her own nervous chuckle. "He definitely didn't tell us about this. Goodness, from what I saw he would have been mortified."
"That's what parents are supposed to do, right?" Lucas responds with his own shaky laugh. "Mortify their kids? Just like they're supposed to give us grey hairs?" He sighs. "I am going to find a lockbox for this stuff as soon as humanly possible. My heart can't take this."
"Let's get through the other letter before you hide everything away," Maia counsels. "Though I can't say I disagree at this point. It's a bit much to take in."
"Let's just see what correspondent number two has to say, then," Lucas says, grabbing the second letter. "Maybe it will be less panic inducing."
The second letter is written in an extremely neat hand, with flowery flourishes on the long strokes. Someone elegant, Maia thinks as Lucas begins to read the text aloud.
Good day to you both. I hope this letter finds you well. I expect it might, with the return of your son, however otherwise complicated the situation may be. And I do wish you all the best; he's a sweet boy, with a good head on his shoulders.
You won't have heard of me in Penguin's letter; I'm not a member of your son's crew, and I haven't known him for all that long when it comes down to it. But I do count him as a friend, and now I know why he and I seem to share so many things in common: because of what we've lost.
My name is Nico Robin, and I am the last survivor of an island in West Blue known as Ohara. When I was a child, the World Government ordered the destruction of my home because we were investigating things that they desperately want to stay secret. It affected me greatly—how could it not?—and the rest of my life has been lived in the shadow of that event. Perhaps that is why I understand your son so well: we both have suffered unimaginable loss.
"This is the person Law mentioned knowing," Maia breathes out in sudden realization. "The one he told us about. I didn't know they were that close."
I owe him a lot, you know. Not that I've ever told him, but he is responsible for saving the life of the man who taught me how to live again. He had his own motives, to be certain, and to this day I'm not sure if even he knows what they were with that much clarity, but suffice to say he intervened in a fight he had no reason to, and as a result my captain still lives, and I have been allowed to keep the people I care about in my life. A novel feeling, in my experience.
It is in this vein that I offer you what is hopefully an answer to a problem of your own, to avoid any further loss than the ones you are already doomed to.
I have to assume that Law informed you of the dangers of Amber Lead. Perhaps he has even alleviated the problem in your specific cases. It's what I would have done, had I had the chance. But of course, that doesn't mean he was able to do it for everyone. And certainly not for his younger self, who has returned to you just as sick as he was before, for there was unfortunately nothing we could have done on our end to solve that problem ourselves. I assure you, had we been able to, this conversation would be unnecessary. Pirates we may be, but not so cruel as to watch a child suffer.
"A pragmatic lady," Lucas sighs. "I knew we were going to have to confront that problem eventually once he got back but…I wasn't ready to think about it yet. I was just so happy that he made it back at all. Everything else could wait."
"I know," Maia says softly, placing a hand on his. "It feels like we've been thinking about the worst-case scenario for everything these last few days. It felt nice to just forget for a few moments."
There is a potential solution to this problem, however.
Maia hears both of their breaths catch. It's a few moments before Lucas composes himself and continues reading.
I have, over the years, been blessed with the opportunity to make contacts and learn information from people all over the world. And, to my knowledge, Law's devil fruit, the Ope Ope no Mi, does not have a current user in your time. Which means it is hypothetically ripe for the taking.
I do not know where it is, only that it was found in the North Blue some seven years from your current time. That is your time limit—Law lives that long, but is declining rapidly by age thirteen, based on what his oldest crewmates have said. It might seem like plenty of time, but you are doctors—you will know better than to believe in platitudes. And racing the clock so often ends in tragedy.
Fortunately, there is an organization who, I suspect, would be more than willing to help you in your search. The Revolutionary Army is nascent at your point in history, it's true, but by this point they already have an impressive intelligence network. Moreover, they are against just the sort of things you are up against: tell them that Flevance is doomed to fall, and they may be able to save some people. Perhaps even spread the word of what truly happened there before the government can get full control of the story. And goodness knows they could use more skilled doctors if you were interested.
There is a man named Karasu who should be operating out of Lvneel at this point in time. He looks big and scary, but if you explained your situation, I expect he'd be very keen on making sure such a valuable devil fruit stayed out of the hands of the government. Because the government does want it, as a warning: your son will be running from the people who want his power for their own use for the rest of his life.
This is not a burden to accept lightly. Somehow, I think you will believe it's worth the risk regardless. I know what parents are willing to do for their children. Eat it yourselves or give it to another doctor you trust—for the fruit really needs a skilled doctor to do its best work—or even give it to Law again. He was clearly smart and skilled enough to save himself the first time. But this is your chance to keep your family together. I am sure you will take it.
I know there is no way any of us will know if you succeed. Our timelines are completely separate, never to meet again. Still, I think knowing that there exists a place where even the possibility of you living and thriving is real will be of great comfort for our Law moving forward.
Let's at least give him that, agreed?
Sincerely,
Nico Robin
The silence in the kitchen could be cut with a knife.
"The Revolutionaries," Lucas finally breathes out. "I've heard of them. Mostly bad things, but—"
"But we've learned a lot about what the government is capable of these past few days," Maia finishes grimly. "Could it be that easy?"
"I'm not sure I'd call it easy," Lucas protests. "But…it's an option. A real one. And I'm not going to lie, after what I've learned? I'm feeling more and more like it's a profession change I could live with."
"Lvneel isn't too far away," Maia hedges. "So…it wouldn't hurt just to check."
The look Lucas gives her tells her exactly what she expects to see. For all the hedging they're doing with their language, neither of them is going to let a chance to save their son get by them. Not when there was so much for them to lose. Not when there was a chance they could save even more people, like Nico Robin's letter had suggested.
The Trafalgars were done sitting on the sidelines.
"Mom? Dad?"
Both of them snap around to see their son standing in the doorway, bleary-eyed and hair sticking up in every direction. He's still wearing the oversized blue sweater he'd arrived in, and he's hugging the excess fabric to himself like a blanket.
"Oh, sweetie, come here," Maia says, opening her arms, and he wastes no time stepping into her embrace. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Lucas shuffling the contents of the bag off the table, and she takes the extra time to lean into her son. His hair smells like the seaside, all salt and fresh air. A reminder of where he'd been. That this experience had been real.
"What are you looking at?" he finally mumbles, and Maia unfolds herself and hoists him up until he can crawl right into her lap.
"Just seeing what your new friends had to say," she responds, noting that Lucas had left all the non-incriminating items on the table. "They seemed to like you very much, and they explained in a letter what happened."
"I got switched with their captain," Law confirms. "Because we're both from Flevance, and he needed to go home, I think." He blinks. "I didn't know there were any pirates from Flevance."
"Us either," Maia says honestly. "He didn't seem to fit the stereotype, either. An…interesting sort."
"What was he like?"
"Quiet," Lucas says carefully. "Thoughtful. An excellent doctor, and quite polite. And very, very sad."
Law makes a sympathetic noise. "They missed him a lot. He must have missed them, too. They were all really sad, though they tried not to show it. Even his sword was sad."
"He…missed a lot of people," Maia says quietly, and hopes Law doesn't notice the catch in her voice. "Hopefully we helped with that, at least a little bit."
"How can a sword be sad?" Lucas cuts in, and it brings a smile to Law's face, the one he got when he knew something others didn't.
"Mister Zoro taught me that some swords have really strong feelings about their owners and who uses them," he announces proudly. "He had three of them, and the pirate-doctor-captain had a really big one like that, too. I saw her, and I think she liked me. She felt warm." He grinned triumphantly, as if the sword's approval was one of the best things he could have.
"Mister…Zoro?" Maia repeats, and Law nods, then grabs the group picture on the table. "Him," he says, pointing to a rugged looking man with green hair, an eye scar, and yes, now that she counted them, three swords. "He talked to me about swords and showed me some moves. He's really good. He says he's going to be the best."
"Good for him," Lucas says. "What an interesting sounding fellow. Were all your new friends like that?"
That gets Law started, and for the next half hour Maia and Lucas are treated to extensive descriptions of all the people Law had stayed with. They turned out to be a far more colorful cast of characters than they had expected.
"…and that's Chopper. He's a reindeer, like the ones outside the city, except he ate a devil fruit that makes him really smart and walk on two feet and have hands, so he's also a doctor! Devil fruits can do all sorts of weird things, I learned. It's why Mister Brook is a skeleton, but he can move like the rest of his body parts are still there. He can even eat and drink and sleep and play music—he's a musician—and even he doesn't know how it works. He let me take notes."
"Ikakku keeps the entire submarine running—I got to see a real submarine!—and she told me they have torpedoes, not laser guns like in the comics, which is still really cool. And Mister Jean Bart is really big, but he's quiet and he let me sit with him when I was tired and needed a break, and Bepo is so soft and he knows so much about navigating, and Penguin and Shachi were always willing to talk to me or explain things to me and they were really funny, and—"
"—did you know that the plants outside of Flevance aren't white or pale? I got to see all sorts of trees and plants and even rocks that were different colors. And the sea is sometimes warm enough for people to swim in it, can you imagine? You can't do that here."
Law begins flagging again soon enough, the excitement of finally getting to talk about his experiences bleeding the last adrenaline out of his little frame, and he leans heavier and heavier against Maia's chest, breathing slowly even as he continues to try to expound on the many fascinating people and things he'd seen while he'd been gone.
"It sounds like there were good things about your trip, even if it was unexpected," Lucas says quietly, ruffling Law's hair and gently interrupting his stream of consciousness. "I'm glad."
"Yeah, but I'm happy to be home. And I'm sure the doctor-captain is too," Law murmurs, almost inaudible from where he's curled into the fabric of Maia's sweater.
"I'm sure he is," is all Maia says. It feels like such a loaded sentence. "But we can talk more in the morning. I'm taking you to bed. Dad will get Lami."
"Mmkay," Law sighs, as Maia prepares to bundle him upstairs. "Oh, and Mom? There's one more very important thing I learned."
"What is that, sweetie?"
Law lifts his head from her shoulder and looks her square in the eye with all the conviction a six-year-old could muster.
"I need a hat."
Chapter 15: Home
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Law knows the instant he's not standing on the hospital roof anymore.
Someday he might have the words to describe the feeling of nothingness that replaces the warm embrace of his family, evaporating in an instant like someone had blown them away like they were nothing so much as dandelion fluff, but it's all he can do to stay on his feet at the sudden loss. Even knowing in that instant what was coming was not enough to prepare him for the actual feeling of having to let go.
"Captain!" Multiple voices ring up around him, all crashing together in various tones of panic and surprise. Familiar voices. An anchor for his frayed brain to hold on to as he tries to get his bearings, head ringing with the conflicting feelings of they're gone they're gone they're gone and they're all still here.
"Don't crowd him, give him some space." Penguin, taking charge as usual, even though he hated it. The crew listened to him, though Law knew he never quite felt right about giving orders. The oldest of the original four, still making sure the sickly little kid he'd latched on to wasn't getting overwhelmed.
He knows where he is, even with his eyes still shut. There was no mistaking the pitch and roll of the Tang's main outer deck, or the strength of salt smell that came from being on the water instead of merely near it. Gone were the subtle scents of a city, of the lingering but distinct smells he associated with a hospital. His mother's perfume, now just a memory, replaced with the familiar scents of a port, and the lingering oil scent that told him Ikakku must be nearby, always wearing her work as she did. A thousand tiny signs telling him that this was no dream. That he was really back.
Despite all these sensations, Law has to fight down the old and familiar telltale signs of a panic attack rising in his gut and his brain. He'd known he'd have to go back. He'd known he'd have no choice in the when of the matter, not when he'd been fading in and out at random like that. He'd known. Had even made peace with the idea.
Knowing didn't make the hurt any less.
"Law?" Bepo, sweet, reliable Bepo. He sounded so scared. So caught between fear and relief, and a stab of guilt surges through him. He's worrying them again. He's always worrying them.
He finally lets himself crack his eyes open to the sight of his crew clustered around him, practically vibrating with concern. Bepo looks like he's going to cry. Shachi looks caught between tears and cheering, eyes wet and mouth split in the widest possible grin. Jean Bart towers overhead, face stoic as always but eyes soft.
"Hi," he hears himself say, almost sheepishly. Then: "I'm home."
In a moment he finds himself engulfed by almost eight feet of sobbing mink, and feels the press of other bodies around him, gentle touches and shoulder pats from so many hands. Like they need to prove to themselves that he's real, and not some illusion. Like they had to be convinced this wasn't a dream as much as Law did.
"Sorry," Bepo mumbles into his hair, and moves to disengage, but Law just lets himself lean into the contact, bringing his own arms up to fully return the embrace. It's nice, like Bepo's hugs always are. Not the same as the one he'd just left, but similar enough in one important way: it was a hug from family.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles into the fabric of Bepo's orange coveralls. "I'm so sorry."
"For what?" That would be Shachi, and Law feels a broad hand on his back, warm and strong. "You didn't do any of this on purpose. We know that."
"For making you worry," Law says, finally leaning back from Bepo to address his crew properly. He owed them that, at least. "For disappearing again, even though I promised after—after Dressrosa that I wouldn't again. That's not something a captain should do." He swallows hard, throat still tight with emotions. "That's not something a friend should do."
"Do you know what's something else people like that shouldn't do?" Ikakku's acerbic tone cut through the fog of his brain, and he found himself staring down at her as she crowded Bepo out of the way to get as close as possible, hands on her hips and looking as mad as anything.
Law braces himself for a well-deserved scolding, but all that comes is a light punch to the arm and a fond sigh. "Blame themselves for something totally out of their control or think that we wouldn't understand that you didn't run off of your own accord. Seas, Law, Kikoku was just laying there in the dirt, we knew you hadn't planned this. Besides, this island is tiny, and even you can't teleport across the ocean. Yet."
"I could have gotten on a ship," Law replies sheepishly, but all that earns him is a scoff and another, harder punch in the arm.
"Like you'd take any of these dinky little fishing boats over the perfection of the Tang," Ikakku sniffs haughtily, then sobers. "Besides, it became pretty clear that something was going on when the kid showed up."
Right. The kid. The kid who was Law, but a different Law. Who had no secrets to hide and who was way too trusting and who had almost certainly been very, very curious about literally everything around him because of course he was. Who would have asked questions. Who would have told stories.
"Oh," he manages to get out, proud of how even his voice sounded. "That's…okay. Okay. Hmm."
"No, no anxiety spirals," Penguin says firmly, shaking Law by the shoulder. "Everything is fine, and the kid was delightful and there's no one who is going to judge you for anything in your past here. I know you know this. Tell your big overthinking brain to ease off the panic button."
"It was a bit of a surprise, learning everything we did," Clione chimes in. "Makes a lot of sense in retrospect, too. Both from what we know of you and why you'd never shared any of it. And I won't lie, it was still kind of upsetting to learn it that way, and not because you'd told us yourself, but…" He shrugs.
"I trust you," Law blurts out. "You know that, right? That—that it wasn't because I didn't that I never—"
"Fuck, captain, we've all known since forever that you had some kind of trauma going on, it's as obvious as a log pose needle," Uni cuts in. "Stuff like that needs to come in its own time, we know that." He shrugs. "We weren't prepared for the depth and breadth of it, sure, but we weren't prepared for devil-fruit eating mountains playing therapist, either."
Law blinks. He can't have heard that right. "…come again?"
Ikakku sighs, sounding for all the world like she can't believe what she's actually saying. As she explains, Law can see why. It's a hell of a story, and one he'd flat out refuse to believe if he hadn't been well aware of just how weird the Grand Line could be and had been subject to the effects himself.
"According to local legend and this one lady we talked to, a devil fruit was buried up on the mountain ages ago, one that deals with time shenanigans. Apparently, that counted well enough as the mountain having eaten the fruit, because ever since random people with regrets have been disappearing off the mountain in order to get a chance to resolve them. We have no idea how the mountain decides who qualifies, but clearly you did, so when you went for your walk, it decided to intervene. Which is how we ended up with the kid, and you presumably ended up…where he was."
"With my parents, yes," Law confirms. "It was…" He trails off. How to explain the rollercoaster of emotions he'd experienced? The pain and the catharsis both? The new memories? The old ones, stronger now with the reinforcement?
"It's fine," Penguin cuts in, saving him from having to answer. "That's the sort of thing you talk about when you're ready to. We won't push." He pauses. "You know…you're honestly doing better than I thought you would, coming back after all that. You're not doing the emotional bottling thing again, are you?"
"I don't—" Law starts testily, but the look he gets from half the crew stops the words in his mouth. "All right, that's fair. But no, I'm not." He sighs. How to explain this? "I think I might just still be…processing." He tries to crack a smile, but it feels like it comes out as more as a wobbly grimace. "You know me, it takes me forever to work things through my brain."
"Like we needed more proof of that," Shachi chuckles. "All right, message received. We'll stop crowding you about it. Let's get you back inside. Clione can throw a good meal at your skinny ass, and you can put on a shirt that actually fits. Nice jacket, by the way."
Law blinks and looks down, having totally forgotten in the heat of the moment that he had still been dressed in a borrowed doctor's coat and one of his father's too-small shirts. He traces the nametag still sitting on his chest with one finger, one more little memento he has with a title he's never been entirely sure he's properly earned. "Oh damn," he mutters. "I left the sweater you made me."
"It's not like we can't make you another," Hakugan quips. "And now the little you can have something else to remember us by. We sent some photos and letters explaining things, since we knew he could take stuff back with him, but a sweater's cozier than paper any day." There's a snicker from behind his mask. "And boy, little you was a cuddly little thing when he got his hands on something soft."
Law ignores the gentle mockery, abruptly reminded of the care package that had been handed to him back on the hospital roof and looks down to see it still clutched in his hand, somehow still here despite all the physical contact he's been subjected to and having traveled across literal time and space.
The feeling of needing to open that package, to see what mementos he had, what his parents had seen appropriate to send back with him, was so strong he could practically taste it.
"Looks like someone else had the same idea we had," Shachi notes, gesturing at the package. "That's good. If you've got that, it means the kid made it back with everything we gave him."
Law levels his friend with the best disapproving glare he can muster at the moment, which is admittedly pretty weak by his standards. "Are my parents going to be opening a package of all my mortifying secrets?"
"No comment," Penguin drawls, and despite the instinctive spike of panic that thrills through him at the implications of just what they could have sent, he finds himself chuckling along with the rest of the crew. And finally, finally feels himself untense.
And that was about the time where his Observation Haki kicked back in, and he noticed that they weren't exactly alone.
"Wait—" he starts, whirling to look at the other ships in the harbor. It couldn't be. They had left Wano in a totally different direction, there was no possible way—
"Torao!"
"What," he manages through gritted teeth, as he watches a very distinct shape rocket through the air towards them. "Are they doing here?"
"Oh, that's a long story," Bepo starts, but is interrupted by Monkey D. fucking-Luffy crash-landing on the Tang's deck like some sort of flying harbinger of Law's worst nightmares.
"You're back! I knew you would be!" Straw Hat chirps, standing there arms akimbo like his presence wasn't an impossibility. Oh, who was Law even kidding. This was Straw Hat. He and his crew embodied impossibility.
He blinks. "How did—
"The Straw Hats were very helpful," Jean Bart rumbles from behind them. "Both in making sure the kid was safe and healthy, and in figuring out what had happened."
Law catches the gentle warning in the words, and lets his protests die in his throat. He can see the other Straw Hats in the distance, scattered along the beach and making what sounds like noises of happiness.
They'd stuck around? For him? They could have sailed off at any time. Seas knew the other captain didn't like being kept from adventure for long, and Kairos was far too sleepy a place to keep him occupied, which meant…they had wanted to stay.
Law's not quite sure how to deal with that knowledge.
Straw Hat's giving him a look, though, one of those serious faces that Law had caught glimpses of from time to time during the time they were working together. Belatedly, he remembered the other captain's own experience with loss, as well as the return of someone he never thought he'd see again. Not for the first time, he wondered at how much the younger man actually saw when he looked at people.
"It's good you're back," Straw Hat repeats, with his signature grin. "You know what we need to do? We need to have a party, to celebrate you making it home! That's the best way to end this sort of adventure." He nods, half to himself, and turns away, craning his head back over his shoulder as he continues to speak. "I bet Sanji will have some great ideas, and we can set up on the beach. Ooh! With a big bonfire, too." He stretches one arm out impossible far, to grab onto the Sunny's mainmast. "You and your crew just hang tight, Torao! We'll do all the work. And then later you can tell us what you've been up to!"
And then he's gone, a red and blue rocket cackling as he flew into the setting sun, shouting orders to the people on the beach and sounding for all the world like he had nothing better to do than help start a party.
Law stands there dumbfounded as he registers what just happened.
"Am I still in a different timeline?" he says to no one in particular. "Or did Straw Hat just use tact?"
"Not on purpose, I think," Bepo responds. "But he has always been good about knowing what people need, so this is his way of giving you some space. And he was really good with little you. All the Straw Hats were, but I think the kid liked him the best. It was kind of adorable, really." When Law raises an eyebrow at him, the mink just shrugs. "Sorry, but it was. The guy's good with kids."
"Do me a favor," Law says brusquely, and decides to end this entire weirdass conversation by heading inside. "Don't ever let him hear you say that."
"We have pictures!" Shachi calls after him cheekily, and Law elects to ignore him, even as the action brings a smile to his face. He'd missed this; the casual jokes, the camaraderie, the ease with which he can relax around his crew. Not even the wild card that was the Straw Hats could mess that up, and truth be told it sounded like Law owed them some sincere thanks as well.
If it had been any other pirate group to accidentally stumble across his secrets, he'd already be making contingency plans for dealing with the fallout. But the Straw Hats were, admittedly, different. Straw Hat himself wouldn't care what was in Law's background, and Nico Robin would likely care enough that exploiting it would be a hard sell for her. Not to mention how easygoing the rest of them were about this sort of thing. The most he'd have to worry about is the navigator maybe trying to blackmail some cash out of him over the whole ordeal, and if that was the sum total of the issues this caused, he could live with that.
No, the Straw Hats had literally met the ghost Law had kept locked up in a closet all these years…and they'd stayed to help. Meddlers, all of them, to be sure, but after how much Law has been thinking about not taking relationships for granted these days, he has to admit that it was…nice, knowing there were more people he could rely on.
It was still going to take some adjusting to, though. And maybe some medicine for headaches.
Law plants himself at his seat at the head of the long crew table in the mess, the package his parents had handed him placed carefully in front of him. The possibilities about what could be inside were endless, and Law has to fight down the traitorous voice in the back of his brain that was telling him they'd never cared as much as they said. He knew that wasn't true, now. He knew. That voice had had control of him for over fifteen years; it was time he stopped listening to it.
"We should probably start with that," Penguin says, as he slides into the chair next to him. "You look like you're going to come apart at the seams if you have to wait any longer."
The rest of the crew take their own seats at the table, quiet and expectant, and Law has the brief irritated thought that he'd wanted to do this in private. But it's almost immediately squashed by guilt—he had promised to be more open, and to stop worrying them, and they'd spent days with the kid version of him. Of course, they were interested in what he'd brought back. He would be too, in their shoes.
The package opens neatly enough, just a flick of a fingernail under a piece of tape, and he's confronted with a stack of multiple items, on the top of which rests a letter.
Read this with your whole crew, Law. The rest of this stuff is for you, but this letter is for everyone.
"Wow, they sure got your number awful quick, didn't they?" Shachi muses, leaning over from his side of the table to read the note. "Come on, then: I want to hear what dear old mom and dad have to say. We heard a lot about them, you know. Little you was very adamant about how great his parents were."
Law sighs at the chuckle that ripples around the table, but he can't even refute the claim. He remembers being six, and how much hero worship he'd been carrying around, just beginning to understand the breadth of what his parents did for people.
Still, these are the last words he'll have from them, and he reaches for the letter with a mix of trepidation and anticipation, and not a little nausea in the pit of his stomach.
"Don't—don't interrupt me," he warns, and the room falls silent.
Law (and friends),
It's difficult to articulate the many feelings we've experienced since this whole adventure began. Many of them have been hard to face, but I think we would all agree that the pain was worth everything else that was gained from it. Knowledge is not always a good or comfortable thing, but it is truth, and we would rather view the world with unclouded eyes rather than continue to be fooled.
We certainly didn't know what to make of the stranger who landed in our midst, with your tattoos and height and odd mix of confidence and vulnerability. But as we got to know you, Law, our original skepticism evolved, and even before that day on the bank of the pond, we had grown fond of you. Now, we know the reasons behind all the things that confused us before, even if some of the causes broke our hearts.
There's something crushing in learning you don't get to watch your children grow up, even after the fact. When you become a parent, there's an expectation of certain milestones you'll be there for. First word, first steps, first day of school. And then later, getting to see them make their mark on the world in their own unique way. The knowledge that you helped this entire person come about, and that you—hopefully—gave them the tools they need to thrive without you, when the time comes.
So yes, it hurts to know that we've missed all that, even if we also know that it was by no fault of our own. The lack of fault does not make the hurt any less. The fact that we may still have a chance for all that now doesn't remove the reality where we didn't. Not for us, and certainly not for you, Law. I know we talked about this extensively, but just so you have it in writing, in something indelible and physical and real: we're so proud of you. For living. For thriving. For keeping your heart intact, scarred as you might think it to be.
And to the rest of you, the family that we will never meet, but have heard so many stories about in these last few days: words cannot begin to describe the amount of thanks we have for you. You picked up where we were forced to leave off, and because of you, we are safe in the knowledge that the son we met will continue on even after we've met him for the last time. To you, my dear friends, we surrender the care of Law, to the extent that any parent who wants the best for their child can willingly give that responsibility up.
To know that there are not just one or two, but twenty of you gives us great comfort. We wish we could articulate the full measure of affection each of you were described to us with by Law, because that is how we know how important you all really are. We've come to realize how little our son seems willing to bare his feelings, but keep at him. We know you know as well as we do now how much is really hiding under there, and it's always better when these things are said out loud.
Law, you have found for yourself a new family, as special and unique and as yours as any out there. Do not think that we feel abandoned because of it. We could never be anything but relieved. A few days ago, we met you in a place of confusion and sadness, and your hurt was something you wore so starkly on your skin that we could feel it even before we knew its cause. Now, as we write this, who knows how long before we see each other last, you feel more settled, and more at peace. We'd like to think we were able to help you realize how much you still have.
We know it won't be easy, that it will likely feel like losing us all over again in some ways. But you gave us hope, and life, and a chance to move forward. And we promise you, we will not squander it. You gave us the greatest of gifts, Law, twice over. Once, for freeing us from the curse of Flevance. And second, for just being you.
Go live your life to the fullest, whatever that means for a doctor who is also a pirate and a leader of men. Whatever that means for the little boy who dreamed of medicine and superheroes both. Who loves his sister, his parents, and his friends. And who should never, ever feel like he is not loved or deserving of love for as long as he lives.
With our eternal gratitude, and our eternal love,
Doctors Trafalgar Maia and Trafalgar Lucas
Mom and Dad.
The atmosphere in the room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and Law takes the opportunity it provides to steady himself, breathing in through his nose slowly to try and preserve the last specks of his self-control. It's a close thing.
"They sound wonderful," Bepo whispers. "The best kind of parents."
Law, who knows that Bepo understands the loss of family all too well, and that several other members of his crew came from backgrounds that were nowhere near as kind, just nods.
"You took the Amber Lead out of them," Penguin says, almost as quietly. "That's what they meant by 'freeing' them. Of course, you did. Of course, you did."
"How could I not?" Law manages to croak out. "Even if I can't see them, now there's a timeline somewhere where they live. Where they get out of Flevance. Where Lami gets to grow up. And even if I couldn't do it for…myself, and even if I couldn't save my home, that was something. It was something."
Bepo wraps a sturdy arm around Law's shoulders. He'd been hovering this entire time, electing to not take a seat in favor of standing behind Law like the steadfast companion he always was. As Law leans back into the touch, he can't help but be thankful. If he'd been alone…
But he wasn't alone. That was the entire point.
"I'm sorry," he says, repeating his words from earlier, and holds up a hand for silence when the protests start. "For a lot of things, no matter what you think I should be feeling guilt over." He takes a deep breath. "I've worried all of you too many times over the years, and when you've been there ready to hear what I wasn't saying, I failed to take you up on the kindness every time. That is a failing on my part: ignoring your generosity."
He swallows hard. "I've learned a lot the past few days. About second chances, and not squandering the goodwill you get. And maybe it wasn't my fault for disappearing this time, not really, but I held in all my problems so tightly that apparently, I needed a fucking mountain to knock some sense into me." That elicits a few chuckles around the room, and he takes courage from the sound.
"I promise to do my best to stop worrying you." He cracks a self-deprecating grin. "I say 'my best' because I'm going to be shit at it, at least at first. So, this is permission to call me on it when I inevitably go back to bottling everything up. And I can't promise to share everything, all the time: I'm a private person, and you all know that." He takes a deep breath. "But I can promise to try. Because I trust all of you, and it's no less than you deserve."
He smiles, genuinely this time. "It's like the letter said: you're my family. The one I found on my own. I'd like to think I'm at least a decent judge of character, all my other failings aside. And I think I made the right choices."
The mess dissolves into a chorus of happy responses and tears, and Law again finds himself the subject of a whole lot of physical contact. He bears with it, though. He'd meant what he'd said, and if that meant more affection than he was usually comfortable with, he'd live.
To a point, anyway.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to open the rest of this private, because if I don't, you're all going to be subjected to a very emotional captain, and I think we've all had enough of that for one day."
The room lights up with laughter and light-hearted jabs, but no one stops him from leaving the mess. Another sign that they knew him and knew his limits. Another reason among the many why he cared so much for them and trusted them in a world that had taught him trust was something that could be so easily abused. Because it was reciprocal. Because it was honest.
His room is just as he'd left it, and the familiarity helps him relax even more. This was his space, in his home, where he could unpack all his frayed emotions in safety and peace. Here, he had quiet, but was still surrounded by signs of all the people he cared about, past and present.
"Hey," he whispers as he finds Kikoku propped up in one corner. He can feel her familiar grumbles under his hands as he lifts her from her resting place. "Sorry for disappearing like that. It wasn't on purpose. You know I'd never leave you in the dirt like that intentionally."
The grumbles settle into a more mollified feeling hum, and Law flicks a speck of dust off her fur. He'll have to take some time and give her a proper once-over when things have settled a bit. When his hands were steadier.
Placing her back down, he moves to sit on the bed, relishing the familiar feeling of his mattress instead of the awkward, too-small cushion of a couch. It's enough to almost make him want to pass out then and there, to sleep away the stress of his return, but as tempting as a nap sounds right now, that's not why he wanted to be alone.
The rest of the package sits innocently by his knee, full of all the other things his parents had seen fit to include, and he sits there for a long while tapping his fingers nervously on his knees before he finally gives in and pulls the package into his lap.
The first thing he pulls out is a pile of photos, neatly stacked and tied together with string tied in a knot that Law can tell was done by his father. It was the same kind of knot he used in sutures, just performed with fingers and twine instead of a needle and thread. But it brings a smile to his face because he can imagine him sitting there, meticulously arranging it as a nod to their shared profession. A little secret, just for Law.
The first few photos are older scenes. Some of them picture events he can even half-remember, somewhere in the hazy parts of his memories. Him as a little kid on his first day of school, sitting ramrod straight in his chair in his little uniform, trying to look adult even though his feet didn't even reach the floor. A day in the hospital with his parents, holding his own tiny little clipboard and smiling with a grin missing a few teeth. A family portrait from when he was five taken around the winter holidays, his mother elegant in a fur ruff and his father looking like he wanted nothing more than to be back in his work jacket instead of a nice suit.
Then, some even older. A picture of all four of them, with a Law tinier than he'd ever remembered being leaning tentatively over the newborn baby in his mother's arms. A picture of Law almost as tiny, staring blankly at the camera holding a stuffed seal in a death grip, just a few wisps of what would become his flyaway hair present on his head. A picture of his parents on their graduation day, and one of their wedding, standing in that familiar cathedral with a younger, but still ancient-looking Sister Ava smiling in the background.
There are pictures of Flevance, too. The port with all its merchant ships, as busy as Law remembers it. The cathedral and the hospital, and the market square. Their house, and the park they used to visit. Even the mines, which Law views with mixed feelings, and the royal residence, and finally, an aerial view of the entire city which must have been taken from the mountains nearby.
History. His history, and theirs.
The bottom of the pile has some newer photos, and these Law isn't sure when they got taken. There's one of him at the hospital, arguing with a patient he remembered being stubborn about taking medicine. Another of him slumped asleep on the couch, a mess of long limbs too big for the space he'd been given. There's one of him reading to Lami, and he has to smile at the sleepy content look she has, and the small smile on his face as he reads. He looks…soft. Relaxed. Like he hardly ever remembers being.
He's going to have to frame some of these. The family photos, certainly. And find a waterproof storage container meant for document preservation for the rest. Maybe at their next stop, so long as it had a market big enough. Or a library or museum, where maybe he could find the materials. There would be trace amounts of Amber Lead in all the items he'd brought back with him anyway. Largely inert, and not enough to cause problems, but Law wanted to be safe about what he could; nothing was going to take these from him ever again.
He sets the photos aside and reaches for the assortment of papers next. Turning them over to see what's on them, he can't help the smile that cracks his face at the contents.
Crayon drawings, clearly done by Lami, of any number of subjects. There's a bunch of animals—the snow goose from her favorite story, if he's identified that shape correctly. And that must be one of the frogs from the pond taking up the bottom of the page. A sun with a smiley face dominates one upper corner, and another page entirely is filled with the shaky outlines of buildings he can sort of identify.
There's a drawing of them, as a family, their parents in their neat white doctor's coats. Law is there twice, once as a tiny thing in a little sweater, but also as a tall figure mainly identifiable by his hat. And in the middle, Lami, drawn smiling wider than any of them, like there was no place she'd rather be.
A Lami who would live, now, in that far off place. With parents who would, too, and a brother who would love her, whatever came of him. And she'd know that, even if there would still be unavoidable tragedy in her life. There would just be far less.
The next item is immediately recognizable, and for a moment Law worries his sister will be going without one of her favorite things, because there sits The Lost Little Snow Goose in all its familiar childish splendor. Only the crisp edges of the picture book tell Law that this is a new copy, and not his sister's favorite storybook. And now they both have it, a memory of when she first realized who he was.
The last item in the package is the largest, and separately wrapped in its own sheath of brown paper. Whatever it is feels fairly solid, and when Law turns it over to get at the creases, he finds another note.
You earned this; we won't hear anything about nepotism playing a role! Still, it takes two members of the medical board to approve these, so you're lucky we're both on it! Love, Mom and Dad.
Curious, Law breaks the seal under the tape holding the paper together, to find the back of a picture frame. Puzzled, he turns the frame over.
Only for his breath to catch in his throat as he sees curling script and an official-looking seal.
The Flevance Royal Medical Society, in keeping with its standards of high quality of care and skill, do so deem Trafalgar Law qualified to serve in our honored profession. Signed and sealed this day in accordance with medical bylaws.
A medical degree.
A medical degree in his name.
It's the last straw that finally opens the floodgates on Law's emotions, and he bends double over the precious document, hands clutching it to his chest and the heavy, wet sensation of tears hitting the fabric of his jeans. He doesn't even bother trying to stop them. He had been prepared for any number of things, but not for this. Not to be seen this clearly.
He lets himself tip over, still holding the degree tightly in his hands, until his head hits the pillow and suddenly the scent of all the familiar herbs he keeps under it bloom in his nose, and the tears come even faster.
Law's not a loud crier. Having to smother yourself in too many situations as a child had the effect of training that out of a person. Neither does he tend to do it often, choosing as he always did to be a master of his own emotions, proud of being able to keep a cool head.
Here, in this time and place, he says fuck it to all of that, and lets himself sob.
"Law?" Penguin's voice drifts through his door, and he blinks his eyes open blearily. He's lying flat on his bed, the medical degree still resting protectively under one hand on his chest. "Law, it's been a while. Are you okay?"
He must have passed out; the mental exhaustion of the day and the contents of the package finally having caught up with him. "Fine," he calls back, and sits up as Penguin opens the door. "Just…took an unexpected nap, is all." He can feel the dried tear tracks on both his cheeks. For once, he doesn't care if anyone sees.
"Well, if anyone could use one," Penguin quips, then sobers. "You gonna be okay? Whatever was in the rest of that package looks like it wrecked you just a bit."
The impulse to blow off his concern is immediate and familiar, but Law catches the words on his tongue behind his teeth. He had promised to be better. He would be better. Instead, he hands the precious degree to Penguin, who takes it without a word.
"Wow," he says after a moment. "This is…I mean, I'd be messed up too, if I were you. I remember you talking about…what you felt you'd missed, back when we were kids."
"I can't show it to anyone, of course," Law says. "It would just raise a whole lot of questions. But…I'll know. And that's worth a lot." He cracks a smile, and for once, it feels honest. "Every kid wants to make their parents proud, right?"
"Well, I'd say you did a bang-up job of that," Penguin replies, returning the frame. Law turns and settles it neatly on his bedside table, propped up so his name is on proud display. "Are you going to be good for dinner? I don't want to push you, but I don't know when you last ate, and I think it would do everyone some good to see you out and about. Plus, I don't think Blackleg is going to give up until he's shoved the meal he's prepared down your throat himself." He holds up his hands. "Of course, if you're not ready, we can always sneak you a plate. Up to you."
Law sighs. He wants nothing more than to lie back down, but Penguin was right on all counts. And he did owe the Straw Hats his thanks. Besides, the idea of his first fully Amber Lead-free meal in days, cooked by the inestimable Straw Hat chef no less, was appealing indeed.
He'd resolved to be better. Part of that was to appreciate what he had. And right now, he had two crews who were happy to see him, who had cared enough to stay while he was indisposed. One who he could admit it would be good to have as friends, and one who was family.
His hand comes to rest on the copy of the picture book that had been in the package, and despite himself, he smiles. To think that he'd been so dismissive of the tale before. It was funny though, how perspective could change something like that.
"Actually, food sounds great," he says, rising from the bed. "And maybe a little later, if I'm feeling up to it, I'll tell you the story of the lost little snow goose."
"That old tale? What does that have to do with anything?" Penguin says quizzically as he follows Law out of the room.
"Well, you see," Law explains, with a proper grin this time as he lengthens his stride. "He stops being so lost, eventually. He finds his way home. That's the happy ending."
Notes:
And that's all she wrote!
It doesn't feel real that this story is over; I've been writing it for a whole year, almost exactly, and I've never written a longfic before. And here we are, over one hundred thousand words later, and Law is finally home.
This story is my love letter to the Trafalgar family, who gets left by the wayside in so many stories involving Law. They are so important to who he is and while I adore Rosinante, he was not the first positive influence in Law's life. Getting to give his parents personalities and character was a real treat.
It is also a reflection of my love for the Heart Pirates, this scrappy little bunch of goofballs who care so very, very much. So much of One Piece is about the effects of love and kindness, and they have it in spades.
Thank you to everyone who has read this, whether you've been here from the beginning or have just stumbled across it. Thank you for enjoying this little thought experiment with me, and for imagining a happier ending for Law and his family.
Notes:
I have a tumblr here: hyperbolicreverie. Feel free to come yell at me, ask questions about what I'm writing--or anything else, and generally watch me try and remember how social media works.
Also many thanks to the lovely people over at the One Piece Writing and Worldbuilding Discord Server, who have been listening to me yell about this fic for far, far too long.
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