Chapter Text
“Stupid Eustass-ya,” Law grumbles to himself. “Stupid Eustass-ya and his big, stupid mouth.”
Law waddles through the market, sore and sweaty and sour. He’s been searching for this dial for an hour at least, and all he’s come across thus far is alcohol, Marine-grade weaponry and illegally acquired pharmaceuticals. His only respite is the fact that nobody else is around to annoy him. Given the early hour, most of Kid’s crew was still asleep when they departed, so their group is a measly five in number: himself, Kid, Killer, Wire, and House, who insisted on coming along to find, as she put it, “black market shit”.
When they reached the shore where the signpost had previously been, there was nothing there to indicate what was being sold or where. As Law traverses the lantern-lit aisles, he can’t say he’s shocked; he doubts that anybody here wants to leave a trace of what they’re doing. Even still, he’s more fixated on what just went down in the crow’s nest than the vendors around him.
“That sounds lonely.”
Law clenches his fists when he recalls Kid’s observation. How ballsy. How stupid.
To Law’s left is a man selling body parts– his own body parts. Individual fingers and toes, some teeth, an ear, a testicle. The air around him is acrid with the stench of blood and filth. The man messily carves his second ear off and slaps it down on the table without a wince or a single tear. He calls out something that sounds like “ears for sale”, but his words are garbled and barely coherent; Law spots half a tongue amongst his wares.
“It’s better like this, ain’t it?”
Is it? Law thinks back to his previous trysts with nameless strangers; romps that meant nothing, that only felt half-decent half of the time, that left him feeling dirty and disconnected and needing a shower. Is this better? Or is this worse, in a uniquely uncomfortable way?
To Law’s right is a woman, also selling body parts, but not her own. Jars of eyes of every shape and color, mink pelts, fishman scales. A black fishman tail hangs from a hook to dry, blood flowing into the grass below. It glimmers iridescent purples, blues and greens with the swaying lantern flames. He tries not to look. Behind the vendor, cloaked in darkness, Law hears weakened groaning and barely audible cries. Nails and teeth clawing and biting at metal bars, rattling chains and quick, shallow breaths. He tries not to listen.
“I fucking love it when you cry, baby.”
Love. The word churns through Law’s body like an infection. He doesn’t like hearing it. He feels itchy. He feels wrong. He wants to ignore it, to push it to the back of his mind, to forget it, but he’s still high; it echoes in his ears again and again, a single, painful word cutting through an otherwise numbed head.
A few yards ahead of Law the lanterns struggle, the flames atop them unsettled by the harsh winds and on the verge of going out entirely.
Law considers Kid’s Klabautermann problem, and his insecure psyche twists it: why did Luffy and Kid both get Klabautermann, but not him? He cared for the Tang. Her repairs were always done in a timely manner, he put a fresh coat of paint on her a number of times, and she was a gift from Wolf; she held sentimental value. So where did he go wrong? Law sifts through jumbled thoughts in an attempt to recall their conversation.
“But if I loved the ship enough to attract a Klabautermann-”
There it is again. Love. Did Law love the Polar Tang? He feels a familiar lump in his throat when he thinks about it. Did the Polar Tang not have a Klabautermann because he didn’t love her enough? Is that why she’s gone? Is that why his crew is gone? Everything, everyone he grows attached to slips through his fingers like grains of sand, and Law prefers to tell himself that all good things are fleeting, but what if he just isn’t holding on hard enough? What if-
The lanterns on either side of him are suddenly extinguished.
WHAM!
~o~ ~O~ ~o~
Law stirs. He inhales sharply, head throbbing in tempo with his heartbeat. His throat is bone-dry. His wrists are freezing. When he opens his eyes, he sees nothing.
What happened? Wasn’t he just at the market?
Law tries to find his bearings but quickly discovers that he can’t move. His arms are restrained above his head, forcing him into a standing position, and he recognizes the cold sensation around his wrists: seastone. It must be. Something warm trickles down his forehead, and it wouldn’t take a doctor to know what it is, even in the dark.
“Hello? Anyone home?” He calls, voice slurred and words spoken slowly. There’s a long, low rumble that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere, vibrating the chains and the floor underneath his feet. Law has the wit to understand he’s been kidnapped, but he has no hope of escape if he can’t see anything. He would rather his kidnapper come in now and turn a light on, even if it means losing a fingernail or two.
“Trafalgar Law,” a feminine drawl echoes. The clicking of high heels on a hard floor follows, loud enough to alert Law to the fact that his adversary must be rather large. “So sorry to keep you waitin’, hun.”
“How kind. I would say I like what you’ve done with the place, but I can’t exactly see anything.”
“Oh, but of course! That’s my bad. Let’s shed some light on this situation, shall we?” On either side of the entryway, two shells begin to glow; another kind of dial, Law presumes. The shells are red in color, and as such, the light that fills the room is red as well. It isn’t great for visibility, but it certainly sets a particular mood, and it’s enough for Law to make out the frame of the woman who stands before him; two pink braids in her hair, tall enough to be a half-giant at least, and so muscular that she looks like she could pop Law’s head between her fingers. She’s crouched down and still she towers over him, her smile sickeningly sweet with an undertone of malice. “Hey there.”
“Have we met?”
“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure, hun! But I sure know a whole lot about you. You’ve been awful busy these last few days, huh?”
“You’ll have to be more specific. I’m an ‘awful busy’ man in general, you know.” Law twists his hands around in the cuffs– a monumental effort with how strong the seastone is –to test how wide the openings are; much too tight to worm out of. She didn’t bother restraining his feet, though, so maybe he could-
“Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.” She reaches down, takes one of Law’s hands in her own, and snaps his index finger like a dry twig. The only satisfaction that he gives her is the hitching of a breath, but his toes curl in his shoes and he shrieks on the inside. “The Bloomin’ Pirates and the Inu Pirates. Those names ring a bell to you?”
“Can’t say that they do,” he mutters between clenched teeth. “Should they?”
“They sure should, seein’ as you and your lil’ friends killed ‘em all!”
Oh. Law suddenly doesn’t feel like this is a stroke of bad luck after all; quite the contrary, in fact. He thought it strange that their unmarked ship was attacked twice in two days, but it doesn’t appear to be a coincidence. This woman took him for revenge, or maybe for information, but if he plays his cards just right, he may be able to get some information of his own.
“Whoops. Sorry about that,” Law’s apology drips with condescension. “Allies of yours, I take it?”
Crack! Law’s middle and ring fingers are bent to an impossible angle. His eyes water. He bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. He’ll surely vomit if she does it again, but seeing as she’s in the splash zone, he can’t bring himself to care.
The rumbling suddenly returns, strong enough to make Law’s teeth chatter this time, and he retches as his stomach is jostled. He hears the soft pattering of pebbles hitting the ground from up above. Is he being held underground somewhere?
“Indeed they were. They all knew the risk, of course, goin’ up against a Warlord like yourself– or should I say ex- Warlord –but that don’t mean it’s goin’ unpunished, hun!”
“Any particular reason you’re after me?”
“Your bounty, of course! We’re playin’ a lil’ game to see who can catch you first.”
“There are pirates with higher bounties than mine.”
“I ain’t talkin’ about the World Government’s bounty.”
“What? Then who’s-”
“That’s enough questions,” the woman snaps, voice suddenly dropping from buttery to something much more predatory. She holds a blade beneath Law’s chin, forcing his head up to meet her gaze. “I’m a real peach, so I thought I’d entertain a question or two. But I wouldn’ta said shit if I was plannin’ on lettin’ you go free! After what y’all did to my allies and my crew, I’ll be taking my time with you. I wanna know how much is too much for the Surgeon of-”
BANG!
It all happens in the blink of an eye: one moment there’s a knife to Law’s throat, and the next, a bullet comes flying through the giantess’ head, making contact with the concrete wall just above Law’s own. Law’s face is soaked by the spray of blood, and she crumples to the floor, throat rattling with her final breaths.
In the entryway stands a tiny silhouette. They step forward until Law can make out their face, devilish in the red light.
“House-ya?!”
“That’s me! And get a load a’ this, boyo!” She waves her weapon around, finger still on the trigger. “It’s a gun and a cane! How cool is that?!”
“If I say ‘very cool’, will you let me out of these chains?”
“Aye!”
“Then it’s very cool,” he sighs. His less-than-enthusiastic response is enough for House to start rifling through the giantess’ clothes in search of a key, but her tutting indicates that she’s unsuccessful. She raises her cane-gun once more, pointing it straight at Law.
“I’ma shoot the chains. Hold on!”
“Wait!”
BANG! BANG!
Law wrenches his eyes shut as the gunshots exacerbate his headache. The chains drop from the ceiling, granting Law his freedom, but he’s still hardly mobile; with seastone this strong, he’ll need them taken off before he can move freely. Without the chains holding him up, he falls to the ground, shirt and jeans immediately absorbing the blood that has accumulated on the floor. Great.
“Whatcha waitin’ for? Up, up!” House urges him.
“If I could move I would be! You try walking around with seastone on!”
“Ha! I could. Easily.” Law rolls his eyes. He needs his crew and his own ship yesterday. “Too bad, boyo. Looks like I’ll have to drag ya.”
“That seems unnecessary. Why don’t you just go get Killer-ya or-” House pays him no mind; she grabs the chains and begins pulling him along with shockingly minimal effort. The floor is cold, grainy with sediment, and irritates his head that much more. His groan falls on deaf ears. House uses her cane-gun to knock the glowing dials off of their wall-mounted sconces, tucking one shell beneath her arm and holding the other in front of her to light their path.
As they enter a narrow hallway, another loud, booming rumble is heard. Law’s brain vibrates mercilessly in his skull, head thudding against the shaking ground.
“What the hell is that?” He croaks, every word more of a struggle than the last as exhaustion envelops him.
“That would be Kid, throwin’ a damned tantrum!” House cackles, a shrill “keekeekee!” that evokes images of witches in childhood storybooks. “He’s been searching for ya for ages. Didn’t know who took ya, so he did the next best thing and started killin’ everyone! It’s a real shit show out-”
“-didn’t need to drag him, House. You could have just come to find one of us.” Law snaps back into consciousness, dazed and confused, feeling even worse than he did before. His nausea is almost unbearable, only worsening with every minute movement of his eyes. He squints up to see a dark purple sky and Killer’s striped mask looking down at him. One of Killer’s arms is around his back, the other under his knees, and he takes slow and deliberate steps like he wants to put as little strain on Law as possible; he’s certainly been carried in worse fashions, that’s for damn sure. “You’re safe now, Trafalgar. We’ll get those cuffs off of you. Just rest on me in the meantime, alright?”
Killer’s chest is plush against Law’s cheek. He smells like honey and cinnamon. Law does his best to focus on both, instead of the pain and the swaying of the world around him. It works for a few merciful moments, until the sweet smell is suddenly overpowered by pungent, cloying acidity. Killer’s footsteps grow audible and wet, and a dizzying look at the ground shows red where there should be green. Blood becomes torn fabric and bits of flesh, bone and bloodied metal shrapnel, and then Law can’t even see the grass anymore, hidden by mutilated entrails and bruised, severed limbs.
“Shit show” was putting it delicately; the entire market is in shambles. Lanterns are snapped in half. Stalls are in splintered, collapsed heaps. Metal bars are scattered about, some sticking out of the ground, others sticking out of torsos and heads; Law is reminded of the sounds he heard of caged captives. Did Kid kill them too?
His question is answered when they finally reach the shore. The sky has since lightened a considerable degree, dark dawn bursting into a colorful sunrise. Wire is on the beach, organizing a massive collection of stolen merchandise by the crate-full, and beside him is Kid. Law can’t make out his words from a distance, but they’re being loudly ranted. His head whips in their direction when they approach, and then he’s running toward them, desperation in his limp.
“Fucking hell Trafalgar. I looked everywhere for you. Everywhere!” Kid is drenched in blood from head to toe. It’s leaking out of the gaps in his metal arm, caked in his hair along with some solid chunks. Patches of his skin glisten while others are dry, blood already cracking and flaking off. He reeks of death, death he wrought, and yet his sticky hand touches Law’s face so gently. Law tastes the blood on Kid’s lips when he leans down to kiss him, and then he moves up to kiss Killer’s mask, leaving a red streak behind.
Kid has never kissed him in front of someone else before. A curious spark cuts through his suffering, quicker than a bolt of lightning, before the pain takes precedence once more.
“I found him in some kinda bunker underground! Nearly threw my back out draggin’ him up all those steps.” Ah. That would explain why Law feels so much worse. “Ya better get those cuffs off him quick, he’s too weak to even bitch and moan anymore!”
Killer sets Law down on the beach and sits beside him, offering a shoulder to lean on. Wire assists without a word, retrieving two thin metal pieces from his pocket and sliding them into the cuff’s locks. As he digs around, Law braces himself for what’s about to happen.
The first lock clicks within seconds. A few moments later, the second follows. As they fall from his wrists, Law heaves, body trembling uncontrollably; all of the stamina that was sapped from his body when the cuffs were put on slams back into him in an instant. Someone makes a sound of surprise, but his ears are ringing too loudly to discern the voice. His heart beats so frantically that if he hadn’t been through this before, he would think he was on the verge of a cardiac event. Darkness blots his vision and he slumps. A hand on his chest stops him from falling forward. Killer holds him close to his side. He laughs, but he grips Law’s shirt with concern.
“What the hell just happened? The cuffs they put on us in Udon didn’t do that.” Law is too overstimulated to answer Kid’s question. He remains at Killer’s side until the world stops spinning, until he feels human again, but only barely. When he can keep his eyes open without feeling faint, he finally makes a room and repairs his broken fingers. A quick scan of his head tells him the obvious: he has a concussion, a little worse than mild, but nothing life threatening. He stands on shaking fawn-like legs and stretches, thankful that he can finally move unattended.
“What was that?” Kid asks again. “You allergic to seastone or something?”
“Those cuffs were high-percentage seastone. The ones you wore in Udon would have been milder so you could still perform physical labor,” Law says, when he finds his voice again.
“Could be useful.” Wire scoops them up and throws them on top of a crate of weaponry. “We should keep them on hand.”
Crisis now averted, Wire, Killer and House begin loading up the ship, granting Law some respite even if it would go faster with his help. He turns his attention to something he hadn’t noticed previously: a collection of bodies, laid out in a line across the sand. They’re mostly in-tact compared to the ones left behind in the remnants of the market, and Law wouldn’t mind having some cadavers on hand for organ harvesting and devil fruit experiments. When he approaches them, he can tell that some of the bodies used to be the captives; they have severance wounds on varying areas of their malnourished bodies, discolored and festering. Some of them have been dead for quite a while, given how stiff they are. Others look like they died only recently, heads caved in and still bleeding. It’s clear that Kid killed these ones himself. Law doesn’t know if he would have been able to save any of them. He doesn’t ask Kid any questions, just gives each one a glance as he moves down the line.
The body at the furthest end is so much smaller than the rest. Only half of her is left, but Law can tell that she used to have a tail from the waist down. A few black scales still stick to her skin, above the messily done stitching. The gills around her ribcage are encrusted with blood and salt, and she gazes lifelessly up at him, eyes beginning to cloud over, but they still contain a terrible anguish. She doesn’t even look as old as Dive.
Her head is caved in. She was still alive somehow.
He looks up to search for Kid and is startled to find that he’s already standing next to him. Kid glares at him, eye fiery, jaw tight and mouth open like he’s prepared to defend what he did if Law challenges his decision.
“I’m sorry, Eustass-ya.” It comes out flat, robotic, but if he invests himself any further, it will break him. Kid just grimaces and turns away, looking out at the water instead.
The sunrise is magnificent, an explosion of reds, yellows and oranges in the sky. It’s serene, almost like a painting. Irony twists in Law’s stomach, agonizing.
~o~ ~O~ ~o~
The ship’s communal showers are spacious; a dozen shower heads line the walls, maybe more if Law could be bothered to count them all, and a large drain is installed in the middle of the floor. The back wall houses an entryway to a bath, one that looks like it could hold the entire crew and then some. The water pressure leaves a bit to be desired, but Law hardly pays it any mind as he looks down at his feet, watching dried bits of blood fall to the dark stone below.
For some reason– one that Law can’t fully wrap his head around –Kid chose the shower directly beside his own. Neither man says a word, the space instead filled with steam and heavy silence. Law could probably break it, ask him why he showers with his prosthetics on, if they’re difficult to dry afterward, maybe check in on the condition of his eye, but after what he just saw, after what Kid just did, it may be inappropriate to behave so casually. When he risks a glance to his side, he sees Kid in a similar position to himself; head cast downward, face hidden by the length of his hair. The water that comes off of his body is still a light pink, but better than it was when he first stepped into the spray.
When Law is soaped, lathered and rinsed, he twists the knob, cutting off the water to the shower he was using. He turns to take his leave… but something stops him. Something like a gravitational pull, attracting him to Kid’s side, and before he knows it, he’s stepping beneath Kid’s water and kissing him.
The kiss is chaste, but when he draws back and he looks into Kid’s eyes– one still damaged, swollen shut and encircled by torn skin, the other absolutely miserable –he goes back in for another. It’s deeper this time, lingering, and a large hand presses between his shoulder blades, pleading him not to pull away again.
Maybe Kid chose the shower next to his because he needed the company. Maybe Law kissed him out of instinct; the instinct that a lover has, when they recognize that the other needs them. He shoves the possibility down from his head– certainly not his heart – into his feet and winds his arms around Kid’s neck to pull him closer.
They share misery yet again, wordlessly, passionately.
The ship is a ghost town when they exit the showers, clad in stolen sweatpants instead of their bloodied clothes. Thankfully, some of the concealer that Quincy obtained from the market yesterday is close enough to Law’s skin tone to cover the necklace of hickies Kid left behind; the last thing Law needs is Bepo jumping to conclusions.
Though every meal thus far has been shared amongst the crew, Law supposes they’ll have to fend for themselves this time. Kid doesn’t appear interested in going back out there, and Law doesn’t blame him. He sits on one of the kitchen counter’s stools as Kid rummages through the fridge, resting his head in his hands as he fights for consciousness. His captor’s words resound in his ears– “I ain’t talkin’ about the World Government’s bounty” –and he attempts to analyze their meaning; as far as he’s aware, the only other people putting out bounties would be the Cross Guild, but he’s only seen bounties for Marines.
“Oi.” The clinking of a plate against the black marble countertop pulls Law from his thoughts, and he opens his dry, itchy eyes to see a plateful of onigiri, some plain and some with pickled plum. “I know you probably ain’t hungry, but put something in your stomach at least.”
“You can have the ones with pickled plum in them.” Kid gives an affirmative grunt and sits down, choosing the stool closest to Law’s, but it doesn’t come as a surprise now. Law picks one up and his fingers throb with phantom pain– a consequence of instantaneous healing –but he knows that Kid won’t eat until he sees Law do so first.
However, even when he begins to eat, Kid still looks down at his plate, brow furrowed in what Law is sure is more complex than simple contemplation. He’s never been known for being particularly personable, but in the wake of last night, after they did… whatever the hell that was, Law feels a shift of some kind. And though it was uncomfortable to think about when he traversed the market alone this morning, he now finds himself prying when he wouldn’t have before.
“So I’ve noticed… with your eating habits, and all...” Law stumbles through it, searching for the right words. “You don’t eat until you know there’s enough food for everyone, right? I mean, that’s how it seems.”
“That obvious?” Kid chuckles. He smiles, but it’s weaker than usual, not the toothy, dimpled, feral beaming Law is used to. There are bags beneath his eyes, a tension in his features, but he’s still nice to look at; his still-drying hair is curling at the bottom, trailing down his bare shoulders and settling in the dips of his collarbones, and his freckles are so abundant that Law doubts he could ever count them all, even if he was given an entire day. He smiles a little wider when he catches Law staring, and Law doesn’t avert his gaze this time. “I know we’ve got more than enough to eat here. Food just wasn’t as easy to come by when we were growing up, is all. ‘M used to rationing everything out, making sure nobody’ll go hungry. Old habits die hard, I s’pose.”
Eustass Kid delays his own indulgence for the sake of his loved ones, even when he doesn’t need to. And wherever he and his crew came from, it must have been a desolate place. Law stows it away; two new tidbits of knowledge about Kid that he never expected to learn.
It brings back memories of being a little boy, frail and sickly, and Cora waiting to eat until he was sure Law would have enough to fill his stomach. He wonders if Kid and his crew had their own Cora; someone older, a guardian who helped them survive wherever they were. An image of Killer’s mother is conjured up– a faded picture of her kitsune mask on an old wanted poster–and he concludes that it’s too personal of a topic to broach.
“Kid-chan! Big brother Law!” Law’s ears ring at Dive’s high-pitched greeting. He thought she was outside with the rest of the crew, but here she is in the entryway, donning cozy pink pajamas and bed-head.
“There she is! C’mere, brat!” Kid scoops her up with surprising enthusiasm, placing her in his lap. He combs her hair with his fingers, ignoring her whining protests and flailing hands that try to bat his away. Her hair is exceptionally long when it’s down, cascading down her back and pooling into Kid’s lap. It must be difficult to manage. “I gotta give you a damned haircut.”
“But I like it long! Wi-chan got me some hair dye at the market though; will you dye my hair later?”
“Heh. Sure. What color?”
“Red! Like yours!” Kid’s grin suddenly drops. Law watches as he stares at the back of Dive’s head, chewing on his bottom lip. He doesn’t look angry, just emotional, as if Dive wanting to look like him is having a profound effect. She tilts her head back to look up at him and his smile returns, softer than it was before, and even though it’s meant for Dive and not him, Law still feels better for it.
“Good choice.”
“You got something in your hair…” Dive reaches up to pluck it out and brings it to her face, inspecting it closely. “It looks like skin! Were you fighting without me?”
“Someone took big brother Law this morning,” Kid explains, and hearing her nickname in his voice brings heat to Law’s cheeks. “I killed some people in order to find ‘im.”
“You were kidnapped?! Are you okay?” Dive’s eyes are wide with worry, and despite the morning he just had, Law chuckles.
“I’m fine. House-ya found me, but Kid-chan played a big role in it too.” Kid blushes all the way down to his chest, stuffing onigiri in his mouth like it’ll help any. His adorable nature is starting to become a problem. If he keeps it up, Law might just be doomed to stare at him forever-
Hold on. Where did that come from? Don’t think like that. This is a temporary alliance.
“Kid-chan saved me too! He’s great at helping people.”
“Hah?! Don’t make me out to be some kinda hero! I’m great at killing people.”
“You’re great at both!”
“What do you mean?” Law asks. “When did he save you?”
“I was kidnapped too, just like you were! But Kid-chan beat the bad guys and rescued me, and I’ve been here ever since. That was, um…” Dive trails off, counting on her fingers. “Six months ago?”
“And now you’re a kick-ass pirate, just like us!” Kid ruffles her freshly-combed hair, and she fruitlessly tries to fight him off again. Six months? Kid has only known Dive for six months? Law hadn’t given it much thought before, but he figured she was related to someone else on the crew. He wonders who took her. He wonders where her family is, but then again, he doubts Kid would still have her if she had a family to go home to.
“Can I go outside?”
“Mmhmm. Go get your energy out before we set sail again. And take one of these with you.” Kid sends her off with some onigiri. She puts it all in her mouth and runs off toward the door. “Oi! No running with food in your mouth!” Dive giggles but slows down, waving over her shoulder as she exits.
Law’s poor, aching head is thankful for the renewed silence. He sighs and squeezes his eyes shut, and then that big hand is between his shoulder blades again, far more grounding than he ever wanted it to be.
“You okay, baby?” The question is voiced in a thoughtful whisper, and the pet name is used for the first time outside of the bedroom. It’s jarring, just how soothing it is.
“Fine. Just tired,” Law says, not a complete lie. “Are you okay?”
“Been better.”
“What happened this morning? With the captives?”
“I wasn’t planning on killing ‘em. Was gonna let ‘em go, let ‘em take one of the other ships and get outta here, but… it was no use. None of ‘em could move. Some of ‘em didn’t even have any fucking limbs left. They didn’t have the strength to speak anymore, and when they looked at me I could- they just… they were halfway there already. They looked at me like they wanted to die.”
“You did the right thing, Eustass-ya.”
“How the hell d’you know?” He asks, voice raising in defense. “How d’you know you couldn’ta saved ‘em?”
“Because I trust you.” Kid takes a deep, shuddering breath beside him. The hand on Law’s back grabs his hand instead, gripping it tightly. “You’re sleep deprived, and you just had to make a very difficult decision. You should try to get some rest.”
“Will you come with me?”
“If you want me to.” Law uses his devil fruit ability to send them both up to the crow’s nest, despite his head pounding in defiance. He’s half-asleep the moment his back touches the mattress, but he wills his eyes to stay open as Kid undresses, stripping bare with the exception of his sock.
Dorky, his mind supplies. Adorable, another part of him adds; a part that has been speaking up rather loudly as of late, even if Law would prefer it stifled.
Kid climbs beneath the blanket and manhandles Law into the position he wants him in, turning him onto his side so he’ll be easier to cuddle with. Law is used to Kid’s physical affection in bed, to using his chest like a pillow, but Kid has other plans this time. He buries his face in Law’s chest instead, the duvet pulled up to his nose.
“Trafalgar?”
“Mmm.”
“Have you ever killed a kid?” Law’s heart races. Images flash through his mind: dark hospital hallways, a tiny hand in his own, a closet door, a promise made that he would return, a promise that went up in flames.
“Yeah, I have.”
“What did it feel like?” Law looks down at what little of Kid is still visible. For someone so large, in stature and in personality, he’s so small now; childlike, even, like he wants nothing more to be held, to be shielded away from the rest of the world, so Law cradles his head and brings him in closer. And oh how Law wishes, so desperately, that someone had been there for him all those years ago. He wishes someone could have held him close to their chest and said reassuring things. Maybe then he would have turned out alright.
“It felt like this.”
~o~ ~O~ ~o~
“Let’s see… ‘Rotten Peach’ Darla, captain of the Peachy Keen Pirates?” Killer muses, reading off of a wanted poster pinned to the wall.
In addition to the market’s many offerings, there are a handful of ships docked around the shore; once belonging to vendors and customers, now belonging to corpses in varying states of death. Needless to say they won’t be needing them anymore. The ship Killer chose to ransack is a pirate ship, given its jolly roger– a skull donning pink braids, with same-colored flowers in each corner –and it goes without saying that they had an affinity for peaches. Pink flowers fill the window boxes, for which Killer is thankful– now Kid won’t have to go to the trouble of building any –and peach trees in large pots line the deck, bursting with sweet-smelling fruit. Boogie and Compo are able to lift one each, and Mosh, two.
Killer busies himself with emptying out the kitchen, filling a nearby crate with generous amounts of meat and peach-flavored beer from the fridge. With any luck, this fridge won’t be too much of a hassle to carry back to their ship; it has a wooden door with a dark stain, perfect for Killer’s kitchen.
Is this really what you should be doing right now? Something inside of him hisses, and no, Killer should be inside, comforting Kid.
It isn’t uncommon for Kid to bury his enemies under a wave of screeching metal, or to pound them into a liquid state with his prosthetic arm. But the way he did so this morning spoke volumes to Killer about his emotional state. He took no joy in it like he usually does; it was fueled by anger and panic instead. In his frenzied search for Law, he left no survivors. Killer bore witness to the beginning of it, but not the end, and with the newfound understanding that Kid mercy-killed suffering captives, including a child, his stomach twists with guilt.
You should have been there. What kind of first mate avoids his captain?
A piss-poor first mate, Killer concludes. This inner-voice is nothing new; it’s a raging, hateful voice, one that was born the day Killer met Kid and vowed to protect him till his dying day. It only speaks up when Killer makes a mistake, and never when he does something worth praising. It contradicts itself constantly, reminding Killer that he doesn’t deserve to be by Kid’s side due to all of his shortcomings, and then scolding Killer when he secludes himself.
Kid loved the Victoria Punk so much. How could you let her be destroyed?
Kid already lost an arm on your watch- now you’ve let him lose a leg, maybe even an eye?
It’s because you ate that fruit, isn’t it? You’re losing yourself, Killer.
You shouldn’t be by his side. Why aren’t you by his side? You should be by his-
There’s only so much that Killer can take, only so many nights spent on the couch, only so many kisses pressed to his mask instead of his mouth, only so much self-inflicted torture. He finishes filling the crate and takes his leave, requesting that Mosh and the others carry the fridge and unscrew the window boxes on his way.
Killer walks along the shore, stopping to rinse the gore off of his boots before entering the ship. Bepo and Bubblegum are carrying armfuls of mink pelts; bits and pieces of an overheard conversation tell him that Bepo plans to give the pelts a traditional burial. Wire is carrying a box of drugs and medical supplies aboard, and Heat, a crate of dials of varying shape and color. Dive is awake now, lounging on the deck and already helping herself to some of the peaches.
Some of the bodies have been collected, likely being stored in the infirmary at House’s or Law’s behest. Amongst the ones still in the sand is the fishman girl. Killer doesn’t know if she’ll be of use with how little of her is left, but he doesn’t care. He crouches down to pick her up, embracing her the way he imagines her mother used to, and does his best to hide her from Dive’s view as he boards. When he reaches the infirmary, he lays her down on the one operating table that they have. He gently shuts her eyelids before he leaves, chest tight with emotion, but it’s surely nothing compared to how Kid is feeling.
His hesitation melts away as he climbs the ladder up to the crow’s nest, replaced with an overwhelming desire to take care of his captain.
As deep as he’s been in self-loathing lately, Killer has never even been inside the crow’s nest. A desk and chair sit in the corner to his right, cluttered with weed, rolling papers, and bits and pieces of various projects. Clothes are scattered about the floor, as is Kid’s nature, but curiously, the pillows are on the floor as well. The bed takes up the majority of the room, large enough for five people of Kid’s size at least. In the center of the mattress, wrapped in a white duvet that will inevitably be dyed red, are Law and Kid. Only the top of Kid’s head is visible, and Law holds him close in a manner that can only be considered protective.
Killer understands. Kid is an easy person to love.
It should be you in that bed. Someone else is succeeding where you’re failing. Killer ignores his inner-voice and watches the two of them instead. The curtainless windows that wrap around the room cast beams of light across the bed, illuminating the white bedding and Law’s tanned skin. He’s doll-like, Killer thinks; his thick, dark hair, his smooth skin, his delicate waist and thin frame. Even his tattoos are perfect, not a single line or letter out of place. He wouldn’t mind wrapping his arms around Law again, like he did last night. He wouldn’t mind doing even more, but he doesn’t have the same confidence in himself that he had before eating the smile fruit. They may have shared some friendly moments, but Killer doubts that Law will ever see him in such a way.
Law wakes, likely sensing that he’s being watched. It takes him a few sleepy moments to process the fact that Killer is standing there, and when he does, he just stares at him, cheeks pink and plush lips parted. Killer stares back, breathless.
“Room. Shambles.” Suddenly, their positions are swapped. Killer is under the duvet and Law is in the doorway, still blushing but with a hint of a smirk on his lips. “You better keep your promise, Killer-ya.”
He’s gone without another word. Killer is reminded of Law’s words from last night– “You need to communicate with him, Killer-ya” – and the promise that he made is one he intends to keep, not that he has much of a choice now; Kid, jostled by either Law’s speaking or the sudden change in cuddling partner, groans and opens his eye. When he realizes that his face is squished against the deep-blue fabric of Killer’s shirt, his breath hitches.
“Kil’,” he gasps, looking up at him like one might a ghost. Killer hasn’t been maskless in front of Kid since their escape from Udon. He hasn’t fucked him since Kaido’s defeat. He hasn’t shared a bed with him since their loss to Shanks, and of all the pain Killer has felt lately, nothing hurts more than the notion that Kid didn’t expect his company-
His mask is promptly pulled from his head, not of his own volition, but by Kid’s devil fruit ability. And the moment it’s gone Kid lunges for him, gripping his hair and smashing their mouths together. Kid’s lips are demanding, his tongue is warm, he tastes exactly how Killer remembers, and he feels like he’s been drowning for weeks, but he’s finally, finally taking a big gulp of air.
Kid pulls Killer on top of him, one leg trapping him, and the other, barely there, tries valiantly but can’t hook around Killer’s hip the way it used to. He struggles with Killer’s button and zipper, too frantic to pull away, even for his own benefit. As soon as his cock is freed, Killer aligns himself and thrusts in deep.
It wasn’t supposed to go this way. They were supposed to be talking, and instead Kid’s lips are trembling, eye swimming with tears.
“Kil’,” it’s a sob this time, “where the fuck have you been?!”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so, so sorry.” For eating the fruit, for not jumping in front of Shanks’ attack in time, for not being the first mate that Kid deserves, for leaving him to struggle alone in the wake of all that’s happened to them, for everything, and he kisses the top of Kid’s head, muffling tearful laughter in his hair. Even when Kid is only an inch away from him, there’s been no getting through Killer’s mile-thick walls. Now it’s time for these walls, that never should have been up in the first place, to come down.
“Never leave me again!”
“Never. Never.” Killer kisses him and hopes that Kid can feel his determination. The platinum barbell on his tongue knocks against Kid’s teeth, clinking together like celebratory glasses, and this is something worth celebrating; the reunion of two people who should have never been apart, physically or otherwise, for even a second.
Killer is the type of lover to slide pillows beneath Kid’s back and thighs first, to open him up slowly with foreplay that takes all day, and instead he’s bear hugging him, fucking him with a desperation he’s never known. And Kid takes it as well as he takes everything else, arching off the bed even with Killer’s weight holding him down, moaning with such intensity that if Killer’s destructive inner-voice were roaring in his ears, it would be impossible to hear it. He pulses around Killer’s cock, his one remaining hand digging crescents into his back, his one remaining heel digging into the flesh of his ass, and Killer fears the day when Kid won’t have enough parts left to hold him like this.
He’ll never let that happen. Never.
“When you’re hurting, Kil’, hurt with me,” he begs, tears escaping, rolling down the corner of his eye to his hair. “When you’re suffering, suffer with me! Don’t just leave!”
Fuck, he really has been suffering lately, every part of him at war with itself. He thinks back to this morning, picking up Law’s unconscious body after House dragged him halfway across the island; the seastone chains brushed against Killer’s skin only lightly, but it was still enough to bring him to his knees until House resituated it. Such a high concentration, but still doing nothing to cure Killer’s smile. And he thought to himself, just for a moment, that it would be so nice if it did work, even if it would cripple him forever.
But it’s moments like these, when Kid is crying on his cock, caressing his face in such a worshipful manner, that Killer thinks he might grow to accept everything that’s happened to him. To both of them.
“My spirit is so broken,” Killer admits. “I’m afraid I’ll never be the same again.”
“It’s okay. You’re still you, Kil’, I know you, I love you more than anyone,” his assurance is whiny, so thick with emotion that Killer can’t contain his own tears. “It’ll all be okay, ‘cause you have me, and ‘M never gonna let you fall apart. We’ll figure it out together, I promise.”
“I love you, more than anyone, more than anything,” Killer’s vow devolves into a wheeze as the barbells along his cock suddenly begin to vibrate, and he gnaws at Kid’s shoulder as laughter spills from his lips in lieu of moans. It’s taken him years of practice to not cum the instant Kid does it, but it still signifies the beginning of the end. A few more rough thrusts and Kid is cumming, howling with his release. Killer is close behind, filling Kid up, and the vibrations cease the moment they become too much to bear.
“Missed you so much, Kil’. Like fucking crazy.”
“I missed you too, sweetheart. I’m so-”
“Don’t be sorry. Just be here, okay? I need you.”
“I think I can manage that.” He kisses Kid’s face, lips finding his favorite freckles: a big one on Kid’s left cheek, two little ones that overlap to form an almost-heart on his chin, a cluster of tiny ones beneath Kid’s healthy eye that stand out amongst the rest, and Kid preens below him, so precious that Killer’s heart aches. “How’s your leg? Did I put any strain on it?”
“My leg is fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you sure? Have you been taking your painkillers? You’ve had a limp lately and-” Kid silences him with a kiss, soft and adoring. “-and you keep walking on it even though Trafalgar tells you not to-” Kid does it again, with more insistence. “-Kid.”
“What?”
“You’re kissing me to try and shut me up.”
“Me?! I would never. I’m insulted that you would think such a thing.” Kid’s feigned pout is half-assed; the corners of his lips curl into a cheeky smile, betraying him. He hums mirthfully when Killer kisses his dimple. “No more sleeping on the couch. I sleep like shit without you holding me.”
“But what about Trafalgar?”
“Trafalgar can deal with it, or he can sleep on the damned couch,” Kid declares. “I don’t think he’ll care either way, though. He likes you.”
“Oh really.”
“Mmhmm.”
“He told you that?”
“Well, it ain’t so much that he said it, but I talked dirty about you and it made ‘im cum. So I’d say that counts.”
“It does not.”
“You say that, but you’re smiling, so-”
“Eustass Kid,” Killer laughs, only because he has to. He covers his mouth, hiding it from Kid’s view, and lifts his bangs to show him his unimpressed gaze. “Do I look pleased to you?”
“You look pretty.”
“Deflection will get you nowhere.” It’s one of the least believable lies Killer has ever told. Anything will get Kid everywhere when it comes to him, and Kid knows it; he pulls Killer down for another kiss, and his slate is wiped clean in an instant. “I carried that fishman girl to the infirmary before I came up here.”
“You did?” Kid’s melancholy tone comes as no surprise. Though his plan to come up here and comfort Kid didn’t go according to plan, Killer still wants to take the time to do so. “I didn’t think it would get to me so much. I had no problem killing kids when I was a kid, but this time… it just felt different.”
“She wasn’t like the children on Kutsukku,” Killer reminds him. “She wasn’t a threat to you. It makes sense that it would hurt, sweetheart. But with the shape she was in, you made the right call.”
“Thanks, Kil’.” Kid’s grip on him intensifies. Killer is still inside him, their limbs still intertwined, but Killer doesn’t have the strength to disconnect from him. He missed Kid’s warmth, and his soft tummy, and the way he clings to him like he never wants to let him go. “Trafalgar said the same thing, y’know. I never pegged ‘im as being the reassuring type, but he’s come through for me a couple times. And speaking of… there’s something I gotta tell you.”
“What is it?”
“You were right. Dive did tell me something last night.”
~o~ ~O~ ~o~
“Captain!! Why did I have to hear from Wire that you were kidnapped this morning?!”
“I’m fine, Bepo. It was just a… light kidnapping.”
As if Law didn’t feel beaten down already, being prematurely woken from his nap has left him worse for wear. He hoped that the infirmary would be void of activity, so he could be wrist-deep in body cavities in peace, but he arrived to find House and an overly-concerned Bepo.
“Did you scan yourself?”
“I did.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I have a small concussion-” Bepo gasps shrilly, much to the chagrin of Law’s head- “a small concussion, I said! No thanks to a certain someone dragging me through hallways, up stairs, and across an island!”
“Who, me?” House asks as she sorts through a crate of illicit drugs. Law’s drug knowledge doesn’t extend much further than pharmaceuticals, and the vibrant liquids, powders and pills that House is placing on the infirmary’s wooden shelves are completely foreign to him. He’s only slightly worried that someone might come in here searching for painkillers and end up tripping balls instead, or worse, dead.
“Yes you,” Law mutters. The day has been a wash thus far, but he hopes that he can turn things around with a certain experiment he has planned. He grabs three of the cadavers and lays them down on the floor. Then he sits in the middle of them and forms a small room.
“What’re you doing, Captain?”
“I’m going to try reviving these organs with my devil fruit ability. It would be wise to have some spare parts lying around, knowing this crew.” Law keeps the thought to himself, but he wonders what kind of state their crew is in; if they’re being tortured, if they’re missing any fingers, or toes, or more, and it’s best to be prepared for any and all outcomes.
It’ll be a stamina-draining process, one that Law has only successfully done on frogs, but what is a person, really, if not a giant frog? He has the necessary fluids on hand; all he needs now is to pump them through the cadavers, and hope that the organs will begin to repair themselves. Then he can remove them with “amputate” and preserve them eternally in the transparent cubes that his devil fruit provides. “Scan.”
Time slows down for a while. Law sits, cross-legged, and watches the fluids circulate throughout the bodies. Whatever House and Bepo are talking about fades into the background. He’s exhausted, so much so that he can’t even think clearly, but it’s still a meditative experience. Law could probably do with a little less thinking, anyway.
“I can’t believe my eyes, boyo! This body has been dead for hours!” House holds up a healthy liver, encased in a gelatin-like cube. Law isn’t sure how long it took– maybe an hour, maybe more –but the organs in all three bodies are now ready for harvesting. “How about their tongues? Can ya remove those too?”
“Sure. What do you want them for?”
“Well, Heat’s always bitchin’ ‘bout his. Says the one Kid made him doesn’t work as well as the real thing!” As long as it’s transplanted correctly, Heat should be able to taste just as well as he did before, but Law saves a few just in case. He adds them to the growing pile of organ-, teeth-, and phalange-filled cubes, and House picks some of them up, stacking them on top of one another.
“What are you doing with those?”
“Makin’ a throne,” she says, like it should be obvious, and Law won’t admit it aloud, but he’s shocked that he’s never thought to do the same. House completes her “throne”– more of an armchair, really –and reclines with a contented sigh. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”
What a bizarre woman.
Law gathers the next round of bodies, and then he sees her: the little fishman girl, kindly placed on the operating table. Someone was even courteous enough to close her eyes. She looks peaceful, if Law doesn’t look below her neck.
Law allows himself to think of Lami. He wonders what she looked like in the end. If the flames took her, or if someone found her first. If her body would even be recognizable to him, after whatever happened to it.
He doesn’t want to take anything else from this child. She’s lost enough, even if her soul is no longer in her body. She barely has anything left to give-
“You’ll never catch me, Heat–chan!” In the infirmary’s open doorway, Law sees Dive run by. She’s giggling, carrying an armful of peaches, and one falls to the floor in her haste. He sees Heat a few moments later; he’s barely at a jog, letting Dive win whatever game they’re playing.
“Come back here, Lami!”
“You’ll never catch me, big brother Law!”
Law’s weary eyes drift down to the dead girl’s gills. He considers a hypothetical: Dive’s gills being torn or shredded in a fight, or by a sea king in the water, where he wouldn’t be able to prevent it. He couldn’t keep his promise to Lami, but with the help of this girl, he could save Dive in the event of an emergency.
Her body is carefully lowered to the floor and Law gets to work. It’s far more bittersweet than meditative this time.
Halfway through, Kid comes into the infirmary. One look at his face and Law can tell that he and Killer have made up; the tension in his features is absent, and his familiar smile is back, but it wavers when he sees Law on the floor with the girl.
“I’m restoring her gills,” he says before Kid can ask. “If Dive’s are ever damaged, I can transplant them… fishman gills aren’t easy to come by, you know. These will be a life-saver if she needs them someday.”
“You really mean that?”
“I really do.” Kid steps into his room and kneels down to gently kiss him. The misery that Law tasted on Kid’s lips earlier is gone now, replaced with the genuine affection that he’s growing accustomed to. And though he’s thankful to see that House and Bepo are too occupied with other things to notice Kid’s display of affection, he thinks that maybe he should tell Bepo the truth after all; in the days that remain of this rescue mission, Law doesn’t plan to stop kissing this sweet, stubborn oaf.
“If you weren’t here, then these bodies would be worthless; if she ever needs those gills someday, she’ll have them because of you.” Kid cups his cheek, and then drags his thumb across the earring that he made for him. “Guess we make a pretty good team, huh?”
Kid looks at Law with a twinkle of hope in his eye, and it’s beautiful, and Law doesn’t feel so wrong for feeling that way anymore.
“Yeah. I guess we do.”