#law reader insert

He called it his “party trick,” a loaded description that raised too many questions. You couldn’t conjure any scenario in which Law willingly attended a social setting that resembled a party, let alone one where he made a spectacle of himself. 

When he first demonstrated it, you didn’t think his “trick” would come up often, let alone regularly. The two of you hardly ever went to parties, and since he called it a “party trick,” you’d assumed it only came out at actual parties. You should have known better.

On a somewhat lesser note, you couldn’t envision anyone being too engaged with a man with the posture of a shrimp, methodically palpating forearms. As his tattooed fingers pressed firmly on your cubital fossa, it became harder to imagine the appeal. 

You were having a great time cuddling, even as the clock ticked by—that was until Law’s arm snaked under yours. The fingers of his left hand caressed your wrist, positioning it facing upward on his thigh. Then, seemingly absentmindedly, he probed your inner elbow. You didn’t necessarily mind him touching them, but you didn’t appreciate him poking his nail against your vein.

“Stop it.” You turned to him, frowning. “You’re doing it again.”

Law didn’t react, keeping his eyes glued to the TV. You had to consider that this was Law’s version of a perfect night in: Sixty Minutes of Russian Dashcam Footage on YouTube while feeling up your veins. Meanwhile, you’d sunk forty-seven minutes into this clinical cuddle session, and Law hadn’t given you a milliliter of attention. 

“Hm?” He didn’t even acknowledge you as he rolled your vein back and forth. You could see the reflection of two cars colliding in his pupils. 

Only when you slapped his hand did he seem to come out of his trance, blinking a few times before finally glancing your way. 

“You don’t get to neglect me and play with them,” you hissed, retreating to the opposite side of the couch and taking custody of the blankets as you went. “It’s creepy.” 

You curled up in the corner, kicking your feet into Law’s lap. If he wanted to repent, he could pay the toll with a foot rub. 

Law glanced from your exposed ankle up to your face. Wordlessly, he paused the video on the TV without looking. “Did you just call me creepy?” he deadpanned, already on the move. Law grasped your ankle and gently set it on the edge of the cushions. 

“Yeah,” you huffed, raising your knee to block Law’s path as he crawled toward you. “I think playing with my organs through my skin is creepy.” 

Your attempt to obstruct him didn’t do much. You let out an exaggerated groan as Law unceremoniously plopped his weight onto you. You continued to make dramatic sputtering sounds as Law’s face settled into your chest. His hand ran up your arm, gently grasping your hand next to your head. 

“You’ve got nice veins,” Law mused, rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. “Which, by the way—” He propped himself up on his elbows. “Aren’t classified as organs.”

You choked out another wheeze. “Heavy nerd… crushing my rib cage!” you gasped. You brought your free hand to your forehead, swooning. “If only a doctor were nearby to give me CPR and stop messing with my veins!”

You reached over and smacked his fingers; he’d been toying with a vein on the back of your hand even as he held it. Law recoiled from your touch at the reprimand, and you returned to your dramatic swooning. 

“CPR would surely resuscitate me!” you declared breathlessly. “And don’t forget the love and attention on the side…”

Law glanced down, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt. “Oh yeah,” he hummed, his fingertips grazing your stomach. “I can start chest compressions right now.”

“Hey!” You scrambled up, your back pressed against the couch’s armrest. Law still knelt between your thighs. His eyes glimmered with playful mischief. Must’ve been all the car crashes. You prodded a finger at his chest. “You, sir, are in a mood today.”  

“I’m in a mood?” he mocked offense. “With the way you’ve been rolling your eyes at me?” 

You leaned forward, cupping Law’s face in both hands. You tsked a few times, shaking your head. “Baby, baby, hey. Shhh…” Law stared at you, unamused, as you pressed a finger to his lips. “I hate to break it to you, but there are only so many car crashes you can see before they all start to look the same.” 

You felt Law grin.

“Okay, but did you see that one with the bridge?” he asked. 

You let out another groan and let yourself collapse back onto the couch. “Fine,” you stressed. “Forget about me. Forget about what time it is. Go back to watching your car accidents, you freak.” 

Law’s brows furrowed. “What time is it?” He glanced at the clock, studying the numbers for a moment. “Oh,” Law hummed, understanding. “You want ice cream.”

You shook your head. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“C’mon,” Law groaned as he lifted himself off the couch. He walked to the kitchen, and you could hear the jingle of his keys. “Let’s go. We can get you ice cream.”

You turned to lean over the armrest, your mouth gaping. “Not if you’re going to say it like that.” 

Law appeared in the door frame, a frown on his lips. “Like what?” he asked. 

“We’re only getting me ice cream?” you gasped in horror, already melting back into the couch. 

Law’s frown remained as he watched you tug the blankets back onto you. Yeah, you were in a mood today. 

“It’s expensive,” Law said, as if that would help. You cocooned yourself even deeper. Law shook his head and crossed the room to rip you out into the real world. You cried out in protest. “Oh, so you’re going to be difficult now that I’m taking you to ice cream?” 

He scooped you off the couch, ushering you to the door. You smirked the whole time, victorious in getting your way. 

——

The air smelled like sea salt and grilled skewers as the Heart Pirates scattered across the town’s open market. You were trailing behind Law, not because he asked you to, but because you always somehow ended up keeping pace with him when the crew made port.

He didn’t talk much, but his presence was…comfortable. You liked how he moved with purpose, always scanning quietly, arms tucked in his pockets. You weren’t even sure if he noticed you next to him most of the time.

Then something unusual happened.

He slowed near a small stand. Handcrafted trinkets swung from a canopy strung with beads—keychains, hairpins, and other things that screamed cute. That alone was enough to catch your attention. But what caught your eye more was him. Staring. At a chubby white seal keychain with a tiny pirate hat.

You blinked. No way.

You glanced at him again, noticing that he was still staring at the keychain, his expression unreadable. But you could see the way his fingers twitched, just barely, as if he wanted to reach out but was stopping himself. A strange flutter tickled at your chest.

He quickly stepped back, eyes scanning the crowd like nothing had happened. But you could feel a warmth spread through you at the thought that he—Law, the stoic and always composed captain—had been admiring something so… cute.

You couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips.

⸻

You waited until the crew had returned to the ship. When Law had gone to oversee the loading of supplies, you slipped back to the marketplace and made your way to the vendor. The old woman with the sunhat noticed you right away.

“Back for that seal?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

You picked it up, holding it in your hand as you smiled at her. “Something like that,” you said, trying to keep your tone casual.

She chuckled knowingly and wrapped the keychain in a piece of cloth before handing it to you. You paid, feeling a small excitement building in your chest as you thought about what you were about to do.

It wasn’t much—a simple keychain. But you had a feeling it would mean more than Law would admit.

⸻

Later that night, on the Polar Tang, you stood outside the captain’s quarters. Your hand hovered near your pocket. Nerves bubbled in your chest like carbonated soda.

Just give it. It’s not a confession. It’s just a keychain.

Knocking lightly, you stepped in when he called.

Law glanced up from his maps. “What is it?”

You tossed the wrapped keychain on his desk. “Don’t open it until I leave.”

His brow lifted. “Why?”

“Because if you make a face, I don’t want to see it.”

That got a rare smirk out of him. “You’re assuming I’d react.”

“I know you’d react,” you said, backing toward the door. “And you better not throw it out.”

You were gone before he could say anything else.

⸻

A few days had passed, and the crew had been busy with the usual preparations. You were securing boxes with Penguin when you spotted something strange on the deck.

Law stood by the stern of the ship, his ever-present sword, Kikoku, resting on his shoulder as usual. But this time… something new had been added.

A tiny white seal keychain dangled from the guard of Kikoku. The sight of it made your heart skip a beat, and before you could stop yourself, you rushed over to Shachi, who was standing nearby.

“Wait, is that…?” Shachi leaned in closer, his eyes widening. “That wasn’t there before, right?”

You quickly tugged him away, your face flushing with a mix of excitement and embarrassment. “Don’t ask.”

Shachi raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. “Why not?”

You smiled, trying to keep the moment between you and Law private. “Because he doesn’t want anyone to know.”

⸻

Later that day, you found yourself walking down the hallway, lost in thought. You hadn’t meant to run into Law, but of course, you did. He was standing there, leaning against the wall as if lost in his thoughts.

For a moment, you just watched him, noticing the way his shoulders relaxed, his usually guarded expression softened just a bit. He hadn’t noticed you yet, but you couldn’t resist the urge to speak up.

“It looks good on Kikoku,” you said, your voice quiet but carrying through the space between you.

Law turned slowly, his eyes locking onto yours for a brief moment before shifting away again. “You said not to throw it out,” he replied, his voice low, but there was something almost… shy in his tone.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest. “I didn’t expect you to actually use it,” you said softly, walking toward him with a teasing glint in your eyes.

Law’s eyes flicked down to the keychain, then back to you. He didn’t say anything at first, as if weighing his words carefully. Then, in a voice so quiet you almost missed it, he muttered, “Don’t tell the crew I like it.”

You blinked, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He didn’t respond, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, as if unsure how to continue. And you, for the first time in a while, felt that fluttering warmth deep in your chest. Something had shifted between the two of you, something unspoken but undeniable.

⸻

That night, after the rest of the crew had retired for the evening, you stayed behind in the mess hall. The air was thick with the scent of leftover food and the faint hum of the ship’s engines. You sat at one of the tables, your fingers idly tracing the rim of your cup.

A few minutes later, Law walked in, holding a cup of tea in his hand. He looked around, and when his gaze landed on you, he paused for a moment, clearly surprised that you were still there.

He walked over to the table and sat across from you, his posture relaxed, as if he’d grown accustomed to having you around. The silence between you was different tonight—easier, comfortable even. It wasn’t heavy or awkward.

After a few moments, he broke the silence. “Why do you always sit near me?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You looked up at him, a playful grin crossing your face. “Because you let me,” you said, leaning back in your chair.

He stared at you for a moment, his lips slightly parted as if unsure how to respond. “It’s not that I mind,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “So, you do mind?”

He caught your gaze, then looked away, his cheeks slightly flushed. “That’s not what I said.”

Your heart fluttered at the unexpected vulnerability in his voice. You leaned forward slightly, your hand resting on the table. “Do you like cute things, Law, or just that seal?”

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, his fingers tapped his cup thoughtfully. “…I like some things,” he said, his voice unusually soft.

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

Law finally looked at you, his eyes intense. He paused for a beat before speaking, his words carrying an unexpected weight. “Like you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, neither of you moved. You couldn’t believe he had just said that. The air between you felt charged, thick with unspoken emotions.

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “You think I’m cute?”

His lips twitched slightly. “You’re cute when you’re not annoying.”

You laughed, feeling the warmth rush to your cheeks. “Wow. High praise.”

He smirked, clearly amused by your reaction. But there was something softer in his eyes now—something that told you he wasn’t just teasing.

⸻

The conversation lingered between you both like a quiet melody, filling the empty space of the mess hall. You could feel the tension building, the unspoken words that hovered between your breaths. The moment felt fragile, as though it could slip away if you didn’t do something.

You stood slowly, feeling the weight of his gaze on you as you moved. “What’s the matter, Law?” you said, your voice low, teasing. “You going to do something about this?”

He didn’t move. His gaze stayed locked on yours.

“Try me,” he said.

So you did.

You leaned down, kissed him gently—warm, slow, real.

And when you pulled back, you caught it. That flicker of red near his ears.

“Don’t tell the crew about this either?” you whispered.

“Why the fuck is there a gun in your car?”

Law didn’t move. His expression didn’t shift. But something in the air changed.

“It’s just precaution” he said after a beat.

“Precaution? What the hell does that mean?” You sat up straighter, eyes wide now. “Do you use it?”

He looked away, jaw tense. “Only if I have to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He sighed and ran a hand over his curls. “Baby, you know what I’m involved in. You knew when you got with me.”

“I knew you dealt” you said, voice shaking, “but this? You didn’t tell me you were out here carrying guns. You didn’t tell me it was this real.”

“It’s protection.”

“From what, Law? Who the hell are you protecting yourself from if you’re doing this ‘quiet’ like you said?”

His silence was loud.

You stared at him, mouth dry.

“Have you used it before?”

More silence.

Then,

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t said with pride. Or guilt. Just truth.

Your chest tightened. You felt suddenly small in that passenger seat.

“This isn’t the life I want” you whispered. “Not for you. Not for me.”

His eyes cut to yours.

“And you think I do? You think I want this forever? I carry that because I got too much to lose now. You. Us. I can’t have people thinking I’m soft just ’cause I fell in love.”

That stunned you.

He looked away, swallowing.

“You’re not in danger. I keep all this separate. But if someone tried something? I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d protect you. Every time.”

You didn’t speak for a long moment.

Finally, you whispered: “I don’t want to lose you to a bullet or a sentence.”

His hand found yours—squeezing tight.

“You won’t,” he said. “But if you need me to walk away from all that—for real—I will.”

You looked at him, eyes glassy.

“Promise?”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles.

“I promise, baby.”

You weren’t sure if you believed it yet. But in that moment, the honesty, the tension, the fear and love all braided together—it felt real.

—

You never asked him to stop.

You could’ve. You thought about it a hundred times—when he came home late with tense shoulders, or when his phone lit up with names you didn’t recognize. You saw the look in his eyes sometimes, quiet and calculating, like he was always five steps ahead of someone you couldn’t see.

But he always came home.

He never lied to you.

And most nights, he worshipped you like you were the only thing in his world untouched by all that dirt.

He spoiled you. Softened you. Let you see parts of him no one else got—his low chuckles when you teased him, the way he buried his face in your neck when he was overwhelmed, the late-night skin-on-skin talks where he’d run his fingers down your spine and confess things he couldn’t say in the daylight.

You never said it out loud, but you were scared.

Every time he left, that fear coiled low in your stomach. Not because you didn’t trust him—but because you knew what that life came with. And you loved him more than your pride wanted to admit.

So when your birthday came around, you didn’t expect much. You never did.

But Law had different plans.

He told you to pack a bag—just a weekend one. Didn’t say where. Just picked you up around sunset in his newly detailed car, eyes dark with something between lust and pride when he saw you step outside in that short, tight dress.

“Damn” he said, tongue grazing his teeth as he helped you in. “Birthday girl’s tryna kill me early.”

You smirked. “It’s my day, right?”

“It’s your world.”

The resort was just outside the city—private suite, balcony hot tub, candles lit like the place had been prepped by hand. And it had.

You barely had time to compliment the view before he was on you—spinning you around, lips on your neck, hands gripping the backs of your thighs.

“Didn’t even get to dinner yet” you teased.

“Dinner can wait” he muttered, voice already thick.

He lifted you with ease, laying you out on the bed like he’d dreamed about it all day. His mouth left heat wherever it touched—your collarbones, your stomach, the inside of your thighs.

“Let me take care of you tonight” he said, fingers already sliding under your panties, “just you. No stress. No outside shit.”

You nodded, breath hitching, your body already trembling from the way he touched you like you were breakable.

But his hands didn’t stay soft for long.

He had you moaning within minutes, head thrown back, his tongue deep between your thighs, working you slow until your legs shook against his shoulders. He didn’t stop until you were begging.

Then came the teasing—grinding his hips against yours without giving in, letting you feel just how hard he was while he whispered in your ear

“You gonna ride it for me, birthday girl?”

You nodded fast—real fast, already pulling his dick free, already aching to be filled. Licking a long stripe up his shaft before repositioning yourself in his lap. sank down on him slow, mouth falling open as you stretched around him, his hands gripping your hips tight.

You started to move—slow, deep rolls of your hips, using him just the way he loved watching you do. His hands slid up your waist to your tits, gripping, squeezing, his head tilted back with a groan.

“Just like that—fuck ‘ma” he said, voice low. “Take what you need.”

You rode him until your legs couldn’t take anymore—until you were panting, shaking, falling forward into his chest.

He didn’t mind.

Law flipped you with ease, taking over, thrusting into you deep and steady, each stroke hitting perfect, his hand gripping your thigh high, thumb rubbing circles on your clit.

You came again under him, gasping his name, and he followed with a grunt, burying himself deep, holding you close like he couldn’t bear to let go.

—

Later, you laid tangled in sheets, your head on his chest, heart still fluttering.

“You okay?” he asked softly, brushing hair from your face.

You nodded. “Better than okay.”

He hesitated. “I know you don’t like what I do. I know it scares you.”

You looked up at him. “I don’t need you to be someone else. Just… promise me you’ll be careful.”

His jaw flexed. “For you? Always.”

And just when you thought the night was done, he stood, walked to the closet—and came back with a tiny velvet box.

You blinked. “What is—?”

“Open it.”

Inside, a delicate diamond necklace. Thin, sparkling, with your initials twined into the center in gold.

Not a ring. But something close.

“I want people to know you’re mine” he said. “Even if I’m not ready to give you the last name yet.”

You smiled, heart aching with how full it was.

“You’re really trying to ruin every man for me, huh?”

He smirked, leaning down to kiss you again, slow and deep.

“That’s the plan.”

—

—

The week after your birthday trip, everything should’ve been golden.

You were still glowing — from the sex, the gifts, the way he made you feel like the only girl in the universe. You were wearing the necklace he gave you, his initials warm against your collarbone, curled up on the couch in one of his shirts, flipping through menus for takeout.

But Law had been pacing.

Phone in hand. Jaw tight. Chain swinging low over his chest with every slow turn.

You didn’t want to ask.

You knew that look too well.

Eventually, he stopped in front of the door and turned back toward you.

“Gotta step out real quick” he muttered, grabbing his jacket from the back of the couch.

Your heart dropped, just a little. “Right now?”

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be long.”

“Is it serious?”

He paused. Just for a beat.

“Nah. Just checking someone.”

You stared at him, lips parting to say don’t go—but you swallowed it. Nodded instead.

“Be careful” you said quietly.

His expression softened. He crossed back over, leaned down, kissed you deep—once, then again, like he didn’t want to leave either.

“Always am, mama. You know that.”

—

You tried not to spiral, but hours passed. No texts. No updates. It was supposed to be ten minutes.

You were going to tell him that night.

The test sat hidden in your purse, wrapped in a tissue, your fingers tracing the edge of the stick every five minutes like it would change. Two pink lines.

You were pregnant. Nothing official besides the clearblue test you took.

Your heart had been racing all day—caught between excitement and dread. You weren’t ready. He wasn’t ready. But still… it was his. Yours.

And somehow, deep down, that made it feel okay.

He said he’d be back before midnight. “Just a drop-off” he told you. “Ten minutes, tops.” So why was he late?

So you waited.

And waited.

And when your phone rang at 12:47AM, it wasn’t his name on the screen. It was Kilo’s. One of his guys. Voice tight. Shaky.

“Yo. It’s bad. We at County.”

You woke up gently the next morning, consciousness massaging at your body until your eyes fluttered open to the diffused daylight. You let out a soft moan into the pillow, soft blankets twisting around you as you turned on your side. You settled back into the mattress.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt well-rested, let alone properly relaxed. You stretched your legs out, a few muted cracks popping from your overworked joints. The night’s sleep relieved you of the heaviness you’d been carrying, melting the stress away into the cozy warmth surrounding you.

You nestled farther into the wool blanket you’d pulled over yourself during the night. It’d been a while since you were able to wake up on your own terms, and the gentle rocking of the submarine nearly lulled you back to sleep. Your forehead relaxed as you drifted deeper into the plush under your head. The curtain of sleep began to draw over you again.

Wait.

Submarine.

You shot up in bed, a sharp electric pang shooting through your chest. 

For one stupid, groggy moment, you had no idea where you were. 

You certainly weren’t in your own quarters. The room around you was cool and lit gently by the miniscule sunlight that poured through the porthole. The walls were metal, and the ceiling hung low. The hall outside remained silent as a church, and the scent of clean fabric, soap, and nitrile gloves laced the light breeze that blew from the vents. 

The memory of Law hit you at the same time the knot in your stomach did. You had been desperate, and in your sleep-deprived state, you were certain you would have passed out in a dumpster if it were quiet enough. 

But this wasn’t a dumpster.

No, this was—

“Shit,” you breathed, tossing your legs over the side of the mattress to walk toward the porthole. 

You hardly made it two steps from the window before you recoiled. You flinched at the light that trickled through. The sun was brighter than it should have been.

You scrambled toward the clock on the desk before you froze. 

Noon.

It was past noon.

You slept through the entire morning. On the first day you promised to help Sanji, you missed breakfast service, prep, cleanup—hell, you likely missed lunch prep if you hadn’t already missed lunch. 

Considering how everyone was on high alert in preparation for the raid on Onigashima, you wouldn’t be surprised if your crew had torn half the harbor apart looking for you. Or worse. 

Your fingers fumbled as you pulled on your shoes.

The morning passed. 

Half the day had passed with you missing.

And you were in Trafalgar Law’s bed. 

You made short work of the locks, throwing your body weight into heaving the heavy door open. You glanced over your shoulder, quickly scanning the room to make sure you didn’t leave anything behind. 

But you stopped dead as you turned to face the hallway. 

The ship had been so quiet that you nearly forgot that a crew lived there. 

Nearly. 

The two men at the far end of the corridor had gone as still as you. They gaped, their lips poised to say something before they exchanged glances quietly. 

“Uh,” the one with the penguin hat blurted. “Wait…”

The one in the orca hat blinked at you a few times. “Is that—?”

You stood in the doorway of Law’s cabin in your slept-in clothes, messy hair, and half-toggled-on shoes. 

“I’m not—” you started before falling silent. You didn’t even know how to finish that sentence. “How do I get out of here?”

They both instinctively stepped back.

“Down this hall.” Penguin-Hat pointed down the corridor. 

Orca-Hat pointed up. “Up the stairs and to the left, then straight to the main hatch.”

You glanced away, bobbing your head unconvincingly. You sped down the hall at a pace just short of a jog. As you passed Orca-Hat and Penguin-Hat, you refused to look at them. 

You scurried through the metal corridors as quickly as you could muster. You rounded the corner, smoothing out your shirt before your left heel finally settled comfortably in your shoe. 

What looked awfully like a main door sat straight ahead, but the closer you grew, the longer you stalled. 

It wasn’t enough that you’d stayed the night in Trafalgar Law’s cabin. You could come up with several excuses for your absence that you could force Kid to buy with sheer stubbornness alone.

At the very least, your crew had to have noticed your absence by now. There was only so much pounding they could do on your door before someone noticed your cabin was empty. You might’ve been able to explain your absence for the night. The crew barely held a sleep schedule as it was. You had just fought with Kid. If you’d been gone for a few hours, you could’ve explained that you were blowing off steam. 

But leaving the Polar Tang in broad daylight was another beast. 

Perhaps if it were still early in the morning, you could’ve slipped out quietly, but given the time of day, you knew everyone was gathered on the shore outside that door. The question wasn’t if someone would spot you, but who. 

You heaved a breath in, attempting to muster your most neutral energy as you stepped onto the deck. You kept your head down all the way to the gangway, and once you reached the shore, your stride slowed. 

You glanced around. 

Perhaps you got lucky. With all the preparation and the people gathered, no one might have noticed your absence. The harbor bustled with people, cargo, and plans far more important than where you’d been sleeping last night.

Maybe you didn’t have to explain a thing. Maybe you could get back to the Victoria Punk and slip out quietly to help Sanji as if you’d been there all morning. If you played it cool enough, you might even convince yourself that this was all a part of your normal routine: climbing out your window in the middle of the night and returning from a rival crew’s submarine looking a little too well-rested and guilty.

But as you continued toward the Victoria Punk, a familiar voice rang out loudly over the usual commotion of the docks. 

“I heard what you said! Say it again!” 

“I wasn’t talking about your crewmate, I swear.”

“Bullshit! You know something.”

Your eyes widened as you scrambled across the sand. Just as you dreaded, a familiar patch of red hair came into view. A familiar figure was shrunken in his shadow.

“I don’t know anything about your crew,” she whimpered. 

You recognized her curly hair. You remembered seeing her the night before. That was the woman who was on watch when you entered the Polar Tang. 

You picked up your pace, rushing forward, but someone intervened before you could.

“You’re done interrogating my crew.”

Law stepped out of the gathered crowd. You barely spied him amid the bustling chaos, only catching part of his hat and a tuft of dark hair behind his ear. 

The curly-haired woman’s shoulders eased by a fraction.

Kid scowled. “One of mine has been missin’ all day, and your crew knows something about it!” he roared. 

The panic burning in your chest curdled fast into annoyed, familiar rage. Your pace slowed, turning the last stretch into a deliberate march. By the time you reached the edge of the crowd, you were too pissed off to feel embarrassed.

“Hey, dipshit!” you spat, pushing yourself to the middle of the spectacle. 

Kid’s head immediately snapped toward the sound of your voice. His eye twitched with the smallest flinch. 

You shoved past the crowd and planted yourself a short distance away, glaring at him like you had any rank to pull.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” you asked, judding your chin upward. “pickin’ fights here like a goddamn idiot?”

Kid stared for half a moment. An old expression of guilt flashed across his light-blue eyes, as if you’d caught him when you’d both been younger, spoon in hand and ready to drag him away by the ear. 

Then, his jaw clenched. Kid immediately advanced toward you, pushing the curly-haired Heart pirate out of the way as he went. Red rage began to gather under his skin. 

“The hell do you think I’m doin’?” he barked. “When you’re the one who vanished, Shrimp?”

He stopped too close in front of you, his chest jutting out and shoulders squared in an animalistic display of dominance. You didn’t back down. You never had before. You stood with your feet planted firmly in the sand, arms crossed, and nose upturned. 

“And that means you get to harass random girls?” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “Use your damn head.”

You slipped past him and through the other side of the quickly dispersing crowd. Kid followed on your heel. 

“You don’t get to talk to me like that around strangers,” he seethed.

“Don’t act like a dipshit, and I won't call you a dipshit,” you bit back. 

“Where the fuck were you?”

The second his hand caught the back of your sleeve, you wheeled around to smack it away. Kid jerked back before you even connected. Annoyance flashed across his face, like he was pissed at himself for his reflex. 

“If you want a fight, save it for the raid,” you snapped, not waiting for his answer.

You continued to the Victoria Punk, the sound of metal clattering behind every step you. 

The ship descended the moment you hit the deck.

“Where the hell were you?”

“You missed breakfast—”

“We were starving without you here!”

“Thought you fell overboard—”

“Now that you’re here, can you make me—?”

The relaxation you were miraculously gifted the night before vanished instantly. 

You shoved your way through without a word. You didn’t have time to pick fights, not when Sanji just handled breakfast service for half the island by himself. 

God, you felt like you were doing that most days. 

When you turned down the corridor to your quarters, you stopped so hard you nearly slipped out of your shoes. 

Ahead of you was your door. 

Not in the doorframe. 

On the fucking ground.

The slab of wood had two large holes punched out of the center. The hinges were still attached to splinters from the frame. The knob sat on the floor a few feet down the hall. 

And for a second, all you could do was stare. Perhaps if you blinked fast enough, the wood would mend together in fear of disappointing you further. But it didn’t, and a hard pit sat in your stomach. 

The uproar on the deck rang as white noise in your ears, as did the steps that stopped behind you.

“Someone was worried.” Killer’s voice came from somewhere over your shoulder, low enough to cut through the noise. “Said you weren’t answering.”

You didn’t turn around to face him. You didn’t know what you were going to do if you moved from the spot you stood. You didn’t know what you were going to say, and out of everyone, Killer was the last person you wanted to take your anger out on. 

“Not to say it was right,” he said. “I know you had a fight with Kid last night, too. That probably doesn’t help.”

Then, slowly, you stepped toward your room. The wooden door shifted under your shoes as you climbed over it and into your bedroom. 

Your wardrobe sat open, your clothes pushed to one side. The cookbooks on your desk had been thrown to the floor. Pages crumpled and folded under heavy spines. The window remained open, just as you’d left it the night before. 

Killer lingered in the hallway, watching through the holes in his mask as you reached for a duffel bag under your bed. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

You didn’t look at him. You just started packing. You shoved clean clothes, your knife roll, a few aprons, and anything you could grab without thinking too hard about it into your bag. At the washstand, you snatched what you needed and went through the bare bones of your usual routine on instinct.  

“What does it look like?” 

You brushed your teeth with one hand and scrubbed your face with the other. Then you spat, rinsed your brush, wrapped it in a clean rag, and threw it into your bag with everything else. 

After you did the least you could to wrangle your hair into a somewhat presentable state, you stripped off the clothes you’d slept in and reached into the wardrobe for something clean. 

Killer shifted his posture in the corner of your eye, turning to angle himself toward the wall as you threw on a fresh outfit. It was only then that you noticed the toolbox in his hand. 

“There’s no way you can fix that,” you sighed, shaking your head. “You’re good, but you’re not that good.”

“Where are you planning on staying, then?”

You closed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. “Not here.”

Killer let you pass through the doorless frame. 

***

You tried not to think too hard about where you’d be sleeping that night until you got distracted by the smell of lunch. Steam and smoke curled up into the midday air. With your nose, you probably could have smelled oil and garlic from a whole island away—in your sleep, for that matter.

Meanwhile, Sanji operated the outdoor kitchen as an army of one. He stood with a cigarette tucked between his teeth as he operated three large pans, each on an open flame. Large bowls of prepped vegetables sat on an adjacent crate. He’d already laid out dishware in a clear line as if he were beginning a gourmet conveyor belt. 

He glanced up as you drew closer, his gaze finding your face first, then your bag. 

“I was beginning to think you weren’t interested anymore,” he called, a grin breaking out on his lips, “But if I’d known you were moving in, I would have been less worried.”

He shook one of the pans, which lit up in a tall blaze. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said. Your bag hit the ground, sending a small cloud of sand into the air. “Chaotic morning.”

Sanji’s eyes flicked again, this time over to the Victoria Punk. 

“I was hearing rumors about some commotion,” he hummed, returning his attention to his skillfully combusted pans. “I’ve got things covered if you’ve got unfinished business—”

“No, no,” you cut in quickly, having already plucked an apron from your bag before shoving the duffel out of the way. “Trust me, I need this.”

You slotted yourself into the kitchen, already following the flow Sanji wordlessly left the blueprints for. At least here, the people you were feeding lingered outside the kitchen area, patiently waiting as they chatted amongst themselves. There was a clear plan to follow. Only so many dishes to concern yourself with. Sanji had already done the prep work. 

He remained by the stove, basking in steady heat while you fell into the steady rhythm of plate assembly and service handoff. 

Plate. Noodles. Vegetables. Garnish. 

Plate. Noodles. Vegetables. Garnish. 

Working with your hands churned up the stiff feelings that burned in your chest and released them into something more constructive. Something about the repetition and mild monotony eased the tension in your brow, and fixing plates was far less destructive than any other way you’d usually take your anger out. 

After the initial wave of service, a quiet shadow morphed into your periphery just as you were finishing the garnish on your latest plate. You glanced up to meet the charcoal blue eyes of a familiar specter. Steam from the meal curled into the air, breathing warmth onto your face.

“Hey,” you said, glancing to the side. 

You should have expected to talk to him eventually. Too much had happened for you to be able to truly ignore the pirate captain in front of you. And if waking up in his bed wasn’t enough, you wanted to ensure that your alliance was still sound.

You took the plate and held it out to him. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

He didn’t take it from you right away, letting a short beat pass. 

You stood for a moment, arms outstretched with an offering in your hands. Heat seeped through the ceramic bottom. 

“Or,” you hesitated. Your reach recoiled for a small, insecure second. “I guess it was this afternoon.”

Another beat of silence passed, then finally, the weight of the plate lifted. He’d hardly moved from where he stood. The meal you made sat untouched, perfect between his hands. He tipped his chin down a fraction.

“It was both,” Law said curtly. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

An exasperated huff escaped your lips. “We shouldn’t be having interactions like that if we’re going to be in an alliance.”

“Ikkaku can handle herself.”

“Why’d you do it?” You stepped on the heels of his words. 

You could almost see your guilty expression reflected back to you in his pupils.

“Do what?” he asked.

You handed off a plate to someone to his right before you left alone again. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“I didn’t take you for the type to play dumb.” You frowned, your voice barely above a whisper. Your quick eyes darted around the shore before returning to your plates. The kitchen settled into a lull. “You let a member of a rival crew into your quarters.”

Law shrugged, reaching for a pair of chopsticks. “You seemed like you needed it.”

“And I didn’t take you for the generous type.” You planted your palms on the counter in front of you, and your eyes narrowed. “I stepped in to save your crew member’s skin and the alliance, so if you were planning on holding this over me as some sort of blackmail—”

“Arctic foxes curl together.”

You blinked, your next words dying on your tongue.

Law barely moved as he seemed to study your face. His eyes flicked in a circular motion, as if you had letters written on the creases of your cheeks. 

“What?”

Law inhaled, “Arctic foxes—”

“Yeah, I heard that.” You clenched your fists on the counter. Your lips pursed together once, then twice. “But it’s penguins huddle together.”

The corners of Law’s mouth barely twitched. 

“Maybe in the South Blue,” he replied flatly.

Your stark pout likely didn’t help your case.

“Arctic foxes don’t even curl,” you insisted with a scoff. “Penguins huddle in bad weather and take turns in the middle. Everyone knows that.”

Law said nothing to that. He just lifted his chopsticks and took his first mouthful of noodles. Perhaps he was acting polite, pretending you weren’t attempting to pick a fight with him in broad daylight. 

Law tipped his head once in consideration.

“That’s one version,” he murmured into the ends of his chopsticks. “The wrong one,” he added.

You slid a few plates across the counter with more force than necessary.

“Still not an explanation for what you did.”

“I explained enough.”

You wiped your hands on the towel at your hip, buying yourself a second you didn’t need and weren’t using well.

“I find it hard to believe it was just because I was a Northerner,” you said at last. “There had to be something in it for you. Letting a stranger onto your ship.”

Law looked up then.

“With the way you just said Northerner,” he said, “I’d say you still are one.”

The words landed in some soft, poorly defended place you would have preferred to stay unbothered. And if he hadn’t prodded the softest sides of your psychology enough…

“And I wouldn’t call you a stranger,” he added. 

That got your attention faster than it should have.

You crinkled your nose at him. A practiced scowl overtook your lips. “You don’t know me. We’re not even from the same part of the North Blue.”

“That’s true,” he said, unbothered. 

Just that.

No anger. No sarcasm. Not even any spit to it. 

He lowered his gaze to his plate again, like that should have settled it, and somehow that only made it worse.

You stared at him, waiting for the rest.

You watched him consider testing his luck for a half second. 

After a beat, he obliged. “But you were half-asleep. In your night clothes. One shoe half on. Forgive me for not assessing you as a good robber.”

“Oh, I’m being assessed now,” you scoffed. You gripped the corner of the towel at your hip to wipe a stray speck of sauce from the side of your plate.

“Past tense,” he corrected flatly. “I already did.”

When you looked up, Law wasn’t even paying attention to you. He just stood where he had stationed himself this whole time, unbothered and unmoving with his noodles half-finished. Your eyes flattened.

“How reassuring that I looked so trustworthy.”

“I trust you as far as I can throw you,” Law said quickly, still more invested in his lunch than in your conversation. He shook his head once. “It was triage, not trust.”

You tried to scoff, your brows bouncing. “Glad to know I looked so shitty I required medical intervention.”

“Must not have a good doctor on your crew,” he retorted. His answer came so flat and immediate that you almost laughed.

Law took another bite before he went on. “You looked exhausted. Still apologizing for other people. Still feeding people.”

Heat crawled up the back of your neck.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you muttered.

Law’s eyes flickered up, locking with yours for a single unreadable second. He caught a stray spot of sauce at the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue, careless about it.

Your stomach gave a small, treacherous turn.

“I know enough.”

Your jaw tightened. “That’s—great. Good for you.”

Your eye twitched at your own words. 

Awful. Absolutely awful.

You turned on your heel and reached for the garnish tray with far more focus than the situation required.

***

Law wasn’t the only one to arrive late for lunch service. But as you watched your fellow crewmates draw nearer, you were torn between self-satisfaction and dread. On the one hand, everything played out exactly how you wanted it to. Despite Kid’s big talk, you knew that the crew wouldn’t have lasted a day before they gave in to your collaboration with Sanji. 

On the other hand—

“Hey, we really need you back on the ship.” One of your crewmates draped himself over your service counter. “Someone spilled a big bag of flour, and now the kitchen is a mess!”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. 

Of course. 

You couldn’t be gone for eight hours and expect no mess to be waiting for you. 

You sighed, your thoughts darting to the lock on Sanji’s fridge.

“That sounds terrible,” you hummed sarcastically. You held the plate in front of his face, shaking it slowly. “Better tell cap’n.”

Your crewmate’s forehead scrunched. “What? Captain won’t do anything about it.” Then his eyes flicked to the plate. “You know I like mine with extra egg.”

Your shoulders drooped a fraction. “There isn’t any egg in this.” You waved the plate again. “Can’t have extra of what isn’t there.”

But your crewmate only sank farther into the counter, wimpering your name. 

“Can’t you just make me an omelet?” he whined. “I want egg.”

You frowned. “You love panfried noodles.”

Your crewmate let out another groan. “Yeah, but, like, I’m in the mood for an omelet.”

But before you could tell him where to stick his omelet, a pair of Heart pirates approached the counter from the proper side of the line. 

“God, that smells good.”

“Man, I never thought the sight of noodles would ever make me this happy.”

Your crewmate glanced to the other side of the counter, annoyed. 

When you looked over, you recognized them first by the hats.

The two Heart pirates you’d run into outside Law’s cabin had reached the front of the line at last, both of them standing back from the counter with empty hands and obvious interest.

“Hi, again,” Orca-Hat greeted. 

“Hi, again, again,” Penguin-Hat added. 

You heaved a shaky sigh as you subtly glanced around. 

No one seemed to bat an eye at the comment, although you considered it too vague to draw suspicion. 

“Well,” you said, ignoring the greeting entirely, “it’s a good thing I got nothing but noodles for ya. Though, I can’t take all the credit.” You gestured your head to where Sanji busied himself behind you. 

You set the plate of noodles down in front of your crewmate, then moved to prepare two more plates. 

The two Heart pirates grinned. 

“Fresh off the pan. You cannot get better than this,” Orca-Hat hummed. 

Meanwhile, your crewmate hadn’t touched his plate. 

“I just asked for an omelet,” he snorted. 

The Heart Pirates exchanged glances. 

“During… lunch rush?” Penguin-Hat asked slowly. 

“No omelets,” you called over the slow sizzle of oil. “You ask me for noodles every other day of the year, but this is the day you want eggs?”

Your crewmate stalked off, muttering something about your fight with Kid even though he knew better. In a crew full of rowdy and rough tempers, talking under your breath was an invitation for a fight. If you’d been in a less civilized kitchen, you might’ve jumped the counter and given him a piece of your mind. 

That’s how things operated on the Victoria Punk, but unlike some of the punks you sailed with, at least you retained some semblance of manners. 

You held a plate in each hand, and with a noticeable tension deflated from your shoulders, you held them out to the Heart pirate duo. A deep breath expanded your chest. 

“Enjoy,” you said, taking a steady breath out. 

The pair exchanged glances, but ultimately took their meals.

“So…” Penguin-Hat trailed off. 

“Is this a temporary arrangement?” Orca-Hat’s brows rose incredulously over his sunglasses. “Or are we allowed to get attached?” 

Your forehead creased as you cocked your head a fraction. 

“Uh, the kitchen?” You gestured behind you. “It’s going to be here until the raid.” 

The Heart pirates met eyes again. 

“Right,” said Penguin-Hat. “The kitchen.”

“Definitely what we meant.” Orca-Hat nodded. 

You absentmindedly handed the pair two sets of chopsticks. 

“Thank you.”

“Thank you for the meal.” 

To your surprise, much like their captain, the pair immediately dug into their food right there at your counter. You blinked for a moment.

On the Victoria Punk, everything you plated was usually whisked away in an instant. No one but Killer ever thanked you nowadays, let alone showed such eagerness to display approval in front of you. 

Penguin-Hat immediately recoiled, a hand over his mouth as steam poured from his lips. 

“Hot,” he breathed, before diving into another mouthful. 

Meanwhile, Orca-Hat looked as if he were half-done with his plate. 

Your lips parted, your words catching in your throat as you leaned slightly over the counter. 

“Slow down then,” you sputtered, reaching a hand out to grasp nothing in particular. 

Penguin-Hat shook his head. “Nope,” he muttered into another mouthful. “This is a serious improvement over our current system.”

Your brow furrowed. “Current system?”

Orca-Hat looked up from his plate, a stray noodle still hanging from his mouth. “We rotate galley duty.” 

You pursed your lips. “Ah.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” Penguin-Hat shook his head in between bites. “Cap’n’s a half-decent cook, but—”

“We are eternally grateful for these.” Orca-Hat cut in gravely. He swallowed, then tipped his plate at you. “I’m Shachi, by the way.”

Penguin lifted his chopsticks in lazy agreement. “Penguin.”

You blinked once. “Those are your names?”

Shachi and Penguin glanced at each other, then back at you.

“Think there are better ones for us?” Shachi asked.

You gave a single conceding nod. “Point taken.”

“Seconds, please,” Penguin said, already chasing the last of the vegetables around his plate with his chopsticks.

“I second the seconds.” Shachi set his plate on the counter.

Streaks of sauce marked the inside, but not a drop touched your station.

You set the plates aside for washing and reached for two clean ones.

“You two are... easy to please,” you said slowly.

Penguin shrugged and nudged his empty plate neatly toward the wash stack. “We gotta support the operation. What’s the phrase? Shop small?”

“Eat local,” Shachi corrected.

“That too.”

You snorted softly as you spooned noodles onto the fresh plates. “I think that only applies to service you pay for.”

“We can pay you in eternal gratitude?” Penguin shrugged. 

You held out the two plates, not even noticing the way the corners of your mouth twitched upward. “Go eat,” you said, “If you want thirds, I’ll have them for you.”

You sent them off, leaving an empty patch in their wake. You spared a glance at the clean counter and the neat stack of plates that you shuffled into the rest of the wash. On the Victoria Punk, you hated people crowding your kitchen, but here, the absence struck you quietly. 

And for the first time that day, the corners of your lips began to tug up. 

***

The afternoon clean-up went by in a whirlwind of soap and chopping. Someone hauled in fresh water, courtesy of the Straw Hat crew. Another brought raw ingredients from the Polar Tang. 

You glanced toward the Victoria Punk with a frown, your mind drifting to the mental stock of your stores. You certainly had enough to feed a small army; the Kid pirates were, in and of themselves, an army. But knowing Kid for as long as you had, he’d likely destroy all your stores before he let you contribute any to the alliance kitchen. 

Or worse, overlook them entirely, assuming they would always be there. 

By the time you and Sanji had scrubbed the dishware from lunch and reset your stations, dinner prep crept up on you. The work went faster with two people. Between Sanji’s efficient chopping and your steady simmering, you took the dinner rush by storm. 

Towels snapped. Plates slid over makeshift counters. Oil hissed, and metal spatulas scraped against metal woks. 

The day moved into evening.

Familiar faces presented themselves at your counter. Heart pirates took their plates politely and always returned their dishware in a neat stack. The Straw Hats, for how loud they were, had a rhythm to their patronage and vocal admiration for their cook. Every so often, one of them would stand out of Sanji’s way to chatter to him about their day. Your crew had been quickly starved out of the Victoria Punk and had too much commentary about dinner for people who readily gobbled up what you served them. 

The rush came on as a steady horde that formed a line. Then the line became a cluster, before that cluster dissolved into a handful of stragglers coming for seconds and thirds. 

Perhaps those gluttons were the reason Sanji was staring at the supplies with a frown. The puffing of his cigarette grew deeper. 

“What?” you asked. 

You dried your hands with a clean towel. Water dripped off the newly cleaned pans on the drying rack. 

The corner of Sanji’s mouth ticked downward. “Nothing dramatic.”

“What are we out of?”

You walked to stand next to him. Sanji stepped to the side for you to see. 

The container of flour barely had more than a quarter cup tucked into the corners. Two and a half jugs of oil sat where you could’ve sworn there should be five. The egg cartons piled on top of each other, empty. 

“We can make do,” Sanji said, his voice far too calm for the resignation laced through his tone. 

You shook your head, folding your hand towel onto the drying rack. Your eyes darted toward the Victoria Punk.

The ship almost seemed louder than it was during the day. Light glimmered from the deck. You could almost make out the words one of your crewmates shouted at another. 

“I’ve got a solution.”

You nodded decisively before you exited the kitchen to scan the beach. 

It took you a second to find him, not because he was hidden, but because he wasn’t where your brain kept insisting he ought to be. In your universe, Trafalgar Law existed at your counter, dropping North Blue proverbs like an old man. You supposed the one time you saw him elsewhere was when he’d taken advantage of your sleep deprivation to graciously provide you with a room with a lock. But now, he stood somewhere new—farther down the shore near a stack of supply crates. A blue aura surrounded the loading dock as cargo seemed to blip in and out of thin air before everything was arranged in order. 

He noticed you coming somewhere around the point you decided turning back would be more embarrassing than whatever came out of your mouth next. 

“I need you,” you blurted, coming to a stop a few feet away from Law. 

He turned, the aura dissipating as he looked at you. 

You blinked at him.

Your words hung there for an excruciatingly long beat before your brain caught up with your mouth. You scowled defensively. 

“Your ability,” you corrected. “I need your ability to get me onto my ship.” 

Law’s expression didn’t change as he regarded you. 

“Is there something wrong with the gangway?” he asked flatly. 

“Yes,” you snapped. “It’s attached to my ship.”

Law was silent for another moment. 

Not the wary kind of silence you were used to, and not the kind that occurred just before someone snapped back. On the Victoria Punk, you always had to bite first. If you’re aggressive enough, you won’t get taken advantage of. If you’re loud enough, you could take a situation under control. And if it all boiled down to aggression, you were poised to take things outside. 

That’s how the Kid Pirates operated. 

That was the hierarchy of power. 

But Law didn’t give you anything to push against. His silence was dry, patient, and most troubling of all, understanding. 

His gaze dipped once to your face, then to the ship behind you, then back again, like he was sorting the useful parts between your words. 

“You really don’t want to go back,” Law said at last, “Something happened.”

It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t ask what occurred. 

The heat left your posture before you could stop it. “The kitchen is getting low on supplies, and I know we’re good for it.” 

“So you’re planning on robbing your own crew.”

“It’s not robbery, it’s…” You scowled at the sand. “This is an alliance, isn’t it?”

For a moment your skin burned at the idea of having to turn around and—

“Okay,” Law said, “What do you need?”

Your gaze shot toward him with a haste you didn’t intend to display. 

“What?” You blinked. 

Law bobbed his head exactly once. “What do you need?” he asked again. “And will you be quick?”

No haggling. No smirk. He didn’t even mock you for asking. Instead, he was somehow the last thing you expected him to be, despite approaching him for help: cooperative. 

“I need flour,” you answered quickly. “Oil and eggs. A few other dried goods wouldn’t hurt. I know where everything is; I’ll only need about two minutes.” 

Law barely blinked in acknowledgment. 

“Fine.” He nodded once. “But if anyone sees me, you’ll be putting the alliance in jeopardy.”

You glanced toward the sand. “I know, but—”

“If you just need two minutes, I can do that,” Law spoke over you before you could even offer an explanation.

And just like earlier, that was all. 

“Oh,” you breathed, glancing away. “That’s… That’s great.”

You stood there, frozen for a half second. You were ready to convince him—to bargain and strongarm your way into agreement. By all means, you knew what you thought his answer would be. But the argument died on your lips, as, for what felt like the umpteenth time, Law’s straight-laced logic took the wind right out of your sails. 

“You’re not going to ask anything else?” Your voice barely registered above a whisper. 

“No.”

Law—whom you were quickly discovering was a man of few words—went quiet again. He rested his wrist on the hilt of his sheathed sword, waiting. 

“The stores will be on the lower deck—”

“First time tends to make people nauseous.” 

You eyed him for a moment, blinking a few times. “Nauseous?” 

“Being transplanted,” he answered with a curt nod. “I’m assuming that’s what you’re asking for.” 

Your skin burned.

Right. 

You just marched up to him, demanded ingredients, and insisted on not being seen on your own ship. The heavy beating in your chest had stopped you from asking the question completely. 

“Yes,” you bit out. “I heard… I mean, I just saw you could do that… uh… um, that room thing…”

Law’s brow tightened subtly in amusement. 

“The room thing,” he repeated. 

You scowled on principle, tearing your gaze away again. “You know what I mean.”

Law didn’t even snicker. 

“I do,” he answered. You didn’t know what was worse, that answer or if he’d openly mocked you. “Stay close.”

You wanted to ask him what that even meant. What did close entail? Didn’t he need more direction than just “the lower deck?” 

But your words never made it out. 

Something changed. 

Not in him, exactly, but in the space around him—around you. You reacted before the hairs even stood up on your skin. The evening air began to tighten around you, like the ocean drawing back in an instant before the giant wave hit. Every small sound around you went sharp, then dull, as if even the white noise around you was being sucked into whatever was about to hit. 

You went still.

Law did not. 

He only lifted his hand from the hilt of his sword. He barely held it out a foot in front of him.

The dread hit first, irrational and immediate. And for a moment, you felt little more than a wild animal—sensing impending doom without understanding why. 

Your eyes flickered to Law.

“I think something’s wrong—”

“Room.”

The blue aura from before bloomed outward from Law’s boots. For one impossible instant, you felt an immediate disconnect. The beach, the sea, and everything outside the aura lost their presence. Your overactive senses almost seemed to deafen, as if you’d been suspended by nothing in a dark chamber. 

You didn’t sense movement in an ordinary way. Wind didn’t brush your face. You didn’t even take a step forward. 

The lines of the beach swept upward, spinning your head as a gasp tore from your lungs.

The trip lasted less than a heartbeat. In an instant, the scenery around you had reformed into the sturdy shelves of your storage. 

Your feet hit a solid floor.

Your hand flew out for something steady as your stomach lurched. Your whole body felt terribly delayed, as if each bone arrived at a different time and in the wrong order. 

Law caught your arm before your knees gave out.

That, too, was dreadful in its own way. 

“Breathe through it,” Law said calmly. 

His words hit your spinning head with the weight of a cast-iron pan. 

You forced a deep breath in. 

Clean fabric. Soap. Nitrile gloves. 

The oxygen snapped you back to the present. The wooden shelves sharpened into detail. The smell of flour and lamp oil hit the back of your throat. And then, the death grip you had on Law’s coat. 

“Oh—” You quickly recoiled, but the step back caused your knees to recoil. 

Law’s hand tightened around your arm before you could fold. 

“Easy.” 

In the small space, your momentum took you forward again. Law’s back hit the shelf behind him with a dull thud, one hand still locked around your arm while the other came up on instinct to catch himself against the wood beside your head. 

Your hand landed exactly where you didn’t want it to be the first time, bunched up in the front of his coat once again. You accidentally met his eyes in the low light. Your face burned hot enough to light the room.

Law, infuriatingly, didn’t seem rattled by any of it.

The thud echoed, just barely stopping before voices sounded in the corridor.

“What was that?” 

You froze. 

“Probably one of the shelves you were fucking around with earlier.”

Your grip tightened on his coat on pure reflex, and your gaze regretfully dipped to his mouth, which was unhelpful at least and offensively mortifying at most. But at this distance, every detail became a problem. The shadowed set of his jaw. The warmth of his hand on your skin. The arm he extended to steady you both while inadvertently caging you in. 

He wasn’t pretty. He was too sharp for pretty, too worn-looking around the eyes, and up close the angles of his face were more severe for it. But up close, that severity did something unfortunate.

His mouth was cut a little too cleanly for the rest of him. His jaw was rough with meticulously maintained scruff. By all means, he should have looked more haggard than he did. 

But instead, he looked—

…

You stopped yourself before you could finish that thought. 

Law didn’t move, his gaze staying on yours for a brief second, sharp and level in the low light, before it flickered toward the door. One of the floorboards creaked outside, now closer to the stores. The sliver of light from around the frame wavered.

Your breath hitched, and neither you nor Law moved. Your thumb stopped mid-sweep over the inner hem of Law’s coat. Law’s back remained pinned to the shelf behind him, his presence nothing but quiet and solid in the face of your mortification. 

“Don’t even bother. You’re just gonna break something again.”

“Sounds like a pain anyway.” 

The footsteps receded. 

A few beats went by before you finally released your death grip on Law. Slowly, your foot moved back a half step. Your knees, which were somehow more solidified than before, allowed you to pull away. 

Law’s hand loosened around your arm, almost lingering for a moment before you found your footing. Then, the hand he had braced next to your head returned to his side. 

You turned away before your face could betray you, although you assumed your racing heartbeat had already done that. The sheer burning under your skin nearly made you forget yourself. Forget where you were. What you were doing and why. 

This wasn’t happening. 

You heaved in a deep breath. 

This was absurd.

“Alright,” you breathed out. You shook your head, as if the physical motion could manually erase the memory of Trafalgar Law’s jawline from your mind. 

You stepped farther into the stores, pretending not to notice the steady gaze Law kept on your back. You knelt down, only to be pleasantly surprised that all of your jugs of oil were exactly where you’d left them, untouched. You pulled them out from the lower shelf onto the floor between you and Law. 

The same pristine storage couldn’t be said for the bag of flour that lay spilled on the ground a few steps ahead. Your hands gently cradled the large gash along the side, tilting it up slowly so that more powder wouldn’t spill. You heaved it up gingerly. A white cloud enveloped the front of your clothes as you lifted the broken bag to place it with the oil jugs. 

Law extended his hands from his side of the oil. 

“I can carry that,” he said. 

You didn’t even dare to glance at his hands, keeping your gaze down toward your growing pile of ingredients. When you put the open bag down, another puff of powder leeched into the air. The bag slumped toward you, so you heaved it up to rest against the jugs. Then, it fell again. 

You didn’t notice Law reach up to the top shelf before he knelt as far down as the confined space would let him. He held open a large, burlap bag. His hand didn’t extend past the barrier you’d created between you. 

“Lift it a little,” he said.

You did, holding the torn bag just high enough for him to work the burlap underneath. He dragged it neatly up the sides. His knuckles barely grazed yours where you held the flour.

The warm flare of it was so immediate and so unwelcome you nearly dropped the whole bag.

You pulled back too quickly to hide it, leaving the rest of the task to him. Law took the weight without comment, gathered the burlap at the top, and tied it off loose enough not to split the flour bag further. Then he pressed the excess cloth flat with one broad hand.

When he looked up, you were facing each other again across the small barricade of oil, flour, and whatever dignity you still had left.

“What else?” he asked. 

“There should be some eggs somewhere behind you,” you answered too quickly, turning back to the opposite end of the stores. “But knowing my crew, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re all broken—”

You didn’t mean to glance back over your shoulder, but your plan to make as little eye contact with Law as possible was foiled by the egg cartons already in his arms.

“How many cartons?” Law asked. He teased open one of the carton lids with his knuckle. Your eyes caught the large vein that ran along the back of his hand and up his forearm. “There are a couple broken ones.”

Your voice caught in your throat as you took down an intact bag of flour. You hummed at the weight of it hitting your chest, disguising your off-guard pause to buy yourself a few more seconds of thinking time. You glanced down at the floor. 

“Well—” you started. 

By the time you looked up, the blue shimmer of his ability had already spread around his hands.

The eggs shifted in quick, precise blips—broken from intact, shell fragments from usable ones—so fast your eyes barely tracked it. When it was done, the cartons shut on their own.

Law set two intact cartons beside the oil.

“What else?” Law asked, but he had already turned back to the shelves. 

It turned out that he didn’t need directions to figure out your food stores. Dried mushrooms, preserved vegetables, and home-canned goods gathered in the growing pile. Your eyes flicked through the ingredients before landing on a bag of rice. 

“Marine onigiri,” you noted flatly. Your gaze flickered to Law’s, a frown beginning to grow on your lips.

Another Northern dish. Of course. You didn’t expect anything less. 

He busied himself with gathering more dried goods. Your attention turned back to the familiar gathering of ingredients. 

Your eye twitched. “Did you want me to… make that?” 

The corner of Law’s lips tugged downward in a split second of consideration. 

“I’m not expecting you to,” he said, brushing some flour from his clothes. “You had the ingredients.” 

As the name implied, Marine onigiri was easy to make in large batches and stretched scarce ingredients. While the stuffing may vary by region, they were often filled with self-stable ingredients like pickled vegetables or salted meat. It was an easy, low-maintenance dish for Marine cooks to churn out, and Law had laid out the ingredients carefully. 

“Is this everything you need?” Law’s question snapped you out of your thoughts. 

“Yeah.” 

You nodded quickly, listening to heavy footsteps down the outer corridor as they faded. Muffled laughter and noise reverberated through the wooden walls. Snoring echoed up from below. Yells from a brawl on the main deck rattled the ship. 

“Are you ready?” Law asked. 

Hairs stood up on your skin as he poised his hand facing downward in front of him. That same sensation of dread returned to you, striking deep at your basest instincts. 

“Please make it quick,” you whispered. Your eye twitched as you fought off a flinch.

The ship contorted around you before you even finished your sentence. Brown boards turned lighter before settling into an expanse of sand. Blackness turned to a deeper shade of blue as the evening sky took form above you. You stumbled back a half step until you caught yourself on one of your makeshift counters. 

Your stock landed in the same position it’d been piled in the store room, resting neatly on the sand. 

“Is that all?” Law questioned too soon after you landed.

He didn’t even look like he’d broken a single sweat, let alone teleported in the same heinous way you just did.

Your head spun for a second. Then you took a breath. The air cleared your brain fog faster than the last time. 

You nodded. 

“Yeah, that’s all,” you breathed softly, your vision just beginning to return to normal. “Thank you.”

Law didn’t humor you with even a hum of acknowledgment, but he also barely moved to leave. He pivoted one half step on his heel before stopping. You didn’t notice the way in which his eyes flickered across the sand. 

“You need somewhere to stay again,” he said, an assumptive edge to his voice. 

It took you a second to understand why.

Then you saw the strap of your bag.

“No,” you blurted, immediately busying yourself with putting away the stock for tomorrow’s prep. “Everyone’s too excited for the raid. They haven’t shut up since we docked here.” 

That wasn’t an explanation, and you knew as much. 

You huffed, heaving a bag of flour into the cabinet. Law didn’t help you. 

And for a moment, the sound of shifting containers filled the air. Waves brushed against the shore in the background. A light bell rang in the distance every time one of the ships bobbed in the current. 

Law didn’t say a word, but he also remained exactly where he stood. He lingered just out of your peripheral. Waiting. 

You knew he was. You felt every ounce of his practical presence as you finally closed the cabinet doors with a sigh. 

“I was going to figure it out,” you admitted. 

“But you asked me for help with a galley raid instead,” he said dryly. He glanced to the side, his wrist resting on the hilt of his sword again. “You seem to find it easier when it’s for someone else.”

Only then did Law turn and begin to walk away.

“The offer still stands,” he called, barely looking over his shoulder. 

You gaped for a singular moment, and before you could even process it—

“Wait!” You snatched the strap of your bag, sweeping it up off the sand as you hurried after him. 

Law didn’t slow his pace, but it didn’t take more than a few steps to catch up with him. He didn’t even glance at you as you adjusted your bag higher on your shoulder. You brushed some stray sand that stuck to your clothes.

If it were Kid, he would’ve laughed. Kid would’ve said something snarky about knowing you’d give in all along before gloating about it for the rest of the night. But Trafalgar Law was not Eustass Kid. That much was evident by his silence alone. 

A silence you weren’t sure what to do with. 

You cleared your throat. “Just so we’re clear.”

Law continued as you hurried alongside him. 

“I know what this looks like.” You frowned. “And I don’t want to hear about it from your crew tomorrow.”

“You won’t.” 

“I had to rescue one of yours this morning.”

“You did,” Law admitted calmly, “And now she knows not to involve herself.” 

He kept his head straight, his flat gaze fixed on the ship ahead. You followed him aboard without a word.

The air inside the Polar Tang was just as cool and metallic as it had been the night before.

That was bad enough.

Worse, you recognized the turn he took.

The common room. Then the corridor after it.

You knew this route now.

You knew where the common area was on the Polar Tang. You knew which turn led below deck. You knew where Trafalgar Law’s room was on a rival ship—one of your captain’s direct competitors, one of the other idiots ambitious enough to race for the title of king. 

“No, seriously, I’m still thinking about those noodles from earlier.”

Your ears perked up as you continued deeper into the submarine.

“Don’t even get me started,” another voice chimed. “I was so stuffed, but I was so tempted to ask for fourths.”

A tiny smile bloomed over your lips. Law continued to lead you farther down the hall, and you followed him with a bounce in your step.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

@kermitprime @loserbee14 @crocodilesslut @idk67876 @thatshrimpsworld @moonbeammochi @notbleachtea @ogoatsuyuuta @benji-booxx @slobbermobster @billsapph

Chapter I

Notes: I really like the idea that a sense of dread overtakes you before Law even activates his Room. I think that little detail can just paint such vivid imagery behind his “Surgeon of Death” moniker. Also, this took so long because the storage raid was a completely last minute addition fdsjkfa;ds fa;j

By the end of that day, Admin had made everything official, which left Law viewing the series of streamlined decisions as somewhere between supernaturally serendipitous and infuriatingly corporate. Though given how much effort he’d put into lining up all those ducks, Law couldn’t complain too much when they showed up with ribbons. 

He was officially in charge of the review board, and you were the lead for imaging. While there were many other figures above him involved in all of this—figures Law could’ve done without— the two of you making it to the other side was all that mattered. Now you could do what needed to be done. 

But even someone as ambitious as Law knew you couldn’t do it alone, so he gathered his staff after they’d finished with the last patient of the day. 

Law stood at the entrance to his pod, wearing his usual poker face as the team slowly trickled in. Once everyone had taken their places at their desks, Law poised himself to speak. 

“As you may already know, Dr. Hogback’s practice had been temporarily suspended,” he began, his voice cold and even. “Dr. Jaygarcia, along with others in admin, has entrusted me with the care of his patient population, in addition to a post-mortem review of quite a number of records.” 

Law kept a steady eye on the team. “And as the lead on this review, I ask for your support, your skills, and your time,” he said, his hands buried in the pockets of his white coat. “This isn’t mandatory, and if you choose not to be involved, it will not be held against you. If you choose to assist with this review, you can expect your workload to double. Because of HR restrictions, all of our activity would be confined to work hours on paper, so you would not be making overtime, and there’s no guarantee that I can secure stipends for any of you.” 

Law paused, more aware than anyone that he wasn’t exactly selling his cause—though Law was never one to sugarcoat things. 

“And your research?” Bepo asked softly after a moment of silence. 

Law glanced up, his gaze quickly sweeping over the team again. “Will have to be expedited if we want to make it in time for the conference.”

Shachi badged into his computer, tabbing through the upcoming days on the schedule with a frown. “Well, if we’re integrating everyone we currently have on the schedule with Hogback’s cases, when are you going to have time for that?”

The breath caught in Law’s chest for a single, undetectable second. If there was anything he hated more than having a hole in one of his plans, it was someone pointing it out. Law exhaled slowly.

“Working on that,” he muttered. 

“Well, how about this?” Penguin started, sliding his chair close to Shachi’s. He pressed the tip of his finger to the screen. “What if we put, uh, I dunno… two-thirds of the patients in the morning? We can prioritize the testing-heavy patients in the morning and place new referrals later in the day. That way, we’re less likely to get backed up by ten.” 

“I can work on clearing your afternoons,” Bepo chimed in, now also on the schedule screen. “Moving people around, I mean.”

“I think if we prepped it just right, we could see most of our regular schedule by noon,” Chopper added, scribbling something down. “If I take some of our regulars and we do some heavy research into who needs to be seen by Hogback, we should be able to run it like rounds. It’s something we’re used to, so we could use the same structure as a starting point.” 

“And how many people will you need here after hours?” Jean Bart leaned back in his chair and pivoted to fully face Law. 

Law blinked, his thoughts swirling across his golden irises. He stared at Jean Bart for a moment, then trained his attention on Shachi and Penguin, before drifting to Bepo and Chopper. Everyone remained quiet, their eyes on Law as they waited for his word. Law coiled his arms over his chest. The corners of his lips pulled slightly downward.

“You’re helping me,” he said flatly. He didn’t exactly sound enthused, but Law hardly ever did. 

Shachi’s brow knitted. “Yeah?” he affirmed, glancing around for a little backup. “Of course we are.” 

“We love you guys.” Penguin’s mouth almost resembled a frown. “And we know how much these projects mean to you both. I’m a little offended that you thought you had to ask.”

“We can start reviewing charts today if you want,” Chopper offered, seemingly oblivious to the clock. “We could build criteria for who qualifies as needing to be reviewed and make a spreadsheet where you can sort by condition.” 

Without a single word from Law, the pod began conversing amongst itself. Chopper quickly opened a document, and everyone became engrossed in scheduling strategies. 

Jean Bart hadn’t turned in his chair. He folded his hands in his lap, and his voice was a low enough timbre to stand out from the uproar over his shoulder. “So, how many people would you need to be here early and late?” he asked again. 

Law pursed his lips in thought. “I’d like to fit everything during hours.”

“Which will be impossible,” Jean Bart replied. “Especially considering everything else that’s been thrown your way.”

“Probably two,” Law said on the heels of Jean Bart’s words. “I’d expect two people, but it seems like something I’d have to run by someone above my head. I’m not even sure if it’s HR at this point.” 

“What do you think HR cares about more right now—patients dying under Hogback’s care, or a relationship rumor with zero official proof?” Jean Bart countered. “You’ve always pushed your luck. I don’t see why you’d stop now.” 

Law leaned a shoulder against the entrance of the pod. He bobbed his head in consideration. “Yeah,” he said, “You’re right.”

***

Any progress you might have made before being sent to Syrup was lost. Not only did your time away from the main hospital set Law’s case back, but the patients’ unavailability and Hogback’s antics caused progress to grind to a halt. There was only so much Law could do without the complete dataset, and with the conference just around the corner, it was past crunch time. No, this was cramming. 

It certainly felt that way as Bepo walked down the hall balancing two trays of coffee. 

“I’ve got two Hogbacks in 6 and 7, who are insisting on physical copies of every echo they’ve got done here,” Shachi called to no one in particular. His face barely lit up as he snatched his frilly latte from Bepo as he passed. “Can we even do that?”

“Well, they’re going to have to wait.” Penguin stood at the hall station and received the remaining three drinks in the holder, one of which contained Law’s black coffee. “Just tell them Cap’n’s reviewing their chart personally. Patients like hearing the word ‘personally.’”

Shachi zoomed past, already onto the next task. 

Chopper barely batted an eye as he came out of a room, a packet of paperwork in one hand. He closed the door softly, standing in front of it for a beat. Penguin glanced up at him from the station. 

“You alright?” he asked. 

A moment went by before Chopper nodded. 

“They brought a binder,” he whispered before disappearing back into the pod. 

By the time he arrived, Bepo had emptied the second drink tray. Chopper found his frappe on his desk, the condensation making the sticker on the side peel. Haku and some of the other floats flocked around Bepo as if he were a godsend. 

The morning was all-in, but that meant little in the wake of the hurricane of patients that just tore through Law’s wing. 

“I think if I hear the word ‘lawsuit’ one more time, I might implode,” Ikakku, who was in charge of patient services, muttered into her coffee. 

“Don’t you hear that regularly enough?” Uni muttered from a random chair he commandeered, barely able to muster the energy to speak. 

Ikakku zoned out into a random corner of the hall. “Not like today.”

Marguerite, from research, rounded the corner. She glanced around, searching the gathered crowd with a frown. “Dr. Trafalgar’s still not here?” 

“He’s in a room.” Jean Bart rounded the corner, peeling a pair of gloves off and discarding them in a nearby waste bin. “Let me just check something, and I can help get things set up.”

Marguerite tried to hide her sigh. “Echo isn’t ready either, so I wouldn’t rush,” she said. 

As if on cue, two opposite doors opened at the same time. Law rushed out of one, and you tugged your cart out of the other. You both nearly collided with each other as you turned. 

“Sorry.”

“My bad.”

You drew a breath, doing an awkward double-take as you met Law’s somewhat widened eyes. His stare sharpened a fraction, uncharacteristically thrown for a moment as he took a half step back. You remained frozen in place for a beat too long before you had half the mind to compose yourself. You pulled your cart out of the way.

“Dr. Trafalgar.”

“Technician.”

You both managed to speak at the same time, followed by another pause. Law stretched out a hand, motioning down the hall. You wasted no time in maneuvering your cart. Law followed after. 

You’d hoped all of this would have been like riding a bike. At the end of the day, scans were scans, and you’d done thousands of them in the past. Though you suspected that being back at Main—and doing the workload of Main—would have been the least of your adjustments. 

You and Law worked together nearly effortlessly when Saturn collapsed. But as you awkwardly shuffled around each other, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d just caught lightning in a bottle. 

It was easier when you worked together before. It was a lot simpler to hate Trafalgar Law, and by all means, he made it easy to. Even the odd times you were fooling around in ways that were less professional than you would have liked to admit, you at least had a blueprint as to how you should interact with him. 

Like you’d smack him at any moment. And you had in the past. 

But now, you were far from mustering up hate for the man. That much was evident by the very fact that you felt like you could hardly breathe after almost crashing into him. Before, you were certain you’d have no qualms letting your cart wheels run into him, and you’d jeer something snide at him for good measure. 

“I’ve been looking at your notes,” Law said as he followed behind you. “I’m surprised you weren’t hit by a character limit.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’ve been skimming them.”

Law’s brows bounced, and the pressed line that his lips formed creased his cheeks. “Oh, I’ve been reading them,” he mused.

You huffed, returning your attention to your cart. “You’re in a shockingly good mood.”

“I am?” Law raised a brow. 

You resisted the urge to laugh. “I can’t imagine that Hogback’s patients have been giving you an easy time. I keep kicking all the tough questions down the road to you.” 

“Ah,” Law sighed, “You’re the reason why my nine o’clock was asking for a lecture on diastolic dysfunction.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that one. “Which nine o’clock? You had five,” you jabbed, knowing fully well who you’d given the ammunition to. “Besides, I thought you’d be drooling over the opportunity to show off how smart you are.”

Law’s brows raised as he tilted his head slightly. You could see the thoughts race behind his golden irises. 

“That wasn’t a compliment,” you said quickly, stopping at the hall station.

“Sounded like a compliment to me,” Law mused victoriously. 

You handed Law the cup from the tray labeled with his name before taking your own. He took a sip, not quite savoring the flavor as much as he appeared to be debating with it. 

“Your notes are what’s been making my coffee go cold.”

“Don’t go blaming me when you’re the one who told me to hold nothing back,” you hummed, plucking up the last drink in the tray before maneuvering your cart to an out-of-the-way spot just around the corner from the pod. “How many cups has that been today? Three?”

“Regretfully more.”

You pivoted, cocking your head playfully. “Caffeine isn’t good for the heart, you know.”

Law buried a hand in the pockets of his slacks. He shook his head before taking another sip. “Do as I say and not as I do.”

“That’s good, because I never do what you say anyway.” Your eyes glimmered with something mischievous. Law’s eyes shifted a suspicious amount, but he didn’t say a retort out loud. “I’ll remember that the next time you decide to hover and adjust my gain. I can’t believe I almost forgot you did that.”

“You’re still on that?” Law frowned. “I adjusted it because it was wrong.” 

You matched his scowl, planting your hands on your hips. “Do you want me to go back to Syrup? I’d work with Kaya any day over you.” 

Law rolled his eyes. “We both know you’d take my clinic any day over the—what?—one patient you were seeing a day in Syrup?” he scoffed. 

“No one likes a backseat driver.” You turned to step toward the pod. Law continued to follow. 

“That’s called supervision,” Law said, clasping his hands behind his back. “Besides, I like the view.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, almost tripping on your own feet. He didn’t even pretend to mask his self-satisfied smirk.

The balls he’s got on him… 

“If you like the view so much, don’t touch my dials,” you huffed. “You really are a machine.”

Penguin met you both as you rounded the corner, a grave expression on his face.

“Research’s been waiting for half an hour,” he muttered lowly. 

“We’re coming,” Law said, his exterior icing over as his attention turned back to work. 

Marguerite stood from the stool she’d commandeered from the pod, gathering her items. You slid out of her way, tucking your coffee cup next to Penguin’s monitor. 

“Your patient came early,” she said, wasting no time leading you down the hall. 

You scrambled to grab your cart, orienting the wheels to follow. Marguerite walked at a pace that rivaled Law’s, her mild annoyance radiating off her like smoke.

Law frowned into the rim of his coffee. “That’s a first, considering he skipped out on our last couple of sessions.”

“It’s because I’m here,” you bragged, your collective stride creating a light breeze. “He likes my jokes.”

“I don’t think you can consider yourself a comedian if your one-liners need to be accompanied by anesthesia for anyone to find them funny,” Law muttered. 

“Do you need time to review?” Marguerite asked, stopping short in front of the closed exam room door.

“I read up on things last night,” you said. 

“I haven’t been looking at anything else,” Law muttered. 

Marguerite was already rapping lightly on the door. “Alright then, ready or not.”

“Team effort,” you breathed, glancing at Law. 

He nodded. “It’s about time.”

The door swung open, and the three of you stepped inside. 

***

By a miracle you could attribute to the power of friendship, you managed to settle into a rough routine by the end of the week. Daylight hours were dedicated to LVT damage control. The team prepped for an influx of patients, including Law’s returning population and Hogback patients who needed review. The schedule template had been carefully curated after many sleepless nights into a robust guideline that was pulled up on every computer in the pod. 

While you were working your way through what seemed like a never-ending parade of patients, Law had little opportunity to hover. Especially by the end of the week, you and Law missed each other more often than not, exchanging brief updates and notes either through the chart or on the move. He had his hands full taking the full brunt of patient questions. And god, there were a lot of them.

You considered that if the world were a bit fairer, Hogback would have had to explain himself to the influx of upset patients. Perhaps he could sit there and sweat, nervously pushing his glasses back up his nose as he told people to their faces how he’d failed them. 

But you suspected that Hogback would never face repercussions as fitting as that (if at all). And so, Law went room to room, assuming a sort of patience and bedside manner you didn’t know he had. 

“You’re wondering why I’m the one seeing you instead of your usual cardiologist,” you heard Law say through the door as you were passing by.

You heaved in a breath, eyes widening and lips pursing as you shook your head. 

You certainly didn’t envy him. 

“I’m going to be transparent about why you were contacted on such short notice,” Law said. 

You mused for a moment that maybe, despite his general attitude, Law was always meant to be a doctor. Because god, he sounded like one. His voice was nothing short of confident, almost commanding in a sense. In a conversation already charged with hesitancy and fear, he had to take control and steer it toward something productive. 

“We’re doing a formal review of a group that’s been pulled for a quality review process, and you are in that batch of studies,” Law explained. “This doesn’t mean there’s something wrong automatically, but we’re going to review what we have today, repeat imaging, and likely reformulate your treatment plan. Your team is still going to be involved in your long-term care.”

“If I’m fine, then why was I called back at all? Where’s Dr. Hogback?” you heard, quickly moving along. 

You didn’t have time to linger, even if you wanted to. 

Then, as the clock ticked toward 5 o’clock, the atmosphere in the pod changed. As Law wrapped up with his last patient, most of his team trickled out for the night. Those who had self-designated themselves to stay late shifted into a new gear. Because after hours, the clinic belonged to the administrative side of Law’s research and prep for the next day. 

The team assumed the role of auditors, digging through records and charts, aligning everything perfectly to give you and Law the best shot at the truth. All that information was compiled into a robust spreadsheet, which was the basis for the day-to-day outlines. 

The pod didn't empty so much as it thinned.

The smaller number of people there only seemed to make the mess on the stations worse. The entirety of Shachi’s backpack had staged a violent overthrow of Bepo’s workdesk, and Penguin had slotted himself through the armrests of three rolling chairs to create a makeshift lounge. Meanwhile, Chopped had decided to try energy drinks for the first time that day. 

Just as the sky was beginning to change color outside, the smell of grease and fries wafted through Law’s wing. Jean Bart—bless his sweet soul—volunteered himself for one last fuel run before he left for the day. He placed two bags in front of his station, trading them for his backpack and gallon-sized water bottle. 

The pod lights were dimmed, and the hall’s glow took on a somewhat liminal quality. Someone had brought in a space heater that wasn’t exactly compliant with hospital policy. The trash produced a mountain of coffee cups. 

The pod lights were dimmed, and the hall’s glow took on a somewhat liminal quality. Someone had brought in a space heater that wasn’t exactly compliant with hospital policy. The trash produced a mountain of coffee cups. 

“You’re a hero,” Shachi muttered. 

“All hail,” Penguin echoed. 

“I’m headed out, but I’ll be here to open in the morning,” he said, passing Penguin a container of fries. “Don’t drink too much caffeine.”

“I think it’s too late,” Chopper whispered, spinning circles in his swivel chair. 

Jean Bart snatched the Monster Energy from Chopper’s hand on his way out. 

You and Law holed up at two adjacent work desks toward the back of the pod. Law arranged his chaos neatly, shoving aside keyboards, pencil cups, and paper bins to make room for his laptop. A smattering of papers spilled over an adjacent chair and across his lap. 

Law had stripped down to his sleeves, leaving his perfect white coat hanging on a nearby hook. He’d undone the first two buttons of his button-up and loosened his tie to an extent you didn’t think was possible for Trafalgar Law to wear. You could see visible streaks where he’d run his fingers through his hair. The information on his three monitors danced across his pupils as if the charts permanently impressed themselves on his lenses. 

“The EF is listed as in the fifties, but the archive images—”

“—look like they’re in the thirties,” you finished, already copying down the chart information into the priority sheet. “I’ll pull him.”

“Thank you,” Law said quietly. 

In a way, you couldn’t help but be reminded of your college days with Shachi and Penguin. You weren’t strangers to camping out in some odd common area, study room, or library to crunch study packets as hard as the snacks. Your thoughts returned to the lighting: something about the juxtaposition of the dark evening with the overhead fluorescent bulbs, teleporting you to another dimension—one of near delirium where everything was urgent. Perhaps it wasn’t too unlike the hospital itself. 

Chopper bounced his knee in the chair next to Law, keeping a close, protective proximity. The guys had switched in and out of that spot just to make it unmistakable to anyone who might walk by that the two of you hadn’t ended up alone. 

Time melted deeper into the evening. The fast food containers morphed from full to empty. Penguin fortified his rolling chair canoe with an assortment of jackets and a medical pillow. Shachi had put on Law’s white coat. Chopper had already hit a caffeine crash and fell asleep under one of the desks, cradling a container of sani-cloths in his arms. 

Meanwhile, you and Law had exhausted all the conversation you could’ve possibly had about his research. One scan at a time, Law dropped your earlier work directly into his presentation. The slides filled one by one, though they still sported gaps that would need to be filled in the coming weeks. 

Law had already hopped onto his latest set of cue cards, though you doubted they’d last the rest of the night. He’d jot down his script on one card at a time before his original words became unreadable under the revisions that overlapped them. Once his cards became a jumbled mess, Law broke out another set. Rinse. Repeat. 

That was how things carried on for the coming weeks. Law saw his return patients as usual, with Hogback’s patients interspersed. Every so often, you’d see Law’s cor triatriatum dexter patient in the afternoon. Everything else found crumbs of time in the early morning or late evening. 

It seemed like the world shifted for Trafalgar Law, just as it always had. You supposed that hadn’t changed since he was first onboarded. Law was a magnetic force, a storm that tore through the North with sheer youth and determination alone. 

Even embroiled in a scandal that had turned your day-to-day upside down, Law only proved himself indispensable. 

“I think you’re in good shape,” you hummed, turning over one of Law’s flashcards. 

The corners of Law’s lips twitched downward. “I wouldn’t consider going a minute and twenty over to be in good shape. I was aiming for thirty seconds under.”

You shifted, tugging your swivel chair to stick your bent knee through the space under the armrest. “Well,” you started, unable to help the little smirk that curved your mouth. “You could afford to condense your conclusion, but I was talking about you.” 

Your brows bounced once. “Between the Hogback patients and your presentation, you’re going to be… golden. I mean…” You trailed off, not noticing Law’s steady gaze. “If a once-in-a-lifetime case isn’t enough, you rescued a veteran doc’s patient pool and the division head while you were at it.”

A tiny, amused huff blew from Law’s nose. “It’ll be over soon,” he said, “I know you’ve been working hard.”

“We have been working hard.” You gestured in a circular motion, your index finger stopping at Law. “And you should take it easier. Presenting to the Dr. Vegapunk with your usual eye bags isn’t going to fly.”

“It isn’t going to fly?” Law echoed, leaning back in his chair. A glimmer of energy sparked across his tired pupils. 

You shook your head, kicking your tired, scuffed sneaker shoes to match his perfect, polished leather ones. “Nope. Means you have an excuse for a spa day to get the princess treatment you deserve.”

“Tempting,” he said, reaching for a blank flashcard. He’d already written half a note by the time the word left his tongue. “Maybe after this. Once all this gets quieter.” 

You huffed a laugh. “Heh, maybe for you.”

“Things will settle down after the conference,” he said quietly. “I promise. You won’t have to deal with all this, at least not the way it’s been.”

Law spoke casually enough, his words as dry and even as they usually were. No matter what words came from his lips, Law always sounded certain, just like a doctor should. But something felt different in his usual assured tone. 

“That’s a bit melodramatic, isn't it?” you breathed. 

The silence between you lingered, only broken by the sound of clicking keys and the shifting of seats. The HVAC system kicked in overhead, chilling what was already a cold and sterile environment. The sole of Law’s shoe barely slid across the tile before the feather edge brushed against your heel. 

A moment passed—monitors illuminated in front of you, the desk littered with flashcards, and dial tones rang out behind you as Bepo clicked quiet keys. Cold air fluffed the ends of Law’s hair. You continued to nurse your water bottle. 

***

The day of the conference came like an avalanche in slow motion—hulking, shaking, and imposing, impossible to escape yet too slow to swallow you whole. You supposed that the strain of the month steeped you all in so much pressure that the day before the conference felt like any other day. 

Even with the research patient wrapped up, Law’s clinic didn’t feel any lighter. Between his return patients and the last of Hogback’s recheck population, Law seemed determined to tie up as many loose ends as possible before his presentation. 

“We’re busy anyway,” Law had muttered once. 

“You’re too comfortable putting us all to work,” you had murmured back. 

Law had to be coaxed to cut clinic off at a somewhat reasonable—well, reasonable for him—time, nixing the typical after-hours stay in favor of some rest before the big day. And to boot, he’d made a large dinner reservation for the entire team at somewhere fancy, promptly at 7:30 PM. It gave you just enough time to get the hospital smell off you. 

The pod buzzed about it all day, having already been spoiled with bagels and pastries from a nearby bakery and a promise of lunch from one of the vendors parked downstairs. Law either planned very meticulously or pulled a few strings to get you all a spot at that new restaurant uptown—both of which were possible. Jean Bart had the menu pulled up on his monitor for the better part of the morning. 

“It doesn’t even feel like you’re in the city,” Jean Bart insisted in earnest, his voice picking up enthusiasm the more he thought about the menu. His brow bounced in thought. “Everything I’ve had there is good. The short ribs are great.” 

“You’ve been?” Shachi gaped. 

A sly, suppressed grin broke out across Jean Bart’s lips. “A few times,” he said. 

“And you never told us?”

Jean Bart shrugged. “No one asked.”

Penguin peered around Jean Bart’s shoulder at the menu, snaking a hand toward the mouse. 

“I’m getting whatever’s most expensive,” he blurted with glee. “With how hard we’ve been working, the least we can do is a little financial harm, right, Cap’n?”

Everyone’s eyes instinctively glanced toward Law. He didn’t speak a word, shaking his head to himself as he pored over a chart.

A round of laughs erupted from the pod. 

The rest of the day seemed to float on that laughter, no matter how jam-packed Law kept things. You pressed on, annotating the images for Law’s population while Franky handled the rest of the floor. 

For once, you had consistent help at the main hospital. Even though it was only one person, Franky’s presence made all the difference. 

Meanwhile, you hadn’t heard a thing from Lucci or whatever administrative council had taken over the investigation. No emails. No requests for meetings. Silence. The matter had loomed in the back of your mind despite your busy schedule. You desperately wanted to consider that no news was good news, but the quiet felt ominous.

The other shoe hadn’t dropped. You couldn’t help but consider that maybe the roof would finally crash down after all the suits left. North Blue University Medical Center was a prestigious institution; you wouldn’t have been surprised if the administration tried to sweep the ugly parts under the rug before so many esteemed eyes arrived.

But for once, it wasn’t time to worry about the institution. 

It was time to eat. 

You pulled in next to Shachi’s beat-up Saturn, which juxtaposed sharply in comparison to Law’s sleek, black Lexus, which was parked in the neighboring spot. To your surprise, most of the team was already there, having all gathered in a small group at the side of the building. 

By some miracle, everyone had cleaned up beautifully. Jean Bart looked properly sharp in a way that somehow made him seem larger, while Penguin and Shachi had dug their only collared shirts out of the back of their closets to look decently presentable. Chopper combed his hair into a neat side part, and Bepo had shown up in what looked alarmingly like a prom tux. 

Even Marguerite was invited. She barely made an appearance in the pod outside of Law’s research sessions, but you considered that even she wanted a chance to try this restaurant. She was dressed in an elegant yet understated dress, looking like she belonged there far more than the rest of the group combined. 

And in the middle of the group was Law. He looked as perfect and put together as usual, sporting a pastel yellow dress shirt and a neatly pressed pair of slacks that stopped just above smart brown loafers.

You blinked a few times as you crossed the lot. Law’s gaze found yours as if drawn by a magnet. His eyes didn’t widen, nor did he smile, but his stare glinted, softening by an undetectable amount as you joined the group. Everyone spoke amongst themselves, seeming relieved to see each other outside of the hospital. 

“I’m here after these two?” You gestured toward Shachi and Penguin. 

Shachi rested his forearm on your shoulder. “Heh, heh! You showed up last!” 

“Proves you’re not as excited about free food as the rest of us.” Penguin shook his head. “So Shachi and I decided we’re not sharing apps with you.”

“No apps,” Shachi echoed. 

You glanced over his shirt with a frown.

“You are covered in cat fur,” you said, your eyes darting toward Penguin. “And your shirt looks like it’s been crumpled into a ball for the past five years.” 

Shachi looked down at himself as you dug through your bag, grabbing the hem to stretch his shirt. “It’s called tactile art.”

“You are not going to be seen with me at a restaurant this nice looking like you got into a fight with a furry,” you muttered. You produced a lint roller, peeling the used layer away to reveal the new, sticky paper underneath. You rolled it over Shachi’s shirt furiously, stuffing the discarded layer into the front pocket of his pants. 

“What’s a furry?” Chopper whispered in the background. Bepo clamped a knowing hand on Chopper’s shoulder. 

“Would mine be better if I just poured some water on it?” Penguin asked.

“I will kill you if you pour water on yourself,” you muttered, your blood pressure rising slightly. 

“Hey—enough with the lint rolling! This is a good shirt!” Shachi squeaked. 

Law cleared his throat. 

For a moment, a visceral instinct to pull away clapped through you—some ugly self-consciousness from weeks of being watched too closely. But the warm air around you brought you back to the present as softly as a breeze. 

This was Shachi and Penguin, the team—your people. Law. If anyone were going to read your gestures honestly, it would be the friends gathered here. 

“Now that everyone’s here—” Law started.

“I can get a break from being assaulted on the sidewalk?” Shachi interjected. 

“It’s corrective action,” you corrected, finally dropping your lint roller back into your bag. 

Law paused just long enough to sigh, his attention flicking briefly across the group before settling on you. “Now that everyone’s here,” Law repeated. “We should head in before they decide we’re underdressed.”

The host was already waiting by the door and greeted Law by name as soon as you walked in. You shuffled in a quiet procession to your table, not doing a great job of not gaping as you went. 

Light poured over dark, polished wood floors and over deep green walls. Candles sat on each table, and the seats boasted plush padding. Elegant paintings and trim dressed the dining room in soft neutral colors. 

“They’ve got a chandelier,” Chopper hissed just a notch too loud to be a whisper. 

Jean Bart’s gaze had already found the open kitchen, while Penguin was so captivated by the glimmering bar that he nearly caused a pile-up. 

By the time you reached your table, the chaos had already begun. Shachi and Penguin rushed to different seats, and then the bickering started. The shifting of chairs and not-so-discreet whispers cut through the neutral hum of conversation in the dining room. 

You didn’t have a seating preference and would have taken the first available seat if Law hadn’t quietly pulled a chair out beside his before anyone could claim it. Your breath hitched, and your skin burned in a way you couldn’t help but feel sheepish about.

Law held the chair for you as you sat, sliding it underneath you before he sat in his own seat. Across the table, Penguin’s eyes flickered between the two of you before Shachi elbowed him hard enough to make him wince. 

You met Penguin’s gaze silently, offering him a gentle smile. 

He held your stare for a moment, something gentle passing across his face before he turned his attention back to the menu. His chin dipped slightly, as if he were surrendering a single nod to a truth he’d already made peace with a long time ago. Penguin was delayed in matching your smile, his lips morphing into something resembling fond, brotherly resignation.

“I didn’t say anything,” he breathed. 

“Good,” you muttered. 

Water glasses appeared alongside two baskets of bread, an early tribute from the restaurant that seemed to understand exactly what sort of group this was. 

“Okay,” Penguin exclaimed, the tone having shifted, “What’s the cheapest thing here?”

Jean Bart eyed him from the opposite end of the table. “I thought you wanted the most expensive,” he stated, almost accusingly. 

“That’s before I saw numbers with two digits after them.” Penguin sucked in a breath, his lips pursing before he exhaled through his nose. 

“Wait,” Bepo interjected. “What happened to solidarity in maximum financial harm? I feel guilty now.”

“Can we get some appetizers for the table?” Marguerite hummed. 

Jean Bart nodded furiously next to her. 

“We’d better,” Shachi huffed, glancing around at the group. “I hope everyone understands that it’s every man for himself.” 

He paused, pondering for a moment before he glanced toward you and Marguerite, respectively.  “Ladies.”

“Are the short ribs worth it?” Bepo wondered aloud. 

Jean Bart studied his menu with the same focus he gave to charts. “It’s worth it,” he affirmed gravely. 

“Is that what you’re getting?” Marguerite asked him. 

Jean Bart nodded. 

“If I get the chicken marsala, would you be willing to split?” 

Jean Bart nodded again. 

“They have charcuterie,” Chopper gasped.

“Get whatever you want,” Law said, not even glancing up from the menu. 

The table stilled for a moment. Shachi and Penguin exchanged glances. 

“Within reason,” Law corrected.

He glanced toward your menu as the group discussed amongst themselves, then to your face. 

“What are you getting?” he asked quietly, just under the noise. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted, still in awe of the selection between your hands, “Everything sounds amazing.”

“The salmon’s good.” 

You shifted slightly to look at him.

“You’ve been here before?” you asked, the question coming out more pointed than you intended.

“Once,” he answered with a shrug.

“For work,” you filled in, still tracking him as he reached for his water glass. 

He bobbed his head back and forth in a noncommittal answer.

“So yes.” You grinned, turning back toward the menu. 

Law’s shoe gently bumped against yours under the table. 

“Better than the Baratie,” he muttered under his breath. 

You lowered your menu to blink at him. “Was that a joke?” 

The corners of Law’s lips barely perked up. “Nope.”

When the waiter came around, you found yourself ordering the salmon before you could overthink it. The amount of appetizers the table requested could have fed all of you twice over, and yet everyone insisted they’d have room. Shachi and Penguin engaged in a culinary custody battle, and Bepo apologized to the waiter several times for no particular reason. 

Conversation carried easily, just like it always had. Being out of the hospital setting only lightened the atmosphere and made the jokes raunchier than they already were. Then, the drinks arrived. 

“Speech!” Penguin exclaimed, lifting his class. 

You lifted yours with the rest of the team, glancing next to you at Law, who you presumed was trying to melt into the chair. 

“No.”

“Cap’n… There are cloth napkins here,” Shachi argued. “Not making a speech is, like, sacrilegious.” 

Law glanced toward Jean Bart to be a voice of reason, but even he was holding up his wine glass. Jean Bart offered Law a knowing nod. “Just get it over with, Dr. T.”

You were the last one Law looked for solace. You continued to hold your glass up, offering him an apologetic smile and a partial shrug. “I dunno, I think you’re cornered.”

Bepo leaned slightly forward to look at Law from the other end of the table. “You can’t buy us dinner like this and not make a speech,” he said in a tone so earnest that it sounded like soft pleading. 

That seemed to do the trick. 

Law’s lips parted, then closed. He leaned back in his chair, grappling with the same apprehension you imagined he’d feel if he ever had to admit he was wrong. He breathed in, then out.

“You all worked hard,” he said, his words more forceful than necessary. 

He looked around the table, flitting from face to face as if trying to freeze time. His shoulders deflated a fraction as he reached for his glass. Law held it up half-heartedly. 

“Thank you for staying late—for coming in early and helping. You…” Law trailed off for a moment as if another thought eclipsed his head. “You’ve all done more than most people would and better.”

Law raised his glass another inch.

“Whatever happens after tomorrow,” Law breathed, “the work you’ve done mattered. The patients mattered, and you all have done right by them.”

The words settled over the table more gravely than intended. Law glanced back down toward the table. “That’s it. I’m not repeating myself.”

“Cheers,” you chirped, and everyone clinked their glasses together. 

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said, Cap’n!” 

“You really do care.”

“I think I’m tearing up.”

“You can’t cry now, Bepo, I see our appetizers!”

You watched as Law brought his glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before he noticed your stare. His eyes flickered once, then twice. Not even a second was wasted by his gaze, immediately locking onto yours for analysis.

“What?” he asked. 

You hadn’t stopped smiling since you arrived. You leaned back in your chair, pressing your knee against Law’s as you watched the conversation go on without you. You could feel the warmth of him, even like this. 

“I was just thinking,” you mused, half-paying attention as the appetizers hit the table. “This is nice.”

Law’s eyes drifted around the table another time, taking in the same as you—the laughter, the empty bread baskets, and the glimmering expressions. Quiet. 

“What?” you asked. 

Law shook his head before taking a sip of his drink.

“Nothing.”

***

Everyone had insisted that they would have enough room for entrées and desserts to varying degrees of success, but what they all had in common were the takeout boxes. Stacks of carefully wrapped takeout boxes sat across the table, with more piled like a mark of shame in front of those who’d overestimated their appetites. 

Bepo sat straight, as if he thought he would pop out of his tux at any given moment. Chopper had stopped pretending to be sophisticated by the time he had been halfway through his entrée, his eyelids drooping as if he was going to fall asleep at any moment. Marguerite and Jean Bart continued to nurse juxtaposing drinks, and for the first time that night, Penguin and Shachi had quieted somewhat. 

Then, the waiter returned with the bill. Shachi craned his head to glance at the total as it passed by. 

“Holy shit,” he muttered, turning to Law, who received the bill without fuss. “You can’t pay that by yourself.”

Penguin’s brows bobbed. “Well, he can.”

“How much is it?” you asked, leaning over to look at the total, but quickly tapped his card on the machine with one hand and crumpled the paper copy in his other hand. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said quickly, clicking through the receipt options with practiced efficiency. 

“I brought cash,” Bepo croaked from the next to you as he rifled through his beat-up Yu-Gi-Oh wallet. 

“Put it away,” Law muttered. 

He offered the waiter a curt nod as he retreated, and with the bill taken care of, everyone began to stand slowly. Chairs scraped softly against the floor as the table was cleared of boxes and personal items. 

You rose with everyone else, readjusting your clothes where they’d bunched up from sitting. Your body felt pleasantly heavy from the good meal, dragging against your muscles with the same sort of fatigue that usually came after being full. You could tell that you would get great sleep that night. 

The energy stayed much the same as the group cleared out of the dining room, although fullness served to make things quieter. 

The air outside was cooler than you expected, a stark contrast to the warm air from the restaurant. Goosepimples rose on your skin under the pale moonlight. 

The group split from there as if everyone was subtracting the hours until morning, walking one by one to their cars until only you and Law remained. You stood at the curb, staring off at nothing particular in the distance. The sky wasn’t even noteworthy that night, littered with partial clouds and hosting a moon phase no one cared about. 

“Nervous about your presentation?” you finally asked, turning to face Law. 

He stared ahead, pensive and quiet, until he finally nodded. One blink, and his gaze met yours, and you wished in that moment that you could muster the calm Law had before one of the biggest moments of his career. You weren’t even presenting, and your heart pounded on his behalf. 

“Maybe a bit,” he admitted, though hesitantly, “But I don’t think so.”

You shook your head, unconvinced. “You’ve been… off tonight.”

“Is it so strange to see me in a more relaxed state?” Law raised a brow.

A loud, ugly laugh tore from your throat. “You were not relaxed!” You grinned. 

You took two lazy steps forward, drifting in the vague direction of your car as Law trailed behind. He dug his hands in the pockets of his sports coat. 

“That’s why I said more relaxed.” 

“I don’t think you know what that word means.”

“I do,” Law assured. “I took a full meal without responding to a single email.”

You rolled your eyes. “The bar is in hell.”

The lot was quieter than the street, lit by delicate overlight lamps. Even the outside of the restaurant felt elevated, like you were already paying the moment you entered the property.

You stopped at your respective cars. The spot in between where Shachi’s Saturn had been was still empty, leaving a long, dark space between you. Both of you stalled for a moment, not so much as touching your keys, even to pretend you were going through the motions of leaving. 

You parted your lips to speak, the air in your lungs catching in your throat. 

“You know what they didn’t have?” you mused, gesturing vaguely back toward the restaurant with your head. 

Law waited.

“Fries.”

“You’re kidding,” he deadpanned. 

You leaned back against your car door, your expression playfully mischievous. You crossed your arms over your chest. Your keys dangled from your curled fingers. 

“I mean, it was very fancy,” you mused, nodding a few times in consideration. 

Law’s eyes narrowed a fraction. 

“You still haven't confirmed that it was better than the Baratie.” He frowned. 

Your brows raised as you spared a blink. “You were serious about that?”

“I told you I wasn’t joking.”

“And I wasn’t joking about fries.” You nodded decisively. Your headlights flashed as you pressed your key. “Franky Family’s just a block over.”

Law’s feet remained firmly planted where he stood, his hands still in his pockets and his posture as improper as usual. Law stared, only blinking once as you tugged your car door open. 

“You’re trying to get me to a secondary location.” 

“I’m not trying to get you to do anything,” you defended from the driver’s seat. Your leg still dangled out the open door. “I’mjust expressing my desire for fries.”

Law blinked again. “You were just complaining about how full you were.”

“Dessert goes to a different stomach,” you hummed, your key already in the ignition. Your headlight illuminated the neatly manicured shrub in front of you. 

“That is not true, and fries are not dessert.” Law continued to frown.

You held up a finger. “If you eat them after dinner, they are,” you said matter-of-factly.

Law waited a moment longer, as if you’d thrown new numbers into the equation involving the current time and morning. You watched as he breathed out, shaking his head one more time.

“You’ve been hanging around the pod too much.” He walked around to the driver’s side of his shiny car. “I’ll follow you.”

A few short minutes and one drive-thru stop later, you’d obtained one large, greasy bag of French fries. You and Law parked on the far side of the empty lot at just the right angle, so the gargantuan neon twenty-four-hour sign wouldn’t glare into your tired eyes. Then you popped the trunk, and the two of you sat there watching the road.

Neither of you spoke. Cars zipped along the road, preceded only by headlights and the scraping of rubber. Muffled rock music hissed from the fast-food restaurant, and every so often, the neon sign would flicker to proclaim that they served the best “burrs.”

You ripped off the top of the bag to make a little makeshift bowl. You tossed the discarded paper aside into the void that was your folded-down back seat. You hummed in approval as your first fry touched your tongue. After dessert, you needed something a bit salty, and maybe, after your salt fix, you were obligated to find something sweet again. 

Law spared a glance toward your fries. 

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned mid-chew. 

Law huffed. “Well, now I know for sure where Shachi and Penguin get it from.”

“Get what from?” you grumbled, fries still in your mouth. 

Law slid his hand swiftly into the bag, plucking a few up and into his mouth before you could even protest. He leaned toward, one hand on his hip and the other draped across his bent knee. 

“The attitude,” he chewed. “About food more specifically.”

You pressed a palm to his forehead, pushing his head away. You cradled the bag in the crook of your elbow like a football. 

“You’re talking to me about attitude?” you cried, letting out a gasp of disbelief. “You’re the one who gave me such a hard time about coming here!”

“I just didn’t know you needed a second dinner after I took you to the nicest restaurant in the city,” he mused without much seriousness in his tone. 

“My need for fries to sustain me has nothing to do with that really nice dinner you so generously bought all of us,” you stressed, balancing the sincerity with playful sarcasm. You hesitated a beat as you plucked up some fries before pushing them toward Law. “See? Look what you’ve done. You’ve made these pity fries.”

“I would like to go back with you sometime.”

You couldn’t have been making an elegant face, at least not one that matched Law’s level of earnestness. Not with your mouth full. 

Meanwhile, Law leaned back against the side of your trunk, not quite as enclosed as you were. Perhaps it was the angle he sat at, or maybe your trunk just couldn’t accommodate the sheer leg Law had on him, but even slightly scrunched up and hanging half out of your car, Law looked… perfect. 

Perfect as usual, even with his slightly disheveled hair and loosened tie. Awake with you in a parking lot at a later hour than either of you anticipated staying up.

“You know…” You averted your gaze, your arms wrapping around yourself in an unconscious hug. “Do you ever think about just… coming out with it? Making it official? Dealing with the consequences.”

Your eyes flickered to his. Law stared toward you, his eyes unchanging. Listening. 

You turned your attention back toward the road. “I mean, if that’s something you’re interested in,” you muttered quickly. 

He didn’t answer right away, letting a few too many seconds stall his answer.

“I am, I just… Let’s get through tomorrow and see how you feel about being with me,” he said carefully. “As long as you’re not mad at me.”

An electric pang shot through your chest as you instinctually snapped back toward him, a defensive glint in your pupils. 

“Why would I be mad at you?” Your eyes narrowed. 

Law shrugged, slowly reaching for a fry. “If I bomb tomorrow, you might not think I’m smart anymore.”

You let out a disbelieving huff through your nose. “That is the stupidest thing you’ve said all week.” 

The corner of Law’s mouth dipped in consideration. “All week? That’s not bad coming from you.”

“You’re not going to bomb,” you stressed, leaning forward to place your hand on his knee. “I’ve listened to your presentation too many times for you to bomb, and since it’s all my imaging work in there, if you bomb, I bomb, and that’s just not acceptable.”

Law’s eyes trailed from your hand and up your arm before settling on your face. The taught muscle around his forehead relaxed, melting into a tired softness. 

“If this is your way of letting me down easy—” Your eyes fluttered shut. —“It’s terrible.”

You felt his hand slowly morph over yours. His skin was warm. 

“That isn’t what I’m doing.”

“Then what are you doing?”

Your gaze flickered to Law’s soft stare. He squeezed your hand. 

“I want this,” he said. “I would love nothing more than to not have to sneak around with you or have to pretend you aren’t… what you are to me.” 

You swallowed, your trunk feeling smaller than you remembered. 

“What am I to you?” you asked, barely above a whisper. 

You moved to draw your hand away, but Law held you steadily in his gentle grasp. 

“You’re someone I want to be with,” he said quietly. “I mean it. I want this. I want you, and if it were up to me, we would have stopped hiding it a long time ago.”

His words robbed your lungs of their air. You stalled, a small line appearing between your eyebrows. 

“Then… why are you making it sound like something bad is about to happen?” Your voice sounded smaller than you intended, thinner. “Law, I—”

“Listen to me.” Law closed the distance between you, taking your hand in his and pressing his forehead to yours. “Nothing bad is about to happen. I’m not hesitating because I don’t want this. I do. I want a real chance with you—but not if it comes at your expense. Not with everything else going on, not if it just pulls you back down. That’s not happening. I won’t be the reason.”

You pressed your forehead farther into his, letting his tousled hair brush against your heated skin. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked,” you breathed, the skin around your eyes tightening. “I know you’re already on edge with the deadline and Dr. Vegapunk and—”

“Hey,” Law whispered. The grip on your hand tightened just enough to anchor you. “This isn’t that. I’m not trying to talk about all that.” His thumb brushed your knuckles. “I just need tomorrow to happen first.”

Your lips formed a thin line. “Because of the presentation.”

Law paused. 

“Among other things,” he said. “And after tomorrow, once this is all over, make a decision without all the weight on your shoulders. We’ll talk as soon as it’s over. I promise.”

You pulled back just far enough to meet his golden irises. 

“That was disgustingly romantic for a French fry excursion,” you huffed softly. “Maybe we should have gone to the restaurant by ourselves after all. I feel like the setting would’ve been more appropriate.” 

Law’s brows bounced once. 

“I’ve been choosing to ignore the setting.” He lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, so brief it made your heart wrench. “Just try not to decide I’m insufferable after the Q&A.” 

You grinned, huffing out a laugh as you leaned toward him again. “Too late.”

You felt him smile back against your lips. “Good,” he said. 

He kissed you softly, as if you might shatter at any moment. But there was certainty in every fiber of him against you. And when you broke for air, he breathed, “It’s late. You should probably get some sleep.”

You hummed in half-hearted agreement, not wanting the night to end just yet. 

***

The morning felt heavy, weighted with nerves, anticipation, and a sobering gravity. Not wearing your scrubs, for once, felt wrong, like getting up for work on a weekend. Most people tried to take research days like these off, given their supervisors were feeling particularly benevolent. 

At least at the outpatient facilities, doctors saw fewer patients. If you were to guess, at most, there were twenty patients seen across Main and the various satellites, and you doubted none of them were complex cases. 

But the low patient load didn’t stop the North from cramming bureaucratic pomp into the day. Between trainings, resident recognition awards, and, of course, the annual conference, the campus seemed to buzz more than usual. 

The parking garages—which weren’t all that reliable to begin with—were full. Delivery trucks idled at the curbs, their hazards flashing like warning colors. Important people in suits moved in sleek little herds, shepherded from building to building by guides who might as well have been safari escorts. The population of baby docs—true, timid, fledgling creatures that they were—had more than doubled, with baby-faced fellows huddling together like penguins in bad weather. In the conference area, familiar faces prowled among banners and balloon towers that rose too high, like jungle cover swallowing the rafters.

You immediately searched for Law the moment you stepped into the hall. Hancock stood near the entrance, her staff having already commandeered two cocktail tables as territory while they turned their backs toward everyone else. Doctors, nurses, and all colors of technical staff gathered around the charcuterie oasis at the far wall. The bar, despite being dry, still accumulated a swarm. Perhaps when you permanently smell of ethanol, even the cranberry juice might give you a buzz. 

Hogback, somehow, had planted himself in the middle of it all, nursing a soda near the hospital brass. His laugh carried too loudly across the floor for a man under review.

Just as you considered you’d trekked across the entire hall and back, you spotted him. He sat next to Saturn in a more stagnant cranny of the hall, talking shop with serious nods and curt hand gestures to boot. You breathed a sigh, not knowing what you were expecting as you turned back on your heel. 

Maybe Law wasn’t nervous after all. Any comfort you could have offered before his presentation was probably eclipsed by Saturn’s attention alone. Given what you’d heard about Shaka, you wouldn’t have been surprised if Law’s place in the conference was more of a formality than it was an audition. 

You retreated toward the food table in search of different familiar faces, and to a lack of shock, you found Shachi and Penguin. They had already filled two plates each with everything that wasn’t a vegetable. Marguerite and Jean Bart chatted a distance away at a cocktail table near Hancock’s team. 

“I am astonished the two of you are here,” you announced in playful disbelief. 

The two turn toward you in unison, smiles spreading across their faces. 

“Wha’da’ya mean?” Shachi chirped in the worst impression of a Boston accent you’d ever heard. 

“It’s a big day!” Penguin exclaimed, though his botched accent leaned more Australian. 

You squeezed between the two to scrutinize their plates. Your eyes flattened. “This is all salami.”

“And stuffed bread!” Shachi defended. 

“The stuffed bread is so good!”

“Please, I beg of you, please eat something green,” you sighed. “Like, three pieces of broccoli.”

“I mean—” Penguin pushed a potato chip into a mound of dip. —“Artichoke dip is kinda green.”

“Why would I eat broccoli raw?” Shachi huffed. 

By that point, the three of you were officially blocking the line, and so you dragged each boy by the sleeve toward the area you figured was reserved for Team Trafalgar. 

“I’m pretty sure people usually dip the broccoli in vegetable dip,” you sighed. 

“At that point, isn’t that just artichoke dip?”

At the cocktail table, Marguerite and Jean Bart engaged in a less childish conversation, although you didn’t consider the recall of alcohol pads to be particularly riveting. 

“Hey!” Marguerite chirped as soon as she spotted you. “Have you seen Law’s patient yet?”

Your forehead scrunched, considering momentarily that some research-fueled delusion had consumed Marguerite.

“What?”

“Mr. John said he wanted to watch the presentation,” she said. 

Your brows bobbed in consideration. “I guess that makes sense,” you hummed, reaching for Shachi’s sparkling grape juice. “Insurance approved transport for that?”

Marguerite shook her head. “He said his grandson is bringing him.”

“That guy does not look like he has a grandson,” Penguin mused. “Doesn’t act like it either.”

“Is he already here?” you asked. 

Marguerite shook her head again. “Not that I saw. I was hoping you might’ve spotted him on your way in.”

“Well, I’ll tell you if I see him.” Your gaze flickered across the crowd. “But knowing him, he might show up late.” 

Shachi shrugged. “Cap’n going last anyway, so he’d got buffer time.”

“Imagine sitting in a room with over a hundred-something people to hear someone talk about your fucked up heart,” Penguin mused. 

“Fucking Christ. If I’d known there would be this many people here to look at my fucked up heart, I would’ve charged goddamn admission money!” a gruff voice cut through the low, professional roar of the room. “I’ve seen airport terminals less crowded than this place.”

The five of you turned in near-perfect unison.

Mr. John barrelled through the crowd in a wheelchair two times too big for his stature. A pole stretched out from the back, bearing a little flag. Just behind him, mostly obscured by a dark hood and baseball cap, his grandson looked as if he were praying for spontaneous combustion.

“Quit trying to run people over, old man,” he muttered, steering around a cluster of attendees. 

“Then get me to the bar faster.”

“It looks like they just have pop, you goddamn alcoholic.”

Something about that voice snagged deep in your memory. You knew that rough drawl, even if it sat a register lower than you remembered.

You glanced up just as Mr. John’s wheelchair stopped short in the middle of the crowd. The chair jolted. Mr. John lurched forward with a curse, frail fingers clamping around the armrests before he could pitch himself into the stream of passing attendees.

“The hell you think you’re doin’, Kid?”

He froze when he met your eye.

The years hit all at once, and yet not at all. The black hoodie did nothing to hide the breadth of him, nor the harder edges time had carved into his face. Beneath the brim of his cap, his pale blue eyes caught on yours from the dark.

Kid.

Mr. John’s gaze locked onto you. He let out a laugh. “There she is! There’s the imaging woman with the sense of humor!”

Marguerite brightened instantly. “You made it!” She beamed. “We were just talking about you.”

“Well, you know what they say about the devil,” Mr. John gruffed, jabbing a thumb back toward Kid. “This one certainly thinks I am. You’d think I was askin’ him tuh—tuh jump off a cliff with me instead of haulin’ me down here.”

Meanwhile, Kid hadn’t taken his eyes off you for a second. His hands remained wrapped around the handles of Mr. John’s chair. The blue badge he’d been handed at the front, labeled “guest,” was the loudest thing about him. 

Your eyes flickered to the ground and back. “Hi, Kid,” you said softly. 

Kid drew in a breath, his mouth forming a thin line. “Hey.”

The silence that followed was not the curious kind, nor the kind the rumble of the room could swallow. Mr. John glanced from face to face, his mouth turning down as it became increasingly clear he was missing something.

Kid’s stare finally shifted, finally taking stock of the rest of the table. His shoulders went taut. 

“Shachi. Penguin,” he gruffed, offering them a nod each. 

Shachi and Penguin exchanged glances.

“Eustass,” Shachi mumbled at last. “Been a while.”

Penguin’s mouth formed a tight line. “I thought they banned you from campus.”

Kid drew in another breath, his eyes closing for a second as if he was bracing for impact. “I knew this was gonna happen,” he muttered. 

Jean Bart quietly excused himself. 

“This some kinda reunion or somethin’?” Mr. John barked, his forehead knitted. “Ya’ll gonna just stand around and stare at each other all day or what?”

“The four of you know each other?” Marguerite asked innocently. 

The four of you traded looks, as if mentally negotiating an answer. 

“Kid used to work here,” you said quickly, “A long time ago, when I first started.”

“I just used to work here, huh?” Kid repeated flatly. 

Mr. John twisted around in his chair. “For Christ’s sake, are we doin’ this now? I came here for a heart lecture, not whatever weird shit you’ve all got goin’ on. And I’m not about to let’cha make a fool of me in front of my funny imaging lady.”

“I can help you get settled.” Marguerite set her drink down on the cocktail table. “They reserved you a spot near the front.”

“Good,” he grumbled. “Finally, someone in this room’s got some sense.”

Marguerite moved to usher them through the crowd, but Kid didn’t follow right away. 

His eyes flickered back to yours again. “We’ll talk later,” he said flatly, and then he left. 

Silence wavered in the air when he left. 

Penguin played with his artichoke dip. “Well,” he started, “That’s one way to kick off the conference.”

Shachi glanced at you. “Did you—”

“No,” you breathed from behind pursed lips. You shook your head, eyes slightly widened. “I did not.”

“Are you okay?” Penguin asked. “Do you want us to stick with you?” 

You heaved a sigh. Then you shook your head. 

“No,” you said at last, though it came out quieter than you meant it to. “No, I—” You swallowed. “If I don’t do this now, it’s never getting done.”

Neither of them argued.

Your gaze flicked toward the front of the room, toward the dark hood disappearing between shoulders and conference badges. Something old and unfinished pulled tight in your chest.

“I’ll be back,” you said, already stepping away.

“Go,” Penguin said. 

Shachi nodded. “We’ll be here.”

You slipped through the crowd toward the entrance to the main lecture hall. Marguerite already had Mr. John settled in front as you appeared in the doorway. Kid’s gaze flickered up, catching yours by instinct alone. 

His attention flickered from where Mr. John and Marguerite were talking, then back to you. Kid gestured curtly out into the hall to his left with his head before slipping out through the doorway. You weaved around to the side corridor. 

Kid leaned against the wall just a few feet down from the lecture hall. He had already coiled his arms over his chest. One of his heels rested against the wall behind him. He still did that thing where he bounced his knee. 

“I was wondering how long it’d take for you to come after me. I didn’t think it’d be so quick.” He glanced at you once as you approached. “I was hoping I wouldn’t see you.”

Your steps slowed until you came to a stop a few feet away. Familiar words crept onto your tongue: “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

Kid scoffed out a laugh. “Yeah.” His brows bounced. “Just peachy.”

The corridor was quieter than the conference floor. Muffled voices muttered in the background through the walls. Barely audible laughter echoed from somewhere deeper in the building. 

“I didn’t know John was your grandfather,” you said.

“Didn’t know you were still here,” he shot back. 

You looked at him, unblinking. “I work here.”

“Yeah.” Kid shook his head. “I noticed that.” He ran a hand over his face. “God, I had a feeling. I had a feeling it was you every time Pops talked about ya.” 

Your lips formed a sad line. “He could never remember my name.”

A resigned puff blew from Kid’s nose. “Yeah, that’s what happens when you start your day with a bottle of Jack.”

Silence weaved between you. Its presence was thin, not sparing either of you from the thickening atmosphere. 

“Who’s running things in imaging nowadays?” Kid muttered. 

You breathed in as you glanced away, and with more confidence than you’d had since you arrived, you answered, “I am.”

Kid paused. His brow barely twitched. 

“What happened to Wapol?” 

“Retired.” You stood still. “A while ago.”

Kid nodded once, his attention to the floor. He brought a hand up to his lip. His thumb traced the corner in thought. 

“And they put you in charge.” His tone held an indecipherable neutrality, like a statement of fact. 

You bobbed your head. “Something like that.”

For a moment, Kid didn’t say a thing. 

“What?” you asked. 

Kid hummed, shifting to stand slightly straighter against the wall. His hand retreated from his mouth back to the crook of his elbow. 

“Nothing.” He tipped his head back against the wall. “Just...” His mouth tightened just before a troubled grin appeared across his lips. He shook his head. “Shit, maybe you were stubbornly right after all.”

You blinked. “What?”

Kid waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m not sayin’ that shit again,” he scoffed, but paused in consideration. “But you actually did it.”

You cocked your head. “Did what?”

Kid pushed off the wall then, turning fully toward you. He was just as tall and broad as ever, all hard edges. And when he said, “You said this was the only place for you. You let me walk away over a place you’d worked at for barely a month,” you expected nothing but bitterness. 

You would’ve understood if he was still thinking about your last conversation. He had his reasons back then, and so did you. But even if he was still angry, he was here now. You didn’t want to kick yourself later. 

Not again. 

But as his eyes held yours, they only softened. “You stayed. And now you’re where you always wanted to be.” A humorless twitch pulled at his mouth. “Still think it was a stupid move. But you did it.”

You looked away. “You weren’t wrong.”

Kid scoffed. “Yeah, I figured that much the second I saw that dickbag was still here.” He jerked his chin toward the main hall. “They’re still letting him practice?”

You heaved out a loaded breath. “Don’t get me started.”

Kid watched you for a second too long, his smirk easily morphing back into a scowl. “That bad, huh?” You watched as his eyes narrowed like compound lenses. 

A breathy laugh tore from your throat, the air loaded. “It’s a whole thing.”

“He came after you again,” he assumed bluntly, though correctly. 

You surrendered a nod. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Knew it,” he grumbled, bobbing his head a few times. “Always did.”

“I know,” you said softly. “You weren’t wrong about him. You never were. It’s like you said, running into the wall a few times—”

“I said a lot of things I didn’t mean,” Kid interrupted, holding up a hand. He leaned his shoulder against the wall before he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was so goddamn mad at you. I said a lot of shit.” He breathed out steadily. “It’s one of the reasons I didn’t wanna see you today.”

A small, sad smile crept onto your lips. “I know that too,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I don’t think—”

“I couldn’t understand why the hell you’d stay in a place that treated you like that,” Kid cut in. He fidgeted with his hands like he was yearning for a cigarette. “Think that’s part of why I got so pissed and said all the bullshit I did.”

An otherworldly silence spread through the corridor. Being there with him felt like a dream. 

“But even back then,” Kid finally said. He breathed in the same way someone might’ve in a confessional. “I think I knew you saw something bigger in it than the rest of us did. I knew you wouldn’t be happy at the shop.”

He didn’t shy away from his concession, and in true Kid fashion, he didn’t make a flourish of it either. Kid’s stream of consciousness always flowed through his mouth, never restrained. That much had stayed the same.

“You said some true things, too,” you offered. 

A crooked smile tugged at his mouth. “Yeah. That’s usually the part that gets me in trouble, Trouble.”

The old nickname drew a breathy laugh from you. “I’ve missed seeing you around, even if you were impossible,” you mused. “I had to learn to fix my own equipment, you know.”

“Oh shit. That’s fuckin’ tragic,” he breathed, the corners of his lips still upturned. “So why did you come find me?”

“I always did, didn’t I?” you asked, the memories you shared together flitting through your head. “The day we stopped talking… it felt like a loss, didn’t it?”

“To me it was.”

Kid’s expression didn’t change. Narrowed. Honest. Maybe too honest.

“Right,” you breathed almost sheepishly. “It’s bothered me, you know. Knowing you left because of me, and I stayed and had to live with the empty space after.” Your attention returned to Kid. “Not to make it about me.”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about bein’ polite with me, Trouble. I’d be offended.”

Kid’s eyes shifted from you to just over your shoulder. His smile morphed from fond to mischievous. “Hey, buddy,” he barked. “You need something?”

You turned.

Law stood at the mouth of the corridor, his materials tucked at his side and his other hand deep in the pocket of his coat. He stared only at you, not sparing even a glance toward Kid. 

“I was looking for you,” he said as he crossed the hall. “They’re about to start.”

“Right,” you laughed nervously. 

Law stopped just behind your shoulder. His eyes flattened, just like they did when a technician messed up his protocol. 

Meanwhile, Kid’s smile only grew wider. 

You took a half step toward the lecture hall. “Should we go?”

“So, you gotta name?” Kid prompted.

For the first time since he arrived, Law spared one glance toward Kid. “Dr. Trafalgar.”

Kid let out a low hum, as if Law’s presence was answer enough to a few questions he had. “This one isn’t your usual type.”

Heat rose up your neck. 

“Kid—”

“I’m Eustass,” Kid said over you. “I’m an old friend.”

Law glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Usual type?”

Your face burned. “Can we not do this?” You breathed in sharply. 

Kid ignored you. “You usually go for less put-together than this.”

Law’s eyes remained flat and never once left you. “And yet,” he muttered. 

Kid studied him for a moment as an amused hiss teased out from behind his teeth. “Don’t sound so pleased with yourself, doc.” 

“Are you done?” Law asked, frowning.

“Oh, he’s very serious.” A daring glint flashed in Kid’s pale irises.

“You said they were starting?” you cut in, clearing your throat as you turned to Law. “We should get going.”

Law stepped back to let you pass first. You moved without a second thought, grateful for the excuse to break eye contact with either of them. Your heart pounded in your chest.

As you passed, Kid’s gaze caught yours one last time.

“Later, Trouble,” he said, his voice gone suddenly softer.

You didn’t look back. “Later, Impossible.”

Law followed a step behind you, leaving Kid alone in the corridor.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Glossary for Nerds

Tag List: @aveocadeo @augustanna @starzbrii @sporkslol @r3nstar @chillerkiller @weepingjudgediplomatbasketb-blog @notbleachtea @yunloyal @valval08 @qui-sap @vilemint @all-mights-wife @breakingthebank13 @lipstick-stains-and-coffee-rings @starchild-unnamed @sin-namonroll

In the rhythm of the "wack" meme: No age in bio, no tag! Minor, no tag (MINORS DNI ANYWAY)! No series interaction, no tag

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI Chapter XVII Chapter XVIII Finale and Epilogue

And so it went, with Law icing you out and you trudging through his unyielding current of patients. As you expected, Law was a peach as usual. 

“Following me to critique my work again, Trafalgar?” You pushed your cart as fast as it could go without crashing into a wall. “Don’t forget about the optics. I would hate for you to have to talk to anyone. I know that’s not your strong suit.” 

“The only optics you need to worry about are what things look like when imaging falls behind,” he muttered crisply. “I suggest you shape up and worry about yourself.” 

“Love the attitude,” you muttered, “Real cute, Mr. Gray.”

“You started it,” he shot back. You shook your head.

“If you want to talk about who started what, we can go back to that first time you stormed all the way to my office to throw a fit about… What was it again? A repeat scan?” You glowered.

“See, you can’t even remember. Must not’ve been a big deal.” Law shrugged, “But you know what is a big deal?” Law put a hand on your cart, stopping you mid-step. He jabbed a thumb toward the door he stood in front of. “Paying attention to your surroundings.”

You crinkled your nose. 

“I was told 207 first.” 

“209, or do I have to bring reading numbers up in the next QC meeting?” He tapped the room sign vigorously. You took a breath, chewing at the inside of your cheek as if marinating the words you were about to spit. 

“That’s low-hanging fruit, even for you, Trafalgar.”

“Doctor,” he corrected. “If you want things sugar-coated, maybe you should take a trip to see that friend of yours from the cafeteria. Or even better, I’m sure HR would be happy to talk to you like you’re twelve.”

“Referrals from a doctor,” you mused, “Did you come up with that one all by yourself, or are you just being ironic?"

“What can I say. I’m invested in my job and I take things seriously, unlike some other people here,” he retorted, turning toward the exam room door. “Now, fix your face. I don’t want you scowling at my patient.”

You laughed bitterly, “That’s rich coming from you.”

Law knocked on the door, turning the handle. You followed after him with your equipment, all smiles. Because Trafalgar Law aside, you were damn good at your job.

***

The small break room was surprisingly busy today. You supposed you weren’t the only one who was trying to be good and actually pack a lunch instead of raiding the caf or one of the many delectable food trucks downstairs. 

Having a credit card linked to your badge was dangerous because one day you’re telling yourself that buying lunch for one day will be fine, and the next you’re looking at a slightly smaller paycheck than usual. Not to mention that all of the food cart prices are so temptingly reasonable that you end up buying half the line. 

You were heating up something rather disappointing, but nutritious and filling, which would get the job done. Penguin and Shachi were at your usual round table nearest to the vending machine. The table space was too small to accommodate all three of you and your meals. It was wobbly, and Shachi always asserted that it wasn’t a real table, for whatever that was supposed to mean. But the three of you wouldn’t sit anywhere else. 

You sat down with your hot tupperware, clearing out of the way just in time for Law to storm in and make straight for the coffee maker. You kept your eyes on him, watching him in a way that was more noticeable than you would have liked. 

Shachi watched your gaze, following it discreetly to Law. 

“Hey, pal… Are you… okay?” he tentatively asked. He placed down his fork, lacing his fingers together as he leaned against the table. Your eyes flickered toward him mid-bite.

“You’re pal-ing me?” you asked incredulously. You glanced around briefly before returning your gaze to Shachi. “Are you okay?” 

Shachi and Penguin exchanged a look.

“You’ve been off lately,” Shachi said softly. “You’ve been doing a lot recently, and we’re just worried—”

“Hey, hey, hey! What’s with the whispers?” Perona appeared over your lunch table. Her fists sat triumphantly on the hips of her barely not red scrubs. You remembered when she dyed them herself. Red was an approved color for scrubs. Pink was not. She had taken it upon herself to dye five pairs of white scrubs a clear shade of pink (just barely not red) and handed out cash to anyone who would walk by her supervisor and compliment Perona on her red scrubs. She was ultimately allowed to keep them. Perona turned toward you, a broad grin on her glossy lips. “Is this about your date?” 

Perona always spoke a little too loudly, especially when it came to gossip. She took it upon herself to pull up a random chair, sandwiching herself between Shachi and Penguin across from you. Perona rested her elbows on the table, scrunching her face in her palms as she leaned toward you, kicking her feet under the table. 

“C’mon, c’mon, you gotta spill!” she begged. “We never hear anything fun in hospice. It’s so wonderfully gloomy,” she sighed. 

Over her shoulder, Law had visibly stilled near the coffee maker. His back was turned to you. Now, you weren’t exactly friends with Perona. You spoke in passing, and typically, you might not have engaged with her at all. But…

“It’s just dinner.” You glanced down, a coy smile on your lips as the other side of the table practically exploded.

“You have to tell me everything!” Perona exclaimed.

Shachi and Penguin were far less enthused. 

“Why didn’t you tell us anything?” 

“Who is this bastard?” 

Perona swiveled her head, glancing between the two with her nose wrinkled in disgust. She pressed a finger to her lips, shushing them loudly. 

“Shut up! This is girl talk now!” She turned back to you with a giddy smile, placing her face between her hands again. “Tell me everything. Dinner, and you’re going? Wearing what? You’re going with Dr. Sanji, right? The doc who brings all the dieticians coffee in the morning?”

You couldn’t help the little smile that stretched out your lips. You tried to purse them to no avail. 

“The Baratie—”

“WHAT?!” The name of the restaurant barely escaped your mouth before Perona suddenly stood, slamming her hands on the table. Penguin barely had time to snatch his bowl of soup up before Perona smacked her palm into it. “Are you kidding me?!” 

She sank back into her chair, a jealous disbelief adorning her. Perona was officially causing a scene, and other staff members were beginning to turn around in their seats. Law stood leaning against the counter, his coffee in one hand and a small stack of papers in the other. His eyes glazed over them as he sipped. 

“It’s that seafood place on 7th Ave across from the bay,” Law drawled, his inflection slightly raised in thought, but otherwise neutral. He continued to sip on his coffee, not taking his eyes from his papers.

“It’s exclusive as fuck, that’s what it is!” Perona cried. “I’ve been trying to get in there for months.”

“Damn,” Penguin sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, “Can I get a date with Dr. Sanji?” Law scoffed behind him.

“I’m sure you could,” he muttered with amusement, flipping a page in his packet. You glared toward him.

“Well, he asked nicely,” you hummed, turning back to Perona, who was hanging onto every word. “I swear, he’s one of the few doctors in this place who doesn’t have an attitude problem.”

“Uh, tell me about it,” Perona wilted, switching her cheek to one hand and letting the other fall onto the table. “I love Dr. Moria, like, a lot, but he can be a slave driver sometimes.”

“Perona, I don’t think you can say things like that,” Shachi muttered. 

“So have you looked at the menu?” Perona continued with glee, “That place is pretty expensive. He’s paying, right? He has to be paying, so you can, like, get anything you want, and, like, it’s basically free, right?”

“I haven’t looked. I know Sanji probably has a few recommendations. I was going to wait until we got there,” you shrugged nonchalantly. Her eyes glinted.

“First name basis, huh?” she sighed. “You’re practically married at this rate.” Perona waggled her index finger toward you, nodding her head. “You know, he does look like he’d know a good wine pairing,” she mused, already swooning over the made-up scenario brewing in her head. 

“A referral from a doctor,” Law mused, his voice rising slightly like he was sighing through making an announcement, “I thought you weren’t a fan of those.”

He glanced up at you for the first time since he entered the room, making eye contact for the briefest moment before looking back down at his paper. 

“Guess I’ll take them from doctors I like,” you shot back. 

Law placed his cup underneath the coffee maker and popped in another pod. He didn’t say a word for the rest of your conversation with Perona and took his leave shortly after. 

***

That Friday, you met Sanji at the Baratie. You had just enough time to shower, change out of your scrubs, and look somewhat presentable rather than looking like you just stumbled out of the OR. Although you were sure Sanji wouldn’t have minded if you showed up in scrubs or covered in blood, for that matter. 

He stood at the entrance of the restaurant, a small bouquet of roses in his hand. He smiled when he saw you, standing from the stone wall where he had been leaning to meet you.

Sanji wore stylish, carefully pressed slacks with a matching belt. His cream-colored turtleneck was slightly tucked, and he sported a designer suit jacket over his shoulders. Even his shoes matched his entire ensemble. 

“You know,” he started, kissing you on both cheeks in greeting before holding the bouquet out to you. “I have a suspicion.”

“Oh, really?” you hummed, “And what’s that?” 

Sanji looped his thumbs through his belt loops, rocking slightly on his heels. 

“I think there’s a reason you hide in scrubs all day—” His lip dipped flirtatiously as he carefully took your hand, leaving his opposite thumb still looped in front of the belt on his hip. Sanji brought your knuckles up to his lips. —“Because if you wore anything else, you’d have half the men on the block dropping dead where they stood.” 

He pulled his lips away with a wink, standing back to his full height.

“Not that the scrubs were saving us much.” He still had your fingers draped over his. “Shall we?” 

Sanji led you to the restaurant. You thanked him for the flowers and admired them as you were led to your seats. He had already made a reservation in advance, and the moment the staff saw Sanji, they greeted him warmly and took you back straight away. They had even taken your flowers from you, returning to the table with them beautifully arranged in a stylish vase to display at the table. 

“I haven’t been here before,” you admitted, flashing Sanji a charming smile, “I don’t presume you have any recommendations?” you asked, and god, was that the question to ask. 

Sanji’s face lit up, his eyes glittering like a kid who had just heard the words ice cream. 

“You have to try the oysters,” Sanji leaned forward. He hadn’t even picked up the menu, and as he continued to speak, it dawned on you that Sanji didn’t have a menu. “And trust me, they’re exquisite with a glass of Chablis. The minerality brings out the brine like nothing else.” He shook his head in glee at the thought. 

“The lobster bisque is a staple here. We’ve been using the same recipe for decades. My old man catches everything fresh himself from the bay, and— have you ever had a fresh lobster bisque? Like, actually fresh?” Sanji’s eyes continued to shine. It was cute. 

You shook your head. However, you picked up on the we in his sentence. 

“No, I don’t think I have—” 

“We’ll have to get that too!” he interjected. “Oysters will be our opening note. The Chablis, as I mentioned before, is designed to awaken the palate. Then the lobster bisque… And then let’s do the seared scallops with a nice Chardonnay. Delicate, light so our taste buds aren’t overwhelmed. You gotta think about the flow of things when you’re eating, especially for appetizers.”

Soon enough, Sanji had your entire meal planned out down to the drinks and dessert. And perhaps that would have been rather sexy if your dinner plans hadn’t completely dominated the conversation. 

“So,” you asked as the oysters were being served. “How did you get into medicine?”

“It actually comes back to the kitchen,” Sanji explained, “I used to work here, and I’d be in the kitchen from when I was a kid all the way through my schooling. My stepdad runs this place, and he taught me everything I know about food. And food can actually change lives, you know—” Sanji kept speaking as he arranged a few things on the table, placing little dishes of garnish between the two of you. — “Eat better, feel better. That’s what I wanted to help people with.”

He gestured to the oysters and the wine.

“You gotta tell me what you think,” he beamed, watching you a little too closely as you ate and drank. Sanji stared at you intently, in fact, hanging onto every second of silence before your review, as if you were a critic. “Can you taste the brine?” he asked gleefully.

It was an oyster in all of its glory. And the wine was a wine. Both were good. Both were food, but you didn’t have nearly the vocabulary to have the caliber of conversation you presumed that Sanji wanted from you. 

“It’s wonderful,” you said, a beat too late. 

Sanji nodded profusely. 

“And the wine is just a spectacular pairing, isn’t it?” 

You hummed in agreement. 

“It is,” you nodded, “You used to work here for your stepdad?”

Sanji was all too eager to answer. Your other two appetizer courses came and went, and you were sure he didn’t stop talking about the restaurant until you were about done with your main course. If he wasn’t talking about the restaurant, he was asking for an in-depth report on how his pairings were. 

It was entirely too much room and even more food talk and commentary to boot. You could probably give an entire presentation about the history of the Baratie, Chef Zeff’s fishing habits, and their dairy supplier. You also weren’t used to having your glasses of wine stripped from you without finishing them. 

“What do you like to do outside of work?” you asked the moment you sensed a lull in the conversation. “Or the restaurant,” you added, hoping not to sound rude. 

“There’s a wine tasting club that I go to called Cercle du Sommelier. One of my dreams is to become a master commelier…” 

The night dragged on, and it became apparent that Dr. Sanji wasn’t single in the slightest. 

He was in a throuple marriage to food and wine, respectively.

***

Penguin and Shachi wanted to meet up with you that weekend. They felt butthurt that you hadn’t told them about your date with Sanji—although you were getting to that when you were having lunch together—and it had been quite a long time since the three of you spent time together outside of work. 

But then life happened; you remembered errands you’d been putting off, items around your place that needed attention, and on top of it all, the city received more rain this season than it ever had before. And so, buddy time was rain-checked. 

You saw each other again at the hospital on Monday morning. The air was humid and muggy from the weather. The roads were covered in fog. However, none of that seemed to matter from the endless purgatory that was the North. 

“Meet me in imaging,” you texted to your group chat, aptly named Da Fibrillation Nation.

“Can’t,” Penguin typed back. “Shachi got his oats stuck in the microwave again. He unplugged it and now it won’t open.” He added an upside-down smiley emoji.

“This isn’t a euphemism, is it?” you asked, and upon hearing no answer, you sent another message, “Stay there, I’m coming over.”

The breakroom was once again bustling with some mild talk, as usual. Most folks were just settling in for the day, talking about their weekend activities and lamenting the worst day of the week that was Monday. And sure enough, Penguin and Shachi were occupying the microwave.

Shachi had the entire thing in his arms as he tried to wrestle it open. The power cord that hung out the back waggled around on the counter. 

“You have to hit cancel twice before you try to open it,” you sighed, walking over to the pair before they broke the microwave even more than it already was. 

The thing was ancient and a terrible yellow color. You weren’t sure if it was sold as the most awful shade of yellow and beige or if it had been turned that color from the decades you were sure it had been there. 

“I did,” Shachi cried. “I hit it three times.” 

You shook your head. 

“You can only hit it two times, remember? Any more and you have to hold down the potato button before it’ll open. Hey— careful! You’re going to break it. Put it back on the counter and plug it back in!” you stormed up to them, pointing sternly at where the microwave should have been sitting. 

Shachi heaved the dinosaur of a kitchen appliance onto the counter, and Penguin ducked down under into the cabinets to fish the cord down to the outlet. 

And sure enough, the moment the light blinked back on, Shachi held down the potato button. He held it for about five seconds before trying the microwave door button again, and to his surprise, it sprang open to reveal his instant oatmeal. 

“Where the hell did you learn that?” Shachi gestured with conviction toward the microwave. 

“Wapol, if you’d believe it,” you shrugged.

A blur of pink zoomed through the hallway, passing by the breakroom before doubling back. 

“Oh. My. God.” By the time you turned at the sound of her voice, Perona was already upon you. “How was it? Was it everything you dreamed? Was the food absolutely amazing?”

But unlike last time, Shachi and Penguin had been simmering in some conviction. 

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Shachi slotted himself between you and Perona with Penguin in tow. “You don’t get to hear any details about the date before we do.” Shachi gestured between himself and Penguin. Penguin nodded along. 

“We’ve got dibs on the news because you deprived us of it last time,” he asserted. 

A table of fellows— namely Niji, Yonji, and Marco— sat directly behind this little spat. The Vinsmoke brothers swiveled in their chairs.

“A date, huh?” Niji purred, resting his arm on the back of his chair and his opposite elbow on the table. “Who’s the lucky guy?” 

And suddenly, six pairs of eyes were on you. You smiled nervously, letting out an anxious giggle, tugging on Shachi’s sleeve.

“This is exactly why I told you to come to imaging,” you hissed awkwardly.

“Oh shit, you did?” he whispered back, although he wasn’t very quiet about it.

“So we get to hear about this date if we come down to imaging?” Yonji questioned mischievously, not even bothering to hide the suspicious smile on his face. He bumped his brother’s elbow. “Wanna take a field trip?” 

“I’m down.” Niji turned to Marco, “Want to tag along?”

Marco gave an indifferent shrug, but continued to give attention to the situation in front of him as if he was watching a drama on TV. 

You shook your head, hands out almost defensively in front of you. 

“We are not taking a collective field trip to imaging.” 

Perona pouted.

“So, the date didn’t go well?” You couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or absolutely ecstatic at the idea of a bad date story. 

And of course, that was the moment Law decided to make an appearance. He walked in through the door, stopping short at the group that was amassed in front of him. He glanced around at the faces, stopping at yours. You turned your attention back to Perona. 

“It was amazing,” you cooed. 

The standing half of the group shifted to allow Law to get to the coffee maker. God, did he just need to get one for his office so he could stop walking in on your conversations like this?

“Ooooo! You have to tell!” Perona nearly jumped out of her shoes. “Did he kiss you goodnight? What did you eat? Did he pull out the chair for you?”

“When we got there, we already had the reservation, so we were taken to a table right away. Not only did he get my chair, but he also had a bouquet of roses waiting for me,” you boasted, all too aware of Law making his coffee somewhere behind you. “Honestly, he was absolutely perfect. So thoughtful.”

“Who, again?” Niji repeated. “I’m curious to know who in this hospital is your type.” 

“Dr. Sanji, now shut up!” Perona swatted Niji on the back of the head. The two hardly knew each other, but no one was about to get between Perona and dating news. 

“Sanji?” Yonji balked, turning to face Niji with wide eyes before darting back to you. “You went on a date with our brother?” 

Niji laughed.

“And it wasn’t a complete disaster?” he barked.

Shachi tapped you rapidly on the shoulder. 

“You went on a date with their brother? Not cool, dude,” he scolded under his breath. You frowned at him.

“Doesn’t count, Shachi, we barely know them.” Penguin corrected, which seemed to do the trick to relieve Shachi’s concern about the Bro Code™.

“He didn’t take you to our step-dad’s, did he?” Yonji raised a brow, his broad shoulders almost deflating in disbelief. 

“Yes, he did,” you answered, chipper, “I know that restaurant means a lot to him. I think that him sharing that with me was so special.” 

“Psh, I’m sure overloading your brain with more fun facts about wine than you could ever ask for was special, alright,” Yonji scoffed. “It’s all he talks about.”

“That’s so romantic,” Perona sang, “I love when a man can be vulnerable like that.”

“Oh, I agree,” you nodded, feeling Law move to grab something from a drawer behind you. “Emotional availability is such an important thing to me. That and clear communication.”

“Wow,” Perona sighed, “If you can find romance in a hospital, maybe miracles really do happen.” 

And to your surprise, Law began to walk out of the room without a word. He had made his coffee, and then he was leaving. 

“I think I really like him,” you said, just loud enough for Law to hear. 

“Like like-like?” Perona exclaimed. 

“It’s only been one date.” Penguin tugged at the shoulder of your scrubs. 

You shrugged, keeping an eye on Law as he didn’t even stop or turn. He just left. 

“When it’s right, it’s right…” You trailed. You weren’t even convincing yourself. 

***

You turned up to Law’s wing with a brave face. You were convinced he had something to say. He had to have.

You saw him walk your way as you came down his hall with your equipment. You breathed in, opening your mouth to respond to whatever he was about to say.

“I’ve got a patient ready for you in 205,” he said curtly before entering another exam room. His words were devoid of snark or passive aggression. He was simply concise. 

And for once, just like every other doctor, Law allowed you to do your work. You performed your scans and uploaded your work. Rinse, repeat. 

The one time Law stood in on one of your scans, he did so from near the door. He stood just close enough to watch the monitor. Unlike every other time, he didn’t hover over your shoulder. He didn’t have any adjustments to comment on, and he didn’t adjust your probe while it was in your hand.

Law just stood, watched for a moment, said, “Upload the frames as soon as you’re done,” and left. 

That was it. No smirk. No criticism. No clever comment. 

He was a doctor doing his job.

***

You received a message through your secure chat two days later.

“Good morning, Dr. Trafalgar requested you for his 10:15 slot. Would you be available?” the message read. 

It was a polite message from a scheduler you seldom spoke to. It wasn’t a storm thundering through your office announcing your presence at the 10:15 slot like it was a fact. It wasn’t pulling you from your lunch or even a quiet rearranging of your schedule with the assumption that you’d notice in time. This message was sent through the proper channels by the appropriate staff member. 

“I can do that,” you messaged back, “Is Dr. Trafalgar unavailable today?” You clicked around on the schedule, wondering if he might have cancelled his clinic today. The scheduler got back to you with an answer the moment you saw it for yourself. 

“No, I’ve just been asked to handle scheduling for his clinic from now on,” the message read, and it sent a heavy pang throughout your chest. 

Your breath felt a bit heavier, and your heart pounded harder. You couldn’t say why.

***

You supposed you were thankful, in a way, that Law had backed off in rearranging your schedule. The little messages that would pop up every now and then, politely requesting your presence at certain times, were definitely less chaotic than being randomly pulled. But considering the shit-storm that was about to hit you in the following days, the messages only served to become another thing you had to keep an eye on.

You supposed that everyone just decided to collectively lose their godamn minds, because the way you’d been absolutely slammed before the weekend was something else. 

You were barely able to squeeze through the day as it was with the workload you were given, but suddenly, imaging was utterly overwhelmed with requests. And on top of it all…

“I can make it in,” Nami argued from the other end of the phone. Her voice was raspy and interrupted by a cough or two. “I’ll power through with some medicine. I’ll be fine—”

“Nami, go back to bed,” you spoke calmly into the phone. You were already clicking through the week’s schedule for the Kokoyashi location. Luckily, only Hancock was present for the rest of the days that week. You assumed Hancock preferred the satellite because Nami staffed it, and things weren’t as chaotic as in the main hospital. She had more control over there. “It’s just Hancock. And it’s only two days. We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem. Hancock is—”

“Picky, sure, but you know she’ll be a little more lenient with us,” you reassured. It was a stretch. Hancock wasn’t known to be lenient with anyone, but with your established rapport, you were sure you could talk her into something. “You know she will. And if I so much as see you clock in tomorrow, I’m driving down there.” 

Nami paused on the other end of the line for a moment.

“I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll be fine,” you affirmed, already beginning to type a few things on your computer. 

“But—”

“Goodnight, Nami,” you cooed. She was too weak to put up more of a fight. You took your opportunity and hung up. 

You were still at the office even though clinic had already wrapped up. The increased workload had you staying even later than usual, and with a tech down at a satellite, you had to make arrangements quickly.

And you knew that one of your doctors was still in his office. 

You made for Law’s wing briskly, as if you’d barely catch him if you didn’t speed down the hall with fervor. And when you reached his door, you only knocked twice before letting yourself in, not dissimilar to how you entered patient exam rooms. 

“Nami’s out sick. My schedule is a mess— I don’t have time on the calendar to breathe— and I’m shuffling cases around, and it’s all at the very end of the week, so I—”

You didn’t even get your request out.

“Chopper can handle my imaging,” Law said. He was sitting back in his chair, the glow of his computer cast on his face. He even looked up from his work, turning all his attention to you. “Consider it done.”

He said it, and he meant it. His words were exactly face-value. No arguing. No remark about how you’re the only one who “gets it right,” just helpful and accommodating. You stared at him for a moment, wondering who exactly this man was and what did he do to demanding, obnoxious, and sarcastic Law. 

“And you’re okay with that?” you poked, having already geared up for a fight. 

Law shrugged.

“It isn’t permanent, right? It’ll be a good learning experience for him,” he said. He didn’t appear concerned in the slightest. 

Meanwhile, you were getting things thrown at you left and right. You were, quite frankly, being overloaded far above your already stretched capacity. You weren’t the official lead, but you carried the weight of it as soon as what little leadership the department had abandoned ship. 

These responsibilities fell on you as the one who stayed behind. And with Nami out and new studies popping up among everything else that was happening to the department, you needed to have something you could count on— something you could anticipate, something consistent.

You anticipated a fight. 

“Sure,” you sputtered, unable to help how you were clearly thrown off. “Okay.”

Without anything else to say, you turned on your heel and left. 

Sanji visited Le Grain de Café just about every weekday. He treated his staff well, remembering their orders and picking up a box of pastries every now and then. And this morning, Sanji had picked up one extra beverage and one extra pastry just for you. 

His clinic always started a bit later than the crack of dawn when you typically arrived at clinic, and so when he dropped off his things at his office and took your treats down to you, you were already in the midst of chaos. 

Imaging was typically a quiet place, but today, you had staff members and patients alike bustling around your corridor. Patients were piled up in your small waiting area at the mouth of the imaging hallway, and when Sanji entered your office, your bins were overflowing with imaging request papers. 

You were just coming out of the exam room hallway, using the door that connected the hall directly to your office. You had wrapped cords around the back of your shoulders, juggling two probes in your hands as you went for the phone that was ringing nonstop on your desk. 

You didn’t even notice him as you took the call. 

“If he’s NPO, hold off on the oral— I’ll talk to Hogback, no— Give me a second, I need to call you back—” 

And when you turned, you finally noticed Sanji holding a beverage in one hand and a doggie bag in the other. 

“Rough morning?” he quipped. You visibly wilted.

“Don’t even get me started.” You leaned back against your desk, running a hand over your face and up to the stray flyaways that crowned your forehead. 

Sanji approached, offering you the breakfast he curated.

“Please,” he said gently, “Eat. Keep your energy up.”

“I don’t know how much of that I have left in the tank.” You took the items from him graciously, but you couldn’t muster a friendly look to put on. You were deflated, exhausted. You brought the mystery beverage up to your hips to take a sip. You didn’t even have it in you to perk up. “Damn, that’s delicious…” You muttered, taking another sip. 

Sanji laughed sweetly. 

“Hopefully this’ll put a little gas back into your tank.” And the way he looked at you— with his little smile and the sugary gleam in his eye— was nothing short of adoration. “I remembered what you drank at dinner, and I took a wild guess about your taste.”

“Do you happen to have ten more of these?” You held the drink up almost like a little cheers. Your chin was tilted down as you were slowly losing the battle not to hang your head in defeat. 

“Do you want ten more?” he asked, bowing his head a little to meet your eye.

“Oh, no, I was joking,” you clarified, picking your head up to muster a slight smile. 

“Oh! Gotcha,” Sanji laughed, “Well, I don’t want to be in your way, but I’ll check up on you later today. Got it?” He slowly backed toward the door, his ever-charming smile on his ever-charming face. 

You nodded, holding the beverage up toward him again.

“Thank you, Dr. Sanji,” you called. 

He nodded politely toward you.

“Anytime,” he said before he left. 

And for as nice a gesture as it was, Sanji only served to complicate your morning. Your tiny smile immediately fell as soon as he exited. You placed the drink and the pastry on your desk. As much as you wanted to indulge yourself, you didn’t have time. 

You immediately returned to your work, zipping around to take patients, talk to family members about wait times, receive papers, and respond to messages. This was all not to mention that some of your machines were on the fritz today, and one had a broken mouse. And to compensate for the broken mouse, you brought the one from your desk computer into one of the exam rooms. So if you wanted to do anything on your computer, you needed to retrieve the mouse again. And you ended up going back and forth time and again to respond to the endless influx of chat messages—and God, did the way Sanji looked at you make you feel like the worst person alive. 

He was handsome, cute, and oh so sweet. He thought of you this morning and seemed to know you well enough to take a shot in the dark to bring you something nice to drink.

But he didn’t get your jokes. Of course, he remembered what you ate at dinner because you never had an interaction outside of food. And the way he looked at you like you were the best thing since sliced bread— let’s be honest, you’d be a close second at best if Sanji had been presented with literal bread— made you sick.

Not because of him. Not because of the look itself, but because when he looked at you like that, you didn’t feel a goddamn thing. 

You felt nothing for sweet, thoughtful Sanji, who had been politely asking you out every time you saw each other for years after being nothing but perfect. And now, as you went through the motions of taking another patient and running around with your head cut off, the expensive pastry from that really nice French bakery sat on your desk—a reminder. 

But the next person to storm through your door certainly bore many reminders and zero French pastries. 

Hogback was already shouting your name into your empty office when you emerged from your hallway. His already pale skin had turned a deep shade of red. His forehead was greasy, and little strands of hair stuck to it. 

“Where have you been?” Hogback demanded, stepping forward to approach you as you continued with your tasks. He followed you around like a ghoul as you tried your hardest to carry on. “I just had a patient wait well over an hour for imaging.”

“I’ve been with your patients all morning—”

“You’ve been a bottleneck all week.” Hogback stopped in front of you, pointing a finger, “I’ve seen patients one by one as they come back to me, stagnated. I don’t have time to sit around all day because you don’t have control over your department.”

“We’ve had call-outs and—”

“Shhh— Shut it— I don’t want to hear excuses!” Hogback short-circuited with entitled rage. “Is this what you do?” He continued to jab a finger at you. “Do you just rearrange the schedule and bump patients and just— What? Cross your fingers and hope for the best? This is the North Blue University Medical Center, for Christ’s sake! Either you do your job or we rethink your position here!”

“Doctor Hogback—”

“I will not have my patients pushed back because you decide to prioritize Trafalgar’s patients over mine.” Hogback stepped back, lamenting and groaning to himself as he ran a hand under his glasses and up to his nearly balding head. “Ugh,” he whined, “This is exactly why I much preferred Mr. Wapol. I can’t deal with young women… Falling for colleagues, playing favorites… It’s a miracle anything gets done around here.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply here, but I haven’t taken a single one of Dr. Trafalgar’s patients since Wednesday,” you gritted. “I haven’t bumped any of your patients. I’ve been with your patients exclusively all day.”

Hogback stared at you darkly, a smiling sneer contorting his face bitterly.

“There it is,” he hissed, “There’s that attitude I’ve been hearing whispers about.”

He lingered for a moment longer before turning and making for the door. 

“Don’t get sloppy just because you’re rushing!” he called. “I’ll send each and every patient back!”

***

You weren’t too surprised when you were done late. The sun had already set, and it was well into the evening. You were more than sure you would be hearing about this during the next QC meeting if Saturn didn’t personally call you down to his office first. 

The automatic lights in your office had gone off. Your computer screen dimmed, having taken you back to the obnoxiously blue NBUMC lockscreen. You sat at your desk, head down and buried in your arms. 

Your badge sat on your desk somewhere near your elbow. The front of your reel fell off sometime throughout the day, from how many times you tapped in and out of things. You suspected that a part of it must’ve broken when it hit the ground, because you couldn’t get it to fit back together. 

Your equipment cart was situated directly next to your desk. Everything held together until the very last patient, before your machinery gave up on you and would no longer connect to the server. That was about the moment you admitted defeat, finally taking a moment to finally rest. 

You still had things to do. You had tasks to wrap up before clinics began again the next day. And even the weekend couldn’t save you much, because you had to figure out a way to get all your ducks in a row before everything got too out of hand. 

But even though you knew you needed to do it, after the day you’d just had, you couldn’t bring yourself to the task. 

You vaguely heard the door open and shut behind you, but you didn’t even have the energy to pick your head up to turn around. The lights automatically turned on. You heard the clicking of the button to turn the intensity down to a comfortable dimness.

A chair rattled from one of the empty desks that was never used, and the wheels clattered until it stopped next to you. The seat creaked slightly with pressure. You felt a sleeve near your arm. 

And then, the room returned to stillness. 

“I’m fine,” you muttered.

And for a moment, you didn’t hear an answer. 

“I know you are,” Law drawled in the amused way he did when he didn’t believe you. You didn’t answer once again. You didn’t have anything to say or the brain power to put into a snappy comeback. 

The two of you sat for a moment; you with your head cradled in your arms and Law sitting with his arm resting on the side of your desk. It was quieter without the whirring of the machines and the footsteps upstairs. 

It was late. 

You heard the seat next to you shift, and just before Law stood, you caught his sleeve in your hand. You didn’t pick your head up. You didn’t look at him. You just clutched the stiff fabric of his coat. And slowly, Law settled back into his seat. 

“I know you’re not my friend,” you whispered, barely able to muster even bitterness. You played with the fabric between your fingers. It was a thicker fabric than you expected. You could feel Law’s forearm underneath and the slight heat that radiated from him. 

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked. His voice was low and soft in comparison to the quiet, eerie vastness of the hospital that surrounded you. You didn’t move to let him go.

“I didn’t think you’d mind,” you murmured, “‘Cause you sleep in the break room.” 

“I thought we came to the consensus that the exam chair was comfiest.” 

You shifted, letting your eye poke out from above your folded elbow. And for the first time that day, you actually smiled. 

“I’ve slept in one of the exam chairs before.” You turned your head to lay your ear on your left bicep. Everything else shifted with your movement. Your right hand slid up to your left elbow. The fingers of your left hand continued to explore the fabric of Law’s sleeve. You weren’t hiding anymore so much as lying lazily. “With how the angle reclines, you wouldn’t think it’s comfortable, but I knocked out in that thing quick.”

Law shifted in his seat, leaning more onto the desk.

“Why am I not surprised?” 

“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it.” 

And it was in that moment that you realized you were smiling. Law must’ve also noticed the way the corners of his lips twitched upward, because silence overtook your office again. You stopped moving your fingers, just keeping a spot of his sleeve between your fingers.

You felt awkward and hyperaware. You took the silence personally, wondering if you should say anything, and if you were to speak, what about? 

You shifted your head again, tucking your face back into your arms just slightly. 

“You should go home,” Law spoke. He leaned his head back against the support of his chair. “You’ve been here long enough.” 

“I don’t want to go home yet,” you replied, eyes cast somewhere random in the room. Your grip around his sleeve curled a little tighter. 

And for a second, things were quiet again.

“Because being here makes you feel more in control of things,” he said, his voice devoid of an accusation. Instead, he spoke with a knowing familiarity. 

Even after the work day, you could still smell his cologne. It was a clean scent, sharp and masculine without being overpowering. He smelled like a sleek penthouse apartment with leather couches and exactly one throw pillow. A fancy new car. Sterile gloves. A designer aftershave. Ethanol. 

Familiar. Just like Penguin and Shachi. 

Safe.

“You…” he hesitated, hanging onto the one syllable for far too long, “Don’t have to put on a brave face,” he opted.

You sat up, although your arms didn’t move far from where you had them. You cracked somewhat of a smile for the second time that night. 

“Are you telling me I can cry?” you quipped half-heartedly. And you could tell that Law didn’t see it as a joke, and perhaps it wasn’t. 

“I’m surprised you’ve held out this long,” he admitted quietly. 

You snorted, bouncing your eyebrows at the thought. 

“I won’t,” you asserted like a vow, “Especially not in front of you. Wouldn’t want to give you the satisfaction.” Your words were more bitter than you intended. But if Law was offended, he didn’t show it.

“That’s not something I would ever take satisfaction in,” he said. Gentle. Soft. 

And he held your gaze, and it was almost like his warm golden eyes melted everything you had ever worried about off of you. Like returning home after braving a blizzard. Like finding shelter after getting caught in a rainstorm. 

You tore your stare away, casting your eyes down. 

“What made you come here?” you asked.

“I had a feeling you were still here,” he answered. Your phone sat on the corner of the desk, face up between the two of you. It flashed on to notify you of a news story before turning dim again. “I saw the schedule for today.”

You took in a breath, your gaze daring to flicker back up at him.

“What are you doing here?” You whispered, almost as if you were afraid of the answer. He had asked you the same thing not too long ago during one of your last fights before he went quiet. 

Absent. Missing. 

And something flickered across Law’s eyes, as if he had an answer for you immediately but didn’t know how to say it. Or perhaps he didn’t want to say it in the same way you weren’t sure if you wanted to hear it. 

He tentatively opened his mouth. You could see the words run over in his head as he considered which ones to pick.

Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt. 

Your phone rang loudly, the screen flashing and the device buzzing. You typically didn’t have any noise settings on, but that day, you had turned the ringer on so you could be reached during clinic if needed. The caller ID lit up your phone. In bold, it read, “Sanji Vinsmoke, NBUMC.”

When you read it, you instinctively glanced toward Law. His eyes were glued to the screen, reading the name with a neutral expression. 

Your hand shot from Law’s arm to your phone to silence it, pressing the buttons on the side. The ringing ceased, but Sanji’s name still overtook the display. 

When you turned your attention back to Law, he was unreadable once more. He didn’t appear angry or much of anything, in fact. But it was undeniable that the interruption had snapped a wall back up between the two of you.

And when he told you, “I shouldn’t keep you,” he did so without sharpness. Then, he was gone. He slipped out of your office like he had never been there at all. And the moment he left— the moment you were alone and dragging yourself to your car— felt heavier than your entire day of work. 

Because when he looked at you, it was like he saw right through you. Because every sarcastic jab and quip was an acknowledgement of your wit. And while Trafalgar Law would never in a million years bring you gourmet coffee or hand-select a flight of seafood, he could still sit across from you and understand you before you even muttered a word.

Because Trafalgar Law understands your jokes.  

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Glossary for Nerds

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII

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“How’s the pressure?” 

“Huh?”

Wapol sat up on the echo table, propping himself up by his elbows. You stood over him, the probe in your hand. A series of attempts appeared on the sidebar of the monitor. The gain hadn’t been tampered with from its default. The patient's name read “NORTHTEST1.” Wapol blinked as if coming out of a nap.

“I asked if the pressure was okay,” you repeated. Gel oozed from the open packet on the mousepad. 

“Oh, the pressure of the scan,” Wapol said, lying back on the echo table. He gazed up at the ceiling, his blue button-up undone to expose his hairy chest. “Ya know, most folks either go too light or too heavy,” he lectured, staring up at the fluorescent lights above. 

You nodded with more patience than you would’ve held in the present day. “Yes, and was the pressure too light or too heavy?” you asked, the probe still clutched in your hand. 

Wapol frowned, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall. “I wasn’t paying attention. Do it again.” 

You performed the scan again, going over the fundamental maneuvers. You hadn’t been employed at NBUMC for long, but between how hard you practiced every day and your independent study, you were beginning to feel confident. Although with the patient volume the main location saw, it was hard not to get a decent dose of practice in. In fact, you were certain you were learning more on your own than with Wapol. 

Wapol considered your motions for a moment. “It’s…” he trailed off a moment. “It’s good,” he said with no further note. 

That was about the extent of your basic training. You were given the briefest demonstration on how to float before being launched into the deep end of the pool. Feedback on your work was provided when a doctor sent your patient back, although Wapol apparently kept track of the cases you worked on.

“You’ve been improving! I’d let you know if there was anything seriously wrong. Keep doing what you’re doing,” you remembered him telling you with a thumbs up. “Hogback says you’ve been a real morale boost down there. He says I should loan you out more often—seems you’ve been quite the hit.” 

To Wapol’s credit, Hogback handled quite a range of cases. Aside from Dr. Hiriluk, you were most interested in his patients anyway. Routine visits were safe for a newer employee like you, but the exciting ones were with Hiriluk and Hogback. And if you were being tossed in at the deep end, there might as well be something fascinating to look at while you were underwater.  Being so new made the experience of being the only technician on the ground at Hogback’s clinic nerve-wracking. It wasn’t as if the imaging department didn’t have a body to spare—while stretched as thin as any other department, at the very least, you expected a more experienced technician to back you up. And sure, you could ask questions and get Wapol if needed, but overall, when it came to issues, you were on your own. Much of the job, you’d learn, was learning to troubleshoot.

“Wonderful job, Technician,” Hogback congratulated you, appearing in the doorway of the room you’d done your last echo in. The patient had since vacated, leaving the space empty for you to tinker in. “I think you’re picking things up wonderfully. You’re truly as beautiful as you are brainy. Heh heh.” 

You weren’t quite paying attention, as you were more focused on the error on your screen. Things weren’t saving, or at least, they weren’t sending. And when you backed out to the patient list, all of your patients disappeared, replaced by a server error message and a suggestion to replace a connection chord. 

“I’m ordering lunch. My treat,” Hogback chimed, approaching behind you. He glanced over your shoulder to look at the monitor. “Ah, look at that wonderful work.” His hand ghosted over the small of your back, slowly testing the waters as he pressed his fingers to the fabric of your scrubs. “Now, I’ve been here for a long time. I know potential when I see it. I think with just the right amount of attention, you could be… remarkable.” 

You continued to click around, trying to get back to where you were before. Only this time, the screen completely froze before going black. 

“Is there a place around here that you like? I want to get you something special as a little treat for a job well done.” He spoke tentatively, adding an inflection to the end of each sentence as if he were asking for your approval.

You turned, a polite smile on your lips. “You’re so kind, Dr. Hogback. Thank you,” you said, but turned back to your equipment. “But unfortunately, I think my lunch might be a call to IT today.”

Hogback took a step into the room. “Oh, I’m sure that sort of thing can wait,” he tried to excuse, but you were already pulling out your phone, putting it to your ear. “Someone else can worry about boring things like fixing up the equipment—”

“I don’t want to delay your afternoon clinic!” you whispered with a professional nod, the dial sound playing in your ear. “I hope you can enjoy with the rest of the team, though. Don’t worry, I’ll try to get it finished by the time we start up again.”

The corners of Hogback’s lips twitched downward despite the way he struggled to maintain his pleasant smile. But before he could insist again, a voice from the other end chimed through the phone.

“Break another exam chair?” a gruff voice answered with a chuckle.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, shut up. That was not my fault.” 

Hogback watched as your lips contorted into a bashful smile, his presence long forgotten as you engaged in your phone call. 

“What’s got you callin’ my direct line today, Trouble?” 

“Mr. Impossible,” you snickered. You turned toward your equipment, clicking the mouse around despite the black screen. “I could really use your help. My cart hates me.”

Another laugh sounded from the other end of the line. “I can fix that.” 

***

Eustass Kid never made it through college despite how brilliant he was. He’d been taking things apart and putting them back together as long as he could remember, and when it came to his vast knowledge of machines and technical problems, there was no one like him. But school had never been his strong suit. He could never get assignments in on time, that was, if he even showed up to class in the first place. The only reason he tried the whole higher education shit in the first place was solely based on a dream to build something to blow other things to bits. And if he were lucky, someone would pay him for it.

“I mean, I suppose there’s probably a job out there like that,” a woman from some long-deleted dating app had said to him during his short-lived undergrad experiment. He could still remember the way you giggled, snickering behind your hand. And he hadn’t taken it personally in the slightest, his lips forming a tight line that held the ghost of a smile. “But I think you need to start with passing Physics I first.” 

You still smiled the same, even as you perched on the exam table, watching him tinker with your cart. Maybe he wasn’t blowing things up with lasers like he’d always wanted, but he was with you. 

“So,” you started, peering over to where he’d cracked the base of your machine open. “Can you fix it before afternoon clinic?” 

Kid let out a huff, letting his head fall as he shook his head. He rolled his neck to look up at you with a playful scowl and half-lidded eyes. “What do you think?” He gestured to the equipment, clicking something into place before the screen lit up with the loading screen. 

He always hated that impressed glint in your eye when he got something working again. It was like you hadn’t expected him to actually be able to handle the problems you came to him with. He’d never admit to you or himself just how endearing he found it. That maybe you could keep on breakin’ shit just so he could see that impressed look on your face. 

“I told you I could fix that, didn’t I?” Kid rose to his feet, still having to hunch a bit as he clicked around on the screen. “We also recently updated the servers, so you might be trying to send things to an IP that doesn’t exist anymore.” 

“I feel like I haven’t seen you around that much anymore,” you said absentmindedly, flipping through the cards attached to your badge reel. You should really memorize those codes. “Where have you been working lately?” 

The corners of Kid’s lips twitched upward. “Damn, Trouble, I’m touched.” He turned toward you, a hand on his chest. “You know, you didn’t have to break your own cart just to see me.” And without any semblance of warning, he pinched both your cheeks in his hand, causing your lips to pucker as you scrunched your nose.

He shook your face back and forth in his firm, but not crushing grasp like a dog with a chew toy. You tilted your head back in an attempt to free yourself. You clutched Kid’s wrist in an effort to pry him off, swatting him repeatedly as he laughed. 

“You’re so annoying. Impossible even,” you groaned. “Get off.” 

“I’m just so moved to hear you’ve missed me so much.”

You’d slid off the exam table to try to gain more control, but Kid was much broader and much taller than you. Hell, he was bigger than just about everyone at the North, and if he’d bothered trying in school, he might’ve been able to hang onto that sports scholarship. He had no trouble wrestling you into a headlock, leaving you prime for a nuggie. 

You craned your neck as best you could. “Touch my hair and I’ll kill you.” 

“Jesus fuck, you’re such a girl.” 

You gave him three taps on his bicep, and Kid promptly released you. You stumbled back, pouting like you usually did. Kid was never able just to let you win one. 

“Maybe because I am a girl.” You scowled. He looked as smug as he usually did when he came out on top. “Don’t be a misogynist.” 

“Always with the big words,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Hate to break it to ya’, but not all of us can be damn nerds.” 

“Is my machine fixed?” you groaned, rolling your eyes again. 

Kid backed up a step, creating room for you to approach the cart. “Try sending something over.” 

You walked up to the monitor. The worklist was populated with patients, and to your surprise, you found your latest patient among them.

“I could pull him up before, but after I was done, he disappeared,” you asserted. 

Kid leaned a hand on the corner of your cart, hovering just behind you with his other hand on his hip. “So, what I’m hearin’ is that you broke it,” he said, dipping his head slightly. You reached blindly to swat at him.

“Shut up.”

“You’re lucky I’m here, Trouble.”

“Lay off the self-congratulations, Mr. Impossible.” You began to export the files with a shake of your head. 

“You still swiped right,” Kid hummed victoriously. 

He loved holding that over your head. 

The four words made you pause. You inhaled a deep, patient breath before continuing your task. For as much of a distraction as Kid always served to be, you were determined to have this issue solved before the afternoon patients arrived. 

Kid hissed out a few more laughs. “Couldn’t even put my goddamn phone down, you were yappin’ so much. You really liked me.”

“You suck,” you said tightly. 

“I think I still have the screenshots. Want me to read them?” You could feel him reaching for his phone behind you. 

You turned the moment the green upload checkmark appeared; you turned to face Kid. He still leaned over the cart, ever-puffed-up by pushing your buttons. His brows were raised, his eyes filled with amusement as he awaited what sort of snarky comment was going to leave your mouth. That was always his favorite part of messing with you. You just got so worked up.

“Oh, you’re still here? Remind me, who was called to the dean’s office for putting bouillon cubes in the freshman shower heads?” You scrunched your forehead mockingly, holding a finger up to your lip in thought. 

Kid barked out a cackle. “Hey, you bring that up as something to be ashamed of, but that was some of my best work.”

Hogback cleared his throat from the doorway, causing Kid to pull back slightly from where he leaned to reveal you where you stood with your back to your equipment cart. You tilted your head, flashing Hogback a smile. 

“Ah, Dr. Hogback! How was lunch?” 

“Has the equipment been fixed?” Hogback ignored your question, clasping his hands together as he put on a polite exterior. The gracious way his lips turned upward looked like it might shatter at any moment. That wasn’t something you noticed, but Kid did. 

Kid watched Hogback carefully, scanning over him with his usual unimpressed scowl. 

“All ready for your afternoon, doc,” Kid gruffed. “Ready to record some poor saps with shit hearts.” 

You kicked Kid’s shin. 

“Ah, wonderful,” Hogback expressed chipperly. “That’s just perfect, because we still have quite a bit of time before the afternoon—”

Kid let out another boisterous laugh. “Yeah, that’s ‘cause I get it done quick.” 

Hogback paused for a moment before a few tentative chuckles escaped his throat. A vein in his forehead twitched. His clasped hands strained with acute tension. He tore his attention from Kid to address you directly. “Do you still have thoughts about lunch?”

Kid glanced toward you, “I was about to go on break and get something from one of the carts. Wanna come with?” 

“That sounds great!” you chirped before looking back toward Hogback. “I know the rest of the team just ate, but I’ll be back before the first patient.”

Hogback didn’t have room to argue, even if he wanted to. You took your cart and left with Kid. 

***

“HA! You have an interest in ophthalmology?” 

You and Kid found yourselves an empty bench on campus after you’d gotten your respective lunches. You could never agree on food. You couldn’t in your first year of college or any year after that. It was one of many incompatibilities you had, despite Kid’s occasional assertion that it was something the two of you could work on if you ever decided to give it a shot. 

Kid couldn’t help the sick grin on his face. He glanced toward you from the corner of his eye. “Ever seen an eye get lasered?” he asked. 

You mocked a gagging noise. “Can’t say I want to.”

Kid looked amusedly off into the distance. “You can smell the retina burning,” he mused. 

“Stop it. Stop. Gross.” 

“My question is, how do I get that job?” He shoved another oversized bite of food in his mouth. He chewed like a goddamn horse. 

“Uh, at least eight more years of school? Plus more?” you offered. 

“Bullshit,” he cursed, mouth still full. “They should hand that laser over to me!” He made a waving gesture with his hand, motioning toward himself as he finally swallowed. “Can’t be any harder than Galica.” 

“That is exactly why I don’t think you should be trusted with the eyeball laser.” You shook your head. 

Kid didn’t say anything for a moment, staring off into the distance while he chewed his food. Kid often verbalized his entire stream of consciousness, and times when he was quiet were far and few between. So, you waited.

Kid’s following words didn’t come with a flourish. Instead, he bobbed his head, glancing down at his food before he stuffed his face again with an oversized bite. “I don’t like that Hogback guy,” he said after a few moments. 

You didn’t have an immediate reaction to the comment, sitting on it as you turned it over in your mind. It wasn’t news that necessarily struck you.

“Yeah?” you hummed. 

Kid finished whatever he was eating. He always ate faster than you did. He leaned back, letting his head roll back as he regarded you. “I don’t think you should work with him if you can help it. At least not alone.” 

Kid glanced down, the air around you sharpening. You pondered, taking his words at face value. Kid was never one to be cryptic, and even in his pettiest moments, he only spoke plainly. 

“Goofy-ass hair,” he’d mutter.

“Bastard looks like Princess Diana.”

“Dickwad looks like he isn’t allowed to be close to a school.”

“Stupid. Moron. Loser.” 

He usually wasn’t… wrong. 

“Noted,” you acknowledged, but didn’t press. You tried to poke around what was left of your lunch. You’d end up discarding the rest. Your appetite soon disappeared. 

***

When you returned to Hogback’s wing, you weren’t alone. And just as quickly as Hogback’s face lit up upon seeing you, his expression fell quickly the moment he spotted Franky. He froze for half a second, still trying to maintain a polite smile. But Hogback’s brow twitched, his jaw clenching.

“Mr. Cutty,” he gritted. 

“Doc Hogback!” Frankie exclaimed. “Don’t mind me! The kid here is on ‘er A-game and wanted an extra set of eyes.” 

You couldn’t tell if Hogback was trying to meet your gaze or avoid it. He bowed his head cordially, clasping his hands together. “I apologize if I gave the impression that you weren’t doing well,” he told you, “But rest assured, I’ve been nothing but pleased with your performance.”

“I didn’t get that impression at all,” you said, your voice laced with neutral professionalism. You didn’t flash a small smile or overindulge him. “I’ve just wanted someone to give me some pointers now that I’m starting to handle some of the harder cases.” 

Hogback pursed his lips. “I’d be more than willing to review charts with you,” he offered. 

“No need to worry about us, doc! Call us ophthalmology, the way we’ve got these extra eyes! Hey-yo!” Franky assured, and that was about the end of it. “Now, let’s get a move on!”

In the grand scheme of things, Franky didn’t have all that much experience on you. You remembered he had some sort of technical role—he’d been a lead at that—before being poached by Wapol. That had been around a half-year ago, but that time and Franky’s experience made the difference when it came to things around the North. Because the more patients you tended to, the more you saw and learned, and the Main campus had no shortage of patients. 

“Wow! You’re on a roll!” One thing that you always appreciated about Franky was that he never held back when it came to positive reinforcement. And in addition to his generally cheery demeanor, he was knowledgeable. “Everyone blames the machine, but nine times out of ten, it’s the angle. You’ve gotta flirt with it a little, find that sweet spot where the shadows stop fighting you.”

“Flirt the void away,” you joked.

“Exactly! Exactly! You get me.” Franky gave you a high-five. 

By the end of the clinic, the lab felt lighter than it had in weeks. Even Hogback’s overworked team began to feel a bit more homey to you as Lola and Cindry gathered around you. 

“I don’t know how you did it, but those images were perfect!” Lola squealed, practically bouncing beside the monitor.

Cindry leaned in, squinting at the measurements on screen. “That patient was complicated. You did a fantastic job getting the posterior leaflet.”

You grinned, practically glowing at the praise. “I won’t lie, I was sweating. But I got super lucky toggling around the rib spacing.”

Lola shook her head, waving a hand in disapproval. “That wasn’t luck, that was some crazy natural instinct right there.”

Cindry nodded. “Hogback’s been complaining about getting a view on that patient for weeks. In fact, he usually goes to Wapol.”

Your brow scrunched. “Really?” you asked. “I just adjusted the angle.” 

Cindry shrugged. “Whatever you did, Hogback’s sure going to have to find something to complain about. I mean it. If you keep up work like that, who knows, you might have fellows coming to you rather than Hogback.”

Lola’s lip dipped downward in thought as she nodded in agreement. “You know what? I can see it!”

It was a brief interaction—Lola and Cindry would soon drift back to their stations to chart and wrap up notes—but the feedback left you on cloud nine for the rest of the day. And so, when you next saw Hogback, you let your subtle defenses drop the slightest bit, turning toward him with the smallest smile on your lips. 

***

The next day, you’d strolled into Hogback’s wing with an elevated sense of pride. Franky would be swinging by when he could, but after your continued conversations with Lola and Cindry, you were sure you could hold your own until then. 

You spotted Hogback from the hall, the door to his office open to cast some ambient lighting into the dark room. He met your gaze, offering his usual polite but hesitant smile. 

“Morning,” he said softly, his tone as cordial as ever. The single word carried formality and carefulness, something you’d never questioned before. But as he sat at his desk, the room dim and his dull eyes somewhat piercing in their passiveness, you couldn’t help but be hyper aware of him. 

“Morning,” you answered, stopping short outside the doorway of his office. 

“It appears we have a packed schedule today.” Hogback didn’t take his eyes off you for a second. 

You searched his unnerving stare. You spared a glance down the hall to your left, then your right. It appeared you were still a bit early. 

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Your eyes trailed tentatively back to Hogback. 

The way he tilted his head never bothered you before. The slight, toothy smile hadn’t either. But today, his posture felt tight. He held an air around him as if he was pressed about something he didn’t want to say out loud. 

You turned, walking toward the pod. Part of you hadn’t thought much of it. But then the afternoon rolled around, and what you chalked up to perhaps a poor early morning mood didn’t settle into the timid neutrality you were used to from Hogback. The pace of the clinic was the least of your concerns; it was the lack of communication from Hogback that got you. 

He wouldn’t say a thing, opting to post orders quietly with minimal notes, with the assumption you would figure it out. He’d go in and out of rooms, never conversing with you about patients once, leaving you to play catch-up as you darted from room to room trying to piece together who needed what and where. 

“Dr. Hogback,” you called as he exited a room. He seemed to pretend not to hear you, not turning to face you until you were upon him. 

Hogback feigned surprise. 

“Hm?” he hummed. His eyes flickered over your figure. Inspecting. Judging.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no, not at all,” he answered just slightly too quickly. “You’ve been getting rather comfortable around here, I see.” The words were too close together to be considered separate thoughts.

You just didn’t know how to take that. “That’s the goal, isn’t it, Dr. Hogback?” 

He chuckled lightly, and what had always been a timid, almost self-depreciating sound suddenly wasn’t. “Of course, but we’re always learning, now aren’t we? I would hate for you to feel like there are overly high expectations for you. The last thing we need is for you to overextend yourself.”

“I don’t feel that,” you assured. “I feel like my training has been going really well.”

Hogback didn’t say anything to that, leaving a slight pause. 

“Unless… you think otherwise?” you said slowly. 

Those were the magic words, ones that caused a smile to return to Hogback’s lips. 

“Well, now that you mention it,” he began, clasping his arms behind his back. “I’ve noticed the notes you’ve been writing in the patient files. Have you been writing those yourself?”

You blinked. “Yes.” You tried not to sound hesitant. 

“That brave, don’t you think?” Hogback’s chin pressed inward, his brow scrunched with the slight bravado in his voice. “Most technicians wait until they’re signed off before they start adding interpretations.” 

“I was just noting imaging quality,” you explained. “I thought it would be helpful information.” 

“You thought?” Hogback asked sharply. The very snap made you quiet. “Nothing to concern yourself with. I’m sure it’s fine.”

And you weren’t quite sure why he said that, given that things were very clearly not fine. 

“Hey… um… a little heads up.” Cindry stopped next to you, speaking low enough so you could hear her as she leaned in close. “I heard that your name came up in a meeting. Said you’d been working outside of your professional boundaries when it came to charts.”

“What?” You whipped around, eyes wide and forehead wrinkled. 

Cindry looked down. “Look, I, uh… didn’t hear anything else, but maybe it’s a good idea to keep your head down. Dr. Hogback doesn’t really like it when things don’t go his way.”

That was all she said. You were grateful not only to be in the know but also to be able to tell where the game of telephone began. What had started as notes to provide helpful context to your images quickly snowballed into the rumor that you rifle through patient charts by the end of the week. 

“Entering into charts you don’t have to is a HIPAA violation,” Wapol told you, shooting you a pointed look over the tops of his readers. “You should never enter unauthorized information into patient files, and you should definitely not be accessing them outside assigned hours.”

“I’ve never opened a chart I haven’t needed to,” you said, but the expression Wapol made was nothing short of indifference. 

“I mean, look, it’s really a he-said-she-said—”

“It’s really not, you can look at my account activity—”

“And given it’s coming from a provider, I’m just going to let you off with a warning.”

“I would really insist that you look at my account activity,” you asserted, leaning forward as you clutched the fabric covering your knees. “I don’t want you to think I’m not adhering to policy.”

“Look, kid, it’s a warning. It’s not a big deal.” Wapol began to stand, his attention already wandering to the clock. “Just sign the warning when you get it, and we’ll call it water under the bridge.” 

Wait…

Sign it?

“A formal warning?” you gaped, but Wapol had already left the room. 

***

To say you were pissed was an understatement. But it wasn’t the type of rage you wanted stamped out. Shachi and Penguin were working in clinics that were running long that day, but even if they were available, they couldn't achieve the type of fury you needed to channel. You wanted someone to be pissed off with you, and you knew the perfect guy. 

You stormed across campus to the IT office. Kid had his feet up on the desk as he played around on his phone, but the moment you burst into the office, his eyes were on you. He slowly moved to sit upright. It was a cold day in hell that you made the trek all the way to his office. 

“They’re making me sign a formal warning, because Hogback said I was violating privacy protocol,” you burst, sounding like you were about to burst into tears at any moment. 

Kid quickly stood, coming over to where you perched yourself on a nearby desk.

“What?” he spat, already heated just like you expected. “The fuck you mean you got a formal warning? You just got hired on.” 

You placed your heel up on the corner of the desk, hugging it to your chest as you glanced away. “I was just writing helpful notes, you know? Like work-up questions like the ones I did at the place I was at in my undergrad—”

“I’ll pretend to know what that means.” Kid nodded aggressively, the tension mounting inside his chest by the moment.

“Like asking if they’ve been having trouble breathing—or, or, uh, I don’t know! Sometimes I would make notes if I got someone with tremors or something, where they can’t sit still. Or like what the gain was—”

“English, Trouble, English.” He gripped you by your shoulders, hunching the slightest bit to get a better look at your face. You were still all over the place. 

“The amplification of the returning echoes.”

“You are not good at this,” Kid sighed, letting you go from his grasp before kneeling in front of you. “So, what I’m hearing is that you were being a major nerd and taking notes—”

“Kid.”

(Only you were allowed to call him that. To everyone else, he was “Eustass,” because “I’m a grown-ass man. I don’t want no one to call me Kid just because my old man was uncreative.”)

—“And that they’re tellin’ ya that that’s some sorta… You got a formal warning for some fucking notes?”

Fuck. Kid looked at you, and the expression on your face nearly broke his big, dumb heart. Now, he wouldn’t have given a single shit about some dumb warning. But you—you followed every rule like it meant something. Rules were golden, information was passion, and in your world of sunshine and butterflies, every person was a good person… Even a crass asshole like him. 

Watching you crumble under something you didn’t deserve wrong, like watching fresh fallen snow turn brown by a snowplow. Seeing you on the brink of tears felt like he’d been transported to the Twilight Zone, and fuck, he damn well knew he didn’t have the emotional intelligence to comfort you in any meaningful way.

Because you had always been like this—soft in all the ways he wasn’t. Careful. Kind. The sort who double-checked every damn box because you actually cared. Kid was more than sure that if you had someone crying in front of you, you’d know exactly what to do. Meanwhile, he’d spent years learning not to give a shit, and yet, you made him forget every lesson in a heartbeat.

He wished you’d been a little meaner, a little more like him. Maybe then this wouldn’t hurt so damn much.

“It’s literally a lie,” you managed, the first tear sliding down your cheek. “I didn’t go into anything I wasn’t supposed to. I didn’t diagnose anything or—or… and now it’s going to be on my record and—”

Kid stood as you rambled, pivoting a half step to grab his jacket off the back of his chair. He draped it over the back of your shoulders. You drowned in the hood alone. Then, he put his half-empty energy drink in your hand before he plopped down at his desk again. 

The suddenness and strangeness of his actions made you pause, your upset state more confused than anything else. The scent of his jacket was overwhelming. It was oversized and leather. It smelled vaguely of motor oil and whatever generic men’s deodorant he wore. 

Kid began typing and clicking.

“Kid?” you said his name tentatively. 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s none of your business,” he snapped. But after a few moments, the printer roared to life, and after what seemed like a whole ream of printed paper, Kid stood suddenly from his desk, collected the pages, and marched out of the room. 

He didn’t even wait for you to catch up, and certainly didn’t say anything in response to you calling his name. Kid marched across campus, his heavy gait clearing out the path in front of him. His jacket wouldn’t stay on your shoulders, so you resorted to clutching it in your arms as you followed. He held a small stack of papers in his hands, the compilation rolled into a cylinder like a scroll. 

You followed him into the Main hospital. He cut through people like he was parting the seas, the hum of patients and the clattering of equipment on wheels seeming to stop for him. And you chased after him in his wake, soft-footed and anxious by the unknown. 

Kid made straight for the largest conference room, his jaw tight and his eyes narrowed and forward. You didn’t even have time to question where he was going or what he was doing. You barely made it in time to catch the door as he swung it open.

The opening of the door grabbed the attention of everyone inside, and as you lingered in the doorway like a shadow, the weight of it all hit you. Administrators, department heads, and senior physicians sat around the polished table, mid-discussion. You’d heard people talking about this in passing, but it didn’t dawn on you until that moment—Saturn’s quarterly meeting.

“Eustass,” Hogback chimed, his voice stern, “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ugly, scrotum-ass lookin’ motherfucker!” Kid boomed across the room. If it weren’t for the setting, you might’ve considered that it was his best one yet. He stepped farther inside, his very presence causing the air to grow stale. “What the fuck were you thinking, filing something against her?” 

Kid jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in your direction, but absolutely no one was looking your way. 

“This is highly inappropriate—”

“She’s been here less than a month. A month, Pig Dick. You wanna talk about ‘documentation concerns’?” Kid stalked around the table, throwing pages onto the surface by the handful before slamming the rest of the papers down in front of Hogback. Kid hovered over him, planting one hand on the back of his chair as he pointed toward the papers. “Look at her access logs from the last few weeks. Every chart she opened matches a patient she scanned. Every timestamp lines up with her cases. She’s been here twenty-eight fucking days, and you reported her to HR because she dared to write a helpful note?”

“Can someone call security?”

A murmur traveled through the room. Hogback didn’t look up at Kid, even as Kid let go of the back of his chair with a harsh push. Instead, Hogback toyed with a pen, clicking it as his neat smile sharpened. 

“You’re making a scene,” he gritted, determined not to lose his cool. “As for the confidential information you accessed and made a mess of the table with—” 

“Oh, you want to talk about confidential? We’re still pretending this is about policy?” Kid barked, pointing a finger in your direction. “Twenty-eight fucking days. She does your fucking scan. She documents the scan. She does her fucking job, but your doctor ego at your big age has to humiliate a newcomer and weaponize rules because you knew she’s fucking smart and she doesn’t fucking need you.”

“Please, at least stop with the profanity.”

“Go fuck yourself.” 

“You have quite the nerve to be levying accusations like this,” Hogback replied, sounding almost scholarly. “You shouldn’t be so hot-headed picking battles that don’t concern you.” He turned slowly in his chair. Kid still towered over him. 

He chuckled, the sound low and incredulous. “See, that’s the thing. You submit a complaint to admin, and someone else can swing the axe for you. You couldn’t stand that a chick less than half your age knew what she was doing, so you tried to make it look like she didn’t. I know why you requested her for your clinic. You didn’t want a tech—you wanted a pretty little helper who’d smile and nod and make you feel like a man again. What sort of doctor is so pathetic he feels threatened by a smart lady from another department?” 

Kid swatted Hogback on the shoulder with the back of his hand, causing Hogback to flinch. Kid knelt, still managing to be close to eye level with Hogback as he did. “And now here I am—a man—spelling it out for you, since it only counts when it comes from someone like me, right? That’s on gendered dynamics.”

Kid stood suddenly, meeting your wide gaze from across the room, a cheeky smile on his lips as he pointed at you. 

“That’s massage-any.” 

And perhaps the smile on your face could’ve lasted, that was until security came. There wasn’t a scene, and Kid didn’t put up a fight. He’d said his piece, and the last thing he did was unclasp his badge from his belt and place it on the table. 

“Let’s go,” one of the guards muttered. 

You stepped into the room, eyes on Kid as you opened your mouth to speak. You could stop this, say something. You wanted to apologize. But the expression on Kid’s face made you stop and your voice die on your tongue. 

He looked as spirited and cocky as ever. He’d been working this job for years, and yet, facing the end of his time at the North didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. He still wore a smirk, one that said I’d do it again.

And then, he was led down the hall. You could hear his boots on the tile as he went, slowly fading as he was escorted out.

***

You drove to Kid’s place. It was like you were drawn there like a magnet. You’d stopped back home after leaving the hospital, trying to go through the motions, but the events of the day kept nagging at you. And so, you drove. 

Kid had a little house on the West Side. It wasn’t in the best neighborhood, and the plants in the front yard were always overgrown, but it was his, and Kid had fixed it up where it needed it. Your heart beat a little faster when you spotted him in his garage. However, seeing him outside of work clothes gave you the slightest bit of normalcy back to your chaotic day. 

The whirring of some odd power tool ceased as you walked up his driveway. Kid leaned against the frame of the garage, a dirty rag slung over his shoulder. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you,” he called.

You walked up to the garage, a certain timidness hanging over you. “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” you said softly. 

Kid shook his head with a laugh, “I’ve been tossed out of worse places,” he snickered, almost seeming reminiscent in his words. 

“I—” you started, fidgeting a bit more than you would have liked. You didn’t know why you were so nervous. “You didn’t have to do that. I didn’t want you to… You know… I didn’t want that to happen to you. I could’ve handled it. I could’ve thought of something.” 

You raised your head to meet Kid’s eyes. He kept a neutral expression as he seemed to ponder, as if he was barely restraining what he was thinking. The little smirk on his lips faltered.

“You could’ve handled it,” he repeated, bobbing his brows in disbelief. He shook his head. “Christ, Trouble, were you even in that room when they walked me out?” 

The frustration in his voice was subtle, but evident, and the uptight way he held himself felt oddly… pointed. It felt like you’d said something you weren’t supposed to and you didn’t quite understand what that was. You stared at him for a moment.

“I was,” you said.

“And what? You think I liked that?” Kid snapped.

You still held his gaze, but the temperature of the air suddenly dropped. Your pulse quickened. You still didn’t quite understand what was happening. 

“Of course not,” you replied, your tone laced with urgency. 

“Let me set one thing straight. I did not get fired because I fucked up. I got fired because I couldn’t stand around and watch you get played,” he spat, crossing his arms. “And let’s be honest here, if I didn’t decide to do something, you would have let yourself get played.”

You glanced away. “I understand you’re mad, but don’t be mad at me. I’m doing the best I can.”

Kid huffed. “It didn’t matter that I brought the receipts. I got kicked out because I don’t play by the rules. Do you think that’s fair? Think I deserved to lose my job for bein’ loud when something’s not right?”

“No,” you flinched. “I don’t think it’s fair at all.” 

“But you’re still planning on going in tomorrow, aren’t you?” he asked, and that was when it hit you. Because it wasn’t enough that Kid had raged at Hogback. He was worked up now. 

You didn’t even think you needed to answer. The look on your face was enough for Kid to bow his head, shaking it as he let out a steady breath. 

“Just because you give a shit about work doesn’t mean a goddam thing. You’ve only been there a short while. You can still leave those bastards in the dust.”

You pursed your lips. “I know you don’t think it’s worth it, but it’s really not that simple.”

“It’s not?” Kid raised a brow. “‘Cause Killer’s already offered me a job at his shop. ‘M sure he could use a receptionist.” 

You glanced away again. “I don’t… want to be a receptionist, Kid. I, um… I’m good at what I do. I’ve been wanting—”

“The job you’ve been working for twenty-eight days, you mean,” Kid gruffed. “You think just because you have a badge and a couple of nurses who like you that you’re part of the club now? That’s not a place you’ll ever fit in because the minute you stop smiling, I guarantee you’ll be reminded real quick where you actually stand.”

Your forehead was crumpled, and your eyes earnest. “You’ve done so much for me, and I really appreciate that. You’ve always been such a good friend—” You didn’t notice the slight grimace at the word. —“But things aren’t that simple. There isn’t another place that offers what I’m looking to do. I’ve been working so hard to get here.” 

You smiled up at him, trying to be reassuring in your nod. “I know you’re just looking out for me. I’ll be more careful.”

You’d expected that to be it, and perhaps that was thoughtless of you. Even as Kid brushed a few stray strands of hair behind your ear, you didn’t think for a second that perhaps things were much deeper than what you anticipated. 

Because when he spoke, when the words, “You’re not special,” came from his lips, the world seemed to freeze. They were odd words, ones that you hadn’t been expecting at the time or in their harshness, especially with the gentle way he ran his rough knuckles over your cheek. 

“You’re convenient,” he said, pulling his touch away, and with it, your heart sank. “It’s just like the last loser you dated for, what?” Kid snapped his fingers a few times, “Three weeks? Two weeks? And you came crying to me because you needed to run into the wall a few times before you could shake off how naive you are. It’s why the only friends you have are your Tinder matches.”

Those words hung in the air for a good long while.

They’d hit you like a sucker punch, stunning you into silence. You felt frozen where you stood, unable to walk away but also unable to look Kid in the eye.

You bit the inside of your lip.

“That was… really uncalled for.” 

Kid continued, his eyes burning and his jaw tense. “Not everyone can coddle you. Especially not me.” 

And perhaps that was the moment Kid realized he’d been beating a dead horse. He’d always been one to say the gut punch first and think about the words later. It was just how he was, prattling his stream of consciousness, no matter where he was or who he was with. You wondered if his outburst in the meeting was an extension of that: Kid’s unrestrained, blunt thoughts spoken aloud. 

You weren’t entirely sure what made him seem to lose steam in that moment. Maybe he noticed the grave, broken expression on your face. 

“Look,” he said, and even the single word caused your chest to twinge. “I’m just pissed off, that’s all.” 

A pause. 

“You’re always pissed off, Kid,” you breathed. “I don’t… think you know how not to be.” 

Then things were quiet. You watched as Kid’s chest steadily rose and sank as he breathed. After a few tense moments, it felt like your shoes weren’t glued to the pavement. You moved a step backward.

“I should probably go.”

Kid stepped forward. 

“I didn’t mean that.”

“You did,” you blurted before he could get the words out all the way. “You always do.” 

Kid watched as you took a few steps down the driveway to your car, reaching into an open window to fish out Kid’s jacket from earlier. You approached him, holding it out to him. 

“Keep it,” he gruffed. 

“Kid.”

“Keep it,” he repeated, clamping a hand over your wrist, physically lowering the jacket between the two of you. But he didn’t retract. He stayed, his hand over yours. You met Kid’s eyes, noting the twinge of something regretful in his blazing irises. “I’d feel like a break-up if you gave it back.”

You let out the lightest laugh. “What? We’re not even—” 

But you didn’t finish that thought. Not with the earnestness Kid held in his stare. You let the tension melt from your arm. The bottom of his jacket brushed against the pavement, and Kid’s fingertips brushed your skin for the last time. 

“Okay,” you finally relented. Regretful. You clutched it in your arms as you turned back to your car. You fished your keys from your pocket as Kid watched you leave. But just as you were about to slide into the driver’s seat,

“Hey, Trouble?” he called. You looked up, one hand on the open car door. He pursed his lips for a second, his expression otherwise unreadable. “I’m sorry I couldn’t fix it.”

Your lips formed a pained line. “I don’t think anyone can.”

You closed your car door and turned the key in the ignition. Kid stepped back into the garage as the door closed. You backed out of his driveway, his leather jacket slung over your lap. And in the dimness of the garage, Kid muttered to himself, “I hope maybe you might be able to… You always were the kind of trouble that tried the impossible anyway.” 

***

When you woke, you shot up in bed—a gasp tore from your throat. You blinked a few times, looking around your room as your brain slowly adjusted to your surroundings. Light trickled in around the curtain in front of your window, and from the sheer brightness of it, it must’ve been at least late morning. 

You looked down at your bandaged hand, your eyes raking over the neat lines the gaze made. You sighed, letting your eyes close as you allowed yourself to fall back onto your pillow. 

So last night happened after all. The party. Niji and Yonji. The police. Law.

Your eyes shot open. 

Law.

You bolted out of bed, swinging the door to your room open as you made for the living room.

“Oh, you’re awake.” 

You had to rub your eyes to make sure you’d actually woken up, because there was Dr. Trafalgar Law, standing in your kitchen while something cooked on the stove. You turned around, noting the slightly Law-shaped crater pressed into your couch and the blanket neatly folded on the cushion. 

“Breakfast is going to be ready soon.” 

You turned back toward him, a goofy smile on your lips. “You made breakfast for me?” you damn near giggled. 

He waved you over, and you joined him, looking over the spread.

“It’s a good thing you’re here, actually. I didn’t know how you liked your bacon.”

“Just like that,” you said, pointing to the pan.

“Enough said,” Law hummed, flicking the burner off and removing the pan from the stove. “I’d suggest you do whatever you need to feel presentable, if you don’t already. You have company coming over soon.”

You furrowed your brow. Maybe this was a dream after all. “Wait, what?”

“I’ll let you know when everything’s ready,” Law said, giving you a soft pat on the back as he ushered you out of the kitchen. “Just take it easy on that hand. I want to see it when you get back.”

It was strange going through the motions knowing someone else was in your apartment. To wash your face and brush your teeth knowing that not only was someone in your apartment, but that person wasn’t Penguin or Shachi or even Nami, but Law, who you hadn’t been entirely convinced existed outside of a clinical setting in the first place. 

You poked your head out of the bathroom. 

“Do you need a toothbrush?”

The corner of Law’s lips turned downward. “Before eating?” he questioned. 

“Right, right,” you muttered, returning to your room to change out of your scrubs like you hadn’t gone into autopilot. You chalked it up to an apparent skittishness that seemed to control you when the recipient of an MD stood in your kitchen, making you breakfast. 

You stopped clenching your eyes shut. Did you really just ask him if he needed a toothbrush? That was an acceptable question, right?

When you emerged again, Law had already laid out two glasses of water on the coffee table along with two sets of silverware. You sat on the couch in front of them, and Law brought you a plate.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Least I could do,” he replied. 

As you dug into your meal, a small part of you dared to consider that perhaps you could get used to this. You smiled, leaning your head against the couch cushion as you bit back another giggle. 

He can cook.

“What?” Law put his fork down, studying you out of the corner of his eye. He chewed suspiciously. 

You shook your head, your grin only widening because he still had a bed head. Perfect Law, who never had a hair out of place in the clinic… Had a bedhead. 

“Nothing,” you dismissed, biting and swallowing another forkful of food. “So, what is this about company? Who are you inviting to my apartment?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he muttered, typing a few things on his phone before putting it down. Law scarfed the food on his plate down quickly. He was ever efficient, even when it came to eating. Law stood before you were halfway finished, bringing his plate to the dishwasher before rolling his sleeves up to handle the pans. You moved to stand. “Sit down. Eat. They’ll be here in a few minutes, and I still need to check on your wrist.” 

“Who did you invite here?” You padded over to him with your plate, leaning back against the counter as Law made quick work of the utensils he used to cook. “Law,” you drawled, but he ignored you, “I think I should know who’s coming to my home.” 

“You’re going to be perfectly fine with it,” was about all he replied with, washing his hands before turning to dry off on the hand towel that hung from the handle of your oven. Then, he walked off toward your bathroom. “C’mon, let me see that wrist.”

You followed. “You’re freaking me out a little.”

“Wrist.” Law corralled you under your stunning bathroom light, taking your wrist in his hands as he began to unwrap the gauze gingerly.

“I don’t think it’s that bad today,” you said, peering at your injury. 

The swelling had gone down, and the open wound had scabbed over into an array of dots and lines. The gaze itself was far less pretty, having been stained where the wound bled. There appeared to be a patch of molted skin, and the area was still bruised.

Law palpated the area quietly, paying close attention to any signs of irritation. 

“You’re lucky it’s only soft tissue irritation,” he murmured, rotating your wrist a few degrees before you flinched. “No signs of infection. Keep it clean, don’t test it, and for god’s sake—stop using it like it’s fine.”

“It is fine.”

“I’m not even going to humor that,” Law muttered as he cleaned and wrapped your wrist once more. “And you’re taking at least two days off.”

“Law.”

A tentative knock sounded from the door, causing your head to turn. You glanced back toward Law from the corner of your eye. But he didn’t say a word, sliding past you to make toward the door. His hand grazed the back of your arm as he went. You didn’t think twice about the motion; the touch was comfortable and natural. You followed him. 

When the door opened, you stopped at the edge of the kitchen. Law kept the door wide open, standing out of the way as little tears began to prickle at your eyes. The pair stepped tentatively into your kitchen. They were used to using the key you gave them, after all, not to mention Law’s presence. But he was the least of anyone’s concern. 

“You guys!” you cried, running to tackle Shachi and Penguin into an unrestrained hug. They hugged you back in earnest, the three of you crumpling down into one big pile in the doorway. It was a mess of tears and bruises upon hitting the tile. “What are you doing here?”

“We heard about what happened—or at least a little bit—God, we’re so sorry. We should have been there,” Shachi stammered. 

“We’re just so glad you’re okay,” Penguin spoke into your shoulder, holding you tightly. 

“I shouldn’t’ve come at you that strongly after lab,” Shachi apologized. 

“I should have found time for all of us to talk!” You countered. 

When the initial wave of sobbing and apologies passed, you finally pulled back, wiping your eyes on your sleeve. “You guys shouldn’t have come all this way.”

“Well, you can thank the Cap’n.” Penguin gestured his head toward Law, who was still standing at the door. Despite the acknowledgement, Law’s attention was somewhere else in the room. 

“You needed them,” he said with a simple nod. “I’ll give you space.” 

Law had maneuvered around you, turning to exit into the hall. 

“You’re leaving?” you questioned suddenly from where you sat on the floor, still crumpled in one big pile with Shachi and Penguin. 

Law looked down at you, the slightest semblance of a smile on his lips and a softness in his eyes. “I’ll be back. That is, if you want me to.”

You nodded. “Yes, please,” you breathed. 

Law hummed in acknowledgement. “I need to take care of a few things, but I’ll be back.” And then, he was off. You’d tried to speak, but he’d slipped out swiftly, closing the door behind him. 

Law left a silence behind him, but the comfort of being in your home safely with your friends had you melt into the tile once more. Penguin gingerly took your bandaged wrist and held it in his hands. 

“Are you okay?” Penguin asked, turning your hand over in his. He could’ve laughed. The coban work was definitely Law’s. His pained eyes swept over you, looking for any other signs of injury. Law’s phone call had been a concise one. He left out many of the details, but the message was clear enough.

You took in a deep breath, leaning back on the cabinets behind you. It was a loaded question. “I think so,” you answered. 

Shachi and Penguin scooted to sit in front of you: Penguin cross-legged while Shachi sat somewhat formally on his knees. Shachi had grabbed one of your ankles, pulling you so that the pit of your knee extended over his. Penguin still had your wrist in his hands. 

Penguin took in an even sharper breath. “We should have told you,” he said, looking you straight in the eye. “We shouldn’t have kept it from you because… Well, this happened because you didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

“We thought we could handle things. We know that you didn’t want a scene, you know, after what happened with…” Shachi trailed off, almost afraid that saying Kid’s name alone would make you burst into tears again. You could feel it, and the thought made you smile.

“You can say his name. It’s okay.” You closed your eyes, a somewhat amused huff escaping your nose. 

“You already had a lot on your plate. We should have known you’d find out sooner or later… and that you not knowing would only make things worse in the long run,” Penguin said, eyes glued to your wrist as he ran his fingers over exposed skin. “We were just trying to be good to you. To take care of you. You know—” He raised his head, looking into your eyes with what could only be described as soft sorrow. —“Like brothers ought to.” 

A regretful line contorted your lips. “I think we might be a bit past that.” Your thumb swiped gently over Penguin’s knuckles. 

He let his head bow, letting out a low sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Right,” he said. “You’re right.” 

“You don’t have to tell us what happened if you don’t want to,” Shachi told you quickly.

You didn’t even have to think for a second. The three of you sat on the floor as you gave the short of what had happened the night before: The party. Niji and Yonji. The police. Law. The length of time you sat on the kitchen floor made your joints hurt by the time you migrated to the couch. 

The conversation turned into much-needed time between buddies playing video games and watching dumb YouTube videos. Shachi set up the controllers, and Penguin insisted on ordering takeout for “morale.” Soon, the sound of button mashing and trash talk filled the apartment. You settled between Shachi and Penguin, your body melting by the warmth of familiarity and belonging. 

Time passed, games were played, and food was swiftly devoured. It’d been a while since it felt like this, since things felt like college. 

By the door, your apartment was still. Apologies and regretful explanations had faded from the air, having morphed into peace. The faint smell of oil and leather lingered beneath the scent of takeout and breakfast. Because at the back of your crowded coat rack, mostly hidden behind newer things, hung a dark, worn jacket. It had hung there for many years, never touched. It was out of sight, but never out of place. 

***

Meanwhile, Law sat down at a patio table across the city. He’d changed into more presentable clothes, donning a light turtle neck and a chic, tan coat. A small gold chain swept to the tops of his covered collarbones, the material matching that of his earrings. 

And when his guest finally arrived, Law didn’t stand to greet him. He peered over his coffee cup, watching as the chair across from him.

“Vinsmoke.” 

“Dr. Trafalgar.” Sanji crossed his arms, sitting back in his chair with one ankle slung over his knee. “It’s been a long time. To what do I owe the displeasure?” 

As if on cue, a drink arrived at the table. It was some sort of fancy-looking fluff that Law had spied on the menu, and he’d taken a calculated guess. Next to the cup and saucer came a simple croissant. This place made theirs from scratch in-house. 

Sanji glanced up at Law suspiciously. 

“You must be desperate,” he commented, slowly lifting the cup to his lips. But by his minute expression alone, Law knew he made the correct choice. 

Law leaned forward, placing his forearms on the table, his expression as stoic as usual. 

“Would you be more willing to help if I said it was for a woman?” he asked, noting the pause Sanji took. 

Sanji’s cup stilled for a few seconds before he raised it to his lips again. 

“Keep talkin’.”

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: For some reason I always get to defensive in my Kid fics but KID IS ABSOLUTELY MASSIVE NO ONE BETTER COME AT ME FOR THE SIZE DIFFERENCE FUCKING SUE ME— (I scream as I'm wrangled back into my enclosure)

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII

Glossary for Nerds

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