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“Move me to Strawhat.”
Law waits, listening to paper shuffling and glass vials clinking behind him. He scowls when no one acts upon his command.
“Shachi.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“Your mouth breathing gives you away every time.”
“Mouth breathing—!”
“Don’t shout,” Law sighs. “This is a room for recovery.”
“Yes, Captain,” Shachi says, tone precisely the opposite of deferent. “Right away, Captain. Glad you’re not dead, Captain. I’m doing great, Captain; thanks for asking. Just trying to manage an emergency room the size of an island.”
Law frowns at the ceiling above him, somewhat concerned. “I thought Tony-ya and the Minks were organizing everything?”
Behind him, Shachi keeps doing whatever it is he’s doing, except with more aggression.
“Whatever you’re saying under your breath sounds like insubordination. Demoted.”
“From what?” Shachi gripes before his bright orange hair pops into Law’s field of vision. “Did you seriously wake up from a thirty-six-hour nap to insult me?”
“No,” Law frowns. Maybe Shachi is the one with the concussion? “I woke up to tell you to move me to Strawhat.”
Shachi clicks his tongue as he maneuvers to Law’s left side, squatting down to pull the IV from the back of his hand.
“When did that get there?” Law asks, blinking stupidly as Shachi disposes of the needle. “Why was it there?”
“Because you were asleep for thirty-six hours!” Shachi hisses, over-enunciating as if Law is being particularly slow.
He’s sort of offended by it.
“Too bad!” Shachi says as he gently sticks a bandaid over Law’s vein. “Captains who pass out for thirty-six hours after everyone already thought they were OK do not get to be offended.”
He was really hung up on this thirty-six-hour thing, wasn’t he?
Shachi snaps the IV line between his hands in the universally recognized strangling motion.
Law realizes he’s saying his thoughts aloud and admits that maybe he’s the one concussed.
“Yeah, no shit,” Shachi mutters and continues to take Law’s vitals and check his wound dressing.
Law squints up at the ceiling. “You were worried about me.”
From the corner of his eye, Law sees Shachi’s face contort and go red in a way that means that he’s both pissed off and embarrassed. Law has a theory that Shachi can pull off that particular range of emotion at once because he’s a redhead. He’s still gathering a sample group for further testing, though.
“Yeah, so what?” Shachi challenges. “You were beat to hell—”
“I wouldn’t say that—”
“—like seriously, you had the absolute shit kicked out of you. Bleeding all over the place and talking some dumb shit about Strawhat, but at least you were awake and alive and bossing us around to start triage. And then you just passed the fuck out, and no one could wake you up.”
Law looks over Shachi—the tired rings under his eyes, singed and fraying hat, his bandages and bruises.
“Does this mean we have to hug again?”
Shachi snorts out an ugly sound that is fifty percent a laugh and at least forty percent rage.
Law steels himself and looks grimly into the middle distance. “Alright, I’m ready, but I’m not doing it again after this.”
Shachi wipes his eyes, his laughter fully taking over his features. “My captain is the bravest, strongest, stupidest, most dickish captain of them all.”
“It’s bizarre that you sound proud of that,” Law tells him honestly. “Also, that is definite insubordination. Demoted.”
“That word lost meaning long ago,” Shachi rolls his eyes. “I don’t even know where to touch you.” He had apparently taken the hug thing seriously.
“Too bad, that was a one-time offer,” Law shrugs and tries to pull his arm away, but Shachi just cradles both sides of Law’s elbow with his hand and bends forward until his forehead briefly touches Law’s shoulder.
Any words Law could say stutter to a stop behind his pressed lips, stunned at the quick display. The action makes it seem like Shachi is bowing to offer gratitude for Law’s life or to offer fealty.
It makes something burn fierce and proud within Law. At the same time, he feels the weight of responsibility set heavier than ever on his shoulders.
Shachi sits back and doesn’t look him in the eye. Maybe because he, too, felt a magnitude in the gesture beyond it being the world’s most awkward hug. Then he smirks.
“That shut up the sassy commentary, didn’t it?”
Moment ruined.
Shachi’s mouth widens into a full-on grin as he stands. “Strawhat is alright. He also got beat within an inch of his life. Like seriously, two near-death ass-whoopings before he finally got his shit together, apparently.”
“His heart?”
“Calmed down since you last examined him,” Shachi reports, quickly falling into the roles they take in the operating room. “We can’t find anything unusual with our equipment.”
“I’ll check again,” Law decides.
“Sure, if you want to be knocked on your ass again.”
Law doesn’t even try to glare. It’s ineffectual when he’s laid flat on his back and can’t even move.
“Just move me to him. His bandages are coming loose.”
Shachi squints across the room and then down at Law. “How did you even notice that? He’s across the room, and you can’t even lift a finger.”
To demonstrate the level of stupidity that just came out of Shachi’s mouth, Law flips him off.
“Classy,” Shachi deadpans. “I’ll go fix it. You get some rest that isn’t unconsciousness.”
“Sleep is for those who aren’t dead inside.”
Shachi looks deeply unimpressed. “Is there anything I can get you before I go?”
“Yes, move me to Strawhat,” Laws says for the third time.
“It’s like you never learned what question marks are for. I meant do you need food or water? I’ll get Strawhat’s bandages. You can’t even sit up—don’t take that as a challenge!”
Law struggles into a sitting position because he takes everything as a challenge; thank you. His skin breaks out into sweat immediately—gross—and everything inside him screams. His blood pressure nearly bottoms out at the move, vision going static and black around the edges. Eventually, he manages it, and his body hates him for it. He doesn’t let any pain and fatigue show on his face because that would mean losing to his body… and to Shachi.
“Why are you like this?” Shachi asks, waving a hand to indicate all of Law.
“Why are you being so stubborn?” Law grumbles, pulling up his yukata from where it had slipped off his shoulder. Since when did he stop impressing and intimidating his crew into blind submission?
Bepo would have moved Law the first time he asked.
“That’s because Bepo’s an enabler,” Shachi huffs. “Fine. Do you want me to help you stand, or do you want me to pull you over on the bedding like a wagon ride?”
“I’m not even dignifying that with a response.”
“I hate to break this to you, but you have no sense of fun. OK, then. You carry your bedroll, and I’ll carry you.”
“Also vetoed.”
“Alright, do you want me to turn away so I don’t see you cry when you stand up?”
Shachi ends up carrying Law’s bedroll. Mainly because when Shachi went to pick up Kikoku, he made a face and nudged her over to Law with the IV pole.
“She’s spooky today.”
“She misses Bepo.”
“Or she wants to slice people up.”
“That, too.”
“Well, not me, thanks. Not today.”
Shachi takes most of his weight, one arm painfully tight around his ribs, but at least Law is up and walking, dammit.
“There aren’t as many people here.”
“Yeah, it’s just you three, now. Well, Kidd is still beat to shit, too. He woke up a few hours ago and couldn’t move so he tried crawling out of here using his teeth until Killer came and hauled him away.” A thoughtful pause. “There is something patently insane about that guy.”
Shachi leans Law against a pillar while he unrolls Law’s bedroll next to Luffy’s. Law takes a moment to examine Luffy and Zoro, who is recovering close on Luffy’s other side, the backs of their hands touching.
“Were they in a competition to see how many injuries they could get without dying?”
“I heard from the Strawhats that it’s common for them to be laid up together and that it’s mostly because they’re dumbasses.” Shachi stands up and tilts his head to peer at Law from under the bill of his hat.
“What is it now?” Law asks when the pause edges into awkward and annoying.
“Nothing,” Shachi says as he approaches, gently taking Law’s arm around his shoulders and bracing his waist to help lower him to the bedroll. “Just realized something I should have seen already.”
“That you’re terrible at following orders?”
“That you’re worried about Strawhat,” Shachi answers. He waits until Law sit before taking five giant steps away from Law's reach to finish his thought. “And that you wanted to check on your boyfriend yourself.”
Law would choke on his spit at this, but his mouth is dry because Shachi is a terrible nurse and hasn’t even given Law any water.
“I can’t wait to tell everyone I know that Captain has a crush because it’s literally the cutest thing ever—and I’ve met Chopper.”
“‘Demoted’ might not mean anything to you, but ‘dismemberment’ should.”
“The weird shit you said about Strawhat before you passed out makes sense now.”
“No,” Law denies, mainly because “Strawhat” and “makes sense” don’t belong in the same sentence. “What did I say?”
“Don’t worry. Penguin had a tone dial and recorded everything so you wouldn’t forget.”
“This is mutiny,” Law grouses. “I should leave you all here on this island.”
“Like we’d ever let you do that again, Captain,” Shachi retorts. He’s smiling, but his words are fierce. Law’s stomach twists in a way that probably doesn’t have much to do with his injuries.
“No,” Law agrees softly.
Shachi nods firmly, like, yeah, that’s what I thought. “Now, will you lay down and rest? I’ll bring food and water and take care of Strawhat.”
“I’ll do it,” Law insists. “Just bring the food and water when you can.”
“Captain—”
Law lifts his hand to teleport the bag with the medical supplies Shachi had been messing with earlier. Shachi’s hand shoots out and grabs him by the middle finger.
“I’ll kill you if you kill yourself using your power right now. I’ll get you the damn bag—no, don’t smirk at me like that with your stupid handsome face.”
He stomps off, muttering something like, “why do I have a Captain who is such a handful?” He chucks the entire bag at Law’s face and grunts, dissatisfied when he catches it. Undeterred, Shachi quickly cracks a mischievous grin that never bodes well.
“I’ll be back soon!” Shachi calls saccharinely as he moves toward the door. “Don’t get up to anything too physical. Remember, you’re both injured!”
“What does that have to do with anything?” But Shachi is already gone, sprinting away in long strides at impressive speed before Law’s concussed brain can catch up with the implication.
Of all the roasting Shachi had served in the past few minutes, that’s what had finally made him run away in terror?
Anyway, it’s not true. That Law is worried about Luffy. Or that he has feelings about Luffy. Or that he wants to do anything salaciously “physical” with Luffy, or whatever Shachi was implying.
They are allies, that’s all. And this moment, in the aftermath of the battle, is the culmination of their alliance. Law just wants to ensure his ally doesn’t die before they can finally reap the benefits of their labor.
Yes. That’s all this is.
Law painstakingly turns around to face Luffy, panting through the flush of hot, searing pain in his everywhere. The dressings on Luffy’s right hand and fingers are loose; the rest are in decent shape. Even as he reaches for them, Law knows it’s pointless. Luffy needs them, of course, but Law can tell that Luffy is slowly resurfacing from his unconscious state. He’s twitching more, eyes moving behind his lids, his demonstrative brows and mouth stuttering in half-dreaming expressions. Once he’s awake, trying to keep medicine and wrappings on him will be a pain in the ass.
But, well. Hadn’t Cora’s legacy been taking on losing battles and lost causes? Law thinks he’s gotten pretty good at those lately.
He lifts Luffy’s hand, turns it palm up, careful of the IV taped inside his elbow. He carefully unwraps the bandage around Luffy’s wrist and palm and unwinds the smaller pieces bound around his fingers.
Instead of immediately reapplying, Law finds himself cradling Luffy’s hand in both of his own. He has a slim wrist, broad palm, and short, almost stubby fingers. Seeing these small hands take on Marineford and then Doflamingo’s giant ass was almost laughable. Witnessing these tiny hands against a dragon that could block the sun had been hysterical.
Until this same hand wrapped around Kaido’s massive throat and snatched lightning out of the sky.
His palm had been impaled at some point—likely one of spikes on Kaido’s ridiculously oversized kanabo. His rubber muscles and bones were already filling in the ugly wound, the skin raw but mostly scabbed over it. His fingers are puckered and red from being burned.
Luffy recovered the slowest from burns.
Taking out antiseptic wipes from the bag, Law cleans around the wounds in attentive, mechanical movements. He starts with the dried blood caked in Luffy’s palm line and the rivulets of old scars, wipes off some of the adhesive residues from around his wrist, and cleans around Luffy’s shredded nails, so nothing gets in the burns. He reapplies the dressing around Luffy’s palm first. Next, he dabs burn cream onto Luffy’s curled, lax fingers before securely rewrapping them. He brings each finger to his lips after he’s done and allows himself to revel in this simple, gentle touch.
“Torao.”
Law freezes, Luffy’s index finger still pressed to his mouth, the soft linen catching on his dry, chapped lips.
Luffy’s voice is hoarse, and his skin is unusually sallow—primarily due to the yellowing bruises marring his face, a testament to his healing factor. Law heals fast, too, but he knows by how deeply his cheekbone aches that his own bruises are still a boiling purple.
Luffy tilts his face up toward Law, but he doesn’t seem to have enough strength to fully open his eyes or move his mouth in anything more than a shadow of his usual grin.
“Torao has kissed me before.”
Law scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I have not.”
“It’s very familiar.”
“It’s because you were dreaming then. You’re dreaming now, too.”
“Oh,” Luffy sighs, eyelashes stark against his too-pale skin. “It’s a good dream, then.”
Law lowers their hands into his lap.
“Don’t stop,” Luffy croaks, petulant.
“I’m not going to kiss you.”
“It’s my dream. You have to do what I say.”
“In your dreams,” Law scoffs again.
“Yes, Torao,” Luffy huffs like Law is the slow one. “This is my dream.” He goes to lift his arm, probably to shove his hand into Law’s face and demand finger kisses, but his arm quickly drops again. “Tired.”
“Go to sleep, then.”
“You said I was already sleeping.”
“Fine,” Law grouses. “I don’t know why I even came over here.” He lifts Luffy’s hand again and presses his lips quickly against his index finger and thumb.
Luffy giggles, some pink returning to his cheeks before he schools his expression into an ultra-serious face with eyebrows tilted down and eyes blank. He reaches with his other hand to rub his chin as if stroking a beard. Then he says, in a deep, drawling voice, “does this mean we have to hug again?”
Law blinks and then scowls when he gets it. “How long have you been awake, eavesdropping? I don’t sound like that!”
Luffy’s giggling so hard his whole body quakes, and tears leak out of his drowsy, bloodshot eyes. Law is too tired to take Luffy’s dumb head from the rest of his body. There is no part unbandaged enough for him to smack, either.
Instead, Law pinches Luffy’s nose, causing Luffy to immediately and literally choke on his own laughter. Law lets go quickly, but Luffy gasps dramatically, coughing enough to make him wince and hold his ribs.
Law looks down at his hand in wonder. Sometimes, he feels like a stranger to himself when he’s around Luffy.
“I thought I was going to die!” Luffy exclaims, still wheezing.
“You shouldn’t listen to other people’s conversations.”
“But are they really other people’s conversations if they’re in my dream?”
Law sighs and presses his fingers against his forehead to stave off the blooming headache. “I start to question what’s left of my sanity whenever you, of all people, start in on the philosophical shit. Fine, you’re not dreaming.”
“Good,” Luffy says decisively. “That means we won, right?”
Law can’t help it; he grins down at Luffy. It’s not big, but it feels vicious. Like his teeth are in the throat of the world.
“Yeah, we won.”
Luffy grins back, deliriously joyful, though it quickly melts into a yawn.
“Torao is tired, too, right? You should lie down.”
“I don’t take orders from you,” Law huffs, even as he painfully swings his legs to the side so he can lay down facing Luffy.
Luffy’s hand is still in his. Luffy hasn’t noticed yet, so Law doesn’t want to draw attention to it by suddenly letting go.
“But you’re lying down right now.”
“Because I was doing it anyway. You have nothing to do with it.”
“Sure, sure,” Luffy laughs, his hoarse voice finally going out, so it drops into mostly a whisper.
After Law settles, Luffy turns with a brief wince to face him. Luffy’s warmth, his lashes, his smell, his freckles, his breath—all of him is suddenly, unavoidably close.
Luffy lifts their joined hands further up between them, and isn’t that just like Luffy to pay attention to something that Law doesn’t want him to notice? They’re not holding hands—Luffy’s fingers are too jacked up. Instead, the back of Luffy’s hand is lying in Law’s palm, D.E.A.T.H. wrapped loosely around his wrist. Law can feel Luffy’s life pulsing beneath his fingers.
“Were you worried?” Luffy asks, gaze unfathomable.
Law meets those eyes, not flinching before the planet-wide storm brewing behind them or the raw knowing in his expression. Like maybe Luffy can see Law's own hunger sprawling on the underside of his skin.
“No,” Law answers simply. “You are my ally.”
Luffy’s smile is tired, but it’s all teeth.
“Good. You’re mine, too. I didn’t worry.”
They’re both lying, but they’re also both telling the truth. Two seemingly opposite things can exist at the same time, Law knows.
Like a smile in death.
“Hey, Torao,” Luffy whispers, head bowing slightly, leaning forward in something reminiscent of what Shachi had done earlier.
Except Law tilts and bends, so he meets Luffy halfway, their foreheads resting together.
“Guess what?”
“I’m sure I couldn’t possibly.”
“Shishi—we won, Torao. Your plan worked.”
Law blinks back to Punk Hazard, the driving blizzard, and the ankle-deep snow. Flashes to Luffy, looking up at him with wide, blank eyes as Law says, “I have a plan to take down one of the Emperors.”
“You screwed up every last piece of my plan,” Law points out. “You didn’t even listen to half of it.”
Luffy gasps, cheeks puffing in offense. “I did! We got here, didn’t we? ‘Mingo, then Kaido. See? We even got Big Mom!”
“And who do you think is responsible for that shitshow?” Law grouses but can’t quite hide his smirk.
Luffy laughs. Law can feel his breath against his lips.
“I can’t wait for whatever is next.”
“A broken nose if you keep yapping,” Zoro groans from behind Luffy. “Either shut up or bring me sake.”
“Can’t,” Luffy grunts. “None of us can move.”
“Fine then,” Zoro says and evidently, given the amount of grunting and swearing, tries to get up on his own. He fails, inevitably, and plops back down. “Well, damn.”
Luffy’s lips press together mischievously, already laughing at whatever joke he’s about to pull on Zoro. His eyes dance up at Law like white rays of sunlight.
“Zoro is grumpy that you didn’t kiss his hand, too, Torao.”
“What!” Zoro sputters, and Law catches a flash of green and a flailing, bandaged arm from behind Luffy. “Luffy! Don’t say things like that.”
“Zoro is embarrassed,” Luffy whispers loud enough for people to hear him in the next room.
“Luffy!” Zoro growls before a pillow rockets into the back of Luffy’s head, the force fanning Luffy's hair over his temples and forehead. Luffy’s laugh is like bubbles rising in the air.
“You shouldn’t call people out like that, Strawhat-ya,” Law says sternly but quirks the corner of his mouth so only Luffy can see.
“Oi, you two. Give me my pillow back.”
“Nope!” Luffy chirps and goes to stretch his arm to pull it from behind him but halts suddenly with a grimace. Law leans further into Luffy, chest brushing against Luffy’s body, reaches over him, and tugs Zoro’s pillow under Luffy’s head.
When Luffy settles onto his newly acquired pillow, he rests his forehead against Law’s again.
“Zoro is slow,” Luffy whispers, eyes closed, breath already evening out.
“I hate you both,” Zoro sighs, fatigue thick like syrup in his voice. Law feels the pull of sleep, too, but he stays awake long enough for Luffy to slip into sleep. Zoro shifts and grumbles before finally sliding closer behind Luffy to share his pillow.
He falls asleep before Shachi returns, Luffy’s wrist in his hand, blood rushing beneath his fingers like a victory.
end.