Chapter Text
Swallow Island’s port town had a bustling marketplace that always came alive on weekends. It was a whirlwind of activity, people buzzing from stall to stall, buying produce and trading friendly gossip. It was the kind of thing Donquixote Homing dreamed of; the perfect picture of a common human being’s life. The life Homing wanted more than anything else.
It was a shame he never got to see it.
He would be glad that one of his sons did.
Rosinante would never forget the way his father wept when they were strung up. Would never forget the look in his eyes when he died. Wanting, desperately, for his sons to be safe. For his sons to be happy. Forgiving, even as Doflamingo leveled a gun at his head. Forgiving, even as Doflamingo pulled the trigger.
Doflamingo left North Blue months ago, aiming to establish himself in the Grand Line. Trying to recover from Rosinante breaking the iron grip he had on the North Blue’s criminal underworld. Rosinante always expected to die when Doflamingo discovered his treason. He imagined all the ways it could happen.
He never imagined Law. He never imagined living.
He never imagined himself weaving through a crowded marketplace, Law perched on his shoulders, the closest to content he’d ever been in his life.
Homing would be proud.
“Cora, look,” Law called, leaning down enough for Rosinante to follow the line of his arm. “The fishmonger has those cured meats that Bepo likes.”
“So we have to get them, then?” Rosinante laughed, but still started making his way towards the fishmonger’s stall.
Law huffed, resting his head on top of Rosinante’s. “He’ll whine if we don’t.”
As if that was Law’s reason rather than the way Bepo lit up every time he was given something. He was still unused to humans treating him kindly. Law seemed to take that as a personal challenge, but Law’s ways of being kind were hardly standard. They involved staring down anyone who looked at Bepo too long, bringing Bepo random gifts, and, oddest of all, treating Bepo like his personal pillow. Rosinante was surprised Bepo wasn’t bothered by that. But he was always happy to lie down on the floor and nap when Law leaned against him with a heavy book. It was a strange dynamic, but a sweet one.
“We’ll get Bepo his fish,” Rosinante promised, reaching up to pat Law’s knee.
“We should go to the bookstore after,” Law said. “You can get that sappy love story you’ve been eyeing.”
Rosinante laughed and reached up to pinch Law’s cheek, only to have his hand batted away before he could. “You’re only saying that because you want to see if they have any new medical books. Or, better yet, comics.”
“You can’t prove that,” Law huffed.
Rosinante rolled his eyes fondly, then lifted Law off his shoulders to set him down in front of the fishmonger’s stall. The fishmonger was a middle aged man with greying hair, who always grinned at Rosinante and Law like they were family he hadn’t seen in months.
“Afternoon, Captain. Law,” he greeted, as friendly as ever.
Rosinante was officially transferred to Swallow Island’s Marine base a little over three months ago. He still had to travel to HQ fairly often for more important meetings, but most things could be managed from Swallow. He made a routine of dragging Law with him to the market every weekend he was home. Not that it took Law much convincing to come along.
It was good to have a routine. Good to make small talk with the fishmonger as he bought his fish. Good to swing Law back up onto his shoulders as they headed home, stopping briefly at the bookstore as they did, leaving it with two more books for their already crowded shelves.
Rosinante never imagined he would live long enough to have a family, even before he started spying on the Donquixote Pirates. He never told Sengoku, and he never would, but he expected to die any day he was in the Marines. He didn’t want to, but he was prepared for it.
He had a family here. The thought warmed him almost as much as the cottage’s roaring fireplace. Law formally banned Rosinante from touching it after the third time he set himself on fire rather than the logs. Bepo was banned too, his paws too clumsy to manage the kindling. Lighting the fireplace was Law’s job alone. He struck a match to do so as soon as the sun started setting, before leaning back against Bepo and opening his new book. Bepo gnawed contentedly on his cured meats, and Rosinante stretched out on the couch to read his novel.
He loved the quiet domesticity of evenings like this.
Law wouldn’t stay on Swallow Island forever. He would leave someday, and when he did he would take Bepo with him. Penguin and Shachi, too. They would set out together, and they would do as they pleased, live as they pleased. And there was little doubt in Rosinante's mind that a life that pleased them would not be in line with the law. But that was fine. Rosinante wouldn’t change that, wouldn’t change them. Budding criminals or not, Rosinante was going to look after those boys for as long as they needed.
They would still be family when Law took his companions and left. That was something that would never change. But until that day came, Rosinante would savor the time they had together. And when Law set out, Rosinante would be sure he was ready for anything.
✦✦✦
Law didn’t realize how painful dying had been until he wasn’t anymore. He still spent most days plagued by body aches, but it was nothing compared to the Amber Lead. Even on days with the worst pain, he still felt alive.
He felt alive running through the snow in Wolf’s yard, sliding under the kick Penguin aimed at his head, snagging Penguin’s other ankle as he went. His lungs burned when he ripped Penguin’s leg out from under him. His heart pounded in his ears as he pinned Penguin down and rolled onto his back to drive a bruising kick into Shachi’s sternum. Shachi hit the snow as hard as Penguin.
Law stood up, his chest heaving, and brushed the snow off his knees. Wolf and Cora’s loud laughter rolled across the yard.
“You’re horrible,” Penguin groaned, rolling over onto his back to glare up at Law. A few feet away, Shachi wheezed in agreement.
“Where did you go wrong?” Cora called from his seat at Wolf’s outdoor table.
Wolf laughed again and took a deep swig of whatever mystery brew he was drinking. Bepo was sitting beside him, and he tilted his head. He watched the whole brawl with a mix of worry and curiosity on his face. At least, Law thought it was worry and curiosity. Bepo’s expressions could be a bit difficult for a human to read.
“We agreed to spar Law,” Shachi said, his voice a bit thin as he rubbed at his chest.
Law rolled his eyes. “I didn’t hit you that hard.”
“Yes, you fucking did,” Penguin laughed, pointing an accusing finger at Law. “How the hell do you fit so much mean into your tiny little body?”
“Years of practice,” Law snarked, then ignored Penguin’s cackle as he turned to Shachi. “Bepo would have hit you harder.”
“Sorry,” Bepo called, for once not sounding the least bit apologetic. Law laughed, delighted as he watched Bepo tuck a sharp grin behind his paw.
“Penguin,” Cora called, before an argument could break out. “You throw yourself off-balance when you kick. Mind your balance, and Law won’t be able to pull you over so easily.”
“But he’ll still be able to do it,” Penguin grumbled, but offered Cora a lazy thumbs up.
“Shachi, you leave yourself too open,” Cora said. “Law can see what you’re trying to do, and you can’t bring your guard up quick enough to block him.”
“Yeah, I got it,” Shachi said, coughing a bit as he sat up. He grinned at Law, so he probably wasn’t upset.
Law wasn’t the best at making friends, even before Flevance fell. He knew he should be nicer to Shachi and Penguin, he just didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to be friendly, or soft, or kind. But, then again, Penguin and Shachi chose to be around him anyway. For some reason, they liked Law the way he was.
He didn’t think he’d ever understand them. But maybe he didn’t have to.
“Sit up straight,” Law told Shachi, summoning a small room and setting his hands on Shachi’s back and chest. “Breathe deeply.”
Shachi didn’t question it. He took deep, steady breaths as Law felt the movement of his ribs. Felt the movement in his lungs. Felt the pounding of his heart. Felt the blood rushing through his veins, alive.
“You’re going to be a bit bruised,” Law said, pulling back and dropping the room. The hyper-awareness of Shachi’s body fell with it.
“Figured,” Shachi laughed. “I bet it’ll be a pretty cool looking bruise though.”
“You have a very strange idea of what looks cool,” Penguin said as he hauled himself upright and sauntered over. As soon as he was close enough, he reached out to tug at the ends of Shachi’s choppy haircut.
Shachi batted his hand away and, unsurprisingly, escalated things to a full-on slap fight. Before Shachi and Penguin could devolve even further into wrestling in the snow, Cora made his way over to them. He caught their flailing hands and grinned down at them. “Alright you two,” he said, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice. “It’s time for practice.”
Law tensed a bit, unable to help himself. Cora hadn’t specified what they were practicing, but Law knew as well as Penguin and Shachi did that he was talking about shooting. After the first disastrous attempt at a lesson, which ended with Law’s hands shaking, his ears ringing, and his mind going blank, Cora decided to hold his lessons deep in the forest—far enough that the sound of gunshots wouldn’t reach Wolf’s house. Some part of Law was embarrassed by this, ashamed of his own reactions, of his inability to control them. But that shame didn’t linger for long. It was overwhelmed by warmth. How could it not be, when Cora—and Shachi, Penguin, Bepo, and Wolf—saw how Law responded to the gunshots, and immediately did what they could to ensure he didn’t hear them again. They didn’t pry, didn’t ask him why. They saw that he needed something, and cared about him enough to give it.
It was a strange thing still, to be cared about by so many people. Law was unused to it. But, as he watched Cora lead Penguin and Shachi into the woods, as he heard Bepo and Wolf calling for him, he thought that maybe someday, it wouldn’t feel so odd.