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Law is cunning and strong and brave. He’s the kind of man you would expect to glide through life confidently, dodging indignities with grace. But he’s also human. And now and then, that humanity surfaces in mistakes.
Like now.
The railing of the Polar Tang, which took more than a little damage in their last run in with the Marines, still sports numerous lost sections. And Law, sleep-deprived, staggering, and still recovering from his last fight, collapses. Unfortunately, the way he’s standing, the way he falls, he drops directly through a gap in the railing. He goes silently. Slipping into the churning sea.
It’s not like in the stories—time doesn’t slow down in the moment of peril. If anything, it speeds up, and leaves Penguin too slow and watching helplessly from the sidelines. He lurches to his feet—too late.
There’s no time to think. He races across the deck—“Captain overboard!”—and jumps. He clears the railing, spends a second suspended in the briny air, and then drops into the roiling waves.
Hopefully, the others would have heard or noticed a captain and crew member missing. Hopefully, they won’t continue on without them. Hopefully, they’ll be prepared to help them back onto the deck once Penguin surfaces with Law in tow.
But he doesn’t have time to think about that. He needs to find Law.
With a flurry of bubbles and displaced water, Penguin struggles to orient himself in the water. Eyes open, he only manages to catch a glimpse of endless blue and black and experience the subtle sting of salt water. Desperately, he pushes himself forward.
Penguin is experienced in navigating the water—it’s a skill that goes hand in hand with being a pirate. But under pressure? With the life of his Captain at risk? Suddenly the endless abyss of the ocean is deeper and greater than ever before.
He swims forward and wants to cry out, to shout for Law. The words claw their way up his throat and hover there alongside the growing need to inhale. The desire pulses beneath his skin, through his veins, in his nerves. Each moment of furious searching and stifled breathing is another second lost in the countdown that is only getting closer to zero.
Penguin is beginning to surpass desperation—it doesn’t usually take so long to find Law when he goes overboard. He aches with the panic and absolute need to have Law in his sight. In his grasp. All the while, he pictures Law’s pale skin turning blue, as if tainted by the water surrounding him, suffocating him. It’s so easy to think about his open eyes turning dim and half-lidded. He can almost see him, floating weightless, a slave to the currents—
There.
Penguin’s been under too long. The need to exhale is pressing, pressing, pressing against his chest, his throat—from his toes to his teeth, it all screams and begs for relief. The call of the surface is almost as strong.
But he can see him.
Law is about ten feet away, a shadow suspended in deeper shades. Penguin pushes himself through the water, swimming with stronger and faster strokes now that he has a definite destination.
He reaches out and snags hold of Law’s sweater, yanking his Captain close. Black spots dance in his vision—not that it means much. They’re deep enough down in the cold and dark that his lack of sight doesn’t affect him. It’s the dizziness entangling his head that’s concerning. Growing and flexing, its strings along his perception and sense.
Penguin’s legs burn, his arms ache. He kicks and kicks and holds Law as close as he can as he struggles to reach the surface—but his mind only feels less grounded.
The thought rises up unbidden. It’s bitter, loud, and all encompassing.
We’re not gonna make it.
They’re closer to the surface but the black spots twist and turn and stretch out. It’s too late. He can’t get them there.
Penguin blinks, and struggles to open his eyes again. Even as he fades away he continues to swim, struggling to surface. It’s so close, seemingly only feet away. But also so far out of reach.
He tightens his grip on Law’s sweater as he feels his grasp on reality loosen. And just when they're at the edge. Just when Penguin’s unfaltering grip loosens, he sees him.
Shachi swims closer, until his face hangs in front of Penguins. His gaze is furious. He reaches out and grips Penguin and Law, one with each hand. In seconds, he tugs them both upwards.
They surface in a fit of choking coughs. Penguin is preoccupied trying to regain oxygen, but he does his best to help Shachi hoist Law up. They both tread water with Law upright between them. But, Penguin is more than ready to admit Shachi is doing more than his fair share of the work.
“This way,” Shachi orders, starting to cleave a path forward. Penguin can barely see with the sudden assault of pure sunlight overhead, but he trusts Shachi has the right direction and helps move them awkwardly towards their destination. It’s after a minute of blinking away salty water that he sees it. The Polar Tang waits ahead. Jean Bart is the only one waiting for them, arm outstretched. The rest of the crew is below deck.
“Give him to me,” Jean Bart says urgently. Penguin doesn’t waste a moment. Him and Shachi yank Law towards him, and Jean Bart reaches out and grabs hold of his forearm, lifting their Captain free of the clinging waves. He deposits Law somewhere on the deck, too far to see from the water.
It’s Shachi who clambers up next. While the lack of railings helped put them in this situation—it also helps get them out. Slipping onto the deck is much easier without the barrier. In a fluid moment Shachi is onboard and reaching back, giving Penguin a hold to scramble up on the deck.
He’s exhausted—breath uneven and urgent, limbs weak, and adrenaline growing stale in his veins. But all of that is shoved to the side when Penguin sees his Captain lying supine on the deck boards.
Shachi is already hurrying to his side, but Penguin is right behind him.
“Is he breathing?” Penguin hears himself say. It’s distorted like there’s still water in his ears. Distant. But he hears Jean Bart’s answer just fine, because Jean Bart doesn’t say anything at all—just pulls his fingers away from where they’d rested against Law’s neck. A heavy weight visibly fades away from the man. His shoulders rise and the lines in his face lessen, but don’t all slip away.
Penguin drops beside the trio on the deck. Water slouches off his soaked boiler suit, joining the flood of wet across the wooden boards.
Shachi, poised to start compressions, settles back when Jean Bart holds out an arm. Wait.
And just in time, Law comes to life.
“Put him on his side—” Penguin says, but all three of them are already moving. They have Law propped correctly. Liquid pours from his open mouth and Law comes to sputtering and choking. He coughs and Penguin reaches out to grasp his shoulder. He squeezes, resisting the urge to offer ungrounded pleasantries. Law would kill him.
Shachi seems to have similar thoughts, because though Penguin can see his lips forming the words— You’reAlrightIt’llBeBetterInAMinuteC’monGetItAllOut— he doesn’t say anything.
Law’s eyes are squeezed shut, his neck straining. Slowly, the water tapers off and he’s left coughing raspily. At this point, he tries to sit up.
None of them bother telling him to take it easy, to stay down, to rest. It wouldn’t be Law if he listened to their warnings. And besides, he knows these things better than them anyway—he’s the one who taught everyone.
Penguin just reaches out to steady his Captain, and Shachi—who’s closer than Jean Bart—does the same on his other side.
Law, luckily, seems to recognize they’re the only things keeping him reliably upright, and doesn't try to shake them off. He glances at them, and Penguin can see his acceptance of help is reluctant.
“I’m alright,” he rasps.
“‘Course you are,” Shachi says. Law glares at him, and it’s effective, but they’ve all developed a tolerance to his simmering irritability. Shachi goes quiet, but doesn’t release his grip. Neither does Penguin.
But, unlike Shachi, he doesn’t go quiet. “That was a close one, Captain.”
Law doesn’t respond, just slumps a little more against Penguin.
Jean Bart shuffles closer. “What even happened?”
Law’s lips stay firmly locked, and Penguin is unsurprised. Shachi, who was on the other side of the deck when Law went overboard, looks to Penguin expectantly. Penguin thinks fast. He decides the others don’t really need to know what happened—so long as Law finally takes a rest.
“He slipped,” Penguin says simply, and refuses to look at Law—as if that will negate the murderous thoughts his Captain is bound to be sending his way.
Shachi turns to Law doubtfully. “You slipped?”
Before Law detaches both their heads from their bodies, Penguin cuts in. “It doesn’t really matter,” he says. Then, directed at Law, “We should get you to the infirmary.”
“I went overboard,” Law says, finally actively struggling to free himself from their holds. He manages to get to his feet, swaying just enough to be concerning but not enough to justify them interfering. The others all rise too—no sense in crouching in puddles. “It’s happened before. I’ve always been fine—I’m fine.”
They all hesitate. Penguin exchanges looks with Shachi and Jean Bart.
“You were under for a while this time, though,” Shachi points out.
“I’m going to go check in with Bepo,” Law says, ignoring Shachi. “Find out how far the next island is.”
It’s a poor excuse to leave—Penguin knows Law could do better. But right now, Law’s not just exhausted. He’s dead on his feet. The chronic circles under his eyes are at their darkest shades and his eyes themselves refuse to stay actively open. It’s a miracle he’s coherent enough to get a sentence together.
“I’ll come with you,” Penguin says.
Law glares, but Shachi looks over, concerned. Jean Bart shifts a little—he’s still relatively new to the crew. Penguin distantly wonders how he feels to be involved with something so personal and on edge.
“I think you should go to the infirmary,” Sachi states firmly, turning back to Law.
Penguin, sensing the budding argument, interferes.
“He’s okay,” Penguin says, feeling Law’s eyes on him, but meeting Shachi’s gaze instead. The redhead looks confused. He’s not, his eyes read.
I know, Penguin promises in return. Leave it to me.
“C’mon,” Penguin says, taking Law’s arm and guiding him towards the deck below. “I’ll walk you.”
Unsurprisingly, he’s quickly shaken off. “I don’t—”
Penguin pins Law with a loaded glance, transmitting an inconspicuous message. I’ll tell them, he says mentally. I’ll tell them and then you’ll have to deal with the whole crew breathing down your neck. I’ll tell if you don’t let me help.
Law doesn’t let Penguin take his arm. But he doesn’t stop him from walking beside him after that. As they open the door to the Polar Tang, Penguin looks back to the hesitant Jean Bart and Shachi. He nods in their direction. I’ve got this, I promise.
Shachi doesn’t seem convinced, but he nods back. Okay.
Penguin shuts the door behind them.
At first, descending to the lower level, neither him nor Law talk. The way to the infirmary and the helm is the same.
It’s when they come to the intersection that decides their destination and Law stumbles that Penguin reaches out. He holds Law upright, and tugs him towards the route leading away from the helm decisively.
“We’re not going to the helm,” he says gently.
“Penguin—” Law starts.
But Penguin shakes his head. “No. What would you do if it was one of us? One of the crew? Me? Shachi? Bepo? Would you just let us resume normal activities?”
Law, the emotionally stunted friend that he is, frowns and doesn’t answer.
“Right,” Penguin says. “You can pick—I’d prefer if you went to the infirmary—”
Law shakes his head, but Penguin expects that. He continues, a little less enthusiastically.
“—but you can get some rest in your quarters instead if you really want.”
“Penguin…” Law says again, brow furrowing as if he’s struggling for the words he needs and can’t piece them together.
“Captain,” Penguin says steadily.
Law, still as soaking wet as Penguin from their abrupt dip in the ocean, clenches his teeth. Penguin takes a second to study him. He’s thinner than normal, but Law’s weight usually fluctuates. His hair hangs in front of his eyes, a little long at the moment. Luckily, he wasn’t wearing his token hat on deck, and it had been spared today’s adventure.
“Okay,” Law says, but when he takes a step in the direction of his room he wavers a little. This time, when Penguin reaches out to steady him, he doesn’t say anything. Just lets Penguin help him stay upright as they stumble towards his room.
They walk there in silence. When they reach it, Penguin opens the door, and helps Law inside.
He knows Law doesn’t like them in his room—that Law’s the type of person who likes to have a space specifically for him to hide away in—to just have himself for company. So Penguin plans to make his stay here quick.
He leads Law over to lean against a wall, then carefully rescinds his support. Slowly, giving Law a chance to catch his balance.
“Thank you,” Law says. He doesn’t say it often, so Penguin stores the memory away. He knows he can’t make a big deal of it though—not if he wants more careful words in the future.
“Anytime,” he promises.
Penguin goes to leave, like he knows Law is itching for. But before he exits, he pauses. Unable to contain himself he turns back to look at his Captain.
“You really worried me,” he says. When Law doesn’t immediately say anything or move he continues. “When you went over I mean. It was really close this time Law—I almost didn’t find you in time. If Shachi hadn’t jumped in to help we wouldn’t have gotten you to the surface.”
He doesn’t mention the fact that he almost didn’t make it. Law doesn’t need that hanging over his head. Even if it would help Penguin with his upcoming argument, he would never put that on his Captain.
“You need to take better care of yourself,” he says.
Law looks over at that. “It’s not like that...you know. You know I’m...that I’m trying.”
Penguin licks his lips. He swallows. “Law...I saw you go over. You passed out—I don’t know what it was. If you haven’t been sleeping, if you haven’t been eating—hell, I think it was both. But you just…” Penguin can tell that Law won’t be able to listen to much more. “We care about you, okay?”
For a long moment, no one says anything. Then, Law nods.
Penguin knows it means more than it looks like, so he deflated. The desperation he didn’t even notice mounting slips away. Law gets it. Law understands.
“Just...get some rest,” Penguin says finally.
He turns and leaves before Law can say anything, because Penguin knows he won’t. He closes the door behind him. For a second he stands in the hall, dripping water. Then, he leaves.
On the way to the room he shares with Shachi, he doesn’t run into any other crew members. He’s glad. Penguin doesn’t feel like explaining his still sopping wet clothes or his raincloud expression. Unnoticed, he slips into his room.
Penguin changes out of his boiler suit, throwing it to the side. He’ll have to mop up all the water later. But at the moment, he feels about half as exhausted as Law looks—which is saying something.
He turns out the light and collapses into the bed.
The thoughts in his brain slow and his gaze goes still. He feels himself slipping away, and it’s too early to sleep. But he does nothing to stop his descent into unconsciousness—hoping that across the Polar Tang, Law is doing the same.