Work Text:
Law doesn't smoke, at least not unless he feels that he needs to and right now he needs the soothing sensation of nicotine filling his lungs.
To say that Law's had a bad day is an understatement. It's been absolutely hellish. It started with insomnia that was only aggravated by the frightening grind of hospital work. The endless waves of patients laid out on hospital beds who's problems, names and faces all bubble down to another body on his operating table. In short, he's at the end of his top, only managed to make it through the day by draining the bitter grounds at the bottom of his coffee cup and shouldering the exhaustion he feels in his bones. He's worn out, tired from weeks of accumulated stress and he just need something to relieve the pressure that's been building between his bleary bloodshot eyes.
He lights up and takes a long drag, cups the cigarette in his hands like its heat might chase the numbness from his fingertips. So he smokes, leans his elbows on the railing of his apartment's tiny balcony and blows a steady stream of smoke out in the chilly spring air.
The scent of burning tobacco bringing back childhood memories of a tall blond man in a black coat, his painted lips wrapped around a slim paper cylinder. His outline only visible in the dark from the red glow of the burning cherry. Law remembers the warmth that he aches and longs for. The comfort he doesn't have.
Trafalgar Law is cold, the fire inside him snuffed out, lost with Cora's life and he feels haunted like the burnt out ruins of the house he once called home. There's nothing left for him now, just the scattered ashes of his long dead family. Leaning on the rusty railing of his cramped balcony, Law feels about as tangible as the smoke escaping from his lips. He watches it twist and curl as it rises, carrying his demons into the night sky.
Distracted by his own miserable contemplations, caught up in his own mourning, Law fails to notice the figure standing standing on the balcony next watching him silently till pale fingers come up to pluck the cigarette from his mouth. It's shocking enough to pull him out of his thoughts and he looks up and sees his next-door neighbour leaning gracefully over the meagre space that separates their balconies. Her black hair is done up in a messy bun and despite the definite chill of the early spring air her pale arms are bare. She pulls back, pressing the cigarette to her smiling lips, before stubbing it out against the railing.
"Not setting the best example, doctor." She says the vaguest hint of amusement in her voice.
He's not going to argue with her. She's isn't wrong. He's aware that it's a bad habit. Something he picked up in a some pathetic tribute to the man that saved him, shaving years off his own life and smoking away his problems.
"I know Miss..." And he trails off as he realizes that he doesn't know her name.
"Nico Robin." She tells him before slinking back into her apartment leaving him as quietly as she arrived.
----
That's how Trafalgar Law first became acquainted with Nico Robin, archeologist, respected historian and professor at the local University (information Law managed to deduce from an article he'd read in a popular scientific journal). He's seen her coming and going from time to time, but outside of that their paths Berber seem to cross. They're strangers who live in close proximity.
So Law's rather surprised when he comes out for an evening smoke to see her outside on her balcony. She greets him with a smile and he gives her a small nod in return. He doesn't smoke that night. It's not much, but that is the beginning of what could tentatively be called their relationship. The first few times are spent in silence with very few words exchanged between them, but soon conversation does blossom and how could it not when one is speaking to someone as intriguing as Nico Robin.
It becomes a sort of ritual, just another habit that they both fall into and as the days draw longer so do their encounters. Meetings that would last the length of a cigarette break, turn into hour long discussions, Law's even taken one of the chairs from his kitchen and set it out on the balcony so as to avoid having to spend all his time with her on his feet.
If he were hard pressed, Law might admit that he looks forward to their evening chats, Miss Robin is after all an exceptional conversationalist, insightful with a dark sense of humour he truly appreciates. They find that they both have a lot to discuss and they do talk a lot, but they stay silent as well some days. Some days they sit and Law toys aimlessly with the crumpled cardboard carton clenched in his fist and they both remain quiet and Law has come to love those moments because even without knowing, Robin understands. She's a mysterious woman with a past she doesn't share, but that speaks of tragedy the same way Law's own pain can be read in the pack of cigarettes he never smokes and the white marks that mar his skin. They both have secrets and scars, but they both understand loss and the value of silence and the support of companionship. They don't know, but they don't need to and that's a comfort in itself.
----
It's the anniversary of the fire, of the day his family was killed in that tragic accident all those years ago and Law feels a strangely renewed misery at the thought. He's outside on his balcony chain smoking furiously, his ashtray is overflowing and his throat feels like he's swallowed sawdust. He sits and he smokes and he can't seem to fill the gaping ache in his chest. It's already fall and the leaves on the trees are stained vibrant shades of orange and red, colourful reminders of the flames that first took everything from him. He feels so cold, bereft, a useless parody of what a human should be. Law feels numb, exhausted from being so bitter, tired of feeling so lonely, afraid of wanting someone to comfort him and terrified of acknowledging that there's a reason he's been waiting on his balcony all day, or more specifically a person. He feels a stab of humiliation when he realizes that he's started to cry, that the tears are streaming down his face and leaving wet trails down his cheeks.
He doesn't want her to see him like this. So when he hears the distinct click of her patio door sliding open, he buries his head in his hands and looks away. Law tries desperately to mask the sadness in the lines of his body. He can feel her observing him, can feel her eyes sweeping over what a pathetic sight he is.
The hand on his shoulder comes as a total surprise and he looks up and sees her standing over him, her hair loose and falling around her face. She's got a hand on his shoulder and not a trace of pity on her face.
"Come over" she says softly, "let's watch a movie."
For a moment he's not what sure what to do with himself. Robin somehow always manages to catch him off guard. She's slid under his carefully guarded front and caught him off guard once again. Law is stunned, nose stuffy and eyes swollen pink from crying. Her hand is warm and it's a warmth that radiates through his body and down the curve of his spine reanimating his stiff limbs. From their close proximity, Law knows without a doubt that the white patches on his skin must be even more glaringly obvious and he does his best to shrug off the nagging self-consciousness at the back of his brain. She's already seen them, Robin isn't another of the mocking whispers that follow him down the street. He stands up awkwardly, nodding slowly.
"Yes, I'd like that." He answers his voice a hoarse scratch trickling from his abused throat.
"Perfect." She smiles, vaulting herself over the railing and back onto her own balcony with effortless grace. She extends her arms motioning for him to cross as well. He steps over, balancing precariously on the edge grabbing her hand, before throwing himself across the gap and into her open arms. She manages the weight his lanky frame bearing down on her remarkably well, deceptively stronger than she appears that Nico Robin. Law is sure that the sensation of falling into her arms must be what it feels like to be coming home after being away for years. It is like being enveloped in this reassuring comfort, it feels like healing.
She ushers him inside, directing him to a soft looking brown coloured couch and shutting the door behind her. It's the first time he's ever been inside her apartment and it's a mirrored plan of his own lodgings a carbon copy, down to the taps on the kitchen sink and the dark wooden floors. He's barefoot, his feet making no noise as he pads over to the sitting area and sinks down onto the couch wearily. He crumples, like a puppet who's strings have been cut and he collapses against the plump cushions. Robin joins him shortly, untangling his limbs and pulling him against her to rest his head on her shoulder. She has an arm wrapped around him and her fingers are tracing gentle patterns on the back of his neck.
"Why?" He asks her as the opening credits of the the B-list horror movie she's chosen begin to play. He doesn't specify what he means, she's smart enough to know exactly what he's asking. There's this pause and he foolishly assumes that she won't answer him, that she'll shy away from the question. He's wrong.
"Because you looked like you could use the company." She tells him, digits still dragging lightly against the skin of his neck.
He doesn't reply. There's nothing he can say, once again they've managed to say everything wordlessly. He just lets out a breath and leans in to watch the fake blood spray across the screen with a scream. He isn't good per say, but he's okay and that's enough for now. Maybe tomorrow he'll be alright, but right now, in Nico Robin's gentle embrace he feels safe.
Trafalgar Law let's sleep overtake him mid-way through the film. Nico Robin doesn't mind, in fact, if he were awake he would have seen the soft smile on her lips, he isn't so he doesn't see that tender expression of love, but it's just another one of those things that's understood between them. It's probably why he nuzzles closer to her during the night.
Outside on the adjoining balcony, a forgotten carton of cigarettes is blown away with the wind, its meagre contents scattering across the ground like the falling leaves. It is never replaced, Law has no need for it anymore.