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Trafalgar Law was many things. Pragmatic, cunning, and tactical: traits he prided himself in more than anything. He, unfortunately, could add “very bad at-risk calculation” to that list, now that he had found himself crunched up in an alleyway, lungs burning in a way that was as far from pleasant as one could get.
It was supposed to be a simple plan: track down a crew of pirates that were known for using poisonous gasses in their attacks and test to see if the fresh batch of home-synthesized antidote worked. The actual tracking had been easy enough, as had the actual process of making everything, thanks to Hakugan’s background as a chemist. It was the test run where things had gone terribly tits up in record-breaking time.
Law had the window to take the antidote down to the second–words he had said as much when he passed out the vials carrying the antitoxin to Shachi and Penguin. The three of them were to go, inhale, run, dose up, and report. And if the new antitoxin didn’t work, there was a vial of the proper (and far more expensive) one to fall back on. What Law had not counted on was being chased for almost a quarter of the mile–the exertion now flooding his system with the poison. He forced himself to sit, to focus, to stop his heart from pounding like it was trying to escape from his ribs and keep running. He no longer knew if it was his rising panic or one of the symptoms brought on by the poison that caused his hands to begin to shake.
He cursed, closing his eyes tightly for a moment. He could hear the distant sounds of a battle, the roar of some animal over the sound of cannons. It meant the Marines were here, it meant they had to leave but …
He fumbled with the pouch that had been strapped under his hoodie. The test batch was first, even as the window for full reversal was swiftly growing tighter. Shaking hands worked to put the needle head on the metal syringe–the teal fluid inside likely to be his saving grace. Rolling up the sleeve on his other arm, Law plunged the needle into his bicep with little hesitation. Extracting it, he slowly inhaled, counting the beats of his heart before exhaling. Maybe this could work, maybe he had the time off by just enough that their batch would prove to be effective. He just had to wait, listening to those distant sounds, praying that his friends had managed to escape back to the Tang. He just had to give it time to work, to counteract what was happening...
His stomach lurched and he doubled over coughing. He could taste blood in his mouth, something that sent Law’s mind reeling. It truly had been too late, he had waited too long and miscalculated something. He bent forward as he could feel his abdomen cramp–a feeling he wasn’t unfamiliar with and had been grateful to rid himself of, but now returned with vengeance. He gritted his teeth, head pounding as he fumbled with the pouch to try to get the other dose set.
Boots on stone, voices in the distance grew closer. Law yanked his hood up, covering his face. He knew it had to be the Marines–likely doing sweeps of survivors or rounding up any pirates caught in the crossfire.
“Captain! There’s someone in the alleyway!” a voice yelled, and Law heard someone quickening their pace at the call. Glancing to the side he saw the telltale white pants and the coat that denoted an officer.
“Are you alright?” A gentle voice came with gentler hands that pressed against hot skin. Law froze, the touch making him painfully aware of the situation he was in, and clutching the pouch to his chest, he did the only thing he could do…
He pitched his voice up into androgynous anonymity and the tears that followed summoned easily from both pain and fear, “I’m a doctor and I was trying to help. I was…” he let out a wail of terror, still clutching the pouch to his chest, “I have the antidote, I just need to administer it. Officer, please I don’t want to die here.” Law was unsure if his performance would be enough as he stole another sideways glance out of the corner of his hood. The Marine hesitated before those hands came to reach for the pouch. Law loosened his grip, breath hitching from his crocodile tears.
“Tell me what to do.” The Marine had dipped his voice to a quiet tone. Law shifted, careful to keep his hood down, but dared to seek a peek at his savior–from his angle, red hair and a scar in the shape of an X on his chin were all Law could make out.
“Put the needle head on the syringe, roll up my other sleeve…” he sucked in a breath, trying to steady himself as a wave of pain and nausea that hit made his tears all too real, “--follow the curve of my arm. Do not inject in the dip, it’s too close to the nerve. You want it above that, in the deltoid.”
“This is going to sting.” The Marine warned as he pressed his fingers to Law’s arm as he sought to find the correct spot. If he hadn’t been dying, Law would have laughed, instead, he snorted at the man’s cautious care as exhaustion started to creep in.
“Of course it is.” Law couldn’t help but snap back as he winced with the sensation of the needle as it pressed in. The sensation was fleeting and quiet sigh escaping from his lips as he slumped back against the wall. The irony was not lost on him–another Marine coming to his rescue when he was kissing death’s feet.
“What do I do now?” The tone remained steadfastly gentle as hands bigger than Law’s own laced fingers with him, “I’ve never…I’ve never done this before.”
“Just make sure I don’t die.” Law resting his head on the Marine’s shoulder, “--for starters, keep talking to me. It can be about anything, I just need to focus on something to stay conscious...”
To Law’s mind it felt like some cosmic joke, to be pressed up against a stranger, a fucking Marine of all things. At least if he died though it wouldn’t be alone, trapped in a box in some abandoned town. Better to die knowing some last bit of human warmth that wasn’t some of the idiots he called friends.
“Your accent is different. You’re not from the North Blue are you?” The question jolted Law from his introspection, making him stiffen slightly. Of course the Flevance accent would be strange to anyone who heard it, not to mention his mingling with the mismatch of voices within the Donquixote family. With zero desire to air out the truth in any capacity, Law lied through his teeth.
“My parents were from Dressrosa, they…” He added another hitched breath and teary sniff to sell the idea of a tragedy befallen to him. “They were exiled, unable to go home, so they settled here. They were why I became a doctor, they both caught a sickness from living in poverty and no one would treat them.”
“I’m so sorry.” An arm went around his narrow shoulders, pressing Law closer in a protective manner. He heard the man sigh, before a small pause settled in between them as the Marine unlaced their fingers and opted instead to hold Law’s hand loosely–a thumb brushing lightly against the ink drawn into his skin, “...may I ask about the knuckle tattoos?”
Shit, those are likely going to be easy to identify, Law thought, annoyed with himself for not thinking to wear gloves–along with everything else that had gone wrong in the past hour or so. He no longer had any idea of the time, just that the pain had begun to subside and he no longer felt like his digestive tract was fighting to turn itself inside out.
“It was a reminder…” Law let some bitterness creep into his voice, “--it’s a little edgy, but doctors face death every day, so I wanted to have that reminder on me always.” He gave a soft laugh, as if he were sharing the silly memory to try to fight back the tears with. With his free hand, he bowed his head and wiped his face on the sleeve of his hoodie. He swallowed, taking a moment to try and steady himself, only to find a square piece of fabric pressed into his hand.
“Use that instead, it will likely feel a bit better than your sleeve.”
Law swore he could hear a gentle smile in that voice, a tone that truly made him wonder if his savior had also gotten too deep of a hit of whatever else the pirate crew had been serving up outside of Law’s near-fatal encounter. Not that would matter soon enough, he had enough time for his backup antidote to fully work through his system. Now he just had to figure out a way to escape.
“Officer, I think I should be able to go home now.” Law murmured, extracting himself from his rescuer’s reach and tucking the handkerchief away, though the higher tone he’d adopted remained, “Thank you so much.”
“It’s Dory.” the Marine blurted–the unwanted revelation cracking anxiously in his throat as he pushed himself back off the ground. “I mean,” A fumble, brief, as a streak of embarrassment crossed his features in a hot flush, “--that’s my name, I should have told you sooner…that was…”
Law cut him off, both out of disbelief that such a large and imposing man would have such a stupid name and the fact he needed to make it back to the Tang before the crew decided to send out a search party.
“Thank you, Dory.” He wasn’t sure that the Marine could see the forced smile under his hood, but he gave one anyway. If the dumb motherfucker didn’t know when to quit, Law had to make sure he was thrown off guard and fast, “Please understand I have to hurry and get the antidote to more people. Just…go do what you do best.”
“Will I see you again?” The question came out so earnestly that Law had to suppress the urge to vomit. The last thing he needed was some fool U-turning fast into lovesickness, making his life all the harder…and one that likely would arrest him given the chance.
“I dunno? Maybe?” Law answered, shoulders jerked up into an awkward shrug as he scrambled to his feet. Without offering another chance for the officer to make himself into an even bigger loser, Law booked it down the alleyway. He ran until his ribs hurt, then jogged further still until he could see the familiar and welcoming yellow of the Polar Tang’s hull. Shachi and Penguin sprinted down the dock to greet him, twin expressions of concern on their faces.
“Captain!”
“Captain, we were worried!”
From the top of the Tang, Law could see Bepo almost tearing up and he jumped to join them, pulling the trio into a bear hug. Law grunted, before pushing the three off, trying to catch his breath. “Get inside. We need to leave, but you all are never going to fucking believe this…”
~~
“You two clowns don't understand, I had to cry for a fucking Marine.” Law snapped, one of his arms now disembodied on the table, the loud hum of the tattoo gun going as he traced over the design he drew on to his outer forearm. “It was humiliating, I thought I was fucking dying while he held my hand!”
Penguin snickered from his spot lounging, against Law’s desk–patiently waiting his turn to wrap the fresh designs while Shachi double checked them for symmetry. Bepo kept busy looking over the maps haphazardly spread across one the operating tables.
“Captain, that’s sweet though!” The polar bear said, more taken in with the actual genuine kindness of the officer then anything else, “Not many would do that!”
“Bepo, that isn’t even the worst part. Not only did that motherfucker had the absolute nerve to hand me his goddamn handkerchief of all fucking things–” The humming of the tattoo gun paused as he gestured in frustration–an act made substantially more difficult and less venomous with a single arm, “--but as I was trying to fucking run away, he has the absolute gall to pull the ‘will I see you again shit!”
Penguins laughed so hard he nearly dropped the first aid kit in his hands, “Bro, he white picket fenced you. He was already carrying you over the threshold in his mind and you ghosted him! Man’s gonna pine away in one of their shitty ships!”
Shachi grinned, flashing sharp teeth that was all trouble, “Maybe he’ll ask you out if he catches us. Get into that real enemies-to-star-crossed-lovers shit.” He thumped Law hard on the shoulder, “Maybe he’ll be your Prince Charming to whisk you off from the life of piracy.”
“I’ll kill you, then him.” Yellow eyes sparked with morbid amusement over dark framed glasses and he snorted, shaking his head at the idea. “And what are the odds of seeing him again, hm? There are thousands of marines in this Blue, let alone hundreds of thousands around the world.”
Besides, showing my gratitude would get me arrested, Law thought, humming to himself as he finished up on his arm. Carefully he reattached it, flexing fingers to make sure everything was in working order. He was alive, the crew was alive and that was all that mattered, even if there was a Marine ship floating hundreds or so feet above the Polar Tang, carrying a man whose crew was now convinced he was delusional–fixated on a civilian doctor whose records didn’t exist, whose face no one else had even seen.