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“Are they always like this?” Law asks Nico Robin.
“Zoro and Sanji?” Straw Hat’s eyes blink at him from near Nico Robin’s elbow, and the rest of his body slinks out to join his head. Straw Hat turns to match Law’s gaze right as the cook’s voice triples in volume and steel announces its freedom with a rasp, and then he turns back with a grin. “Always!”
Nico Robin laughs, a small, polite thing, and smiles down at Straw Hat. “Always indeed,” she says, and her smile turns a little unnerving as she glances back at Law.
“They love each other a lot,” Straw Hat continues with exceptional confidence, his eyes steadily cheerful and just as unnerving as Nico Robin’s smile. Law thinks he sees a flash of bright-hot fire somewhere over Straw Hat’s shoulder. “This is how they say it.”
“My, they do make fighting seem enjoyable, don’t they?”
Straw Hat laughs, loud and bright, leaning against Nico Robin’s arm. Law watches another roaring tongue of fire lick up towards the sky and has a feeling, somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach, that this alliance is a deeply terrible mistake.
The first time he’d met the captain of the Straw Hat Pirates, Luffy had punched a Celestial Dragon and something inexpressible had jumped into Law’s throat, lodged there like a bullet. The second time they’d met, Law had sunk his fingertips into Luffy’s chest and fixed everything but the unfixable. Now we’re even, he’d thought. Now we move on into the New World. And then Straw Hat Luffy had shown up on Punk Hazard, seemingly by pure chance, and all the cogs and gears in Law’s ever-churning machine of calculations had shifted just so to accommodate the far-fetched hope of seeing Monkey D. Luffy punch a Celestial Dragon one more time.
The hope had been grand, vague, and, in the end, very fleeting. Instead, the reality is this: Law spends about one early-morning hour reasonably sure he’d hallucinated Roronoa trying to shove his hand down Black-Leg’s pants in the middle of the night, and then he forgets about the situation entirely as the Sunny pulls around to Green Bit, everything goes to shit with shocking expediency, and Straw Hat starts to wade merrily through the smoking wreckage of a plan that has taken Law years to concoct and gently place in motion. Mistake, Law thinks grimly. Mistake, mistake, mistake.
(In the end, though, Straw Hat Luffy does it again. The Birdcage dissipates; Luffy slips into unconsciousness with a smile that sends a shiver down Law’s spine, chased by the memory of Cora’s voice.)
“Traffy!”
Law braces himself for impact, and it comes with inevitability; sake sloshes over both of Straw Hat’s hands and only narrowly misses soaking Law’s coat as Straw Hat stretches impossibly to loop a rubbery arm over his shoulder. Law would wonder who the fuck keeps letting him drink, but really, part of the problem might be that nobody’s bothering to stop him. Not like it seems to make a measurable difference, anyways. Nothing about Straw Hat ever gets either dimmed or amplified; he’s only ever exactly who he is, unceasingly, unerringly. (Maybe that’s why no one bothers trying to stop him. Law has no room to talk.)
Law’s body shakes with the force of Straw Hat’s indomitable laugh. Across the banquet hall, Kid throws him a smug look, like he’s saying back to being your problem now, Trafalgar. Straw Hat presses the extra drink into Law’s hand with a grin and then lets out a happy sigh, staring back out across the hall.
“Aww, Chopper’s still asleep,” Straw Hat points out, fitting himself against Law’s side like he’s got every right to be there. “He’s been working really hard.” He snickers. “And Zoro and Sanji are goofing off.”
Law spares a moment to wonder exactly what the hell Straw Hat means by that. The two of them are still at the table the other Straw Hats had taken over, seemingly having a civil conversation between just them. Roronoa’s explaining something, using his hands to approximate some series of shapes; Black-Leg is paying attention, albeit sleepily.
“Goofing off,” Law repeats flatly. He tries to shift subtly away from Straw Hat’s weight; Straw Hat just leans in harder against him, his arm slipping down to snake around his side. Law considers dropping a Room and evacuating. Straw Hat tips his head against Law’s shoulder, hair tickling his bare skin.
“They usually are, except when they’re letting themselves be serious about each other,” Straw Hat says, as if that’s supposed to make any kind of sense to Law – and then in a moment of bizarre irrealis he remembers the night he spent aboard the Sunny on the way to Dressrosa, Roronoa’s hand creeping towards Black-Leg’s waistband, Straw Hat’s voice echoing back at him from what feels like months and months and months ago, saying they love each other a lot.
“Oh,” Law says.
Straw Hat presses his cheek against the side of Law’s chest and hums happily.
Oh, Law thinks, and knocks back the entirety of his sake.
Law gasps awake the next morning, suffocating in Bepo’s dense fur, and claws his way to fresh air like a drowning man. Bepo snuffles drowsily, but lets him go; Law gets dressed, grabs Kikoku, and scruffs his fingertips through the fur between Bepo’s ears before setting off to wander through the castle.
It’s a quiet morning, which is unsurprising considering that last night’s celebration had been about as much of a rager as the first night after Kaido and Big Mom had gone down. There’s a cacophony of snores rattling through the paper-screened walls as Law passes by the room the Straw Hats are still staying in despite their captain and swordsman having woken up, and he rolls his eyes because nobody is there to watch him do it.
Law hears half-familiar quiet voices coming from one of the large kitchens right as the need for coffee hits him. When he pokes his head through the door, it’s to a strange scene: Roronoa sitting propped against a wall, bandages freshly changed and looking sleepy but very conscious otherwise, swords gathered up against his shoulder, and Black-Leg working away at something on the countertop. Both of them react when he moves into the doorway, a hard-wired response to stimulus. Yet again, Law witnesses the eerily synchronized way they look at him, a sharp sideways flick of their attention before his identity registers past the prickling hedge of instinct.
“Morning, Traffy,” Black-Leg calls over his shoulder, and Roronoa jerks his chin up in greeting. “Breakfast won’t be ready for a bit, but I can spare you an egg over rice.”
Law blinks at him, unsure why he’s taken aback by the offer of food from within a kitchen; Black-Leg smiles encouragingly and with his hands occupied, he gestures with an elbow at the table. Silently, Law situates himself on one of the small stools and rests Kikoku against the tabletop at his side.
“Oi,” Roronoa grunts, and slumps somehow further down to get himself in range for a kick aimed at Black-Leg’s shin. “Didn’t offer me any.”
“Didn’t see you sitting at the table”—punctuated with a sharp donkey-kick to Roronoa’s shoulder, and Law clicks his tongue admonishingly because Roronoa is covered in injuries—“and idiots who don’t sit at the table don’t get fed.”
Roronoa mumbles something under his breath.
“Try me,” Black-Leg snarls, and for a split second Law wonders if he’s going to brain Roronoa with the nearest cast-iron pan.
“You have any coffee?” Law asks. This is the first time in days that he’s woken up without immediately having a pressing surgery to perform. The prospect of fresh wounds to treat, if the two of them come to blows, is not especially enticing.
“Coffee,” Black-Leg barks, the snarl still worked into his face, and then he clears his throat and blinks. “Yeah, I’ll– sure thing.” He throws Roronoa a pointed look before fussing with something at the stove and moving further down the counter.
It’s easier and infinitely more entertaining to pick apart someone else’s bizarre relationship than to examine whatever the hell is going on with himself, so Law chooses to pay attention to the Straw Hats’ cook and swordsman now that Straw Hat himself has pointed it out, feeling more than a little godforsaken about it. It’s kind of like watching two ships collide; once he knows it’s going to happen he can’t tear his eyes away from the impending carnage.
Roronoa carefully hauls himself and his swords upright and then over to a stool while Black-Leg does apparently more than just pour a cup from a coffee maker. The bright smell of fresh coffee fills the small kitchen and Law feels like a trained animal, more awake just from the smell.
“Thanks,” he says once Black-Leg deposits the tray: a small carafe, a matching creamer, and a pre-warmed cup, empty but still faintly steaming.
“I’ll bring you something to eat in a minute,” Black-Leg says, and gives him a measuring look before glancing at Roronoa and then heading back to the counter.
“How are your wounds?” Law asks Roronoa, watching milk bloom in the dark coffee.
“Eh,” Roronoa grunts, “had worse.” Somewhere behind him, Black-Leg clicks his tongue. “Thanks for helping out last night when Chopper was asleep.”
Law grimaces before he can stop himself. “I can’t control you, but you should not be having sex while your injuries are healing.” Wonder upon wonders: now Roronoa gets pink in the face where he was completely straight-faced when answering slept with someone to Law’s question of how the fuck he managed to aggravate his wounds. “Your muscles have been deeply damaged. Any kind of movement past what’s strictly necessary impedes progress.”
“Breakfast,” Black-Leg cuts in awkwardly, and leans over with another tray. He’s not so much pink in the face as he is bright red. Oh, Law thinks with a sense of distant but mounting horror. Ohhhh. Black-Leg fusses unnecessarily as he apportions two sets of bowls. Law may have lost his appetite for good.
“Thanks, cook,” Roronoa says, his face still awkwardly pink, and nudges Black-Leg’s retreating hand with his own before digging in unceremoniously. Black-Leg hums quietly.
“Thank you,” Law contributes politely, and Black-Leg gives him a surprisingly genuine grin, embarrassment apparently momentarily forgotten, before heading off to the counter once more.
The first thing Law notices as he pulls forward his bowls is that his portion is about half of Roronoa’s. He feels offense rise instinctively for a hair of a second; quick on its heels is the realization that his portion is precisely the amount he’s hungry for. His coffee was served with milk but no sugar and he wouldn’t have taken the sugar anyway. His small bowl of miso soup has rings of negi in it, but sliced mushrooms and cubes of tofu that he would have picked out anyways float in Roronoa’s. He takes a measuring sip; the flavor is blissfully weak but not unpleasantly watery, just right to keep his fickle appetite from rebelling.
Law is a couple slow mouthfuls into his own egg-and-rice when Black-Leg catches Roronoa’s eye and pulls out his cigarettes, then heads out of the kitchen. For a moment, Law is sure that Roronoa is going to finish inhaling his food and then follow Black-Leg, but instead he fishes out the last few grains left stuck to his bowl and then levels Law with an unreadable look.
“Thanks for protecting Luffy up on the roof,” Roronoa says.
“I also helped you,” Law points out. It’s endlessly fascinating that the Straw Hat Pirates always seem to disregard themselves in favor of their captain.
“You got me to Sanji, so yeah, I guess.” Law tries to keep his eyebrows from crawling towards his hairline. All this time, and he's never once heard Black-Leg’s name cross Roronoa’s lips. “But thanks again for having Luffy’s back. Whatever happened between you two in Dressrosa, against Mingo—” He shrugs. “Luffy likes you a lot. Don't underestimate that.”
“What’s your angle?” Law asks plainly, narrowing his eyes.
“No angle,” Roronoa replies, with apparent honesty, and he shrugs again. “You just seem like you haven’t really wrapped your head around what friendship is to Luffy.”
Law opens his mouth to ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean when the kitchen door slides open with a loud thwack and Straw Hat himself barrels inside, Black-Leg following him with exasperation rolling off his entire being.
“Zoro!” Straw Hat crows, bracing his hands on Roronoa’s shoulders to bounce himself up much higher than any human should be able to, and Law has to tip his chin up to watch him in case he comes crashing down onto the tabletop. “Oh, Traffy.” He jumps up onto Roronoa’s shoulders and launches himself across the table, landing precariously in the stool next to Law. Law grits his teeth as he shoves a leg out to brace the stool so that he doesn’t have to deal with a concussion. “Morning!”
“You owe me a smoke break, Luffy,” Black-Leg calls with extremely put-upon annoyance from the counter, where he’s already scooping a massive amount of steaming rice into a fresh bowl.
“But after food, right?” Straw-Hat asks, leaning over the table plaintively, and Black-Leg laughs as he cracks no less than five eggs over the rice.
The kitchen descends into a warm sort of chaos that fits neatly into what Law remembers from being aboard the Sunny. The three Straw Hats argue easily amongst each other; Roronoa picks a mouthful out of Straw Hat’s bowl; Black-Leg brings the carafe of coffee back, refilled and steaming.
When Yamato wanders in to join them, Straw Hat glues himself to his side and eats no less than half the portion that Black-Leg slides across the table for their newcomer. They're having a conversation that would likely kill off brain cells if Law chose to pay attention, but Straw Hat has just as much joy and excitement in his eyes here talking to Yamato as he does to Law, and it's— no, wait, Law was supposed to be paying attention to Roronoa and Black-Leg instead, and somehow they've snuck out of the kitchen while Law has wisely occupied his time by fucking staring at Straw Hat.
Well, Law figures that if his intended targets are gone, then there’s no reason he shouldn’t also escape. He pulls Kikoku up to his shoulder and pushes his stool back; he gets as far as bracing a hand against the edge of the table when Straw Hat’s hand shoots out to wrap around his wrist. “Are you leaving?” he asks, head tipping to the side. “Sanji hasn’t even made breakfast yet. He’ll be back soon. You should eat with us.” And then he has the absolute gall to gently squeeze Law’s wrist before letting go.
Law sighs and leans Kikoku back against the table.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Long-Nose makes a face from where he’s resting his chin atop Straw Hat’s hair, arms resting loosely around Straw Hat’s shoulders. “Like, so weird.”
“What?” Straw Hat cranes his eyes all the way up and no doubt only succeeds in seeing the tip of his sniper’s nose.
“Zoro and Sanji,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely. “I mean, c’mon. Seriously? Them?”
Law throws a glance at the corner, covering the motion with another sip of his drink. Music thunders around them for probably the seventeenth night in a row. The banquet hall smells like alcohol and fried food. He's getting used to this. The Straw Hats’ cook and swordsman are tucked up against a paper-screen wall that might only barely be holding their weight; their faces are tipped together and Law thanks the low lighting for being unable to see what it is, exactly, that they’re doing. Chopper is asleep on Roronoa’s shin and a tuft of pink hair pokes out from under Black-Leg’s arm. A nauseating amount of empty drinks stands clustered around them both.
“What about them, though?” Straw Hat asks, his face entirely uncomprehending.
“They’re–” Long-Nose makes another gesture, and then lets out a strangled howl. “Oh, god, that’s tongue, there’s tongue, somebody please gouge my eyes out—” and for a moment, Law seriously considers throwing down a Room to do Long-Nose that favor.
“They’ve always been like that,” Straw Hat says, confused, interrupting Long-Nose’s muffled wailing.
“Uh–” Long-Nose finally moves, dropping down onto the cushion next to his captain, his eyes wide. “Luf, they have not always been like that. They have never been like that.”
“Have too,” Straw Hat says confidently, stretching now that he’s been freed, and before Law’s admittedly alcohol-soaked brain can catch onto what’s about to happen, Straw Hat flops backwards to sprawl across his lap.
“Zoro and Sanji fight all the time,” Long-Nose presses, looking more than a little wild around the eyes. “I cannot count how many times I’ve witnessed either of them genuinely try to attempt to kill the other. They hate each– I mean, okay, no, they don’t hate each other, but”—he flings a hand out towards the corner, accusatory, follows his own gesture, then winces at whatever he sees that Law can’t—“this?! This is new! It’s kind of horrifying! What the hell!”
“They love each other,” Straw Hat replies, simple as anything, and grins up at Law before closing his eyes with a sort of finality. There’s a very, very faint flush to his face from the empty cups scattered around the mountain of dishes he’s gone through. “They have for a long time. Now they’re just not being as stupid about it.”
Long-Nose stares down at his captain, his mouth working silently for a long stretch of moments before he stares back up at Law as if to say are you hearing this shit too?
Law pushes the rest of his drink across the table. Long-Nose downs it without a word.
This could hardly be more romantic. Beach. Sunset. A fucking sea bird calls as it sails across the horizon silhouetted perfectly against an orange-gold sky. God help him. Law resists the urge to grind his teeth into dust and kicks at a rock in the sand instead.
“Str– Luffy.”
Straw Hat— Luffy whips around, grinning brightly. “Hey! You never call me by my name, Traffy.”
“Neither do you,” Law manages through a clenched jaw.
“Law,” he says, simply, quietly, and everything Law thought he wanted to say flies straight out the window.
“I didn't get the chance to thank you,” Law says, all in a fumbling rush. “For Doflamingo.”
“Oh.” Luffy tips his head to the side, his eyes curious. “Well, you’re welcome. What he did wasn’t right.”
“It means a lot to me for a lot of reasons,” Law continues before he can stop himself. “Our alliance might be ending, but that’s not something I’ll ever forget.”
There. Deed done. Maybe not quite in the matter-of-fact way he’d wanted to say it, but it’s said. Luffy peers at him, a curious look still lodged in his eyes. Law is starting to regret this.
“We-ell,” Luffy starts, scratching at his chest, “now I wanna say thank you to you.”
“For what?” Law asks warily. This could be a lead-in to any number of genuinely batshit things.
“You saved my life after Ace was killed,” Luffy says. His eyes are astonishingly clear; there’s power in his gaze, and undiminished raw grief. This is the kind of wound you never heal from, Law knows. It never scars over. It’s only ever going to be unforgivingly open to the world. “I know I said it before, but thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“But I did,” Law says, at the same time as Luffy continues, “But you did.”
“Why?” Luffy asks, blinking curiously.
Why indeed, Law thinks. There’s a limitless amount of answers he could give: because Cora’s voice whispered to him, because Luffy punched a Celestial Dragon, because nobody deserves to watch someone die like that. Because if Law could have started a war just to save Cora he’d have done it in a heartbeat. A thousand times over.
“Because I could,” Law answers.
The wind picks up off of the ocean, cold and wet in the fading sunlight, and lifts the edge of Luffy’s hat in playful threat. When Law reaches out to push it back down, his hand is covered by Luffy’s. Luffy's other hand lays over his chest, over the dark scar that Law helped put there.
“Thanks, Law,” Luffy says, and grins so brightly it’s almost blinding in the twilight. The heart is a four-chambered thing; the cardiac cycle has four phases. Law thinks about the thunderous fourfold drumbeat of Haki through a hole in Onigashima’s roof, and words fail him.
He knows his face is red. The beginning of a giggle escapes from Straw Hat’s godforsaken mouth. Law hoists Kikoku higher up against his shoulder and sets off down the beach again. Sunlight reflects off the water and directly into the corner of his eye. Luffy’s laughing outright by the time he catches up, kicking sand everywhere. Law doesn’t shove him away when a rubbery arm snakes its way under one shoulder and around his waist. His cheek is warm against Law’s shoulder.
“Hey, Luffy,” someone shouts once Law has managed to stumble halfway down the beach with Luffy plastered to his side in frankly the most inconvenient way possible. He cranes his neck up to the approaching cliffside. There’s a faint laugh, and another voice adds, “And Traffy.”
Law scowls. Several dozen feet above him, Black-Leg blows a stream of smoke downwind from his counterpart, both of them grinning down with a nasty sort of edge to their teeth.
“Zoro! Sanji!” Luffy bounces towards the cliff and slingshots his way up with a snap of rubber. Problem solved, Law thinks. His side feels cold. For some godforsaken reason, he hasn’t started moving again towards the overlapped silhouettes of the Tang, the Sunny, and the Victoria. Luffy’s voice comes at a distance, maximum volume mitigated only somewhat. “Are you eating? What is that?”
Roronoa snaps something back that Law doesn’t hear; Black-Leg peers over the edge of the cliff, back over his shoulder, and then vaults gracefully over like the drop isn’t close to two storeys.
“What are you doing out here?” Black-Leg asks, straightening out of his landing. Smoke blooms around his head.
“I needed to talk to your captain,” Law replies, because it’s true.
Black-Leg doesn’t smile, exactly, and takes a casual drag. “You know, Luffy’s idea of friendship might be a little different from yours.”
“You’re not the first person to tell me something like that,” Law mutters.
The not-quite-smile intensifies, and Black-Leg exhales a stream of smoke. “Maybe you should start listening, then. Luffy isn’t very good at letting go of what he likes.”
“I’m heading back to my ship now,” Law says. “Nobody needs to follow me.”
Black-Leg lets out a genuine laugh, nails him with a pointed look, and then Sky Walks back up the cliff face like that’s a normal thing to do. Someone yelps; the sound of a scuffle echoes down. Law still hasn’t turned to start heading back for the Polar Tang. Roronoa leans over the edge with a knowing look on his face.
“Get back to your walk, Luffy,” he says, reaches somewhere behind himself, and then throws Luffy mercilessly off the cliff.
Luffy squawks, bounces once harmlessly off the cliff face, and splats facedown into the sand a foot away from Law, sending sand directly into his face. By the time Luffy is upright and Law has finished spitting sand out of his mouth, the Straw Hats’ cook and swordsman have devolved into some kind of argument that’s impossible to untangle, the echoes of their voices overlapping incomprehensibly. Law squints upwards again; it’s hard to see at this angle and with the sun inching away second by second, but they look like they’re comfortably tangled up in each other, the argument happening at point-blank range. Luffy shakes sand out of his hat and plants it back onto his head.
“They really are always like this,” Law says.
“I told you,” Luffy replies simply. “Love’s dumb like that. Like they are. But nice, too.”
“Huh,” Law says.
Luffy pats more sand off of his chest and out of his jacket. Law finally forces his feet to move and sets off towards his ship and his crew, the last vestiges of sunlight straining to warm the side of his face. Luffy matches him stride for stride, knocking their shoulders together.
Dumb, he thinks. But nice.
Sure. Why not.