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He smelt like smoke.
Was what Trafalgar Law noticed soon right after the newcomers were hauled aboard his Polar Tank.
Amidst the chaotic battlefield with bodies lying everywhere, both marines and pirates alike, two of them were hurriedly carried towards him– both were covered in more blood than bare skin. Their clothes were ruined beyond help and drenched in even more blood– of whom, he wondered.
“They’re here, Cap’n!”
One of his crew shouted as they hauled the men on board– Bepo, he supposed? Law wasn't too sure– His vision was clogged with thick fog created by gunpowder mixed with where Kuzan’s ice met evaporating seawater— all thanks to the other Admiral's magma. His ears kept ringing with the fathom sound of gunshots and blades slicing through flesh. Of firing cannonballs and higher-ups giving out orders. ‘Kill ’em!’ they would say. He wasn’t even here when most of it had taken place, but he wanted to leave already.
But Law could live with that, he wasn't a pirate captain for nothing. He sure had seen way worse during these fourteen years sailing the seas— No, it wasn't that. What really took all his attention away was another thing. It was about the who of the men currently taking refuge on his ship.
One of them he had already met, a few months back at Sabaody. It was Straw Hat, one of the Worst Generations like himself. The Heart Pirates had been keeping close eyes on the boy’s moves. The way he punched that Celestial Dragon still stuck at the back of his head— Law knew for sure he could use him to achieve his goal.
But this time, what caught Law off guard wasn’t the boy. Not even the way his usually energetic, way too small body went all limp like a sack, not really. The unbelievable sight felt faint in comparison to another man being carried alongside him.
Fire Fist , Portgas D. Ace.
Law never met him, only knew him through wanted posters slipping in between newspapers these last few years. But after meeting him in person, Fire Fist wasn't as otherworldly as news and rumors made him to be— which, actually, shouldn't be unexpected considering those who spread them.
In fact, the man himself was nothing out of the ordinary— tan skin covered in countless freckles like other thousands of pirates he had known. Greasy dark hair stuck to the wounds on his face with the help of both sweat and blood. Below thick, untamed brows sat a pair of eyes hidden behind their puffy red lids. His busted lips drew in a few weak, shagged breaths. Unbearable heat radiated from where the magma pierced through his chest. A harsh smell of smoke filled his nose.
Smoke.
And for a while, all Law saw wasn't that of the battlefield. Instead, it was a bundle of blonds and blacks and pinks lying atop a snowy, bloody ground. A lighted cigarette barely held between trembling fingers as the large man drew in his final ragged breaths— before stopping altogether.
“Cap’n! What’s your order?”
Bepo’s voice cut through the memories clogging up his vision. Their navigator worriedly scanned his eyes back and forth— mostly over his shoulders where the war slowly died down into one big graveyard. And Law could still hear the howling cries from here.
Under expectant looks from his crew, Law drew in a mouthful chunk of much-needed air, then held it— letting the familiar smell of blood and smoke and sweat nest itself at the very base of his lungs.
When he felt like he couldn't hold it in anymore, the pirate let it all out in a single breath— along with a command directed to his crew.
“Submerge! We’re heading out at full speed!” he said to the crew at large, “And prepare operating room 2 and 3. We have lives to save.”
“Aye! Aye! Cap’n!”
His people didn't need to be told twice. They all broke into a sprint. A few helped hoist the patients up the beds and roll them inside while the rest rushed down the cabin. Bepo ran at the very front as they prepared to bring the Polar Tank down, escaping from the deadly surface half-frozen by Kuzan’s deadly power and bloated with blood and pieces that once belonged to living beings.
Law let himself linger there a few moments longer, taking in the sight of a war that he sure would be regarded as the very beginning of the entirely new era, just like the way Gol Roger once created theirs— White Beard’s massive form still stood tall even though his heart had stopped beating long ago. With Marco the Phoenix lying by his feet, Akainu’s howling anger seeped in his booming voice as he exchanged words with the red-haired Emperor. The unbearable heat of his magma burning the bare skin of his face.
…And to think these men were right there a moment ago— with Fire Fist even taking the Admiral’s attacks head-on, resulting in his current state.
That was what all Law allowed his thoughts to go before he finally stepped inside as well. And soon after he closed the door and heard a soft click , the ground shook in a familiar pattern— no doubt going beneath the waves and away from all the problems he had nothing to do with in the first place.
Behind the heavy metal door, the air felt cool against his heated skin. And Law wasted no time teleporting himself to OR3. —With a flick of his fingers and a quiet “Room,” a faint blue dome expanded just enough to cover his body. And with another “Shamble,” Law found himself in another room where his crew already connected the patient to all the available equipment they needed. The opened vein and normal saline push barely helped the patient’s dangerously low blood pressure. Its monitoring device screamed out unheatly beeping sounds and red lights.
“You’re here, Cap’n!” Ikkaku was the first to notice him. Her hands were still busy trying to stop all the blood from gushing out of the man’s chest as she updated him on his condition.
Law prepared himself as he listened– washing his hands before putting on his surgical gears, all the while planning what he could do to drag the man back from joining Davy Jones’ crew sailing the ocean floor.
—Anyone with working eyes knew which side Fire Fist was closer to.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP—
His crew made way as Law stepped in beside the operating table. He belatedly noticed that, in the closed space of his own OR, the smell of smoke was getting even stronger, clogging up behind the back of his throat even after putting on a surgical mask.
The smell was achingly familiar— not unlike the one that seemed to permanently stick on those too-big, too-warm hands gently patting his head. Like weirdly wide smiles under purple lipstick. Like locks of short, messy blonde hair under a purple-ish hat. Like a pink shirt with heart-shaped patterns beneath a black fur coat that seemed to catch fire all the time.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP—
The beeping sound was deafeningly loud as Law started operating. The gentle rocking of the submarine hadn’t affected his work, hadn’t been in a few years now.
But this time, Law didn't know why— but his hands. They were shaking . It was only a subtle trembling when he held onto a smaller piece of equipment. He bet anyone would notice.
He hoped no one did.
On the table, Fire Fist’s eyes were still closed shut. His face was half covered in an oxygen mask helping him breathe —which proved to be not working. All the blood must have clogged his throat to the point it wouldn't let in a smallest tint of air. So Law ordered a tracheostomy to replace the mask— this man’s lungs just needed some push, that was all.
The pirate tried convincing himself as he turned his attention back to the man. —tan skin turned a shade or two paler from massive blood loss. Black greasy hair fell over white sheet like a fur coat over bloody snow.
Through his surgical mask, Law inhaled deeply. His hands were still trembling but he—
‘Love you, silly Law!’
“What’s Straw Hat-ya’s condition?” He spoke out loud. The old image faded a little but never left. The smell of burnt flesh morphed into a familiar cigarette smoke filling up his nose.
Hakugan reported to him, and Law processed the words the same he would to a mush of blurry background noise— the remaining part of his attention regarded the other’s condition as not as important . Was it urgent? Maybe yes. But did he care? Not at all. All his eyes and hands were busy fixing on the man with a smokey smell; The man who definitely didn't have blond hair or a gigantic build. And surely would never wear a fur coat or a pink heart shirt.
…But still, his pale, bloody face was so peaceful— scaringly calm for a man who already had one foot and a half abroad on Davy Jones’ ship. His busted lips tugged up into a weirdly gentle smile all the same. Aligned with the smokey smell Law couldn't seem to shake off no matter how he tried.
‘Wait in here, alright? I promise it’ll be quick.’
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP—
“Cap’n! We run out of blood!” Ikkaku said from his left, holding what seemed to be the last bag of blood in their bank.
None of the crew had that blood type —the main reason he never actually had it spared even though its slot was left empty since a few islands ago.
“Cap’n, his vital sign—”
BEEP. BEEP—
‘Find a Navy officer for me, can you? And give them this. They’ll know what to do.’
BEEP. BEEP.
The sound felt less like a vital sign monitor and more like twisted numbers counting back from the surface toward the ocean floor. Like the gentle smile with slightly crinkled eyes. Like the struggling breath and last cigarette smoke.
BEEP. BEE—
“Room!”
His own Devil Fruit power washed over the room the same way he did a million times before —but this time, it reminded him too much of another power —of the Room too large, keeping him safe in its ever-silent bubble.
BEEP. BEEP. BEE—
Law felt his own heart crashing against his ribcage as he activated his power, forcing the other’s heart to do the same. His eyes fixed on the remaining half of the said organ being separated from its owner and forced to keep pumping blood throughout the body. Again and again and again.
BEEP. BEEP—
A pair of nearly burnt lungs were forced to take in more air by what remained of the trachea directly connected to the pressure-controlling device. Law felt his own breaths scratch against his burning nostrils as he carefully picked out the torn big vessels and tied them mid-air— hopefully finally stopping the blood that wouldn't stop gushing out.
BEEP. BEEP.
His pale face shifted into an even paler one. Blood-stained sheet not so different from the freezing snow of Minion Island. Seas of freckles morphed into purple lipstick and smudged eye makeup. The gentle smile frozen stiff on his resting face.
Law’s hands were still trembling. And seas, they wouldn't stop. His nose and eyes burnt with unshed tears, and it took everything in him to keep the Room alive and not already fade out the same way it continued pulling his energy down the drain.
BEEP.
The missing chunks of flesh and bones in the middle of Fire Fist’s chest changed to those of gunshot wounds. And there was so much blood. So much he could drown in it. Red splattered everywhere, his pink shirt and black fur coat dipped in wet puddles forming beneath his cold body as Cora-san smiled a bloody smile at him one last time.
BEEEEEE—
The sound bounced in the otherwise silent room. Like the complete silence in that damn box Law hid like a coward while Cora-san was killed on the other side of the wooden lid.
Law couldn't do anything. What was the point of being there when he still couldn't save him anyway? He was too weak. He— he and Straw Hat , they both sought protection from the one who couldn't anymore.
“Captain…” Ikkaku drew back her hands. Hakugan put his on Law’s shoulder. It was only then that he realized he had been hyperventilating. His face was damp with sweat beneath the surgical mask— the other side soaked with blood of the dead man.
Dead.
He was dead .
Law stood there. The air felt tight in his chest. —Not enough. It was nowhere near enough. His own heart banging loudly in his ears. His Room still had Fire Fist’s heart squeezing rhythmically above the operating table even though the organ itself had stopped doing so long ago.
Still, it was all in vain, all too late.
From the start, Law knew his lungs were burnt beyond repair. And that only half of his heart remained intact. That his brain was nearly dead even before Law could get his hands on it.
From the start, he knew it was a losing battle. Law didn't know why he even bothered.
From the start, it was his fault hoping for a miracle.
—BEEEEE—
The drawn-out, single beep sound echoed in the closed space, completely overriding those devices running the oxygen tubes and useless IV cords. The bloody red liquid formed puddles beneath the soon-to-be-cold body.
And the smell of smoke clogging up in the air, standing out amidst the bloody and sterile ones.
Law failed him . Again . Another dead body lying before him. Another gentle smile to haunt his sleepless nights.
“Law…” Bepo meekly called from the door. His white fur was stained with blood where it poked out of the protective mask and surgical gloves.
Right, he couldn't. It wasn't the time for break-downs. Even being a pirate, he was a doctor in his own right. And his job here wasn't done.
“How’s Straw Hat-ya?”
Law lowered his hands, directing Fire Fist’s organs to carefully placed back down where they belonged— the only difference was that none of them worked now, reduced to just a useless chunk of flesh with no use to their original owner. And Law knew his blood would soon dry all over the operating table. Again .
“Not good, Cap’n. We try our best to stabilize him, but he needs your attention right now, Cap’n. Or else he…” The mink let his words trailed off as he shifted on his feet. His gloved paws jerked to grasp the doorframe or scratched behind his own ears, but didn't— in the middle of all these, at least Law was glad that years working with him had taught his best friend something.
“Right, I’ll go—”
But should he?
Law halted to a complete stop. The word ‘Room’ formed on his mouth but didn't actually leave. The smell of smoke diffused all around the room. And it reminded Law of the time after he lost him, the man with a massive build whose hands always smelt like cigarette smoke. The burning grief and hatred. How he wished they could trade places, and for Law to be the one dying in his place.
If Straw Hat survived now, then what? The brother he came to save was dead. He wouldn't ever be happy with the life Law helped bring back. Law himself had learnt that from experience.
Maybe Law’d do the boy a favor by letting him join his brother aboard Davy Jones’ crew.
—BEEEEE—
The defending noice dragged on still. And Law shifted his gaze back to the dead man. To his peaceful face and that smile— the ones that belonged to a man who died knowing he could save his loved ones from the same fate.
‘Those scumbags ain't real doctors, duh! Let’s go, Law! I’m sure we’ll find a real one on the next island! Just trust me!’
“Room!”
With a flick of his hand, Law teleported himself to another room– where the vital signs were still going, and the patient’s lungs were still good enough to breathe on their own with only the help of an oxygen mask and not a tracheostomy tube.
“Cap’n!” Penguin and Shachi were working on him. The not-as-rare blood type infused into his veins, along with other IV cords keeping him alive.
The smell of smoke still sticking to the back of his throat, but milder, diffused amongst the sterile equipment and bloody gauzes.
The stiff body on a snowy ground (and another one on the bloody operating table) left behind a new set of clean mask and surgical gloves.
With another flick of his hand, the doctor called Room back up. The wave that washed through his body this time was what he had long grown used to. Keeping his heart and breath back under control again.
And finally, his hands stopped trembling. Finally, he felt like being himself again.
“Alright, let’s start.”
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP—