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Being back at Swallow Island is a strange experience. It’s been over ten years since Law last saw these once familiar snowy landscapes, and sometimes he feels as though he’s experiencing one of his kinder dreams, when nightmares leave him alone and he can revisit the few childhood memories that haven’t been tainted by tragedy. Except even those dreams of days gone by are no longer safe.
Law has woken up more than once in confusion, mistaking the concerned polar bear fretting over him for the same Bepo he misses so dearly. Sometimes, he stumbles upon the scattered belongings of Shachi and Penguin around the house and scoffs, thinking someone needs a reminder about keeping the common spaces clear of clutter. More than once, Law’s said something only to have to backtrack or cover up a slip because the easy camaraderie lulled him into a sense of safety and he forgot where and when he was.
Other times, he’s struck by the awareness that the Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin sharing his time now aren’t the ones he grew up with, the ones who stumbled into adulthood with him as well as four lost kids mostly refusing to admit to their insecurities could manage. Not even Wolf, as gruff as in his memories, is the same man Law came to trust implicitly and who trusted him back.
In his darkest moments, Law finds himself thinking he wishes this year of waiting would be over so that he can leave these people behind. Then guilt hits him so hard he busies himself with the first helpful task he can find around the house in a silent apology until someone comes to push food at him or haul him off to sleep.
It’s clear to him now that he underestimated how hard it would be to spend time with his crew’s younger selves, worried as he had been by the larger picture. It’d be easier if Law could tell them what is going on, but he decided early on in the planning stages of this insane scheme that he wouldn’t. Even if his crew were the type to manage play-pretending at being marines —which they are not — Law wouldn’t drag them into this mess. The Heart Pirates are, were , loyal beyond any doubt, but they weren’t truly prepared for the kind of hell Law dragged them through the first time around, and he won’t do it a second time knowing what awaits at the end of the line.
So Law stays silent, treasures what moments he can manage to enjoy without guilt or bitterness clouding his thoughts, and keeps track of the passage of time.
Unexpectedly, Drake’s presence helps.
Drake’s voice, sometimes the mere sight of him, is enough to snap Law out of his moments of confusion, and his company doesn’t exacerbate Law’s dark moods the way everyone else’s does nowadays. Drake spends most time by Law’s side, having taken to heart his mission of watching over him. The first few months, he stands guard outside whatever bolt hole Law can find for a round of extracting Amber Lead from his system. Sometime along the line, Drake learns to read Law’s expressions and body language remarkably well, and makes it a habit to provide distractions or directing people away whenever reality becomes too overwhelming to stand. He doesn’t comment on Law’s worrisome addiction to coffee at his young age, and even learns how to brew it just right.
Why such a genuinely kind person wants to become a marine is a mystery to Law. Then again, he’s supposed to help create a space where genuinely kind and good marines can thrive instead of being crushed by the reality that is the World Government, so instead of convincing Drake to follow a different career, Law takes to observing him with the focus he reserves for his projects.
“Man, I can’t believe you guys leave tomorrow,” Shachi laments morosely over the bottle of rum he shouldn’t have at his age. He and Penguin procured an entire case somehow, and not even Drake had the heart to scold them over it, so now he’s babysitting a bunch of lightweight teenagers well on their way to drunk while Wolf hides away in his workshop and pretends he doesn’t notice a thing. Good man.
“And to become marines. Like, what the hell?” Penguin adds, gesturing wildly with his own bottle and splashing the fire they’ve all settled around. The fire roars at the addition of alcohol, but settles quickly enough.
Drake rolls his eyes as is expected of him, but he’s long since given up on convincing these guys that marines aren’t so bad. Privately, he agrees with Law’s argument that Bepo wouldn’t fare too well in the navy; the poor bear is still getting fearful reactions at Pleasure Town even after a full year living here, and things would likely turn more violent than fearful with a bunch of burly recruits trying to prove themselves strong and brave.
“Not all of us can become professional burglars, Penguin,” Law says, taking a gulp from the burgled rum with enough gusto one would think he’d drank it before now. Except Drake saw enough of Commander Rocinante and Admiral Sengoku to realize they would never let Law get away with this kind of underage drinking.
Penguin sticks his tongue out at Law and Shachi throws in a rude gesture. Law’s exaggerated eye roll is all the answer they get before he turns to Bepo.
“I can’t promise much, but I’ll look into finding Zou.” This isn’t the first time Law has said it. They’re all aware Bepo isn’t too happy here, and while none of them like how most people act towards the Mink, Law has broken bones over it. Not raucous Shachi and Penguin with their street thug act, but quiet and studious Law, who spends enough time practicing the forms he’s been taught that he cracked an adult’s jawbone even before he’d removed all the Amber Lead from his body.
Bepo nods. He hasn’t said much today, most likely because he keeps bursting into tears over the upcoming goodbye whenever he tries to say more than two words at once. It breaks Drake’s heart to see Bepo cry, and he’s seen Law’s knuckles turn a worrying shade of white whenever that happens. But staying here is the best option for Bepo at this time: as unfair as the continued fear is, there have been no mobs and no pitchforks, and Drake has made it his personal mission to check there is no one in Swallow Island strong enough to win a fight against Bepo. Wolf might, if he used one of his few working inventions, and certainly both Drake and Law would win that fight, but they’re both leaving and Wolf would use his inventions to defend Bepo in case of an attack; the old man may hide it with all his grumbling, but he’s grown fond of the kids living under his roof.
Shachi and Penguin have sworn to look after Bepo and make sure he does fight back if someone attacks him, and that’s the best they can have for now.
The next morning, it’s a miserable group of hungover teens and a scowling Wolf that escort Law and Drake to the beach where they’ve kept their boat hidden all this time. Law receives a few death glares over his lack of miserable suffering —courtesy of the devil fruit he has successfully kept a secret this time— while Drake is treated to the envious looks born of the knowledge he has a devil fruit power that provides him with a stronger constitution.
“You sure you have enough provisions?” Bepo asks for the tenth time since they left the house.
“Yeah, we’re good. I packed double what we should need until our next stop, and we got those fishing rods Wolf made us,” Law makes a point of going through their supplies and contingencies with Bepo once more to reassure him while Drake brings their boat out of its cave and carries it to the water in his hybrid form. Shachi and Penguin are distracted by the show, as entranced now with Drake’s power as they’ve been each of the few times they have seen it.
Bepo insists on carrying the bags to the boat, and there they are treated to a very literal bear hug Law will miss more than he did his right arm when he didn’t have it. Predictably, Shachi and Penguin join the hug, and they pull Drake in as they do like the tactile fools Law loves.
Law clings to his oldest friends, and if his eyes are misty when he pulls away, nobody comments on it.
“You better become damn good marines!” Penguin says. It’s a clear attempt to lighten the mood, and Law appreciates it despite the irony. It allows him to pull a smirk to his face and give his friends a cocky look.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be unforgettable,” he promises.
The cheers that follow are sincere despite the sadness in everyone’s expressions, and Law and Drake leave Swallow Island on an encouraging note.
It isn’t feasible to reach the nearest of the official marine recruitment centers in North Blue directly from Swallow Island, so they’ve plotted a route that allows them a few stops and course alterations depending on what the weather demands. Drake knows some navigation from his studies as a child and what little he could learn while in his father’s pirate crew, and Law learned from Commander Rocinante in their travels to find a cure for Amber Lead Syndrome, so they manage just fine on that front.
The journey isn’t as peaceful as it could have been, however, because Law is a mouthy little shit prone to picking fights. That’s the only explanation Drake has for why they have a tied up, seething pirate trapped on their boat when they finally reach the recruitment center. Arthur Bacca, as the man himself boasted, has a bounty on his head, and both of them have learned the lessons taught by scarcity well enough that they didn’t let the chance pass after Law quite literally kicked the guy’s teeth in.
They receive puzzled looks as they dock, Law jumping out and tying the boat to the dock with ease while Drake hauls their captive up. For all his anger, Bacca seems to understand he either walks or gets dragged off the boat, because he moves when Drake tells him.
“You kids know this isn’t the bounty office?” a man calls out as he approaches their boat. A quick glance at the insignia on his shirt identifies him as a chief petty officer.
“So what? The marines have paid out bounties from any outpost since the increase in pirate activity after Roger’s execution,” Law replies matter-of-factly, a bit of trivia Drake only knows because his father was last stationed at a base without a bounty office that paid said bounties all the same.
The man offers Law an amused smile, but turns his head to address Drake. Drake doesn’t need to see Law’s face to know he must be sporting an offended pout. Something Drake will never point out loud because the kid is a mean, dirty fighter.
“True enough. Follow me,” the marine instructs, turning around to head towards the main building. “You’ll need to file an incident report explaining how you captured him.”
“Your first report and you haven’t even enlisted yet, Drake-ya. Must be some kind of record,” Law drawls out, an amused glint in his eyes as they walk side by side.
Drake eyes him, fully aware of what he’s doing and with no intention of letting Law foist the paperwork on him.
“Don’t you mean your first report? I don’t remember knocking this guy out.”
The chief petty officer gives them an odd look over his shoulder at this exchange, but they’re almost to the building and he makes no comment. Instead, he walks them to a cluttered desk, where he offers a crisp salute to an ensign that looks up from a pile of paperwork.
Marine Captain Larch is drawn to the recruitment office by a commotion. As he approaches, the number of soldiers loitering in the area increase, though most of them make an effort to appear busy upon seeing him. Larch is too used to the itch to gossip in the navy to scold any of them. He’s learned over the years that if they’re allowed to peek in when nothing pressing is going on, they understand any orders to do otherwise are important and must be followed.
The thickest concentration of gossips is outside of the recruitment office itself, and Larch walks in to find Ensign Wuss on his feet facing off against a young man, a short teenager, and a tied up wanted criminal who’s trying to inch away from the confrontation.
Huh.
“What is the matter here, Ensign?” Larch asks as he walks closer. He grabs the bound pirate by one of the ropes and shoves him down before he can think of causing trouble.
Wuss immediately jumps to attention, turns in place, and gives a textbook salute.
“Captain Larch! Nothing is the matter, sir!”
The teen scoffs and gives an impressive eye roll.
Larch raises his eyebrows at Wuss, who gives the kid an annoyed look before elaborating.
“What I mean, sir, is that there would be no issue if these boys accepted that neither of them are suitable for recruitment and agreed to take their bounty money and just go.”
Larch turns fully to the two aspiring marines to assess them more closely. He can understand Wuss having doubts about the kid, since he looks too young to reach the minimum recruitment age, but the young man is tall and muscled and must be leaving his teenage years behind if he hasn’t done so already.
“The issue ,” the kid speaks, giving Wuss a truly dark glare, “is that your minion doesn’t like Drake-ya’s scumbag of a father and he won’t accept that I have been fourteen since the sixth of October.”
These words are delivered in a dry, scathing tone that puts Larch’s kids to shame even during the worst of their teenage temper tantrums.
“Maybe I would believe you if you could provide ID to back up your claim, kid,” Wuss fires back, unimpressed. Unfortunately, teenage hormones and tantrums are quite common at the base, what with all their pimpled trainees.
Still, a lack of ID isn’t uncommon. Countries not affiliated with the World Government rarely bother to provide their citizens with such conveniences, and many places around don’t have even the luxury of a stable government if they are unaffiliated.
Larch decides to address the young man first. It isn’t unheard of for the children of criminals to join the marines in a bid to get away from the hellholes they’ve grown up in, something Wuss ought to remember.
“What is your name, son?” Larch asks.
The young man meets his eyes and doesn’t hesitate.
“Diez Drake.”
Oh.
Yes, Larch can see how Wuss could have an issue. Larch himself served under Diez Barrels once upon a time, and his betrayal was like a stab in the back. It’s no wonder he didn’t recognize Drake though, because this young man looks nothing like the happy boy who used to follow his father around base and tell anyone who’d listen that he would become a marine one day.
Larch’s reasoning stands, and perhaps he’ll even admit to a little bit of petty vindictiveness at the thought of Barrels’ son turning his back on his father following Barrels’ betrayal.
“You’ve grown a lot,” Larch says, and the words are enough to break Drake’s impassive façade. His surprised expression is reminiscent of Barrels’ until Drake smiles sheepishly. Barrels used to get angry if he was caught off guard, but Drake seems almost pleased.
“Captain?” Wuss asks, and Larch turns to address him.
“I understand your feelings, Ensign, but I must remind you that we don’t let a parent’s actions dictate how we treat our recruits at this base.”
Wuss makes that face of his where it seems he has eaten a whole lemon before nodding, likely stuck somewhere between embarrassment and annoyance over the situation. He’ll get over it after a few rounds at the sparring ring.
This leaves the young one, and Larch turns to assess him. He’s heard enough of the doc’s rants at their younger recruits to know not all children develop at the same age, and that the height and muscle mass one teenager reaches at fifteen might elude another until they’re seventeen. This boy might or might not be fourteen, short and thin and with a furred hat obscuring part of his face, but what is clear is that he is annoyed and very much unimpressed with the proceedings so far.
Larch decides to resort to what he calls plan C when ID and reason fail to convince a young soul to wait a year to enlist.
“Let’s make a deal, son,” he addresses the boy.
Said boy looks up without raising his head to make eye contact.
“What kind of deal?” he asks with enough wariness to support the theory that he comes from a shitty background.
“We’ll have a small sparring match, you and me, and if you perform well, we’ll accept your application.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Larch sees Wuss give the boy a vindictive smile, but then the boy smirks with a level of cockiness Larch hasn’t seen since his own training days.
“You have a deal, Captain-ya.”
A sense of apprehension washes over Larch at that reaction, but before he can analyze why that feeling has risen instead of his usual exasperation at teenagers’ overconfidence in themselves, their audience begins to excitedly herd them towards the outdoors training area. A helpful warrant officer takes hold of their pirate prisoner and hauls him to his feet, thus postponing the need to process him until the matter of recruitment is settled.
They’re outside in no time at all, and while his men form a loose circle around the closest sparring ring Larch watches Drake and the boy exchange an undecipherable look that suggests they’ve known each other for a while. He remembers Drake, as a child, used to be the first to help any of the other children of marines in the base when they needed it, and he wonders if Drake met this kid and decided to take care of him. If nothing else, that possibility gives Larch a good feeling about his decision to accept Drake.
Then he’s walking to his side of the ring, and when he turns around he sees the boy has settled into a stance which appears too casual for a fight. But Larch is no novice, and he sees how the kid’s arms are loose and ready to move as needed at his sides, and his feet are firmly planted but could move in any direction. There’s none of that street fighting nonsense with arms raised into impractical positions kids these days find cool, nor legs spread too far apart to allow for a quick reaction. It appears this boy’s had some training, which makes Larch mentally increase the chances of being accepted he’d previously given him by a small amount.
Wuss takes position to refer the match.
“No weapons allowed, no deadly injuries, and no maiming. Match will last until either unconsciousness or surrender.” It’s a well rehearsed speech, one that has served to make more than one hopeful child change their mind in the past. The boy across from Larch shows no reaction. “Begin.”
The boy lurches forward.
Larch throws himself into a roll, barely dodging a punch that, as his observation haki fortunately warned him, would have broken his nose. This kid is fast .
“So you are a haki user,” the kid comments from where he’s retaken his starting position halfway across the ring from Larch, “I’d wondered.”
Larch has a moment to process these words before he’s ducking below a kick aimed at his neck. The kid’s other knee catches him on the jaw in a blow jarring enough to send blood bursting from his nose and mouth. He counters with a punch the kid blocks with armored hands before using the impact’s momentum to propel himself out of the reach of the follow-through punch.
This kid’s strong . Larch is the first one who’ll admit his control over haki never got past mediocre. It’s more than enough to handle the usual crooks in North Blue, but it’s the reason he willingly steps aside to let stronger marines like Vice Admiral Tsuru deal with the stronger criminals who sometimes infest this sea.
He’s the first one to move this time, lunging forward to grab the kid with the intention to wrestle him to the ground. The kid dodges his hands, grabs onto his right arm and vaults himself over Larch like a little monkey. He senses the kick coming, but he doesn’t manage to switch himself to a position to either dodge or block before the kid’s tiny foot connects with the back of his head like a bullet.
Larch crashes on the ground nose first, and the pain of breaking it is enough of a distraction that the next thing he notices is the kid standing on his back with a foot planted threateningly on his head.
“Do you surrender?” the kid demands. He’s definitely had some training; a street urchin would’ve kept on pummeling him into unconsciousness.
“Yes, I surrender,” Larch concedes, words somewhat garbled.
The kid jumps off his back and Larch turns around on the ground. He presses the sleeve of his coat to his nose.
Now the fight is over, he spreads his awareness enough to register the frantic muttering that surrounds them. He ignores it in favor of focusing on the boy. The kid doesn’t even have the decency to be sweating.
“What’s your name?”
“Law.”
Talk about a fitting name.
“Welcome to the Navy, Petty Officer Law.” The muttering around them increases at the unusually high rank for a new recruit, but fuck it if Larch isn’t putting in some measure to dissuade other marines from trying to pick on a born haki user before he can ship him off to Headquarters. “Any more surprises?”
The question is meant to be rhetorical, but then Law gives him an amused smirk and calls over his shoulder.
“Oi, Drake-ya! Your turn to show off!”
That is how Larch learns that his second-newest recruit is the user of an ancient-type zoan devil fruit power.
I’m sending both of them off on the first ship.