Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tsuru looked out across the silent expanse of snow and felt her heart sink. A growing sense of dread had been weighing on her since Doflamingo's Birdcage had enclosed Minion Island and she realized that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

Now, her fears were confirmed.

It was Rocinante's body. Positive identification was easy, between his height and the coat. The snow was red around him.

She forced herself to keep walking forward, even as she wondered how she was going to tell Sengoku. Rocinante wasn't even supposed to be here, and now he was gone. She didn't even know how to begin to break it to him.

When she got close enough, she realized that Rocinante wasn't alone. There was a small figure-- tiny and fragile beside his bulk-- kneeling beside him. Too small to be anything but a child. He was weeping. At first, she thought he was crying silently. Then she saw the way his inconsolable sobs shook his tiny frame; there was no way that such violent cries couldn't make any sound. He wasn't silent under his own power. That was Rocinante's Devil Fruit.

"Get a medic!" she shouted to her Marines. "He's one of ours!" Ignoring their sudden bloom of activity, shouting and running, she got close enough to Rocinante for the child to notice her. He started, looking up at her, half-recoiling and then lunging forward to cling to Rocinante's coat, his hands making fists in the feathers. She was sure that if he wasn't under Rocinante's enforced quiet, he would be cursing at her emphatically, telling her to go away.

"I'm here to help," she tells him. "Commander Rocinante isn't dead yet. We need to get him medical attention, immediately."

The child looked at her suspiciously, afraid. He's so small, she couldn't stop thinking. Were the Donquixote Pirates really recruiting such young children? How could that be profitable for them?

Even bloodied and battered, Rocinante's face looked almost peaceful. He had to be conscious on some level, for his Devil Fruit to still be active. She squeezed his hand. "You've done well, Rocinante," she said softly. "Don't die on us. I don't want to tell your father he has to bury you."

Several of her medics ran up, shouting orders at her Marines and laying out a stretcher. She stood up, stepping away to let them work. She worried she would have to physically remove the child, but he moved away as well, watching everyone with eyes of mingled judgement, anxiety, and overwhelming grief. Tears still ran down his face, unending. He didn't seem to notice, even as he wrapped his tattered cloak tighter around himself and pulled his hat down over his face. What she could see of his face was shockingly pale; absently, Tsuru worried he might be developing frostbite.

Suddenly, the boy's sobs rang through the air, cutting off as the shock of hearing them strangled tears for a moment. Tsuru lunged forward and caught him by the shoulder when he screamed, "No!" The broken, stricken sound of his voice made her heart ache. Though he struggled, fiercely, he couldn't break her grip, only heightening her fears about the ill effects of the cold.

"He'll be okay," she soothed.

"You're lying," the boy replied through renewed sobs.

She was. She changed tacks.

"If anyone can save him now," she said, "it's my crew. They will do their best. That I can promise."

He did not look up at her. She couldn't see his face under the brim of his hat.

"I'm not going to leave him," the child said.

Rocinante, she thought to herself, how did you inspire such loyalty in this child? What did you do?

"You don't have to leave him," she said. "You can stay with him once he's out of surgery."

And though the boy still seemed to be suspicious of her-- maybe even afraid-- he nodded stoically and followed behind.

The two places Law never would have gone, had he the choice, were a Marine ship and any sort of medical facility. And yet here he was, willingly, in a Marine medical bay. He was also hiding under a bed.

Cora-san was finally out of his hours-long surgery. Hours, which Law had spent avoiding any medical examination. It seemed like the crew of the ship, though worried about him, were unwilling to overstep and potentially further upset him. So when Law had hidden under the examination table like a child, they had left him alone. He couldn't afford for any of them to get close enough to see the patches of Amber Lead-- especially not any of them that might be medically trained. Might recognize what was wrong with him.

The only stroke of luck he'd had was that this didn't seem to be the same ship Vergo was on. At least, he hadn't seen any trace of him, and he thought if that monster knew he and Cora-san were here, he'd come to finish what he'd started.

When they'd brought him out of surgery, the same Marine who had known Cora-san's name came to tell Law and bring him to the room they'd converted into a makeshift ICU. They'd tucked a tiny cot in the corner. The old lady Marine said it was for Law. He was forced to admit that was nice of them. It was just high enough off the ground that Law could tuck himself underneath it, so he'd done so immediately. He thought-- he hoped-- that no one suspected anything was wrong with him yet. He heard some murmurings about potential frostbite between the old lady (who was the boss, he was sure) and the nurse hooking up machines to Cora-san, so they must have seen some of his spots, but not enough to know.

So here he was. Hiding. He was getting good at that.

The nurse left the room, and Law saw the boots of the boss stop by his cot. "As long as you understand that there will be consequences if you harm Commander Rocinante," she said, calm and non-threatening, "I see no reason you can't stay here. I can't allow you free roam of my ship, but meals will be delivered to you." Something was set on the bed above him. "Hopefully this will keep you from getting hypothermia, if you won't let any of my medical personnel treat you."

Footsteps retreated, and the door closed. If he were more patient, Law would have waited to make sure it wasn't a trick, that they were really gone, but he couldn't wait.

He rolled out, stood up, and looked around. There was no one there. Other than him and Cora-san, the room was empty. He turned to the hospital bed.

Cora-san looked terrible. They had put him on a ventilator, attached him to half a dozen machines, and hooked him up to an IV. All of it gave the impression that he was only barely clinging to life. He probably was.

Law wondered where Cora-san's coat was. He wanted to hide under it.

But instead he picked up Cora's chart. They'd probably left it here because they assumed he couldn't read it. Their mistake. He flipped it open. Read a few lines. Had to close it again. He reminded himself how to breathe. He opened it again, and tried to look at it clinically, as though it were any patient.

It wasn't just any patient. He looked back over at the bed. Cora-san's makeup had been cleaned away, leaving him looking younger. His hair lay lank and dull across skin so pale as to be almost grey. The black stitches holding closed a cut along his jaw stood out painfully.

The chart said that he had coded three times on the operating table.

Gasping a small, miserable breath, Law tried not to cry.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Cora-san had been hurt trying to save Law. And Law was still dying. If he couldn't save himself, with the Devil Fruit won at so high a cost, then it was all going to be for nothing. But Law was tired. He was so tired, and still so sick.

He remembered that the old lady had left something on the bed, and looked over to see what it was. Sitting, folded carefully, was a woolen blanket. He reached out to run a hand across it, and almost pulled back when he realized it had been warmed, slowly shedding heat.

Wrapping it around his shoulders, he lay down, curling up on the cot, only pausing to kick off his shoes. He pulled the blanket over his head. Just a little bit of sleep, and then, to work. Then he'd cure himself.

Something was wrong with Sengoku.

Garp had been in Marineford for a whole two hours, and he hadn't been called into Senny's office to be yelled at for the very expensive damage he'd done to his own ship in a battle with some pretty milquetoast pirates. That was out of character. Concerningly out of character.

Now, far be it from him to willingly walk into a lecture, but just this once he was going to bite the bullet and go hunt down Sengoku, because clearly something was wrong. He wasn't caught up in a meeting; Garp had asked around to make sure. By all accounts, he was just sitting in his office.

Garp crashed through the door a little less violently than usually. It splintered at the edges, but still closed behind him. He had to kick it to make it shut all the way, but that was fine.

Sengoku was just sitting at his desk. His expression was entirely neutral and disinterested. Maybe Garp would have assumed that nothing was wrong, except for the way that Sengoku was mechanically stroking the fur on the back of Rocinante's pet goat, which had taken to following Senny around after its owner had left on his mission. The goat was a comfort to Sengoku, Garp knew, the same way it had once been to Rocinante, and it looked up at him with eyes that seemed to hold an almost human worry.

"What happened?" Garp said. He didn't bother with pleasantries.

Sengoku didn't look up from the papers on his desk. "Tsuru called."

That shouldn't have been a bad thing. "What did she say?"

When Sengoku breathed in, it seemed to take a great deal of effort. "They found Rocinante."

Not "they picked up Rocinante". Not "Rocinante was hitching a ride home with them."

Blues. No.

"He was on Minion Island," Sengoku said. Every word caused him visible pain. "Something went wrong. He was nearly dead when they found him. He nearly died again in surgery, and they don't have the best equipment or doctors anyway. He's alive, for now, but--"

Garp steeled himself.

"They don't expect him to make it back to Marineford."

With the irrationality of grief, Garp's first thought was, How do I tell Dragon? As though there was any way he could contact his treasonous, traitorous son. Even if Dragon would want to know that the kid-- the poor, sweet kid-- that he'd helped to take care of, before he left, was dying.

"He's just a kid," Garp found himself saying. Rocinante was a grown adult, twenty-six now, a Marine Commander. But in his mind, he was the same tiny, terrified kid Sengoku had brought home, terrified of everyone and everything.

Sengoku's facade finally cracked, and he buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with the effort of holding back tears when he said, "I can't bury my boy, Garp. I can't do it."

Sitting down across from him, Garp slowly poured two cups of tea, and pushed one across the table to Sengoku. He thought about all the asinine platitudes he could give. He thought about all the hopes that they'd both had for their sons. A next generation of Marines, to be better. To make the world better. Now, one son was a criminal, and the other was dying painfully, far from home.

What a world they'd given to their children.

From where his head was buried in his hands, Sengoku said, painfully, "Does it make me a monster, that I’ve been praying he lives long enough for me to say goodbye? Even if he's in pain?"

"I think," Garp replied, "it makes you human."

"Blues," Sengoku said, raising his head, "anything but that." He picked up the tea Garp had poured and took a sip. His hands shook minutely.

Caution was not Garp's forte, but he was very careful when he asked, "Do we know what happened?"

The grim set of Sengoku's jaw told him everything he needed to know, even before his friend spoke. "We have no information, yet. But we can guess."

Doflamingo, then. Or his subordinates. No wonder Sengoku was tearing himself to shreds. He'd sent his only child into the mouth of the beast, and it had swallowed him whole. Nevermind that Rocinante had set himself on a collision course with Doflamingo when he was thirteen, and nothing but a miracle could have turned him from that path. All they'd been able to do was delay his destruction.

The obituary would be bleak. A short, miserable life, filled with more pain than anyone should ever be justly allotted, and guilt that he hadn't suffered more. In reality, it would probably be even worse: just a washed out, impersonal rendition of his life for people who hadn't known him to read. A good Marine. Survived by his father. A tragedy in two lines.

"How can I help, Senny?" Garp asked. "I can take on some of your duties. Pull in a few of the other old hands, if I have to."

"No," Sengoku said. "I need this. To distract myself. But... stay at Marineford. Until they bring him home."

The please was unspoken, but still clear.

"Of course," Garp said, even as he dreaded the eventual arrival of the ship carrying Rocinante's body.

The next few weeks were a blur of hiding, fevers, and learning how to use the new power hiding under his skin. It was hard. As desperate as he was to cure himself, his Devil Fruit had come with no instructions, and there was no one he could ask for help. For the first few days, he could only conjure a flickering blue orb, the size of his fist. Then he started to figure out what he could do with it. From there it snowballed.

He picked Amber Lead out of his skin, bit by bit, disposing of it in the biohazard bins. He could only do it a little at a time, his stamina too shot by illness to withstand the strain of his Devil Fruit. But every gram he tore out bought him a little more time. He could feel it, the slow improvement. When he took enough of it out of his lungs, he realized he could breathe without pain again and cried for half an hour.

One day, nearly a month into the trip, he opened a Room to start working. He Scanned himself. Then did it again. It took a third time for him to believe what he could feel.

It was gone.

Every particle of Amber Lead had been removed from his body. He was still suffering from the effects of prolonged, painful illness, his body still smaller and weaker than it should be, but he was no longer being killed by poison.

Everything wrong with him now, it could be fixed. He could heal.

There were still patches of skin that had been left discoloured by the illness, like scars, paler than the rest of him. He thought that they might slowly return to normal, but there was no way to know for sure. No one else had survived Amber Lead, after all. Even if they didn't, he was almost certain they didn't look like the patches of white Amber Lead caused. Maybe he could claim they were burns.

He wasn't going to die.

He wanted to tell Cora-san. But Cora still hadn't woken up.

Slowly, Law climbed onto Cora-san's hospital bed. He sat on the edge, feet dangling off, his back to the side of Cora's chest. He picked up Cora's hand, very carefully, and held it.

He inhaled. Exhaled.

"I think I was supposed to die," he confessed. "Me, after everyone I ever loved. I was sure of it. I didn't even want to be alive anymore. What's the point of hoping to survive when anyone with any sense knows you're going to die?

"But I guess you don't have any sense, right? I thought you were just another awful bastard who couldn't give a shit. Then you turned out to be the only person willing to throw all logic and rationality away and tell me that I was going to live. I’m pretty sure you would have tried to set Death on fire, if it had come to that.

"That's absurd, you know that? It's so stupid, thinking you could do anything. Everybody else in the world just wrote me off as a dead man walking! Why couldn't you have done the same?"

There were fine scars across Cora-san's fingers, from uncertain sources. Around his wrist, there were much more painful-looking scars, years old but still angry and red.

"Except that it turned out you were right. You didn't have any good reason to try to save me-- and I still don't understand why you tried-- but you were right. I'm cured, Cora-san. I did it.

"But I'm scared that you traded your life for mine. The grown-ups are trying to hide it from me, but I've heard them talking. You're not getting any worse, but you're not getting better, either. Maybe you're not dying, but you're barely alive. If they weren't keeping you breathing and your heart beating, you'd slip away. That one Marine, the one who knows you, she said you wrote an updated will. She said they have to deliver it to your father.

"So fuck you, Cora-san. How dare you give me a reason to want to live, and a miracle cure, and then go and fucking die on me? You promised me we'd sail the world. You promised me, and you're a lying scumbag, but you don't get to break that promise.”

He scrubbed tears from his eyes. "Don't leave me alone again." Law uttered the words like a secret. "Please."

His gaze was fixed on the hand he held, so much larger than his own. He couldn't look at Cora-san's face.

"You told me that my name meant that I was an enemy of the gods, and that's why Doflamingo wants me dead. Well, if he thinks he's a god, and I'm his enemy, then he doesn't get to win. He doesn't get to kill you like this. Not when you gave me a Devil Fruit that's supposed to work miracles."

A blue sphere appeared around Law's hands, around Cora-san's hand.

"So I'm an enemy of the gods. What's Death to me, then? Either he's a god, and I'm his enemy, or he's not a god, and he has no power over me. Whichever's true, you don't get to die so easy, Cora-san. You don't get to break your promise, and you don't get to get out of me yelling at you for scaring me like this.

"You gave me a Devil Fruit that works miracles and told me I'm supposed to live. But the joke's on you, because if I have to keep living, then so do you, jackass."

The blue sphere expanded to encompass the whole room.

Chapter Text

Tsuru picked up the receiver and dialed a long-memorized number. It only puru-puru'ed for a moment before the person on the other end picked up.

"Hello?" said Sengoku. He sounded weary.

"This is Vice-Admiral Tsuru," she responded.

"Tell me," he said. He sounded resigned. Drained and bitter. She couldn't blame him. She'd felt much the same this past month.

Now, the cautious pilot flame of hope had begun to burn.

"Rocinante's condition has started to improve," she said.

There was a long silence.

"What?"

His voice was smaller than she'd ever heard it.

"My medical staff doesn't want to make any promises. It could all devolve again," Tsuru said. "But-- they think he's getting better. They're going to take him off the ventilator and see how he does."

A shuddering breath came from the other end of the line. "He might survive?"

"It's possible," she said. "To tell you the truth, it's been a week now since we started seeing changes. At first, my medics were downright grim. They thought it was the first sign of the end. The calm before the storm-- or the storm before the calm, maybe. But then he kept improving." She laughed weakly. "They've said it's like a miracle."

There was a quiet thud. Tsuru suspected it was Sengoku putting his head down on the desk. She heard a strangled sob.

"We'll be at Marineford in a few days," she said. "We've crossed the Calm Belt now. I don't want to tempt fate, but... I think some hope might not break your heart."

"Okay," Sengoku said. Then he repeated, with more strength, "Okay. Send updates to the hospital here.to let them prepare."

"There's also the child," Tsuru said. She drummed fingers on the table. "He needs a medical examination, but he's not willing to interact with me or any of my medics. He won't even talk to us, but he's the only one who might know what happened to Rocinante."

"I'll take custody of him," Sengoku replied immediately.

Tsuru hoped her skeptical expression carried through the den-den.

"It makes sense," Sengoku added, which probably meant he'd at least got some impression of her face. "You've said the boy is attached to Rocinante. He'll trust me more as Rocinante's father."

"That's quite an assumption," Tsuru said. "I can't help but recall another small, distraught child that you took in as soon as you found him." She sighed. "Don't replace Rocinante before he's even dead, Sengoku."

He huffed out a breath-- but it didn't sound as angry as she'd expected. "I don't think I'm replacing him. I have a growing suspicion that he might have taken after me."

Tsuru thought about the way that the child had clung to Rocinante. The intensity of his distress. Even now, he wouldn't leave Rocinante's side. She ran a hand over her face in sudden exhaustion.

"Oh, that boy," she said. "Well, I will save my congratulations on your grandfather-hood until you meet the child. He's rather intense, from what I've gleaned."

"You think you'll be here in less than a week?" Sengoku checked.

"Barring any expected delays," she confirmed.

"Let me know if anything changes before you arrive," he said.

"Of course."

He hung up, and the den-den drooped into sleep. She replaced the receiver on its port, and sat back in her chair, throwing an arm over her eyes in a brief moment of self-indulgence.

They hadn't told Law they were crossing the Calm Belt until they were already through. The old lady Marine-- apparently she was called Vice-Admiral Tsuru-- had said they hadn't wanted him to worry about the trip. He thought they just didn't want to give him a chance to escape.

With the Amber Lead removed, Law didn't have to hide anymore. There was nothing to mark him as sick-- no one would think he was dangerous to them. On the other hand, he'd established a pattern of behaviour; if he deviated from his habits, they might become suspicious. So it became something like a game to find new places to hide. He wasn't sure what the consequences of trying to leave Cora-san's hospital room might be, but he wasn't willing to find out. He spent a few days rearranging the cabinets until one of them was empty and just large enough to fit a small teenager. He had been trying to decide whether it was worth it to start removing ceiling tiles to find out whether there were vents to inhabit when the door opened and he made an instinctive dive under the bed. There was a sigh from the doorway, concerned and exasperated (which just reminded him of Cora-san, and made his chest ache).

"We're arriving at Marineford," Vice-Admiral Tsuru said. "I'm afraid you'll have to come out now if you want to stay with Rocinante."

An obvious trap-- but not one Law could avoid springing. Better to know now what the sting in the tail was. He pulled himself out from under the bed and up to standing then found himself looking the Vice-Admiral full in the face for the first time since he'd boarded the ship.

She was shorter than he'd realized.

She seemed slightly surprised by his easy acquiescence, but didn't comment on it. "Good, you're alive," she said. "How are you feeling?"

He frowned at her. "Fine."

Her shoulders relaxed, slightly, the movement almost hidden in the coat of her uniform. "Rocinante's commanding officer would like to speak to you when you arrive," she said. "I hope you will be more willing to talk to him than you have been to me and mine. Unfortunately, you're the only one who can tell us what happened on Minion Island."

Oh, bad. Very bad. Under no circumstances could Law tell them about what had happened on Minion Island. Not just for his own sake, either; he didn't want the Government to know about the Ope-Ope or that he was from Flevance, but Cora-san had definitely committed several crimes in getting him his Devil Fruit.

He hoped any fear showing on his face would be written off as just anxiety from having to speak to people, until something else occurred to him. "Hang on. You said I could stay with Cora-san." He couldn't leave him alone. Not now. Not when the last time he'd left someone, she'd burned along with the rest of his world. Cora-san might be recovering, but what if something happened, and Law wasn't there to fix it?

The Vice-Admiral sighed. "I am certain that Rocinante's commanding officer will want to check on him as well," she said, "but you can't stay in his hospital room forever. It's not healthy."

He bristled. "If you want to take him, you'll have to do it by force."

She looked at him, and he knew what she saw: a scrawny, sickly kid, still recovering from what had almost killed him. Short for his age, with half-atrophied muscles and brittle bones.

Good.

The more people underestimated him, the harder he could hit. One of Doflamingo's favourite lessons. One of the few that Cora-san agreed with.

Less than an hour later, Law was still in Cora-san's room, but now glaring down a doctor with the Marine insignia embroidered on his coat.

"Son--"

"I will stab you," Law informed him.

"I cannot in good conscience allow a potentially criminal individual to remain with a patient--"

"I will remove your kidney and feed it to the dogs." He could. The hardest part would be finding some dogs.

Vice-Admiral Tsuru stood to the side, looking exasperated. At least she had the sense not to interfere.

"Listen here, you little brat." The doctor was clearly losing his patience.

"I'm not gonna bother finding a new place for your bones." He had Cora-san's lighter in his pocket. He could set this place on fire. That would be fitting. Circular, sort of.

Someone cleared his throat behind him. Law turned around, still glaring.

It was, to no surprise, another damn Marine. This one looked important, if all the gold detailing on his uniform meant anything. His mustache was stupid. He looked down at Law with furrowed brows, then up at the doctor again.

"Stop picking a fight with a child and move Commander Rocinante," he said.

"Hey--" Law snapped, not sure whether he was objecting to being called a child or Cora-san being taken.

Unexpectedly, the Marine turned to him, then crouched to be closer to Law's height. "I'm Admiral Sengoku," he said calmly, and only then did it strike Law that he knew that voice. This was the person Cora-san had been calling, while they'd been travelling. The commanding officer Vice-Admiral Tsuru had talked about, probably.

Law decided to keep scowling at him, but postpone violence until he had answers. "And?" he replied.

Admiral Sengoku looked at Law with serious eyes. His glasses were almost as stupid as his mustache. "Rocinante is my adopted son," he told Law calmly which-- holy shit.

Would it have killed Cora-san tell Law anything important about himself before it became relevant?

He supposed that he should probably match that confession, if he wants any chance of Sengoku trusting him enough to let him stay with Cora-san. "You were the one he talked to," Law said reluctantly. "Over the den-den."

Sengoku shot Tsuru an inscrutably triumphant look. Law wasn't sure what that meant. He ignored it.

"I'm not leaving Cora-san," he told Sengoku. He'd say it as many times as he needed to, until someone fucking listened to him.

The Admiral sighed. Law could kick him. "If I swear to you," Sengoku said, "that Rocinante will be safe, and that if his condition changes in any significant way, you will be informed as soon as possible, will you agree to let us make sure that you're healthy?"

That wasn't what Law had expected. "The old lady said that you wanted to know what happened on Minion," he said, with rising suspicion.

"I do," Sengoku admitted, "but it's important that we know you're not sick or hurt in any way first."

Now Law could see the family resemblance. It would be just his luck if Sengoku turned out to be as stubborn as Cora-san.

He huffed. "I'll kill you if he dies. You know that, right?"

Sengoku nodded. Law wasn't sure whether he meant to be patronizing or not, but it didn't matter. If he chose not to believe Law, on his head be it.

The boy-- Law, he'd admitted begrudgingly-- was not very much like Rocinante at all. Where Rocinante had been a quiet child, terribly afraid of the harm others might do to him, this boy was loud and angry, and, if words were to be believed, very willing to do harm to others. Sengoku was not going to make the mistake of assuming that his threats were just childish posturing. If the boy had been trained by Doflamingo, there was no telling what he might be capable of.

None of this was what Sengoku had expected, when Tsuru had said that the boy refused to talk, preferring to hide from her Marines. That had sounded so much like Rocinante that he'd thought he'd known what to expect. Law's ferocity had thrown that certainty out the window.

He was, once again, left adrift, trying to do what he thought best and praying that he wouldn't harm the boy in the process. If he did, he was sure Rocinante would never forgive him.

He wouldn't forgive himself, either.

He, Tsuru, and Law were tucked into Rocinante's hospital room. It was one of the better rooms; ordinarily, Sengoku might have been uncomfortable wielding his influence to benefit Rocinante, but this was an extraordinary occasion. This private room, with its wide, sunny window and walls painted pale blue, was all he could do for his son now.

Law was tucked into a chair too big for him, face set in a frown. Tsuru had given the boy a few sets of clean clothes, while they were travelling, but those had been hastily picked up at ports during brief stops, and had all been oversized on him. Now he was in a clean, comfortable outfit that fit him properly-- though he'd refused to relinquish his fluffy hat, even to let it be cleaned. Sengoku hadn't pressed the subject. It was probably a small miracle that Law had even taken advantage of the offer to wash up and change, in an unfamiliar and potentially dangerous environment as he was.

The medical examination had been... concerning. Privately, the pediatrician had informed Sengoku and Tsuru that Law had likely been suffering from extended poor treatment-- years of it. She had said he'd been injured, likely at the same time Rocinante had, and though he was nearly recovered, she warned him that he may still be fragile and hurting as a result.

Tsuru had been furious and guilty that she hadn't pressed the issue sooner, but Sengoku pointed out that the only reason Law was being as compliant as he had been was likely that he hadn't been forced out of his comfort zone. Even so, he could sympathize. The thought of the boy treating his own injuries was distressing.

Sengoku caught Law stealing another glance at Rocinante, lying still and pale on the bed. It was hard to believe Tsuru's quiet assurances that this was an improvement, visibly so, from how he'd been only a few weeks ago. The doctors believed he would wake up. Maybe even soon.

It was hard to look at his son. There were almost-faded yellow bruises on his face, and if it had taken them this long to heal, he shuddered to think how bad they'd been. A cut on his jaw was nearly scarred over, pink and shiny with new flesh.

He hadn't been able to hear the complete account of his injuries. He'd had to ask the doctor to stop, feeling his breath catch. Later, when he was alone, he'd take the copy of the medical information he'd been given and read it completely, and try to accept what had been done to his boy.

But for now, he needed to maintain his composure.

He needed to know what had happened.

"I think," he said, voice steady, "that you know why Rocinante left his mission for six months."

Law's knees were pulled up to his chest. A blanket had been wrapped around his shoulders, and he fidgeted with the fringe. "Yeah. He was trying to protect me."

"From Doflamingo?" Sengoku prompted. "Or something else?"

Law looked over Sengoku's shoulder at Tsuru, standing behind him with a notebook. This was a witness statement, after all, and the details needed to be taken completely.

"Doflamingo," Law said.

"Did he treat you badly?" Sengoku was almost certain that was the case. The pediatrician had said Law seemed chronically under-nourished, physically weak.

But Law just shrugged. "Better than Cora-san, really."

If it hadn't been for Law's sharp eyes watching him, Sengoku would have winced. He had ordered Cora-san not to do anything that might break his cover, but to try to convince the children to leave by being as hostile as possible to them. It was one thing to make the order, far away. Another thing entirely to look at a victim of his decisions.

Though he did his best not to react, Law must have seen something. "We're even now," Law told him. "Doflamingo turned out to be the worse one anyways."

Whatever Cora-san had done to the boy couldn't be that bad, if he was so attached to him now. Sengoku set it aside. "If not that, then why did Cora-san leave?"

"He said--" Law hesitated. He looked over at Rocinante on the bed, and a look of resolution crossed his face. He met Sengoku's eyes. "Baby 5 and Buffalo, the other kids, they blackmailed me into telling them a secret. Cora-san overhead, and he said that if Doflamingo found out, he would kill me. So he took me away."

"Blackmail?" Sengoku probed, curious.

Law frowned-- but it seemed to be more embarrassment than anger. "I stabbed Cora-san," he admitted. "Buffalo saw it and told Baby. They've been holding it over my head ever since. It was the most serious rule: nobody touches Corazon, or they die."

"You stabbed him?" Sengoku was aghast.

Law just shrugged. "It was a few years ago, now," he said, unconcerned. "Like I said. We're even for that."

"Okay." Sengoku was definitely going to ask Rocinante about that. (When he woke up. Not if. When.) "That was the secret, then?"

"No, that was what they were blackmailing me with," Law said. "The secret was my name."

A potent sense of dread suffused Sengoku's body. Surely not--

"Trafalgar D. Water Law."

Ah, fuck.

It wasn't a lie. Not completely. His name was the start of why Cora-san had taken Law away from Doflamingo. Maybe it was part of why he'd gone to such lengths to save him, too. But it carefully stepped around an Amber Lead-shaped hole in the truth.

"He said-- well, I didn't really get it," Law continued. "He said there were old stories about the D in my name that Doflamingo believed. Something about the enemies of the gods. I guess that's what Doflamingo wanted to be, but I never really asked him about it more."

Sengoku knew something about his name. Law could see it in his face. He looked worried, undisguisedly so. Then he asked, "Do you have any other family?"

It was like flipping over a log and seeing the rot underneath.

Law had been carefully not thinking of where he was and who he was with, knowing that if he thought of the people around him as Marines, he wouldn't be able to be around them. Cora-san was the only exception.

With that one question, the bitter hatred Law had tucked away came screaming back, cold and dark as polar night. Through the roaring in his ears, he said, "No. They're gone."

Sengoku didn't press. Instead, he asked, "Why didn't he take you somewhere safe and go back to the Donquixote Pirates?"

Law forced himself to push away the hate again. If he messed up, he'd be in danger. Cora-san would be in danger. He needed to lie, and he needed to lie well. If they connected the six months Cora-san and Law were travelling with the period of hospital fires across the North Blue, it would all come crashing down. Law needed to be convincing.

"At first, I didn't believe him," Law said carefully. "I would have just run back to Doflamingo, so Cora-san was trying to get as far away as possible without leaving a trail. Doflamingo wanted me back too." He paused. This was a greater lie than what he'd said so far-- but on the other hand, the only person who could disprove it was Doflamingo, and if they asked him, he'd tell a different story anyway. "Doflamingo wanted me back, so Cora-san lied and told him I'd run away and he was tracking me. I don't know if Doflamingo believed him, but it kept him from coming after us immediately."

"And that went on for six months?" Sengoku said. Was that skepticism in his voice?

"I really didn't believe him," Law admitted. "I don't think I grasped how bad it was, until..." His voice died in his throat at the memory of Cora-san bleeding out in the snow. No need to lie about that: he had believed, foolishly, naively, that Cora-san was telling the truth when he said his brother wouldn't kill him.

Law forced himself to breathe, to blink away the sensation of snow clinging to his eyelashes, and to focus on Sengoku again. "Even if he bought it to begin with, I think Doflamingo knew something was up by the end. Cora-san said that he was never going to be able to go back, with or without me."

This next bit was going to be tricky. His condition had become so much worse that he couldn't trust his memories of the events of the last leg of their trip. But also, even as clouded as his recollections were, he was certain Cora-san had been ordered not to go to Minion Island.

He had no good explanation for why they would be there that wouldn't mention the Ope-Ope.

His only option was another outright lie, this one even more precarious-- but plausible. "Cora-san got a message from Doflamingo telling him to come meet the crew at Minion Island, because they were going after another crew to steal a Devil Fruit. At first, Cora-san was going to stay as far away from that mess as possible, but then Doflamingo said he was going to send a crewmate to pick up Cora-san if he didn't make it to the rendezvous in time." Law paused, and allowed some real fear into his voice. "It was a threat. Cora-san thought his only option was to let Doflamingo think he was complying, and then meet up with the Marines on Minion to get out."

Law's fingers, tangled in the fringe of the blanket over his shoulders, began to tie it into knots. He couldn't look at Sengoku or Tsuru. He certainly couldn't look over at Rocinante. "Then I got sick. Really sick. I don't-- I don't really remember the rest all that well. But he was afraid to leave me while I was doing so poorly, I know that. He was going to drop me off before going to Minion, but when he couldn't, he needed to get to the Marines before he met with Doflamingo. Except the guy Doflamingo sent caught up to us first."

Law's ribs still ached from the beating Vergo had given him. He was paralyzingly afraid that they wouldn't believe him-- or worse, that they would, and Vergo would reveal all the holes in his story.

"He got close to us," Law said, "because he was dressed as a Marine, and by the time Cora-san recognized him, it was way too late. And he was caught off guard and trying to protect me and--" Law sucked in a breath. "It went badly. We were hurt. And Doflamingo's man-- Vergo-- was off to let his boss know that Cora-san had lied."

Tsuru made a faint, horrified noise. Sengoku and she exchanged a look. "Put him under observation," Sengoku said. "His whole ship. If there's one mole, there could be more. Do not let anyone else know that Rocinante is alive."

"My ship knows," Tsuru said darkly, "but we didn't inform anyone else. We were prioritizing speed."

"Good," Sengoku replied. "Keep it that way. If they find out they're under observation, give the captain the excuse that we're suspicious as to how Doflamingo knew about the trade in the first place." He turned back to Law. "And then?"

This was the part Law didn't want to even think about. "Vergo was cocky. Figured Cora-san was too badly hurt to do anything while he went to inform Doflamingo. Except-- it's fucking Cora-san. He walks off injuries that should leave him bedbound for weeks. So he pulled himself together and used the time we had to hide me."

The blanket fringe ripped under Law's fingers. He stared at it uncomprehendingly for a moment, then let go.

"We could have both got out," Law said, "but Doflamingo's Birdcage was too fast. We couldn't get to the ship. He hid me, right under their noses. Close enough that I heard everything. He used his Devil Fruit to make sure they couldn't hear me. The only reason they didn't find me was that Cora-san said that he'd sent me to the Marines. And then Baby 5 caught a transmission that the Marines had picked up a boy, so they didn't even look for me."

"Drake Barrels," Tsuru said quietly. "Son of Diez Barrels. One of the other ships picked him up."

Fuck. Fuck. Another witness. Another person who could bring Law's whole story crashing down. And if he was one of the Barrels Pirates, then he might have seen Cora-san stealing the Ope-Ope. Even worse.

Too late to back out. Law plunged forward. "Doflamingo shot Cora-san," Law said. "A lot. Cora didn't even try to shoot back," he heard his voice break, "because he's an idiot. And then they just left him there to die, and I couldn't do anything, I couldn't even speak--"

When had he started crying?

A hand fell on his head. He looked up at Sengoku, through tears too thick to make out his expression.

"It's alright," he said, voice low and gentle. "You were very brave. It's over now. Rocinante is safe."

"He not," Law managed furiously, because people kept lying to him. "If he was safe, he'd be awake, but he hasn't woke up, because he's hurt, and if he's not okay then it's my fault!"

Too honest. Much too honest. He could not let them know about the Ope-Ope.

Fortunately, Sengoku misconstrued his meaning. "You can't blame yourself for Rocinante's choices," he said softly.

"Pot, kettle," Tsuru muttered from behind him.

Sengoku sighed. He ruffled Law's hair, dislodging his hat-- just like Cora-san did. It made another round of tears well up. "I am sure Rocinante would just be happy that you're alive," he continued. "It sounds like your safety was his priority."

"Because he's an idiot," Law said wetly.

"Well..." Sengoku didn't finish his sentence. He looked over at Rocinante, lying on the bed still, then back to Law. "I still think he'd want you to be safe. How about we get you something to eat, okay? He'll have our heads when he wakes up if he hears you haven't been eating enough. I have a baby den-den on me for the hospital to call if something changes."

Law considered that warily. His appetite had increased significantly since the Amber Lead had been purged and his body able to process nutrients again. "No bread," he bartered.

Something about that made Sengoku look unutterably sad. "No bread," he agreed.

"Okay," Law said, standing. He looked over at Cora-san one last time before following Sengoku and Tsuru out the door.

Chapter Text

Waking up was a haze of pain and disorientation: like being thrust into dark water, fighting the pressure and the icy cold. Where was he? What had happened?

It would be so easy to sink-- to close his eyes against the pain-- to sleep still. But he knew there was something desperately important that he could not remember, of which he could not let go. He clung to growing consciousness.

"Commander Rocinante?" said a voice at the edge of his senses. "You're alright. You're at the military hospital in Marineford." They continued in a soft and reassuring stream of assurances, enough to let him know he wasn't alone. Some of the panic eased.

He blinked open his eyes.

It hurt.

That was soon drowned out by the clamour of pain that had taken up residence where his body should have been. It made it extraordinarily difficult to order his thoughts, even to register what was around him.

A straw was pressed to his mouth. He drank.

There were a handful of medical personnel in the room, busily taking notes and talking together. He was in a hospital bed, propped up into a sitting position. There was an IV in one arm and he could feel a cannula taped to his face.

Rocinante realized this was alive. This was something of a surprise. He had been certain his brother had killed him. The last thing he remembered was an intense sense of relief, because Tsuru was there and she would take care of--

Law. Where was Law?

He took a breath. "The kid," he managed, feeling as though his throat had been packed with salt, "who was with me. Where is he?" His voice was hoarse, shredded.

A man-- a doctor, based on the pips on his uniform-- sighed. Rocinante, who had spent the last four months cultivating an intense dislike of medical professionals, immediately hated him. "Commander, you've been comatose for more than a month," he said.

That was so far from an answer that Rocinante wondered if his question had even been comprehensible. Maybe his voice was wrecked worse than he realized. "Is the kid here?"

The doctor's frown deepened. "I need to ask you a few basic to questions to assess your--"

"Blues, fine! Just tell me if Law is okay first!" He tried to pull himself up from his reclining position, ignoring the protests of the nurse beside him.

He didn't trust that the Marines would have Law's best interests at heart. If anyone had recognized the Amber Lead poisoning-- blues, if Law hadn't managed to use the Ope-Ope on himself--

It didn't bear thinking about. The kid was okay. He had to be. They'd gone too far for anything else to be an option.

He saw a nurse open their mouth to speak, but the doctor talked over them. "Commander Rocinante, you need to cooperate."

By bracing himself with the railing of the bed, Rocinante could hold himself upright with a shaking arm. "For fuck's sake, tell me what happened to my kid!"

"Cora-san!"

Rocinante turned to the door fast enough that it made his head spin. There was Sengoku, standing in the doorframe, but beside him was Law, who scrambled forward, almost tripping over himself. The way he hopped up smoothly onto the bed told Rocinante everything he needed to know about Law's health, and the knot that had been tightening in his gut unravelled.

Law was already crying when he pressed himself against Rocinante's side, wrapping his arms around him in as much of a hug as he could reach. Rocinante let himself relax, slumping backward onto the bed, heart still racing despite the relief. His chest ached. He returned the hug with the arm that didn't have an IV in it.

"You fucking shithead," Law said into Rocinante's hospital gown.

"It's alright. You're okay, honey. We're okay," Rocinante soothed, as though his own hands weren't fisted into Law's sweater, shaking, knuckles white.

"You almost died, jackass," Law sobbed.

Rocinante pressed a kiss to the top of Law's head, and forced his hand to unclench so he could stroke Law's hair. Pushing it back from his face, he could see scars where the patches of Amber Lead had been, but as far as he could tell, the poison itself was gone. He still tapped the line where healing scar met untouched flesh. "You're okay, though?" If he was here and safe, then maybe he'd been able to take out the Amber Lead before the Marines had arrived-- though that seemed impossible

"Fucker," Law said, apparently just for the sake of saying it. "I'm okay."

Letting his head fall back onto the pillow, Rocinante took a breath. "Good."

Someone took his free hand, and Rocinante looked over to see Sengoku. He smiled, suddenly exhausted. "Hey, Dad." There was no one else in the room now. The nurses and doctor must have left.

"Rocinante." Sengoku's hands were so warm. Maybe Rocinante's were just cold.

Against Rocinante's chest, Law grumbled quietly, tears beginning to dry up. "Idiot. Asking me if I'm okay. I didn't get shot. I haven't been in a coma. I didn't code three times on the operating table like a fucking asshole."

"I apologize for my cardiac arrest," Rocinante replied dryly, but continued with a little less humour, "I'm sure it was very upsetting."

Sengoku squeezed his hand. Rocinante looked over at him in time to see him trying to hide a stricken expression. He guessed Sengoku was realizing that Law knew more about Rocinante's health than he was supposed to. Little shit had probably stolen his charts.

Reluctantly relinquishing Rocinante's hand, Sengoku stood. "I'm going to talk to the nurses," he said. "And possibly suggest that another doctor be assigned to you, considering that neither you nor Law can be civil with this one." A small rebuke, but half-joking. Less funny to Rocinante than to Sengoku. He knew, after all, why Law would be disinclined to like doctors.

When the door closed behind Sengoku, Law looked up at Rocinante. "They don't know about the Lead," he whispered, "or the Fruit."

"Oh, thank the fucking blues," Rocinante sighed.

Law paused. "You're not mad?"

"Kiddo, I am so relieved that it's making me feel slightly ill."

"That's the perforated lungs." Thoughtfully, Law tilted his head. "I thought you'd want the Marines to know the truth."

It was uncomfortable to prod at his own feelings. He was absolutely terrified of the Marines finding out that Law had eaten the Ope-Ope. When he'd taken Law away from Doflamingo, he'd wanted to protect his boy from becoming another human weapon.

The trouble was, if the Marines found out what Devil Fruit Law had eaten, he might end up with the exact same fate, only now carrying Justice on his back.

"No," Rocinante said. "I don't know how you managed to get away with it, but I'm glad you did. Don't let them know, Law."

The kid nodded, a serious expression settling into his face. Rocinante smiled, and reached out to cup Law's cheek. He expected him to complain, even to pull away, but instead Law tipped his head to lean into the touch.

"I'm so proud of you," Rocinante said. "I'm sorry for hurting you, and for almost leaving you alone again. I love you."

Law's face scrunched as he tried not to cry. "Dumbass," he said. "Don't do it again."

There was a flurry of activity after Sengoku came back: tests to be run, doctors to be replaced, medical histories to be discussed. Sometimes during it all, Law fell asleep, still tucked against Rocinante's side. Once the final nurse had left, Sengoku looked down at Law and quietly told Rocinante, "He never left your side, you know."

Brushing a hand through Law's hair, Rocinante sighed. "Little idiot," he said, fond and sad.

Sengoku hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward. "He said you left your mission to get him away from Doflamingo because you found out he carries the name of D."

That wasn't... not true. It was a reason he'd taken Law. The final reason, really: the breaking point.

But it was also not the whole truth. Rocinante suddenly regretted not asking Law what he had told Sengoku, while hiding the Amber Lead and Ope-Ope. It would be really bad for them to have contradicting stories.

Rocinante realized he'd been quiet too long. In his defense, he never would have expected Law to willingly reveal his full name-- especially not to a Marine. He could use that.

"He told you?"

"I needed to know what had happened to you," Sengoku said.

Rocinante's eyes narrowed. "You didn't interrogate a scared kid."

"Of course not." Sengoku sounded insulted. "I told him that I was your father and I needed to know what had happened to you."

"Right." Dragging a hand down his face, Rocinante laughed humourlessly. "Sorry. It's been a bad..." He trailed off, considering. "Years."

"I shouldn't be surprised that you're protective of him." Sengoku looked between Law, curled up asleep with Sengoku's jacket as a makeshift blanket, and Rocinante, whose hand rested on Law's shoulder. "But... Rocinante, there will be consequences for abandoning your mission. I would have been able to shield you if you'd returned eventually, but that's no longer an option."

Bristling, Rocinante had to remind himself to keep his voice down. "What was I meant to do?" he snapped. "Let Doffy kill a teenager because of his superstitions?"

"No, of course not," Sengoku sighed. Then blinked. "Teenager?"

"Law's thirteen."

Sengoku had to pause to take this in. "I thought he was ten at the most."

If Law had been awake, he would have seethed at the assumption. "No. He looks much younger than he is. His health has been poor for some time now."

"The pediatrician said much the same."

This had Rocinante so taken aback that he could only look at Sengoku for a moment. "You convinced him to let a doctor look him over?" Rocinante was starting to become worried that Law was still sick. Or sick again, as a result of his damaged immune system. The kid had never been this cooperative in all the time Rocinante had known him.

"I pointed out that you would likely be distressed after waking up if you learned that no one had even checked him over."

If Rocinante was irritated for a moment that this had apparently been enough to convince Law, when he'd had to drag the kid kicking and screaming into every hospital they'd ever visited, his brief pique was quickly overshadowed by his knowledge that every hospital they'd ever visited had vigorously suggested that Law be killed immediately for his illness. He thought that Law allowing a doctor to come near him was, perhaps, one of the bravest things anyone had ever done.

"Blues, that kid," Rocinante sighed.

"The doctor suspected that it was more than harsh living that was exacerbating Law's ill health," Sengoku said, "though she couldn't find anything wrong with him. I asked if Doflamingo might have been mistreating him, but he didn't seem to think so. What's your read on the situation?"

It shouldn't have hurt like a punch to the gut, but Rocinante had to cover his face and look away for a moment, focusing on breathing. He could feel Sengoku lay a hand on his leg, silently reassuring. He let his hand fall.

"I don't think Doflamingo treated him any worse than I did," Rocinante said, though the words felt like shards of ice tearing through his lips. If he could go back-- change everything-- and it was all for nothing in the end! He should have just taken Law when the kid first showed up.

He hadn't forgotten the children he'd left with Doflamingo. But if he thought about them, it might destroy him.

"Law said almost the same thing," Sengoku said, thoughtfully, almost wonderingly.

Rocinante's shoulders hunched as he fought tears. Strange, when hating himself had become so routine, that the thought that Law might hate him was still almost unbearable.

Sengoku squeezed his leg, kindly not pointing out Rocinante's turmoil. "He also said you were even," he said, then added dryly, "because he stabbed you."

Rocinante managed a wet laugh. "He did do that," he admitted, wiping at tears. "Very early on. He hadn't even been formally inducted into the crew yet. Little menace. He managed to sneak up on me. That takes some skill."

"I'm not sure I can quite bring myself to congratulate him," Sengoku replied.

Turning back, Rocinante looked down at Law. "He never had any good reason to forgive me," he said, "and I don't really think he should."

Sengoku just looked tired. He didn't try to defend Rocinante's actions. Nor did he make any attempts to justify the orders he'd given.

Almost hesitantly, Rocinante touched Law's hair again, running a light hand over it. "Doflamingo only hurt the kids if they broke the rules," he said. "And then there was absolutely no mercy in his punishments. But he wanted the kids to like him, so he treated them with more than decency. Maybe even a sort of kindness. Hell, he probably treated Law better than the rest, really. He wanted him to be his right hand-- my successor, I think."

At that, Sengoku sat forward. "Was he anticipating your death?" he asked urgently.

"Maybe?" Rocinante said. "He said before... well, before Minion that he wanted me to eat the Ope-Ope and do the Eternal Youth Surgery on him, but that might have been a test. He started training Law to be his right hand years ago now. Maybe he was planning years in advance. I wouldn't put it past him. But it's more likely that he was preparing in case he sent me out like he did with--" Rocinante cut himself off abruptly, eyes widening and sitting up. "Fuck, fuck, you need to know, Doflamingo has a spy in the Marines, he--"

"Vergo," Sengoku said. "Easy, Rocinante, I know. Law told us."

"Oh," Rocinante said. "Fuck. Thank the blues. Okay." He looked down at Law, reassuring himself that the kid was still sleeping easily, not disturbed by Rocinante's sudden movement, and then settled back against the pillows.

He closed his eyes for a moment. "But-- the point. Doflamingo. The kids. I don't think he ever hurt Law. And they had enough to eat, places to sleep. Hell, in some ways they might have been better off with the crew than on the streets. But it wasn't good for them. He..." Rocinante opened his eyes again, and tried to grasp for the right words. He was too tired to be explaining this. "I think he saw it as mutually beneficial. He taught the kids to fight for him, gave them the skills to protect themselves. Doffy values strength. He assumes others value it in the same way. So he put the kids in situations that I wouldn't bring a cadet into, much less an eleven-year-old, and only pulled them out of the fire if it looked like they were about to get burned."

Unconsciously, Rocinante wrapped a hand around one wrist, tracing old scars.

"He might not have hurt them, but he certainly put them in positions to be hurt by others. Training for them was brutal, too. And Law-- I think he has a fairly poor immune system. He was sick, often. More than the other kids." He was skirting too close to the truth, but they needed to have some excuse for why Law was so sickly.

"Damn," Sengoku said. "I suppose it's a relief Law isn't worse off."

"Yeah, well," Rocinante replied, frustrated. "Vergo did a fucking number on him, and I doubt he let anyone treat him after that." He couldn't have let anyone treat him. Not with the thrice-damned Amber Lead, and fuck was Rocinante still mad about that. Six months, and not one person willing to help a sick kid. What was wrong with the world? What was wrong with people?

He squeezed tighter around his wrist, then sighed, letting go. His anger would only raise questions he couldn't answer. Not if he wanted to keep Law safe from the Government.

And somewhere in there, he supposed, was the point.

Sengoku had to leave, eventually. An Admiral could not simply leave work without notice. Not even for his son. He'd be back once the workday was over, he promised as he left, scowling at a sheaf of paperwork he'd been brought by an aide.

Once the nurses left, Law and Cora-san were alone. Law was embarrassed about having fallen asleep like a little kid-- even more so because Cora-san couldn't hide that he'd found it adorable.

"You needed the sleep!" Cora-san protested.

"No, I didn't," Law replied, grumpily.

"Well, given that you did, in fact, fall asleep..." Cora-san trailed off, point effectively made.

Sitting on the end of the bed, facing him, Law frowned, ignoring Cora-san's widening grin. It was easy to fall back into bickering and insults, with all the real barbs removed, but Law still couldn't quite believe this was all real. Cora-san, awake and smiling at him, so far from the quiet and spreading fears of the past month.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Law asked suddenly.

Cora-san's grin slipped into something gentler, a little sadder. "You know, I was talking to the nurses," he said. "One of them said, and I quote, that my muscles were in far better shape than they had any right to be after a month." He tipped his head to one side, bird-like. "Got a handle on your Fruit pretty quickly then?"

Somehow, Law hadn't thought that Cora-san would ever figure it out. He thought about long painful nights of pulling poison out of himself: a trial by fire, a more effective practice than any that could ever have been designed intentionally. He pulled a hat lower on his head. "Not fast enough."

"No, hey, kid," Cora-san said, reaching out. Law leaned back, and Cora's hand dropped to the bed. "No, Law-- a month. You've learned so much about your Fruit in just a month. You cured yourself of a poisoning that no one else could even understand, and then..." He sighed. "I'm only alive because of you, aren't I." It was pointedly not a question, so Law didn't answer.

"Law, that's extraordinary," Cora-san emphasized. "When I'd had my Devil Fruit for a month, I was still managing to accidentally silence myself in the middle of conversations. Garp found nothing funnier than pretending he could still hear me and nodding along until someone else took pity on me and told me what was going on."

"Yeah, but you're incompetent," Law snapped. He didn't want to be patronized.

"Hey," Cora-san replied, sharp enough that Law wondered if he'd hit a nerve. "Listen to me. You saved my life. You saved your own life. And you did it without anyone else even realizing. I don't..." He sighed, and ran a hand along his jaw. The medical personnel on Tsuru's ship must have been taking care of Cora-san's hygiene, but now stubble was beginning to grow on his cheeks. He'd been clean-shaven as long as Law had known him; now he looked oddly unfamiliar.

"I'm sorry," Cora-san said abruptly. "You shouldn't be feeling guilty that you couldn't-- couldn't brute force your Devil Fruit any faster than you did, because this is my fault. I... Everything, Law. If I'd been better, then none of this would have happened."

At first, Law opened his mouth to protest, because that was bullshit. Then he stopped. "Fine," he said abruptly. "If it's your fault, then you have to make it up to me. You can't do anything that stupid ever again and you can't leave me alone." His voice broke on the last word.

The way Cora-san's brows drew together, his mouth downturning and his eyes widening slightly, told Law that he had heard the crack, and maybe a lot more besides that. But all he said was, "Sounds fair to me," and held out a hand to shake. Law took it.

Cora-san laughed, quietly and a little hoarse, like he hadn't done it in a while. "Besides," he said, "apparently, when I leave you alone, you start lying to Marines, little troublemaker."

Law bristled. "I--!"

"Kidding, kidding," Cora-san replied. "Like I said, it was a good idea. But we should probably get our stories straight while we can. What did you tell them? Give me as much detail as you can remember."

As he'd done for Sengoku and Tsuru, Law unraveled his story, pausing occasionally to add a justification or to answer a question from Cora-san. "The real problem," Law said, coming to the end of it, "is that Barrels kid. If they ask him anything, it'll all fall apart."

"He's just a kid, and a pirate's son, too. They'll take anything he says with a grain of salt, if they even bother talking to him. He'll probably be fine. No," Cora-san said darkly, "what I'm worried about is Vergo."

"But he's a pirate too!"

"He's a pirate who's infiltrated the Marines," Cora-san replied. He drummed his fingers. "Which means there'll be an investigation. And I am certain he will say anything we can to bring us down with him. If Vergo is interrogated, everything falls apart."

"They're putting his ship under observation," Law recalled in quiet horror.

For a long moment, Cora-san's eyes were distant. "Okay," he said, suddenly resolute. "I can spin this. I'm going to suggest they not arrest Vergo yet, but begin feeding him information to see what happens. Turn him into a spy for us, as it were. If they draw that out long enough, anything he tries to say about you, me, and Minion Island will just seem like a desperate attempt to get out of trouble. Make him discredit himself."

"Will that work?" Law asked.

Cora-san shrugged-- then winced. "Well," he said, voice strained. "Worst comes to worst, we make a break for it. The longer we can delay the inevitable, the more options we'll have when the time comes."

"Inevitable?" Law said. "You think we can't hide it forever?"

He thought Cora-san wasn't going to answer, his quiet stretched out so long this time. But finally, he looked down at Law. "You can't hide anything forever, kiddo," he said. "The truth comes out eventually, one way or another."

That sounded far too sad-- but also quietly, dimly afraid. Law wondered what sort of secrets Cora-san hadn't told him yet. He wondered what he could do to learn them.

He glanced up at Cora-san's face and noted his glassy eyes and unnatural stillness. "You're hurting again," Law said bluntly.

"I'm fine," Cora-san said. This, without exception, meant that Cora-san was not fine and wanted to hide it.

"You fucked something up, didn't you?" Law pushed.

When Cora-san opened his mouth to argue, Law reached out to the panel beside the bed and hit the button to call a nurse.

"Ah, fuck, kid, it's not that bad!" Cora-san protested.

Unmoved, Law scowled at him. "People heal faster when they're not hurting," he informed him. "That's just science."

"You're a meddling brat," Cora-san huffed, but a smile played at his lips.

Chapter Text

Between dealing with his own work and covering Sengoku's, Garp didn't have a chance to visit Rocinante until after the kid was already discharged from the hospital. But now he was back in Sengoku's apartment, still on medical leave, and Garp finally had time enough to see him with his own eyes. He preferred this anyway, really. Medical staff usually tried to kick him out of hospitals, claiming he was "very loud" and "disturbing the patient's recovery."

He called bullshit. Hospitals were too quiet anyway.

Sengoku's apartment was larger than most of the family units, and in a building close to his office. The benefits of being an Admiral, Garp supposed. He rarely visited Senny at home, these days, but the door was just like he remembered it: dark wood, brass doorknob, scratched lock. The hinges were brighter and shinier than the rest of the fixtures, owing to a few incidents of Garp breaking them back in the day. Maybe more than a few incidents.

He didn't know if the locks had been changed since Sengoku had given him a spare key. He opted to knock instead of trying it-- in part because he wasn't sure he could find the damn thing.

There was shuffling behind the door, and then a long pause. Finally, it swung open. Rocinante was on the other side.

He looked bad. Not the worst Garp had ever seen him-- but Garp had seen him in the early days, when Sengoku had first brought him to Marineford, when Rocinante was a half-dead, starving, terrified child, badly wounded and untrusting. At least Rocinante here and now was willing to draw up a weak smile and step back to let Garp in.

"Hi," he said, tired. "Sengoku-san isn't home right now."

"I can go bother him at his office any time!" Garp said brightly. "I'm here to see you. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Rocinante said, which was not an answer, especially not when he looked so exhausted. Pale and drawn, with shadowed eyes. He moved rather slowly and gingerly out of the entrance and back into the living room. With even more caution than usual, he sat down on the couch. There were a few quilts draped over the arm and back, as though tossed aside when he'd stood up. As he took his coat off to hang it up, Garp noticed that the temperature of Sengoku's apartment was much warmer than he usually kept it.

"You don't look like a man who should be out of the hospital," Garp pointed out.

"You sound like Law," Rocinante sighed. "It's fine. The doctors all said I was doing better than expected. I've got physiotherapy to attend now, but other than that, I just need rest."

That sounded fair enough. Besides, he'd probably heal better at home than in a hospital room. "Law's the kid you picked up, right? Where is he, anyway?"

"He's--" Rocinante cut himself off, then waved a hand dismissively. "Hiding. He doesn't like new people much." He considered that. "He doesn't like people much."

If Garp had to guess, he'd say that Rocinante knew exactly where the kid was, but was letting him stay hidden to keep the brat comfortable. Too bad. Garp had wanted to meet him.

"Damn, I should have offered you something to drink," Rocinante realized suddenly. "Sorry."

"No, that's fine," Garp laughed. "I know where Senny keeps everything anyways." He wandered into the kitchen. The thought of food was distracting, but he put a kettle on the stove to make a pot of tea. Rocinante would probably appreciate that.

"I didn't realize you were on base," Rocinante called from the living room.

"Oh, I've been here a while," Garp replied, waiting for the kettle to boil. "Your old man asked me to stick around after he got the call Tsuru had picked you up."

"You've been here a month?" Rocinante sounded surprised. Garp didn't like to stay on Marineford if he had the choice. It felt too pointless when he knew there were pirates out there just waiting for him to come after them, doing who-knows-what while they were free. That was part of why he'd refused every promotion he'd been offered since making Vice-Admiral.

Besides, Marineford was boring.

"Well, Senny was--" Distraught? Horrified? Grief-stricken? "--pretty upset, obviously. He needed someone to help cover his workload. Guess an Admiral can't just take a leave on short notice."

Rocinante's quiet suggested he was turning that over in his mind-- and, Garp figured, probably blaming himself. Poor kid was good at that.

The kettle whistled, and Garp took it off the heat. He was relieved to find a package of teabags in the cupboard, where they'd always been. He balanced the pot and two cups to carry into the living room.

Rocinante raised an eyebrow at the sight. "We have trays, you know," he said. Sarcastic brat.

Garp poured him a mug of tea. Rather than drink it, Rocinante just held the cup, savouring its warmth.

"Where's Holden?" Garp asked. The goat had been despondent after Rocinante had left, melancholy and depressed, until Sengoku had started bringing him to the office with him. Even though the goat was liable to eat significant bits of paperwork, Sengoku had never seemed irritated with him. Garp suspected that Sengoku found comfort in keeping Rocinante's pet close.

"I feel bad keeping him cooped up in the apartment with me all day," Rocinante admitted. "He comes home in the evenings, but for now Sengoku can take him around to meetings and keep him entertained."

"Eating paperwork?" Garp said.

The smirk that crossed Rocinante's face briefly was positively wicked. "Maybe."

Garp laughs. It was good to have him back. "Well, kid," he said, "I'm glad you're not dead." Given that this was too close to vulnerability, he tacked on, "I had no idea how I was going to contact Dragon to let him know you'd gone and been killed."

With a snort, Rocinante shook his head. "Oh, that would have gone over well with the brass," he said. "Besides, why would you need to tell Dragon, anyway? He wouldn't care. He hasn't seen me in-- blues, more than a decade."

It didn't really matter whether Dragon would want to know that a kid he'd used to take care of had died. It was the casual, easy way that Rocinante dismissed even the possibility that made Garp frown.

Garp hadn't seen his son any more recently than Rocinante. But he doubted the brat had changed enough to not care about the death of someone he'd been close to, even if he'd gone and become a criminal (and thrown away everything Garp had taught him).

The way Rocinante seemed to believe that someone caring about him was ridiculous, not even to be considered-- that was a change. Not a good one.

He recalled the horrible dread that had dogged his every step after learning of Rocinante's injuries-- when he'd believed that Rocinante was going to die. The way he'd thought, over and over, This is going to destroy Sengoku, without ever finding any consolation or respite. There had been no solution; the end seemed fixed. Rocinante's survival, when they'd learned of it, had been relief so intense that it had made Garp light-headed, and he'd realized he was holding his breath. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Rocinante's death would have been...

It was hard to admit it. Hard to even think of it. Grief seemed like such a light word for a truth with such weight as to be crushing. Garp knew the way it warped the shape of the world under its immensity, leaving what should have been the daily normal a cruel and alien unfamiliar. He had dreaded its approach.

And Rocinante wasn't even Garp's son. He would only have been in the ripples of that loss. Sengoku would have been caught in the deep and drowning ocean of it.

He was here. The brat was alive and here, not shattered on some frigid island far from home, and the relief of it still caught Garp off guard occasionally, and he had to remind himself to breathe. But the way the kid dismissed the thought that Dragon should be told-- that his death would be something worth informing people about-- Did he not know how much he was loved? Didn't he understand the impact his death would have had?

Did that ever occur to him, before he died, or did he sacrifice himself for a child without ever believing that it would hurt the people who'd cared for him since he himself was small?

Garp couldn't even begin to think how to ask.

Before he could say anything, there was a voice from behind the couch. "Who's Dragon?"

Rocinante glanced behind the back of the couch, looking down at the source of the question. "Garp's son," he said. "He's quite a bit older than me. He was... what, twenty-four when I was eight?" He looked up at Garp.

"That's right," Garp said, still feeling off-kilter. This must be the brat, then.

Rocinante looked back down. "Probably best not to mention him, though," he warned. "He's become... a bit of a criminal."

"He started a revolution," Garp said grimly.

"Yes, well," Rocinante sighed, "I was trying to be tactful."

There was a shuffling from behind the couch, then a small child scrambled up over the back, spider-like, to land on the seat beside Rocinante. He scowled at Garp.

Rocinante looked pained, but also distinctly amused. "Garp, this is Law," he said. "Law, this is Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp."

Law's head snapped up to look at Rocinante, and then back to Garp, with an analytical expression. Garp had seen the notes Tsuru had taken. This was Trafalgar D. Water Law. By both Law and Rocinante's account, just learning his name had been enough to make Rocinante leave behind his mission, for fear that it would be his doom if Doflamingo found out.

And there was another thing that had been bothering Garp. In all the years he'd known Rocinante, the kid had never said a single word about Garp's name. Not a whisper. But if learning Law held the same initial had been enough to make him abandon a mission he'd spent years convincing Sengoku he was fit for, then clearly Rocinante had been keeping something from Garp. Maybe a lot of something.

Superstition, Rocinante had said-- or so Sengoku had reported, and Garp didn't like getting information secondhand. What sort of superstitions did Celestial Dragons have? What might Rocinante have thought of him, once upon a time?

"So, you're Rocinante's kid, then!" Garp said cheerfully.

The brat just narrowed his eyes.

"You know, I think my grandson must be around your age," he continued. "You're, what, ten?"

Law seethed. "Thirteen."

"Right, right." The brat reminded him of Ace, perpetually furious with everyone and everything he encountered.

Looking long-suffering, Rocinante dropped one of the blankets on Law, ignoring his surprised squawk. As Law scrabbled with the blanket, eventually popping his head out and wrapping it around his shoulders, Rocinante said to Garp, "How is Luffy, then?"

"He's turning into a real menace," Garp laughed. "I've left him with a girl in town who takes care of him, and the food budget I send to her could feed half a ship! And the brat's still growing. He was tiny, last time I saw him. Can't imagine where he gets it from." Garp didn't mention that the last time he'd seen Luffy had been almost a year ago.

"I--" Rocinante paused, then shook his head. "Nevermind. Good to hear he's doing well."

"Say what you're thinking," Garp huffed.

Frowning, Rocinante reluctantly replied, "I was going to say that I was surprised you weren't raising him here at Marineford. And then I thought about it and realized it wasn't a surprise at all."

Now Garp understood his hesitation. He would have raised Luffy at Marineford, if he could. Taking him out on simple missions, letting him get used to a Marine's life. Rocinante could have been his babysitter; wouldn't that have been adorable?

But it had just never been an option. Better not to remind people that the revolutionary Dragon had a son. It wasn't a secret, not to anyone who went looking, but since Dragon wasn't using his family name anymore, Garp hoped to spare Luffy some of that stigma. He was just a kid, but Garp knew the Marines well enough to know that reminding the higher-ups that Dragon had a son-- a potential weak point-- could only end badly. Best to keep Luffy away from them until he was old enough to take care of himself, until he was an established Marine.

Garp managed a laugh. "Best that a boy like him grow up back home, anyways!" he said. "He's energetic as all hell. The brat needs the space of Dawn to run around. Besides, he's almost old enough to start training against the wildlife!"

"I'm sorry, the what?" Rocinante said, suddenly concerned.

Waving him off, Garp continued, "We should go visit! Once you're feeling better, of course. He's not that much younger than your boy. I'm sure they'd get along!"

Law looked skeptical. Rocinante looked as though he were trying very hard to hide a horrified expression and failing miserably. "That sounds nice," he said, strangled. "How old is Luffy again?"

"He's six now!" Garp replied brightly.

Law scowled.

Under normal circumstances, Rocinante could stand at attention for hours. It was as much a matter of discipline as stamina, and those were two virtues in which he had confidence.

These were not normal circumstances.

They had been hashing out the circumstances that had led up to Minion Island for nearly two hours, going over every minute detail. Between the effort of remembering every single word he said, preventing any discrepancies or contractions, and the growing burn of still-healing injuries, Rocinante was only on his feet due to stubborn willpower and an absolute refusal to give ground.

A tribunal like this, to determine whether an officer was guilty of dereliction of duty, was usually attended by the officer's direct superior. If Sengoku were here, Rocinante might have been less tense. But given the conflict of interest, the concern that Sengoku might be too lenient, the issue had been escalated to his commanding officer. Which meant Rocinante was being examined by Fleet Admiral Kong. A decent man. A fair man.

Rocinante was beginning to suspect that he was being kept on his feet as a punishment.

The rest of the tribunal was Government officials and legal experts: nine people, all told, with one spot respectfully left open to represent Sengoku. No one but Kong who knew Rocinante personally, and they'd only met briefly, a few times. It was almost like care had been taken to select perfect strangers. That was not protocol.

"The chief issue," said one of the officials, sitting at the end of the row, "is that you irrevocably ruined any chance of continuing your mission as a result of your actions. And there is no chance of sending another agent to take your place, as the Donquixote Pirates will be expecting that now!"

They had returned to this point over and over, like water circling a drain. Rocinante took a breath. "I don't dispute that," he said, calmly, as inoffensively as possible. "But, as long as the Donquixote Pirates don't know that I'm alive, the information I provided in my report has not been compromised. That includes the intel on their system in the North Blue and their future plans for Dressrosa. Operations against them can still continue, even if espionage would be too dangerous at this point." He tried to make it sound measured and thoughtful, rather than pleading-- or worse, frustrated. This was a waste of time and they all knew it.

The funny thing was: Rocinante's greatest fear had been that they'd question him about Law. But instead, they seemed to be harbouring suspicions that he was working for Doflamingo, during those unaccounted six months. They seemed to have dismissed Law entirely. Which was good, of course, but by now, Rocinante was beginning to grow concerned that he was going to be arrested for the treason he hadn't done, as opposed to the ones he very much had.

One of the officials was going over his report of the events on Minion Island again. Rocinante seriously considered whether collapsing under the exhaustion would be worth it. Of course, that would mean they'd have to reconvene the tribunal again later. He mustered up what little energy he had remaining to try to listen.

"And then there's the matter of the Ope-Ope!" the official said. Rocinante didn't tense. Four years of remaining neutral in the face of everything Doffy was capable of had given him ample practice in not reacting visibly to anything. But this was the first time they'd brought up the Ope-Ope. Not just in this tribunal; Rocinante had been so deliberately avoiding any discussion of the Devil Fruit that he'd made no mention of it in any report or briefing so far. "One of the most powerful Devil Fruits we know of, and it's in the hands of a pirate crew!"

The plan had been to let them believe that the Ope-Ope was with Doflamingo. It was easy. Obvious. It was what they would assume, the obvious explanation.

But it also wouldn't hold up forever. They'd notice soon that no one in Doffy's crew was using that Devil Fruit. And they'd probably assume it had been used to enact the Eternal Youth Surgery, but someday-- maybe five years, maybe ten-- someone would notice that Doflamingo was still aging. Someday, they'd figure out that he didn't have it. Someday, they'd ask where it was.

Rocinante made a split-second decision. He looked up at the official, brow furrowing slightly. "Doflamingo doesn't have the Ope-Ope."

Silence. For a long moment, they all just looked down at him in confusion. Then--

"Wait, you don't have it?" Rocinante added, with an appropriate dose of horror.

The officials looked between each other, until one of them managed to gather his bearings. "Commander," she said, "are you saying that the Donquixote Pirates don't have the Ope-Ope no mi?"

"Yes, that's-- I thought it was in Marine custody!" Rocinante said, allowing some feigned shock to slip through his neutral facade

"Why was this not in your report?" Fleet Admiral Kong asked.

"Because, sir," Rocinante said, "I thought it was in Marine custody."

A clamour of voices tried to speak at once, asking questions, until the Fleet Admiral held up a hand, still looking down at Rocinante. "Explain, Commander."

It only took the measure of a breath for Rocinante to fit this new detail into the story he'd been keeping track of. "Before Doflamingo shot me," he said, "he claimed that the Ope-Ope was not in the possession of the Barrels Pirates. If he was telling the truth, he believed that the Marines had moved early to acquire the Ope-Ope before he could. He specifically mentioned it as part of his..." Rocinante paused, tipping his head to the side slightly and letting his gaze slip away for a moment, "...justification for killing me." He refocused on Kong and the officials.

The Fleet Admiral had leaned forward, interest bright in his eyes. "Do you believe him?"

Rather than agree immediately, Rocinante hesitated for a moment, as though considering. "Yes, sir. I do. It's not Doflamingo's style, lying about a weakness. Even to an enemy he planned to kill, I think he'd try to present as strong an image as possible. It'd be more like him to lie and say he did have it." The bait was set. Now they just had to go for it.

Kong nodded consideringly. Two of the officials-- the ones on the end, who had been notably shrill in their accusations-- had their heads dipped together in conference, too quiet for Rocinante to hear. It would be disastrous if they decided to go looking for the Ope-Ope. The goal here was to reduce their suspicion of Rocinante, and hopefully defuse some of their anger. Right now, they believed Doflamingo had gained more from Rocinante's exposure as a spy than he actually had. Rocinante just needed to nudge things in the right direction.

"Is it possible," said one of the more thoughtful officials, "that the Barrels Pirates never had the Ope-Ope at all?"

The trap snapped shut.

"Perhaps," Kong replied.

"Wait," Rocinante jumped in. This was a risk, but better to push now than have someone else do it later. "That can't be possible. Didn't they provide evidence that they had it?"

Almost imperceptibly, he saw Kong sigh. "They gave us a detailed description of the Fruit," he revealed. "It was enough to be worth pursuit."

If Rocinante didn't know the truth-- if he were genuinely as innocent as he was pretending-- he would probably have been thoroughly pissed off to hear that. By the blues, how many times had he been shot? And all for a description?

Still, he understood that the Ope-Ope was valuable enough-- dangerous enough-- for the Marines to follow every lead they found. And the Barrels had been in possession of the Fruit, in truth.

The conversations in front of him crossed over each other, muted and hurried.

"He was an officer, he could have--"

"--it's not like there aren't records of it--"

"--replicas have been made before--"

"--enough to go on?"

Clearing his throat politely, Rocinante met Fleet Admiral Kong's eyes. "If I may, sir?"

"Go on," he replied.

"There might be a simpler explanation," he said, cautiously. He didn't want to offer any certainty, just another possibility. "I have the impression there was a clash between the Donquixotes and the Barrels, and I know he-- Doflamingo-- used the Birdcage to prevent escapees. If there were no survivors... Sir, is it possible that one of the Barrels Pirates might have simply eaten the Fruit?"

There was another quiet. Several of the officials looked chagrined.

"They'd lose their payout," the official on the end pointed out.

"If the other option was dying, sir, I think they might have accepted that loss," Rocinante replied, and immediately regretted it. It was too forward; he needed to back down.

Fortunately, it seemed that Kong didn't mind, even if the official bristled. "In which case, Doflamingo would have put the Fruit back into rotation himself," the Fleet Admiral mused, "and we're stuck waiting until someone else finds it." He looked at Rocinante. "Add this information into your report."

"Yes, sir," Rocinante said. "I apologize, sir, I shouldn't have assumed."

Kong nodded brusquely, then glanced down at a sheaf of papers on his desk. "There is still the matter of your actions," he said, voice taking a solemnly turn. "This tribunal remains unconvinced that your decisions were warranted."

This caught Rocinante off guard. He didn't say anything, but waited for an explanation.

"Your justification for leaving the Donquixote Pirates is that Trafalgar D. Law was in danger," Kong said. "However, you have also said that Doflamingo did not know Law's full name when you removed him from the crew."

There was some irony in the fact that Kong also, apparently, didn't remember Law's full name. "That is correct, sir."

"So was he in sufficient danger to warrant removal?" Kong pressed.

Rocinante wished he was surprised. He wished he felt more than a tired disappointment. "Sir, I was concerned that, if I waited until Doflamingo learned his name, I would not have a chance to get Law to safety." At least they weren't still quibbling about whether or not he had technically been absent without official leave. He had reported his absence to Sengoku, who had approved it. That was as official as a deep cover mission could get.

"Commander, I don't think you appreciate the severity of your actions," Kong said. It was a warning, enough to make Rocinante tense. "Your orders were to discourage any children from joining the Donquixote Pirates, but not to interfere with those who remained. You instead decided to aid one of those very children. Do you disagree?"

"No, sir."

"You abandoned a four-year-long mission and broke communication with your superior officer for six months," Kong continued, "to do precisely what you had been ordered not to do. Do you disagree, Commander?"

"No, sir."

"Can you give me any reasonable explanation for your actions?"

Rocinante looked at him. "I wasn't willing to let a child die. Sir." His ability to maintain composure was failing rapidly.

The Fleet Admiral's lips flattened into a line. He shook his head. "Commander, your priority should have been your mission."

He kept expecting to feel surprised. Like this all should have been a shock. Instead, there was just a slow anger smouldering in his chest. "Over the life of a child?"

With that same, somber tone, the Fleet Admiral replied, "It would have been lamentable, but necessary. In the pursuit of the greater good, sacrifices must be made."

"But to sacrifice a child?" Rocinante said, the last of his facade burning away in his desperation, as though he might receive some other answer.

"How many children will die in the Donquixote Pirates' continuing rampage?" the Fleet Admiral countered. "How many of their deaths could you have prevented, if you had continued your mission?"

"How can it be justice, to allow a child to be killed in service to the possibility of lives saved later?" Rocinante protested. "You have my intel! You can do something about the Donquixote Pirates! I won't kill a child through inaction. I couldn't call myself a Marine if I did."

The sound of Kong's fist slamming down on the desk as he stood up, eyes fierce, made Rocinante jump. "But you are a Marine!" he barked. "Those were your orders! And you chose to disobey them!" He sat back down. As he continued, his voice took on the final and decisive sound of authority. "Your ability to make appropriate and rational judgements has been clouded by your attachment to this child." He looked over at the official on the end, who nodded.

"The decision has been made to separate you and him."

Though Rocinante had spent most of his life trying to pretend that he shared none of his brother's worst qualities, those failings still persisted, ready to rear their ugly heads at his lowest moments. He had the same vicious temper as his brother, if less willingness to indulge it, and a ferocious streak of possessiveness that he could barely acknowledge without shame. It was with Law that he'd let that temper reveal itself, and he felt more guilty about his lack of regret for burning down hospitals than he did about the act itself.

Hearing, here, now, that they were going to take Law, Rocinante felt that blistering, unreserved fury more potently than he had in the entire six months they'd been on the run. An awful part of him screamed: they're going to take him they're going to take what's yours hurt them kill them don't let them take him!

He held that rage with iron self-control, so tense he was trembling.

"The boy is going to be sent to the South Blue," the Fleet Admiral was saying. "You will be demoted to lieutenant commander and stationed in the West Blue. Your actions have been unbefitting of a Marine."

Rocinante had spent the last weeks-- months-- years, really, in a paralysis of uncertainty, caught between morality and loyalty, painfully torn between what he believed to be right and what he believed to be the best way to do what was right. It was almost refreshing to be confronted with his own idealism. To feel his loyalty crumble and die.

"You're right," he said, suddenly. He looked up at Kong, who seemed rather relived. "I have not been acting as a Marine. And, furthermore, I cannot do what the duty of a Marine demands."

His coat was draped on his shoulders, cape-like, as was appropriate for a formal uniform. He pulled it off in one smooth motion and threw it to the ground between himself and the tribunal. "I renounce my position."

The thunderstruck horror he could see on the faces of every person before him, as he looked across the tribunal, was almost gratifying.

"I cannot accept any justice that demands the death of a child," he said. He spoke softly, but in the stunned silence, it carried.

He didn't wait for a response. With the last vestiges of energy, he turned around and left, limping slightly, pushing open the heavy doors himself.

He wasn't actually sure how he got back to Sengoku's apartment. Between the pain of having stood for so long and the absolute shock of what he'd done, he made his way there entirely on autopilot, only coming back to himself with his hand on the door. Everything felt like it was happening through a haze, as though he'd pushed it all away from himself.

Opening the door, he didn't bother to kick off his shoes. Sengoku would be mad, but-- ah, fuck. Sengoku would be much more mad about other things.

Law was sitting on the couch reading. He looked up when the door opened and the concern that immediately settled onto his face made Rocinante wonder what he must look like. "Cora-san, what--"

Rocinante crossed the room in two steps and sank to his knees beside the couch, pulling Law to his chest and just... holding him.

He was still here.

"Cora-san, you're shaking," Law said urgently.

"'T's fine," Rocinante managed, slumping against the side of the couch. "Just give me a moment."

Law was so warm and small. Rocinante could feel his heartbeat. Fragile. So fragile. He gasped in a breath and let it out in a sob.

"What's wrong?" Law demanded. "Cora-san. Cora."

"Nothing," Rocinante forced out. "I-- fuck. Nothing anymore."

"Rocinante?" Sengoku must have been in his room, or maybe the kitchen. He sounded alarmed. "Blues, are you alright?"

He tried to say he was fine, not to worry, but he couldn't manage to keep enough air in his lungs.

Sengoku came a few steps closer and then stopped. "Where's your coat?" he asked.

Rocinante flinched. It must have been enough for Law to feel, because the kid started squirming. When Rocinante loosened his grip, Law just turned to glare at Sengoku.

"Did they discharge you?" Sengoku said, disbelieving and angry. "I can't--"

"No," Rocinante said. "I quit."

"You what?"

Rocinante looked up, still clinging to Law, a protective arm around the kid's shoulders. "I can't fucking do this anymore," he said. "I can't-- they looked me in the fucking eyes and said I should have let Law die. They were going to take him--" His voice broke. Law went stiff and frozen. "I can't do this."

"Cora-san?" Law said, sounding very young.

When Rocinante looked at him, Law was pale. Rocinante ducked to press his forehead against the crown of Law's head. "Not leaving you alone," he said softly. "I promised."

"You're bad at keeping promises," Law said, muffled into Rocinante's shirt.

"Not this one." He breathed, and then looked up at Sengoku, meeting his eyes. "I'm not leaving you, kid."

He could see the confused frustration in Sengoku's eyes. He knew that this must seem like an absurdly abrupt change, to him. Rocinante had been preparing to return to the Marines; that had been the whole point of this mess. Without the knowledge of his simmering anger, the way he'd been confronted with Flevance and everything that had happened there-- everything that had happened to Law-- all this would be sudden. Even ill-advised.

"You quit?" Sengoku said. He might not have meant to sound angry, but it still made Rocinante's hackles go up.

Setting Law to the side, Rocinante tried to stand. "I can't--"

Disconcertingly, his vision greyed around the edges, forcing Rocinante to sink back down. He could feel Law clutching at his arm, but he could only focus on his heartbeat in his ears.

He blacked out. Probably just for a moment, but that made it no less disorienting. It was dizzying. Even painful, with the burning in his muscles becoming impossible to ignore.

"I think," he gasped out, "I'm just going to stay down here."

Law's hands pressed against his chest. He suspected that the kid was trying to decide whether or not it would be worth the risk to use his Devil Fruit. Opening his eyes (ignoring how much worse that made his dizziness), he reached out to lay a hand on Law's head. The kid's hat had fallen off-- maybe when Rocinante had put him down, maybe sometime after-- and his hair was soft under Rocinante's hand. That was still unfamiliar. For as long as Rocinante had known him, Law's hair had been dull and thin, increasingly dry and fragile as his health failed. Even the colour had been dimmed, he knew now. With the Amber Lead removed, the black of his hair had a richness and depth that Rocinante never even realized could be possible.

Law's scowl really was impressive. He was able to fit so much anger in his tiny body-- or maybe it was that the anger just seemed like it was so much more, because it couldn't fit in someone so small. "You," Law seethed, "fucking idiot."

"In my defense," Rocinante said, "you try standing for three hours straight and see how well you fare."

"Your muscles have holes in them!" Law said. "Those--" he cut himself off, and though he didn't turn to look directly at Sengoku, his eyes flashed in that direction for just a moment. Even Law wasn't brazen enough to say what he really thought about Marines in front of an Admiral.

Sengoku was kneeling beside him, close enough to touch. He hadn't reached out to Rocinante. But he was watching him closely, with a clouded expression. Conflicted.

He stood. "I need to speak to the Fleet Admiral," he said, not meeting Rocinante's eyes. Before Rocinante could find the words to say, he was out the door and gone.

Into the silence following the closing of the door, Law said, "What a dick." He glanced up at Rocinante hesitantly, worried he'd overstepped.

Rocinante ruffled Law's hair, just to hear him yelp in irritation. He smiled, and sat up a little more comfortably, propping himself up against the front of the couch. Law picked his hat back up and put it on his head, frowning petulantly at Rocinante. Cute.

Trying to explain himself to Sengoku would be impossible. Without explaining what had happened-- where Law was from-- the slow, painful realization that the ideals of Justice he'd dedicated his life to were fundamentally broken-- No. He couldn't explain it to Sengoku. But he wouldn't apologize either.

"You know," Rocinante said, voice hoarse, "that actually went better than I expected."

Law rolled his eyes, but he seemed mollified. "Dumbass."

It was late by the time Sengoku came back. Law had gone to bed (reluctantly), but Rocinante had stayed up waiting for him. Still, when the key rattled in the lock, Rocinante jerked upright, hissed in pain, and realized he'd dozed off on the couch. The clock on the wall said it was just before midnight.

When Sengoku pushed open the door, his coat was draped over one arm. He looked surprised to see Rocinante up, but he didn't say anything until his coat was hung up and his shoes off. Rocinante set the book he'd been reading, now rather unfortunately creased, to the side and waited for Sengoku to say anything.

Finally, Sengoku sat beside him on the couch. "I had to apologize to Garp," he admitted.

Rocinante blinked. This was hardly what he'd expected "Why?" he asked.

"Because he told me all this might happen," Sengoku admitted reluctantly, "and I didn't take it well."

"He-- wait, he thought I was going to quit?"

"He expected it would happen." With a tired sigh, Sengoku reached out to squeeze Rocinante's shoulder. "You probably don't remember what Dragon was like, right before he left," he said.

They'd never talked about Dragon. Only glancing references, quickly redacted. Garp and Rocinante had occasionally reminisced about him, but always quietly, privately. But Rocinante didn't think he'd ever heard Sengoku say his name, not in all the time since Dragon had turned traitor.

He was too caught off guard to speak, but that must have been answer enough.

"I don't think Dragon would have let you see it. He wasn't doing well, those last months. I won't tell you everything-- and I doubt I know the whole story-- but in short, Dragon had seen some missions end very badly. People died. Friends of his, civilians, men under his command. He lost faith in the ability of the Marines to carry out justice."

Pausing, Sengoku looked over at Rocinante searchingly. Rocinante realized he was holding his breath and exhaled slowly.

"I admit, I didn't see much of him in that time," Sengoku said. "But the few times I did, I understood why Garp was worrying. He had become... like a shadow of himself. Tired. Bitter. Hopeless, really, and that was the problem.

"And then one day, he was gone, with nothing but a note to keep Garp from assuming the worst. It wasn't long after that the first stirrings of his damned revolution started cropping up."

"What does that have to do with me?" Rocinante said.

"After he visited you," Sengoku revealed, "Garp walked into my office and told me that you reminded him of nothing so much as Dragon, right before he left the Marines."

"And you didn't..." Rocinante considered his words. "...appreciate that?"

"I was incandescently furious," Sengoku replied dryly. "I told him that I didn't like what he was insinuating and we," he waved a hand dismissively, "fought."

This was probably a polite way of saying that they had destroyed Sengoku's office, and maybe the surrounding ones too. No wonder Garp hadn't visited since; he was probably trying to play it safe.

"But even then, I saw even then what he meant," Sengoku said quietly.

Rocinante bristled. "I'm not... going off to become a criminal." As he was speaking, he heard the lie. He already had betrayed the Marines. But still, it was galling to have his emotions dissected and compared in such a way.

Shaking his head, Sengoku reached out, then hesitated. He dropped his hand, but his brow was still furrowed. "You can barely talk about the mission," he pointed out. "The guilt is killing you."

"I'm fine."

"Rocinante, you kidnapped a child and then nearly died trying to protect him." Sengoku's voice was level and even.

"What the hell was I supposed to do?" Rocinante almost shouted, before remembering that Law was in the other room and lowering his voice. "I couldn't just leave him!"

"You could have asked for help," Sengoku said.

"No!" Rocinante almost laughed, because-- "I couldn't! That's been made very clear to me. You-- none of you-- were ever going to see Law as a priority!" It was worse than that. The Amber Lead would have been a death sentence on the spot. But even without it, they just wouldn't have cared. "I couldn't--" he didn't realize he was crying until a sob tore through the words "couldn't just fucking let him die!"

Sengoku touched his shoulder, but Rocinante shook him off and stood up, away from the couch, ignoring the reawakened pain movement caused.

"This is what I mean," Sengoku said, and Rocinante did laugh at that.

"Fuck's sake." He could hear the cruelty in his voice-- Doflamingo's voice-- but he couldn't not say it. "What good is any of it, if I can't save one kid? What sort of greater good outweighs the life of the kid right in front of me, who is going to die if I don't help? Is this what the Marines are for? Seems to me we're only working for some hypothetical perfect future, where everything is good and there's no need for us anymore, but what does that matter when people need help in the now? Are we going to get that future by letting everyone die when it's not convenient to save them?"

He had to stop to breathe, because he could feel himself slipping off the thin ledge of self-control. He pushed his hair out of his face, shaking.

"It can't be better to sacrifice people now in the hope of something ideal later," Rocinante said. "I'd rather save as many people as I can, even if it's messy. Even if it isn't perfect. Because-- you can't be accountable to a hypothetical. If a Marine's Justice is meant to put ideas over people, then I can't be a Marine. Even if they weren't going to take Law." He took a shaking breath and met Sengoku's eyes. "So. I guess Garp was right."

Sengoku watched him. "You already know I don't agree with you."

"I know," Rocinante said.

There was a quiet. Then Sengoku shook his head. "I won't try to change your mind. Only a fool would try to separate you and Law now, and I like to think slightly better of myself than that. We'll figure out what to do next." He stood up and made his way over to Rocinante. This time, when he put a hand on Rocinante's shoulder, Rocinante didn't pull away. "Get some sleep, son."

Once he heard the sound of Sengoku's bedroom door closing, Rocinante sat back down. He leaned back and threw an arm over his eyes. He didn't hear Law leave his room, or the pad of footsteps into the living room, but he did feel the cushion give under the weight of another person. Law leaned against Rocinante's side.

"Did I wake you?" Rocinante said, kicking himself for not using his Devil Fruit.

"No," Law snorted derisively.

"Eavesdropping is a very bad habit," Rocinante replied, well aware of the hypocrisy. He was a spy, after all. He lifted his arm and turned his head to look down at Law. "How you doing?"

"You're very stupid," Law informed him.

"So you're fine, then. Good." Rocinante dropped his arm back over his eyes, and there was quiet for a long minute.

"It's not fair," Law said suddenly.

Sensing that whatever Law was going to say could probably get them both arrested, Rocinante snapped his fingers, settling a Silence over them both. "Many things aren't, kiddo," he said. "What specifically?"

"This. All this." Law gestured at him. "You saved me and you're getting in trouble for it. That's not fair!"

"Well, we could be in a lot more trouble," Rocinante sighed. He rubbed at the tear tracks on his cheeks. "This is probably the best outcome we could have asked for. Besides, I meant it when I said we were going to make enemies of the Government." He pulled Law into a one-armed hug. "Remember I told you, we're going to see the world together."

"We're not staying here?" Even trying to disguise it, the relief in Law's voice was evident.

"Nah." His tone was light, but it turned serious as he continued. "It won't be safe here for long. I'm not sure that it's safe here now. Like I said, our story won't hold up forever, and we want to be as far away as possible when they get suspicious. Better to leave now than have to escape later."

Rocinante looked down at Law, and a delayed sort of awe struck him. Sure, they had no plans, and eventually they'd probably end up on the run again. But with all the stress since he'd woken up-- the contradictory and conflicting emotions chasing each other in his heart-- he hadn't had a moment to stop and revel in the fact that Law was alive.

Law was going to live.

They'd won. No matter what came next, Rocinante had succeeded in the way that mattered most. His kid was cured, no longer dying slowly, but safe and healthy. What else really mattered?

"Where are we going to go?" Law asked.

"There's a whole world out there," Rocinante replied. "We can go wherever we want."