Work Text:
Welding
"I told you not to name them," Kid growled.
Law sighed. Feathers. He looked around the enclosure. Feathers everywhere.
"How many chickens do you need named Lami, or Cora, or Mum or Dad?"
Kid had a point. Law had quite a few. Or had had. Eight of the rescues were named Rosi, six of the exotics, Cora, two of the bantam Cochins, Lami, and a ton of them were Mama or Papa, depending. Heart, Love, and Maple were other choices.
"Especially if we're gonna eat 'em." Kid pushed up his goggles. "You knew we were gonna."
"Only Doffy," Law protested, lifting a mauled rooster with the toe of his boot. "He was slated for the solstice."
Kid laughed. Of course he was.
The only time Kid heard Law use the ex-warlord Doflamingo Donquixote's shortened name was in the chicken coop. Throwing feed into the run, Law would also call for the "young master," with a click of his tongue, a name Doflamingo had insisted his crew use. Only then.
Baby 5, in charge of Rehabilitation Tuesdays at Law's veterinarian practice, let it slip that Law had never used honorifics, even when he'd been under the protection of the warlord's very pink wing. She'd been another who'd also escaped the Donquixote Family.
"You know, if any of the eggs were fertilised and hatched, Doffy woulda lived on regardless," Kid said.
Law tipped his hat. "Don't pin the sins of the cock on the issue of the cock that came before it…"
Kid groaned but Law's puns eased the aches and pains that rode with them. Wounds from toppling old world powers occasionally gouged the present like rivulets hardened into soil.
Killer tapped the outside of the enclosure. The run had ways and means of being locked but wasn't always. Law or Kid's haki generally detected predators before they struck. Kid's fruit also aligned with magnetic poles to track hunters. Except for Machete, his best friend's weasel.
Machete, high maintenance as he was, was family. Nocturnal, as with all weasels, he'd seemed a little off-colour, so Killer had brought him to Kid and Law's when he'd dropped off some supplies. He'd intended to ask Law to check on him.
But looks were deceiving and, despite the sun, Machete escaped from his carrier in Killer's unmanned truck before he could be brought into the practice. He'd then escaped from the truck and slipped into the pen.
How the little guy had been going to eat everyone was anyone's guess, but it was in a weasel's nature to store more than it could digest. Survival instinct. Law kinda understood.
Lami, Mum, Dad, Doffy, Cora, Maple, Heart, Love, Rosi, gone. Eggs, all gone. But not Machete, now secure in the truck in a cage Kid had fetched from the clinic.
Law faced Killer.
"Sorry, man," Killer said.
Law shrugged.
"Like, shouldn't the pen be closed anyway?" Killer added.
It had been. Weasels were clever.
"Shit happens," Law said, and pulled on rubber gloves and fetched black plastic bags to scrape, clean up and dispose of the remains of the flock.
One enclosure after the other populated Kid and Law's land, including a home for Frida and Frodo. The two giant birds, as competitive as Kid and Luffy, enjoyed having a place to peacefully roost from time to time. Law was also the best at softly massaging the area around their ears.
The shelters shut out foxes, hawks and other hunters but there was sanctuary for the raptors too. Escape artists, most birds could trigger whatever kind of release-lock Law had created, and a murmuration of swallows was a breathtaking sight, so Law didn't grouse too much if his avian visitors let the doors swing wide. At those times, he scanned the area and extended his haki to detect any carnivores that might've infiltrated the birdhouses while he ogled the sky.
Law bristled with the idea of jailing something for its own good. If he'd listened to Sister's urging, if he'd done what he was told, he'd be dead and dead and dead some more. But Killer was Kid's bestie and Law couldn't go against him, and he also didn't want to sever his own connection due to an oversight. Machete was normally leashed when they visited, but Killer had said the weasel had been lethargic and not at all cooperative beyond letting Killer place him in the carrier.
Kid didn't say much. What was done was done, but because Law cleaned up the carnage and the hens had nowhere to run, it rankled. It'd blow over. Shovelling carcasses into the heavy duty plastic bags, Law told himself it would.
And then Kid, Killer and their crew had flown out to the massive mines up north on their regular twelve days on, one week off gig, fitting above ground frameworks on site. Law knew they didn't really dig the mindset that came with the red dust isolation and heavy machinery, but they were construction workers, engineers and mechanics. They got starry-eyed at trucks double the size of houses and were going to stay up there for as long as it took to get the job done, within the requirements of their contracts.
Law's practice kept him busy with fur-balls, broken-legged dogs, and crooked-winged, bush-rescued birds. He raked the sand in the pen and listened for cries on the wind. Nothing. The quiet of the senselessly dead unnerved him. He should be used to it by now but it felt like a betrayal to numb himself.
Mihawk didn't care but he very much did, and he watched Law like…well…a hawk. It was his name, after all. His hawk Esmerelda, cantankerous and capricious like Perona, was now—proverbially—eating out of Trafalgar's inked-up (but gloved) hand. Extending a wing and stretching out a foot at the same time, she was at home with him. How dare someone with such juvenile tattoos quell the savage beast?
Then again, Law calmed chickens. Mihawk trained raptors. He was the best falconer on the land, but his birds were more aloof than usual when feeling queasy. Mihawk set his fluted porcelain cup and saucer on the table a little louder than intended, and Law placed a steadying hand around the bird. Smoker, a fellow bird-enthusiast, stared at Mihawk and then down at the table.
Law had taken care of Smoker's racing pigeons for years, and Smoker knew his ex's general disdain for humans didn't extend to animals. The doc even put aside his annoyance of the freewheeling-Luffy—the kid mostly responsible for this peaceful era—to assess the wellbeing of a stag beetle or two when asked.
Mihawk was an ex-warlord too, but had connections with Luffy's right hand man, and quietly slipped and sipped his way back into civilian life after the battles. Outside of war, Smoker's friendship with Mihawk was formed when Esmerelda had taken to perching on Smoker's pigeon loft, talons clacking across the corrugated plastic roof, frightening the birds into near coronary arrest.
"Relax, Princess." Smoker wasn't talking to Law or the bird. "He's the best and that's what you want for Esme."
Mihawk glowered at the ex-marine, but he was right. Law hooded Esmeralda and she remained perched on his desecrated arm.
"She's doing well," Law said. He passed the bird over to Mihawk, who did not feel a pang of jealousy at the forlorn warble. Hawks did not get attached, although they might get confused. Law attracted all around him, although Mihawk found it to be an attraction of the most shallow kind. But his Esme was not shallow…or maybe she was. He straightened.
He didn't feed his birds shot carcasses but he couldn't control what she ate on his sprawling property. Hunters trespassed. Lead fragments had lodged in her gastrointestinal tract and the possibility of poisoning was high. Law detected the lead on a standard check-up and used his enviable devil fruit to remove the danger. Today was her follow-up consultation, and Esmeralda behaved for Law in a way she behaved for very few.
Law opened cupboards and pulled out herbs and leaves and mixed up a tonic to be applied by dropper. Into food, rather than directly into the beak.
"Let me know if she gives you a hard time."
Early afternoon birdsong washed over Smoker. The rolling green curves of Law and Kid's land gave them space to do their own thing. A bottlebrush in flower—red against the overcast sky—surged against the kitchen window. Small oblong blocks of grey fruit, waiting a few years to release seeds, dotted the branches. The window opened outwards into the yard and a chill slipped into the room. White-flaked, it was budged loose from its warped frame every morning in the colder months, and forced back into place each evening.
Law stood at the sink washing the dishes, the breeze slipping past him. Each visitor had a favoured cup or mug. Mihawk's was frilled crockery. Love of the floral was a taste Mihawk shared with Kid. Only Law and Smoker and whoever the fuck Smoker told when he was on a bender knew that.
Smoker eyed his cigars restrained in their box on the table. Law, wiping his hands on a tea-towel, poured him another coffee to help beat the cravings.
"No cake?" Smoker asked. Ordinarily there was at least one kind of dessert on the table when visitors called.
Law slowed in stirring Smoker's coffee (he liked his coffee sweet), before the ting of the spoon against the sides of the mug once again filled the room. He placed the drink in front of Smoker and sat down across from him, sipping his own.
"Supply chain disruption. Egg shortage."
Smoker cocked his head. "Hmmm." Penguin's Patisserie was one of Law's customers. Smoker turned his mug (a plain olive glaze) and stared at Law. He was covering something up.
Law stared at the flaking paint, then back at Smoker. "Killer's weasel went on a rampage in the chook shed."
Smoker winced. His own pigeon loft after a fox had crept in hadn't been pretty.
"Machete, the weasel, wasn't leashed. Was in his carrier but chewed his way out."
The coffee in Smoker's mug rippled as Law jigged his leg. "Killer thought Machete was under the weather, wanted me to see him, and left him in the truck when he dropped off a few things for Kid."
"Not so out of sorts then?"
"Naah," Law rubbed his arm and looked back at Smoker. "What d'you do?"
Smoker had gradually built up his flock again, but it was a failure on a caretaker's part when their charges were hurt. It wasn't always apparent, but Law tried to protect those he cared about, often at his own cost. Maybe it was something that Mihawk's raptors understood.
"Where's Kid?"
"Up north," Law said.
"Did he see it?"
Law nodded. "Aftermath."
"What'd he say?"
Law hunched his shoulders. "Not much." Kid and Killer were bonded for life.
Smoker finished his cup and exhaled. "Let's go see."
Smoker liked birds. He was surrounded by them, although some were idiots. His marine colleagues, Tashigi and Aokiji, for instance, but he had always listened to Vice-Admiral Tsuru on threat of his life. Walking along the grounds of Succour, Kid and Law's land, Smoker tuned-in to the tumble of bird calls and protests.
The raptors preferred the high trees on the border of the property and mostly ate fish they caught from the ocean lapping Succour's far shore, instead of preying on the captive non-aggressive species. Even so, Law and Kid designed barriers emitting sub-sonics to help distance the hunters from the more helpless stock. Territorial, the more aggressive species were also separated from each other when they roosted on their land.
Light from Kid's workshop spilt into the night when he was home. Blips, waves and lines striated the equipment lining the room. Kid was interested in the effects of electromagnetics on the birds' awareness of magnetic fields and their homing patterns. On quiet evenings, Law holed up in the room with a book, and the pair could be found discussing whose turn it was to fix the fencing or if they could afford another aviary. Kid's own aviary of bullfinches, both robotic and physical, thrived under Law's care. Protecting the birds made Law happy, but Kid loved seeing the wildlife circle their land too.
The door squeaked as Smoker and Law stepped inside the pen. Smoker knew Law wasn't really sentimental. He'd lost livestock before and had needed to cull it at times due to sickness or overcrowding.
"You gotta stop letting 'em run free." Smoker pulled out his cigar case and counted the three inside. Maybe he should take up chewing tobacco. He shoved the case back into his top pocket.
"And you gotta stop fucking up your lungs." Law closed the door behind them. "They were in the run." He'd ordered more stock. He bent down and picked up a feather. "The entrance was secure."
Smoker took in the coop. Fluff—new growth closer to the core of a moulting bird's body—and a few bloody smears that hadn't yet worn away signalled the massacre if you looked closely enough. It wasn't like Law to dwell.
"What's the story?" Smoker asked. "What's got you rattled?"
Law wasn't sure he knew. He straightened some of the nesting boxes. "Dunno. Reminds me of Dressrosa—" Law caught Smoker's eye to check that they were on the same page. "Luffy and I had planned to face down Doflamingo."
Smoker scoffed. Another idiot bird, but one to be feared. He still had the scars from the bastard's attempt to garrotte him when the marines had encroached on his underworld dealings, shortly before the Dressrosan battles.
Law ran a hand up the back of his neck. Embarrassed. "I was invested."
As an ex, Smoker knew all about Law's investment. He didn't blame him. Law had always felt a responsibility for those he cared about, even when they'd arrest him as soon as look at him. Doflamingo had murdered Rosinante, Law's benefactor and Doflamingo's own brother. Rosinante had also been an undercover marine. He'd been one of the good ones.
"Luffy didn't give a shit about anything we'd talked about, and we started out strong, but he rushed in and screwed things up almost immediately." Law drummed his fingers along the henhouse's edges. "All fucking feet and fists, he played our trump card too early."
Smoker grimaced at the thought of Luffy running havoc. "Not the plan?"
Law shook his head. Not the plan. "Short-term, it was effective, but Doflamingo manipulated one of his lackeys Bellamy to attack Luffy, and Luffy wouldn't K.O. him. Some bullshit code of honour where he kept fighting Bellamy because Bellamy had no choice. Joker controlled the strings. But Luffy wouldn't bring Joker's man down, even to defend himself."
Smoker nodded, sat against the recently scrubbed-clean roost. Law continued, "Like not cutting out a growth to save a life cos' the incision hurts." Law tugged a hem free from where it had caught at the top of his boot. "Although, only if the anaesthetist is incompetent, of course."
"Of course," Smoker grinned.
"Thing was, I don't care how Straw Hat fights, but it left me wide open. We'd planned to attack Doflamingo together, but with Luffy occupied with Bellamy, it was just me and Joker and a snot-dripping executive." Law straightened, looked across at Smoker. "And don't get me wrong—it was my fight, but Doflamingo severed my arm, then he and snot-face played toss-the-Law-beanbag, and then he shot me the fuck up. Bam-bam-bam." Law hit the back of his palm into the cup of the other. "Rapid fire." Law bent his index finger, pulling a trigger. "Kept shooting. Firing nothing. All barrels empty."
"Get in any of your own shots?"
"A few." Law's hands dropped, and he reminded himself of the blood dripping from Doflamingo's fingers when he'd gripped Kikoku defensively. And sterben blade, gamma knife. He'd got a few shots in. He'd been outclassed.
"You won, though, yah?"
"If winning is dodging death, it's stitched into my timeline."
"So what's the gripe?"
Law resisted the urge to grab his arm. It had mended. Princess Mansherry, the Dressrossan healer, was good. But the injury had its twinges and aches.
"To clarify," Law glanced over at Smoker. "Escaping death within a hair's breadth of good luck after a shit-ton of bad seems to be stitched into my life line." He traced it on his palm. "I appreciate the faith that Luffy had in me, except I don't think he did. " Law folded his fingers, then released. "He just didn't think. Later, maybe that faith was founded, but not at that point."
"You extricated him from Marineford."
Law nodded. Extricate was the word.
"Took some balls."
Law waved the comment away. But Smoker had been at Marineford too; Straw Hat Luffy, the wildcard pirate sweeping in to rescue his brother, only to lose him to Admiral Akainu. Law and Smoker had shared stories.
"So how's it tie into your chickens and Kid?"
Law took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Sounds childish, but at the time, in Dressrosa, seemed Luffy was okay with swapping me out for a guy devoted to licking the crust from the eyelets of Doflamingo's boots, even as those boots shoved him face-first into a pile of shit." Law paused, cast a look around the chook house.
"And later…." He ran a mental list of the items he'd need for his new flock of birds. Names wouldn't be difficult. Kid was right. He was predictable. "…I took him, Bellamy, from the castle, cos' Luffy seemed to have a stake in what happened. Ex-crew member or something."
"You were part of the Family."
Law nodded. "Bellamy joined after I'd left."
"And—"
"He came at me for cleaving him from his beloved executioner. Luffy attracts supporters like bees to honey, but man…"
Law thought back to Trebol's staff, dripping with flammable mucus, poised to crush his tonsils, the ache of being chained to Doflamingo's throne. Cora's throne. Luffy refusing to take the loss of keys to the cuffs that bound Law throughout Dressrosa seriously. "Straw Hat was okay to let me get wasted for that? To support Doflamingo's claims of ownership? The humiliation?"
The two men exited the empty pen, door wide, and circled the grounds. A gravel path hosted puddles in the winter but was pleasant in other seasons, and the skies were often clear even in the wetter months.
"Sure you didn't have a crush on Mugiwara?"
Law blanched. "I was with you."
Smoker nodded. He'd been recovering from Doflamingo's attack, but had also been worried.
"So, it's not Luffy valuing Bellamy that bothered me, but that my life was the lesser of two options. A knocked-out Bellamy was still an alive Bellamy."
"How's it circle back 'round to the chickens?"
"Not really sure. Killer isn't Bellamy in any way and we get on. He's great when Kid's too much."
The crunch of gravel underfoot brought curious birds to the front of their enclosures as the two men passed. Pecking at the mesh for feed.
"But Kid didn't say anything about the carnage," Smoker said.
Law clicked his tongue against his teeth at the birds before answering. "Not really, no. And Killer would've worried about euthanising." A kite called sharply above. Law looked up. "I wouldn't suggest it, and weasels have a taste for meat and eggs, but it rubbed me the wrong way, saying the run should be closed. They know how I operate."
"And it was shut."
"And Kid didn't say anything," Law said.
"They're captain and first mate."
"I know. I don't expect a loss or lack of loyalty between the two, and when Shachi or Penguin are idiots, it's not my job to police 'em, but…ah."
In one of the last major battles Luffy's crew had been quick to accuse Law of screwing up a plan laid out by their samurai allies, but apologised for their captain once they realised he, not Law, was the catalyst. Later, the samurai and their cohort had suggested—insisted on—wiping out Law's men when they were imprisoned, accusing them of subterfuge. Up to that point, Law had done all he could to keep the samurai's aims safe, even urging one of Luffy's men to give his life, if push came to shove, rather than endanger their end goals.
They'd been strong but hollow words, retracted when Law had saved his own crew, and later in the heat of battle when he'd urged the allied crews to value their lives over any plan. But he had been dedicated.
Doctors, ignorant about the disease that faced them when he was young, labelled him a monster. So he needed to be believed now, backed by those he loved and trusted. Law had killed the World Noble who'd told him he carried the legacy of a monster, but also that of a saviour, and that Noble—Cora, Rosinante—had been Law's saviour, so Law was a monster. It couldn't be denied. But he wasn't born that way, and Law was a catalyst rather than the perpetrator of the death, even if Doflamingo and the old world powers relentlessly defined his existence as nothing but cursed.
Anything wrong was Law's fault, even when it wasn't. Just for being. And there was really no-one to blame for the death of his flock, but Machete had been the one with a bloody muzzle and full belly. Law had fought to slice and recast the limitations set upon him, so Killer's nonchalance and Kid's silence, even if cloaking true feelings, hurt. What opinion did Kid and his crew really have of him?
Law didn't claim victories unearnt. He'd shared ciphers with Kid that had helped the allies to crack codes the elites had used to hold onto the old world order. This new knowledge had helped reshape and rebalance everything. He'd shared the ciphers with Kid to keep things fair, and so they'd meet again.
Law apologised when needed. Acknowledgement without true apology was like pinpointing graves on a map and refusing to see the coordinates had been drawn by ghosts.
"Cora," Law pointed to a Silkie a friend had donated. She was travelling the Blues for a while. He then pointed to a Leghorn nestled in her laying box. "Cora," he said. He picked up a young bantam Frizzle that struggled for a bit under his arm before relaxing. "And this stylish lady is Lami."
Smoker approved. From the little he had learnt about Law's sister, the exotic wore her name well. Law had a good and content flock. "Beefed up the security?"
"Killer asked the same thing last night."
Law and Kid spoke a few times a week, and Kid had been having drinks at Killer's onsite demountable when he'd called.
"Not much more we can do, really," Law said to Smoker.
Law didn't mind butterflies at all. Luffy's collection of stag beetles was the coolest thing about him. It was unusual to see one in the chook pen, though. Law changed the straw and made sure the birds were healthy, that there was no extreme pecking order, and that no infections set in from any attacks or flurries.
The hens ate insects so it was strange that the silver butterfly, pretty with a petroleum shimmer, was active in the coop and not in the chickens' bellies, but animals moved according to their own wants and needs.
The next day when Law stepped into the pen, a water rat lay on its side by the entrance. Blood pressure spiking, Law glanced around for damage, but the chooks clucked softly, eggs were intact, all seemed right. Gloves on, he checked the rodent. Maybe it had died of fright from one of the raptors, although they shouldn't be near the pen. Or perhaps it was diseased.
Law gently felt around the rat's kidney and liver, then its chest. Its heart beat a slow, steady rhythm, indicating deep sleep. It was a wild animal. Sleeping so soundly in such close contact with a human was a concern.
Law puzzled. Had it eaten too much fruit, or got into some supplies—had it been baited? He ran a hand along the fur near its neck and found a small puncture. Curious. A neat, quick clip, that shouldn't have caused too much harm. Maybe something—someone?—had targeted the rat and tranquilised it.
Wire, Kid's project manager, might like to try to tame it, but the rat probably had a family and nest. Law kept it for observation, drawing blood for analysis, and released it the following day near the river and well away from the ocean and the chook house.
Smoker used any excuse to strip himself of clothing, not that he'd admit it. Law knew though and smiled as his ex entered the kitchen at the back of the veterinarian clinic with a rolled up bundle in his arms, that bundle being his shirt.
Smoker jerked his head to indicate that Law should stop drooling and place a mat on the table. He then laid his shirt on the plastic surface.
"Found her sleeping," Smoker said. "Strangest thing."
Law unrolled Smoker's shirt, unfortunately not from the man himself (Law was with Kid and no other, but lay down in front of great beauty. Figuratively, not biblically). He stretched out an unconscious fox on the table. Law felt its pulse and breath and checked for swelling or other injuries. There were none. He parted the fur near the neck and, like the rat, a small wound punctured the skin. The fox had been tranquilised.
"Where did you find…" Law checked, "Her?"
"Near the start of the enclosures."
"Near the quails?'
"They're okay," Smoker said in response to Law's worried glance.
"I'll chip her and it'll give Kid and me a heads-up if she's on the grounds again."
It wasn't safe to release her into the wild while she was out, so Law caged her with blankets and towels and lukewarm-warm water. He'd free the fox when she woke.
"Just found it this morning." Kid patted the side of the crane, the rumble of engines quiet now at the end of the day's work.
"Was hoping you'd find it earlier," Law spoke on the other side of the visual den-den mushi.
"You're always so sneaky with your expressions of love."
"You mean deep, I'm always so deep." Law turned on the lights as the house grew dim. "Certain types of adoration don't sit well with you."
"Nor you."
"What'd you find?" Law asked.
Kid ran his fingers along the stitching sewn into the hem of his shirt, the black thread the same colour as the shirt. "A prancing bull, a mechanical bullfinch, and a love heart or two."
Law laughed. "You got all that from touch?"
"Nah, borrowed Killer's magnifying glass."
"And a cockatrice," Heat, one of the Kid's crew, yelled from the background. "Man, that was wild, all the plumes stitched into the inner panel."
"That's the biggest one," Law said to Kid.
"Didn't want to mention it," Kid said, colouring a little, "Because, y'know…?"
Law never took Smoker to be catlike, but here he was dragging a slumbering Mihawk like a dead rat into the practice's kitchen, the swordsman's arm looped over Smoker's back and shoulders.
"Toss him over there." Law waved at an overstuffed, clawed and scratched armchair in the corner. The cat hairs alone would give Mihawk the screaming heebie-jeebies. The last one to claw and purr on its surface had been very, very white.
"A little too much of the good red wine?" Law asked.
"Nah." Smoker opened his hand and released a …butterfly, and it circled the room and took aim at and…shot Mihawk.
"Again?" Smoker asked, none too perturbed at the quiet grunt and shudder from the armchair. "Say, Law, how many tranquilliser injections can a grown man handle?"
Law grimaced, pressed two fingers to his neck, mirroring where the projectile had landed on Mihawk. Doflamingo knew the answer to that question.
But first, the butterfly, or Mihawk? The insect was not targeting Smoker or himself.
Mihawk let out a very ungainly snore. Law turned his attention to the butterfly. Kid had outdone himself. Law plucked it from the air and clicked a button on the insect's thorax and it sent a message (not darts) somewhere. Its antennae twitched and a screen opened and here was Kid, staring at a device (Law assumed), trying to figure something out.
"Eustass-ya." Kid might deserve a bit of distance. Law didn't know, so he threw in the last name and Flevancian-suffix for good measure, despite being on more than a first name basis with Kid.
Kid jumped to Law and Smoker's amusement, Smoker's cigar plume spilling into Law's face. He coughed. "Put that thing out."
Smoker shrugged an apology and extinguished the cigar.
"Sorry." He looked at Mihawk and Law turned the butterfly's camera Mihawk's way too.
"You tazed him, Kid." Then Law swung around on Smoker.
"You were smoking near my birds?"
"Chickens."
"Near my chickens?!" They were new, and Law wasn't ready to lose any more of them so soon after the last deaths.
"Want me to taze him too?" Kid asked.
Law considered it, but shook his head. "Folks have overdosed on Midazolam," he murmured under his breath, but it worked for birds in the right dosage. So Mihawk, at least, should be fine..
"It's only meant to target any creatures causing the birds distress," Kid said.
Law nodded and turned on Smoker.
"What'd he do?" And why was he by the chook pen? Mihawk's interest in the domestic stretched as far as his own cottage garden, and he'd only shown disdain for the non-raptors on the grounds of Succour. The warlord scoffed down sweets and savouries made from their eggs, though.
"We were wandering past." Smoker waved his cigar at the mechanical butterfly, whirring and clicking its wings. "The insect caught his eye. The two butterflies."
"Battleflies," Kid interjected.
"It's got a partner?" Law asked.
Smoker nodded.
"Go on," Kid said from the other end of the line, monster mining trucks kicking up dirt behind him, Killer popped into view and then disappeared.
"Mihawk turned his attention to the poultry. Maybe wondered why they weren't chasing or eating the butterflies…"
"Battleflies."
"... then stared at the chooks like a hawk." Smoker tucked his cigar back into its case after extinguishing it. "You know how he gets." He turned to Law. "I'm surprised you didn't hear the din."
"It was short-lived," Law said, recalling a sudden squawking earlier that morning.
"Because the butterfly shot him." Smoker nodded firmly, then snorted and cackled along with Law and Kid. "He was out like a light."
"Mihawk might be considered some kind of vermin."
"Not necessarily a predator."
"Zoro would say he's apex," Law said. Luffy's right hand man.
"Fucking A," Kid said. "Quick, take a pic and send it to him."
Mihawk had slumped further into the chair, one leg dangling over an armrest.
Law snapped a pic while talking to Kid, "He's not gonna be happy with you once he wakes up."
"No-one scares my beloved's chickens and gets away with it."
"Kinda genius, Kid."
"Kinda?"
"But what if it—"
"The battlefly–"
"Yes, the battlefly–
"That name's kinda genius, too."
"It is," Law said.
Kid glowed.
"What if–," Law continued, "–the battlefly Just alerted us when the chickens' anxiety rose? Or that of all the birds."
Kid nodded. "What if we're too late?"
"Won't often be. It films and broadcasts the pen or the threat too, right?"
Kid nodded again.
"Having a way to shut down Luffy before he incites the livestock is tempting, but I don't want that crew on my back if we accidentally take him down."
"It wouldn't be accidental," Kid said. Law sent an emoji: a bunch of prancing bulls rose to the top of the screen. Kid had really spent some time on this.
Killer slid into view. "And it–
"Battlefly, Kil'. It's got a name."
Killer patted Kid's arm. "The battlefly just pumped two darts into Mihawk, but took him out with one. He's a legend. What if it makes sure the job is done with a smaller animal?"
"Like Machete, " Law added, offhandedly.
"Like Machete," Kid and Killer said in unison.
"You'd care if Machete got a lethal dose, Law?"
"It was instinct." Law nodded. "Our defences were weak."
"I'm really sorry, man," Killer said. And he was.
"It shouldn't have happened," Kid said. And that was all Law needed to hear.
Law pushed open the door to the run. The hens clustered around, except the broody ones in their nests. The door swung more smoothly than usual and Law didn't know why. He hadn't oiled it lately. After scattering grain, checking the feeder, and shooing the Bresse back into the pen, he inspected the entrance. The leaves of the door's two hinges folded out into butterfly wings, their barrels into butterfly thoraxes. Killer's metal work.
Law walked back into the pen and took one of the hovering butterflies in hand, folded its wings inwards into a semi-lotus, and pressed a button. Kid, polishing the chrome of a huge vehicle, paused and fished a device connected to the mechanical insects from his pockets. His coworkers razzed Kid about his dark haired guy, and they were right to. He was smitten.
"Hey, did you see this?" Law's ear, his earrings, zoomed into focus and then out as he brought the camera to the door of the run and shone the camera on the hinges.
Once everything was in focus, Kid—more anxious than when he checked in with Law about his own work—asked his lover what he thought.
Law ran a finger over the filigree. The work meant a lot. It surprised him.
"There's nothing to forgive," Law said, in awe, his fingers smoothing the interlaced butterfly motifs within the butterfly hinges, "But if there were…"
He didn't finish because it wasn't what he wanted to say.
"Thank you," he said instead, head slightly bowed but looking at Kid. He was in all right with his partner and his first mate. He knew he was, but that wasn't it either.
"For what?" Kid worked the chamois over a spot of bird shit. "I woulda knocked Killer into next week. Woulda been livid. You kinda had a right to press me to choose. Even if it'd be unfair. Rage, y'know?"
"I wouldn't."
"You couldn't protect your charges. It wasn't your fault. It must've hurt."
Law nodded.
"Maybe I coulda said something at the time."
"Maybe." Law moved the door to and fro, keeping an eye on the livestock and any trespassers.
"I needed to figure things out, and we were flying the next day." Kid walked away from the vehicle to stare at the pink-streaked darkening sky. "You shut down when you're upset."
"Or bawl like a baby," Law said. Which was true. With loss. It hit hard.
"Did you?" A lizard, late getting home, scuttled across the loose soil.
"It wasn't about you."
"Whose pillow did you hold?"
"Yours, but it was about—"
"The chooks," Kid knew, about Lami and Cora and the Trafalgars."Sorry I wasn't there."
"Could cry in peace into your pillow."
"Did you snot it up?"
"Good and crusty."
Goddamnit. Kid knew Law wouldn't use his own pillow. The slip might be washed by the time he got home. The crease above Law's lip and his scuffed dust laugh…Kid fell for it every time.
Law hadn't had the chance to say it to his sister, or parents, or Cora san, or even a flock of chickens, so he made sure he said it to Kid on the regular.
"Love you, Kid."
"Love you too, doc."
Law started at the screen. "Hold on." He leant in. "Your shirt…" Law couldn't see its buttons. "Got it on inside out."
"Right?" Kid pulled the den-den away from his body and directed it on the swirling black feathers and claws of the chimaera Law had stitched. "Didn't wanna hide it away."
Law's wild grin matched Kid's as they each raised a chipped, painted finger to their lips, planted a kiss, and then flipped the other off. The screen darkened. A chicken pecked Law's foot mistaking it for feed, and Law returned the butterf-...battlefly to its post. "Love you two crazy den-dens too," he smiled at the mechanical watch dogs. The assassins.
"Love you, Lami." He blew a kiss across his fingers into the pen at the dainty Serama. Lami 2. "Love you Mum and Dad." He'd changed the straw in the nests of the two setting hens that morning, one never without the other.
"Settle in, Cora." Law picked up the white and red Bresse. Cora 3. "Don't go tripping in the nests and feed of the others." He kissed its head. "You know you've got your own." He lowered the hen into its roost. "Not everyone has to be your friend."
"Maple, Love, Heart, Rosi," Law touched his own chest, sent his fingers out as if dispersing feed and the hens went wild looking for it. They weren't the brightest.
"And you too, Doffy. Love you for your gastronomic promise." Doffy crowed at the wrong time of day because he could. The chooks cackled. "Looking forward to the equinox, dude. Thanks for your sacrifice."
He ruffled the feathers of a white broiler. "Don't love you, Bellamy. But you're with your Master. So I guess you're happy." Could fatten him up for next winter, perhaps.
Law stepped outside the coop, and listened to the cries of the kites hovering in the sky, returning to the high branches of the pines.
He spied Mihawk sauntering down the path, Esmeralda on his arm. He loved Esme for sure, but the falconer was where he drew the line. Law turned his head at the click of machinery. Mihawk's tread grew louder, and the hens clucked at the scent of a raptor, and the battleflies pushed up against the coop's netting. Law turned back to the yard.
Robotics protected Law's flock, and the cockatrice guarded Kid. Unlike their poultry, the cockatrice feared nothing. Born of a cockerel's egg, then incubated by a toad or snake, the origin tales of the mythical beast weren't so dissimilar to Law and Kid's own disrupted backgrounds. The weasel was the only animal immune to its fatal glance, and maybe that was fitting.
But the cockatrice sewn into Kid's clothing was benign. Law had stitched a kye-ryong, a hen or rooster dragon. Fierce if attacked, and large and tough like the unshod ponies from Law's grandparents' land, kye-ryong were hatched from the hen-dragons' eggs.
They proudly pulled the chariots of heroic leaders and their parents. Rain watered wells, forests and farms if they danced, feathers and scales summer-leaf bright and forest-pond clear. Law had sewn trails of the feathers tufting from the kye-ryong's body, especially from its tail, and they coiled across all three panels of Kid's shirt.
Balance, not destruction. It was a good call for Kid to turn the shirt inside out. Law hoped he'd sleep in it or keep it near. Haki users needed to close their eyes some of the time, and electronics malfunctioned. The feathers wrapped Kid's abdomen in proximity and protection when Law's arms could not.
"Esme keeps flying towards your practice on her runs," Mihawk said, drawing near. Law jumped.
"Bring her inside," Law said, consciously slowing his heart and checking the sky one last time. The coop-wire pinged. The battleflies were dangerously close. Law lifted a hand in departure on the off-chance that a certain someone had tuned in at the sudden activity, then he and Mihawk crunched across the gravel towards the house.
"Night, Law."
Mihawk and Esme turned their heads sharply.
"Sleep well, ya' crusty bastard, and use ya' own pillow."
Law smiled and raised a finger behind him. Kid knew what it meant. A gruff laugh warmed the night then faded as the camera whirred shut. Law urged Mihawk and Esme forward before the battlefly refocused. Kid's scent was steeped into his pillow. Like hell Law would use his own.
glooum-nastas' art on tumblr from a few years ago. An extension of one of Oda's manga covers. Scroll down for the art, and check out Nastas' other great One Piece (and other) art! Shared with permission from the artist.