Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Well?” the man asks impatiently.

Sabo likes to mind his own business. Really, he does! Certain people (Koala) would claim otherwise, but honestly, Sabo would love to keep to himself. But a core facet of his job requires him to get all up in everybody else’s business, and he’s gotten pretty good at it.

The irony of that statement, though – at this particular point in time, Sabo isn’t feeling too confident in his skills of smoothly navigating through other people’s traps and pitfalls and – eugh – personalities.

“Well?” the man repeats, more aggressively this time.

Right, Sabo is in the middle of getting his cover blown. Okay, great. He’s a pro at this, sure, he can improvise.

“Sir, I promise you, my credentials are in my office. If you would allow me inside, I can show you,” Sabo repeats, with what he considers to be an admirable amount of patience.

The Most Skeptical Bouncer in the world, known to some as “Smith,” narrows his eyes at Sabo. So, he clearly doesn’t believe that Sabo is a medical professional, despite Sabo’s meticulously put-together outfit – it involves scrubs, a lab coat with pens lining the pockets, a stethoscope, a surgical cap, and even those lame orthopedic sneaker shoes that some doctors wear.

And, sure, the outfit looks a little…cheap up close – it is, perhaps, mostly composed of costume items. But, in Sabo’s defense, he was expecting to waltz right into this medical building with very little scrutiny. There’s some sort of workplace party going on, and that presents the perfect opportunity for Sabo to slide in unnoticed and get his grubby Revolutionary hands all over the incriminating information inside.

Of course, this stupid medical office building is apparently bougie enough to have a bouncer outside of it, like it’s a goddamn black tie event and not a glorified work barbecue. Seriously, he knows the exact type of event, having attended quite a few Revolutionary mixer-pizza parties in the past.

The guard is still scrutinizing him. “I’ve never seen you around before,” Smith says. He presents this statement like a case-winning accusation at a murder trial, which isn’t a good sign to Sabo’s well-trained ear.

“I do admit that I spend far too much time cooped up in there,” a hand waved casually in the direction of the looming concrete monstrosity behind Smith, “working hard, saving lives, filling out government-mandated paperwork.”

Smith’s expression hasn’t budged. Not a good sign.

Sabo allows himself the luxury of briefly clenching his fist behind his back in sheer annoyance before letting his arm dangle loosely at his side. The fact that he’s even talking to this man is absurd – Sabo could definitely take this guy out in half a second, if he was really feeling feisty – but the situation is unfortunately delicate. The “medical building” – quotes included – he’s attempting to gain access to is a front for some seriously shifty World Government business. And Sabo wants to get in there and see. He especially wants to steal everything that isn’t nailed down, but at this point he’ll settle for a relaxed walking tour.

“Have you perhaps allowed any of my esteemed coworkers into our building without a badge before?” Sabo asks brightly when Smith gives no indication that he intends to respond.

“Nope,” he replies, eyes not wavering from their suspicious squint. Great! Perfect!

“I promise you this won’t happen again,” Sabo reassures.

Inwardly, he curses. He chose to do this now rather than at night because he thought it would be easier; imagine that! Unfortunately for Sabo’s blood pressure, it appears that Smith is well aware that this is some sort of government front building, and therefore the hapless badge-forgetting doctor story isn’t going to land.

Hell, this is a supposed to be a medical facility, but it very noticeably only operates at night, and rarely seems to take actual patients. Sabo had gotten a good amount of information from a few fellow Revolutionaries, and had done some pretty prime scouting himself. The citizens of this town were spectacularly unhelpful – either they were all complicit in some sort of cover-up, or they were all incredibly stupid, or there really was nothing going on. Either way, Sabo is stuck with the task of entering in broad daylight, something that is typically easier to do in disguise and with some charm rather than with brute force.

Next time, I’m going with brute force, Sabo thinks bitterly. Though, it isn’t too late…his cool decorative doctor pens are weapons in disguise – if he waits until the streets are somewhat clear, he could pull Suspicious Smith around the corner and – never mind that that’s so outside of mission parameters that he’ll be prematurely cremated for even thinking it – there has to be something he can say, think about it –

“Oh? This is a pleasant surprise,” says a voice – a voice he knows and recognizes even before his gaze whips around to the owner, who at this point must be stalking him, because this is ridiculous.

Sabo is glad that Smith is busy staring at Law, because he’s certain his own facial expression is something to behold. Because here’s Law, again, somehow – standing there as if he simply teleported behind Sabo, which he very well might have, the bastard – the bastard who’s about to ruin Sabo’s day, and probably help him out of this mess, which would, in fact, ruin his day, so that’s just great.

“I see you’ve forgotten your badge again,” Law continues, sidling up to Sabo. His usual extravagant jacket is replaced with a lab coat, and he even has a stethoscope draped around his neck. He looks, infuriatingly, perfectly poised to bail Sabo out, which is just – the worst! Even more sinister, he’s wearing a pair of dark, square-framed glasses that perfectly compliment his jawline, and –

Internal-Sabo screeches and shakes his fist at the indignity and unfairness of it all, while External-Sabo stands stock-still like a flash-frozen portrait.

Smith’s expression has fully committed to the deeply suspicious look. Sabo, meanwhile, has gotten his facial expression under control, which means he hopefully looks as blank as a sheet of paper at the moment.

Law nudges Sabo’s elbow with his own, with an annoyingly perfect amount of subtlety.

“Yes, dear,” Sabo drones, his mask-that-was-once-his-face not budging.

Now Smith the Bouncer’s expression has shifted slightly into confused territory, both at Sabo’s words and at a better view of Law. Some part of Sabo’s brain that’s still thinking rationally recognizes that this is probably better than suspicion.

“Smith, right?” Law says, in the sort of lightly-humored tone that implies that they regularly encounter each other. As if the guy isn’t wearing a big badge with his name on it, okay.

“Right,” Smith parrots.

“You remember me, right? Trafalgar Leg? I work here – well, sometimes. I do admit that I travel quite a bit, saving people and the likes,” Law says, somehow managing to come off as factually humble despite his braggadocios words.

“Oh, Trafalgar Leg? You’re the one who…” Smith replies, trailing off significantly, as if in recognition.

Great, now Sabo is feeling extra left out.

“Yes, I really must make an appearance at this function,” Law says; Sabo swears he’s being all posh and weird on purpose. “My lovely colleague here is my plus one, so I think we can forget about his badge – after all, he already did!” And then Law laughs, heartily and fake-sounding. Sabo just barely stops his eyes from rolling all the way back into his skull.

Smith laughs along, probably at Law’s horrendous acting rather than his sad excuse for a joke (or that would be the case if the world were just, at least). “Alright, just make sure to keep him out of trouble,” he says, pointing semi-menacingly at Sabo, even while smiling at Law. Geez.

“Oh, of course,” Law enthuses, linking his arm smoothly with Sabo’s and yanking them towards the building.

Great, so that all happened without Sabo’s input. Day: ruined. Law seems to just love popping out of nowhere and causing problems by solving problems. How he manages such a thing, Sabo has no idea – but he has no time to consider it now, not when he’s still pulling himself together in the face of whatever the hell all that was.

“Good to see you again, dear,” Law purrs, and it takes Sabo a looooooong time to connect that he’d called Law that. In front of Smith. For some reason.

A little mental pop goes off in Sabo’s head, and he reanimates impressively. “What the hell are you doing here, bastard man, bane of my existence?” he hisses, and it’s a little much, but he can’t help his reaction after that showcase.

“Oh, it drives me crazy when you talk sweet,” Law replies, amused. “I was in the area, I swear. What are you doing here?”

Oh, right, the mission that Sabo completely erased from his brain the second that Law started messing with it! Messing with it, and inserting himself into it; great, now he has a tag-along.

“I’m here to assassinate you, actually. This is all part of my plan,” Sabo replies sweetly. Gotta dodge the question, even if it means starting up some banter. The last thing he needs is Law prying into the Revolutionary’s business.

“Really? Are you going to do that before or after you steal the classified documents in the safe on the third floor?” Law says casually.

Sabo wants to stop in his tracks, but he’s too disciplined for that, so he settles for clamping his elbow in a vice-like grip on Law’s upper arm as they approach the building’s entrance. You don’t even need a badge to buzz in, fuck, Sabo would’ve been so set if it weren’t for that bastard security guard.

“Is that what you’re here for?” Sabo asks, turning it around on Law for lack of a better option.

“Nah, I came for the party. Free food,” Law explains, holding the door for Sabo with a flourish.

Sabo sniffs and walks through at a brisk clip, as if to lose Law before he can catch up. It’s folly, of course, but Law has to jog a couple steps to get back to his side, which makes it worth it.

The lobby of the building is big, with vaulted ceilings and a lot of natural light. There are potted shrubs placed tastefully around the edges, and there’s an unoccupied reception desk straight ahead from the entrance. Behind it, a staircase winds up to the higher floors. There’s nobody around, just a lot of fancy-but-in-an-understated-way décor. Sabo can hear the vague murmur of voice coming from the right, where he can see a set of double-doors that seem to lead into some sort of large banquet hall. Well then.

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Sabo exclaims. “So you can go enjoy the party, and I’ll be on my way to go look at the wallpaper over there, because I’m a big wallpaper enthusiast, which is why I’m here, obviously.”

“Really?” Law says, re-linking arms with Sabo like he’s smooth or something, “It isn’t for some Revolutionary Army business?”

“Hah! I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sabo says pleasantly. On the inside, he’s – setting things on fire, maybe; there’s definitely explosions. Oh shit.

“Don’t be coy,” Law says flippantly, waving a hand. Sabo is absurdly distracted by his glasses again, the eye of the veritable hurricane of OH FUCK THIS IS BAD that’s raging internally. “I dug up your wanted poster after the last time we ran into each other. It must be limited edition or something – it was hard to get my hands on.”

Yeah, that’s on purpose, Sabo doesn’t say. He accidentally faked his death in front of a bunch of Marines last year – long story – and ever since then his wanted poster has been generally out of circulation, which is fantastic. The Marine Moron from his first encounter with Law clearly didn’t use his Daily Complex Thought Allocation to deduce Sabo’s identity.

But, hell – goddammit! Now Law is smirking at him, with his stupid glasses and messed-up hair, and he knows he’s got Sabo, now, and their arms are still linked.

Sabo yanks his arm away from Law – that solves something; progress! – and narrows his eyes at him. “You think you’re soooo smart, don’t you,” he sneers. He continues before Law can affirm that, as he surely would. “You think just because you know one thing that you probably spent days looking for, you’re some sort of hot shot? Well–”

“I don’t mean to pry,” Law interrupts, placating, just as Sabo’s really getting going. “I’ll admit I suspected it from the beginning and wanted to confirm for myself. You aren’t very subtle, you know.”

Subtle? Sabo isn’t subtle? That – the audacity, let alone the complete and total incorrectness – and Sabo’s still a bit caught on the whole thing, like oh, by the way, I know you’re a Revolutionary even though that’s kind of a huge secret, and I’m gonna casually mention this while we’re arm in arm walking merrily towards no good. Anyways!

“I,” Sabo declares hotly, “am very subtle. You just have an inadequate amount of data.” As if shifting away from the Revolutionary thing will make Law forget about it, God, is he gonna have to fill out some stupid incident paperwork about this?

“I’d love to collect more data with you,” Law smirks, moving in closer. “And for the record, your lack of subtlety extends to your disguises. Wearing a disposable surgical cap outside of the OR is a dead giveaway that you aren’t a real doctor.”

Fuck, that’s probably true. Sabo doesn’t spend nearly enough time in operating rooms – none at all, in fact – to dispute this, so he settles for sending Law a poisonous glare as he speedily yanks the cap off his head and tosses it behind a nearby potted plant, as if moving quickly will prevent Law from witnessing it. “Okay, well – are you planning to tell me why you’re apparently an employee here, Trafalgar Leg?”

Admittedly, it does feel ridiculous throwing that name out like an accusation. Sabo recalls seeing it on one of the medical licenses he pilfered from Law the first time they met – and seriously, even Sabo knows that there’s no such thing as a physical medical license card that you carry around. He didn’t think Law would actually use any of those aliases, though.

“Oh, yes,” Law says breezily. “I’ve been to this town once before. I came to steal the MRI machine from the hospital and got roped into saving the mayor’s life. They hailed me as their hero and gave me an open invitation to return and practice medicine at any time.”

“I hope you know that that’s completely ridiculous,” Sabo feels compelled to point out. “Why is your life so damn weird?”

He quietly resolves to do more research about Law’s escapades, especially now that Law has the Revolutionary thing up on Sabo – and Sabo’s already done some digging, maybe, and maybe he’s casually – smoothly – asked around about Law at the Revolutionary bases, but – whatever. Clearly he was slacking in the research department. It must have been a serious pain for Law to locate Sabo’s wanted poster, and find any information about him, really, and Sabo isn’t sure if he should be flattered or obscenely annoyed about it, so he resolves to experience both emotions simultaneously.

“Being a pirate on the Grand Line is always a little weird,” Law points out, which is…fair, actually.

“Alright, I am curious,” Sabo sighs. “Did you get the MRI machine?”

“Hah!” Law laughs, grinning in apparent surprise. The sight sends a little thrill down Sabo’s chest. “I did, actually. We did, I should say – while I was schmoozing with the townsfolk, my crew carried it down the stairs and into the ship. It wasn’t easy, but we got away with it and nobody connected the two events.”

Sabo laughs, he can’t help it. Shit, this motherfucker can be charming without even meaning to. And what does it say about Sabo that he finds an anecdote about robbing a hospital charming, but –

Someone’s approaching them, heralded by the sound of the banquet hall doors closing after a brief swell of crowd noise. Sabo is glad he noticed this time, unlike with Law. He turns just in time to see a woman beaming at Law, a glass of what looks like sangria in one hand.

“Doctor Leg, is that you?” she calls to Law. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t know you were coming tonight! When did you get back in town?”

Great, great, great, now Sabo can dematerialize and go steal to his heart’s content while Law gets swept up in workplace gossip, probably. Great, perfect, exemplary, except the lady has focused her gaze on Sabo, too, and now he’s gonna get roped in to some bullshit, he can tell.

“Good to see you, Sangria,” Law says, and really with that name? “I just arrived here today.”

“How exciting! Is this your…friend?” the woman – Sangria – asks, with a pause that sounds significant for – well, it could be for many reasons, none of them particularly good for Sabo’s current situation.

“Oh, yes,” Law enthuses, putting an arm around Sabo’s waist, hello, that’s certainly bold, and – apparently in line with whatever Sangria was expecting, because she looks like her suspicions were confirmed. What suspicions, Sabo refuses to think about.

“You two make such a cute couple!” she trills, ignorant of Sabo’s tortured internal dialogue. “Now, come on, you have to say hi to everyone else, they’re going to be so happy you came!”

And now Sabo’s being hauled across the foyer, yet again arm in arm with Law, but still stuck with the phrase cute couple echoing in his head like a massive, empty cave. And shit, he knows what’ll happen now – they’re going to have to pretend to be a couple and talk to all these random people, and Law totally led that lady into thinking they’re a couple, what’s that about, should Sabo be reading into that? No, best not to think about it now, or possibly ever. Especially while Law has his shoulder pressed against Sabo’s, and he’s supposed to be on a mission right now, but is instead getting cozy with Trafalgar Law, again, why does this keep happening to him–

They’ve reached their destination, now – it is indeed a banquet hall, with people milling about, chatting and drinking and eating. It’s so generic that Sabo almost laughs. Are these people aware that they work for a sketchy government front company that – smuggles goods, or experiments on hapless citizens, or…something. Sabo’s here to find out, stay tuned, apparently – that is, if he ever escapes this ridiculous farce of a situation.

Sangria is waving some other people over to meet Leg and his beau. Wow. Sabo takes the opportunity to send Law a particularly charged sideways glance.

Law catches on to his ire quickly. “I know, I know,” he mutters. “I kinda want to see if they have an X-Ray machine upstairs. We’ll slip out as soon as we can.”

That’s – reassuring, actually, if only for that fact that Law wants to steal something too. And Sabo doesn’t…hate the challenge of playing a part undercover, either. It’s not something he was expecting to do today, but, despite the chaos, he also doesn’t hate facing the crowd of civilians arm in arm with Law, specifically, either. Eugh, okay, he can admit that much in the privacy of his head, but even so, if Law knew, he’d smirk and he’d know he won, and Sabo still hasn’t figured out why that makes him light up with – weird anger, or whatever it is, but he’s trying not to look too closely.

They make their rounds through the crowd, chatting here and there, making up a cover story as they go along. It’s Sabo’s favorite kind of undercover work, actually – he loves to come up with things on the fly, and improvise based on the person’s reactions. He and Law have a decently balanced rapport, even; neither of them going too far into the realm of unbelievability, with Law helpfully leading with prompts that discretely tell Sabo what this particular citizen knows.

Sabo is playing Leg’s boyfriend, or – ugh, Sabo can’t even think that in his own head, the implications are too much, even with it being a cover story. He gets addressed as Mr. Dr. Leg at one point and nearly passes out. Well, now he’s a doctor too, actually, on account of his incredibly realistic outfit. They’re a doctor power couple, egads.

Of course, this leads to someone asking Sabo for medical advice, which adds a mark in the ‘these people are in on the whole government conspiracy thing and know nothing about medicine’ box. Or it’s just ego-feeding small talk; endless possibilities.

Sabo can see that Law is about to cut in smoothly and take the question – makes sense, seeing as he’s supposedly actually really a doctor – but Sabo interjects before Law can say anything.

“Personally, I’m fond of an aggressive approach for aortic aneurysms, regardless of location or size,” he says pleasantly to the nodding and hmm-ing woman. He’s entirely aware of Law’s head turned a full 90 degrees to stare him down during the whole exchange. “I prefer to avoid any potential progression to dissection.”

After the woman departs, Sabo turns to smirk at Law. Predictably, Law is slightly wide-eyed in shock at Sabo’s spectacular and surprising medical knowledge. He’s also – blushing, which is – hmm, okay, interesting, first of all, also a good look, especially with the glasses, god, Sabo really needs to stop noticing the glasses, he also has to say something because now he’s just been staring at Law for too long and they’re kind of close to each other, uh oh–

And then the Marines burst in, because of course they do.

Okay, it isn’t so much bursting in , but that sounds a little more dramatic and action-packed, if you will. The double doors do open simultaneously, and something in that motion has most of the room turning to the entrance, even though people have been coming in and out this entire time.

Standing in the doorway, backlit by the lobby lighting, is a man. He’s decked out in – wow, okay. He’s a Marine, clearly, but he’s wearing tall leather cowboy boots and a large cowboy hat with the Marine symbol stamped proudly on the front. Did he get that custom made, or is that an outfit option for Marines of a certain rank? His jacket, draped around his shoulders – that must be Marine dress code for sure – has tattered fringe all over it, as do his chaps (of course he has chaps). And it’s hard to tell, but he looks to have an honest to god sheriff’s badge pinned to his shirt.

“Wow,” Sabo whispers to Law. “A themed Marine, this is serious business. I wonder why he’s here.”

Law is grimacing. He gives Sabo a sidelong look. “Take a wild guess.”

Sabo hisses out a breath through his teeth. “Alright, Mr. Pessimism, I’m trying to be hopeful here. Maybe there’s been a new push for exposing corruption in the World Government – ha, oh man, I can’t even say that jokingly.”

“I don’t know how I didn’t immediately peg you as a Revolutionary,” Law muses, sounding – fond. Okay, okay, okay!

The Marine is still posing in the doorway, as Marines are wont to do, especially cowboy themed ones.

“Do you think we should leave? Just in case, I mean,” Sabo mutters. “We’re upstanding citizens, obviously, but jumping out of a window just seems like a fun idea right now, y’know?”

“These windows look pretty sturdy. Are you sure you want to risk bouncing off? That would be embarrassing,” Law replies. They’ve both started slowly shuffling backwards, away from the Marine surveying the room.

“Do you really think I can’t break a window? God – and can’t we just teleport away using your magical powers?” Sabo shoots back sardonically. He’s trying to subtly shift through the murmuring crowd, but everyone seems to love standing perfectly still and staring rather than swarming the Marines like regular civilians.

“Obviously not, seeing as Trafalgar Leg does not have Devil Fruit powers,” Law says serenely.

“Oh, my god, I can’t deal with you,” Sabo groans.

“Stop right where you are, partner.” Oh, look, the Marine is finally making his move after about a century. He’s advancing, impressively bowlegged, right towards where Law and Sabo have stopped moving. They’re doing their best to act as the picture of doctoral innocence; heavy on the first do no harm.

Sabo makes a big production of looking all around them, as if the Marine is searching for somebody else. Law is baring his teeth in a grin, huge and innocent – or, he probably hopes, but it comes off like he’s about to pull out a scalpel and start vivisecting people, so Sabo tries to subtly elbow him to get him to stop.

The Marine comes to a stop about eight feet away. He’s got what seems to be a permanent squint-scowl affixed to his face, as if he’s under the harsh noonday sun rather than bland banquet hall lighting. He has a cigar holder on one hip, and a whip on the other.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls. “Trafalgar Law, in the flesh. And you brought a friend, too.”

Sabo feels his hackles instinctively raise at Law being recognized but not him, and he has to remind himself that – yay! This is a good thing, of course the Marine wouldn’t recognize a presumed-dead Revolutionary who mostly commits crimes against the evil government while in disguise!

Still, kind of annoying. Ugh.

Law blinks dumbly at the Marine. “Are you talking to me?” he asks, pointing at himself as if to make extra sure the Marine knows who he’s talking about.

The Marine tips the brim of his hat up a little bit, stony gaze fixed on Law. “My name is Captain Flint Northwood, and you, Trafalgar Law, are under arrest.”

“Surely you must be mistaken,” Law says, though, in Sabo’s opinion, he’s too monotonous to sound fully genuine. “I am Trafalgar Leg, a completely different person. Though I understand the confusion.” He tips his hands up in front of himself in a well, what can you do? sort of gesture.

Northwood doesn’t even bother to respond to that directly. “I’m taking you in, Trafalgar. And your compadre too. You look…familiar.” He narrows his eyes even more than before, glaring at Sabo.

And fuck, despite his earlier annoyance, he does not want to be recognized. Without the surgical cap, his hair is exposed, and between that and his scar, he’s pretty easy to match up with even his wanted poster’s frankly terrible photo. At the very least, a witness description could suffice.

Law seems to be in no rush to intervene further, other than to stare directly at the Marine – once again, it seems as though he’s trying to appear wide-eyed and innocent, but instead resembles the kind of person who would chop somebody up into pieces with a Devil Fruit (hm, wonder why!). Sabo, ever the initiative-taker, decides to step forward instead, hands outstretched in placation.

“Sir, I assure you that Dr. Leg and I are simply enjoying the party with our coworkers. If you’re looking for somebody, we can always try to help redirect you,” Sabo offers congenially, making sure to tilt his head in a way that probably hopefully shadows his face a bit from Northwood.

“I may be new in town, but I wasn’t born yesterday,” Northwood drawls. His hand migrates slowly but purposefully to his whip. Oh, great – escalation?

“Really, I’m sure you’re a busy man,” Sabo says, appealing to his ego, because – Marine, duh. “I don’t want a mere mix-up keeping you from more important work.”

As he speaks, Sabo slowly shuffles in front of Law, who’s still doing his best serial killer stare. He seems to pass some sort of unspoken line in the metaphorical sand, because one second Northwood is surveying him suspiciously, and the next he’s got his whip wrapped around Sabo’s wrist. Oh, great – escalation!

It happens so quickly that Sabo doesn’t even have time to put Haki up, fuck , that’s sad. A Marine got him, really? But the initial strike actually stings, so maybe this Marine bozo knows Haki too, great! Sabo’s day was already derailed, why not throw in a cowboy Marine with a Haki whip?

Sabo and Northwood are both frozen, staring at each other in an appropriately cowboy-esque stand-off. The whip is taut around Sabo’s wrist, and seriously, this guy isn’t the usual Marine clown fodder bullshit that he usually runs into. Murmurs have sprung up in the crowd. Sabo can practically feel Law hovering over his shoulder, and tries to beam stay out of this, bastard! directly into his brain.

His telepathic petition probably worked, because Law, of course, ignores his plea and steps forward, breaking the intense eye contact happening between Sabo and Northwood. Sabo had just been reaching towards his pocket for one of his cool assorted weapons disguised as pens, goddammit, he never gets to use that stuff.

“There’s no need for conflict,” Law says pleasantly. “I’ll come with you peacefully, and prove that I am who I say I am.”

Northwood doesn’t move for a solid five seconds. It’s like everything he does is in slow motion, until it isn’t. Is that part of his theme? God, the Marines are lame; themes are only cool if you’re also breaking the rules in some way.

“Alright, amigo. And you’re coming too, boy,” Northwood growls, yanking Sabo towards him with his still-attached whip.

Sabo lets himself stumble forward in an effort to conceal the fact that he’s competent as hell and could definitely rearrange this guy’s face with his foot if given the opportunity. Dammit.

He contemplates his next move as Northwood releases his wrist and replaces his whip on his belt. Sabo could throw Law under the bus – it’s incredibly obvious to anybody with eyes and a functioning brain (a category that unfortunately seems to include Captain Rodeo over there) that Law is, well, Law, so Sabo could just – say that, and walk away. He could even pretend that Law fooled him, too, and Sabo has no problem playing the fool when he has to, but–

But what? Somehow he know immediately, even as plans bloom in his mind, that he isn’t going to do that. He’s going to get arrested with Law, because goddammit, he might actually like the bastard, or something. Fuuuuuck.

In the time he spent standing there, wrist still poised in the air like an idiotic statue, Northwood has ambled his way over to them. He unhooks a pair of clunky handcuffs from his belt – seastone, must be. And once again Sabo is (extremely grudgingly) impressed, because using seastone should be the standard when dealing with an unknown assailant (Sabo) and anybody with a Devil Fruit (Law). And yet, the Marines are often idiots, so. It’s actually kind of funny how many times Sabo’s been cuffed with seastone – sometimes he acts like it affects him, like he has a Devil Fruit, and uses that to his advantage. He particularly enjoys hitting Marines in the face with the seastone cuffs. Ah, good times.

Okay, so maybe getting arrested isn’t the worst. It can be a fun opportunity to wreck havoc and maybe even get some important information. Okay, yeah, that’s how he’s going to approach this situation – optimism!

“Wrists,” Northwood demands.

Sabo and Law both obediently stick their arms out. Without comment, Northwood snaps one side of the cuffs around Law’s right wrist and Sabo’s left wrist, cuffing them together , which, hold on, HOLD ON, this is not what Sabo agreed to when he graciously didn’t pulverize the Marine and probably level the building in the process.

“Can’t afford more cuffs?” Sabo mutters, swinging his arm around. Law’s arm follows his, dead weight, and Sabo glances over to see Law looking predictably woozy. Which, great, this was probably also a way for Northwood to confirm his hypothesis about Law, grrrrreat.

“March,” Northwood orders. He’s slumped back with his fingers in his belt loops. God, he’s really dedicated to his bit.

“I-if I may,” a voice says, timidly. Sangria, the woman who initially approached them to drag them over to the party, steps warily into view. “I can personally vouch for this man’s innocence.” And she’s pointing to Law – to Leg.

“I can back her up as well!” another man says. Murmurs of assent rise from the crowd.

Sabo shakes his cuffed arm a little, jostling Law, whose gaze tracks over to him way too slowly. Sabo gives him a look – did he really charm this town so thoroughly? Law manages a sort of spastic blink back at him, which…doesn’t really clear a single thing up, actually.

“Now, now, citizens,” Northwood is saying. “I understand the situation is distressin’, but you have to understand that this man here is a criminal. He’s tricked you fine townsfolk into believing he’s somebody he’s not. I have a duty to bring him to justice for his crimes.”

Sabo coughs violently into his shoulder to avoid starting an argument about Marines and duty. The crowd is still muttering, unsettled by Northwood’s little speech.

“We’re going to talk to the mayor,” Sangria tells Northwood, shifting on her feet in apparent nervousness. “H-he can clear this up.”

“You do that, young lady,” Northwood says, a bit dryly, and tips his hat to her. “C’mon, get,” he tells Sabo and Law, and gestures them forward.

Law manages to only stumble about seven times on the way to the exit, which Sabo considers a success. And, ugh, it would be – not easy , due to the cuffs, but…it would be simple in its own way to grab Law and carry him out, but that is – out of the question is the best way to put it, probably. He can’t just – well, maybe he could, but – well – well–

Law inadvertently saves Sabo from his spiral by tripping spectacularly on their way out of the building. Sabo catches him instinctually, because he’s the coolest person alive, and barely avoids falling over himself, because they are, in fact, still cuffed together. Law’s glasses fall off and bounce into the bushes, likely never to be seen again, which is a tragedy that Sabo briefly mourns before forcing his mind firmly away from that train of thought.

Northwood is looking over his shoulder, projecting an air of vague disappointment at their apparent ineptitude. Sabo does not want to hear it from a Marine of all people, god. He hauls Law upright and grabs Law’s left hand in his right, steadying him awkwardly with their arms stretched across their respective bodies. On second thought, he also takes Law’s cuffed hand in his own, linking them even further.

“Hm,” Law murmurs under his breath.

What’s that supposed to mean!? Sabo squeezes his hand in – a threatening manner, of course, because such a thing is possible. He’s being entirely practical, that’s all. Sabo is a very practical person.

They continue on their merry, stumbling way to the probably-podunk jail. Sabo can practically feel the medical building, with its classified documents that he’s supposed to be stealing, dissolve into nothingness behind him.

And that train of thought helpfully leads him back to the idea of ditching Law – it would even help his mission, goddammit, because the Marine in charge would be occupied with Law, allowing Sabo to swipe everything he can find from the building. But again, again, again, he can’t find it in himself to open his mouth and tell stupid Northwood that Law isn’t some guy named Leg, and the whole situation is so completely ridiculous, yet –

Yet he’s so completely aware of Law’s hands in his, even through his always-present gloves; the lack of grip strength borne from the seastone – and he knows Law would be fine if he left, and probably wouldn’t even hate him for it, would probably understand , because he’s a pirate and he knows Sabo’s a Revolutionary – oh yeah, can’t forget about that little nuclear tidbit –

Besides. Besides. If he actively runs away right now, well, that would be very suspicious behavior from someone that Northwood apparently vaguely recognizes. He needs to lay low and go along with this for now. Yes, right, logical, he is so logical.

You’re killing it, Sabo, he thinks to himself, just as Law nearly takes them both out tripping once again.

“You alright there?” Sabo hisses quietly, code for are you gonna make it to the jail, idiot!? Hopefully Law gets that message.

“I’m doing great,” Law mutters back unevenly. Yeah, okay, sure.

Fortune smiles upon them and they arrive at the “prison” soon after – quotes included, because Sabo initially mistook the building for a particularly built-up fruit stand of some sort. And yeah, sure, there’s nothing suspicious about a small town with a jailhouse the size of a postage stamp having a multi-story medical facility with insane government funding. He definitely has to get back to that building, god.

Northwood leads them into the building. The inside looks like an illustration that you would show a young child to give them an idea of what a generic small-town jail looks like. The floor is made of worn wooden planks, and the walls are chipped bricks. There’s a little waiting area, and then immediately to the side of it is a single cell, stiffly taking up about half the space in the room.

The door of the cell makes a cacophonous creaking noise when Northwood forces it open. He gestures Law and Sabo in, and he doesn’t even shove them or anything like most bastard Marines do, which pisses Sabo off intensely at the moment. Even so, Law manages to catch his foot on the doorway or something, and he tumbles bonelessly to the ground, taking Sabo down with him.

Optimism, optimism, optimism, Sabo reminds himself intently as he and Law both flail, attempting to right themselves.

“Move your arm–

“That’s my arm!”

“No it isn’t, idiot–”

When they’re finally arranged as neatly as they possibly can be considering their situation, Northwood has started the apparently intricate process of lighting a cigar, staring down at them silently. They both stare back, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic, repeated clicking of Northwood’s lighter.

The light finally takes. Northwood takes a long drag, and exhales even slower than what should be humanly possible, in Sabo’s opinion. He still hasn’t said anything, and Law is listing against Sabo’s side uselessly, so obviously it’s up to him, as per usual.

“What do you plan to do with us, sir?” Sabo asks, injecting a perfect blend of unsure-about-the-situation-but-confident-in-our-innocence into his voice. Nailed it, as per usual.

“The law,” Northwood drawls, slooooooooooowly, “will handle you, Law.”

And he’s looking at Law, even though Sabo’s the one who addressed him – the disrespect! Not that he’d expected any less from a Marine, but still. Bastard; a different, far less palatable flavor than Law.

Sabo lets Northwood get his last word in, because fuck that guy, whatever. The Marine turns on his heel at half speed and walks, bowlegged, out of the door. It takes him about two steps to get there from the cell’s entrance, seriously. Sabo could probably sneeze and make the entire building collapse.

Law has migrated a lot of his body weight onto Sabo, seemingly unintentionally. Sabo gives him a nudge, fighting the urge to check his pulse. Law is slumped limply against his side, the pressure discernible even where temperature is not. His eyes are closed, cheek smushed against Sabo’s upper arm, god, god, god.

“Sternal rub,” Law mutters, mostly into Sabo’s shoulder.

“Huh?” Sabo responds, shaking Law a little. It’s like shaking cooked pasta, or a piece of wet cardboard. That bodes well, surely!

“To attempt to arouse a patient in a stupor. You do a sternal rub,” Law murmurs.

“What the hell are you saying? I’m not rubbing your freakin’ sternum, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Sabo warns. “That’s too weird.”

“Not weird,” Law insists, wiggling in a way that seems to indicate that he wants to sit up, but doesn’t actually help him do so whatsoever. “It’s…medical.”

Sabo rolls his eyes and hoists Law further upright. “Well, your medical whatever is what got us into this situation in the first place. And notice I said us, because hey! I’m here too! Why am I here, Law? Why am I in jail right now? Hey?”

He jostles Law a little more as they settle in. He has to give him a hard time, obviously, because that’s already a requirement in their relationship. He knowsLaw can take it, that he doesn’t need Sabo to treat him delicately, even in this sort of state. A big bad pirate and a big bad Revolutionary, stuck together in a jail cell. They’ll be just fine.

“So, what now? Are we getting out of here or what?” Sabo asks, shaking their still-joined hands pointedly. The longer he’s stuck here, the more likely it is that the Marines will realize who they really have in this jail cell with “Leg.” And while it isn’t a shock that Northwood saw through that particular lie, it still doesn’t bode well – he’s a bit higher caliber than the normal idiots that Sabo deals with, and the Revolutionaries are arguably a bigger problem for the government than pirates, so Sabo is a pretty great catch. He’d rather avoid dealing with any of that bullshit, but if he disappears now, he runs the risk of tipping Northwood off to the fact that he is an important figure, and not as dead as his defunct bounty would make him seem. Ugh.

“Nahhh…we gotta wait for justice to prevail,” Law replies, muffled and a few seconds too late to hide the fact that he’s still pretty out of it. Great help, there.

Sabo coughs out a laugh so intense that it shakes both of them. “Justice. Justice! Oh, that’s rich.”

“The mayor can get us outta this,” Law mutters. “That Marine is clearly new here. The mayor’s authority will supersede his.”

Ah, good old petty, small-town politics. “I’ll take your word for it,” Sabo says, dubious. “But I’m still gonna pick the lock on this thing. It’s been about two minutes and I’m already bored.”

He pulls out one of the pens in his lab coat pocket – it’s a disguised lock pick set, and it even actually works as a pen, too. Sabo mentally cheers at being able to actually use it, for once.

“If you’re bored, we should get to know each other better,” Law says, titling his face where it’s pressed into Sabo’s shoulder so he’s half-looking at the side of Sabo’s face.

He turns, and wow, Law is a lot closer than he thought, okay, turning away again, crisis averted and lockpicking resuming; phew, that was a close one. Sabo shakes his head, busying himself with pulling his tools out.

“You’re just plying me for information so you can flirt with me,” Sabo shoots back primly, but fuck, that was too much, he’s never admitted out loud that that’s what Law is doing, because then he would have to admit that maybe he likes it or something, and that maybe he wants to – has – flirted back, and that’s not – he’s LOGICAL, all-caps, he’s pragmatic and logical and doesn’t he have a job to do, anyways? Well –

His spiraling is cut short by Law laughing, again a little delayed, pseudo-drugged as he is – his body rumbles with it, and Sabo can feel him smirking against the junction of his shoulder and neck where his face has settled. Sabo is doing a valiant job of ignoring the closeness and focusing on the handcuffs, but he’s doing it one-handed because they’re still holding hands for some reason, but for some other reason it feels like it would be sacrilegious to let go, ugh, and here he goes again with the spiraling.

“I can want to get to know you better and flirt with you,” Law says, low and quiet. Sabo can feel Law’s lips moving against his neck, god, and he fumbles and drops his lock pick.

One of the thin metal pieces tinks across the floor and settles a few feet away. He could get it, sure, but that would mean moving from his current position, and hauling Law along with him. He doesn’t want to – Law is compromised, clearly, and that would be cruel to – and he can feel him breathing against his throat –

Oh, he’s been silent for way too long. Law said something, didn’t he? Uh oh.

“Well, let’s ask each other some questions, then!” Sabo says, brightly and suddenly, jolting into speaking like a man being electrocuted. “So, I’ll go first. What’s your favorite color?”

Law is silent for a bit, but Sabo can tell he’s still conscious by his breathing. Okay, not thinking about that –

“Black. And yellow,” Law answers, at length. “How about you?”

Sabo resumes his lockpicking activities despite being a tool down, for a lack of better options for what to do with his unoccupied hand and his far-too-occupied mind. “Blue, I suppose. Favorite food?”

Law inhales heavily before answering, like he needs the air. “Rice balls. You?”

“I like ramen. Also, you can ask different questions from me, y’know,” Sabo says dryly. He decides to have mercy and do the hard work for him. “What’s the name of your ship?”

“The Polar Tang. It’s a submarine,” Law says. His voice seems stronger – Sabo will gladly cite the restorative power of question games. “How old were you when you killed somebody for the first time?”

Sabo’s hand pauses unintentionally in his lockpicking. He forcibly resumes his noodling, though he quickly begins to repeat the same useless motions over and over. What a question – and of course, one that Sabo can’t truly and honestly answer. Well, he did somewhat bring this upon himself, in asking Law a question that he couldn’t mirror back at Sabo. Calculated risk: backfired!

“Hm. Bold,” he says, keeping his tone casual. He can tell that Law is listening closely, slumped over as he still is. “I’m not sure, actually. We Revolutionaries aren’t focused so much on killing as we are on achieving our goals – if there is death involved, then so be it, but that isn’t usually the desired outcome.”

And okay, maybe he should’ve kept it short, but that would probably be weirder, right? And bringing up the Revolutionaries is perhaps a too-obvious distractor – he can only hope that Law is too seastone-sick to pick up on that.

Law gives a huff of acknowledgment – against Sabo’s neck, still; not thinking about it, still – and Sabo remembers that it’s his turn to ask something. “Where are you from, originally?”

He can feel Law go rigid against him, just momentarily, and then slump back into limpness. Just like Sabo had – shit, he somehow hit a nerve. It was a peace offering of a question, seriously!

Well, okay, in the privacy of his own head, Sabo can admit that he figured that the answer to a question like that would be fairly complicated for Law. People don’t tend to become pirates without some source of trauma or conflict in their background – though, if Sabo were really feeling vindictive, he would’ve asked Law directly about his family or something.

“I’m not sure, actually,” Law mutters, a perfect mirror to Sabo’s non-answer to his question. Oh, well then. His way of saying he isn’t gonna answer it, and likely a pointed signal that he noticed Sabo dodging the earlier question.

“Alright,” Sabo says easily, shrugging a little bit. Law moves along with him, still limp, but in a way that feels more purposeful now – perhaps he’s acclimating to the effects of the seastone, even just a little bit. Sabo’s making a smidgen of progress on the cuffs, which is honestly shocking considering the lack of attention he’s paying to that task. Okay, well, maybe not that surprising, because Sabo is a genius multitasking master spy, absolutely.

“You can ask me another one,” Law murmurs, and it feels like an olive branch. “Since I didn’t really answer that one.” Okay, an olive branch; and now he’s poking Sabo with it. That’s fair, okay, okay.

“In that case – have you ever killed anybody before?” Sabo asks. Easy, easy, easy. He tilts his head, and moves his and Law’s interlinked hands a little to better see the cuffs in the dim light.

Law laughs, breathy, against Sabo. His skin feels prickly and sensitive. “I’m a pirate,” Law replies, sounding amused.

“Dodging the ques-tion,” Sabo sing-songs.

“Fine, then – yes, I’ve killed somebody before. Multiple somebodies, even,” Law says.

“Is that what these are for?” Sabo asks, rubbing his thumb along Law’s index finger, over the letter tattooed there.

Law’s hand twitches once, sporadically, tightening and then loosening again. “No, these are for something else.”

Sabo raises an eyebrow. “Intriguing. Your turn,” he says, deciding to cut Law a break, which – he better appreciate that!

“Alright – where are you from?” Law asks, innocently.

Oh, goddamn him. Well, Sabo should’ve seen that coming, olive branches be damned. “I’m not sure,” he parrots. Not even a lie, technically. “I’ve been with the Revolutionaries for as long as I can remember.” Also not a lie, technically.

“Child soldier, eh?” Law murmurs. Bastard! Is Law trying to rile him up? Is it working? Okay, no, Sabo won’t rise to it, if that is what’s happening. What is Law’s angle, here? Is he just messing with Sabo?

“I suppose you could look at it like that,” Sabo replies neutrally.

“I’m not so sure,” Law says, which is – it makes no sense, him having been the one to make the comment in the first place.

Sabo jostles Law a bit, unable to help himself. “What the hell do you mean?” He’s more bemused than angry, curious about the thoughts clearly rolling over in Law’s head.

Law shifts against him; Sabo can feel his hair tickling his throat. Oh, okay. He doesn’t say anything for a while, long enough that Sabo glances over to see if he’s fallen asleep or something. Instead, Law is gazing back at him, eyes intent with some unidentifiable emotion. Sabo looks back at him, helpless to do much else, feeling trapped by his eyes.

“You don’t…” Law pauses, as if heavily considering his words. Sabo hasn’t seen this side of him before, and his free hand stills where it rests against the cuffs. “It’s your eyes. You don’t have the eyes of a child soldier, or of a man who has experienced comparable tragedy.” He says it evenly and factually, a practical tilt to his brow, but his expression remains inscrutable, almost stormy in the absence of any blatant domineering emotional response.

Sabo feels his throat tighten, bizarrely. He feels stripped bare, suddenly, and wants to look away from Law and his glassy, calculating gaze. It feels like it would be damning to do so, but he also feels as though Law is pulling his secrets from the depths of his chest up through his eyes now, just by looking at him.

He looks away. He taps the metal lockpick against the cuffs, the repetitive tink-ing noise filling the silence. Sabo can practically feel Law’s eyes still on him, burning against the side of his face like the noonday sun.

The feeling wells up inside him, the tightness in his chest igniting into something different; smoldering and burning. That was Law’s angle, then. He could tell, just by looking, that Sabo is – off. That something is missing. Perhaps he wouldn’t phrase it like that, but Law’s eyes, his mind; they cut through to the truth of it.

He feels wrong-footed – Sabo certainty doesn’t possess that same skill, excellent though he is at reading people. He can’t focus in on whatever deep dark horrors dwell in the depths of Law’s soul – and perhaps that is because there is simply more, like Law halfway said. Law presumably remembers a lot more of his own life than Sabo does, which automatically means he’s had more experiences, which in turn statistically means that he’s likely had to deal with more horrible, traumatic situations than Sabo has had to. Not that amnesia isn’t a horror by itself – the unknown of it, the terror of considering that what is missing could be better off buried.

He’s been quiet; lost in thought. Law hasn’t said anything else, and doesn’t seem to expect him to reply, but Sabo can still feel him staring.

That burning feeling in his chest seems to spark, igniting something else, and the feeling swells into his throat, spurring him on.

“I have amnesia,” he says plainly, surprising himself, even as his mouth forms the words. “I don’t remember anything of my life from before the age of ten.”

He looks back at Law, needing to see his reaction. Law’s eyebrows raise a little, and he immediately locks eyes with Sabo, gaze still glassy from the seastone, but sharp underneath it.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Law says, voice still quiet.

Sabo huffs out a little laugh despite himself. “Yes, you did, bastard.”

The corner of Law’s mouth curves up. “Okay, yes, I did.”

“Well, thank you for kind of apologizing, even though it was completely insincere,” Sabo says primly.

Law’s mouth graduates into a full smile. “Of course.” He sobers quickly. “That does explain it, though. The way that you look.” He lifts his free hand, slow and deliberate, and traces the textured skin under Sabo’s scarred eye. Sabo shivers, even though the touch is muted through the veil of the scar tissue.

“Well, this is from the amnesia incident,” Sabo says, purposefully misconstruing Law’s words.

“Do you fear fire, now?” Law asks, blunt perhaps from the seastone, or the opportunity it presents to be excusably blunt. Unsurprising that he recognizes the mark as a burn scar, with him having clearly myriad experience as a doctor – and perhaps in line with the DEATH that his hands bear so boldly.

“Hard-hitting questions tonight,” Sabo observes, buying himself a sliver of time in answering. “No, not particularly. It wasn’t the fire that did this to me – it was them. The Celestial Dragons, the world, the very structure of it all.”

Law’s head is still propped against Sabo’s upper arm. The way he looks up at Sabo is scrutinizing, calculating, like it has been the whole time, even when mixed with other emotions. Sabo feels – well, something about this angle, the way he’s looking down upon Law – it makes the burning inside his chest flicker down to a low smolder. It feels like a common ground has been located, a sort of evenness to their conversation, even with Law being reticent about his own past.

“The world…” Law echoes. He’s looking somewhere else now, far away, gaze distant. Sabo wonders if Law would ever tell him about it, about wherever it is that his mind has taken him. It appears – complicated, in a way that amnesia paradoxically isn’t. Amnesia is an empty space; simple, in its own way.

“I don’t exactly keep it a secret, my…intense distaste for the World Government,” Sabo says. Intense distaste is putting it lightly, in fact.

“Yeah, that was kind of what tipped me off about the whole Revolutionary thing,” Law says, smiling crookedly in a way that makes Sabo’s heart thump oddly (not the time!). “That, and your outfit the first time we met.”

“There’s nothing wrong with dedication to a cause, or to a particular style of dress,” Sabo sniffs.

“I can respect it,” Law acquiesces. Though Sabo hasn’t seen him in enough outfits to notice a pattern, Law does seem like the type to commit to an aesthetic, judging especially from the tattoos, so Sabo believes him.

He laughs a little, continuing his handcuff fiddling. In the brief ensuing silence, Sabo becomes aware all at once of the warm line of Law’s body pressed against his side, where previously Law’s face had been taking up the majority of his sensory attention. This is catastrophic, of course, and Sabo roots around in his mind desperately for a suitably distracting topic of conversation.

Mercifully, Law does the work for him. “Want me to fix that?” he asks casually.

It’s plenty distracting, because Sabo has no idea what he’s referring to. It takes him glancing back over to Law’s face and seeing his gaze stuck somewhere in the vicinity of Sabo’s forehead for it to click into place.

“You mean my amnesia?” he asks incredulously. “Wait, could you actually do that?” He pauses, narrowing his eyes at Law when his expression remains unchanged. “Have you done that before?”

Law tilts his neck to the side, cracking it loudly, and wiggles the fingers of his free hand a little. “When we get out of here, how about you let me crack that bad boy open and see what we’re working with here,” he replies, which, as a matter of fact, does not answer either of Sabo’s previously presented inquiries.

“Wh – my head? I think I’m going to have to decline your generous offer, thanks. I’ve seen you with a bone saw and I have no desire to experience that firsthand.”

“Maybe I can just hit you on the head as hard as I can,” Law says brightly. “Have you tried that yet?”

Sabo scoffs. “Seriously? What kind of question – of course I have. That was one of the first things I tried! Do you know how many concussions I’ve given myself over the years? I was running into walls all over the place back then, and it was only partially because of my newly-fucked depth perception.”

Law narrows his eyes at him, gaze bright with what Sabo can only assume is intense scientific interest. “Alright, now I really want to see your brain.”

“There is no way I’m letting you look at my brain. I’m not that easy,” Sabo sniffs.

Law’s mouth twists halfway into a pout. “Tease,” he mutters.

Sabo laughs, a little incredulous, and the sound of it blends into the noise of the “jail’s” front door opening. It seems their much-beloathed Marine friend has returned. Sabo is honestly kind of shocked that he’s back already – he assumed that Northwood would’ve had to spend a considerable amount of time moseying through town and finding tumbleweeds to pose with in order to properly maintain his theme.

Instead, the man in question has returned, and seems to have brought some backup. Sabo recognizes Sangria, the woman from the party who spoke up for them, and sees another man who is unfamiliar but must be the Mayor. He’s a short, round, middle-aged man with a mustache and thin brown hair, dressed in a suit. He looks as much like a stereotypical mayor as this jail looks like the poster child for How Not To Build A Jailhouse that Sabo has to swallow a laugh.

Sabo doesn’t bother to put away his lockpicking equipment as the three of them gather on the other side of the bars. It would be more suspicious to act like he’d been doing nothing at this point, and it isn’t like he made any progress anyways, not with Law being so – distracting.

“That’s him, that’s definitely him!” says the Mayor, who’s dabbing his sweating forehead with a handkerchief (seriously?). “That’s Dr. Trafalgar Leg, the hero! He saved my life with his own two hands.”

There’s a skeptical, loaded pause from Northwood. “The same hands that have DEATH tattooed on them?” he responds eventually, drawl sharpened with disbelief.

“…Yes,” the Mayor says, at length, seeming unsure as to why Northwood would even be bringing that up. Brilliant, that Law has clearly managed to work some sort of strange blood magic on the residents of this town, for them to buy the whole innocent doctor shtick so thoroughly.

Northwood grinds his jaw a bit, staring down at Law impassively, eyes narrowed. Sabo resists the urge to duck his head in front of Law to invade Northwood’s line of sight just to be annoying, but only just.

“Y’must see the resemblance to a certain pirate,” Northwood says. He pauses for emphasis before continuing; “Trafalgar Law.” And he pulls out a wanted poster, wrinkled and creased with a corner missing. It’s weather-worn, like it’d been tacked up on a board and forgotten about.

Sabo sees Law’s face twitch a little out of the corner of his eye. Oh, if that wanted poster was up in this very town, and Law still didn’t get caught – hah. Can these people really be involved with shady government business? Or is it that they’re so oblivious to it that they don’t even realize what’s going on right under their noses?

That seems more likely, in all honestly. Especially when the Mayor squints at the poster, shaking his head slowly.

“I don’t see the resemblance, honestly,” he says, and nobody can be that good of an actor, the man is legitimately sincere about it. Law doesn’t even have those glasses on anymore! Sabo wants to cry laughing, but manages to compose himself, looking (hopefully) every part the contrite civilian doctor that he’s somehow still disguised as.

Sangria snaps her fingers. “It’s the earrings, and the hair! It looks a little bit like Dr. Leg’s style. That must be why you think they look alike,” she says to Northwood, tone just the slightest bit patient, as if talking to a child. Oh, this is too good.

“Pirates will steal anything these days,” the Mayor sighs. “Even the aesthetic of a noble doctor.”

“How’s the heart?” Law asks brightly, looking at the Mayor. “Any troubles after the surgery?”

“Oh, none at all, sir,” the man gushes. “Just amazing, what you did. I feel healthier than ever!”

“This man must be taken to Marine headquarters,” Northwood says. His voice is firm, but there’s an undercurrent of stress there, as if he’s aware that he is in a losing battle with some of the most unobservant people to ever exist.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, sir,” the Mayor says, kind but firm. “This man is not a pirate, he’s a doctor.”

“Trafalgar Law is a pirate and a doctor,” Northwood explains, speaking as fast as Sabo’s heard him thus far.

“And this man is just a doctor,” the Mayor says with finality. “I must insist that you free this innocent man. I can verify that he is indeed who he says he is.”

“Trafalgar Leg,” Northwood clarifies, a note of incredulity in his voice. Sabo feels more than sees the brief grin on Law’s face, still pressed to his shoulder.

“This man is a hero,” the Mayor says passionately. “He performed open heart surgery on me at the drop of a hat and saved my life. And then he wouldn’t even accept payment after! I refuse to see him imprisoned any longer.”

He wouldn’t accept payment because he was stealing your MRI machine, Sabo thinks hysterically. He’s changed his mind, maybe getting arrested with Law isn’t so bad. This is true, priceless entertainment.

Northwood lets out a sigh like an old furnace. “Alright, Mayor. I respect your…sense of honor.” He says it like the words are sour in his mouth. “I’ll free…Leg …but I’ll be keeping this one.” He tilts his head in Sabo’s direction. Oh, perfect.

“That’s Dr. Leg’s partner!” Sangria says. “He isn’t a criminal either.” But she’s looking at Sabo and Law as if for confirmation, because yeah, Sabo didn’t dramatically perform cardiothoracic surgery on anybody here, so they can’t exactly be certain of his identity, even if Law vouches for him.

“His…partner?” Northwood says slowly, gaze creaking over to the two of them still cozied up on the floor. He’s back to speaking slowly, seemingly in response to the absolute lack of awareness of things like famous pirates and the concept of lying that the townsfolk have thus far exhibited.

“Yes,” Sangria responds. “Can’t you see it?” She sounds a bit dreamy, which is both hilarious and mortifying.

“…Not sure that I do, ma’am,” Northwood mutters, eyes like two flinty pinpricks looking down upon Sabo and Law.

Damn. Fuck , even. Despite their currently, ah, intimate position, the cowboy doesn’t seem convinced that they’re – a couple , or whatever it is that’s being implied with the word partner.

Sabo breaks his stare away from Northwood’s as if he’s overcome with emotion. He manages to lock gazes with Law instead, and he sees that Law is looking back at him with a question in his still somewhat glazed eyes – what now?

Fuck, it’s Sabo’s move, then. The future maps out in his head immediately, a plan coalescing instantly – like a flower blooming all at once, or bomb hitting a target and exploding. Oh, god – there’s only one way out of this – well, one way that doesn’t involve copious amounts of unnecessary bloodshed and enough dramatics to draw an enthusiastic theater crowd. Sabo would still, perhaps naively, like to investigate that building, and if he’s going to do that, he’ll have to forgo the massive amounts of violence and settle for the more – amorous route.

He allows himself one fortifying breath before locking eyes more firmly with Law to convey his plan through a few brief twitches of the eyelid. This (perhaps predictably) accomplishes nothing, other than causing a small furrow to appear in Law’s brow. Okay, well, Sabo was expecting to have to start the charade anyways, so here goes.

He whips his head back towards Northwood, who’s staring at them, unimpressed. Sabo has pasted a tremulous look on his face, then carefully allows it to trend towards something more steady, as if he’s visibly steeling himself. He waits until Northwood’s eyebrows move just a little bit before speaking.

“I – I accept your terms,” he says, voice strong and unwavering, but in a way that makes it sound forced. Oh, he’s so good, seriously, he should pursue acting. “I will stay in custody, as long as my love can go free.”

And really, Sabo should earn some sort of award for saying my love so smoothly, like it’s a given fact, and not like he could feel Law stiffen almost imperceptibly against his side – so subtly that Sabo would never have noticed if not for the fact that they’re still pressed together so closely.

To Law’s credit, he catches on quickly, despite his general malaise. He struggles awkwardly to rise from his place lounging against Sabo, playing up the helplessness of his current position. When he’s finally sitting up more fully, he faces Sabo with an appropriately anguished look on his face.

“I can’t allow you to do this,” Law says, and like before his voice is just a bit too monotone, but whatever, that can just be a facet of his personality. “I will not leave you here!”

Sabo, who’s now facing mostly away from Northwood, allows the smallest sliver of mischief to show on his face as he exclaims, “I don’t care! I would stay here forever as long as I knew you were free, helping people and living out our dream!”

Law gives a choked off sound of distress, face contorting. Oh, he’s good , this is fantastic, really. “It’s our dream, together , to save as many people as we can with our medical skills,” Law insists emotionally. “I won’t do it without you – I can’t!”

Hah , oh god, they’re really laying it on thick – but this isn’t particularly supposed to be for Northwood, is it?

Sure enough, in Sabo’s periphery, he sees Sangria and the Mayor both clutch their chests in simultaneous grief at their heartbreaking situation.

Sabo yanks his handcuffed hand up as if to hold Law’s face, and is predictably stopped partway by the cuffs. He cries out in dismay, as if he doesn’t have another hand right there, hah.

Law takes the initiative and cups the side of Sabo’s face with his free hand, gazing into his eyes. Sabo sighs and settles into it, ruthlessly pushing away any thoughts of how nice it feels – he has to stay in character, goddammit!

“Please,” Sabo says, voice cracking with emotion. “Please, you have to go. I won’t let both of us go down like this. If not for me, then please – for all the people you could help, even without me. Please.” He whispers the last word, and is thrilled to hear what sounds like a choked sob from the woman, and a gasp of outrage on their behalf from the Mayor.

“This is – you are making a mistake, sir!” the Mayor exclaims. Sabo can see his arm thrusting out in a gesture of passionate insistence towards them.

“I believe I am making the most pertinent decision possible, considerin’ the facts,” Northwood says stiffly. Sabo risks moving his gaze slightly off of Law’s face to look more closely at the Marine, and is gratified to see that he looks vaguely uncomfortable with the display in front of him.

The Mayor is muttering, but not saying anything more on the matter. And, despite his apparent discomfort, Northwood has his arms crossed rather decisively. More, okay, they need more.

Once again, the facts collect into a neat, perfect plan in Sabo’s head, laid out in front of him clearly. He knows what he has to do next, he – oh, oh man –

Law has his gaze lowered, his hand having slid down to Sabo’s neck (which he’s been actively and purposefully not noticing, okay), looking convincingly torn and consumed with despair.

“You’re going, okay?” Sabo says softly. “And I’ll be alright.”

“But – you – I –” Law stammers, gaze flickering up to Sabo and then away again, as if ashamed that he is about to give in and leave Sabo there. Perfect, alright, Law is picking up what he’s putting down, at least so far. Sabo might be about to lose him, but –

“Hey,” Sabo says quietly. He lifts his free hand and somewhat awkwardly lays it on Law’s cheek, having to reach partially over Law’s arm still (not noticing) on Sabo’s neck. “It’s okay, really.”

Law looks up at Sabo, then, just the right amount of anguished, and Sabo widens his eyes just a little at him in what he hopes is a clear message. When Law doesn’t instantly respond, Sabo goes a step further and allows his gaze to flicker meaningfully down to Law’s lips, brief but obvious.

Law’s eyes widen the tiniest bit, just like Sabo’s had, but he stays in character admirably. Though – Sabo sees the slightest flush staining his face, and oh , man, this is – already is, and going to be – excruciating, maybe, that’s one word for it – oh, god , what is he doing –

Sabo adjusts his hand on Law’s jaw, angling his face just a little – more a warning of the impending – well – of – and Law has been sufficiently warned, probably, is the thing, but still, still! Still.

Okay, stalling, he’s stalling. It’s all caught up to him at once, now that the drama has briefly cooled down, now that they’re staring at each other, now that their audience is quiet and so far out of their current bubble, now that this is really happening –

Well, he has to make it look convincing. As in, something they’ve done before, many times , oh no, but he can’t bail out now, not when he’s already leaning in, and Law’s eyes have widened completely now, but Sabo’s close enough to him that Northwood probably can’t see that, and then Sabo presses his lips to Law’s and he isn’t thinking about Northwood at all anymore.

And, okay, Sabo has kissed people before. He has! Really! Being a cool Revolutionary is very attractive, even without being able to actively tell anybody about that fact most of the time. The general cool Revolutionary energy is still there. So – so Sabo has kissed people before. He knows exac- he knows what he’s doing. Enough to get the job done. Okay?

Law’s mouth is soft, and warm, and probably a bunch of other adjectives too. Sabo decides to just pretend he’s kissing a complete stranger, but then remembers – oh, right, they’re supposed to be an extremely dedicated couple, so that would be weird.

This line of thought, however brief, does throw his rhythm off for about half a second, and he’s left just kinda sitting there with his mouth mashed against Law’s. Again, only about half a second , but apparently that’s enough time for Law to get weird about it too, and also freeze up, which he continues to do even after Sabo has reanimated and begun to move again.

So Law is just sitting there , while Sabo kisses what feels like a statue, so he does what anybody would do and bites Law. Just – just a little bit , okay, he’s not escalating that quickly. Still, Law jolts, full-body, but that seems to do the trick, because his fingers – still wrapped around the curve of Sabo’s jaw, which he is now being forced to notice due to their…proximity – slide back and grip Sabo’s hair. Well, hello.

They’re kissing for real now, mouths moving against each other, eyes closed, heads grabbed – the real deal. Sabo wonders how long they’ll be able to keep it up without breathing. Law would know, probably. He’d have some weird medical factoid about it, and probably a grotesque story of a couple who died from kissing too long without breathing, or something.

He’s possibly distracting himself, which is typical (and a necessary lifeline for holding on to his sanity), but not especially great at a time like this. Still, when Law bites him in response to – Sabo doesn’t really know, on account of being zoned out, but he assumes he lost steam or something – whatever , this time Sabo is the one to jolt and press forward more insistently in instinctual response.

Well, Sabo moves a little more than he thought he would, and now he has Law plastered against the wall, which – isn’t horrible. Law makes a sort of mmph sound, and then all of a sudden things get – wetter, and more…slide-y. Oh, okay, yes, yeah, that would be because – that’s Law’s tongue, in his mouth, okay.

Sabo can take a challenge, absolutely. He sets out mapping Law’s molars with his tongue, and this is great, and there’s definitely a reason he started doing this, right? Whatever, doesn’t matter, he’s got his free hand fisted in Law’s hair and he tugs a little, just to see what’ll happen. Law pulls away to take a deep, shuddering inhale, and then dives back in with – admirable enthusiasm.

The whole tongue thing was a great idea, seriously. And teeth are a great addition – they’re both being a bit…bite-y, and every time Law bites him, Sabo responds by yanking on his hair, which only seems to encourage him.

Sabo feels a bright heat sliding down from where their lips are locked to take up residence in his chest. He presses forward even more, and now he’s more on top of Law, and the angle shifts, and the slide of their lips is a little different, okay, that deserves investigation –

They’re just getting into a rhythm when there’s an abrupt, deafening clang that startles them apart like guilty teens caught making out in a storage closet – which is, in all honestly, about an inch of difference from what they’re actually doing. Sabo blinks at Law, feeling momentarily blinded as if his eyes had been closed for – a while. How long were they at it?

Law is staring back at him, equally wide-eyed. He’s somewhat flushed, and his lips are red and wet. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, and why did they stop again? There was something –

There’s a loud, extremely telegraphed cough off to the side, and it all comes rushing back. Right. Right! Ha, yes, absolutely, Sabo has the situation under control. He rips his gaze away from Law’s – because why would they be staring at each other like that if that was Makeout Session 264 or whatever? – and focuses instead on Northwood. What an awful swap that makes.

Northwood has his gaze fixed just slightly above Law and Sabo, as if he can’t look at them directly. His jaw seems – tense, as if he’s grinding his teeth, and he looks – hah , he looks awkward about it. He might even be blushing a little at their no doubt shameless display. Perfect, perfect.

The Mayor and Sangria have their hand clasped over their heart and framing their face, respectively. Their facial expressions read aw, wow, that is so romantic and sweet and also tragic, if Sabo is interpreting them correctly.

Sabo looks back at Law and gives an exaggerated sniff, as if holding back tears. Law dutifully and tenderly strokes his hand through Sabo’s hair, and okay, that’s pretty nice, actually. Together, their hard work seems to do the trick, and the Mayor begins to plead their case.

“It would simply be too cruel to separate them,” he says, sounding very passionate and invested, which is exactly what Sabo had been hoping for. “It cannot be clearer that you have mistaken their identities – and under what charges do you hold Dr. Leg’s partner, anyways?”

The Mayor says the last bit with a firm finality, and out of the corner of Sabo’s eye he can see Northwood clench his teeth before deliberately relaxing his jaw. It has the same air to it as a different sort of man screaming and railing against the situation, and Sabo feels smugness start to warm his veins. Best not to get too cocky yet, though –

Just as he thinks that – he’s still gazing tearily at Law’s face; Law, who looks like he wants to laugh at Sabo’s dramatics, but is admirably keeping up a tragic expression – there’s the sound of metal on metal, and then a screeching drag as the cell door is opened.

Sabo and Law both whip their heads around to stare, and Northwood is looking even further above them this time, jaw clenched even more firmly than before.

“I can see that today won’t be the day you see justice,” Northwood says, voice dipping into a growl. “But I won’t forget this.”

Sabo is too busy internally celebrating to care much about whatever Mr. Cowboy Cop is talking about. He squeezes Law’s cuffed hand with his own in his excitement, and they stand up together, only stumbling about eight times in the process of standing and untangling.

Finally they’re upright and face to face with Northwood, whose eyes are like two icy chips of glass. Northwood seems determined to maintain eye contact now, contrary to his prior reluctance to look at them – maybe cause they aren’t tangled together quite so closely anymore, hah. The Marine takes a characteristically long time to select the handcuff key and unlock their single set of cuffs, letting them fall to the floor with a loud clatter. Behind him, Sangria is clutching the Mayor’s arm as he looks on, teary-eyed with joy at their release.

Northwood seems to have frozen in place in his rage, so Sabo and Law have to slide past him carefully to get out of the cell. The Mayor and Sangria immediately start fawning over them, thanking Law for some reason, and patting him on the shoulder to congratulate him about being released from jail. The whole situation is just – ridiculous , and Sabo wants to laugh, but he shouldn’t, so he tries to think of something else to distract himself. All he can come up with to think about is kissing Law, which, no, nope, shouldn’t think about that, nope, that’s worse –

Things are dire enough, thoughts-wise, that Sabo resorts to clapping Northwood – who still hasn’t moved an inch – companionably on the shoulder. The man barely moves. “Thank you for seeing the error of your ways,” he says brightly, well aware that he is absolutely pushing it. “It takes a big man to admit when he’s wrong.”

Northwood, still statuesque, makes a sort of growling sound under his breath, and okay, that’s a great cue to leave. Sabo turns on his heel and links elbows with Law, a perfect mirror of their position at the start of this fiasco.

“Sorry to leave so soon, but we just have so much good to do out in the world,” Sabo says to the two citizens, sighing dreamily and dripping with sincerity. He’s beyond pushing it; it has been firmly pushed at this point.

At the same time, Law seems to wise up to the fact that they’re probably seconds away from Northwood changing his mind and just deciding to kill them both right here and now (as if he even could). He gives Sabo’s arm an insistent tug, all the while spewing platitudes about how he’ll definitely come back to visit soon, they know where to find him (which is a complete and total lie, Sabo can only assume).

It doesn’t take them long to cross the tiny space of the jailhouse, and just like that, they’re outside. Their arms are still linked, as if by habit after being cuffed together for so long. They both pause for a second, blinking a bit in the comparatively harsh sunlight, processing the events of the day thus far. And what a collection of events those have been.

“That was…quite an afternoon,” Sabo settles for saying. He licks his lips absentmindedly, which is a huge mistake, because now he’s reminded of the fact that he has lips – lips which were touching Law’s lips, a mere few minutes ago, and now they’re – unsupervised, and also under no obligation to continue that farce, or speak of it again, or –

“…think we should get going,” Law is saying, and Sabo tunes back in to realize he has no idea what the start of that sentence was.

“Hm? Yes? What was that? You, uh – yeah, you need to talk louder,” Sabo says, blasé, and wants to smack himself in the face. Fantastic cover, that was.

Get it together! he urges himself mentally. Law looks faintly amused, as if aware of Sabo’s turmoil, and that of all things spurs Sabo to steel his spine and face Law with a defiant jut of his chin and a raised eyebrow. Okay, no, no way Law can win this one, absolutely not.

“As I said,” Law repeats, still looking smug, but there’s a telltale flush to his face that Sabo now recognizes, hah, “if we want to steal from that building, we should probably head that way now.”

Sabo perks up quite considerably, having nearly forgotten his entire reason for even being in this town in the first place. He can’t help the grin that alights his face at the thought of getting to rob the World Government after slipping out of their grasp in such a ridiculous way.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” he asks merrily. They’re still linked together, their elbows a kinder tether than the seastone cuffs were. “Let’s go!”

He wants to skip, which is seriously absurd, so he tamps down the urge. The others still haven’t emerged from the jailhouse, so they make their somewhat leisurely way back through town towards the building, arm in arm.

Law waves to the few people they see out and about around town, exchanging greetings with nearly everybody. It seems like he’s well known, which isn’t too shocking considering how the Mayor gushed about him, but it’s still entertaining to see.

They’re nearly at the building when Law slows to a stop. Sabo looks at him, questioning, and catches the edge of a look on Law’s face, as if he’s steeling himself for something. It’s gone so quickly that he can’t be sure he even saw it in the first place, and he’s distracted anyways because Law is blushing again. Hm??

“Yes?” Sabo prompts, a bit aggressively, because he’s curious and not especially patient, especially with a treasure trove of government secrets lying ahead.

“It might be wise to…practice,” Law muses, tapping his chin with one finger, a picture of casual thought. “Just in case we find ourselves in a situation like that again.” This is accompanied by a significant look and a head tilt in the direction of the jailhouse.

Sabo stares at him blankly, trying to deduce what’s being obliquely referred to before he reacts. It takes Law raising an eyebrow and blushing even more for it to sink in.

“Oh?” he says, and it’s supposed to sound smug and amused and maybe a little seductive, but it comes out more surprised and unfortunately high-pitched than any of that.

Law tilts his head again, this time in the direction of a well-lit but decidedly secluded alley to their left. His expression is still smug and presumptive, but his flush is only getting worse with each passing second, so Sabo can’t help but rise to the challenge and see if he can embarrass Law further.

“Practice,” Sabo contemplates. “Practice makes perfect, isn’t that right?” And he grabs Law by the lab coat lapels and drags him into the alley. Law gives a surprised huff at the action, which means point to Sabo, so that’s pretty great.

As Sabo wraps his arms around Law’s shoulders and leans in to kiss him, he decides that he doesn’t mind waiting a little longer to investigate the building. After all, this is just another integral part of the mission, despite how impromptu Law’s involvement was.

As Law sighs against his mouth and presses closer, Sabo decides that he won’t be including this tidbit in his mission report. There are some things that are best kept for himself alone.