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“I thought Ikkaku had watch tonight.”
“I took it over,” Penguin says, not looking away from the distant speck of Punk Hazard on the horizon. He knows it’s Law—could sense his restless presence pacing through the Tang, the agitated circles in the mess, the hesitant weight in every footstep as Law had made his way on deck. He doesn’t need to see Law to know it’s him. Better, probably, not to see. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“We have sleep aids,” Law says, nearing till he’s reached Penguin’s side at the Tang’s railing. Penguin squints harder at Punk Hazard, the island still too far away to make out any details. Just a miserable white blob, slumped in the sea. Like him, these past few days. “You should take some. Sleep deprivation will kill you.”
“You’re one to talk. Or do you not count?”
Law laughs, an entirely unconvincing sound. It reminds Penguin of an engine, sputtering its way towards an explosion, and it’s enough to break his resolve. He turns to Law. Glares. The laughter snaps off, replaced by a groaning sigh that seeps into Penguin’s very bones. A noise made of pure exhaustion. Law looks like shit, even more than the default, and that’s a jolt of mean satisfaction—Penguin’s not the only one.
“That’s—fuck, Peng, I’m not fighting with you again.”
“I will,” Penguin tells him. “We’re still fighting, unless the plan’s changed.”
“No. Nothing’s changed,” Law says, leaning himself back against the railing, back towards their destination, his gaze locked on Penguin’s. Even with the eyebags, this expression is every inch of all of the worst rumors, none of the best memories. A man out for vengeance, all pure, hideous determination, and this is a losing fight. Penguin’s known this the whole time, had said his piece and picked the fight all the same. And now he stares right back at Law, and wonders what Law sees in his scowl.
Whatever it is, Law’s face winds tighter, pinches harder. He lets out a long breath, harsh, grating, and breaks the contest, tilts his head back towards the sky. Swallows, throat bobbing, and when he speaks again, it’s too soft. Doesn’t match the crispness of winter air. Doesn’t match Penguin’s ire or the unholy fury of their argument. It’s a quiet near-whisper, given up to the stars.
“It can’t happen again,” he says. “I need you to survive me.”
He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to. Penguin blinks carefully and then scowls even more carefully. He’s not winning this one, hasn’t for twelve years of trying. But, fuck, he’ll go down swinging. Law is his captain, his friend.
“That’s stupid. We survive together,” Penguin says, and Law nods acknowledgement, one quick jerk. “But fine. Be stupid. But you better come back, because I won’t be able to sleep till you do and I’d hate for the sleep deprivation to catch up to me.”
Law snorts.
“I’ll try,” he says, and Penguin knows he might just be saying it, but it’s something. Something to hold on to tomorrow night, when Law is gone and the insomnia beckons. And if that’s the only thing Penguin will claw from this fight—he’ll take it. Law’s leaving them for revenge tomorrow, but at least he might try to survive.