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Law rarely dreamed. Or slept, for that matter, at all. He would force himself awake with caffeine and adrenaline, and stay that way for days. Then, he would crash and burn, sleep for a day, and repeat.
It was habitual. A schedule of his. It was a wonderful way to get things done, as long as he had a constant supply of caffiene with him.
His crew tried to stop this habit of his, but during this leave of absence on Punk Hazard, with his crew far away and Law creeping ever closer to his goals, he abused this way of work. If just one more push could get him to where he wanted, then he would push.
It had been several months now, over a year, since he had successfully become a warlord. This granted him the opportunity to work on Punk Hazard and form some useful… alliances. Alliances that got him closer and closer to his goal. Warlords had special privileges. For one: the World Government was no longer watching his every step.
Despite the overwhelming pros of his new position, he still faced some setbacks within this new line of work. Caesar, a man who could only be called his boss (What with their current relationship. Law was technically an employee), had close ties to Doflamingo. If he were to slip up, and cause any suspicion, his entire plan would be at risk.
To be honest, the facilities weren’t -amazing either. This was no fault of the staff, Law had to admit that getting plumbing to work whilst the place you lived was torn between extreme volcanic heat and near absolute zero was… difficult.
And yet, he stayed.
He stayed despite risk, he stayed despite every single thing meant to deter him. Why?
Because he wanted to kill Doflamingo. This was the only way. He wanted to kill the man who had killed his only saviour, in a time when he had no one, nothing. In a time where all he knew was anger, he had been given happiness wrapped in a black coat.
And Doflamingo had snatched it from him just as he was about to return to safety. Return to normality, just as he had been before. In a fit of epicaricacy, his benefactor was gone, little more than a cold cadaver on the mortuary slab.
(Not that Corazon had a funeral.)
To kill one of the most powerful men of the seas—both physically and politically—Law knew that he would need to risk his own life.
He had been more than ready to do that for years now. He had known what he needed to do. To avenge his only ephemeral light in a time when there was naught but pure darkness.
So he stayed awake.
He had a schedule, of sorts. He would stay awake for several days, fall asleep, and hope that he would wake up only a few hours later, rather than a day. During this period of solitude, of awakeness, he planned extensively, carried out examination after tedious examination, and—of course—took notes.
And then he would drift off at his desk, cold and silent.
On one of these rests, Law found himself in a strange dream. He was sat in a bar, the wood grain not quite right, his fingers a bit too long, the people’s faces blurry. The dream was white and fuzzy in the peripherals, like it was fading away.
This place was windless, each sound dulled and muffled as if in another room. It was like he was sat in his room with the Donquixote pirates once more, and there was a party downstairs. And everyone was at the party but him.
The feel of the wooden bar beneath his fingers and the stool he was sat on were wrong. In the sense that he could not feel them.
And yet, despite all these—almost negligible—differences that told Law this was, in fact, a dream, one thing was perfect.
He turned his head. Blood-red eyes met gold.
Despite all these small imperfect details, Cora-san looked back at him, a perfect reflection of the day he died.
“I don’t understand why you have to… to…” he swallowed around the lump in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut, turning away from Cora-san. He couldn’t bear to look at those shining eyes, knowing that he couldn’t do anything.
He could see the blood staining the pristine snow, the only thing for milea around. He could map each and every bullet hole, name each bone, muscle, tendon and organ they tore through like tissue paper.
He could still hear the sound of silence blanketing him as he escaped, leaving Cora-san in the snow, blanketed by feathers and ice.
“I need to keep you safe, Law. If this is what you become—and if I need to die for you to become this—then so be it. I’ll give up my life for yours, just because I want to.” He whispered, sweet dulcet tones soothing to the ear, warm hands coming to splay across Law’s back, a soft tingle working its way down his spine from where Cora-san’s hand encompassed his whole back. The warmth sank in, a lost relic of years gone by, large and clumsy and calloused.
The idea the Cora-san could be proud of what Law had become was inconcievable. The rage that filled him daily; the sleep that evaded him; the way he etched his very skin with the mark of Cora-san. How could one be proud of someone so delinquent?
Tears began to well in Law’s eyes, despite his best efforts. “Cora-san… you don’t want that. You don’t want me to be like this.” He said through gritted teeth, jaw wound tight like clenched fists prepared to punch, prepared to shove Cora-san away. “You dont know the half of it.” He felt himself begin to shake, imagining Cora-san’s expression.
Disappointment? Anger? Sadness?
“Then tell me.”
Law’s eyes snapped open, whirling around to face Cora. The world bled away more, blurry faces receding into the haze. It was just him and Cora-san. His jaw opened with a click, a sob being wrung out of him, forcefully, achingly. His chest hurt as he spluttered up coughs and sobs, tears winding down his cheeks, tainting his lips with salt.
No. Cora-san was looking at him with the biggest smile he ever saw, the most earnest eyes… and with his arms splayed, ready to comfort Law.
He could not remember the last time he cried, let alone as hard as this, wracking his bones with each wheezy, choked up sob. He could not remember the last time his body hurt so deeply until his very bones ached.
Law knew that he needed to show him. Needed to show why he was not someone to be proud of.
His hands trembled as he pulled up his shirt, thick black lines of ink slipping into view, a stark contrast to the soft tanned skin framing them.
Cora-san’s arms fell as he stared at the markings. His expression was unreadable, brows slightly furrowed as he leaned forwards in his chair.
A large black heart curled around his chest, swirling across his pecs and abdomen, with a face in the middle. A Jolly Roger of sorts, not too dissimilar to that of the Donquixotes. But this face had a bright, all-encompassing smile.
And that face was staring back at the tattoo.
Fingers came to press against the marked skin, swirling around the shape of the heart. “Wow… it’s a nice tattoo. I like the face.” He poked the face in the middle. “It’s cute.” He smiled widely, mimicking the cartoon’s expression.
Law snatched Cora-san’s hand and pressed it harder to his chest, strips of black peeking through the space between his fingers. “It’s you.”
He looked down at Law, leaning closer to peer at the tattoo. “Is it?”
Law felt the need to scoff. “It’s you, it’s always been you! That’s my Jolly Roger. It’s you. I named my crew The Heart Pirates. They’re you. It’s always been you.” His voice died off toward the end, tears still flowing down his cheeks as he tried to hide his face.
Suddenly, he was crushed against Cora-san’s tall frame, arms wrapped tight around Law. He could feel Cora shaking, feel him trembling as he tucked his face into Law’s hat and sobbed. “Cora-”
“I meant it Law. I would die for you. But that doesnt mean you have to live your life for me. Live it for yourself. I want to free you, not leave you trapped in my shadow…” He rambled through hiccups and sniffles, large hands tugging at Law’s jacket.
“I want to live in your shadow. But, I would prefer if you were there to cast it upon me. Living in your memory is not the same as living with you.” Law said, shoving his face into the soft feathers of Cora-san’s coat.
Cora-san was silent after that, but he could swear he felt a soft nod from above him.
Law’s memory was excellent, but during his illness, he had been so stricken with feverish warmth that everything blurred together in flashes of black and pink, like a blizzard had blown through the memory, and left it crusted by ice, distorted.
The white lead poisoning had ran through him until there was nothing left but scraps. In those last six months, shivering and scared and small, Law had little more than himself.
But he did have one more thing. The one thing he remembered well. The brightness was Cora-san’s smile. And the shine of Cora-san’s tears. Law’s heart involuntarily wrenched everytime Cora-san cried, though he did not know why.
His own emotions were smothered beneath layers of thick white powder, sinking into his skin, curling around his liver and kidneys like tendrils. For a long while, all he felt was all-encompassing rage, completely apoplectic when even the tiniest bit irritated, teeth bared against the world that was so so much bigger than him.
It was the only emotion that could shine through.
But despite this, despite all his dizziness. Despite the fact that every time he blinked, time would skip forwards, having fallen asleep from exhaustion…
Cora-san was constant, in those six months together.
He would look up and instead of grey skies, he would see smears of blue and red like crayon, and black like the very shadows had been wrapped around the both of them.
But one night, it was especially cold, and Law had been curled tight around himself, knees drawn to his chest, arms hugging each other under the thin blanket they had. He couldn’t sleep. He rarely could, like this. So warm, yet so cold. Teeth chattering yet sweating all the same.
Cora was quiet. He was mostly quiet, the only sounds coming out of him being the sound of breathing and the occasional cough. Despite Law already knowing this particular lie, Cora insisted on keeping up his facade. Refusing to peel back this layer of deceit, risk being caught, Cora stayed silent. As did Law.
On this particular night, he was doing more than mumbling. About an hour ago, it had been just soft sniffles and aborted sobs. Now, Cora was wailing, each sob slurred under the influence of alcohol. Cora drank a lot. It was one thing he and his brother had in common. Guzzling down bottles of shining liquor, red, brown, white. Their throats bobbing in sequence with each burning gulp.
The difference was, Doflamingo could handle his liquor.
Clumsy footsteps thudded against the dirt as Cora tried to keep steady, stumbling towards Law.
A large hand landed a bit too harshly on his torso, an equally large face coming to nose at Law’s spotted hat, the weight pushing him down and coating him like the warm blankets he had back home. “‘M so sorry, Law…” He said with a puff of air, blowing Law’s black strands like a gust of wind. Law could almost imagine running through the streets like before, wind rushing through his hair, ruffling it like a warm hand. “Y’ don’t deserve it. ‘S not fair.” Cora pushed his cheek against his hat insistently, whilst Law stayed stiff as a board.
The hand over his abdomen tugged him lightly, dragging him closer to the burning warmth that was Corazon. “You’re even shivering…‘m sorry, I should’ve given you my coat.”
Said coat was suddenly draped over him, as arms wrapped around him and held him tight.
BADUM
BADUM
BADUM
Cora’s heart was so loud it rattled his brain, beating just beneath his ribs, protected by layers of fragile bones and muscle. Yet, the noise lulled Law to sleep all the same. Law twisted in Cora-san’s arms, curled his fist into his crumpled shirt, and looked up at his sleeping face.
A smile was spread across Cora-san’s cheeks. As it always was.
Law had awoken from that dream stiffly (as he tended to be). His body still felt warm and heavy from sleep, still blinking sand from his eyes as he arose.
Something, though he could not place what, was distinctly different. The sheets were more crumpled than usual, Law’s shoes were knocked over from their usual place, and Law felt… lighter, somehow.
Still, he made his way into the bathroom to begin his morning routine, looking into the mirror to brush his teeth when he noticed a smudge on his temple.
The bright, waxy red of lipstick was painted over his temple in a large streak, moving from the corner of his eyebrow up to his hairline. His hair was ruffled, too.
And when Law spun around at the sound of footsteps, there Cora-san stood. Lipstick smudged, and smiling as brightly as he had remembered.