Chapter Text
Law didn’t look up as the heavy thump of a newspaper landed on his desk, inches away from where his boots were propped up.
In his hands he held a sword, the sheathed blade so long that its hilt rested on the ground as he admired the designs.
He had gotten the nodachi after a brief – and highly unsanctioned – stint on Welbems Island after dealing with some small-fry pirates pillaging high value devil fruits in the North Blue (which definitely, assuredly, did not affect Law, at all).
Kikoku, the islander had called her – a cursed blade, that sucked the soul out of its wielders with every swing.
Sounded fun.
“Your reliance on such an inconvenient weapon is a clear measure of your incompetence.”
Law didn’t respond to the obvious jibe, a smirk curling on this face for no other reason than to taunt the man in front of him – even as dread coiled in his gut when the door to his office slammed shut.
“Look at me when I speak to you.”
Law planted his feet on the ground. With momentous effort, he lifted his eyes past the brim of his marine cap to level a glare at the man in front of his desk (and the piece of sashimi stuck to his cheek from lunch).
“You couldn’t kill a dying 10-year-old in a tundra. What do you think that says about your competence?”
It was petty and pointless, and he knew that. Clearly, so did Vergo.
A haki-reinforced palm met Law’s face in an instant, snapping his head to the left.
Law didn’t raise his hand up to the reddening area, refusing to show anything he knew Vergo would take satisfaction in.
Vergo’s face remained stoic, but Law eyed the growing vein on his neck with no little sense of mirth. “Had you been the main focus that day, I can assure you never would have left alive.” He bent down to lean in closer. Law stubbornly fixed his gaze on the fish stuck to his face, just to be annoying. “Just ask your Cora-san.” He spat the nickname like a poison (and coming out of his mouth, it might as well burn like one).
Law fought down his fury at Vergo even mentioning the man who’d tried to save him.
“And yet here you are,” he sneered, “Babysitting. With competence.” He tacked on the last word with a mocking lilt.
Polished sunglass lenses met his eyes, and Law flinched minutely as Vergo suddenly slammed a hand on his desk, instinctively surging a hand up to his stinging cheek before disguising it with an adjustment to his hat. The impact from Vergo’s hand had dented the metal table. “I’m sure you don’t need a reminder that the only Donquixote on your side is the young master. If it was up to me, you’d be in seastone cuffs at the bottom of Impel Down by now.”
With a movement almost too fast to catch, he reached across the desk, wrenching Law’s wrist in a painful grip – just underneath the welded cuff wound around his hand. The younger man was nearly jerked out of his seat, aggravating the healing bruises under his shirt. “And by the look of it, you’re halfway there.”
Law yanked his arm back, grimacing at the reminder of Doffy’s extended control of his devil fruit.
‘Seastone’ was a bit of an exaggeration regarding the restraint.
Law figured Doflamingo recognized he would need his powers to be at least a somewhat respectable Rear Admiral, so the diluted Seastone cuff allowed him to do low-intensity, short uses of his power and – Law had hypothesized – was to prevent Law from performing something incredibly taxing like the perennial youth surgery on someone else other than Doflamingo.
It was more an annoyance than a severe hindrance because of that – limiting the time Law could have a Room up and its range, and mainly just making his devil fruit a fallback. It irked him, especially as a surgeon. Long, difficult surgeries made even harder by his inability to keep a Room up for long meant he couldn’t do anything that adventurous with his abilities.
Refusing to have Vergo in his office for any longer than he already was, Law figured he should address the newspaper the man had dropped on his desk.
“What’s this?” he asked. It wasn’t recent, more than than 20 years old, the edges of the paper frayed and yellow. It was open to a page featuring different pirates’ wanted posters, most of who Law didn’t recognize.
“Your new task. Crocodile.” He pointed to one poster, the black haired man inside facing forwards, a cigar dangling from his lips and a hook covering an arm. Must have been before he became a Warlord of the Seas. “He’s going to Impel Down.”
Law’s eyes widened marginally. It was odd, but not fully unexpected. Despite Crocodile’s Warlord status, the man had always been shady, and especially considering the pirate’s weird relationship to Doflamingo (especially if the feathered freak was willing to smuggle him away from an Impel Down sentence), it was pretty much a matter of time before the Marines figured out what he was all about. “Why?”
“Inside information suggests he may attempt a violent coup over the current ruler of Alabasta. If that happens, the government will go after him. Doffy seeks to prevent that.”
Law grumbled. He hardly felt like bailing a warlord who was friends with Doffy out of potential prison, but if it meant leaving the seas-damned Marine headquarters he was forced to stay at to spend time with his crew, he wasn’t going to refuse.
“When do I leave,” he asked, pulling himself to his feet with a groan. Healing bruises from his last ‘training session’ (Vergo’s term for having an excuse to grind him into paste) on his chest pulled with the movement uncomfortably.
Law was just grateful the man never used bladed weapons so that his tattoos weren’t damaged.
Priorities.
Vergo didn’t address his question. “Don’t let any other Marines recognize you. Don’t intervene if you don’t have to. Doffy doesn’t want any attention drawn to his intervention.”
He leveled a glare at the younger man. Law rested his eyes on the food still stuck to his cheek to make himself feel a bit better. “Do I make myself clear?”
Law wanted to roll his eyes. “Yes, Vergo.”
There was a threatening pause, and Law actually rolled his eyes. “Vergo, sir,” he mustered, with all the contempt he could.
Vergo turned, opening the door, halting in the entrance for a second, “You’re leaving today.”
The door slammed shut behind him.
Law set the nodachi down, waiting for the shaking in his hands to abide before snatching up the newspaper.
He pulled a Den Den Mushi out from his pocket and dialed.
The snail picked up after two rings, his navigator’s voice further easing the tension roiling in his gut.
“Captain?”
“Bepo,” he sighed. “Surface the Tang. Set a course to Alabasta.”
-.-.-.
It felt like a breath of fresh air through Law’s lungs when he saw the bright yellow submarine rise up out of the water. It had been a while since the Rear Admiral had been able to sail with his crew, his nakama – and he couldn’t help the shock that he felt every time they chose to stay by his side despite the extended absences.
Once the Polar Tang was bobbing gently in the docks – and Law clenched his fist at the Marine symbol plastered on its side – the door opened with way too much force, and three figures clambered out (or rather, one did, and the other two squeezed past), beaming stupidly infectious grins.
“Captain!”
“Law!”
Law’s face didn’t change, but he shifted Kikoku further from his chest and braced himself for the weight of a full-size polar bear mink crashing into him.
Bepo delivered with full force, barrelling into the Rear Admiral with furry arms outstretched and lifting him up. A surprised noise did not leave his mouth, and if anyone says it did, they’re lying.
Law chose to ignore the pain from his bruises, indignant at the manhandling. Besides, he had much more pressing problems, such as breathing.
Shachi and Penguin finally caught up to them, stepping onto dry land – boiler suits rumpled from contending with a bear to fit through a narrow doorway – and the latter placed a hand on Bepo.
“Oi, Bepo, don’t get greedy! Some of us want to make sure Law’s still alive too!”
“Sorry,” Bepo said, putting Law back down gently. Law winced at the motion, still, and had to look away from Bepo as some annoyingly sad emotion entered the bear’s eyes.
Shachi patted his captain on the shoulder, steering him towards the submarine. “Man, it’s felt like forever since we’ve seen you, captain!”
Law didn’t shrug him off immediately, missing the touch of someone not actively trying to kill him for once. “It’s only been a month,” he muttered.
(It had been 5 weeks, 3 days, and 4 hours, and Law had been counting every second of it).
Penguin crept up on Law’s other side, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “Now that you’re here, you can settle this once and for all,” he said, voice serious.
Law raised an eyebrow, stepping onto the deck.
“Hear me out. 100 Sea Kings versus 1 fishman. Who wins?”
A curly head of fiery red hair popped out of the doorway, “Oi!”
Ikkaku stepped out of the vessel, looking every bit demonic. She glared squarely at Penguin’s pale and rapidly-sweating form, marched over to him, and grabbed an ear (an obviously practiced motion, due to her exact pinpointing of the location from underneath his hat). “You better not be bothering Cap with your nonsense, idiot!” Each word was punctuated with a tug (and an exclamation of pain from her captive) as she pulled Penguin back into the ship.
“Personally, I think the fishman wins–” Shachi didn’t finish his sentence before he too, was seized by the ear and yanked into the depths of the Tang.
"Mornin' Captain," she waved cheerily at Law, before vanishing into the bowels of the submarine, presumably to dole out more punishment.
Law groaned, rubbing his face. “Bunch of idiots,” he muttered. (Ikkaku was not included in that sentiment, but Law was too tired to fix his error.)
“We missed you," Bepo murmured tentatively.
Law to look at the mink, his expression softening as he regarded his oldest friend. “I know.”
Bepo’s eyes focused on the forming mark on his face from Vergo’s slap. “We never know if... when you’ll back, so...” He trailed off, but Law understood. He understood how hard it must be for his crew to wait for him to return (even though he didn’t fully understand why they kept doing it).
He just nodded, guilt gnawing at his mind. “I’ll do better.” It was a promise he couldn’t keep. The sadness in Bepo’s eyes only deepened.
Seas, he’d definitely said the wrong thing. A weighted silence hung in the air.
“...I could use your help with this, Bepo,” Law said finally, motioning to the mark on his face and his general bruise of a torso. “If you’re up to it.”
The sadness didn’t fully disappear, but the mushy emotions that flooded the bear’s face every time he got the chance to help someone hid most of it.
“Sure, Captain!”
Depressing feelings were shoved back into the box as the two started for the door, Bepo’s excited chattering on everything Law had missed in his absence drifting on the wind until the door slammed shut and the bright yellow submarine sped off towards Alabasta.
.-.-