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Law is sick.
It’s nothing out of this world, just a common cold, easy to take care of with plenty of rest and lots of liquids. He’s also got a bit of a fever, no big deal. He’s been confined to his private cabin under the threat of mutiny—or at least he was, until Law snarled at the rest of his crew that he would much rather sail the seas without any of their “annoying asses,” as he called them, upon which the Hearts switched tactics and vowed to tell Rosinante all of their embarrassing stories about Law if he didn’t comply. Law muttered his hatred for them, went straight to the Captain’s quarters he shares with Rosinante, and proceeded to pass out.
Rosinante is taking it in stride. Of course he is. He’s totally fine, definitely hasn’t been panicking at all, no sir! He hasn’t spent the last hour and a half checking Law’s breathing every ten minutes, absolutely not! It would be preposterous to suggest otherwise!
Except maybe he has been. Checking Law is still breathing every ten minutes for the past hour and a half, that is.
But that’s normal, right? Even common colds can grow complicated if they’re not treated properly! Rosinante still doesn’t entirely understand how Law’s powers work or the full extent of what they can do, so he doesn’t know what his Devil Fruit can or cannot counterattack when it comes to illnesses.
(I removed the Amber Lead from my organs soon after… after Minion, Law confessed to him the third day after they were reunited, once Rosinante had finally gathered the courage to ask. Burned it all to get rid of it. It’ll never hurt anyone else again.)
There’s nothing wrong with Rosinante being a little more cautious than he usually would be! Making sure Law’s heart hasn’t stopped while he’s unconscious is just part for the course!
The damp cloth he put over Law’s forehead is dry, so he picks it up and goes to the ensuite washroom to re-dampen it. His gaze doesn’t stray from Law longer than a few seconds at a time as he twists off the excess lukewarm water and hurries back to the side of the bed, wiping the sweat from Law’s head before lowering the cloth back into place. It’s been ten minutes. He checks Law’s pulse. Still steady.
Rosinante crosses his right leg over the left one. Uncrosses them. Crosses his left leg over the right one. Uncrosses them again.
All things considered, he’s handling this as well as he could be!
Well.
For the most part.
Sort of.
…
Maybe.
…
Perhaps not even in the ballpark of ‘well,’ actually.
Rosinante sighs to himself, runs a hand down his face. He knows he’s overreacting. Law is so smart, so clever. Surely if it was something he could rid himself of, he would’ve done it by now. A stupid common cold won’t bring him down—it could never. Not his Law. Not his strong, wonderful, unbelievable Law.
But seeing him on the bed—seeing his flushed cheeks and his softly parted lips and his slightly irregular breathing—reminds Rosinante of a much smaller Law, one who fit in the cradle of his arms, feverish and delirious, clinging to his coat with trembling fingers as his lead-scarred lungs pulled in all the air they could hold and exhaled it in breaths that shook almost as bad as his tiny frame.
Rosinante tightens his hands into fists. Law isn’t a child anymore. There’s no longer a time limit hanging over his head like a sword. He’s not dying. He’ll be fine. He just needs to rest.
The rest of the crew assured him that they didn’t need his help, they could take care of the ship, “Don’t worry, Rosi-san, we’ve got this covered, you just look after the Captain, okay?” So, with a little nod to himself and a big, deep inhale that he slowly lets out through his mouth, Rosinante forces his thoughts away from worst-case scenarios and settles on his chair.
For the next few hours, he simply watches Law sleep, listening to the humming of the Polar Tang around them. He snaps to attention whenever Law’s body twitches, but then Law will turn his head or roll onto his side, and Rosinante rearranges the sheets around him and lets his palm linger, only for a moment, on Law’s arm.
As he’s drawing his hand back, Law’s eyes flutter open halfway. Rosinante’s breath catches in his throat.
“Hey,” he says quietly, using the same hand he was pulling back to run through Law’s hair. “Hi, love. How’re you feeling?”
Law blinks. He leans into Rosinante’s touch.
“Cora-san,” he mutters.
“Yeah, I’m here. You okay? Do you need something?”
Rather than answering, Law rolls on his back and closes his eyes. Rosinante panics for exactly seven seconds, but on the eight, he rationalizes that Law most likely just went back to sleep, and there’s no need for him to fear the worst. He can see Law’s chest rising and falling! That’s good enough for him.
He should probably still go find Law something to eat, though, and himself, too. He can leave him alone for ten minutes. Five. Three.
Rosinante moves to the door before his own body can betray him and keep him glued to Law’s side. Once he’s out of the room, it’s easier for him to move through the Tang towards the dining hall.
“Oh, Rosi-san!” Bepo greets him, carrying two bowls of what looks to be stew or a broth of some kind. “I was about to go ask you if you wanted some dinner! Here, for you and the Captain.”
“Ah,” Rosinante breathes. The smile that overtakes his mouth is equal parts grateful and relieved. Their crew truly is amazing. “Thank you, Bepo.”
His legs, miraculously, cooperate the entire way back to Law’s private cabin. He even manages to balance both plates on one arm so he can open the door and gently close it behind him, only to find Law starting to sit up on the bed.
“Law!” Rosinante cries, setting the bowls on the nightstand. “I thought you were asleep. Are you hungry? I brought dinner.”
Law shakes his head, a hand pressed to his forehead. “Not really.”
“Oh. Well. Um.” Rosinante once more takes his seat on the chair he’s been occupying all day. “You barely had any breakfast, and you haven’t eaten anything else. Maybe you should have a little, at least?”
The roll of Law’s eyes is one of the most beautiful things Rosinante has seen lately. It’s a good sign that Law is already on his way to recovery.
“I’m not—” he begins, his tone nearly as grumpy as when he has to deal with any of the Straw Hats. But he glances sideways at Rosinante, and whatever he sees in his expression makes his eyes soften, his features relax. “Hngh. Fine. I’ll have some dinner.” He takes one of the bowls and digs into it immediately.
Fuck, if that’s not the most obvious indication that Rosinante has been silently losing his mind.
“I didn’t expect you to be here,” Law says halfway through his bowl.
Rosinante frowns to himself. “Where else would I be?”
“I’m still contagious. This kind of close proximity is putting you at risk to fall ill next.”
His frown deepens. If Law ever thought Rosinante wouldn’t drop everything to look after him, he’s got another thing coming.
“I wasn’t about to leave you alone,” Rosinante replies.
“It’s just a cold, Cora-san.”
For some reason, rather than reassuring, Law’s statement rubs him the wrong way.
“Do you not want me here?” he hisses.
Law straightens on the bed. He stares at Rosinante for a moment that feels infinite, until his shoulders sag, and he huffs.
“That’s not what I meant,” Law tells him, reaching for one of Rosinante’s hands, “and you know it.”
It’s only when Rosinante replays Law’s words in his head that he realizes he’s holding his breath, and his fingers are gripping his own bowl like a lifeline, and the tension in his spine is so coiled, so tightly wound, that he fears it’ll snap if he dares breathe the wrong way. Tears burn behind his eyes. His pulse throbs in his ears.
Law’s thumb glides over his knuckles, and Rosinante focuses on the contact to ground himself. Law is a grown man. He lived. He didn’t die. He’s not dying. He’s here, solid and warm and alive.
Rosinante releases a shuddering exhale that could almost be mistaken for a sob.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry, Law, I—”
“It’s okay,” Law starts. Rosinante shakes his head, but Law taps his thumb over his knuckles to get his attention. “It’s okay, Cora-san,” he repeats, “I get it,” and his voice leaves no room for arguments. “You’re not the only one.”
No. No, he’s not. Rosinante has held his darling boy through his own nightmares, held him as Law trembled and whimpered incoherencies about fire, and gunshots, and snow, and strings. About hospitals set ablaze, and a bubble of silence, and a smile he committed to memory as the last remnant of the person he would come to consider his most precious one. He’s no stranger to the kind of fear that’s been choking Rosinante all day long.
What a pair they make.
“Still,” Rosinante says anyway, “I have been a bit overbearing. I’m sorry.”
Law shrugs his shoulders. “That’s fine, I was asleep throughout most of it.”
A laugh bursts from Rosinante, unexpected and light. The weight on his shoulders dissipates, if only slightly, and the rope wrapped around his heart releases its grasp on him. He turns his hand so he can catch Law’s fingers with his own. Even though it makes it harder to eat for both of them, neither of them lets go of one another.
Once they’re finished and Rosinante has set their bowls on the nightstand, Law tugs on their clasped hands, going as far as dragging Rosinante into the bed with him.
“I thought you were worried about getting me sick?” Rosinante chuckles, even as he settles behind Law and circles his arms around his waist.
“Shut up,” Law grumbles, bonking his head against Rosinante’s jaw and burrowing sideways into his chest, one fist curling on Rosinante’s sweater and the other one on his back.
Rosinante leans his head on Law’s and listens to their combined breathing. Law’s temperature has gone down, which means he’ll probably be good to go in a couple of days. In the meantime, Rosinante has no problem just holding him like this, relishing the fact that he can be a safe place for Law to take it easy and focus on getting better.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Law murmurs.
Rosinante nods, careful not to jostle him. Law sounds like he’s about to fall back asleep any second now. “Of course.”
“I’ve never felt as safe as I did in your arms, those last three weeks.”
The three weeks before Minion Island. The three weeks after Cora-san. The last three weeks they ever got to spend together.
Rosinante swallows his tears, gulps down the sob building in his throat. Part of him is heartbroken at the thought of Law never being able to feel that safe again for the last thirteen years, but the other part of him is so unfathomably happy that he could offer that safety and comfort to his boy when they didn’t know if he would live to see another day.
He squeezes Law tighter against him and presses his forehead to Law’s hair.
“Thank you for telling me that,” he mumbles.
Law lets out a small, nearly inaudible hum, followed by a yawn he’s not successful in holding back.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, “for looking after me. For loving me.”
“Oh, Law.” Rosinante kisses his temple. Loving Law is the easiest thing he’s ever done. “My sweet, darling boy. I love you.”
The only answer he gets is a soft, gentle snore. Rosinante cherishes it all the same.