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When Rosinante woke up it was because his back felt like it was being set on fire and lacerated with a lemon soaked whip. The pain a constant ache that he lacked words to describe, so completely encompassing that even breathing without gasping was a full workout and no matter how he positioned himself was inescapable and always there.
He tried to move slowly and carefully — both because the pain was excruciating and because Law was finally asleep beside him after two full days of fighting him and everyone else on The Polar Tang since he tended to ignore the fact that he needed sleep like every other human being — in his search for a single position that didn't make him want to rip his spine out with his bare hands. It was pointless, he knew it was pointless, every single month it was the same pointless search for relief that refused the come for him.
Fuck, not even the Ope Ope no Mi worked, because the pain was a mix of his messed up nerve endings and phantom pain and the Surgery Fruit didn't work on mental issues. Rosinante would be tempted to call bullshit if he hadn't seen Law run himself to the ground trying to find a way for his Fruit to help Rosinante with his messed up body and pain.
After a ridiculous amount of pain filled minutes, Rosinante managed to get up from the bed and curl up in a ball of misery on the bathroom floor. Was the floor freezing cold? Yes, and the position wasn't even helping. Putting his back in such a pose just made it hurt more, but one part of Rosinante was waiting for the pain to get so bad that he passed out.
He doesn't know how long he was curled up on the bathroom floor, he just knew when warm — warm, gentle, soft, and careful — hands pressed tentatively on his shoulders, massaging circles on his upper back, knowing to not get close to the spot filled with pain.
"Cora-san…"
"D-did I -mfg- woke y'?"
"…The bed was cold. One to ten, Cora-san."
"Twelve."
Law sucked in air through his teeth. If there was one person who knew just how insanely high Rosinante's pain tolerance was, it was Law, so for the ex-Marine to give a twelve on the list? A shiver of fear bolted down the Surgeon's spine, memories of the last time the pain was up to that point, memories of Rosinante flushed with fever, of Rosinante limping and crawling to the toilet so he could throw up in absolute agony. The pain meds present on the Polar Tang had done nothing the last time they'd tried, not even reducing the pain or helping to numb him, and the one time he'd actually doped Rosinante, the man had reacted badly to the effects of the anesthesia.
Law bit his lips, focusing on caressing Rosinante's back and pressing the warmth of his skin against the feverish spot of Rosinante's lower back. He felt him relax minutely against him, still keeping his body clenched tightly to try and ride the waves of pain.
Law's eyes swiped around the bathroom before they settled on the bathtub, an idea starting to take form. If they mixed the warmth of the tub with a carefully controlled mix of painkillers, and if Law added the abilities of his Fruit and a massage… It could work, at least to lower the pain to a five.
"Cora-san, I'm getting you in the tub."
"Wh-y?"
"It might help, please? Can we try?"
The mere idea of moving was horrifying, but what did Rosinante have to lose? "…Okay, love."
Slowly, carefully, delicately, Law helped Rosinante to stand up and made him walk towards the closed toilet lid. The second Law left his side Rosinante curled into a ball, letting his mind drift and escape the confines of his flesh. He distantly registered the sound of water slamming against tile, the feeling of steam filling the room, the gentle weight of a hand on his shoulder and fingers caressing his hair.
He pressed his forehead against Law's stomach and gave himself a few seconds to return to his aching body before breathing in and wincing. Law helped him to his feet again, and Rosinante blinked back tears at the care and attentiveness with which Law undressed him and lowered him into the bathtub.
The warm water surrounding him helped relax his clenched muscles but it did little for the pain still attacking his senses and his lower back. He grunted, unable to hold the pained sound back and startled when Law moved on his periphery, only allowing himself to relax once his beloved's hands were spreading shampoo on his hair.
"Amor, ¿qué ha-ces?"Love, what're you d-oing?""
"I'm taking care of you. Trust me?"
"Blindly."
He closed his eyes, letting his head rest back and questioning in the corners of his mind if he'd ever said how much this meant to him, how much his actions showed the level of trust he had on Law and his care to be able to bare his throat this easily.
Despite the peace of the moment the pain was still ever-present in his awareness, pulsing and pulling and consuming his peace and calm. Even with his eyes closed he could feel the tears gathering there, threatening to drop down his face the second he relaxed his eyes, an action more and more possible with the gentle massage on his scalp and forehead, with the gentle caress of Law's thumbs pressing at his temple.
When the tears fell he choked on a sob, trying to control the shaking of his frame and the frustration that was becoming a dark hole in his stomach. He was so angry, so full of helplessness. Law had done everything he could when they finally reunited for Rosinante to live on as healthily as possible. He'd fixed his nerve damage and the limp that had refused to go away for thirteen years, and yet all his efforts were in vain because Rosinante's stupid useless body and mind refused to work as they should've, and what was even the point of surviving if he wasn't even good enough to pay back all the devotion his beloved showered him with-?!
"Cora-san, I can feel you thinking."
"Mhm, 'm sorry."
"No- that's… Cora-san, talk to me, why are you- is the pain too strong?"
"Same as bef- fuck- as bef're."
The soothing motions on his hair stopped and Rosinante bit his lip to hold back his whine, agony bursting like fireworks over his skin and making his head pulse. He squeezed his eyes until color danced in his vision, refusing to open them and confront the worried and horrified look in golden eyes. He was made wrong, he knew that, whoever was in charge of making sure people were made in a certain way had fucked up in the process and sent down a defective individual on the packaging of a Saint, failed even by the standards of Celestials and Lower World Human beings. The pain in his back a constant reminder that he was a failed prototype of a person.
"Cora-san, can you look at me please?"
No, he couldn't. How could he dare? But Law was asking, his voice soft and rough and filled with that sadness that sometimes appeared when he looked at Rosinante, and he was already making him suffer just by being there, so how could he dare deny the request whispered so fragile into the air?
"There you are," Law was smiling at him, something delicate and frail, "What's going on in your head, Cora-san?"
So much, so many things that he wasn't even sure how to make Law understand the psychological weight that his pain caused him. Rosinante wasn't stupid, he knew the pain was phantom pain from infections and ill-healed injuries, he knew it was all in his head, he knew the cold of that night thirteen years ago still had its frozen fingers grasped around his spine and brain.
"It hurts."
If his voice broke, well… Law had already seen him at rock bottom and still stayed at his side, what's one more breakdown?
He allowed the tears to fall, the sobs to escape, the shudders to shake his frame, the pain to consume his nerve endings. He only startled and stopped when Law sank into the bath with him, hovering over his lap and pressing Rosinante's head against his chest. Law's heartbeat was steady, a lighthouse in the middle of a storm, a rest-stop in the middle of a never-ending stretch of road. Loud and all encompassing, fast and strong and the one port of safety in the waves of pain.
He floated there, allowing his brain to disconnect and only vaguely recognizing that Law was taking care of soaping him up, of cleaning him, of moving him this and that way to bath him. It made him feel fragile, like something to be careful with, like a priceless possession that would break without the gentlest of touches. He felt like a bit like cracked crystal, just one touch away from breaking into a million pieces, but Law's touch was a balm, fixing his cracks with gold like a kintsukuroi piece.
He could feel the water draining around and under him, could feel the touch of a warm tower drying his shoulders, could force his legs to cooperate and stand, forcing himself to stay still as Law dried him up, as Law helped him dress, as Law lowered him back in the bed.
The warm water of the bath had helped.
Law had helped him even more.
Rosinante closed his eyes.
The pain went down.