Archive of Our Own

day 7: farmer's market | police investigation 

“did you come here to be annoying or is that just a happy accident?”

In-service training is nothing special when you work as a firefighter. Just the usual routine when you have to be a professional superhero. As the years go by, Ace even gets bored with doing the same things over and over again every day: physical training, cramming theory, and practicing tasks and standards. It happens even more often now because Portgas D. has his own rookies. He has to regularly check and repeat many things just to be sure that these people are competent enough not to be dangerous to the citizens, themselves, or to him.

Every month they have special mandatory training days dedicated to specific topics, like “Water Rescue Drill Day,” “Vehicle Extrication Drill” (Ace calls it “Car Cutting Day,” but the management does not welcome this in the reports), or “Structural Collapse Rescue Training.” There are many such trainings, which they have to combine with real work and disasters. And at the same time, you can’t forget that every year you have a hellish week of annual recertification ahead of you.

These days, Ace survives on caffeine, adrenaline, and a love for a challenging but necessary profession.

Today’s in-service training is special. In theory, of course, and in a firefighter’s rosy dreams. That's because everything hinges on one specific person who may or may not even show up. Surgeons are incredibly busy people, and running medical training for firefighters isn't exactly in their job description. But Ace holds onto hope. Why? Who knows. This optimism just lives inside him, pushing through like a dandelion splitting a thick layer of asphalt. For some reason, the information on whether he’s coming or not is kept top secret – at least from Ace.

Stupid Marco knows everything, but he just likes being a bit of a bastard. And handsome Law, Ace’s special someone, rarely answers his texts anyway.

So, from a distance, Ace looks like a puppy hanging around the front yard of the fire station, waiting for company. He doesn't have a solid reason to be confident that today is his lucky day, but no one can stop him from dreaming. In the meantime, he still needs to help relative colleagues with the gear and tools. Even if he isn't destined to see the grumpy face of the beautiful doctor today.

Luckily, today is the kind of day when Ace might as well buy a lottery ticket and win a couple hundred bucks.

When a black Audi pulls into the staff parking lot, Ace's heart skips a beat. He knows this car. He and Law have joked a couple of times about the unwanted gifts from Law's caring uncle and Trafalgar's apparent loyalty to his German roots. The latter is most likely just Portgas making things up, but the surgeon never bothers to deny it.

Law parks smoothly and beautifully – perfectly, even. Ace plans to comment on that, but first, he’d like to at least say hello. However, instead of a greeting, he gets a calm, slightly cool remark as Law steps out of the car:

“Portgas, have you been demoted to a parking attendant? I knew your behavior wouldn't be tolerated for long.”

“Well, well, well, Dr. Trafalgar. Did you come all this way just to be annoying, or is that just a happy accident?” Ace laughs, hiding his slightly sweaty hands in his pockets. Law’s words don't sting. “And you guessed wrong – I’m actually a porter. How can I help you today, sir?”

Law rolls his eyes and gestures towards the trunk, which opens in a couple of moments. Even from afar, Ace notes Law's usual strict order and neatness. Sometimes his pedantry seems unhealthy to Portgas, but at the same time absolutely adorable. 

“Hey, Ace,” the firefighter hears a female voice and shifts the focus of attention to Trafalgar's assistant. 

“Hi, Ikkaku, you look pretty today. How are you doing?” Ace greets the nurse and smiles. 

He didn't expect that someone he didn't know would come to visit them. Their fire station is attached to the hospital where Law and Ikkaku work. It is located nearby. And they all often cross paths either in coffee shops, on the streets, or in the emergency room. Ace's team undergoes a mandatory medical examination there. And very often, ambulance crews from this hospital respond to their calls. That's why they all already know each other, and that is why Portgas D. waited and diligently believed that Law would arrive.

The probability was small, but Trafalgar surprised him.

“I won't complain; I'll take a couple of hours off from the patients and will enjoy the sight of men in uniform. I think it's luck,” Ace doesn't hear the humor in Ikkaku's voice. However, he does not condemn anyone. “What about you?”

“Very good indeed. Today my newbies will have a real extreme experience. I can't wait for Law to scold everyone for their ham-handedness,” Ace mocks and obediently pulls a CPR dummy out of the Audi’s trunk.

“I can write an entire scientific paper on this topic. Guess who gave me the most material?” Law's gaze is piercing; the voice is stern. Trafalgar is joking, of course. However, every joke is only partly a joke. 

Ace listened to too many lectures from an irritated Law. From a professional point of view, this is not good. But from the point of view of Ace's personal perversions, Portgas loves it. 

“Don't exaggerate, Torao. I've certainly given you a few reasons to be angry, but I'm not that bad,” Ace jokes, and having received only another piercing look from Trafalgar in response, follows him and Ikkaku into the building.

It's Trafalgar's good fortune that Ace is busy staring at the mannequin's slightly open mouth rather than at someone else's tight jeans.

In the small training room, three new recruits had already gathered, waiting for the medics and their sergeant, Ace. Portgas D. enters the room first; Law and Ikkaku follow him in. The experienced firefighter looks at his rookies with a wide smile and puts the mannequin on the teacher's table.

The newcomers, as soon as the door creaks, immediately stand up and straighten up.

“Today the best of the best have come to visit us. You'll have wonderful hours of medical terminology, visual examples of first aid, and a bit of rudeness. I’m kidding; there will be a lot of rudeness. However, this knowledge will help save lives. So be attentive and ask questions. All of them, by the standards of the respected Doctor Trafalgar, will be stupid, and he will complain that you don’t know anything, but he will give detailed answers. Let's build character, boys, and communication is a must,” there is a smirk on Portgas D.'s lips, and the eyes shine with anticipation. Of course, he exaggerates a little. Law, surprisingly, a good teacher. Rude, of course, but patient. And, a couple of times, the hours of knowledge he'd been cramming into Ace's head had helped him out on tough calls.

“Are these all your newbies?” asks Law, looking at the young guys with a scolding look. Ace's words are pointedly ignored.

Portgas D. catches a hint of disappointment in his grey eyes. It's not because the surgeon loves the public, but because the newbies this time look like listless teenagers who got into the wrong school. Helmeppo is pale and shaking all over, because sometimes he is not sure of his choice. Koby is shaking because he has the overachiever syndrome and is trying to show diligence in every way. But he looks like a typical nerd. Grount is punk and looks stronger than his colleagues. However, Ace sometimes has the hardest time with him. He's aggressive and stubborn. 

Ace doesn't like seeing a copy of himself in his teenage years.

Generally speaking, they are not all bad, but still very young. And when you imagine firefighters, you're unlikely to imagine these guys. 

Ace nevertheless hopes and believes that he will make professionals out of them.

“I feel cheated,” Ikkaku mutters under her breath. Ace lets out a chuckle.

“There are other guys, but they have training on another day,” Ace explains and gestures for the boys to sit down. The command is carried out without question. “Marco decided to divide them into teams to make it easier to manage and to have extra hands on duty.”

“Doctor Chopper will take another part next week,” Ikkaku adds new facts to Ace's words.

“Okay, got it,” Trafalgar doesn't ask unnecessary questions. He scans the newcomers with a strict gaze once again and then calmly introduces himself. “My name is Doctor Trafalgar Law, and my assistant’s name is Ms Ikkaku; she is our nurse. Today I will be giving a lecture and training on first aid. This will be a small part of what you need to know. This time we will work on the most serious mistakes that your colleagues made in the past. And you will have to absorb this information as if it were your first name; is that clear?”

Newcomers have no choice but to agree.

Ace has no choice but to hold back the words he wants to say. And sit at the desk next to Grount.

Trafalgar Law is impossibly sexy as a teacher.

As a medic, Law has complaints about how people handle medical care in the field. Of course, because then he has to deal with the consequences. Or to shock people with tragic news. And one can say that it is easy for him to judge, since he does not work in non-standard conditions. But that's not entirely true. Law, like his colleagues, is also a kind of rescuer. Therefore, the actions of all parties must be coordinated and work according to the principle of “do no harm”.

The path to the fascinating world of medicine begins with an inhalation lung injury. Law showed his nerdy side by even preparing a presentation, which is now being broadcast onto a white screen using a projector. There are pictures with explanations, step-by-step instructions on what to do, and notes on what you should definitely do and what you shouldn’t. And all this is accompanied by the voice of the surgeon, who often repeats the same thing over and over again, but in different words.

“I repeat, you do not take the injured person at his word if you see traces of soot around the nose and mouth. If the patient has singed eyelashes, eyebrows, nose hairs, or a hoarse voice and heavy breathing, then there is absolutely no dialogue. Evacuate away from the fire and smoke, ensure a sitting position, put on an oxygen mask on their face, and call an ambulance immediately. Laryngeal edema does not give you time to think, negotiate with the person, and take unnecessary actions,” explains Trafalgar and places the mannequin in a standing position on the table. “Questions?”

“Can a cold compress be applied to the neck area?” Koby is a surprisingly risky guy. Ace is even proud of him. 

Especially because Trafalgar always loves this question. In quotes.

“Don't skimp, pour panthenol directly into the casualty's throat,” the surgeon's voice seems to be made of steel. And he stares at him as if he’s about to suck the soul out of the new recruit. Ace bites his bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud. “No amateur activity; this is not a bruise. This won't help the larynx. You evacuate, ensure a sitting position, loosen the collar, remove any constricting clothing, put on an oxygen mask; at the same time, you call medical personnel or wait for them, and monitor his well-being. Then doctors take care of them. If you come across a jerk who tells you that you have the right to put a "muzzle" on him, you are showing your dominance and doing what you are instructed to do.”

“What if he threatens to sue us?” Helmeppo's question made Trafalgar's eye twitch.

“You'll hire a lawyer. I can't give you legal advice. The main thing is that you need to save a person at a specific moment,” but he still answers questions.

“Are you sure? Your name says otherwise,” Ace tries to control himself, but Law provokes him. Besides, Portgas D. had not received a portion of attention for a long time.

“Sergeant, I think you're out of place here,” the surgeon falls for the incitement as if this is Ace's first joke about his name.

“It is always useful to refresh your knowledge, Doc. And as a senior in rank, I must ensure discipline,” Portgas D. smiles charmingly, resting his chin on his palm.

“I'm afraid you've already failed in this,” Law has the last word, ignoring the glances between the rookies and Ikkaku's rolled eyes. Ace is very pleased with himself. And he says nothing more, giving Law the opportunity to continue. “Severe laryngeal edema develops within minutes. If you don’t submerge him in 100% oxygen, their airway will completely close. Every fire truck must have a resuscitation bag, in which you have to have a working oxygen cylinder. You must check it regularly! Now I will show you how to properly put a mask on the face of an injured person and how to use the cylinder.”

Instead of a volunteer, Law uses the CPR dummy. And then, after finishing the demonstration, he makes sure that each recruit practices on the mannequin. Newbies turn out to be clumsy. Either from the pressure of Trafalgar's presence, or from the constant grumbling and nagging at every movement. They put on masks incorrectly, check the cylinders incorrectly, and release oxygen in the wrong doses. They repeat the same actions again and again, until Law becomes satisfied. 

At the end of the block, the surgeon gives a short and harsh verdict:

“All your injured died. Congratulations.”

And then he starts a new block, after telling Ace to pester them with these questions every day. 

Portgas D. happily agrees to any order Trafalgar gives him.

And thinks that Law is trying to be mean. If the guys had handled the task so poorly, the surgeon would never have switched to another topic.

The second block is dedicated to spine and neck injuries – or, as Law puts it, “how to avoid turning people into expensive houseplants before medical care arrives.” Of course, the introduction can't be done without pictures, videos, diagrams, and a ton of text. Law uses digital models to demonstrate how to properly evacuate a person with a potential or obvious spinal trauma. And, of course, he tells them what they absolutely must not do in such cases. Unless, of course, they have a burning desire to intentionally paralyze someone and get dragged into a massive lawsuit.

At this moment, Law looked at Helmeppo very meaningfully.

Ace also learns that Trafalgar is not a wizard after all and does not know how to stitch a spinal cord.

They practice the actual extraction of victims after a disaster separately with other instructors. It’s difficult work that requires intense focus and precision – things that are sometimes hard to come by in extreme conditions. Hands-on learning definitely works better here. However, Law isn't giving this long, careful lecture just to steal another instructor's thunder. This is an introduction on how to properly apply a cervical collar before pulling a person out of a tight space.

The rookies enjoy working with their hands way more than listening to the same things repeated over and over. Ace partly agrees with them, but he enjoys listening to Trafalgar just as much. Portgas D. strongly suspects that some kind of forbidden magic is involved. Or maybe the surgeon is just full of a hidden passion for medical terminology and happens to have an incredibly sexy voice. Especially when he swears or is unhappy about something.

He is always unhappy, to be honest.

It's also pretty funny how Law arches an eyebrow whenever he catches Ace's gaze. And he catches it often, because Portgas D. is openly staring. He's keeping quiet for now, having no intention of disrupting the lesson, but he just can't take his eyes off the surgeon. Trafalgar doesn't show any visible discomfort; he probably just thinks Ace is messing around.

The fireman, in turn, sees a work of art right in front of him and thoroughly enjoys every second of the Trafalgar performance.

Ace is so captivated by Law's presence that he barely notices Marco entering the room with a stack of papers and sitting down at the next table.

“Who do you think will get chewed out more for messing up the collar?” Marco asks quietly while Trafalgar asks Ikkaku to prepare the equipment for them.

“Grount, of course,” Ace replies, carefully hiding his surprise at seeing his older friend here. “He’s way too impatient for this.”

Portgas D. guessed wrong. Helmeppo turns out to be the worst of the three. He drops the collar a couple of times and completely botches the sizing for Law's neck. Perhaps the dark energy of the surgeon – who decided the rookies would practice on him personally – is just terrifying the already insecure young guys.

At the end of the second block, Trafalgar doesn't hold back on the commentary:

“Blondy, you strangled me on the first try, and I became disabled. I will come back from the other world and sue you. It was better later, but it needs some work. Smartypants [Law deprived Koby of his name], it was not bad, but pick up the speed. Graft, don't be so reckless; you almost took away my ability to feel my legs. Overall, none of this was perfect. Restudy and repeat! Sergeant, I hope I don't need to explain that you have homework?”

“Of course, Doc. I hope you'll double-check it yourself and give me a grade for my efforts?” Portgas D. smiles, shamelessly making eyes at the handsome surgeon.

Law mistakes the terrible flirting for another stupid joke:

“Living, healthy citizens will be your reward. Besides, your own life might very well depend on the skills of the people under your command. It's in your best interest. Take care of it, please.”

And then he announces the third block, ignoring Grount's attempts to explain that the name Law used is not his real name.

Ace, meanwhile, can't stop smiling stupidly. 

In the third section, Law moves on to his favorite topic: “Types of bleeding, vascular anatomy and main tourniquet application rules”. This section is Trafalgar's favorite not only because Law will turn on his nerd mode and talk about veins and arteries with such pleasure as if he were discussing the new episode of his favorite TV show about superheroes. But also because he has a whole pile of stories where someone really messed up, and doctors then cleaned it up. 

Law wouldn't be himself if he didn't recall the most outrageous moments in his practice. With his meticulousness about everything, this is almost every case in his practice where open wounds and blood are involved. And where he wasn't the one who provided first aid. 

Even so, flaws would have been found.

Ace, by the way, isn't proud of it, but his name is also on the list of the most dangerous people on the planet.

Of course, the lecture is not complete without bloody pictures. It's not very pleasant, but their professions are not for mental sissies. People, by the very fact of their existence, are bags filled with blood, bones, muscles, and organs that should not be visible, but no one is immune from accidents. And someone has to deal with it.

Ace is pleased that none of his rookies faint or grimace.

“The tourniquet should never be applied to bare skin!” after the subtopic of venous bleeding and how to stop it, Law begins talking about arterial blood loss. And everything begins here. Trafalgar does not deny himself the pleasure of looking expressively at Ace and showing with his whole gaze that he is about to cause pain. “When you turn that windlass to cut off a major artery, you create a massive amount of circular pressure. If there is no cloth between the nylon and the epidermis, the skin becomes minced meat. What do we have in the end? The bleeding, let's say, has stopped. But ischemic necrosis, pinched nerves, additional inflammation because you're not in an operating room but in the dirt, don't disappear. But now, surprise surprise, what have you forgotten? Sergeant?”

Ikkaku sighs in the background and rolls her eyes again. Marco lets out a chuckle, without tearing himself away from paperwork. The newcomers stare at Ace with incomprehension in their naive eyes.

Ace looks into Law's eyes for a long couple of seconds, then leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. But still smiles.

“The sympathetic system responds to stress. The wounded person begins to sweat. And due to the lack of a buffering layer, the tourniquet can shift along the limb's axis. Eventually, the fixation will weaken, and the artery will reopen,” this information is so ingrained in Ace's head that he could easily repeat it in his sleep.

“What will I do after I receive a patient with such additional injuries? Unless, of course, he dies from blood loss?” Law looks at Ace sternly, even narrowing his eyes.

The firefighter's abdomen feels warm and slightly tense. Ace tenses his back and bites the inside of his cheek gently to stop his thoughts.

Lectures on blood loss and Ace's sexual preferences don't mix.

“You will swear very loudly and obscenely, and then you will use physical violence,” there is a small percentage of humor in this answer. Law is a fan of torture.

“I never hit you, even though I wanted to. I'm sure you're still remembered with evil and loud words, Sergeant,” Trafalgar reveals his hidden desires and does not smile. Ace didn't expect anything else. Meanwhile, the rookies exchange glances. Either from shock or from a lack of understanding of what's going on. “But let's get back to the intrigue. After such an act of unprofessionalism, I’ll have to handle the surgical debridement, run a revision to somehow save the crushed nerves, and then put the patient on aggressive therapy. It's long. It's painful. And it could have been avoided. We can't do more harm to an already wounded person! Is everything clear?”

Ace and the newbies nod their heads almost in sync.

The surgeon’s gaze pierces Ace’s face with a predatory look. His left eyebrow twitches slightly, and his lips press together. Ace reads this mimic signal as a warning of reprisal if, heaven forbid, such a sin is ever repeated. Or maybe it's some kind of twisted type of flirting. Ace likes the second option better, but fantastic things don't happen to him. However, this does not prevent him from mentally admiring the surgeon’s beauty and silently howling in despair.

The firefighter can bet – Trafalgar doesn't even realize how poisonous he is.

And how Ace always finds those small doses of his cold attention fatally insufficient.

God, he is so pathetic. And Marco's damn gaze burns Ace's profile with silent condemnation.

The only thing that saves Ace from dizziness is that Law returns to teacher mode and takes away a crumb of his attention from Ace. He turns out to be a fan of interactive activities. To call necessary practices by this name is a desecration, but Ace's thoughts are like a multi-colored mosaic. And he doesn't even argue when Trafalgar includes him in the practice of applying a tourniquet. Either because the newbies need a test subject, or Trafalgar still doesn't trust Portgas D., which is insulting. Whatever, the surgeon now has all the power in his hands.

“Okay, Smartypants, tactical scenario,” Trafalgar begins the practical execution. “Your crewmate’s forearm just caught a piece of rebar. It ruptured a major artery, and it’s a massive arterial bleed. He’s dropping two hundred milliliters of blood every single second. You’ve got exactly thirty seconds to get that tourniquet on and cut off the flow before his heart gives out. You fail – he dies. Go!”

Koby twitches as if a surgeon had just slapped him, but he fights his panic and takes action. His fingers get tangled, he even seems to be shaking a little, but he does everything according to the instructions. Helmeppo even whines at the end, because there is nothing pleasant in this process. At the end, Koby even checks his pulse to make sure he did everything right. Trafalgar, who had been watching the trainee’s movements until now, rechecks the correctness of tourniquet compression and Helmeppo’s vital signs. In the end, he hems meaningfully.

“You saved his life, but not his limb,” almost praises Law, frowning. “Take it off carefully and fold it as it should be. Ikkaku, keep an eye on him.”

Of course, Trafalgar doesn't just trust anyone with his precious equipment.

“What did I do wrong?” decides to ask Koby, removing the white hook-and-pile fastener. The thirst for self-improvement is commendable.

“I'll tell you later; first I'll collect all your sins,” replies the surgeon, takes a couple of steps toward Ace and Grount's table, and looks at the rookie. “Now it’s your turn, Graft.”

“I’m Grount. Stop mangling my name!” a young man corrects Trafalgar's mistake and furrows his brows. It's as if he's trying to intimidate a surgeon who isn't easily frightened. 

What a sweet simplicity.

Ace lets out a chuckle as he watches Law's eyes stare lifelessly at the boy. And then, without paying any attention to Grount’s demands, he continues:

“Grаft, listen up! Your scenario: You’re forcing entry with a rotary saw. The blade shatters under tension, and a heavy fragment hits the Sergeant right in his right thigh. Major vessel ruptured, massive arterial bleed, his clothes are soaking through instantly. The Sergeant goes down. He's disoriented from shock and can’t help himself. Your job is to secure his leg and apply the tourniquet high and tight in the groin crease. Clock's ticking. You have exactly forty seconds to lock down the flow. Move!"

Ace would like to protest, asking what exactly his groin crease did to Trafalgar, but he doesn't dare. The surgeon's stopwatch is already ticking, and he looks at Grount like a hawk at its prey. Portgas doesn't waste precious moments and turns the chair towards the intern, sliding down slightly. He speaks calmly, twitching the corner of his lips:

“Oh no, it seems that Mister Surgeon has killed me after all. Save me.”

Grount looks at Ace with a surprised look, blinks a couple of times slowly, and then sharply grabs the tourniquet that Ikkaku had given him earlier. Whether it's from shock or from the mental pressure from Trafalgar, the greenhorn is completely unable to cope with the task. He drops the instrument and cannot find the right position to make it easier to provide first aid. When he somehow manages to put the tourniquet loop on his leg, he pulls it too low. Law corrects him and orders him to pull it higher. Grount hesitates because this zone is too intimate, but he does it anyway. He tugs on the strap, but weakly, which is why the pressure is not enough. He wants to redo it, but the surgeon’s cold tone stops him.

“You're dead, Sergeant. Your subordinate finished you off,” the announcement is disappointing. Law looks extremely displeased. “Instead of your name, you should remember how to apply a tourniquet, kid. You were wrong in your actions from the very first second.”

“I panicked! And there wasn't enough time!” Grount defends himself, gripping the edge of the table with his fingers. His knuckles are turning white. It looks like he'd rather grab the surgeon's throat than the tabletop. Ace snorts under his breath and pulls his foot out of the noose. Meanwhile, Marco is writing something in his notebooks. “Who even throws a newbie into such a simulation?! I think even experienced people can have a hard time dealing with it. Especially when there is almost no time!”

Law looks unimpressed at the newbie's mini-tantrum, and instead of giving a boring lecture about the importance of the profession, he looks towards Ace. The surgeon stares at him for a few moments, as if thinking about something, and then speaks in a steely, commanding tone: 

“Sergeant, same scenario, but this time your colleague is wounded. You have forty seconds; the clock is ticking.”

It takes Ace exactly one second to feel like ice cream on a hot summer day. And it takes him exactly the same amount of time for his relaxed and laid-back state to suddenly turn into a serious one.

Ace doesn't hesitate. He grabs the rookie by the collar with his strong fingers and rudely pushes him to the floor. Grount doesn't even have time to complain before Portgas D. flips him over onto his back and presses with his knee just below the groin, leaning on it with all his weight.

“Hey, buddy, can you hear me? Be patient, it will be unpleasant, but I will get you out,” Ace says calmly and confidently, looking at the dumbfounded young man's face, and checks his pockets with his palms. “There are keys and a lighter in the pocket. I’m taking them out.”

All the contents [of the pockets] immediately end up on the floor.

The Sergeant doesn't waste a second. He deftly and quickly places the tourniquet loop on the rookie’s foot and pulls it to his knee, which is still pressing on the other person's thigh. He removes his leg from Grount's thigh and, having said what he will do now, with a sharp movement pulls the straps first towards himself and then to the side. The tourniquet is tightly tightened just below the groin.

“You can't sleep. Listen to my voice, kid. It will hurt, but bear with it, understand? Breathe and bear with it,” Ace comments and turns the plastic crank three times. It's hard going; Grant growls in pain, but Portgas D. ignores his natural reactions. He clicks the tourniquet clips and, glancing at the greenhorn's thigh, turns his head towards Helmeppo. “Strong muscles, need another one. Helmeppo, give it to me.”

Surprisingly, the blond assists quickly and a second tourniquet ends up in Ace's hands. The sergeant repeats the same manipulations, placing the tool below the previous one. And all this time he reports on his actions and encourages the “injured”. Grount himself is lost in painful sensations and simply moans under Ace. Portgas D. knows it hurts. But through pain comes salvation. Even if it's only in training, of course.

In the final seconds of the allotted time, Ace looks at his watch and reaches into his pocket for a marker. He grabs the rookie's jaw firmly with one hand and removes the cap from the marker with the other one. And then he writes numbers on Grount’s forehead, while commenting on his actions:

“I record the time. It’s 2:27 PM. You're doing great, kiddo. You will survive. Now we're waiting for the medics.”

Ace smiles and pats the newbie on the thigh encouragingly while he's in pain. And then, without getting up from the floor, he looks at the surgeon, who had been watching them the whole time. He raises an eyebrow, as if asking how it is, and waits for a reaction. 

Law, of course, likes to keep the suspense a little.

Trafalgar's face is stony, emotionless. It is as if he disconnects from his mortal body to analyze what he has just seen. However, the staring contest does not last long. Law let out a low, rare grunt of approval, slowly lowering the hand with a mechanical wristwatch on it.

“This is an example of how you all should act in a critical moment. Instead of complaining that the emergency situation is unfair to you. As far as I remember, your sergeant has never been in a situation where he would have to apply a tourniquet to such a difficult area. Nevertheless, he did an excellent job. He didn't make a single mistake, and even foresaw the possibility that one tourniquet would not be enough due to your colleague's body structure. He talked to the “injured” and calmed him down. And… Smartypants, did you see your mistake?

Law turns his gaze to Koby and stares at him.

Ace, meanwhile, is practically beaming with joy and doesn't immediately understand that Grount needs to restore blood flow to his leg, which is pinched by the tourniquet.

“Exactly! I didn't write down the time!” Koby loudly slaps his palm to his forehead. “But why did the Sergeant write the time on his face? There's a white stripe on the tourniquet.”

“I would like to know too,” Grount grumbles. At the same time, Ace removes the training tool from his hip.

“One surgeon told me this, and I listened to him very carefully. This way, the doctors will definitely see my message and save your leg,” Ace explains with a smile. And, having removed the tourniquet, he even offers the rookie his hand so he can stand up. Grount accepts the gesture.

“I'm glad you got that,” Trafalgar snorts, nodding his head. And adds: “The tourniquet application time can be written anywhere visible. However, it must be written clearly, and please legibly. And also, Sergeant, this isn't a permanent marker, is it?”

Grount visibly tenses when he hears Ace's laughter.

This sin is also on Portgas's account. 

He would like to keep the suspense going, just to tease, but he is not given the opportunity to do so.

“No, he is not allowed to use permanent markers anymore,” Marco speaks up without looking up from his notebook. “Firefighters with permanent numbers on their faces don't look very decent on a call. He adopted a good habit, but used it in a bad way for training purposes.”

“Thank God, I barely managed to wash off his scribbles that time,” Ikkaku laughs in the background and watches as Grount folds up the training tool.

Well, it happened a couple of times. Big deal!

“Okay, I should have clarified that,” the surgeon nods and, glancing at Ace again but with an unreadable gaze, returns his attention to the training. Or more precisely, to Helmeppo, who also needs to be tested.

Ace mutters something unintelligible under his breath, plops down in his chair, leans back, and crosses his arms over his chest. He did an excellent job; Law praised him and set him as an example. What is worthy of becoming the new Paris. That very Paris which you can see and die. But… But Marco decided to ruin the moment. 

Bastard.

Ace frowns and, watching the surgeon's movements around the room, quietly speaks to his friend:

“Why are you even sitting here? You're embarrassing me.”

“Me? Don't be ridiculous, you could embarrass yourself at any second. I just came to see it,” Marco laughs quietly, looking at Ace over his glasses. What nonsense! Ace has no intention of embarrassing himself. “And it’s easier for me to do all the paperwork after today's training myself than to entrust the reports to you. This saves a lot of time for all of us.”

“Asshole,” Ace moves his lips without making a sound. However, he does not admit it out loud – Phoenix is right. Reports need to be submitted, but Ace's relationship with them is not going well at all. And there's always the possibility that Ace won't be able to contain himself and will write a multi-page ode to Law and his sexy aura.

The training nevertheless continues.

As a result of the third block, Helmeppo copes with the task. Of course, it's not perfect, but he takes Koby's mistake into account and corrects it. Trafalgar notes this in his speech and then gives Grount another chance to improve. The second attempt is considered successful, but Law still has a couple of things that he finds not good. And he insistently demands that the newcomer should take the first aid course again. In an ideal scenario, he would have sent everyone there. However, he apparently believes that the mentoring of his senior colleagues will be enough, and adds another homework assignment to Ace.

Thank you very much. 

Ace [without sarcasm] will fulfill any whim.

The final block of training is dedicated to thoracic trauma; or in simple words – chest injuries. Not the most pleasant topic, since Law will definitely show them off his scary long needles. But they must be able to do everything. Especially when chest trauma is not that uncommon in their difficult work.

Of course, the lecture can’t be done without presentations. And naturally, Trafalgar does not consider minor injuries, where time, although playing a role, is not a critical marker. These are always severe cases: bloody foam, chest asymmetry, ruptured lungs, whistling sounds, and blue faces. All these images are real – they are reports from incidents that have already happened. For example, earthquake rubble, car or industrial accidents, and much more, where people got their chest injured. It may seem that the surgeon is a bit of a maniac and collects creepy pictures. But in reality, he is just a fan of his job who wants to know everything. And he strives to ensure that people around him are professionals, not amateurs.

“I hope we won't be practicing with each other now?” asks Helmeppo with a pale face, looking at the needle, which is more than eight centimeters in size. A creepy thing that is needed for the emergency treatment of tension pneumothorax. 

“Of course not, you will definitely kill each other,” a drop of disappointment is visible on Trafalgar's face. “But that doesn't mean you shouldn't understand what it is and how to use it. There may be times when this knowledge will be useful. You're the first to interact with injured people, and gaining time for rescue is critically important.”

Law doesn't poke the needle anywhere; he just explains how to do it and even shows a video where the entire process is detailed. The newbies even wince slightly as they watch the rescue process, but they don’t turn away. And they even write something down in their notebooks. 

After the theory comes the practical part, and Trafalgar returns to the dummy, which has been standing on the table all this time.

“Now I will clearly show you how to palpate a patient for broken ribs and lung injuries. But first you must visually check if there is any external damage. Pink foam on the lips or around the mouth – it is an important symptom. What needs to be done next is to examine the chest. You don't waste time on shame and politeness; you bare a person’s torso. Observe carefully. If there is a wound and it foams, everything is clear. If one side of the chest rises normally, but the other lags behind – this is also another symptom. The lung is deflated and does not participate in ventilation,” explains Trafalgar, pointing his palm at the plastic breast. “The next step is palpation. You will have to grope the person, but not with a flat palm. Your main tool here is your fingers.”

The surgeon spreads his fingers wide, arching the tips until his hands look like a pair of rigid, spring-loaded claws. His fingers transform into stiff “rakes”, ready to dig in. Ace holds his breath as he looks at his hand, where the tattoo ink is visible under the skin. And the bones of the hand stand out especially clearly. This is fascinating. Law has beautiful hands, with long, neat fingers. And such slightly predatory, but professional movements make Portgas D. weak.

Law's hands often appear in Ace's forbidden, but very sweet dreams.

“Press down hard on the chest. On a real person, you’re feeling for subcutaneous emphysema – air under the skin that crackles like dry snow,” explains Trafalgar, running his fingertips over the plastic; he presses. The mannequin, even though it is supported, still slides along the tabletop. Law clicks his tongue in irritation. He tries to show the necessary movement again, but the effect is the same. Moreover, due to the fact that the plastic only superficially imitates the human body and exists as a simulator for indirect cardiac massage, there is no silhouette of ribs on it. This complicates the task of learning the material. The surgeon notices the newcomers staring at the light plastic torso and frowns. Finally gives a verdict: “It’s impossible!”

Law removes his hand from the plastic and rubs his temple with his fingers, as if he is tired of dealing with meaningless questions. He thinks about something for a few moments and looks up at the people sitting in the classroom. His eyes stop first on Ace, and then on Marco. He stares silently, turning the voltage up to the maximum level. And in the end, he says hesitantly:

“I need a normal mannequin or a real person for a visual example. The first option is long and impractical. I chose the second one. Ikkaku is no go for ethical reasons. I need one of you. I won't stick needles into you. You just need to stand still so I can clearly show the trainees where to press and how to do it correctly. And your greenhorns will be training on you. So what? Who's the volunteer?”

“Ace,” Marco answers briefly and clearly, looking at the surgeon from under his brows. Ace chokes on air and turns his head sharply towards his friend. The Sergeant, without words, but with his eyes, searches for an explanation for such a risky choice. The answer is not long in coming: “I am married. And my husband is a little jealous. It won't be possible to hide it. And I don't want to go to your trauma department later. Ace has nothing to lose.”

You son of the bitch, Marco! 

Ikkaku, by the way, is also on the list of people who deserve revenge. Because he doesn't like her smile and the way she plays with her eyebrows.

Ace swears on his dying nerve cells that he will definitely pour laxatives into his friends’ thermoses.

Because this is a very bad choice!

No, don't get it wrong, tactile contact with Trafalgar is Ace's most desired dream. A huge part of his soul rejoices at the prospect of being caressed by these beautiful hands. But another part of him is desperate to run away. It's dangerous. It hurts. And this is the most “terrible” secret that Ace is afraid to reveal about himself.

Trafalgar absolutely shouldn’t know that every gesture and glance from him makes Portgas D. lose his mind. The surgeon's sometimes low voice makes Ace's skin harden with goosebumps. And his very rare touches work like a detonator for the enraged butterflies under Ace's press. Portgas D. gets high from every exciting surge of emotion that Law unconsciously causes.

Ace doesn't know how long it's been burning inside him. It just exists, grows. Warm, sweet, sticky like melted caramel. But at the same time, it torments the firefighter’s soul and heart. He loves these feelings. He hates them. And it is absolutely not possible to free them.

Trafalgar definitely doesn't reciprocate his feelings.

Without this, Ace has no reason to voice something that no one needs.

Even though Ace feels awkward and even scared, he still does the favor for the surgeon. Portgas D. is too weak to refuse. 

And he’s probably too desperate to try to squeeze a romantic moment out of a work-related action.

“Thank you,” says Trafalgar and shows him the best place to stand so that everyone can see him. Ace obeys without objection. And even smiles tensely. But the bravado remains until Law orders him the following: “And please take off your shirt; we need your ribs.”

“Go ahead, Doc, have your fan,” Ace hides his embarrassment behind laughter. He hesitates for only a moment and puts his hands behind his head to pull off his dark blue uniform shirt. He is happy that his hair has grown slightly and the reddened tips of his ears are hidden. He doesn't bother with neatness and simply places the item of clothing on the table behind him. “I hope you have warm hands?”

“You talk a lot, Sergeant,” Law says dryly, glancing briefly at the firefighter's naked torso. “Learning is not always a pleasant process. But I appreciate your sacrifices. Now please stand still, be silent and breathe calmly.”

Ace lets out a chuckle, catching a mix of mocking and confused looks. 

Marco, the bastard, even puts down his pens and papers.

Law briefly explains to the rookies what he will do now and takes a step towards Ace. He breaks into Portgas D.'s personal space, cutting the distance between them. The firefighter tilts his chin up, staring at the space above the trainees’ heads. His skin seems to vibrate from the mental pressure; his shoulders are burning hot. He distracts himself by focusing on other sensations. However, it doesn't get any better. Ace smells wormwood, cold mint, and smoke. Most likely cologne, and it suits Trafalgar perfectly. Ace takes a careful breath, savoring the aromas, and clenches his hand into a fist. 

Damn, it's too intoxicating.

Ace even falls into a kind of trance, but not for long. Commenting on his actions, Trafalgar raises his hand and makes the first contact with Ace’s bare skin in the collarbone area. It lasts for only a heartbeat; without a hint of pressure. Law touches him as if testing the tension of the water with his fingertips. Cold, that's what Ace thought. But it's sweet, like a pink fairytale.

Forest fires are flaring up under Ace's ribs. He bites the inside of his cheek discreetly and doesn't move. He issues a mental order to brace himself, only hoping he has the discipline to obey it.

Jesus, Law just touches him, and Ace is already turning into a puddle.

Portgas D. is confused for half a second, but quickly realizes that he is imagining things. Law confirms this with his further actions. He again turns his palm into a “tiger's claw” and sinks his fingers deep into Ace's muscles, right under his collarbone. With his other hand, he grabs Ace's shoulder to hold him in place.

Portgas D. furrows his brows, but does not twitch or make a sound.

“Watch the angle,” the surgeon's voice is confident and ice-cold. For some reason, Ace feels hotter. “You are not petting the patient. You should feel his bones. Sink your phalanges deep under the bone, right into the first intercostal space, and slide your fingers down.”

Law illustrates his words with actions, kneading Ace's muscles with his fingers. The first rib. The second one. Lower. The tips of tattooed fingers mercilessly count the bones under the skin, pressing deeply into every gap. Trafalgar does it slowly, torturingly. His fingers touch some of Ace's weak spots. And he doesn't stop talking with his slightly hoarse voice near Ace's ear.

Portgas D.'s head is spinning from the unprecedented closeness, and goosebumps are running down his back. Ace reflexively tenses his abs, stares unblinkingly at an invisible point in space, and crumples the fabric of his cargo pants with his fingers. He clenches his jaw and repeats the command "hold the line" in his head. 

But with every second, the mission becomes increasingly impossible. 

“Here, you are pushing through real, living muscle,” Trafalgar continues, counting Ace's fourth and fifth ribs with his fingertips. “Remember, if your patient is in shock or losing blood, the muscles will become tighter. Press harder. We need to check the whole chest from top to bottom and move to the sides.”

Law sharply moves his hand to the side with a heavy press, running his fingers over Ace’s side abs right to his right flank. This tight, ticklishly painful touch makes Ace twitch slightly. The firefighter gets lost in his sensations. His imagination draws the room smaller, and the temperature is hotter. Portgas D. almost goes deaf from the loudness of his heartbeat. His face and ears are flushing hot, as if he is in the middle of a burning room. And his lungs are starved for air.

Nice. 

A little more and he will need to be resuscitated. 

Luckily, there is a brilliant surgeon nearby who can both kill and resurrect.

“In this way you should palpate both sides of the chest and ribs. And now the symptom: if something crunches under your fingers like dry snow or bubble wrap, that’s subcutaneous emphysema,” Law voices sharply, keeping his eyes on the audience. “Air from a ruptured lung is leaking into the tissue. It’s an emergency. You have no time to wait; you have to decompress. So how do you do this?”

Law removes his hands from Ace's body. Portgas D. exhales the heavy air that has stagnated in his lungs, but does not relax. The surgeon still doesn't let him go, but only changes sides. He stands to Ace's left side and grabs his shoulder again, but this time his right one. 

Portgas D.'s body turns to stone again.

“Let's say subcutaneous emphysema was found in the left lung,” Trafalgar continues in a lecturing tone. His breath brushes like light silk across Ace's shoulder. The Sergeant's heart skips a beat, and his fingers squeeze the thick fabric of his uniform pants harder. “This side is more difficult because the heart is more displaced to the left. Perfect accuracy is very important. First you need to find the second intercostal space in the midclavicular line. There we will find the safest place where the decompression needle will pierce. But what is the easiest way to find it?  We start with the V-shaped dip between the collarbones.”

Because of this cold but pleasant touch to his throat, Ace reflexively swallows. He exhales convulsively through his mouth and tenses his back muscles even more. His body feels like a continuous mass of nerves, a painful spasm. And every touch of the surgeon licks like a tongue of cold hellish fire. Willpower and the fear of embarrassing himself in front of other people are the only things that keep him in place.

Common sense has been screaming about evacuation for a long time.

Law doesn't react at all to Portgas D.'s reaction and continues. He says something about the topmost age of the sternum and slides the pad of the index finger down, straight along the flat bones of the chest; stops in the middle, pressing just above the level of the heart.

Ace's young body betrays him, routing a blood flow in unnecessary places. His head is buzzing. His vision is a little blurry from the lack of air – he simply cannot force himself to breathe while Law’s hand dominates his chest. His hands shake with a slight, uncontrollable tremor. Ace wants to shout the safe word. To escape. And drown his burning body in a bathtub of ice-cold water. He feels like he is dying. 

But beneath the panic, there is an unhealthy, twisted pleasure in how easily Law can destroy him only with his fingertips.

Fuck. He is completely doomed.

“About four to five centimeters down, the bone is no longer smooth,” meanwhile, the surgeon continues, holding the finger in one place. He moves the rest of his palm lower. Because of this, his entire hand now rests entirely on Ace's chest. He presses slightly, making it even harder for Portgas D. to breathe. The skin of his palm is cold but soft. Ace curls his toes and lightly bites the skin of his lower lip on the inside. Portgas D. needs grounding, a little pain to take his mind off the sweet torture. Maybe even something disgusting? How about cleaning your kitchen sink drains? Ugh, that's awful. But not enough. What else is there? Ace thinks, fishes out any fragments from his memory to distract himself, and completely does not hear what is happening around him. However, Trafalgar's voice he hears clearly. But he doesn’t understand the meaning of the words: “Your fingers will bump into a prominent transverse ridge. This is a sternal angle or…”

Lost in thoughts about Trafalgar's amazing hands on his skin and his plans to clean his messy brother’s room [he will definitely find decomposed organic materials somewhere there], Ace misses the moment Law falls silent. Ace blinks sluggishly, as if he had just woken up, and looks at his rookies and Marco. The young people look confused, exchange glances, but remain silent. The blond son of a bitch sits there with a satisfied smile and appears to be filming Ace with his smartphone. The freckled firefighter frowns indignantly and opens his mouth. He doesn't say anything, but shows his irritation.

What a total bitch!

Ace is distracted from thoughts of reprisal against his old friend by the movement of Trafalgar's hand on his chest. Oh, okay, what does it mean? Law's hand is still in the same place, but the cold precision is gone. This doesn't look like a medical demonstration anymore. Law’s hand moves in small, sharp jerks, tracing strange geometric patterns across Ace’s hot skin. It’s as if the surgeon has lost something small and now tries to find it. Or is he simply… groping him? 

Ace's indignation turns to confusion. He blinks in surprise and glances sideways at the doctor, throwing his head back slightly. Ace's gaze falls upon a serious and focused face. 

The face that's too fucking close to Ace's.

“Um, Doc?” the firefighter’s voice is hoarse, so he clears his throat. He asks uncertainly with a hint of bad humor: “Are you having a pervert moment or something?”

“Ace, please shut up,” Trafalgar doesn't appreciate Ace's joke and looks tense. Portgas D. raises his eyebrows in surprise upon hearing his first name and obediently falls silent. Law runs his hand over Portgas D.'s chest again, then looks up at him. He stares at him intently with his silver eyes and asks with a hint of tension in his tone: “Are you having a panic attack?”

For a moment, Ace forgets that Trafalgar's skilled hands are still touching his naked torso.

“No, everything is fine,” Portgas D. replies without confidence in his words. He's not lying because he's not having a panic attack. But he's clearly nervous, and there is a reason. It can even be seen by the scarlet tips of Ace's ears. “Why?”

“Have you had any energy drinks today? Coffee?” Trafalgar continues questioning, confusing the fireman even more.

“Only coffee this morning,” Portgas D. frowns and looks straight into Law's eyes. These ashes fuel the fires beneath Ace's bones. “I don't drink energy drinks anymore.  Not after the massive brain attack you gave me about the sugar they contain. Why are you asking?”

“Is anything bothering you?” the questions are getting weirder and weirder.

“Only your survey,” the sergeant isn't lying, though. The situation is very strange.

Law doesn't react to Ace's jokes in his usual eye-rolling manner. He scans the fireman's face carefully. He stares at him for a few long, tense seconds, not even blinking, and then looks over Ace's shoulder. He turns to Ikkaku, switching to doctor mode:

“Hand me the stethoscope.”

“Sure,” Ikkaku answers. Portgas D. hears her rummaging through the medical supplies, searching for a tool. And a quiet, mocking phrase: “What is Ace hiding there? Oh, oh.”

Portgas D. frowns even more and feels Law remove his hands from his body. It's a relief. And it's sad. 

However, the lack of physical contact does not last long. This time, instead of his hands, Trafalgar touches Ace's chest with the membrane of his stethoscope. The firefighter doesn't flinch from the cold touch. He had already gotten used to it. However, these touches are not as pleasant as the previous ones.

“When was the last time you saw a cardiologist?” Law clarifies, listening to Ace's heart. The one that can't calm down due to the presence of one particular surgeon nearby.

Okay, wait a minute!

“When we did our medicals,” Ace replies hesitantly, feeling a surge of panic. It seems he is beginning to realize what is happening. But to make sure: “Doc, why are you asking?”

“In a calm state, tachycardia is a bad sign. This is a symptom. And it’s very alarming,” says Trafalgar, still examining Ace's chest with the membrane. “Especially when your closest blood relatives have cardiovascular diseases.”

Ace sees the face of Roger, who recently had heart surgery. 

Thank you, Dad.

But that's not the most important thing! The utter absurdity of the situation hits Portgas D. in full force. Oh, no. No! No! No! His mind starts to spiral. The metal disc on his chest isn't just a medical tool anymore – it is a soulless, portable lie detector. More like a truth potion. And it's broadcasting his deepest, most embarrassing secrets straight into Law’s ears. The worst thing is that the sergeant can’t cover it up or fake it. First of all, Law's presence in such close proximity will not allow Ace's heart to relax. Secondly, Trafalgar now holds Ace's most terrible secret in his palms, which he cannot reveal.

Certainly not in a room full of prying eyes. And not to Law, who looks at him as if at a medical case. 

Total fucking disaster!

Jesus, this is so humiliating. Portgas D. is dying to bury his burning face in his hands. Instead, he digs his fingernails into his palms and glares at the classroom. The rookies don't look confused anymore. It’s clear they’ve put two and two together, and now they’re looking at him with these knowing, sly smirks. Marco, this miserable bastard with the phone, is literally turning purple to suffocate the laugh. Ace can’t see Ikkaku from this angle, but he’s totally sure she’s snickering in the back. 

Perfect. Fucking brilliant. The best day to pack up his life and move to another country.

Ace sighs and squeezes out an uncertain and very pitiful sound:

“Doc, I'm fine, really.”

Law puts away the stethoscope and reaches into his medical bag. He takes out something that looks like a notebook and a pen.

“Without proper diagnostics, I can’t be sure,” the firefighter can tell from Trafalgar's face that he's not making fun of him. He's serious. He is puzzled. And – Ace is making it up, – but he seems a little worried. However, his voice is calm and confident: “I’m writing you a referral to a cardiologist. You need to get checked out. Until then, I am restricting your physical activity and banning you from responding to emergency calls.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” anxiety swirls beneath Ace's ribs. “Are you seriously telling me to sit at the station and do paperwork?”

“Yes, you got everything correctly,” Law's voice is made of steel; unshakable and unbending. He hands Ace the doctor's referral and then looks at Marco: “Make sure it’s done! I hope that you will not show him any leniency and will control his activities.”

“Oh, of course,” says Marco with false seriousness on his unshaven face. The phone is already hidden. “I'm glad you noticed his heart problems.”

Ace looks at the blond moron and sees a glint of pure mockery in his eyes. The worst part is, he bullies both of them: Portgas D. because he is pathetic and Law, because he is blind. Moreover, he filmed it all and will definitely show it to everyone, especially his precious husband. What a jerk. Since when did he become so cool? Portgas D. remembers perfectly well when Marco was losing his mind over Izou, sitting in the bar and agonizing over a glass of beer.

The sergeant grits his teeth and then rolls his eyes – hears a muffled squeak behind him. Yeah, of course. Another lonely love guru.

Ace sighs. He doesn't have any energy to be angry at the world. But not being useful at work hurts him. 

These health examinations will take forever!

Portgas D. meanwhile is going to eat himself alive while “having fun” behind a desk with papers. An active life full of physical exercise and his job are two of the perfect things that distract him from useless and stupid thoughts. Portgas deeply loves what he is doing for life. But now… Now he is doomed to replay this embarrassing situation with Law over and over in his head, burning in a fire of hellish shame. And pitying himself. Because he doesn't dare to say what he thinks or feels out loud. And because he knows that to Trafalgar, he is nothing more than a good acquaintance.

Terrific! It seems now is the best time to beg Law for humane euthanasia. He can just choke Ace to death. It will be even more pleasant. 

The firefighter has a serious fetish for the surgeon's hands.

“I rely on you,” Law responds to Marco, completely ignoring the situation where they are being openly laughed at. God, Ace needs that kind of thick skin. Trafalgar turns back to Ace and asks with a drop of concern in his voice: “Do you want to continue, or would it be better for you to take a seat?” 

Ace looks up at him with eyes full of agony and desperate, hollow longing. He wants so badly to punch Trafalgar for this torture and his icy heart. But, of course, he would never do it on purpose. Instead of violence, Ace chooses a heavy, helpless resignation.

“I’m fine,” he mutters under his breath. “Let’s keep going.”

A wave of muffled laughter sweeps the room. Now it’s not just Marco and Ikkaku holding back their giggles. Oh, their crimson faces silently scream: "Of course you're okay, buddy". Greenhorns also join these two bullies. 

Ace's reputation is in tatters; it crumbled under the surgeon's strong, beautiful fingers. Without malicious intent, but still harsh. Thanks a lot, Doc. 

But… they can laugh all they want. It’s a fatal mistake. Ace will rise from these ashes, and when he does, a personal hell awaits them all – especially the rookies. 

Ace sets the start of their suffering today. Just because he can't be physically active doesn't mean he won't run them ragged until they pass out.

Portgas D. spends the rest of the training in a deep and melancholy trance. Law methodically continues to palpate his body, pointing out anatomical markers to the class while lecturing them on decompression. Every Trafalgar’s touch makes Ace's skin burn and turn his muscles to stone. Even a depressed mood doesn't kill the inner Ace’s pervert. But when Law makes the rookies repeat the steps, and other hands start touching Portgas D.’s body, it triggers nothing inside him but a cold, hollow indifference. 

And an ocean of irritation, of course.

Ace remains stubbornly silent, buried deep in his own thoughts. He quietly hates every single person breathing the same air with him in this room. The only exception is perhaps Trafalgar. Because Law is his ultimate weakness here. And because he wasn't deliberately mean to him.

At the end of the training, the sergeant receives the task from the surgeon to run the newcomers through all the blocks they studied today. Ace obediently agrees, promising to be the strictest teacher. Judging by the pale faces of the rookies, they are interpreting the evil aura radiating off Ace completely correctly. Joy and happiness disappear from their faces. Marco, of course, is not afraid of Ace's venomous vibes. They’ve known each other for ages. Phoenix sees right through him: Portgas D. will recover from the shock and silent hysteria, and then crawl to cry on his old friend's shoulder. Even if that friend is an absolute asshole right now. Marco understands this too well, which is why he wears such a nasty grin, irritating Ace with his existence.

The sergeant orders his rookies to take all of the guests' belongings to Audi and follows them. They could have said goodbye in class, but Ace wants to show hospitality. 

At the car, with the equipment already loaded into the trunk and the newbies sent to clean the classroom because Ace said so, Portgas D. says goodbye to Ikkaku. She pats his shoulder, smiling slyly and with pleasure, and says:

“The show was great. And thanks for taking off your shirt. That was the reason I came.”

“Don't come again,” Ace's smile is crooked, and his mood is darker than a thundercloud.

“You still like me,” the young woman laughs and, having said goodbye, climbs into the passenger seat of the Audi.

The fireman rolls his eyes and turns to Trafalgar, who is waiting for him? He looks at Ace, and in his eyes Portgas D. sees cold and steel confidence. The fireman notices something else in the gray mirrors. Something completely new, nameless. Something like anxiety. But this phenomenon is attributed to the wildness of the imagination.

“Don't pout,” Trafalgar's voice sounds calm. “I had to do it. Your job involves risks, and you must take care of even the slightest health problems.”

“I'm not pouting,” Ace mutters, averting his gaze. “I just think you're panicking over nothing. I have no complaints.”

“But you have a symptom,” Law is very stubborn. And there's no point in arguing. Unless Ace is going to confess his love right now. Spoiler: he's not going to. “I need its cause, and then the treatment. You know what happens when you ignore stuff like this. So… please, get everything checked out.”

Ace's face remains serene. But mentally – it's just one massive facepalm. 

Because he has only one problem – unrequited feelings for the handsome surgeon, who is now asking him to take care of himself. His "please" is also said a little quieter than all the other phrases, so Ace has no choice but to obey.

Pathetic jellyfish. 

However, you can't argue with a referral to a doctor either.

“Torao, you know, It’ll take forever,” Ace complains about life, but accepts it humbly. “Appointments for a cardiologist are sometimes booked weeks out. I'll die of boredom.” 

“No one died from this, Portgas,” Law replies, shaking his head. He stares at Ace for a moment and then adds: “No need to wait for weeks. Tell me when you plan to come in, and I’ll handle it. No lines.”

Ace freezes for a second because of the confusion. He stares blankly at Trafalgar, trying to process what he just heard. It takes him a moment to realize how exactly the surgeon plans to bypass a hospital waiting list, which is always packed as hell. For a split second, a wild and fantastic thought flashes through his mind: does Law take about every patient like this, or… this is an exclusive offer? The silence between them hangs for seconds, making the space between them feel way too tight.

The tips of Portgas D.'s ears turn red again, and Ace can't even understand why. He just feels confused, since all his thoughts are nothing but wild guesses backed by zero facts.

Trying to shake off this strange, suffocating feeling and hide his own confusion, Ace narrows his eyes:

“What kind of power do you have there? Or are there some professional scare tactics involved?”

Law lets out a short, quiet chuckle – his first one all day. Ace's heart skips a beat. It seems he does need a cardiologist after all.

“Scare tactics are for worst-case scenarios,” Trafalgar replies, holding a half-smile on his lips. Ace feels like a couple of butterflies are dying inside him. “But I’m serious. Text me the day, and I’ll set up the appointment for you.”

“And you'll actually reply right away?” Ace can't help but tease. Law provokes Portgas D., returning him to his previous behavior. 

“Not the exact same second,” the surgeon says evenly, rolling his eyes. His smile turns into a smirk. Another firework explodes under Ace's ribs. “But… I won't keep you waiting. Deal?”

Portgas D. nods almost automatically. Law can twist him around his finger however he wants – Ace is a total pushover when it comes to this surgeon. 

Before they finally say goodbye, they exchange a couple more short, casual phrases. It’s nothing special, but Ace’s mood becomes better. For a short second, the firefighter even forgets that he is "grounded" and pulled from emergency calls. Law’s influence is terrifying.

Ace wants more.

The firefighter watches the black Audi until it disappears from sight, then slowly walks back toward the fire station building. He doesn't go inside, though. Instead, Portgas just flops down onto the top concrete step of the porch and freezes, staring straight ahead. Into nowhere. He needs to clear his head and let his excited heart calm down. 

Marco approaches quietly and sits down on the step right next to his younger friend. Ace doesn't even flinch with surprise. It was as if he knew that the blond would appear. 

The sergeant's previous irritation with his friend has completely disappeared. 

It's convenient that Ace is easy-going, right?

“Tell me,” Ace speaks up softly, without turning his head. The paper covered in Law's writing seems to burn slightly against Ace's thigh through the fabric of his pocket. “How is it possible to be so smart and so stupid at the same time?”

“When Izou gave me hints, I didn't understand anything either,” there's a softness in Marco's voice. It always appears when he talks about his beloved. “You know how men are… completely oblivious. I advise you to save your nerves and confess to him directly.”

Ace widens his eyes and stares at his friend as if Phoenix suddenly stopped balding. His gaze is a mix of panic, outrage, and doubts about Marco's sobriety. Portgas shakes his head, violently rejecting the very thought and a crazy idea.

“No way,” Ace cuts off, looking at his friend as if he were a stranger offering something forbidden. “I am one hundred percent sure I’m not his type. Law has standards, and I believe they are sky-high, and I’m… Well, it’s just me. He’s worrying because of professional courtesy. And we work in the same system. Don't give me meaningless hope. He is not into me. Impossible.”

“Sure, uh-huh,” snorted Phoenix, stretching his legs out on the concrete steps. “Professional courtesy and exorbitant standards. A watertight alibi for a guy who remembers your genetic history. Or, who, being a master of ignoring, constantly responded to all your remarks. And he can't remember other people’s names, but he remembers your mistakes down to the last detail. It is definitely a strong collegial instinct! Right, right.”

Ace stares at his friend with pure, undisguised disbelief. He even shifts slightly away on the step, as if the Phoenix has completely lost his mind by the end of the shift and it might be contagious.

“Marco, you fantasize a lot,” Ace says dully, shaking his head. Phoenix's words seem foreign to him. Portgas D. even worries about his friend's health. “This is dangerous advice. I'm glad that everything is good in your life and you believe in me. But not every story ends with a happy ending like yours and Izou’s. I can easily ruin everything… Something that is already way too fragile, since Trao and I are not even friends. And… and you're delusional.”

Marco, looking at him, sighs with a smile. He reaches a wide palm to the top of Ace's head and ruffles the wavy locks. Portgas D. winces, but doesn't avoid contact. He needs consolation now. 

His heart is bleeding slightly. 

“You’re a real man, Ace,” Marco says with a fake sad smile. “I just hope the realization of your own blindness doesn't hit you right over the head at three in the morning during a midnight snack ten years from now.”

Ace winces again and stares at the asphalt. Marco's hand disappears from his hair.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a stupid thought flashes: what if Marco is right? What if Trafalgar’s attention to someone else’s genetics isn’t just a doctor’s habit of sticking his nose into other people’s business? But Ace immediately, losing his nerve, shoves that thought away. No way, that's crazy. Torao is just… well, he’s just a nerd. A fan of his craft. A perfectionist who likes to control everything around him, including the health of careless firefighters. It’s easier for him to buy his own excuses than to admit that he’s just afraid to take a single step forward.

To get a painful rejection from a surgeon who never mentioned he was interested in a romantic relationship with anyone.

Ace lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his face hard with his palms and burying his fingers in his hair, messing it up even more. Due to the exhaustion, his brain is already turning into mush. That’s it. He urgently needs to stop thinking about all these complex emotional things. Or his head is just going to explode.

Catching the moment, Marco pats him on the shoulder and then stands up. He brushes dust off his pants.

“Okay, stop suffering,” says the friend, looking down at Ace. “I know how to distract you – I'll show you where our printer is. You'll find it useful.”

Portgas D. looks up and stares at Phoenix like he's a piece of trash. The sergeant isn't wrong, though. Marco is a real jerk.

Ace silently curses his friend for a few moments, and then reluctantly, with a groan, gets up. He dusts off his butt, stretches his legs, and follows Marco into the building. But the Phoenix wouldn't be himself if he refrained from another tease. Right at the doors, propping the heavy frame open with his shoulder, Marco lazily pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Hmm, my Princess has been silent for half an hour,” he remarks casually, testing Ace's patience. “I sent him that video from your training drill earlier. And honestly, I think he died of laughter.”

Portgas D. gives his friend a disgusted look, and then rolls his eyes so hard it almost hurts. He shoves Marco hard with his shoulder, moving him from his place, and enters the building. His inner turmoil about Trafalgar settles in the back of his mind, replaced by pure, dull frustration.

Of course Marco just had to share the fresh gossip with his spouse [and with all your contacts]. Beautiful! Those two hyenas are going to eat him alive every single time they meet.

“You are such an asshole,” the sergeant mutters bitterly, not even trying to hide his irritation. Ace's ears burn with shame. “God, Marco, I hate you so much.”

Marco laughs loudly, trailing behind. And answers lazily, without losing the mockery in his voice:

“What nonsense! You clearly adore me.”

Oh no, he is not!

In the end, Ace does resort to physical violence. 

Because... Because... There's no need to be such a bitch!