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The sun starts to set on the island Law doesn’t know the name of. His bandages are still damp with blood, the patching up he performed on himself nowhere near his usual efforts. He sits on the sand, taking some in his palm, watching the grains spill out between his fingers. His body stings and aches. He stares blankly at the gentle waves lapping against the shore, wondering when Bepo might come back from the town, gathering some information about where they’ve been stranded.
His mind wonders to his crew, the blooms of red tainting the ocean. Screams unheard and swallowed by the sea.
He doesn’t know how long he has been sitting there. Long enough for the tide to creep closer and the stinging of his cuts to dull to a distant throbbing. He flexes his fingers, watching them with tunnelling vision. His body feels unsettlingly light. His movements feel wrong. His skin too tight. It doesn’t feel real. He knows he should probably eat something but he can’t bring himself to move. He already told Bepo that they’d meet back here. There’s no point in wondering off.
Law refills his palm with sand, watching the grains spill out once more with the same blank focus he reserves for reading vitals off a monitor. A detachment reserved for separating person from patient and patient from body.
The orange light of the sunset refracts against the sea and for a moment he swears he catches a glimpse of the Polar Tang. It groans and creaks as cannon fire rains down on it and broken screams from his crew. Ikkaku waits for instructions and Clione puts on a brave face. He blinks and it’s only the empty expanse of the ocean sprawling out before him.
Law stands up, swaying slightly on his feet.
“Room.”
His hand moves to his chest, shaky fingers pressing into the blood soaked fabric of his shirt. Tightly, he squeezes his eyes shut.
The familiar hum of the blue dome feels like a second home and for a cruel moment he almost laughs. How many lives has he saved with this? How many organs and bodies has he rearranged? How many hearts has he removed and felt beating in the palm of his steady hand?
The hands of a surgeon are meant to be steady. So why aren’t his?
“Scalpel.”
His heart thuds in his ears, a deafening sound and then silence. His eyes open and settle on the palm of his hand. A clear cube with a beating bloody heart resting in it. He stares at it, a wave of apathy washing over him, and takes a few steps closer to the dock that stretches out from the shoreline. His boots meet wooden planks and his muscles protest the movement as he keeps walking along them, creaking softly under his weight.
He reaches the edge of the dock and stares into the bleak depths of the sea. Is his crew still alive? Would it be better if they weren’t? Are they being held captive?
He extends his hand holding his heart over the edge of the dock over the water and takes a deep breath, feeling his heart beat in his palm. The water swirls and laps against the pillars upholding the dock. He isn’t sure what’s about to happen but something is pushing him to do it. Then, he drops his heart into the ocean.
Regret flickers through him for a split second and he braces himself. His knees start to feel weak. His energy starts to drain and he feels like he can no longer stand upright. He stumbles backwards, collapsing onto the hard wooden planks. They splinter into his palms, his chest feeling tighter, his breaths harder to take. His eyes feel heavy and a pain blooms in his chest.
He starts panting, gasping for air, like he’s breathing through a thin straw. Leaning against his hands to keep himself somewhat upright, his arms start to tremble. His vision swims and blurs around the edges, a wave of nausea washes over him. A burning sensation starts in his chest in place of his heart and a pained gasp leaves him, his hand automatically shooting towards his chest.
He can no longer hold himself up and lays down on the planks, the weening sunlight drawing away from him. He grits his teeth, taking short sharp breaths through them, trying not to draw too much attention to himself.
Law digs his fingers into the cracks between the wooden planks, splinters piercing his skin, trying to focus on something other than the overbearing burning sensation in his chest. It spreads through his lungs and up his throat, stinging the sensitive tissue. He starts choking on air, trying to cough up water that isn’t there. His breaths rattle, jagged and uneven, the world tilts and there’s a metallic taste in his mouth.
Blackbeard’s laughter echoes in his skull, rolling like the thunder in the clouds above him. The ground cracks into chunks that float in the air, bullets whizzing around. A darkness spreads across the battlefield, swallowing his crew as stragglers dive into the sea. Shachi and Penguin smile at him like they’re going to win and guilt claws it’s way up his throat.
He rolls over onto his side, coughing up blood and something salty onto the rain speckled planks. He can barely see, wheezing and choking as he coughs up more blood. He stares out at the distant sea and the clouds swallowing the sun. Is he finally dying? Or will he be trapped in this tormenting cycle for eternity?
Panic floods through his system. He tries to move, to thrash around or even call out for help but he can’t. he can’t move. He tries to speak but only raspy choked sounds escape him. The sea has sapped all of his strength. A pressure forms alongside the burning sensation building in his chest making him gasp for air over and over again. Each breath scraping against his vocal cords making a pathetically desperate sound.
Someone yells his name distantly and heavy footsteps approach. He feels furry paws shaking him by the shoulders, his vision spinning further. A blur of white flashes before his vision and he hears a splash. His vision goes black.
…
Law wakes up in a dim room, something warm and fuzzy beside him. He sits up, his body protesting at the moment, a foul taste in his mouth. His hand cautiously feels over his chest and he scans over himself using his technique. He’s in bad condition but his heart is back in its place.
Bepo shifts beside him sits up, giving him a look that he can’t read.
“Don’t.” Law mutters and lays back down, facing away from Bepo.