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Taking his life in his hands, Shachi leans over into Law’s personal space and says, “I’m going to assume we managed to sail into this mess all on our own, instead of blaming Strawhat.”
His captain, tellingly, doesn’t respond beyond a wordless grumble.
They are definitely still somewhere in the Grand Line, more than halfway into the New World and all its nightmarish weather phenomenons- phenomena. Phenomeni? Whatever. Point is, there’s an island, with a small town, and a whole bunch of astounded eyes staring at the Polar Tang were she’s bobbing in the water at the end of their public dock. There’s even a newspaper, being clutched in Law’s hands, with a rather damning date printed at the top of the front page.
Getting sucked into an undersea whirlpool and spat back out thirty-odd years in the past is a new one for the Heart Pirates.
Heck, most of them haven’t even by rights been born at this point in time - Maguro and Gar and maybe Beluga are babies on scattered islands up North, and there’s a teenage Jean Bart somewhere, but the rest of them? Nuh-uh. Not even twinkles in the eyes of their parents yet-
Parents
It hits Shachi like a gut punch, all of a sudden. His parents are still alive, back on Swallow, and Penguin’s too for that matter. So is Bepo’s brother, still safely home on Zou.
Same with Law’s whole family.
Swallowing past his suddenly dry mouth, Shachi leans a little further to bump shoulders with his captain. “Uh. So. Got any ideas for a list of who to save first in that big brain of yours?”
Law does his standard deep-inhale-slow-exhale ‘I am still thinking and need to stall for a minute’ response. And then he drops a reply that just about knocks Shachi’s socks off: “We’re going to find Gold Roger.”
Locating the not-yet-King of Pirates is surprisingly pretty easy! Getting the man to actually listen to what Law is trying to tell him?
Well.
Long story short, there’s a lot of yelling of both the excited and exasperated varieties, a rapidly escalating fight between captains, and then Law cheating with his Devil Fruit just to get Gold Roger to shut up for half a minute. “Handy trick,” the man standing next to Shachi says. “This the part where I need to step in?”
Silvers Rayleigh has a deceptively loose grip on the hilt of his sword and a sharp warning lurking under his mild words, which combine to make Shachi blurt out, “Nope! No stepping required, Captain’s just gonna fuss at him about listening to medical professionals and then demand to check his organs.”
“Uh-huh.” Behind them, the Roger Pirates are warily watching Shachi’s crew. Which is probably about half interest in a possible fight, half concern over the handful of starstruck expressions. Shachi wouldn’t be surprised at all if at least a couple of his friends ask for autographs before this encounter is over.
Ikkaku, though, will definitely not be one of them. She shoves past Clione and Musu to come stand by Shachi, hands braced against her hips, scowling intently up at the sand dunes where Law has buried Roger up to his neck with a coconut shoved in the older man’s mouth to keep him quiet for a minute. “Is the idiot done yet?”
“Which one?” Shachi dodges even as he says it. Unfortunately, Ikkaku aims wide, and her slap still collides with the back of his head.
Scopper Gaban, on Rayleigh’s other side, barks out a laugh.
“Anyway,” Shachi grumbles, pushing his hat back into place, “No, I think he’s gonna be a while.” Then, turning to the rightly intimidating pirates who are still keeping hands on their weapons, “Do you guys have that lighthouse dude as your ship’s doctor yet? Or at least someone keeping ahold of medical records?”
“Lighthouse dude?” asks Rayleigh, raising a single eyebrow, even as Gabban turns and yells towards their crew, “Hey, Bankuro, get that logbook you’ve been keeping with the bandages!”
It’s maybe half an hour later that Gold Roger comes striding down the beach, one arm hooked around Law’s neck and bellowing for a feast. Honestly, for a split second Shachi sees Strawhat Luffy instead of the soon-to-be Pirate King - Law is bearing the exact same ‘do you see this nonsense I have to put up with’ expression as when he’s just barely tolerating the younger captain’s antics.
But this guy is bigger and brawnier and doesn’t bounce at all as he tows Law towards the area on the beach that’s been unofficially designated neutral ground. “Shanks! Buggy! Come meet this guy, he’s hilarious!”
Two small heads pop up over the railing of the Oro Jackson, one with red hair, one with blue. “Can’t! Millet tied us to the deck!” Their captain just throws his head back to laugh, like this is a perfectly normal thing to do with a pair of kids.
Law heaves out an extremely put-upon sigh, ducks out from under the bigger man’s arm, and lights up a Room, twisting his fingers. Several of the Roger Pirates shout; a split second later, two boys drop to the sand, trailing loose ropes and looking quite surprised.
One of them has a straw hat hanging from his neck.
It’s about the same moment that Shachi sees that, and clocks Red-Haired Shanks, followed VERY shortly by Buggy the Clown. Two future Emperors of the Sea, and Gold Roger scoops both of them up like sacks of potatoes. The kids protest, loudly, until he finally sets each back down on their feet, directly in front of Shachi’s captain. “Boys, this is Truffle Law!”
“Trafalgar.”
“He’s a pirate and a real doctor,” the Pirate King goes on, completely ignoring Law’s correction. “Got some interesting things to say, and he’s gonna share a whole bunch of stuff with us!”
Buggy the Clown scowls. “Why? What’s he get out of it?”
“A diversion,” Law says flatly, arms folded as he returns the twerp’s glare. “I need some marines distracted while I get the rest of my work done.”
Red-Haired Shanks tips his head to one side, that entirely too familiar straw hat sitting on top. “Which marines?”
“As many as your crew can manage. Preferably in such a place that they call for reinforcements from the North Blue rather than anywhere else.”
“Specific,” Scopper Gaban hums, ambling over to join his captain. “Got a reason for that sea?”
For the first time since they wound up in the past, Law smiles. The kind of ‘too wide, all teeth bared’ expression that makes him look truly dangerous, and more than a little insane. “I have lives to save. And a Celestial Dragon to deal with.”
-Heart of Hearts-
The weird purple fruit tasted terrible, but it was food, so Roci made himself finish off every bite - not until afterwards does he realize it did something to him. Made him quiet.
Not a bad thing, considering the locals who are still looking for the last Celestial still present on their island. Who might do even worse things to Rocinante, now that he’s alone, without Father or Doffy or anyone-
He hiccups on a silent sob, and huddles further into himself.
It’s too risky to be anywhere near their house, even burned and ruined. The same goes for the village, for the small farms that dot the forest. This old fisherman’s shack looks like it’s been abandoned for decades, maybe even centuries, and that’s the only reason Roci decided to risk using it for shelter from the storm raging outside.
Lightning flashes, briefly turning night to day. Thunder booms like cannonfire. It’s the kind of terrifying weather that would have sent Roci rushing to his mother’s lap, and Doffy too, even if the older boy loudly insisted it was just to keep an eye on Rocinante. He vaguely recalls his brother asking, once, why they couldn’t simply order the storms to go away.
Because a storm such as this is the work of the Will of D, their mother answered, hushed, smiling to take some of the fear out of her words. So we must stay inside, where it’s warm and dry, and the devils can’t steal little gods to eat.
He misses her.
Roci misses her so much.
And he misses Father, an even fresher ache, and he wants Doflamingo to come back, please, please come back Doffy-
Lightning flashes again, and a hand touches the top of Rocinante’s head.
He flings himself back, shouting, but of course there isn’t any sound to be heard - couldn’t be heard, regardless, thanks to thunder roaring in the same moment. Sharp gold eyes peer down at him. A man is kneeling in front of Roci’s hiding place, someone who found him, who- who-
...who isn’t moving. Isn’t grabbing. He’s just staying in place, left hand braced against the dusty wood floor, right hovering midair after Roci flinched away from it.
Rocinante stares back. His chest is heaving; his heart feels as if it might beat right out of his chest, quicker than a wild rabbit.
Slowly, very slowly, the man lowers his hand. He doesn’t put it back on Roci’s wet hair - instead, he gently cups Roci’s elbow, coaxing it forward, lifting up-
Gulping, Roci doesn’t look. It hurts, he knows the wounds must be bad, he doesn’t need to look. He keeps staring up at the man’s face instead, as callused fingers ease back his grimy sleeve, as those piercing gold eyes narrow, inspecting the damage around his wrist.
Please, spare my children!
It’s been almost a whole week, and Rocinante’s wrists still burn. They also keep leaking - it’s not blood, but something else, and it hurts.
The man’s lips move, whispering something, and a bright blue sphere flickers into place between them, enveloping most of Roci’s arm. He still can’t bring himself to look. It’s better to watch the man, the way his expression tightens with concentration, the way a few curls of dark hair peek out from beneath the brim of a large white hat. There are a few tattoos similarly curling across his skin, not hidden by the low cut of his black shirt.
...Roci’s wrist isn’t hurting anymore.
He blinks, and unthinkingly looks - but the damage is hidden, long fingers just tying off the end of a clean white bandage. More tattooed ink spells ‘DEATH’ across his knuckles. That should be scary. Should. But- isn’t?
The man finishes, and lets go of Rocinante. Hesitant, he lowers his arm out of the glowing bubble. It still doesn’t hurt. There’s an expectant look on the man’s face.
After a moment, Roci lifts and puts his other arm into the light.
A few minutes later, it too is drained of that yucky smelling fluid, and smeared with an ointment that numbs the pain, and wrapped in a clean bandage. Only then does the bubble vanish, and the man - the doctor? - sits back on his heels. He twists in place, pulling off his big yellow coat, slick with rainwater.
Rocinante stares as the coat is held out towards him. Held open. Inviting.
He’s tired.
He’s still hungry.
And even if his wrists don’t hurt anymore, he still aches, inside and out.
Mother is gone. And Father. And Doffy- Doffy hasn’t come back.
Sniffling with fresh tears, Roci crawls out of his narrow nook, and into the offered sanctuary.
Infected abrasions, multiple contusions, malnutrition and borderline starvation... Law keeps spinning the list around inside his head, as he jogs through the monstrous downpour, coat-wrapped bundle held securely in his arms. Observation haki led him straight to the dilapidated shack by the shore, and with his crew firmly ordered to stay put aboard the Tang, no one will be able to reveal the fact of their presence to whoever next comes sniffing around, be it marines or Doflamingo.
Law isn’t sure yet if he’s happy or not to have missed scooping up both Donquixote brothers.
As it is, he knows it’s about to be a rough time aboard his submarine, dealing with the traumatized child who isn’t liable to stab him.
(Although the irony would be on point, wouldn’t it?)
The Polar Tang’s hatches are all sealed, but as soon as he’s close enough, a thought is all it takes to teleport directly aboard, exchanging places with one of many random pebbles they keep on the vessel for just that purpose. None of his crew are lingering present when Law abruptly appears in the infirmary - meant for minor first aid, as opposed to the surgery suite, or the long-term recovery ward. Iruka already laid supplies out; there’s a tray with covered bowls sitting on the main desk, courtesy of Clione, and a truly massive stack of soft fluffy blankets, almost certainly Shachi and Penguin’s doing.
Bepo sticks his head in past the main curtain, and makes a soft noise. “Captain...?”
“Tell Jean Bart to take us down,” Law says, keeping the coat-wrapped bundle on his lap as he sits. “I want this place to be a memory as fast as possible.”
His navigator nods and retreats. Which just leaves Law with the kid he’s retrieved- Rescued? Kidnapped, realistically.
Not that Little Cora seems to be complaining.
For a minute, Law just rubs his hand up and down, giving the boy a bit longer inside the safe cocoon of his coat. Rainwater drips off the both of them to the floor. This close to the engine room, though, the air temperature is a bit warmer than usual, which helps. “There’s food, if you want to eat.”
That causes movement. First a few tufts of wet blond hair emerge, and then two dull red eyes, peering up at Law cautiously. He nods towards the desk next to them. Bit by bit, Cora eases free of his shelter, until his arms are able to reach towards the tray. Even having applied them himself less than twenty minutes ago, the sight of bandages on too-thin wrists sends a wave of rage coursing through Law. He refuses to let any of it show; just helps Cora move the covers, revealing warm soup and a smaller bowl of dumplings, and gets a napkin ready as the kid starts devouring his meal.
“Breakfast, lunch, and dinner,” Law murmurs after a while, when the boy is just about done shoving food into his mouth. “Dessert twice a week, and on special occasions.” Swallowing his final dumpling, Cora looks up, blinking past thick bangs. “A warm bed, clean clothes, regular access to baths. There are lightweight chores than can be done in exchange - helping out in the kitchen, sweeping floors, learning how to assist my medical team.” Those achingly familiar eyes grow wide with shock. “We tend to avoid open combat with others; better to get in and out of dangerous situations quietly, without attracting attention, whether they involve stealing things we need or helping people who can’t afford to be seen accepting our assistance. If that sounds alright, then you can stay-” Or I can find somewhere safe for you instead, he means to continue, but Little Cora is already nodding frantically, his eyes filling up with tears yet again.
So Law wraps his arms around the kid a second time, offering support as he trembles and shakes, little fingers curling into his damp tanktop. And if a few teardrops roll off his own cheeks, well. No one else is around to notice.
-Heart of Hearts-
They resurface a couple of days later, out in the middle of open ocean, both to let little Cora get some fresh air and sunshine, and also to check in with their new friends still back in the Grand Line.
“Allies,” Law stresses, just as twitchy about the Roger Pirates calling him a friend as the Straw Hats. Penguin only rolls his eyes and wakes up their den-den mushi.
Silvers Rayleigh answers, which is a spot of good luck: they manage most of a productive conversation before Gold Roger’s voice booms through, and the snail’s expression shifts, from cool professionalism to a broad, beaming smile. Roger promptly informs the Hearts they missed out on one hell of a fight between his crew and three marine Vice Admirals, then without pause demands to know when they’re returning to the Grand Line.
“Not for a while,” Penguin answers, gaze following his captain. “Our first priority is done, the one we were worried about Vice Admiral Sengoku beating us to, but now we’ve got a bunch of other tasks to deal with that aren't quite as potentially dangerous.” Law stiffly walked out of earshot the moment Roger commandeered the line; now he’s up by the bow, posture eased to something halfway relaxed, their shiny new cabin boy next to him. Other than being unnaturally silent, which Law alone doesn’t seem worried about, the kid’s doing well - just this morning, he swiped a pen and notepad in order to slide Clione a thank you note for the good food at breakfast. Penguin’s never seen their chief cook start hiccuping on happy tears so fast, but he gets it, Cora is unbearably adorable, easily on par with Bepo.
Honestly, if Penguin didn’t know the full story about Corazon, he’d easily assume Law picked up the pipsqueak for that alone.
Anyway. Roger bemoans not getting to party with them yet, until Rayleigh wrestles back control of the snail, probably kicking his captain someplace delicate if the pained squawk is anything to judge by. He double-checks that they can slow down the marine-baiting, then idly comments Law should enjoy being out of Roger’s reach as long as he can.
It makes Penguin laugh. “Trust me, he’s had enough experience with his own clingy idiot to know it.”
It’s weird, being back in their home Blue - because lots of stuff is the same, sure, but not the important things.
Couple that with the fact they’re still acquiring personal items to fill back up the Polar Tang (the Tang Two, technically, since Blackbeard’s crew tore their submarine apart, and this is the reconstruction with shattered pieces that Ikakku and Rakko and Tako have managed to put back together), and it feels like the Hearts are ghosts moving through the world. Still: there are a few good, shining moments. Like when a big dude on one island tries to start something with Robusuta, only to get a tap on the head and look up, up, WAY up at Jean Bart’s unamused face. Or even better, stopping at Hakugan’s future hometown, and getting to see Little Cora’s face light up the first time he tries sipping a local spiced cider.
Is there room for improvement? Sure.
But could things be a lot worse? Absolutely.
Eventually they make it to Swallow Island, which is a trip and a half, seeing familiar mountains and forests but un-familiar people in fishing boats and on the shoreline. Penguin winds up hanging back, Shachi at his elbow, letting Iruka and Hitode take the lead on resupplying, while Law and Ikkaku head off to track down Wolf and get his expertise on further repairs/adjustments for the Tang.
Something tugs at Penguin’s sleeve.
He looks down, surprised to see Cora staring back up with a concerned twist to his eyebrows. It’s usually a bit tricky to read the kid’s expressions, but right now his bangs are pinned back under a headband, and of course they’ve got haki to help check his Voice as needed, the only thing about the cabin boy that can be ‘heard’, such as it is.
At the moment, both his Voice and his pinched brows say all too clearly that Cora is worried. About them. So Penguin puts on a smile that only feels half-forced, and crouches down, so the kid doesn’t have to strain his neck. “We’re that obvious, huh?” Cora nods. “Yeah, well. Been a while since we were last here.” Turning slightly, Penguin searches the shoreline, then points, and tries not to choke up. “See that house with the blue door? That’s where I was born. And Shachi-”
“Third one past it,” he best friend says, voice strained. “With the round windows.”
Cora’s still wide-eyed, worried, but there’s a determined slant to his mouth now. He gives Penguin several deliberate pats, then scoots sideways to reach for Shachi’s hand and do the same. Adorable twerp.
Once Penguin clears his throat and isn’t in imminent danger of breaking out into ugly sobs, he stands back up, catching Cora under the arms and hoisting the kid onto his hip, like Law often does. “Alright- enough of this useless moping, we’ve got shit to do! Cora, how would you like to help us set up a present for when the captain gets back?”
The kid looks appropriately skeptical. Still, he doesn’t protest being carried back down the main hatch, and Shachi follows on Penguin’s heels, already listing off supplies: “Right, so paint, and brushes obviously, and we’ll need a decent tarp to lay on the floor...”
By the time that Law returns, they’ve gotten well underway painting the main wall of his new bedroom: pale blue sky and swirling white clouds surrounding a bright yellow sun. Shachi, the coward, slides himself behind Penguin - who in turn decides to play smarter, not harder, and positions Cora in-between himself and their captain. The kid sucks in a sharp breath, both little hands clutching a brush still dripping yellow paint onto his shoes. Law just blinks; first at the wall, and then at the kid. And miracle of miracles, he even smiles. Granted, it’s a patented Trafalgar Dumbass Water Law Smile, which involves only one corner of his mouth turning up and looks more like a smirk than anything else, but hey, it counts!
And, when Penguin glances down, it even draws a tentative little grin from Cora too, so that’s a double win right there.
-Heart of Hearts-
The crew is weird, but also good, and every day it feels a little easier for Rocinante to breathe. He still doesn’t like being in the galley during mealtimes when there’s a dozen other people too, all of them big and loud, even if they do take care not to crowd him and constantly check that Roci is eating as much as he wants. It’s easier if Captain Law is there; even without his Devil Fruit in use, there’s always a bubble of calm around the man, where Roci feels safest.
If Law is busy, then Bepo’s pretty good too - he looks scary, but really isn’t, not on the inside. And when it’s just the two of them sitting in his map room, Bepo checking or making new charts of the ocean floor, Roci can curl up either in his big squashy armchair or in the Mink’s lap, paging through another edition of Sora: Warrior of the Sea, sometimes even drifting into a nap to the soft scritch of pen against paper.
Penguin and Shachi are their own kind of safe, when they’re being loud and silly on purpose, and they get SO excited whenever Roci smiles. Ebi and Asari are similar, always making big funny faces when they catch him looking. Azarshi insists on telling Roci at least one dumb joke every day, while Beluga does the same with funny puns. They just- they all have little things to try and make Rocinante laugh, to help him adjust to life aboard the submarine, and it’s not the same as being with his family before everything went wrong but it’s still good.
Good enough to forget this is, technically, a pirate crew.
Until the day Roci is trotting back to the game room, carrying the next few issues of Sora for him and Law to read together, and he overhears the captain say: “...going to have to go after the king and his family directly, that’s the only way to drive the lesson home.”
Rocinante freezes.
“Not arguing, boss, but are we sure that’s a level of scrutiny we want to take on?”
“We can handle it. We’ve almost finished laying the seeds to change things in this Blue anyway - as soon as this is done, we can return to the Grand Line.” Someone snorts. Shachi, it sounds like. “Which does not mean meeting up with the Roger Pirates.”
“Suuure it doesn’t,” Penguin hums. Footsteps approach the doorway, and Roci hastily backpedals. “At least, not until they find out we’re back-” His teasing cuts off with a yelp as blue light flares, and a moment later the man hops out into the hall on one foot, arms spinning wildly to keep his balance. “Oh, hey kid!” Aaand then Penguin trips and falls flat on his face. “Ow.”
Even though his heart is pounding, Roci can’t help but silently giggle, just a little. He bends down to pat Penguin on the head, making Shachi snort again as he comes out too. “Terrible, just terrible, what kind of a lesson are you providing for our cabin boy?”
“The most important lesson of all,” Penguin huffs as he’s helped upright, left leg missing below the knee. “Don’t annoy the captain when you’re mid-step!”
The two of them head off together, snickering. Rocinante peers into the game room, just in time to catch a flicker of a smirk on Law’s face before it fades. Penguin’s stolen leg hovers in a blue box of light just behind the couch where the man is lounging, paging through some kind of big textbook. As soon as Law sees the comics in Roci’s arms, though, he closes the book and sets it aside. “More Sora?”
Roci nods.
“Well, come on, then.” His voice is warm. Not at all like the icy cold tone when he said, go after the king and his family directly. Rocinante bites his lip, hesitating, and Law frowns. “What’s wrong?”
The only way to drive the lesson home. That- that felt like something Doffy would say. And- maybe it’s stupid, considering how good and nice this man has been, to Roci specifically, how generous he is when seeing patients and waving off the matter of repayment more often than not, but- but for a moment Law sounded just like Doffy, snarling at the people who hurt them, furious at their father and the world itself, and even just thinking that Law could be anything like that is- it's-!
A hand settles on top of his head. Roci doesn’t quite flinch from it, not like he did the night they met, but Law still looks extra worried when he looks up at the man’s face. Gold eyes peer into Rocinante’s own; then they glance at the door, and sharpen. “...you overheard something, didn’t you?”
Those aren’t promising words. But there isn’t a trace of threat in them; just tired resignation. Slowly, Roci nods, drawing a sigh from Law. A moment later he’s scooped up by strong, tattooed arms, and carried back to the couch, where Law sets him down and crouches on the floor so they can look at each other directly.
“I’d hardly expect it,” the man says, “But have you ever heard of an island called Flevance?” Roci shakes his head. “It’s where I was born. It’s a beautiful place, with lots of people, and a cultural pride in our medical community. And, every single person there is being slowly poisoned to death.”
Rocinante sucks in a sharp breath. The comics crinkle in his grasp.
“The government knows,” Law goes on, that icy tone creeping back into his voice. “They know, and they don’t care, as long as they keep raking in taxes off of every bit of Amber Lead the nation’s mines produce. That stuff is Flevance’s main export, its most used and beloved product. And in another generation of build-up, the bits of it that have collected inside the bodies of every citizen will hit critical mass, and start killing off the entire population.” His hands clench so tightly the skin around each knuckle turns white. “Or rather, nearly the entire population.”
The king and his family
“I’m going to do something that isn’t very nice. But my powers-” A blue sphere briefly appears in between their faces. “-though miraculous, can’t cure an entire nation. So instead, I’m going to use them to put Amber Lead into the bodies of the entire royal family, so they can’t just flee like rats from a sinking ship when the time comes. They’ll be forced to fund research and find a means of safe extraction, just to save themselves, and when they do-”
“You’ll save everyone else.”
Law blinks.
Roci, after a bewildered moment spent wondering who said that, belatedly realizes the raspy words came from him. The Sora comics scatter as both hands fly up, pressing over his mouth.
For the first time since he came aboard the Tang, Rocinante made noise. And, also for the first time, he hears Law laugh.
“Excactly,” his captain grins, wide and delighted, scooping Roci up into a hug and ruffling his hair. “Exactly. I take it you’re okay with that?”
Rocinante nods. Pauses. And carefully says, “Yes?”
Law’s grin grows wider.
And Roci hugs him back.