Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I'm running. I'm running and running, and the wound on my back is bleeding out. My breath is slipping away. My sanity... well, I felt that slip the moment I cradled Ace's limp body. My throat is raw, my screams barely hanging on. Jinbei’s behind me—I think—covering our escape. I'm running, I’m still running, with Luffy unconscious on my back. How did it end up like this?

My mind is numb. My arms, heavy, barely holding him up. But I’m running. I’m still running. I have to save him. I have to save him.

Help him, Ana, please. Ace’s words rang through my mind.

“Young’un, get down!” Jinbei’s voice rips through the chaos, and I drop just in time. Bullets tear through the air above me. No time to think. No time to mourn. My heart pounds in my ears. Every muscle in my body strains, but I pull myself up and keep going.

I glance at Luffy. My heart shatters again. He looks so much like Ace. Too much. I cling to him tighter, as if holding him will keep the pain at bay. I can’t look back. I won’t look back. I can’t bear to see Ace lying there, can’t bear that I left him behind. But his last wish was for his brother to be safe. Luffy has to be safe, I must see it through.

I have to see it through. I don’t matter. Only Pops mattered. Only Ace mattered. And now, I’ve lost them both.

I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. My legs are on fire, my lungs burn with every breath, and the weight of Luffy on my back is dragging me down. The battlefield is chaos, a blur of screams, gunfire, and clashing swords. I feel like I’m running through a nightmare that won’t end.

“Jinbei,” I rasp, barely recognizing my own voice. “We need a way out… we need—”

“I know!” he shouts over his shoulder, not slowing for even a second. “Hang in there, we’re close!”

Close to what? I can’t see anything but smoke and blood and bodies. My mind is swimming. I have to keep going, I can’t stop, not now. The ground beneath us shakes as another explosion goes off behind us. My ears ring, but I push forward. There has to be a way out.

Ahead, the wall of Marines looks endless, an ocean of white and blue uniforms and swords gleaming in the fading light. There’s no way through, no way—

“Over there!” Jinbei barks, his eyes locking onto something in the distance. My gaze follows his, and through the smoke, I see it: a ship, one of the last still docked near the edge of the harbor. It’s damaged, but seaworthy. It’s our only hope. Everyone is trying to make their exit. I cannot see Ivan or Marko but I know they must be around somewhere. Somewhere. I hope they’re safe.

“Head for the ship!” Jinbei orders, already cutting a path through the soldiers with his massive fists. I can barely keep up. My body is screaming at me to stop, to collapse, but I can’t. Not yet.

We’re almost there, so close I can smell the saltwater. I hear the creaking of the ship’s sails as it sways in the water, waiting. But then, a swarm of Marines blocks our path, rifles raised. They won’t let us leave. They’ll shoot us down before we even make it halfway to the ship.

My mind goes blank. Panic rushes in. There’s no time, no plan. But I don’t need one. Not anymore.

Without thinking, I pull the last grenade from my belt and hurl it toward the front line. It explodes in a deafening roar, smoke and fire swallowing the Marines. I don’t stop to see the damage. I’m already running again, charging through the chaos, Luffy still on my back, barely hanging on.

Jinbei reaches the ship first, grabbing a rope and pulling us up with one hand. I’m just behind him, my arms trembling as I haul myself and Luffy onboard. We’re not getting out of this, not yet.

As the ship sails away from all the commotion, I can see marine ships pulling on around us.

“Jinbei, what do we do?” I ask desperately, holding Luffy tightly against my chest. I can feel his forehead heating up, and the wounds on his body dripping hot blood onto my clothes, staining them further. I hold him closer, I stroke his hair and I whisper to him, pressing my lips against his forehead, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.

Jinbei holds the ship’s wheel tighter and turns it around. He looks at me with a pained look in his eyes. Luffy and I must be quite a sight.

“I’ll try to get us out. We can still make it,” he says. The maybe is silent, holding onto the tip of his tongue.

“Strawhat-ya! Over here! We’re over here!” a loud voice booms from the crowd of screams and canonfire.

I turn to Jinbei, holding Luffy even closer, my eyes wide. I can feel a pressure on my chest when I hear someone calling Luffy by his pirate name. In such a critical condition, where I neither know friend nor foe, I hold my gaze to Jinbei who slaunters over to the side of the helm, looking down.

“Give him to us! We can heal him, I’m a doctor!” the voice screams louder, just as more canonballs fly overhead. I shut my eyes tight, and only then can I feel the way my hands are shaking. Everything goes quiet, then, and I hear only a heartbeat. Thump, thump… thump, thump.

I don’t know if it’s my own, or Luffy’s, or Jinbei’s. I can only hear it pump. It feels me with a sense of dread, because I was sure after losing my father and the love of my life on the same day that my heart would not beat any more.

Thump, thump… thump, thump.

“How can we trust you?” Jinbei screams overhead. We can’t, I think to myself. I don’t think we can ever trust again.

“I know Strawhat-ya, we met in Sabaody!” the voice comes through again, with a little more desperation this time. “You’re running out of time! Please, we have a submarine, just give him to us!”

I turn Luffy on towards my back and lift myself up slowly. I know I’m losing a lot of blood, and I am honestly not apathetic to the idea of bleeding out and dying right here. But Luffy’s weight against my back reminds me of the promise I made.

“I promise, my firelight.” I had held Ace as he slipped out of consciousness, kissing him where the tears that fell from my eyes met his face. “I promise.”

I walk towards Jinbei, and motion him to help us land onto the submarine. He slings a rope around my waist and pushes both of us towards the sea. As we fly through the air, I can feel small drops of rain coming down. Here’s the storm, but when will we get to the calm after it?

We land onto a group of bodies who try to catch us as delicately as possible. Before a tall figure walks over to us. I still hold Luffy tightly, and switch him so that he’s laying on my lap. My hands shake further as my vision blurs.

“Where was he hit?” the same voice talks to me, and I press my hands flush onto Luffy’s chest.

“Everywhere. The worst is this wound on his chest,” I say hurriedly, tears welling up in my eyes again. “Please, doctor, help him. You have to help him.” Only then do I glance at the doctor, but his features blur through the blind spots clouding my vision.

“It’s okay,” he says, softly, “You can let go of him now,” he places his hands under Luffy, trying to pull him up.

I did not register when my hands only held Luffy tighter, refusing to let go, until a soft paw landed atop my right hand.

I glanced up to meet a pair of dark, sympathetic eyes, and a whole lot of white fur.

“It’s okay,” this one repeated, “You can trust us.”

I slowly let go, and turn to Jinbei who nods warmly. I reach out to him just in time before darkness consumes me.

Beep… beep… beep.

My eyes open to a dim light hanging atop what looks like a hospital room. Grey panels adorn the walls, with machines and tools surrounding me. It takes me a moment to remember where I am before everything rushes back to me.

Luffy.

The beeping on the machine connected to my finger starts pick up the pace, my heartbeat spiking up as I remove the cords hanging round my body, and yanking the IV line so hard it makes me wince.

“Luffy… Luffy!” I scream, trying to get to my feet, but my body isn’t responding to my will. The bandages on my torso and arms prevent me from moving much, and the panic only rises through me again to let another scream out.

“LUFFY!”

I stumble out of the bed just in time for a small group of people to burst through the door. They try to get a hold of me but I push them away as I walk towards the door. I can feel them grabbing my legs and my arms but I only fight them back. The bandages start to peel off slowly, and I don’t notice the wounds reopening and bleed again.

They’re all screaming at me. I cannot make out what they say. My mind says one thing only, Luffy, Luffy, Luffy…

“He’s okay! He’s okay!” a tall man grabs me by the forearms and stares deeply into my eyes. “Look at me, you’re okay. You’re both okay. You’re aboard the Polar Tang. Jinbei’s here. You’re here. You’re safe.”

My eyes flicker between his, searching for the truth in his words. Gray eyes stare me down intensely, with a gaze that seems almost pleading. There’s something comforting about them, as I stare deeply into him, I cannot help but notice the dark circles under his gray eyes.

Just then, Jinbei walks in, an arm pressed against his torso, and with a slight limp. He looks at me and forces a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He nods at the gray-eyed man’s words, and I can feel myself slipping out again. The grey-eyed man catches me, gently, and he turns to the group to say that my wounds have reopened so that they’d have to clean them again.

He’s safe. He’s safe. Ace, I made it.

I lose consciousness again.

This time, I recognize the steady beep of the machine beside me. I lie on the bed, staring at the ivory ceiling and the harsh fluorescent lights above. A wave of sadness courses through me, thick and suffocating. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. My hand trembles as I touch my throat, searching for my voice. It's gone. I try again, but only a whisper escapes.

“Ace,” I can barely make it audible enough for myself to hear. Something rips inside my mind, a veil, so thimble and delicate. My mind. I feel my heart heavy, as one would feel a bag of broken shards of glass in their hand. I try to say something again, but no sound comes out.

My eyes swell up with tears, and a sad smile crosses my face. My firelight, my sweet, Luffy is safe. I can feel the tears staining my cheeks, but I’m too weak to wipe them away. Every muscle is cramped and aching, my head pounds, and my lips are dry, cracked. But Luffy is safe.

Now, I can let go.

I reach, weakly, towards the IV line on my arm, and softly pull the needle out. My other hand fumbles with the bloodline needle, tugging it out slowly.  I struggle, but I manage to pull them both out. I look down at the bandages on my arms and begin to unravel them, carefully peeling the gauze away. The stitches cling to the fabric, glued to the dried blood, but I pull them loose, one by one.

There’s no strength left to wince or gasp, but I feel the warm drip of blood trailing down my arms. Finally, I reach the clasp of the bandages around my torso and unhook it. It almost feels like an eternity, but my tears have dried up and the color is draining from my face. I pull the bandage as hard as I can, and I can feel the stitches on my back come undone.

I lie there, arms spread wide, bleeding out on the hospital bed.

A small smile traces my lips.

I’m coming, my firelight.

A violent jolt tears me from the darkness. My body arches off the bed, electricity crackling through my veins. I can’t breathe—I’m drowning in air. The sound of rapid beeping fills the room, but it’s the pressure in my chest that brings me back, a painful force demanding I live. I don’t want to. I don’t want to wake up.

"Clear!" A voice shouts, distant but sharp, followed by another jolt. My chest burns, and I choke on a gasp, my eyes snapping open. The harsh white light above me is blinding. For a second, I don’t know where I am. But then it all floods back—the ceiling, the machines, the blood. The escape I was so close to, ripped away.

No. No, no, no.

I was supposed to die. I wanted to die. Why wouldn’t they just let me go?

I cannot muster enough strength to let out my thoughts. I don’t want them to touch me, I want them to let me go.

“I don’t want to be here,” I rasp, but I don’t think any noise comes out. “I don’t want this…”

I black out again.

I don’t want this. I don’t want this. I don’t want this life. I don’t want anymore. I don’t want any more pain. I don’t want any more loss. I don’t want anything.

As soon as I regain consciousness, I do the same thing all over until I collapse.

My eyes are heavy, and it takes more than a few tries to open them through. I can see a bright light. Is this finally it?

“Ace?” I try to let out, and this time, I can hear myself. Barely, hoarsely, but I can let out his name.

I blink, as the light floods my vision and I see…

I’m still in the hospital room.

I’m still in the bed.

Goddamnit.

I quickly try to reach out for my bandages again but something holds me in place. Panic surges through me, sharp and sudden. I look down, blinking away the haze, and realize my wrists are bound to the bed. Thick straps wrapped tightly around my arms. My legs too. I pull against them, weakly at first, then harder, but the restraints don’t budge.

My heart races, the beeping of the monitor quickening with every shallow breath. I try to scream, but my throat is too dry, the taste of metal thick on my tongue. What escapes isn’t a scream—it’s more like a broken wail, hoarse and raw.

I thrash, kicking and twisting, the weak sounds of my wailing filling the room.

The door swings open with a sharp creak, and the sound of heavy boots crossing the floor cuts through my ragged wailing. I don’t have the strength to look, but then a voice, deep and commanding, breaks the air.

“Enough.”

I freeze, my body still trembling. The voice is sharp, unyielding, and filled with an anger I can’t ignore. Slowly, I lift my head to see him—a man standing at the foot of my bed, his gray eyes hard, jaw clenched tight.

"Stop this. Now," he says, his words a harsh order, as if he’s already tired of watching me fall apart. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, it feels like the air in the room thickens with tension.

“What you’re doing... this nonsense...” His gaze narrows, and there’s a fire in his eyes. “It’s selfish. Do you understand? You’re acting selfishly.”

I stare back at him, chest heaving, my mind too fractured to respond. But he doesn’t need a response. He steps closer, his presence towering over me, radiating frustration. He holds my wrists tightly.

"Do you think you're the only one who's suffered? The only one who's lost people? So many people have already died. Countless people gave their lives on this fight.” His voice wavers for a split second, before hardening again. “And here you are, treating your life like it means nothing. You’re dishonoring their deaths.”

I feel his words hit like a punch to the gut, but I can’t stop the tears from spilling down my face. “I didn’t ask for this,” I manage to choke out, my voice trembling. “I didn’t—”

He cuts me off with a look so fierce I fall silent.

“No one asked for this. But here we are,” he growls, his voice like steel. “Do you really think Ace would’ve wanted this for you? For his death to be the end of you, too? After all he fought for?” His words strike harder, each one a blow I can’t block. “Do you think it’s fair to Luffy, after everything you did to save him, to throw it all away? You’re throwing away your life, and for what?”

I open my mouth, but no words come. I can’t answer him. I feel trapped, pinned beneath the weight of his accusations.

His eyes darken, and when he speaks again, his voice is low but unrelenting. “You think your suffering gives you the right to die? To leave? You’re not the only one in pain. You’re not the only one struggling to breathe through this hell.”

He steps even closer, his face hovering just above mine, the intensity of his stare burning into me. “Stop acting like your pain makes you special. This was war. People die in war. Don’t you dare disrespect them by treating your life so carelessly.”

I can’t look at him anymore. His words are a blade twisting inside me, cutting deeper than I thought possible. I want to scream at him, to tell him he doesn’t understand—but a part of me knows he’s right. The guilt gnaws at me, a sickening weight pressing down on my chest.

He straightens, his voice calmer now but no less firm. “You’re still alive. Don’t waste what they gave for you.”

He presses a hand against my forehead, and I can feel myself slipping away.

“Rest, now. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

Chapter Text

“You’ve been asleep for a while,” Jinbei’s deep voice comes through the doorway as I sit up on the bed to face him fully. A soft smile on his lips, his tired state is nothing compared to my own.

“Hello there, old man,” I croak out. “Good to see you alive and well.”

“You look…better, young’un,” he walked towards me and pulled a rolling chair next to my bed.

“Yeah, the cute polar bear has been bringing me meals and chatting me up,” I lift the corner of my lips, “He’s funny… almost makes me forget about the whole thing.”

I pause for a minute. The silence between us is warm, comforting. We both lost a lot a few days ago. I stare at him, a sentence I’ve been dreading forming on the back of my throat.

“What happened… is his…” I cannot make it completely, but he understands me nonetheless.

“Red-haired Shanks took both of them,” he nods slowly, eyeing me up carefully, as though with every word he’s afraid I’ll fall apart.

I almost do, but the gray-eyed man’s words pull me back like a bucket of cold water.

“Good,” I manage to say, “They couldn’t be in better hands.”

Jinbei lifts his hand and places it atop my own. He squeezes with affection, and my gaze softens. As I glance towards our hands, I feel a warmth coming forth. I take a deep, deep breath. I’m going to keep on living for the both of us, I think, besides, Luffy needs my help.

The polar bear had told me that Luffy was having as tough of a time processing everything as I did. Regret had washed over me, since I was too busy trying to… off myself that I did not think of his well-being. They had grown up together, he had known Ace for longer than I did. The fact that I’m thinking of him in the past tense makes it all the more real, and my breath hitches.

Ace and Luffy and another kid… his name was Sabo, I believe, had grown up together in the East Blue. I had met them both when we were kids, right after…

It seems like Jinbei could sense the thoughts swarming through my mind because he lifted my hand up and placed it on his lap.

“Tell me about him,” he commanded, “Talking about him will make you feel better, trust that having him close is a way to overcome this grief.”

He looked sad. We both did. But the weak smiles on our faces were a bond that would unite us forever.

I obliged.

“Have I told you about the time when we first met?” I muttered, shy at the reminder of the dark-haired 11 year-old that had taken my favorite dress and painted a pirate sigil on it.

Jinbei shook his head steadily, perceiving the change in my mood.

“I was 11 back then, I had just arrived to the Goa Kingdom on a cargo ship and had nowhere to go. The city felt too big, too unforgiving, and the world seemed colder than ever. I managed to pitch up a small tent by the mountains, using some torn tarps I found lying around. One of the sailors took pity on me—an old man with kind eyes—and slipped me a bit of food. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to last me three days, maybe four if I was careful. It was my only lifeline at the time,” Jinbei listened intently to my every word, his eyes filled with sympathy, as he still held my hand.

“Then, one morning, I noticed that one of my only two dresses—the black one—was missing. I’d left it hanging by the tent, and just like that, it was gone. Turns out, some random kid from the mountains had spotted the fabric, cut it up, and used it to scrawl some pirate sigil with the letters ‘ASL.’” I chuckled softly at the memory. He always had a knack for troublemaking.

“I was furious when I realized my dress was gone. It was one of the only things I had left, and now some brat had cut it up. I went looking for him, it wasn’t hard to find him—he was up by a house, looking every bit like the kind of cocky, smirking troublemaker who didn’t care about anyone but himself.”

The memory burned to the back of my mind, I remembered every detail and let it flood over me.

 ‘That’s mine,’ I had said, storming up to him. He just grinned, crossing his arms as if daring me to do something about it.

‘It’s mine now,’ he shot back, eyes glinting with mischief. ‘I needed a flag for our crew. ASL, get it? It’s important.’

I didn’t care about his crew or his excuses. I was ready to fight him for it, even though he was bigger and looked like he could handle himself in a brawl. ‘You don’t just take what isn’t yours,’ I snapped, feeling my hands ball up into fists. ‘Give it back, or I’ll—’

‘Or you’ll what?’ he cut in, sounding amused, but there was something in his eyes—like he was testing me. Pushing me to see how far I’d go. For a moment, it felt like a standoff, like I had to prove something.

“I’ll fight you if I have to,” I shot back, trying to sound braver than I felt.

His eyes flashed with amusement, like I was some sort of entertainment for him. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. Most people don’t try to square up with me.”

I gritted my teeth. “I don’t care who you are. You’re just a thief.”

For a second, I thought he was going to laugh, but instead, his expression shifted. He looked me over, really seeing me for the first time. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, like he was starting to get it. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

I didn’t move. “You think it’s funny? I’ve got nothing else. That dress was all I had, and you ruined it for your dumb pirate games.”

There was a long pause. His cocky grin faded completely, replaced by something like guilt. He scratched the back of his head, looking a bit uncomfortable now. “I didn’t know. I thought it was just some extra cloth... I didn’t think it mattered.” His voice was quieter, less sure of himself.

I crossed my arms, still fuming. “Well, it did.”

He sighed, then to my surprise, he tossed the flag aside and said, “Alright, I’m sorry. For real. I didn’t mean to take something that important to you.”

The apology caught me off guard. I stared at him, unsure what to say. He was different now—less like the arrogant kid I’d confronted and more... real.

He cleared his throat and glanced at the flag on the ground. “Look, I get it now. But, if you’re hanging around here alone, you’re not gonna last long. This place isn’t kind to people like us. Me and my brother, we’re going to be great. Why don’t you come with us? You can stick around. We could use someone with your guts.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why would I want to hang out with you after what you did?”

He grinned again, but this time it was softer, less cocky. “Because I might’ve stolen your dress, but I’ll make it up to you. We’re gonna make something big here, something that matters. And you look like you could use a fresh start.”

The words did not ring as something an 11 year-old would say. As immature as he was, I could see there was something more there. This kid was carrying a heavy burden that had made him wise, not in the way adults were wise, but in a way that made him recognize what he wanted. And he sure as hell looked like he would fight for it.

I hesitated though, the anger still simmering, but there was something in his voice, something sincere. He was offering me more than just an apology—he was offering me a chance.

I didn’t trust him completely, but I couldn’t deny that the idea of leaving everything behind and joining up with them was tempting. Hell, they at least had a roof over their heads. “Fine,” I said slowly, “but if you pull something like this again, I’m gone.”

He gave me a nod, his smile widening. “Deal. Welcome to the crew, then. Come meet my little brother! We’re going to sail away, and be the greatest in the whole sea!”

And just like that, the kid who had stolen from me became the one to give me a new path forward.

The day passes me in a blur. After talking with Jinbei and exchanging stories (his were more interesting than mine) a guy with a hat that read “penguin” at the top came to my room and told me Luffy was waiting for me outside. With a newfound strength, I slung the covers off my frame and darted towards the exit of the submarine.

A group of beautiful women greet my eyes in a spot of land. I realised then, we’re on Amazon Lily, a gorgeous place I only had heard stories of. They swarm me with arms, and fruit, and short greetings of welcome and concern for my well-being.

My eyes scan the crowd, a sheepish look on my face, not used to being so fawned over. My eyes land on him… finally.

“Oh, Luffy!” I breathe out.

His eyes draft over to me, a big piece of meat hanging from the side of his mouth. His eyes light up, and he stands quickly to rush over to me. I hold my arms out, and he does the same, screaming my name.

“Asia!”

He hugs me hard, and I cling to his open shirt tightly. The bandages on his chest don’t go unnoticed and though I hold him tightly I try not to apply pressure on his chest. My eyes flood with tears, feeling happy that he’s looking so alive and well.

“Oh, Luffy…” I let out again.

We stand there on what feels like forever before I feel my legs giving out. We stay there, arms around each other, and I pull Luffy down with me, our heads buried in each others' necks.

“Come on, give them some space,” someone says before the strong ladies walk back to wherever they had come from.

“Luffy…”

“Asia…”

We both muttered at the same time. We face each other and let out a small chuckle at our synchronization.

“I’m…”

“Sorry…”

We both say at the same time, again. He nods at me, and I nod back. Words unspoken between us, we both know all of the things that we want to say, and all the things we want to hear, but Luffy has never been one for sentimental talk.

We both know.

I’m so happy you’re alive, we both think.

We both lost a big part of ourselves that day. That wretched, horrible day. But it made us more family than the years on Mt. Colubo ever did.

“Asia,” my nickname since he was a kid, “I will become stronger.”

“I know you will, Lu,” I affirm, “I will help you.”

“No,” he says firmly.

Confusion paints my face, we had been apart for so long before meeting again in Alabasta by chance, a few months back. I had already broken up with Ace back then, but neither Ace nor I had said anything to him. Now he wanted to be apart again? After everything?

I couldn’t muster a reply, my lips parted and my brows furrowed.

By Jinbei I knew he had been separated from his crew, was he not going to go reunite with them? What about the strawhats?

“I will be training with Rayleigh from now on,” he held me by my shoulders, “I will train for two years before meeting my crew again.”

I knew it was selfish to want to stay by him, yet I could understand his desire to grow stronger. I needed to get stronger, too. Not only physically but mentally as well.

The weight of his words hit me, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. I wanted to be selfish, to ask to be with him, but I couldn’t. He had his own path, his own crew, and I couldn’t hold him back.

“I understand,” I whispered, though the ache in my chest said otherwise.

I looked into his eyes—so full of determination, of hope. I had never met anyone like Luffy, someone who could push through all the pain and keep going, always looking forward. And I knew I needed to do the same. I needed to find my strength, but more than that, I needed to find my purpose. Without Ace, without Whitebeard... what was I supposed to do? Where was I supposed to go?

I push the thoughts to the back of my mind before pulling him up, and walking him over to a log to sit. I chat him up, talking about his wounds and how he was feeling. He mentions that he’d get a scar on his chest, and I joke that perhaps it’ll match the one under his eye. I hadn’t asked those who healed me, but I could feel the wound on my back was deep enough to scar. It sure as hell hurt like it was going to.

Dusk turned into night, and as I talked with Luffy—about anything, really— people gathered around us and made a fire that we could sit around and eat to replenish our energies. Jinbei, Luffy, some of the heart pirates who I didn’t really know, and I, exchanged pleasantries and little anecdotes here and there. Everything from the time Jinbei fought Ace to the time when Ace and Luffy had cut off my hair while sleeping in Dadan’s hut. I relished in the warmth of the stories, feeling close to Ace, but with a weight around my heart, still.

A beautiful young girl, with short blond hair, asked Luffy about his wounds, and I take a second to zone out of the conversation. My social battery draining, it was still hard to sit up and talked as if everything inside me was fine when it truly wasn’t.

The night stretched on, but I couldn’t help but feel more distant with each passing moment. I eventually slip away, leaving the warmth of the fire behind. The sea air is cooler now as I walk to the edge of the island and I bring my arms around me. The moon hanging high above, casting a silver glow across the water. It was beautiful, but all I could feel was uneasiness. I sit down on the grassy cliff, pulling my knees up to my chest, the wind brushing against my face.

I didn’t know what came next. Luffy had a path. He had his crew, his dream. I... I had nothing. My father was gone. The Whitebeard Pirates were disbanded. And Ace... I close my eyes, the ache in my chest unbearable. I wanted to believe there was still something left for me, but it felt like I was staring at a blank future.

“Are you planning to jump?” a voice says from behind me, cool and even. 

I turn, startled, to see a man standing there, arms crossed over his chest, same long coat with the same black-spotted hat. His eyes a striking grey, shining brighter than the moon above. Trafalgar Law. The name rushes back to me, only realising now the true power of the person in front of me. He was the Surgeon of Death, after all, and I couldn’t believe he had saved our asses.

“No,” I say quietly, turning back to the sea. “Just... thinking.”

His voice brings me back to the hospital bed. To his harsh but true words.

To my surprise, he walks over and sits beside me, though he leaves a noticeable distance between us. For a moment, we just sit there in silence, the only sound the gentle crash of waves against the cliffs below.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice flat, but not unkind.

“Everything,” I sigh. “My life, fuck, or what’s left of it.” I’m not sure why I’m even answering him. Maybe it’s easier to talk to someone who doesn’t expect anything from me.

He doesn’t say anything, just waits for me to continue.

“My world crumbled in the span of hours,” I say finally, my voice barely a whisper. “Ace, my father... the crew’s over. I don’t know where to go from here. Everyone around me seems to know their next step, but I…”

I trail off, feeling foolish. What do I expect him to say?

Law stays silent for a long time before speaking. “Loss is... unavoidable in this world. It leaves you hollow, unsure. But sitting here, lost, won’t bring them back.” He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “You can either let it consume you, or you can keep moving forward. The future’s uncertain, but that’s the nature of it.”

His words land on my mind with a heavy impact. He understands. More than most. I look over at him, his face calm but distant, and suddenly, I feel an overwhelming need to close the gap between us. Before I can stop myself, I lean over and hug him.

He stiffens immediately, his entire body going rigid like he has no idea how to react. “What... are you doing?” His voice is strained, clearly not used to this kind of contact.

I squeeze him tighter for a moment before letting go, laughing softly at his obvious discomfort. “Thank you, Doctor,” I say, wiping a stray tear from my cheek. “Thank you for saving Luffy. Thank you for healing Jinbei, and thank you for pulling me back from the edge.”

He clears his throat, visibly relieved as I let go, but not uncomfortable—just a bit caught off guard. “You don’t need to... do that,” he says softly, his tone more awkward than distant, as though he isn’t used to moments like this but isn’t entirely put off by them either.

I pull back further, smiling faintly. “Sorry,” I say, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “I guess I just needed to thank you. For listening, and for saving us.”

Law nods briefly, his grey eyes studying me with that quiet intensity of his. “You don’t owe me anything,” he says evenly, though there’s an undeniable sincerity in his calm voice. “But if you’re looking for something to hold onto, my crew could use someone like you. A capable nurse, especially one with your… resumé.”

I blink, for a moment I had forgotten who I was. “A nurse,” I echo, the weight of the word settling over me. I’ve trained for years, working alongside my father and caring for him in his later years; Whitebeard’s crew, healing wounds and saving lives. But after everything fell apart, it felt like that part of me vanished along with the people I cared for.

“I know you’ve been through a lot,” Law continues, his voice steady but soft. “But if you’re still willing to help others, to keep doing what you’re good at, you’d be a valuable part of the Heart Pirates.”

There’s no flattery in his words, no attempt to comfort or ease me. Just a simple truth laid bare. And somehow, that means more to me than anything else.

I look down at my hands—hands that once held lives together, that treated wounds, stitched skin, and offered care to those who needed it most.

“You think I still have it in me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Law doesn’t hesitate. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t think so.”

His certainty hits me harder than I expect, and for a moment, I can’t speak. I’ve been wandering, lost, unsure of who I am without the people I once devoted myself to. But here is someone who sees me for more than a broken heart. He sees the part of me that can still do good, that can still help.

“Thank you,” I say softly, meeting his gaze again. “For believing in me.”

He shrugs slightly, as if downplaying his words. “We all need people we can rely on. You’re not the only one who's lost everything. But sitting still doesn’t help anyone. Moving forward... that’s how we survive.”

His words hang in the air between us, and I nod. Moving forward. That’s what I need to do, isn’t it?

Law stands up, brushing off his coat, and offers me his hand. “We’re leaving in the morning,” he says, his voice casual now, though his offer still carries weight. “If you want to come with us, you know where to find us.”

I take his hand, standing up beside him, and for a moment, we just stand there in silence, the wind brushing past us as the sea stretches out endlessly below. Law has given me something I hadn’t even realized I needed—a reason to move, to heal, to step into a future I haven’t been able to imagine. I realize the parallel between the 11 year-old dark haired kid, and the grown dark-haired doctor, both of whom had unexpectedly come into my life and offered me a helping hand.

“Your crew,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips. “You think they’ll take kindly to a stranger?”

“They’ll grumble,” he admits with a humorous smirk. I could see in that little gesture the deep affection he held for them. “But they respect strength. And they need a good nurse, and I need an extra pair of hands to help with my medical work. You’ll fit in.” His words are matter-of-fact, but there’s a quiet reassurance in them that puts me at ease.

I stare out at the sea, my mind racing with thoughts of everything that’s happened, of everyone I’ve lost. But for the first time in a long time, there’s a flicker of something else—a sense of direction, of purpose.

“I’ll be there,” I say after a moment, my voice stronger than I expect.

Law turns, glancing back at me with a slow nod. “Good. See you in the morning.”

As he walks back toward the campfire, I stay there for a while longer, staring at the horizon. The future is still uncertain, still terrifying in its vastness. I can see a path opening up ahead of me, a chance to find myself again, to reclaim the part of me that was lost in all the chaos.

I think back to Luffy, his words ringing in my mind: “I will train for two years before meeting my crew again.”

I smile to myself, knowing that Luffy would find his strength, and now I had the chance to find mine too. As I stand there, feeling the cool breeze against my skin, I realize that the emptiness inside me wasn’t quite so overwhelming anymore. There was still loss, still uncertainty, but there was also hope.

And for the first time in a long time, that was enough.

Chapter Text

The night before, I said my goodbyes to Luffy and Jinbei. It was quiet, simple—none of us had much left to say. Luffy, still recovering, had mumbled something about seeing me again someday. Jinbei had nodded, a silent promise in his eyes that he would watch over Luffy in my absence. I didn’t linger. I couldn’t.

Before I left though, I had asked Luffy for a lock of his hair. He didn’t question it, just laughed that carefree laugh of his, like it was no big deal. The Amazon Lily girls were kind enough to give me a chain and some charms—small tokens of their own—where I could keep the locks. I took a piece of Jinbei’s hair too, weaving them together into the keepsake. I decided to hang it around my waist, like a belt, so that I would always carry a piece of them with me. It’s a small thing, but it makes me feel like I’m never too far from those I love.

Now, standing at the edge of the island, the wind tugging at my clothes, I feel the weight of every choice I’ve ever made bearing down on me. It’s strange how life can shift so suddenly, how choices you make at one point in time ripple forward, shaping everything that comes after. If you had told my ten-year-old self that this was where I’d end up, I would have laughed in disbelief.

I close my eyes and drift back to that time, to the moment I first met him—Whitebeard. The man whose presence could silence entire seas.

I was barely fifteen, fiery and reckless, looking for some direction in life but too proud to admit I was lost. I remember the day as clearly as if it were yesterday. I crossed paths with Whitebeard's fleet by accident, at the time, and the fear that had gripped me when seeing the man stand tall above me. I had wandered alone that time, and I did not know who this massive, impressing man was.

But Whitebeard... he didn’t treat me like an enemy. He treated me like potential family. I remember the way he looked at me, his towering form casting a shadow over everything, his deep, rumbling voice asking me if I wanted to sail with him. "You’ve got fire in you, girl. If you want, you can call this crew home."

For a moment, I had been tempted. To join the Whitebeard Pirates, to sail with one of the most powerful men alive—it was an offer that could change anyone's life, even if I didn’t know it at the time, but he looked powerful. I still hesitated. I didn’t know why at the time, but something held me back. Or more like, two dark-haired teenagers had held me back. I wasn’t ready to leave them, so I refused. I told him I had my own path to carve, even if I didn’t know where it would lead.

And then Ace turned 17, and he left.

One year after that encounter, he went off to start his own life of piracy. I remember the day he told me, his eyes bright with excitement, fire burning in his soul. He was always so sure, so confident in his decisions. I was sixteen by then, a year younger than him, but I felt like a child standing next to Ace.

It wasn’t long before I left too, searching for something—purpose, maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to feel alive, to fill the empty space Ace left behind. I went looking for Whitebeard and took him upon his offer.

Now, here I am, standing on the edge again, just like that day when Whitebeard asked me to choose my path. Only this time, I just see the great unknown again.

I look down at the edge submarine below, its yellow hull barely visible against the dark waters. Law's ship. My next step, if I choose to take it. But as I stand here, hesitating once again, I wonder if there’s even a choice left to make. My life has been one of following others—following Whitebeard, following Ace—and now that they’re no longer here to guide me, I feel lost all over again.

The wind whips at my hair, and I take a deep breath, steeling myself. My body is tired, my heart even more so, but I know what I have to do. I grip on of the lockets on the keepsake chain as though it will make this easier.

Just as I start to step forward, a sudden warmth presses against my back. The feeling is so sudden, so familiar, that I freeze. It’s like fire, a gentle but firm push that sends me stumbling forward toward the sub. For a split second, I think I hear his voice—Ace's voice—whispering in my ear. His hands, always warm like the sun, are the ones pushing me forward. I don’t have to turn around to know there’s no one there.

But it feels like him.

Before I can think or react, I lose my balance and tumble onto the deck of the submarine below. My hands catch the railing, and I steady myself, heart pounding in my chest. I look back, but there’s only empty air behind me, just the wind howling through the cliffs.

Still, I can’t shake the feeling that it was him. That somewhere, somehow, Ace is still with me, guiding me in ways I can’t understand.

I press a hand to my chest, feeling the steady beat of my heart. Maybe it’s time to stop fighting the path in front of me. Maybe this was my choice all along.

As the submarine’s engine hums to life, I glance up at the sky, feeling the warmth of Ace’s memory settle over me like a blanket.

I’m not alone. I’ve never been.

The submarine doors open with a quiet hiss, and the Heart Pirates are there to greet me. A handful of them stand lined up, their faces full of curiosity, though there's a warmth to their welcome that eases the knot in my chest. I take a deep breath, clutching the chain around my waist.

"Welcome aboard," one of them, a tall man with goggles, says with a grin. "Name's Shachi." He offers me a friendly nod before gesturing to the others. "This here is Penguin, and Bepo you’ve already met. Don’t worry, he's a bear, but he’s a softie.”

Bepo waves, his white fur standing out against the cold metal of the submarine. “Hi! It’s nice to have you stick around.”

I give a small smile, feeling a bit out of place but grateful for their openness. Another crew member, a woman with cropped hair and a confident stance, steps forward.

“I’m Ikkaku," she says with a sharp but friendly tone. "You’ll be sharing a cabin with me. I’m the only other girl here, so it’s just us.”

"Anastasia," I nod introducing myself, relieved that there’s someone who might make this transition a little easier. "Thanks, Ikkaku. It’s nice to meet you all."

Shachi claps his hands together. “Alright, let’s show you around. This here’s the main deck, and that ladder takes you down to the crew quarters. Engine room’s over there, and if you hear something explode, don’t worry, it’s probably just Ikkaku at work.”

Ikkaku rolls her eyes. “It was one time.”

The crew gives me a quick tour of the ship, explaining where everything is, and I find myself slowly relaxing as we make our way through the narrow halls of the submarine. It’s a tight space, but the camaraderie is unmistakable.

Eventually, they leave me in the hall, heading off to their duties. As I stand there, catching my breath, I feel a presence beside me. I look up to see Law leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with that same familiar intensity.

“Doctor,” I say, acknowledging him with a slight nod.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “You’re still calling me that?”

I feel my cheeks heat up slightly. “Is that not... what you are?”

He lets out a quiet chuckle, his smirk growing. “Call me Law.” He pauses for a moment, his gaze steady on mine before he adds, “But only between us. When we’re around the others, you can call me Captain.”

I nod, trying to keep my cool, but then something playful bubbles up inside me. “Alright... Law.” I pause, the tiniest of smiles tugging at my lips. “But are you sure I shouldn’t call you Captain Doctor Sir? Just to be safe?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Law just stares at me, an incredulous look in his eyes. I see the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth, and for a second, I think he might actually laugh. He raises an eyebrow. “Captain Doctor Sir?”

I shrug, fighting the grin on my face. “Well, I don’t want to get in trouble. Gotta cover all the bases.”

He huffs out a deeper chuckle, his expression softer than I’ve ever seen it, and before I can react, his hand reaches out and gently ruffles my hair, like it’s second nature. The touch is soft, almost affectionate, and for a brief moment, it feels... comforting.

But then he freezes, his eyes widening a bit, realizing what he’s done. He looks at me, a flicker of something—uncertainty, maybe?—crossing his face. He pulls his hand back quickly, his demeanor instantly stiffening. “Go find Ikkaku,” he clears his throat, tone shifting back to business. “She’s probably in the engine room. She’ll show you your cabin and get you a boiler suit.”

I try to stifle a laugh, watching him struggle to keep his usual stoic composure. “Thanks, Doctor—uh, I mean, Captain Doctor Law. Or is it Doctor Captain?”

He sighs, shaking his head with an exasperated smile. “Just... go.”

With a grin, I turn and head down the corridor, feeling that small warmth in my chest grow just a little more. Maybe I’ll like it here after all.

I’d be lying if I said adjusting to life under a submarine was easy. The narrow corridors, the constant hum of machinery, the oppressive weight of the ocean pressing in from all sides—it took time to settle into this new rhythm. Plus, there’s the whole deal about that horrible boiler suit I was supposed to wear. But I found ways to make it work. I was often on dinner duty, chopping vegetables or stirring giant pots of soup in the small, cramped kitchen. The guys weren’t picky eaters (besides Mister Captain Doctor Sir, who seemed to only eat rice and grilled fish), but there was something satisfying about seeing them enjoy the food after a long day. I also found a way to wear the boiler suit, wearing a cropped shirt and tying the top part of the suit around my waist. I still couldn’t be caught dead in that thing, but at least it looked better.

My days quickly became a steady routine. When I wasn’t in the kitchen, I spent my time in Law’s medical lab, familiarizing myself with everything. I’d shift through chemistry books stacked high on his desk, flipping through worn pages and scribbled notes as I tried to wrap my head around the intricacies of medicine. Law had a system—one I didn’t dare mess with—so I’d carefully organize the shelves, labeling bottles, syringes, and various medical supplies. The equipment he used to make medicine fascinated me. He was meticulous, and I took care to handle everything with the same level of precision.

Sometimes, I’d have to patch up one of the crew. A cut here, a bruise there. One day, Shachi came in with a deep gash on his arm after a particularly rough maintenance job near the engine room. Law watched silently as I stitched him up, not saying much, but the fact that he didn’t intervene felt like a silent nod of approval.

The hours were long, and the work was tiring, but the company made it bearable. There was always someone to talk to, even if it was just to complain about the tight spaces or the occasional groaning of the ship. The first few days, though, I felt itchy, like I was constantly on edge. Maybe it was nerves, maybe it was the weight of everything that had happened catching up to me. I kept thinking too much about myself, about what I’d lost, about what I was supposed to do now. But once I let go and allowed things to just flow, it got easier.

Still, my mind constantly drifted back to Ace and Pops. Every time I closed my eyes, I’d see them. Ace, full of fire, his smile burning as bright as his flames; Pops, his towering figure casting a shadow over everything, but always warm, always protective. The nightmares came often. I’d wake up in a cold sweat, my heart racing, my throat tight. Ikkaku, who I shared the cabin with, wasn’t shy about her irritation.

“Damn it, Ana, I’m not getting any sleep with you tossing and turning like that,” she muttered one morning, her eyes bleary from lack of rest.

I felt bad, but what could I do? The dreams were relentless. I could hear Ace’s voice, see the moment he fell. I’d wake up gasping, my chest heavy, and there wasn’t much I could do to shake it off. It was like I was stuck in a loop, trapped between the past and whatever future I was supposed to carve out for myself now. I’d decided to wander off at night, so that I could let Ikkaku rest for a bit, even if the tiredness was starting to show on my face.

I only just noticed the bags under my eyes, when I was scrubbing my face in front of the tiny bathroom mirror. They were dark, almost bruised-looking, and no amount of splashing cold water on my skin could make them disappear. I sighed, staring at my reflection, feeling a little self-conscious. It wasn’t just the lack of sleep—the weight of it all was starting to show. I tried to brush it off, but it clung to me, the exhaustion creeping deeper into my bones every night.

On one of my sleepless nights, I found myself wandering through the submarine, my bare feet padding softly against the cold floor. I didn’t have a destination in mind, just the overwhelming need to escape the suffocating thoughts that plagued me. I turned down a corridor I hadn’t been down before and stopped in front of a door that was slightly ajar.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I nudged it open, slipping inside.

It was a study, or maybe a library—something cozy, filled with warmth that the rest of the ship didn’t quite have. A large mahogany desk sat in the edge of the room, paired with a plush, worn-looking chair that seemed too comfortable for its own good. A few couches were scattered around the carpeted floors, and the walls were lined with books, some old and well-read, others looking barely touched.

But it wasn’t the books or the desk that caught my attention. No, it was the massive window on the far wall. The sea outside stretched endlessly, filled with life and color I hadn’t seen in days. Fish of all shapes and sizes swam lazily past, the soft glow of deep-sea creatures casting a surreal light into the room. The ocean floor was visible, bathed in a kaleidoscope of colors, from the eerie greens to the comforting blues. It was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic. For a moment, I forgot where I was, the tension melting off my shoulders as I watched the underwater world drift by.

I decided right then that this would be my refuge. Whenever the nightmares became too much, I’d come here, sit by the window, and let the sight of the ocean calm my racing thoughts.

This was it then, I’m back on the study, curled up on on the floor just by the window, knees drawn up to my chest as I watch the gentle dance of the wildlife outside. My mind feels quieter here, the endless stretch of the sea a welcome distraction from the chaos in my head. But tonight, I’m not alone.

“You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”

The voice startles me, and I turn my head to see Bepo standing in the doorway, his white fur glowing faintly in the dim light. He has that soft, concerned look on his face, his ears twitching slightly.

I shrugg, trying to play it off. “How cliché, right? The girl with trauma has nightmares.”

Bepo pads further into the room, his large frame somehow managing to move gracefully despite his size. He gives me a sympathetic look before sitting down beside me on the carpet. “It’s not that strange, you know. Everyone deals with things in their own way.”

I nod but don’t say anything. I hadn’t realized how much I needed someone to talk to until now. I just hadn’t expected it to be Bepo.

What I didn’t know at the time was that someone was standing just outside the doorframe, listening quietly to our conversation, but they made no move to interrupt.

Bepo glances at me, his yellow eyes full of understanding. “We’ve noticed, Ana. You haven’t been sleeping much. Ikkaku mentioned the nightmares.”

I sigh, leaning my head against the cool window. “I’m not trying to keep anyone up. It’s just… hard, sometimes.”

Bepo’s face softens. “I get it. The ocean can help, though. It reminds me that the world keeps moving, even when everything feels... stuck.”

I stare at the sea creatures swimming just beyond the glass. The ocean was vast, endless, and so far removed from the pain and loss I carried with me. "It's peaceful," I admit. "But it doesn't stop the dreams."

"No, but it can make them easier to face," Bepo says gently, his voice low. He sit quietly beside me, not pressing for more, just being there. Somehow, his presence makes it easier to breathe, the heavy weight on my chest lifting just a little. “Besides, you can pat my fur. I’ve been told by the Captain that it makes you feel better.” He beams at me, and I oblige.

“Tell me about yourself.” I ask, smiling up to him.

And so he talks and talks, about his life before joining the Heart Pirates, about his training on Zou, and the family he'd left behind. His voice grew softer as he recounted his adventures, his time with Law, and the battles they’d fought together.

In return, I shared some of my own stories—pieces of my past, the moments that defined me before everything had shattered. I didn’t say much about Ace or Whitebeard, not yet, but I spoke about my time on the sea, the small moments that made me who I am.

The conversation flowed easily, and for a while, the nightmares didn’t seem so pressing.

After a while, Bepo stretched and stood, excusing himself for the night. He offered me a hug, furry paws wrapping around my small frame, before disappearing back down the corridor, leaving me alone with the quiet hum of the submarine and the soothing view of the sea.

I’m lost in the tranquility of the dance of the sea when the door creaks open, and Law steps into the room. His gaze sweeps around before landing on me, and a faint smile tugs at his lips.

“So, you’ve found my study,” he says, his tone a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Startled, I quickly get to my feet, stammering an apology. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ve been having trouble sleeping, and I ended up here by accident.”

Law’s expression softens. “It’s alright,” his voice is awfully calm and soft, “I actually come here to get some work done. You can stay, if you’d like. It’s a quiet place, and it seems like you could use a bit of peace.”

I feel a bit embarrassed but nod gratefully. “Thank you. It’s just—well, it’s nice to have a quiet space to clear my head.”

Law nods in understanding. “Hmm, you might be more comfortable on a chair, though. Hold on a second.”

With a snap of his fingers, he activates his Devil Fruit powers. The room shimmers briefly as a loveseat materializes just under the window, accompanied by a soft, inviting blanket. It looks perfect for curling up and watching the sea. It’s the first time he’s used his fruit before me. I can’t help but stare in awe at the delicacy of his fingers, the ‘DEATH’ beaming softly as he twists his fingers around.

“Thank you,” I say as I settle onto the loveseat and pull the blanket over myself, pulling the chain around my hips closer to my chest. “I didn’t expect such a cozy spot.”

Law chuckles softly. “Well, I have to keep this place comfortable. It’s where I do most of my paperwork and research. It can get pretty dull, but having a nice space helps.”

I lean back, feeling the warmth and softness of the loveseat. “I can imagine. It must be a lot of work to manage everything on the submarine.”

Law nods as he moves to his desk and turns on the desklight. “It is. Mostly administrative stuff—paperwork, research, planning. It’s not glamorous, but it keeps things running smoothly. Sometimes I wish I could just focus on sailing and leave the rest to someone else.”

“Sounds like a lot of responsibility,” I say, trying to make conversation. “I’m sure it’s not easy balancing everything.”

“It’s not,” Law agrees, his bright gray eyes focused on his papers. “But it’s part of the job. And sometimes, when I get into the details, it helps me think through… other things too.”

We chat a little more about the submarine, the crew, and the quirks of life at sea. The small talk is light and easy, a welcome distraction from the turbulent thoughts that have plagued me. When I first met Law, I had been told he wasn’t much of a talker, but the conversation between us said differently.

As the minutes tick by, I feel the comfort of the loveseat and the soothing presence of Law’s quiet focus gradually lulling me into relaxation. “It’s really nice here,” I  let out.

Law glances up from his work, a hint of a smile on his face. He takes off his fluffy hat and runs a hand through his hair. It almost feels illegal to see him without it. “I’m glad to hear that. The ocean has a way of calming the mind, even if it’s just for a little while. It’s nice to have a bit of calm in the middle of everything.”

The gentle hum of the submarine and the soft glow of the desklight create an ambiance that is both calming and reassuring. I close my eyes without the familiar nightmares clawing at my mind, the ocean’s colors and the steady rhythm of Law’s scribbling a soothing backdrop to my first peaceful night of rest.

I drift off to sleep slowly, the ghost of a smile on my face, and, unknowingly, one on Law’s face as well.

Chapter Text

An incredibly wise man once told me that writing down your feelings helps you make sense of them. Another man, equally wise but incredibly stupid, said that fire consumes all—even the darkest emotions.

So I’m here. Writing down everything for you both. I’ll write it all up, then tear it all up, and burn it all up.

I’m letting you go.

My dearest Pops,

We met at the shores of the Goa Kingdom when I was 15. I think you’ll remember it far clearer than I do, but I still hold the memory dear. I met my father, not knowing who you would become. "A father is not the one who begets, but the one who raises."  And oh, papa, how true that is.

Ace and Luffy had held me back before I could find my way into your arms. But I still remember the day I finally did. Freshly 17, bloody and beaten from my travels, the crew didn’t want to let me see you. I was close to death, but I grasped your coat, and you turned. “Who dares touch the Emperor of the Seas?” they muttered, ready to strike me down. But you stopped them. I was shaking, reliving the trauma of my childhood—something I had locked away five years earlier when I escaped captivity.

“Father,” I whispered to you. And in your eyes—oh, your eyes— all the kindness in the world. “If you’ll have me, I’m yours.” I said. I grasped at your coat, leaving it bloody, with a fear of passing out. You crouched down to my level, as frail and skinny as I was, one breath out of your mouth and I could’ve crumbled into pieces.

“And I, yours.” You said. You held my hand. You carried me. You lifted me so that the entire fleet could see me. You said to them, how I had been pondering on your offer for two years, two very long years, but I had found my way to you. To my family.

They patched me up, and I cried. I cried for your coat, which I had ruined with my blood. I cried for the longboat I had damaged on my way there. I cried for myself, for my wounds, for the kindness you showed me, the kindness of a father that I had never witnessed.

You were there, every step of the way.

You taught me to fight, had Marko perfect my technique day in and day out until I could stand my own ground. You had Thatch keep me busy with tasks, helping me become part of the crew. And when the time was right, you had me sailing with you, teaching me the ways of the sea. You made sure I was never alone, that I always had someone looking out for me. You taught me trust. You taught me love.

But in that love, I lost myself. I would’ve done anything for you. I would’ve done anything you asked. I was nothing more than an obedient daughter. But how couldn’t I be? When you gave me everything I could’ve ever wanted? You sheltered me from my fears and taught me to confront them. You taught me even the most basic of things, before fully endorsing my medical training. You were always there. You didn’t just raise me—you shaped me into who I am today. I can only hope to make you proud now, having to stand on my own.

And it wasn’t just the big moments, Pops. You were there for the little ones, too. Like when I struggled with my medical studies, you’d find time, even in the chaos of running a fleet, to sit with me, to ask about what I was learning. You never let me feel insignificant, even though I was just one small girl in your massive world. You made me feel seen. You made me feel important. And you always reminded me that I belonged—something I had never felt before.

The hours I spent poring over medical books, learning everything I could. And you always made sure I wasn’t overdoing it, sending someone to check on me, to bring me to dinner, or take me for a walk. You had me explain things to you, to make sure I understood them, and when I didn’t, you found someone to teach me. You were always there, even in the smallest moments.

You let me practice on you—my first stitches, my first attempts at bandaging wounds, my shaky hands unsure of the right dosages. You were patient, and kind, and every bit the father I had longed for. And through all of it, you taught me more than medicine—you taught me resilience, courage, and the strength to stand on my own.

In the years that followed, you became more than a father to me—you became my guide, my strength. But one day, you gave me more than that. Somehow, as fate would have it, you gave me back Ace.

I hadn’t seen him in so long, and when you saw us together, you knew. You didn’t have to ask, but you did. You asked about him, about us. And in the quiet nights when Ace was asleep on my lap, you and I would talk—deep into the night, sharing a bottle of sake, reliving old memories. Those nights, trying to hush our laughter so as not to wake up Ace, when you and I talked about the past, the present, the future—I hold those closest to my heart.

You were also observant. You knew long before I did, Pops. And definitely way before Ace did, too. You saw it in the way Ace and I looked at each other, the bond we shared. You knew we loved each other. You knew we both loved you.

Pops, you gave us all Ace and I lacked, all Ace and I ever wanted—a father.

I will never forget the sacrifices you made for all of us. You carried the weight of the world on your shoulders, yet you always found time for your children. You took care of every one of us, and I will forever be in awe of how you managed to do it. Even in your final moments, you thought of us before yourself. You made sure we were all safe. You made sure we knew we were loved.

I will never be able to repay you for that. In the end, I never could.

Thank you, pops. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Your loving daughter,

Anastasia Newgate

Chapter Text

I wake up, my eyes blinking into the dim light shining on from the window of my shared quarters. It takes me a moment to notice that there is actual light coming through, so we must’ve surfaced for today. Ikkaku’s still asleep, her back rising and falling steadily in the bunk next to mine. For a second, I lay there, confused. My mind stirs slowly, and I swear I fell asleep in the study last night—by the window, watching the ocean. So how did I end up back here?

I stretch, rubbing my eyes. My limbs feel heavy with the kind of peacefulness I haven’t felt in a long time. The bed feels different too—softer than I remember. But I shake off the haze of sleep and force myself up, yawning. It’s probably time for breakfast.

Sliding out of bed, I rummage through my small collection of clothes. Ikkaku gave me some shirts a while ago, but I definitely need more. I pull out a loose shirt with an open back, the kind that exposes my shoulder blades and ties around the neck, and I slip it on. The cool air hits my skin, but it feels nice. I tie my boiler suit around my waist, the sleeves hanging loosely.

As I step into the mirror, I give myself a quick look. As I twirl around, I can see the wound on my back is almost completely healed. A massive gash, going from the middle of my back all the way to the bottom right side of my ribcage. Law's medicine definitely proved miraculous, I did not feel the slightest pain or pressure from the scarring. It sits there, as a reminder, of that terrible day. I turn back and glance at my face. The faintest trace of the dark circles under my eyes is still there, but I actually look... well, I look rested for once. My hand lingers over my reflection, tracing the edge of my cheek, and I take a deep breath. Today feels different.

I make my way to the mess hall where breakfast is served. The crew is already gathered, their voices a mix of sleepy banter and clinking utensils. Penguin glances up when I walk in, his eyes scanning me for a second before he grins.

“You look better today, Ana,” he says casually, shoving a spoonful of food into his mouth. “Guess someone finally got some sleep.”

I smile at him, feeling a little shy about the attention. “Yeah, guess so.”

Jean Bart, who’s seated a few spots over, leans in, his voice rumbling across the table. “Good night’s sleep, then?”

I nod, my mind drifting back to the strange, calm feeling that had come over me last night. “Yeah,” I say softly, almost to myself, “a really good night.”

I sit down next to Bepo, listening to the usual breakfast chatter. I’ve noticed the past week that they leave the spot at the head of the table for the Captain, and Bepo is almost always sat at the right hand side. The morning feels light, easy. Everyone’s in a good mood. I laugh along with them, slipping into the conversation naturally.

As put a spoonful to my mouth, I hear Shachi muttering something under his breath to Penguin, his voice low but not quite low enough to escape my ears. “You idiot, you can’t just ask her that.”

They’re talking about me, that much I can tell, but I don’t know what exactly Penguin might’ve asked. I glance over at them, eyebrows raised in curiosity, but neither of them meets my gaze. They’re too busy bickering, and I can’t help but frown a little to myself. Something’s up, and I’m pretty sure I’m at the center of it.

Ikkaku’s sharp eyes narrow as she catches the tail end of Shachi and Penguin’s whispers. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, then leans over the table, giving them a pointed look.

“Alright, you two, what’s all the muttering about?” she calls them out, eyebrow arched.

Penguin scratches the back of his neck, trying to play it cool. “Oh, nothing… we were just, uh, wondering something.”

Shachi elbows him, but Penguin just shrugs and continues. “Yeah, we were just curious…” he turns to me and continues, “Why don’t you have any tattoos? You know, given how close you were to Whitebeard and all.”

My eyes widen slightly, caught off guard by the question. I glance down at myself, realizing that with my back exposed and how I mostly wear my arms bare, it’s easy to see that I don’t have any tattoos. I suppose, for someone so close to Whitebeard, it would seem strange.

Before I can respond, Law walks in, and I immediately feel the shift in the room’s atmosphere. His gaze sweeps over the crew, landing squarely on Shachi and Penguin, and his expression hardens. He calls their names—low and sharp—like a mother scolding her kids. It’s not loud, but it’s filled with that silent threat, the kind that tells you to stop whatever you’re doing right now.

“Shachi. Penguin,” Law’s voice is calm, but there’s an unmistakable edge to it.

The two of them immediately straighten up, both going rigid in their seats. They don’t say a word, and for a moment, the only sound is the soft clinking of cutlery against plates. I catch Law’s silent command and the way Shachi and Penguin shrink under it. I clear my throat and smile lightly, trying to ease the tension.

“It’s okay,” I say, glancing between the two culprits and Law. “I don’t mind talking about it a little.”

The rest of the crew looks at me, curious, and even Law seems slightly intrigued, though his gaze remains sharp.

I take a deep breath, running a hand over my bare arm. “I never got any tattoos,” I begin. “Not because I didn’t want one, but… well, I guess you could say I didn’t feel like I needed one to prove I was part of the crew. Whitebeard didn’t push me to get it either. I was… different.”

They all listen, attentive now. I can tell by the looks on their faces that they’re waiting for an explanation.

“I was young when I joined,” I continue. “Seventeen. I was still figuring myself out, still healing. Pops, Whitebeard… he understood that. He didn’t want to put any pressure on me. And I guess, over time, it just never came up again. I was his daughter, with or without the tattoo. I never felt like I had to mark myself to prove that.”

I pause, glancing around the table, the weight of my words sinking in. “It wasn’t about the ink. It was about the bond we had. That was more important to me than anything.”

For a moment, no one speaks. The crew seems to be mulling over my words, and I can feel the shift in the room from curiosity to understanding.

Law, still with an intense gaze, walks over to the breakfast table and starts piling up his plate while Ikkaku leans back in her seat, folding her arms and her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, if it’s not about the ink, maybe it’s about the attitude, huh?” she winks, trying to lighten the mood. “And trust me, you’ve got plenty of that.”

The crew chuckles, the tension breaking as everyone resumes their breakfast. Shachi and Penguin, both looking sheepish, dig back into their food, and the conversation around the table gradually picks up again. Ikkaku gives me a wink, her eyes saying everything—Good on you for talking about it—before she dives back into her meal.

Law silently walks over to his usual spot, pulling out a chair without so much as a glance at the rest of the crew. I find myself mulling over what I just shared, my thoughts wandering back to Pops. It had felt good talking about him. Not in the painful, aching way it usually does, but with a sense of peace. It’s like remembering him without the weight of loss pulling me down.

I lose myself in those memories, replaying old conversations and moments we shared. Pops was always there—steady, unshakable. And as I think about him, I realize I don’t feel that overwhelming sadness I’ve been carrying for so long. It’s still there, but it’s not as heavy. It’s more like a warm echo now, something I can live with.

Suddenly, I’m pulled out of my thoughts when I notice a tattooed hand slide a mug in front of me. The steam curls lazily from the top, and I blink, staring at the black coffee before me. My coffee. I didn’t even realize I forgot to pour myself a cup.

I glance to my left, and there’s Law, at the head of the table. He’s looking off to the side, acting as though he didn’t just silently bring me coffee. His expression is calm, as it always is, but there’s something almost casual in the way he avoids eye contact—like he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips. Did he notice I hadn’t poured myself coffee? Or did he just do it because… he knows how I like it? Black, no sugar. I stare at the mug for a moment, then glance back at him. Law’s still sitting there, seemingly focused on something across the room, but out of the corner of my eye, I swear I catch him watching me as I take my first sip, contentment settling over me.

I can’t help but smile wider, warmth spreading through me—not just from the coffee, but from the quiet gesture. I realise right then Law may not say much, but in his own way, he’s always there. Just like Pops.

The clang of metal echoes in the halls as we pick everything up after breakfast, Bepo and I on our way to finish up our cleanup duty for the day. I toss a rag over my shoulder, glancing at him with a smirk. "You ever notice we've been paired up for this a lot lately?" I ask, quirking an eyebrow.

Bepo, standing with a broom about his size, looks at me thoughtfully, scratching his furry chin. "Now that you mention it, yeah. Maybe the captain thinks we make a good team?"

I laugh lightly, shaking my head. "Or maybe he just thinks you're the only one who can put up with me."

Bepo grins, a warm and genuine expression. "I don't mind, Ana. You work hard. Besides, you're fun to talk to."

I return his smile and reach over to rub the fur on his arm, feeling a bit lighter. "Thanks, Bepo. I’ll take that as a compliment."

After we finish our duties, I wave him off, wishing him a good rest of the day. "See you around, fluffy," I tease, earning a beam from him before he heads off in the opposite direction.

As I make my way toward the medical lab, I walk along the corridor where the submarine's windows give a stunning view of the sea. Seeing as the submarine is above water today, the sunlight streaming through the glass and casting reflections that dance along the walls. It’s gorgeous out—blue skies stretching out endlessly, the water below us glistening like liquid glass. On days like this, it’s easy to forget the tension and weight of everything else.

I take my time, walking slowly, just enjoying the peacefulness that comes with being this high up on the surface. It’s hard to believe that just last week, I was struggling to find my footing here, but now… I feel like I’m starting to settle in.

I finally reach the medical lab and push the door open. It’s become routine now. After breakfast and my other duties, I come here, and the rest of the day is spent working alongside Law. After a week of figuring things out, it feels like I’ve finally found a rhythm.

After dropping my rag by the door, I immediately start tidying up the lab. It's become my ritual. First, I wipe down the counters, then set up the equipment Law uses for making medicine every day. I lay out the syringes, pre-loaded with the correct dosages, and ready the weighing equipment for when he measures the compounds. It’s something I’ve picked up on—how meticulous Law is about his process—and I’ve made it my goal to anticipate what he needs before he asks.

I’ve noticed the slightest pause from him these last few days, like he’s clocked what I’m doing. Instead of walking to his desk to pull out his medical charts first as he usually does, he goes straight to the lab table where everything’s already set up and ready for him. He doesn’t say anything, but it feels like an unspoken acknowledgment.

As I finish setting the last syringe down with care, Law steps into the room, shrugging off his coat in one smooth motion. My eyes are drawn to him—he’s wearing a black shirt today, same as me. I glance over, trying to be subtle, but I can’t help staring at the ink that swirls over his chest and arms, the intricate tattoos standing out against his skin. Realizing I’m full-on staring, I snap my gaze back to the clipboard in front of me, my face heating up slightly.

I hear his footsteps approach, and when I look up again, he’s standing right in front of me. In his hand is a thick book with "Cardiovascular Systems" embossed on the spine. His eyes meet mine—calm, steady, and unreadable as always—and he holds the book out to me.

“I want you to read this,” he says, his voice as steady as ever. “It’s on heart medicine—something I think you’ll find useful.”

I take the book from him, my fingers brushing the worn cover. It’s dense, no doubt filled with technical terminology, but I’m not one to shy away from a challenge.

“Thanks,” I say, running my fingers over the pages. “I’ll start on it right away.”

Law nods slightly. “Good. I also need you to update some medical charts for me. We’re running low on some supplies, and I’d like you to take notes on the dosages while you’re reading. It’ll help with the charts later.”

I can’t help but smile. “You’ve got me on double duty now, huh?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Can you handle it?”

I laugh softly, closing the book in my hands. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to disappoint my captain.”

There’s a faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth, and I think I see the ghost of a smile, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

He moves to the table where I’ve prepped everything, and without missing a beat, starts working with the equipment. His hands move deftly, and I watch for a second, fascinated by how focused he becomes. Then, I pull out the notebook I’ve been using for medical notes and settle in beside him, starting with the first chapter of the cardiology book he handed me.

As I read, I make careful notes in the margins, jotting down things that will be important for updating the charts later. It's nice—this quiet, steady rhythm of work—and I realize that in just a short time, this has become my routine. Working alongside Law, anticipating his needs, and learning as much as I can.

"I think I’m getting the hang of it," I say, leaning on the counter, trying to make conversation. "The routine, I mean."

Law nods slightly, his eyes still focused on what he’s doing. "You’re doing well. It’s noticeable."

The compliment catches me a little off guard, and I smile to myself.

As we’re working side by side, I set up the last of the equipment, I keep jotting down and highlighting key terms. Law, already deep into his work, glances at me after a moment, and it’s clear he’s about to say something.

“Have you ever loaded a pressurized syringe before?” he asks, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence.

I pause, looking up from my task. “No,” I admit. “I’ve seen you do it, but I haven’t done it myself.”

He gives a short nod. “It’s important you learn, especially because I’ll be starting a medical trial soon. I want you to assist me with it.”

The words make my heart skip a beat—not from nerves, but from the way he says it with such confidence. Like he trusts me with something this serious.

He moves toward the cabinet, pulling out a few pressurized syringes and some vials. His motions are so smooth and practiced that I’m momentarily distracted, watching the ink of his tattoos shift with each movement. He brings the syringes over and places them carefully on the table between us. Then, with his usual precision, he picks one up and begins to demonstrate.

“First, you need to hold it steady,” Law explains, positioning his hands around the syringe. “Apply a bit of force here.” He presses down slightly on the plunger, the soft hiss of pressure releasing filling the space between us. His hands work the syringe effortlessly, the way only a surgeon’s hands could.

I nod, taking the syringe from him, but I’m hyper-aware of the closeness. He’s sitting closer to me, and as I grip the syringe, I can feel his presence, his breath almost brushing my neck. I try to focus on the task, on replicating his smooth, sure movements, but it’s harder than I thought. The syringe is delicate, sensitive, and I fumble slightly, struggling to apply the right amount of pressure.

“Here,” he says softly, leaning closer. I can feel the warmth of him at my back before his hands come over mine, clasping my fingers gently. His palms press against the backs of my hands as he steadies the syringe, guiding me through the motion. “You need to hold it like this,” he murmurs, and I can feel his breath just over my shoulder. His fingers wrap around mine, firm but not too tight, applying the perfect amount of pressure as he shows me how it’s done.

I know I should be focusing on the syringe, on the exact way he’s guiding my hands—but all I can think about is the feeling of his hands on mine, and the letters on his fingers. They’re beautiful, intricate letters, gleaming under the light of the lab. I find them so distracting that I nearly lose track of the syringe in my grip.

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to reel in my thoughts and focus. “Like this?” I ask, trying to mimic the pressure he’s showing me.

He nods, still holding my hands. “Exactly,” he says. His voice is low, steady—completely focused on the task, even if I’m not. “Once you get the hang of it, it’s easier. You just need control.”

Control. I take a deep breath, trying to concentrate on the syringe, on the feel of the tool in my hands, but all I can think about is how close we are, and the weight of his hands over mine. The tattoos… I’ve always found them mesmerizing, the way they seem to tell stories without saying a word. I wonder if they mean something deeper than I know.

But I can’t let my mind wander too far. Not now.

His hands guide mine for a few more seconds before he finally lets go, leaning back just a little. The sudden lack of contact makes me feel the chill in the air more keenly, and I almost miss the warmth of his presence. Almost.

As Law returns to his work, I feel an odd emptiness settle over me. My hands linger on the syringe, but my mind drifts somewhere far from this submarine, far from the lab and the close quarters of the crew. I think about Ace. The way his hands felt when he used to guide mine, much like Law just did. His touch was different—warmer, rougher from a lifetime of battle, but always reassuring.

The knot of guilt that’s been growing over the past week tightens in my chest. I miss that close contact, the ease of being around him. It’s a strange thing, missing someone you’ve already had to let go once before. Ace and I had broken up about a year ago, and I mourned him then—mourned the loss of our relationship, the bond we once shared. It wasn’t easy, but I had made peace with it, or so I thought.

Now, it feels like I’m mourning him all over again, except this time, it’s so much worse. This time, I’m not just mourning what we were—I’m mourning him, the person, the man who’s gone forever. The finality of it is suffocating.

And it feels… wrong.

The two people closest to me in the world were ripped away, leaving a gaping hole in my heart. I should still be drowning in that grief, but somehow, it feels like I’ve pushed it to the back of my mind. I’m here, with Law, and there’s a comfort in his presence, in the routine of daily life on the submarine, but it leaves me unsettled. Shouldn’t the pain of their loss be more suffocating? Shouldn’t it be all I think about?

I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. Just a few hours ago I was relishing on the fact that I was able to talk about my father without breaking down, and now the weight is pulling me down again. Even though our relationship ended, I never stopped caring for Ace. Now, it feels like I’m betraying his memory by finding peace, by letting myself be distracted by the day-to-day tasks here. I feel like I should be consumed by my grief, lost in the overwhelming sadness of losing him for good.

When I’m busy, like right now, it’s like Ace slips further from my mind, and that terrifies me. Have I already started to forget? Have I started to let him go, just because life keeps moving, and I’m swept up in the current? I’ve mourned him before, but this… this is different. It’s final.

I let out a slow breath, trying to steady the storm inside me. How am I supposed to balance this? I want to be here, to be useful, but at what cost?

Before I can stop myself, I open my mouth.

"Can I ask you something, Law?" I say his name, trying to hint at something a little more intimate, something I shouldn’t be discussing with my captain. But I’ve never had a normal relationship with a captain before.

He glances up from his work, his eyes flicking toward me, the slightest hint of curiosity in them. "What is it?"

I hesitate. The question that’s been eating at me all week feels heavy on my tongue, but I can’t keep it to myself anymore. Not when the silence is so loud, pressing in on me from all sides.

"How… how do you deal with the guilt of moving on?" My voice comes out quieter than I expected, almost like I’m afraid of the answer. "After losing someone. How do you stop feeling like you’re betraying them just by trying to live?"

Law doesn’t answer right away. He sets down his tools with care, methodical as always, but there’s a stillness about him now, a shift in the atmosphere between us. His gaze locks onto mine, and I feel exposed, like he can see through every layer of doubt and fear I’ve been carrying.

After a long pause, he finally speaks, his voice steady but softer than usual. "I’ve been there before."

I blink, taken aback by the admission. Law isn’t the type to open up easily, and for him to even say this much feels like a crack in the wall he always keeps up. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this.

He looks away, staring at the wall for a moment, like he’s choosing his words carefully. "There was someone once. Someone important. And after I lost them… it felt impossible to keep going. I couldn’t understand how the world kept turning, how everyone around me just… moved on."

He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t give names or details, but the weight in his voice tells me all I need to know. Whoever it was, they meant the world to him, and losing them left a scar. A deep one.

"So how did you do it?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes meet mine again, and there’s a flicker of something I can’t quite place—pain, maybe, or understanding. "You don’t. Not at first. You just… survive. One day at a time. And eventually, you realize that moving on doesn’t mean forgetting them. It doesn’t mean you’re betraying them. It just means you’re living with what they left behind."

"But how do you stop feeling like you’re leaving them behind?" I ask, my throat tight. "It’s like every time I laugh, every time I stop thinking about them, I’m afraid I’m erasing them a little more."

Law’s gaze softens, just enough for me to notice. "You’re not erasing them. You’re honoring them by living. By carrying them with you, even when you don’t realize it."

Law turns back to the table, resuming his work, and for a moment, the conversation feels like it might be over. But then he speaks again, his tone quieter, almost thoughtful. "You don’t have to figure it all out right now. It’ll take time. And no one’s rushing you."

The guilt doesn’t vanish, but it feels… lighter. Manageable. I have to learn to breathe again without feeling like I’m doing something wrong.

"Thanks, Law," I say, my voice a little steadier now.

He doesn’t respond, but there’s a subtle shift in his posture, like he’s acknowledging my gratitude without needing to say anything. We fall back into the rhythm of our work, side by side, but the weight of the conversation lingers in the air, unspoken but understood.

I let myself pour over the book I’ve been given, and let my mind drift over to other things. Maybe we should play some music while we work. I make a mental note to ask Law for that another day.

The day passes me without notice. Between the duties in the medbay and the easy camaraderie with the crew, it feels like the hours slip through my fingers. I spend some time in the evening playing poker with Shachi and Penguin, their laughter infectious as we toss jokes and cards around. Shachi’s dramatic groans when he loses a hand are the perfect distraction from the occasional weight in my chest.

But as the night wears on, and they start to call it, I feel the familiar pull in my gut. Instinctively, without thinking, I find myself walking back to the study. Something pulls me there.

When I step inside, the dim light of the study washes over me, and there he is—standing by the window, next to the love seat where I swear I’d fallen asleep the night before. But I don’t even trust my mind anymore, I might be imagining things. Law doesn’t turn at first, just stares out into the dark, as if lost in thought. But the moment he hears my soft footsteps, he looks over his shoulder.

"Can't sleep again?" His voice is low, a quiet observation rather than a question.

I pause, the weight of my own sleeplessness settling in. I didn’t even bother trying. I know I won’t sleep as well as I did the night before, no matter how exhausted I am.

“I didn’t try,” I admit, walking further into the room. “I was wondering… if I could sit by the window again. If it doesn’t bother you with your work.”

Law studies me for a moment, the corners of his mouth pulling slightly into that unreadable expression he always wears. He doesn’t say anything, just gives a short nod before turning back to his desk.

I take that as permission and move toward the love seat, settling into the same spot I had the night before. The seat is warm, almost familiar now, and the view outside is soothing in its stillness. The ocean, calm under the moonlight, seems to ripple gently in time with my thoughts.

Law resumes his work, the soft sound of papers shifting and the occasional scratch of a pen filling the quiet room. I can feel his presence, though. It’s not just the noise—there’s an awareness between us, a subtle tension in the air that wasn’t there before. Every now and then, I can feel his eyes on me, flicking away from his work to glance in my direction.

I close my eyes and try to ignore the way that makes me feel. The warmth in the room, the sound of Law’s steady movements, the quiet comfort of his company—it all lulls me into a drowsy haze. My body feels heavy, sinking into the cushions as my mind drifts.

Just as sleep starts to take me, I feel something soft and warm settle over my shoulders. It’s gentle, the faint brush of a blanket being thrown over me. I don’t even open my eyes to look—I already know it’s him. Law, in his quiet way, making sure I’m comfortable, even as he pretends to focus on his work.

A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips, and I sink deeper into the love seat, letting sleep take me under.

Chapter Text

I’m dreaming. I’m standing in a thick fog, the kind that clings to your skin and blurs the edges of everything around you. Shadows shift in the mist, forming and dissolving, never clear enough to make sense of. But there’s something out there—something watching. My heart pounds, though I can’t tell if it’s out of fear or anticipation. I can’t see it clearly, but I can hear it.

Soft footsteps pad through the haze, the sound of claws scratching lightly against stone. It moves gracefully, silent and fluid, just out of my line of sight. I spin, trying to catch a glimpse, but every time I turn, the shape slips away. Closer now, I feel it. The presence. It’s not threatening, more... curious, like it’s studying me, deciding whether or not I’m worth revealing itself to.

A flash of something pale streaks through the fog, sleek and fast. It circles me, drawing closer with every pass. I hear a low rumble, almost like a purr, vibrating through the air. It’s warm, despite the cold mist pressing in on me. My breath hitches as I realize it’s right behind me now. I freeze, waiting.

Then, soft fur brushes against my hand—brief but real. I turn slowly, holding my breath, and there it is. A set of piercing eyes gleam at me from the fog. They're bright, almost glowing, like two stars in the darkness. There’s something almost familiar about them, though I can’t place why. The creature steps forward, out of the shadows, but I still can’t quite make it out. It’s large, strong, and silent. Its movements are deliberate, careful, and calculated.

It stops inches from me, its breath warm against my skin. Then, without warning, it leans in, and I feel the strange pressure of something—words, maybe?—whispering into my ear, though I can’t make sense of them. They aren’t words I know. But the sound... it’s comforting, somehow. Like it’s trying to tell me something important, something I need to remember.

The fog thickens, swallowing us both, but I can still feel it there, its presence grounding me. As the whispers fade, the creature steps back, eyes still fixed on mine, watching, waiting. I want to reach out, to touch it again, to ask what it’s trying to tell me, but the fog swallows it whole, leaving me alone.

The afternoon sun warms the deck as I step outside, feeling the gentle sway of the submarine on the surface of the ocean. It’s one of those rare moments when we’re all done with work for the day and we’re just hanging around, the salty breeze filling my lungs as I stretch out, grateful for a bit of fresh air.

Ahead, I spot Shachi and Penguin by the railing, laughing over some game they’re playing. A few others are scattered about, taking advantage of the weather. I catch snippets of conversation, the mood light and easy—perfect for an afternoon like this. I head their way, and as I get closer, Shachi grins at me.

"Hey, Ana!" Penguin chimes in. "Gonna head to bed soon?"

I instinctively glance around, my eyes sweeping the deck for a familiar figure. It’s almost second nature now, searching for Law without even thinking about it. My gaze lands on him, sitting off to the side in a folding chair, a mug of black coffee in hand. He’s playing chess with Jean Bart, his focus on the board, though every now and then, he takes a sip of his drink. Something about seeing him there, still, makes me pause for a second longer than I should.

I turn back to Penguin and Shachi, shaking my head. "Not yet."

Penguin’s grin widens as he pats the spot next to him on the deck. "Then you should join us!"

Shachi adds, "We’re about to start a new game. The more, the merrier." Not poker again, I think to myself.

Before I can even ask what they’re playing, Shachi shouts over his shoulder, "Hey, Ikkaku! Louie! You two in?"

Ikkaku, who’s been tinkering with something near the helm, looks up and shrugs, wiping her hands on her pants. “Yeah, why not?”

Louie, a newer member of the crew, looks hesitant at first but gets up from where he’s been leaning against the railing and nods. “Sure.”

Once we're all gathered on the other side of the deck, Shachi claps his hands together and starts explaining the rules. “Alright, so we’re playing ‘Color Scramble.’ It’s simple: we toss a coin to see who picks the color, and once the color’s chosen, everyone has thirty seconds to bring something of that color back here to the center of the deck.”

Penguin jumps in, “The catch is, it has to be something from the ship or your person—nothing from below deck. And no cheating. Whoever brings back the best item—judged by all of us—wins the round. The winner of the round gets a token.”

Louie, looking confused, asks, “And the tokens are for…?”

Shachi grins mischievously, pulling out a handful of small, flat stones from his pocket. “These are the tokens. At the end of the game, whoever has the most tokens gets to make a bet—a harmless one—against someone else who’s playing. Like, I could bet Penguin over here that he has to clean the deck tomorrow, or Ikkaku could bet Louie that he has to give up his extra dessert.”

Penguin chimes in with a laugh, “Or make someone do something ridiculous. You know, fun stuff.”

"I like it. High stakes, though." Ikkaku chimes in, rolling her eyes.

They hand me one of the tokens and I turn it over in my fingers, the surface smooth and cool. The game seems simple enough. I haven’t played a game like this in forever, but I’m intrigued.

“Alright, first round,” Shachi says, holding up a coin. “I’m calling heads.” He flips the coin into the air, and when it lands, it’s tails. Penguin smirks, having called tails from the start.

Penguin, now with the power of choice, rubs his chin dramatically as if thinking hard before announcing, “The color is... red! You’ve got thirty seconds. Go!”

Before I even have time to fully process the rules, everyone’s off—scrambling around the deck, grabbing anything and everything red they can find. I dart to the side of the sub and snatch a red rag hanging from a post, the nearest thing I can spot.

I return to the center where everyone’s gathering, showing off their finds. I hold the rag, Ikkaku holds up a red wrench, and Shachi’s got a red bandana tied around his wrist. Louie, after a moment of hesitation, presents a small piece of red rope from his pocket, looking proud of himself.

“Time’s up!” Penguin declares, walking back with a smug grin as he reveals his item—a bright red buoy from the railing.

"Show-off," Ikkaku mutters under her breath with a playful smirk.

Shachi, clearly impressed, holds up his hand to vote. “Alright, who thinks Penguin’s buoy wins this round?”

Reluctantly, we all raise our hands, knowing he’s got the best red item. Penguin takes a bow, acting like he’s just won a championship as he accepts the token. "Thank you, thank you."

Shachi tosses the coin again, and this time I win the toss. “Hmm… let’s go with… blue!”

The game continues for a few more rounds, laughter filling the air as we rush around the deck, collecting various colored objects. By the end, Penguin’s got the most tokens, and he immediately dares Shachi to sing his most embarrassing song choice at dinner tomorrow. Shachi groans but laughs it off, agreeing to the bet.

As the game winds down and everyone starts heading to bed, I linger for a moment, catching a glimpse of Law still sitting at his chess game with Jean Bart. He looks up, just briefly, and our eyes meet across the deck. I offer him a small smile before turning to head back inside, feeling a little lighter than before.

I head to my shared quarters and start tidying up. I feel a bit uncomfortable when things are out of place, so I take my time carefully folding everything and putting things away. I even fold Ikkaku’s blanket and clothes too. I later start getting ready for bed, so I wash my face and put on some more comfortable sweats and a top. I step out of the small bathroom, towel in hand, and find Ikkaku already tucked in her bunk, reading a magazine. She’s wearing her usual pajama set—loose, comfortable, and patterned with tiny ships, of course.

Without looking up, she flips another page. “Going out for your late-night stroll?” Her tone is casual, but there’s a slight edge of amusement in her voice.

“Something like that,” I reply, smiling softly.

She turns another page, still not looking up. “You’re always back after I’m knocked out. What kind of mischief are you getting into?”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “No mischief. Just... walking. Thinking.” I try to keep it vague, though I know she’s probably imagining all kinds of scenarios.

Ikkaku finally looks up, one eyebrow raised. “Uh-huh. ‘Just walking,’” she repeats, clearly skeptical. “Well, whatever it is, just don’t let Penguin and Shachi rope you into more of their ridiculous games after dark.”

“They already tried,” I say with a chuckle, recalling how they practically begged me to play another round before heading off to bed.

Ikkaku rolls her eyes, closing her magazine. “Good. They’re like children sometimes.”

I nod, watching her settle in for the night. For a moment, I consider just crawling into bed, letting sleep come, but I don't want to risk another nightmare. I haven't had one in days. Weird dreams, yes, but no nightmares.

I glance at the door. “I won’t be out too late,” I add.

It’s been almost a week of this—falling asleep in Law’s study, only to wake up in my own bed. I’ve tried not to overthink it, but part of me wonders if he’s been using his devil fruit to teleport me back without waking me. I haven’t had the courage to ask him, though. It’s not like we’ve acknowledged this strange little pattern we’ve fallen into, and I’m scared that bringing it up might mess something up. Or worse, make it awkward. Law’s been acting completely oblivious to the whole thing, so maybe it’s best if I just keep quiet. Still, the curiosity lingers, just beneath the surface.

Besides, I’ve been sleeping like a goddamn baby.

She waves me off. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be asleep before you get back, anyway. Just don’t start any fires or anything.”

“Promise,” I sing-song, though Ikkaku’s already turned back to her reading, uninterested in my night-time excursions. I shut the door behind me with a small click and head towards the oh-so-familiar hallway that leads me to my comfort place.

I step quietly into the study, the familiar scent of paper and antiseptic filling the room. Law is hunched over his desk, his back to me, immersed in something intricate. Various tools are spread out before him, along with a small, softly glowing machine that hums quietly, blinking with blue lights. He doesn’t look up as I move inside, but the creak of the door must give me away, because he shifts slightly in his chair, as if acknowledging my presence without words.

I glance at the loveseat near the window where I’ve grown accustomed to resting, but tonight, something compels me to move closer. Without a word, I drag the loveseat across the floor—slowly, so the legs don’t make too much noise—and position it right beside his desk. Law glances at me out of the corner of his eye but says nothing.

I settle in, pulling my legs up and crossing them beneath me. “Hey doc, busy night?” I ask, my voice quiet, not wanting to break the soft atmosphere of the room. I lean over his desk, placing my elbows on the top and leaning my head on one of my hands.

I watch as his fingers move with practiced ease, adjusting small knobs and carefully placing instruments into the device. It looks like some kind of sharpening apparatus, though I can’t be sure. The air between us is calm, but I can feel the underlying hum of energy, a subtle connection that’s grown over the past week.

As I continue to watch him work, I can’t help but think about the game earlier on deck. “By the way, you missed out on Shachi and Penguin’s latest attempt to hustle everyone. They’ve invented this ridiculous game where you have to find random items of a certain color. Total chaos.”

Law glances at me, a rare flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Let me guess, Penguin won?”

I grin, nodding. “Of course. He’s way sneakier than he looks. Managed to grab something green before anyone even knew what was happening. Ikkaku wasn’t too happy about it.”

Law shakes his head, a quiet huff escaping him. “Ikkaku, losing gracefully? I doubt it.”

I laugh softly, recalling her frustration. “She almost tossed Penguin off the ship. Honestly, I thought she might actually do it. You should’ve seen the look on his face when she chased him around with her wrench.”

That gets a genuine laugh out of Law, his shoulders shaking slightly. “I can picture it. Penguin’s quick, but not that quick. Did she catch him?”

“Oh, yeah. Tackled him into a pile of rope. It was all very dramatic. But the funniest part? After it all winds down, Penguin tries to make this grand speech about how the game wasn’t ‘rigged,’ and in the middle of it, a seagull swoops down and steals his sandwich right out of his hand.”

Law pauses mid-movement, eyes widening. “No way.”

I nod, grinning wide. “I swear! The timing was perfect. He stood there in shock for a full minute. Shachi almost fell overboard from laughing so hard.”

That does it. Law lets out a real laugh, one that’s so rare and unexpected I can’t help but join in. It’s one of those laughs that starts small and then snowballs, the two of us feeding off each other’s amusement until we’re both doubled over.

“I wish I’d seen that,” Law lets out, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

“You would’ve lost it,” I reply, catching my breath. “Penguin looked so betrayed, like the seagull had planned the whole thing.”

Law chuckles again, shaking his head. “Poor guy never stood a chance.”

The air between us is light, and for the first time in a while, I realize how comfortable it feels to laugh like this. The serious tension that always seems to hover around him has dissolved, replaced by something more familiar and easy.

 It’s almost as if he’s winding down, just like I am.

After a few minutes, Law reaches over and powers down the machine. “Could you help me pack this up?” he asks, standing and starting to gather the pieces. “Sure!” I reply, eager to help. I move closer, positioning myself next to the device to grab some of the smaller instruments he’s set aside. The air between us feels charged with the lingering warmth from our earlier laughter, and I feel more comfortable than ever in this routine of ours.

As I lean in to grab a vial from the top shelf of the machine, Law shifts to reach for something else. I should’ve stood my lazy ass up from the loveseat instead of reaching over because our movements align perfectly—and then we collide. The sharp edge of the apparatus grazes my forehead, and I wince as a sharp sting registers.

“Ow—” I start, instinctively stepping back, rubbing the spot. “I think I just scratched myself.”

“Damn it,” Law mutters, his voice dropping as he steps closer, concern flickering in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Law! Just a little scratch,” I assure him, though I can feel a small trickle of warmth from the spot where the machine grazed my skin. I glance at him, and the intensity of his gaze makes my heart race.

“Okay, hold on,” he says, an air of determination in his voice. He turns and strides over to one of the drawers on his desk, opening it to reveal a neatly organized array of supplies. His hand reaches in and pulls out a small bottle filled with an assortment of band-aids—some in a standard skin tone, but others in bright colors and adorned with playful designs.

“Prepared for anything, huh?” I remark, trying to lighten the mood, though the flutter in my stomach makes it hard to sound casual. I stand up and sit on the edge of the desk, bringing my hand to my forehead.

He shoots me a glance, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’d be surprised how often this comes in handy.”

As he walks back to me, he grabs the first-aid kit and sets it on the desk beside us. He opens it with practiced ease, revealing antiseptic wipes and gauze. He steps closer, and I can feel the warmth radiating from his body as he focuses on my forehead.

“Just a bit of cleaning up,” he murmurs, his voice as soft as velvet. I feel flustered, acutely aware of how close we are, the space between us charged with an electric tension. His fingers gently dab at my scratch, and I can’t help but stare into his eyes as he concentrates on his task. There’s something intimate about the moment, a shared vulnerability that draws me in.

He moves with a fluidity that captivates me, and I find myself lost in the way his brow furrows in concentration. I want to say something, anything to break the stillness, but the words get caught in my throat as I lose myself in his beautiful gray eyes.

Hold up… ‘beautiful’? Where the hell did that come from?

As he reaches for the jar filled with band-aids, I can’t help but watch him closely. His fingers instinctively go for a skin-toned band-aid, but then he pauses for a second, barely a beat. To my surprise, he pulls out a baby pink band-aid covered in tiny red hearts, holding it up for me to see.

I can’t help but let out a soft laugh. “A little unconventional, don’t you think?”

Law’s lips curve into a faint smile, and he looks down, avoiding my eyes as he positions the band-aid over my cut. “Well, we’re making berth tomorrow. You’ll have something to show off around town,” he says, a hint of teasing in his tone.

I raise an eyebrow, feigning seriousness. “Oh, I thought having the big bad Surgeon of Death by my side would’ve been enough to show off.”

He chuckles softly while he shakes his head a bit, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. “I suppose it would.”

I smile, the playful banter making the moment feel even more comfortable.

“There,” he says, gently pressing it down into place. “It suits you.”

My heart skips a beat at his words, a warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the slight sting of the band-aid. I smile back at him, feeling a lightness in the air, as if this gesture has forged another thread in the fabric of our growing bond. With a small smile, he offers me his hand. I take it, and he helps me off the desk. Our fingers linger for a moment before I let go, and I turn my back to him, ready to pick the equipment up.

Suddenly, a shiver goes down my spine as I feel the cool touch of his full palm on my back. My breath hitches in my throat.

"This has healed nicely," he mutters, mostly to himself, his voice dropping an octave. I stand there frozen, not sure how to react. His touch makes my hairs stand on end and my fingers slowly curl into a fist. He lightly touches the scar on my back, tracing it slowly. Painfully slowly. He then pulls back, as if nothing, and starts picking up the rest of the equipment and sharpening machine. We both put everything up in one of the cabinets closer to us. 

Law returns to his desk as I move toward the loveseat, now positioned right beside him. I consider dragging it back to its usual spot by the window, but honestly, I can still see the window from here. It doesn't seem worth the effort.

Settling down on the loveseat, I stretch out, resting my head on the cushion. Law’s already back to his papers, pen gliding over them as he scribbles away, focused but not tense. I watch the ink trail over the page, creating elegant loops and lines, a fluid motion that somehow lulls me. My eyes grow heavy, not focusing on the window as usual, but on him—on the rhythm of his hand, on the quiet determination in his eyes.

I catch him trying to glance at me discreetly, but it's difficult when I’m literally right next to his desk. He thinks he's subtle, but I can feel the weight of his gaze as he checks on me, perhaps to make sure I’m still there, or maybe something more.

The faintest whisper reaches my ears, so soft I’m not even sure if it’s real. “Sweet dreams,” I think I hear him say, the words barely more than a breath.

“Alright crew,” Law beckons everyone closer after we’re done with breakfast, his voice cutting through the usual chatter. “We’re heading into town today for supplies.”

A wave of excitement sweeps through me, the thought of stepping onto land, exploring a new place, and—most importantly—getting some much-needed new clothes. I’m in desperate need of a wardrobe change, having lived in borrowed shirts for too long. I have no money on me, but Ikkaku assured me that was no problem. My mind drifts a little and makes me think about my previous family, and I feel a little better when I'm met with the many memories and adventures we shared when we went ashore. Ace's antics and Pops' jokes, still stay with me, and as I grip the chain around my waist, I can feel them close. They're always there. Always will be. Close.

Law continues, “Bepo, you’re with her today.” He gestures toward me, and Bepo’s fluffy ears twitch, giving me quick, repeated nods of acknowledgement. I always like the idea of being paired with him. "The rest of you, gather whatever we need for repairs and food. I’ll stay behind with a few others to keep an eye on the ship."

My excitement falters at his words, and my heart sinks a little. I could've sworn he was coming along. I’d been so eager to go into town with the crew—and with him. The past week of subtle interactions, quiet moments, and shared spaces had built up a strange sense of anticipation. I’d wanted to explore the town with him, to see how he acted outside the confines of the sub, to share a different kind of day.

Law hands a list over to Bepo. “Medical supplies,” he says. “Make sure you get everything on it.”

The rest of the crew is already moving around, gathering bags and preparing for the trip. I glance at Law, my mind racing. Without thinking, I blurt out, “You’re not coming?” My voice is soft, almost pleading. It’s such a small thing, but I can’t help the disappointment that creeps into my chest. I’m even giving him the kind of puppy-eyed look I don’t usually pull, but desperate times…

Law’s gaze flicks over to me, and for a long second, he just stares. Then he glances back to the others, busy with their preparations, before sighing.

“Not today,” he remarked.

I walk outside, then, feeling the warm sunlight on my face as I climb over the railing and drop down onto the soft sand below. The sea breeze brushes against my skin, filling me with a new sense of energy. Bepo follows close behind, his large frame landing next to me with a soft thud. His face brightens, his usual friendly demeanor shining through. I can see the rest of the crew already walking ahead of us.

Bepo suddenly beams, looking over my shoulder. “Captain!” he exclaims, voice full of joy. I turn, and my heart does a little flip.

Law is standing there at the edge of the submarine, looking as composed as ever. Bepo, not hesitating for a second, runs up to him and wraps him in a tight bear hug. Law barely lifts an arm to rub Bepo’s shoulder, but the fondness is there, hidden in his usual coolness.

A rush of elation runs through me, and without thinking, I find myself walking towards him, my eyes silently asking the question. You’re coming?

Law shrugs casually, and I think I can see the tiniest smirk on his lips. “Changed my mind,” he adds simply, as if it’s no big deal. Then, without warning, he reaches over and ruffles my hair again, before quickly turning around and heading toward the path leading into town.

“Try to keep up,” he teases, throwing the words over his shoulder, his stride confident and smooth, his long sword slung over one shoulder with ease.

I stand there, momentarily stunned, feeling my heart race for reasons I can’t quite put into words. My hand unconsciously drifts to my forehead, where the band-aid sits, warmth spreading through me, remembering that single, careless gesture. I don’t even realize I’m smiling until Bepo grabs my hand and pulls me forward. His furry touch makes me falter, for a moment, thinking back on the weird dream I had the night before. I almost feels as though—

“Ana, come on!” he cheers, his energy contagious.

Still a little dazed, I snap back into reality and let Bepo drag me forward, my feet falling into step with the rest of the crew, excitement bubbling up once more as we head into town.

Chapter Text

Bepo and I step into the bustling marketplace, the scent of freshly baked bread and spices filling the air as people hurried from stall to stall. My eyes roam over the different shops, some with brightly colored fabrics hanging out front, others showcasing jewelry, trinkets, and all kinds of accessories. I feel a bit out of place, unsure where to even begin. Well, at least this town is pirate friendly.

“I’ve never seen so many clothes in one place,” I mutter, glancing over at Bepo, who, despite his large frame, was bouncing slightly with excitement.

“Let’s go there!” Bepo points a massive paw toward a small shop tucked away in the corner, its display filled with a rainbow of fabrics. Without waiting for me to respond, he leads the way, his energy contagious. I can’t help but laugh at how seriously he was taking this shopping trip.

Inside, the shop was filled with clothes of all styles—coats, scarves, boots, and dresses. I thumbed through a rack of simple tops and pants, glancing at the prices. Some of them were surprisingly affordable, though a few were a bit more than I was willing to spend.

“Hey, what about this?” Bepo’s voice calls out from behind me, and I turn to see him holding up a bright red, frilly dress. The thing was covered in lace, with a huge bow at the waist. It looked like something out of a dollhouse.

I burst out laughing, covering my mouth with my hand. “Bepo, no way! I’d never wear that!”

He looks at me, a little deflated, but then his face lights up again. “Okay, what about this?” He holds up a pair of neon green pants with a floral design.

“Where are you even finding these?” I shake my head, laughing so hard my sides hurt. “You have... an interesting eye for fashion.”

Bepo looked proud of himself, “I just want you to find something fun!”

I smile, appreciating his effort, and keet browsing through the racks. I finally settle on a few basics—some comfortable tops and pants that would work well aboard the Polar Tang, but also a jacket with a sleek cut that I couldn’t resist. Most of them have the back cut out, being used to wearing those kind of tops. I won’t let the scar on my back keep me  from wearing my favorite stuff.

“What do you think, Bepo?” I ask, spinning around to show off the jacket.

He gives me a thumbs-up, bouncing in his place. “Looks great, Ana! I think the captain would approve too.”

The mention of Law makes me pause for a second, but I shake it off, not wanting to think too hard about that right now. I grab a few more pieces and head to the counter. As I’m paying, Bepo bounces around, clearly ready for the next adventure.

With my shopping bags in hand, I felt a mixture of satisfaction and excitement. "Alright, next stop—medical supplies." I looked over at Bepo, who grinned eagerly.

After we finish up with the medical supplies, Bepo and I wander through the narrow streets. The town has a charming, almost quaint feel to it, but it was lively. The sounds of chatter, haggling, and the occasional clang of metal on metal echoes around us.

As we round a corner, I spot Law across the street. He stands just outside a small, unassuming shop, the sign above it worn with age. It reads, Rare Collectibles. I pause mid-step, curious.

Law peers through the window, his face thoughtful. It was rare to catch him this relaxed, without his usual focus on some plan or strategy. A small smile tugs at my lips, watching him from a distance. He always has this air of mystery, even when he isn’t trying to.

Bepo follows my gaze and tilted his head. “Captain’s in there,” he states, somewhat obviously, though he didn’t seem all that surprised.

I bite back a laugh and nod. “Yeah, seems like it.”

We watch as Law steps inside the shop, the little bell above the door chiming faintly. For a moment, I debate following him. It wasn’t often I got a glimpse of what he did during his rare moments of downtime, and I am curious.

“Think he’s got a thing for old coins?” I ask, as we stood outside the shop.

Bepo scratches his chin. “I’d think so. He collects them! I’ve seen a couple in his office before.”

That piques my curiosity even more. I hadn’t noticed the coins before. My eyes wander to the shop window again, and after a beat, I make a quick decision.

“I’m going in. Wait here, okay?” I burst, handing Bepo the bags of supplies we’ve picked up earlier.

“Sure!” Bepo beams, happy to hold onto them as he scans the area for anything interesting to occupy himself.

I push the door open, and the bell tinkles softly as I step inside. The air is cool, and the faint scent of old leather and metal fills the room. Wooden shelves line the walls, filled with glass cases that display coins from all over the world, some ancient, others more recent but still valuable.

Law stands at the far end of the shop, hunched over one of the display cases. He hasn’t noticed me yet, too engrossed in examining a coin one of the shopkeepers holds up for him.

I keep my distance, not wanting to disturb him. Something about the way he studies the coins is so different from how I’d seen him in the infirmary. This was... personal, in a way. Something quiet and solitary, just for him.

As I wander through the shop, I pass by a display of smaller, simpler coins. One of them catches my eye—a silver coin with an intricate design of a tree on one side and a ship on the other. It isn’t anything extravagant, but something about it speaks to me.

Without thinking too much about it, I reach out and take the coin to the counter, where another shopkeeper smiles kindly at me. I hand over a few bills, tucking the coin into my pocket as I glance toward Law again, making sure he hasn’t seen me. He is still deep in conversation with the shopkeeper, oblivious to everything around him.

I smile to myself as I stepped outside, feeling the cool weight of the coin in my pocket. I’m not sure when or how, but something tells me this coin would be the perfect gift for him when the time is right. For now, though, it would remain my little secret.

As I turn to walk away, a voice calls out from behind me.

“Hey… I know you! Aren’t you… —wait, aren’t you Firefist Ace’s girlfriend?”

My heart lurches. I stop dead in my tracks, my stomach twisting into a knot. Slowly, I turn around. A middle-aged woman stands there, her brow furrowed in curiosity, and maybe...pity? Had the Whitebeard crew been here before? Had I been here before and just didn’t remember? No, we couldn’t have.

I blink, trying to process her words. “I... what?”

“You were with him, weren’t you?” she presses. “I’ve seen your picture many times with him in the paper. You were close to Whitebeard! You were also on the papers after… you know.”

My throat tightens, the blood draining from my face. It feels like the world tilts off its axis for a moment. I had completely forgotten that that fateful day had not just been something I’d lived through, but the whole world was aware of it. Of course they saw the papers, of course they saw the news, of course they saw… Ace. His name feels like a punch to the gut. I was prepared for this, wasn’t I? I knew that someone might recognize me eventually, but I wasn’t ready—not here. Not now.

I try to swallow down the rising panic, but the words catch in my throat, thick and heavy. “I... I’m not... I mean, I was...” I stammer, but nothing coherent comes out.

The woman frowns, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just... I know he’s gone. It must’ve been hard. I didn’t mean—”

I can’t breathe. My chest tightens, and all I can think of is his face—Ace’s grin, his laugh, the way he’d always hold me like I was the most precious thing in the world. The way he burned so bright, and then... gone. Just like that.

My vision blurs, the sounds around me fading into a dull hum. Something about becoming suddenly aware that everyone else is… well, aware, of what happened in Marine Ford makes my head spin. I try to move, to step away, but my feet feel like they’re glued to the ground. I feel exposed, and the overwhelming rush of emotions I’ve been trying to push down for weeks comes crashing in, and suddenly, I’m drowning in it, again.

“I—excuse me,” I mutter, barely managing the words before I turn and walk away as fast as my legs can carry me, not waiting for a reply.

I duck into a nearby alley, trying to escape the suffocating feeling of eyes on me. My heart’s racing, and my breath comes in shallow gasps. The memory of Ace—the good, the breakup, everything—is clawing its way to the surface, and I can’t stop it.

I lean against the brick wall, my bags forgotten on the ground, and press the heels of my palms into my eyes. Why now? Why here? I’ve spent all this time trying to bury him, trying to move forward. And now, with a single question, everything I’ve been holding back unravels. I realise then that I am not as strong as I would’ve liked to think I had become.

Ace.

His name keeps echoing in my mind, and it hurts. More than I thought it would. More than I can bear right now.

I lean against the cold bricks of the alleyway, struggling to pull myself together, but the panic won’t loosen its grip. My chest feels tight, as if someone’s squeezing the air out of my lungs. I take a deep breath, then another, but it’s like I can’t catch it—like I’m stuck in that moment when everything fell apart.

The weight of guilt crashes into me, making my legs buckle. I slide down the wall and sit on the ground, pulling my knees to my chest. This feels more like… shock. A sob bubbles up from my throat, but I bite it back, digging my nails into the fabric of my pants to ground myself. I’ve been here before, in this spiral. And I hate it. I hate how easily it pulls me in.

But before I can completely lose myself to the pain, I hear soft footsteps approaching. I don’t even look up. I don’t want anyone to see me like this—so broken, so raw.

“Hey, you alright?” It’s Bepo’s voice, soft and concerned. He crouches down in front of me, his white fur standing out against the gray alley. “Ana?”

I manage to nod, even though my throat feels too tight to speak. Bepo doesn’t press. He never does. Instead, he sits down beside me, folding his massive frame into a smaller shape, trying not to crowd me. He’s always like this—gentle, understanding in ways that sometimes surprise me.

“We don’t have to stay in town if you don’t want to,” he says after a long silence, his voice quiet but filled with genuine concern. “We can go back to the ship. Captain won’t mind.”

I shake my head, wiping my eyes quickly with the back of my hand. “No, it’s fine. I just... I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

Bepo tilts his head, but he doesn’t push for more. He knows when to give me space, and right now, I need it.

For a moment, we just sit there, the sounds of the busy town fading away as I focus on calming my breath. After a while, the ache in my chest eases, just a little, enough for me to feel like I can breathe again.

“I’ll be okay,” I finally manage, my voice shaky but steadying. “I just need a minute.”

Bepo nods, his warm, brown eyes watching me with quiet understanding. He doesn’t say anything else, just stays by my side, a silent pillar of support.

“Bepo,” I croak out. “Distract me, say anything, something, please…”

Bepo nods vigorously, clearly wanting to help. “Alright! Let’s see… um, have you tried the new pastries Louie has put up for breakfast? He makes the biggest cream puffs!”

A small smile flickers on my lips as I picture the pastries. “Yeah, I did! They were incredible! I think I ate three in one sitting.”

“Three?!” Bepo gasps, his eyes wide. “That’s impressive! I can only manage one before I get too full. You’re so lucky you can eat that much!”

I laugh lightly, appreciating his enthusiasm. “What can I say? I’ve got a good metabolism!”

Just then, a thought strikes me as the distraction takes effect, and I ask, “So, Bepo, what do you think about shopping? What’s your favorite thing to look for?”

He scrunches his nose, deep in thought. “Well, I like collecting little figurines, especially ones that look like animals! It’s a fun hobby. What about you?”

“I’m not sure yet. I think I need to find some clothes that suit my new adventures,” I reply, trying to push down the anxiety still bubbling in my chest. “But honestly, I just want something that makes me feel… I don’t know, different. New.”

He nods, genuinely engaged. “You’ll find something! I believe in you! Just like you believed in me when I wanted to climb atop the pole in the sub!”

I chuckle, remembering how I’d encouraged Bepo to try his hand at climbing the pole that sat in the back of the deck. “You did amazing, though! You’re a natural climber.”

I sigh. The weight of my chest lifting, even if slightly. After a few moments, I calm down, and stand up, pulling Bepo with me. We turn into a less crowded street, trying to avoid preeing eyes. As we step away from the alley, I can’t help but think out loud. “Why do people have to bring him up?” I ask, frustration lacing my words. “Can’t they see I’m trying to move on?”

After I say the words, it clocks in how selfish I sound.

Bepo glances at me, his expression softening. “They just… they remember him fondly, Ana. It’s natural for them to want to talk about someone who did so many great feats.” Of course they do, I think to myself, he was one in a million.

“I know, but it’s exhausting,” I admit sheepishly, shaking my head.

Bepo shifts uncomfortably as we continue walking, his large paws fidgeting at his sides. “Um… if it helps, the window will always be there to knock you out at the end of the day, right?”

I stop in my tracks, taken aback with what he just said.

“Bepo… how do you know that?” I raise my eyebrow, curious. Nobody has seen me go into the study late at night, of that I’m sure.

He stammers, “Well, I hear things! You know, like how you had trouble sleeping but now you seem happier!”

“Bepo, what do you really know?” I press, my tone teasing, but there’s an underlying seriousness in my voice.

His eyes widen, and he begins to sweat. “Um, well… you know how the captain and I grew up together? We tell each other everything.”

“Everything?” I raise an eyebrow, a playful grin creeping onto my face. “Does that include the fact that I keep waking up in my own bed after falling asleep in the study?”

He freezes, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “What? No, no! I don’t know anything about that!”

I can see through his feigned innocence. “Bepo, come on. You’re blushing! What do you know?”

“Um…” he stutters, clearly flustered. “I just—hmmm, Captain may or may have not been carrying you back to your room when you fall asleep.”

My heart skips a beat, a rush of warmth flooding my cheeks. Carrying me? I’d thought he was using his Devil Fruit to get me to bed, but he’s been holding me in his arms... all this time.

“Bepo,” I whisper, feeling a mixture of disbelief and giddiness. “You mean he’s actually been carrying me?”

“Uh… I didn’t mean to say that!” he stammers, his face now resembling a ripe tomato. How can his face turn red with all that fur covering him up?

“Bepo..." I call warningly. 

Bepo’s ears twitch nervously, and his paws fumble together. “I-I mean, maybe? I’m not supposed to say anything about it! But, uh, yes, he has.”

The words hit me harder than I expected. My heart flutters, and for a moment, I’m completely speechless. The idea that Law—stoic, reserved Law—has been physically carrying me back to my room every night makes my stomach do somersaults. I’d always assumed he was just ‘room’-ing me to my quarters, doing the easiest, most efficient thing. But no. He’s been carrying me. Cradling me in his arms, even after I’ve dozed off in his study.

“Why would he…?” I trail off, more to myself than to Bepo. A warmth rises to my face, and I bite my lip, trying to make sense of the sensation swirling in my chest.

Bepo shuffles awkwardly beside me. “Well, I think it’s because he… cares? The captain doesn’t always show it, but he looks out for all of us in his own way.”

My heart skips another beat at his words, and I’m not sure how to feel about it. Law’s actions, always so meticulous and calculated, suddenly seem softer, more thoughtful. Why didn’t I notice it before? I’d been so caught up in our daily interactions that I’d missed the little things—the subtle glances, the way he listens when I speak, the quiet moments we’ve been sharing in the study.

I blink rapidly, trying to refocus. “So… he’s really been carrying me back to my room.” I repeat, a little stunned by the whole thing.

Bepo, already embarrassed, turns a deeper shade of red and nods sheepishly. “Yeah. And… well, you always looked so peaceful, and I guess he didn’t want to wake you up.”

I press a hand to my chest, feeling the rapid thumping beneath my fingers. Peaceful? My thoughts are a mess. Why would Law do something so… intimate, and not even mention it? How many nights has he done this? My breath hitches as I realize how close we’ve become without me fully understanding it until now.

“But he... He's never mentioned it before,” I state, my voice softer than before.

Bepo shakes his head quickly. “Nope! And I wasn’t supposed to either. Please don’t tell him I told you!” His large, amber eyes plead with me, panic written across his face.

I grin, trying to lighten the mood even as my mind races. “Don’t worry, Bepo. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Phew…” he sighs, visibly relieved, though his expression is still sheepish. “I’m really bad at keeping things from you. I guess it’s because I like you a lot, Ana.”

His honesty makes me chuckle. “I like you too, Bepo. Thanks for looking out for me.”

But my thoughts quickly drift back to Law. I’d always seen him as guarded, someone who kept everyone at arm’s length. But now, I’m starting to see the small cracks in his armor, the ways he’s let me in without ever saying it out loud. I wonder how long this has been going on—this silent care he’s been offering me.

After what feels like an eternity of a racing mind, we walk back to the sub to leave the shopping bags, and make our way back through the lively streets toward a nearby pub where the rest of the crew agreed to meet. The sky’s soft orange hue indicates the day is nearing its end, the cool evening breeze mixing with the lingering warmth from the sun.

Bepo, ever the quiet and loyal companion, walks beside me, occasionally casting nervous glances in my direction. It’s clear he’s still recovering from his accidental confession earlier, and honestly, I’m still reeling from it myself. I keep my head down as we walk, lost in thought.

When we arrive at the pub, it’s bustling with life. The warmth of dim lights spills out through the wooden door, and the hum of laughter, conversation, and clinking glasses reaches us before we even step inside. Through the pub windows, I can already see some of the crew inside, chatting and laughing as they relax after a long day.

Bepo pushes open the door, and we’re immediately greeted by the smell of grilled food and the cozy warmth of the room. Shachi and Penguin wave us over to a large table in the back, where they’ve already claimed seats and seem to be well into their drinks. Ikkaku and Jean Bart are there too, and even the guys who stayed behind to guard the ship have made it. Law, however, is noticeably absent for now.

I slide into a seat next to Shachi, who hands me a drink with a grin. "About time you two showed up! Thought you got lost or something."

I laugh weakly, still feeling a bit off-kilter from the day’s events. “Got a little sidetracked,” I reply, shooting a glance at Bepo, who quickly busies himself with his drink.

Shachi raises an eyebrow, noticing the quick exchange between Bepo and me. "Sidetracked, huh? What, did you go shopping for gossip too?" he teases, his grin widening.

I force a laugh, shaking my head. "Just clothes… and medical supplies," I mutter, taking a sip of the drink. It’s strong, burning a little as it goes down, but it’s exactly what I need to calm my nerves. I lean back in the chair, trying to relax as the chatter of the pub surrounds me.

Penguin, already halfway through his own drink, leans forward. "You didn’t run into any trouble, did you? I mean, it’s not every day you go into town with Bepo as your bodyguard." He gives Bepo a playful nudge, making the big polar bear pirate blush.

Bepo shakes his head frantically, waving his paws in the air. "No, no trouble at all! We got everything on the list, and Ana did some… uh… shopping." His voice trails off, clearly still nervous after the earlier slip-up.

I take another drink, trying to push away the memory of the encounter in the marketplace. My mind flashes back to the woman’s words, to the way she looked at me when she recognized who I was. It’s still too fresh, too raw, and I can feel the weight of it pressing down on me again.

"Speaking of shopping," Ikkaku pipes up, sliding into the seat across from me. "What’d you pick up? Got yourself something nice?"

I shrug, trying to act nonchalant. "Just some new clothes. Nothing special."

Penguin narrows his eyes, clearly not buying my casual tone. "You sure? Because the way you’re sipping that drink makes me think something else might’ve happened."

I hesitate for a moment, glancing over at Bepo, who’s doing everything he can to avoid eye contact. I quickly change the subject. "Where’s the Captain?" I ask, looking around the pub.

Shachi and Penguin exchange a glance before Shachi snorts, leaning back in his chair. "Probably taking his sweet time. You know how he is—likes to make an entrance."

As if on cue, the door to the pub swings open, and Law steps inside. He scans the room briefly before his eyes land on our group. The faintest hint of a smile crosses his face as he makes his way over, his presence commanding attention even in a relaxed setting like this.

Penguin grins. "See? What did I tell you?"

Law approaches the table, his usual cool demeanor intact. "Everyone's here?" he asks, his voice low but easily cutting through the chatter of the room.

I nod, doing my best to appear casual even though my heart speeds up slightly at the sight of him. Bepo perks up immediately, happy to see his captain join the group.

"Captain! We saved you a spot," he says, motioning to the chair next to mine.

Law nods in acknowledgment and sits down, casually leaning back in his chair. He glances at me briefly, his expression unreadable, before turning his attention to the others. “How was the town?”

I take another sip of my drink, trying to ignore the way my stomach flips.

Penguin is the first to speak up, leaning forward with a smirk. "Town was lively Captain! Ana had Bepo trailing her like a lost puppy while she shopped for clothes. You know, real thrilling stuff."

I roll my eyes, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "It wasn’t that dramatic," I mutter, shooting Penguin a glare. "We were just getting what we needed."

Shachi grins, leaning forward on his elbows. "And I’m sure it was just shopping. No other excitement, right?" His tone is playful, but I can tell he's trying to dig at something.

Law’s gaze shifts in my direction, and for a moment, I feel the weight of his eyes on me. The calm, calculated look on his face doesn’t change, but I get the sense he’s waiting for my answer.

"Nothing major," I lie, avoiding his gaze and instead focusing on the drink in front of me. The last thing I want is to relive that moment in the market right now. Especially not in front of him. "Just a few stares. That’s all."

Penguin snickers, nudging Shachi. "Oh, you should’ve seen the way some people were looking at her. Like they knew something juicy." His voice lowers a bit, the teasing tone still in full effect. "It’s almost like they recognized her."

I stiffen at the mention, my grip tightening on the glass. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Law, who quietly takes in the exchange, his sharp eyes flicking between us. But, as always, he says nothing.

"Alright, enough," Ikkaku cuts in, sensing the tension. She waves her hand dismissively, a grin playing on her lips. "Let’s not turn this into a full-blown interrogation. Besides, we’re here to relax."

The pub buzzes around us, the noise a welcome distraction as the crew begins to talk amongst themselves again. Dinner flows by smoothly, and the amount of meat being passed around makes me think of Luffy. I truly hope, from the bottom of my heart, that my little future pirate king is doing alright.

As we walk back toward the Polar Tang, the chatter around me is light, filled with laughter and stories of the day. The sun has long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky awash in deep blues and purples. Our footsteps crunch against the sand until we reach the shore where the submarine is docked.

I trail behind the others as we climb up the ladder one by one, my thoughts wandering. It’s been a long day, but there’s something almost peaceful about the quiet after the bustling town.

"Look!" someone calls out from above, their voice cutting through the soft hum of conversation. "Heads up! We got some newspaper delivered."

I glance up briefly but don’t pay it much mind, pulling myself up the railing and onto the deck. The cool night air settles around me as I busy myself closing up, making sure the ship’s railing is secure. It’s routine, something to focus on after all the noise of the day.

Behind me, I can hear the crew gathering around, their voices dropping into whispers, muttering amongst themselves. The sound of shuffling paper and low gasps makes me pause for a moment, but I keep moving, not giving it too much thought. That is, until I notice several sets of eyes glancing back at me.

I freeze, mid-motion, my hand hovering over the latch. Law notices the commotion and his voice cuts through the murmurs. "What’s going on?" His tone is sharp, the calm authority that commands immediate attention. There’s a brief hesitation, a beat of silence that hangs in the air.

"Ana," Uni finally says, their voice low but serious. "You should probably see this." Clione’s voice follows quickly. "Your bounty went up!"

I blink, feeling the words hang in the air like an echo.

And then someone else chimes in, lowly, "I could’ve sworn her wanted poster said ‘Newgate’ before…"

I slowly turn, confusion clouding my thoughts. What the hell are they talking about?

The crew parts slightly, making room as I step forward. They hand me the paper, and I stare down at it, my eyes immediately drawn to my own face staring back at me. But something’s different.

WANTED

DEAD OR ALIVE

ANASTASIA KARKHOVA

฿400,000,000

Shit.

Chapter Text

The first time I saw my face on a bounty poster, the midday sun was high, and we had just docked at an island for supplies. The streets bustled with life as I wandered around with Ace and Marco, trying to blend in. I wasn’t paying attention until Ace snatched a paper from a nearby stall and started laughing.

“Oi, firefly!” Ace called out, waving the poster wildly in the air as he jogged toward me. “Look at this!”

I turned, squinting as I saw him closing in with that usual grin of his. Before I could ask, he thrust the paper into my hands, nearly making me drop the satchel of supplies I was holding.

“What’s this?” I muttered, unfolding the paper.

Then I saw it—my face, staring back at me. The grainy photo showed me mid-battle, probably taken during one of the recent skirmishes. But it wasn’t the picture that caught me off guard. It was the name. Anastasia Newgate. ฿200,000,000.

My heart skipped a beat, and my fingers tightened around the poster. Newgate? Did the government think I was Whitebeard’s daughter by blood?

Ace was chuckling beside me, nudging my arm. “Looks good on you, huh? Part of the family now.”

“Why does it say ‘Newgate’?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

Ace raised an eyebrow, looking at me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Given how close you two are to each other, I don’t find it surprising.” He nudged me a bit and reached out for my hand. “Though ‘Portgas’ would’ve definitely looked better there.”

A wave of confusion and unease washed over me, so big I didn’t pay attention to what Ace had said. I stared at the name again—Newgate. Wasn’t the government supposed to know? They always knew everything. Why didn’t they use my real name?

I didn’t say anything, instead making my way back to the ship. The sun beat down on my back, but all I could feel was the icy grip of doubt. I found Whitebeard sitting in his usual spot, the heavy IV drips attached to his arm, giving him the medication that kept him going. He was a mountain of a man, his presence alone casting a shadow over everyone around him. But he was also the man who gave me a place, a sense of belonging.

Without thinking, I walked up to him, the bounty poster clenched in my hand. I hesitated for a second, wondering if I should even bother him with something so trivial. But curiosity gnawed at me.

“Pops,” I began, looking up at him. His eyes softened when he cast his gaze down on me. He turned toward the drip, seemingly thinking that it was time for a change. But I wasn’t there for that. I turned my eyes from his and shakily held out the poster to him. “It’s my first bounty,” his eyes lit up. “It says… ‘Newgate.’”

Whitebeard glanced down, his deep-set eyes scanning the paper. He smiled softly, the kind of smile that could put anyone at ease.

“Isn’t that your name?” he rumbled, his voice low but filled with warmth. He leaned forward, his giant hand resting on his knee as he regarded me.

“I—I mean, I’m not…” I stammered, unsure of how to put it. “My name’s not really Newgate. Isn’t the government supposed to know that?”

Whitebeard let out a low chuckle, the sound reverberating in the air like distant thunder. “The government knows what it wants to know. But you are Newgate.” He paused, his eyes softening again as they met mine. “You are my daughter, Ana. You’ve been by my side, taking care of me, looking after this crew. I can’t think of a name that suits you more.”

I blinked, feeling a lump rise in my throat. Daughter. That word had been nothing but pain for so long, a title that chained me to the horrors of my past. But when Whitebeard said it, it felt different—safe. Like I had found something I didn’t know I needed.

I looked down at the poster again, the name no longer feeling foreign. The weight of the past seemed to lift just a little as Whitebeard’s words sank in.

“I…” I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I smiled, nodding slightly. “Thank you, Dad.”

Whitebeard gave me a knowing look, his massive hand gently patting my shoulder. “Wear the name with pride, Anastasia Newgate. That’s who you are.”

As I walked away, clutching the poster, the name felt less like a burden and more like a gift—a reminder that I wasn’t alone anymore. I had a family. A real one. And I’d do anything to protect it.

Reading my name not followed by ‘Newgate’ hits me like a bucket of cold water. I stare at the poster, the words blurring together as my mind struggles to make sense of it. Anastasia Karkhova. The name I swore I’d never use again, the name tied to everything I’ve tried to bury deep inside. It feels wrong, like I’m being dragged back into the nightmare I escaped from.

I hear the crew murmuring around me, but their voices are distant, muffled by the sudden pounding in my ears. I blink a few times, trying to shake off the dizziness creeping over me.

“I guess I have some explaining to do,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended but firm enough to get their attention.

The crew falls silent, their gazes flicking between me and the paper. Law’s eyes narrow slightly, not with suspicion, but with an unreadable expression. I meet his gaze, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something familiar—trust, perhaps, or understanding.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Law says, breaking the silence, his voice steady as ever. “Get some rest. We’ve had a long day.”

He says it like an order, and while most of the crew exchanges uncertain looks, they begin to disperse, still muttering under their breath. I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

As I watch them go, I feel Bepo's hand gently rest on my shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, just offers a small nod before following the others.

I nod, but it’s an automatic response. My mind is still spinning, stuck on the name printed so clearly on the wanted poster. Karkhova. How did the government even dig that up? And why now?

The crew disperses, giving me quick glances but saying nothing. They know better than to ask questions right now. I clutch the poster in my hands, the edges crinkling under my grip. It feels like the weight of my past is pressing down on me all over again.

When I look up, I realize Law is already walking toward his office. He’s giving me time, space—both things I need, but also the last thing I want right now. I don’t want to be alone with this. Not tonight.

I sneak into the kitchen and reach for a bottle of whiskey. I need the liquid courage. I pour a generous amount into a glass, savoring the way it glimmers in the low light before downing it in one go. It burns going down, but I welcome the sensation, hoping it will numb the turmoil inside me.

As I step into Law’s study, my regular nighttime routine, the atmosphere shifts. The air is thick with the scent of old books and the faintest hint of something medicinal. Law sits at his desk, scribbling on a notepad, the dim light casting shadows across his features. He glances up as I enter, his expression a mix of surprise and annoyance.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” I joke, trying to lighten the mood, but the words feel heavy in the air.

He raises an eyebrow, and I can’t help but notice the new book lying on one of the coffee tables. Its cover reads, Psychology for Trauma Response: Nightmares and Healing, with a well-worn bookmark pressed halfway through. My heart tugs at the sight, but I push the thought aside for now.

“Care for a drink?” I ask, holding out the bottle of whiskey, the amber liquid sloshing inside. “I know I do.”

Law sighs, running a hand through his hair as he reaches for two glasses in the cupboard above. The silent question in his eyes is clear: What’s going on?

I take a deep breath, my mind racing. “I know we haven’t known each other for long…” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“You don’t owe me an explanation—”

But I’m determined. “I want to tell you everything,” I insist, the words spilling out before I can second-guess myself.

He studies me, his gaze piercing, as if he’s trying to read the secrets hidden behind my eyes. I can feel the weight of my past pressing down, the fear and shame threatening to overwhelm me, but something about Law’s presence calms the storm inside. He places the glasses down on the table, the clink echoing in the quiet room.

“Alright,” he says softly, leaning back in his chair. “I’m listening.”

I pour the whiskey into both glasses, the liquid swirling as I try to find the right words. My heart races in my chest, each beat reminding me of everything I’ve hidden away. I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts, but the words feel like stones in my throat. I want to explain, to spill everything out, but the weight of my past pulls me back. The silence stretches between us, heavy and charged.

“Um, my name is—” I start, but the rest of it gets caught in my chest. I bite my lip, frustration rising. “I was... I'm not—er, that's not, my past is... I was born, not, here, dammit, obviously not here, my name is—" fucking hell. Get it together, why don’t you?I feel like I’ve swallowed sandpaper.

Law watches me intently, his gaze softening as he senses my struggle. “You know what? I want to try something,” he says suddenly, leaning forward, the intensity of his focus never wavering. “I’ve been doing some reading.”

I tilt my head slightly, curiosity piquing through my anxiety.

He gestures to the notepad on his desk. “What I want you to do is blurt out something—anything. Whatever comes to mind first. It could be a word, a feeling, a memory. Just let it out. And I’ll do the same.”

“Seriously?” I ask, my brow furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah. It might help,” he assures me, his voice steady and calm. “No pressure. Just speak your truth, however jumbled it may be. If it’s a whole sentence or just a single emotion, it’s okay. Just let it come.”

I glance at the glass in my hand, the whiskey shimmering like liquid courage. “Okay,” I reply, uncertain but willing to try anything that might help me get past this wall.

“Alright, I’ll go first,” Law says, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Blue.”

I blink at him, surprised by the simplicity of his word. “Blue?” I echo, raising an eyebrow and glancing down at the top I was wearing. A blue top.

He shrugs. “Just something that came to mind.”

I take a sip of my whiskey, letting the warmth settle in before I grasp my own thoughts. “Okay, um… family,” I blurt out, the word tumbling from my lips before I can rethink it.

Law nods, his expression encouraging. “Good. Now it’s my turn. Betrayal.”

My heart clenches at his word, and I take another sip, trying to ground myself. “Fear,” I say, the emotion resonating deep within me.

He leans back, taking a moment to absorb it, and then he replies, “Isolation.”

I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the heat of the whiskey coursing through me. “Love,” I say, the word surprising me as it slips out.

“Loss,” he counters, the weight of the word hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

And so it goes, our words weaving a tapestry of vulnerability and honesty, each blurt a step closer to breaking down the walls I’ve built around my heart.

The silence looms heavily, and I take another sip from my glass, feeling the warmth of the whiskey settle in my stomach. I try to push past the fear clawing at me, and I blurt, “My name is Anastasia Karkhova.”

Without skipping a beat, Law replies, “My name is Trafalgar D. Water Law.”

“I was kept locked up,” I continue, the words spilling out of me before I can think them through. I take a sip.

“I was dying,” he says, his voice steady, almost matter-of-fact. He takes a sip.

“I come from a crime family,” I blurt out, the truth feeling like a weight lifted, even if it’s only slightly. I take another sip.

He nods. “I joined a crime family.” He takes another sip.

“My father was a crime lord,” I say, forcing the words through clenched teeth.

He meets my gaze, unwavering. “My father was a doctor.”

“I was tortured,” I manage, my voice trembling but resolute. I down my drink.

“I was left to die,” he replies, the weight of his own past echoing in his tone. He downs his own drink.

I take a deep breath, struggling to steady my hands, which tremble slightly. “He locked me away from the moment I could talk, kept me hidden like a secret he never wanted to share. I was nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game.” The whiskey warms my throat but does nothing to soothe the chill creeping into my bones.

Law’s eyes darken, the corners of his mouth tightening. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“You didn’t either.” I whisper back, my heart racing as I push myself to continue. “I was tutored on horrible things—how to manipulate, how to hurt. It was all part of his sick education. I was just a child. I didn’t understand why he was doing this to me.” My voice falters, memories surfacing unbidden, filling the spaces between my words with pain.

He watches me, and I can feel the weight of his understanding. “What else?” he prompts gently.

I swallow hard, forcing the next words out. “Every day, he’d beat me. I was supposed to learn discipline, but all I felt was fear. And the poison… it was daily. Just to see how I’d react.” My fingers shake, and I instinctively clutch the bottle, hoping it will ground me.

Without thinking, Law reaches out for my hand, his grip warm and steady against my trembling. “Come here,” he says softly, leading me to one of the couches in the center of the room. I sink into the plush fabric, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the moment. He sits beside me, never letting go of my hand.

“It was like a science experiment to him,” I continue, my voice barely above a whisper. “Each dose, a test of my resilience. I learned to endure pain in silence, but inside, I was breaking. I thought I was going to die in that house, trapped forever.”

I glance at Law, his expression unreadable yet understanding, and my heart aches at the thought of the burdens he carries. “I don’t even know how I made it out… how I became this person who stands here talking to you. It feels like I should be ashamed, ashamed to have survived when so many didn’t.”

I take a shaky breath, feeling the weight of my past pressing down harder. “Wait… I’m making this all about me.” Guilt washes over me, and I bite my lip, suddenly aware of the shadows lurking behind his eyes, the pain etched into the lines of his face. I know that he has also endured suffering, even if he hasn’t shared every detail.

“I know you’ve been through hell too,” I say softly, my voice trembling. “You’ve carried your own demons, and here I am, spilling my past like it’s the only thing that matters. I feel like I’m being selfish.”

Law’s gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, the room is filled with an unspoken understanding. “Hey, your story matters,” he says firmly, his grip on my hand unwavering. “You deserve to share it. Just like I do. But we can share the weight together, and I’m here to listen.”

The sincerity in his voice wraps around me like a lifeline, and I realize that while my past is heavy, it doesn’t mean I have to carry it alone. I nod, allowing the moment to settle between us, grateful for his presence and the strength that comes from vulnerability shared.

I tighten my grip on his hand, feeling the warmth radiate through our fingers, grounding me in the moment. With each heartbeat, I draw strength from his presence, a silent promise that I’m not alone anymore.

Tonight, I share my whole past with him, laying bare the scars that have shaped me. The words spill out like an uncoiling ribbon, revealing the tangled threads of pain and resilience woven into my very being. As the night wears on, Law listenes intently, his expression steady and calm, an anchor in the storm of my memories.

“You can make this moment about you,” he assures me softly, at some point. His voice a soothing balm against the chaos in my mind. I glance into his eyes, searching for the hidden truths I know linger beneath the surface. There’s a flicker of something—perhaps a desire to share his own burdens, to let me in on the depths of his pain. But for now, he keeps that part locked away, a promise to himself to wait until I’ve found the comfort I need.

I continue sharing my story, and before I know it, it’s morning again.

I’m ten years old, standing in a dimly lit room with cold stone walls. My father looms over me, a towering figure shrouded in shadows. His voice is low, a cruel whisper that sends shivers down my spine. “You must learn,” he says, a twisted smile curling on his lips. “Strength comes from suffering.”

I’m trembling, not just from fear but from the knowledge of what comes next. The daily doses of poison, a sick game to see how long I can last. I remember the way my body would seize up, the burning in my veins, and the quiet cries I stifled into the darkness.

The lessons he forced upon me weren’t just about power or cunning; they were about submission. Each session with my tutors was filled with lectures on betrayal and manipulation, while I sat there, feeling smaller and smaller. Every time I flinched at a loud noise, I saw the disappointment flash across his face. I learned quickly that weakness was not tolerated; it was a mark against me.

I recall the bruises on my skin, each one a reminder of my father’s anger—anger that came when I dared to speak out or defy him, even in the smallest ways. He would lash out with his fists, and I would curl up, wishing to disappear. “You’re not worthy of the Karkhov name,” he spat at me once after a particularly harsh punishment.

Those words dug deep, burrowing into my heart, and I believed them. I felt like a porcelain doll with cracks beneath the surface, fragile and easily broken.

There were days when I tried to find moments of escape. I would stare out the tiny barred window in my room, dreaming of the outside world, where the sun shone bright and laughter echoed through the air. But those dreams felt like distant stars, always out of reach. I would often practice my breathing, pretending I was outside, feeling the grass beneath my feet and the wind on my face.

But reality would always pull me back, and the harshness of my father’s expectations loomed over me like a storm cloud. I had to be strong, to endure his twisted sense of training. It was all a game to him, a cruel experiment to mold me into something I wasn’t meant to be.

The threat of my name looms over me. Is he looking for me? Why would my real name come back now?

The sun spills through the submarine's portholes, casting a warm glow in the kitchen as I walk in with Law beside me. I can feel every gaze on me—curious, concerned, even a bit wary. I can’t blame them. I must look like hell, but the calmness I’ve found within myself anchors me.

I catch Ikkaku's eye, her expression softening as she takes in my disheveled appearance. “You didn’t sleep at all, did you?” she asks, her voice laced with genuine concern.

I shake my head, letting out a small breath. “No. But I’m okay.”

She exchanges glances with the others, a silent agreement passing among them. “We won’t push you for anything, Ana,” she says, her tone firm yet gentle.

I hold up a hand to stop her, my resolve strengthening. “No. You’re my family now, and I want to share this with you. Especially because I don’t know if this might ever put you in danger.”

The room falls silent, the weight of my words settling in. I feel the room’s energy shift, a mix of understanding and solidarity. I glance at Law, who stands by my side, his expression unreadable but steady, offering his silent support.

As I take a deep breath, ready to unburden the shadows of my past, I know that whatever comes next, I won’t face it alone.

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of their gazes on me as I gather my thoughts. It’s now or never. I step forward slightly, my voice steady but tinged with the echoes of a lifetime filled with pain.

“My progenitor is Abram Karkhov,” I start, my words slicing through the tension in the air. I can see a few of my crewmates raise their eyebrows in recognition. He’s a big name, so it’s no surprise they’d heard the name before.

“He’s always had a reputation for violence and cruelty—not just towards his enemies but towards the people he claimed to love. My mother was one of his many wives, and she was never safe, just like the rest of us.”

I glance at Ikkaku, who looks at me with wide eyes, and I continue. I tell them, that from the moment I could talk, he locked me away. That I had a tutor, but not the kind who taught me reading or writing. I learned how to hide my fear, how to survive. Every day was a new lesson in pain, a new way to endure the impossible.

I tell them how he experimented on me, poisoning me daily just to see how I would react. About the bruises and the chains and breaking my bones and letting me heal without medicine.

As I speak, I see Law’s jaw tighten, his expression darkening. I managed to run away when I was ten, a major slip up between the “tutors” he had watching over me.

I feel my hands shake slightly as I recall the fear and isolation as I tell them everything.

“Now, I can’t help but feel like the threat of my past looms over me. My father has contacts in the Navy, and he might be looking for me. He’s a big name in the underworld, and now that my real name has resurfaced, I don’t know what that means for any of us.”

I look around at the crew, the faces of those who have become my family, and feel a wave of vulnerability wash over me. “I’m sharing this with you not because I want you to pity me, but because I care about all of you. I don’t want my past to put anyone in danger.”

I swallow hard, emotions welling up inside me as I finish. “You’ve all welcomed me into your lives, and I want to protect that. I want to protect you.”

As I meet their eyes, I see the mix of compassion and understanding reflected back at me. This is my truth, my burden to share, and in this moment, I feel a little lighter for having spoken it aloud.

I take a moment to collect myself, feeling the room's air shift as the gravity of my words sinks in. I look at each of their faces, searching for understanding, for reassurance, and I find it in their eyes. Ikkaku’s expression is one of fierce determination, while Bepo looks at me with concern, his ears drooping slightly. Penguin stands with his arms crossed, nodding slowly, as if processing the weight of my revelation.

“I know I’ve only been with you for a short time,” I say, my voice steadying as I push through the wave of emotions. “But I’ve come to see you as family. You’ve shown me kindness and acceptance in a time of fear and pain. I didn’t want to hide this part of myself any longer, especially when it could endanger you.”

Law stands beside me, his presence steady and comforting. I can sense his unspoken support, the way he subtly shifts his weight to reassure me that I’m not alone in this. “I won’t let my past define me, and I won’t let it harm any of you,” I add, feeling a renewed sense of determination.

Ikkaku steps forward, her gaze fierce. “We’re in this together, Ana. Whatever your past is, it doesn’t change how we feel about you. You’re one of us now, and we’ll protect each other.”

“Yeah,” Shachi chimes in, his tone lightening the heaviness in the air. “Besides, if anyone tries to come after you, they’ll have to get through us first.”

Laughter ripples through the crew at Shachi’s words, breaking the tension that had held us captive moments before. I can’t help but smile, a flicker of warmth igniting in my chest.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice a little choked with emotion. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

As I stand there, the warmth of their acceptance still wrapping around me, Bepo and Penguin leap into action, bounding over to me with wide grins. “We’re so glad you’re here with us!” they shout, enveloping me in a tight hug that nearly knocks the breath out of me. I can’t help but laugh, my heart swelling at their enthusiasm.

Within moments, the rest of the crew joins in, their laughter ringing out as they pile onto me, each one adding to the warmth and weight of the moment. The sudden pressure makes me stumble back, but Law is there, his arms catching me just in time. I find myself nestled against his solid frame, surrounded by the laughter and cheers of my newfound family.

“Okay, now that that’s out of the way,” I say, beaming up at them, “Let’s have breakfast and explore the town! We still have many things to do.”

The energy in the room shifts, a collective sense of excitement sparking to life. I can sense an unspoken agreement among the crew—an understanding to set aside the heavier topics and embrace the lightness of the moment. It’s a welcome relief, and as I look around, I see their faces illuminated with joy.

As we head out to enjoy our time on the island, I can’t shake the feeling of belonging that has settled in my chest. They’re not just my crew; they’re my family now, and together, we’re ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead. And in the midst of it all, I can’t help but notice Law’s gaze lingering on me a bit longer than the others.

Abram Kharkov, if you’re coming for me, know that I will send your ass back to hell... and I’ll do it with my family by my side.

Chapter Text

The past few days have been a whirlwind of islands, laughter, and sweat. After everything that’s happened, the crew and I have settled into a routine, going from island to island, training and having some much-needed fun. But beneath the easygoing atmosphere, there’s a hunger growing inside me—a desire to become stronger.

That’s why I asked Bepo to help me practice my fighting skills. Right now, we’re in the middle of a clearing, the sounds of grunts and clashing weapons filling the air as the rest of the crew trains nearby. Bepo watches me as I go through a series of basic moves, his furry arms crossed over his chest.

“You’ve got good reflexes,” he says, nodding in approval. “I know you’ve never fought with a weapon before, but have you ever tried to specialize your fighting with one?”

I pause, wiping the sweat from my brow. I’d never really given it much thought, and I’d always fought with whatever I could find. An idea crosses my mind. “Honestly, I’ve always liked swords. There’s something about them... the way they move, the precision.” I glance over to where Law is sitting off to the side, sharpening his sword with meticulous care. “Like the captain’s sword, for example.”

Suddenly, the crew’s reaction is immediate. Penguin stops mid-swing, shaking his head vigorously. “No, no, no. That’s not just any sword. It’s cursed. That thing is super dangerous.”

Bepo nods in agreement, his expression serious. “It’s called Kikoku. It’s no ordinary blade, Ana. It can cut through almost anything. It recognizes only it’s master, and he’s the only one who can touch the blade without getting cut.”

As if to prove their point, I see Law working on his blade, a sharp file sliding along the edge of Kikoku with a steady rhythm. Uni watches from a safe distance, a shiver running down his spine. “Yeah, we all stay far away from that thing. I swear, just looking at it feels like it could cut you in half.”

I chuckle, holding up my hands. “Alright, alright. I get it. I’ll leave Kikoku to the captain. But I still think I want to use a type of blade. Maybe not one that could slice a ship in two, though.”

Bepo grins, relaxing again. “We’ll find something that fits you. For now, let’s focus on getting you back in form.”

I nod, feeling a bit lighter as I fall back into the rhythm of our training. I’ll figure out my weapon eventually. For now, I’m just focused on becoming stronger.

Training with Bepo is exhausting, but I’m pushing myself harder every day. Each session, I feel a little stronger, a little more controlled in my movements. He’s patient, showing me techniques over and over until I get it right. Every hit I block, every strike I make, reminds me of how much more there is always to learn.

When I’m not training, I find myself drawn to the lab, helping out with medical tasks and learning more than I ever thought I would. There's something so fulfilling about working in Law’s lab. The clean smell of antiseptic, the hum of machines, the precision of everything—it all gives me this sense of purpose, like I belong here. I’ve always loved medicine. I took it upon myself to learn so that I could take care of Pops, but now, I’m getting to dive deeper into it. I learn something new every day, and being able to help feels like I’m doing something important for the crew.

The nights are easy now too. I’ve been sleeping so well lately. I still wake up in bed my own bed, after I pass out on the loveseat which is still conveniently placed next to Law’s desk. I haven’t moved it an inch, and neither has he. I know Bepo told me Law’s been carrying me to my room, and even though I haven’t caught him in the act because I’m 100% knocked out by his prescence, I’m pretty sure he’s still doing it. That’s just how he is, I think, he probably wouldn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

And then, there’s the crew. I’m having so much fun with them—training, laughing, sharing meals together. It feels more like a family than anything I’ve had in a long time.

Another day, another island, that’s how it’s been.

Today, the air smells of salt and adventure, and the sun is just right—not too hot, with a gentle breeze that makes the day perfect for games and training. We’ve all gathered on the beach, and as usual, the games begin. “Color scramble” is a tradition now, one that never fails to bring out the competitive side of everyone. The crew’s shouts fill the air as we dash in every direction, searching for objects that match the color someone calls out.

Penguin and Shachi have added more of their own made-up games into the mix. Penguin's wild scavenger hunts always end in chaos, and Shachi’s guessing games keep everyone laughing. At this point, they’ve become just as much a part of our routine as the scramble itself.

By the end of the day, we’re exhausted. We’ve played, trained, laughed—an endless cycle of challenges and camaraderie. I stretch, feeling the familiar ache in my muscles, a reminder that I’m getting stronger, little by little.

As the day winds down, I head into Law’s study for some quiet time. I love this room—the shelves stacked with medical books, the soft lamplight casting a warm glow over everything. The familiar warmth of the room greets me, the scent of books and ink filling the air. Law isn’t here, which is unusual. He’s usually hunched over some medical journal or paperwork, but for now, it’s just me.

I wander around, scanning the shelves until something catches my eye. There’s a comic book sitting on the corner of his desk, the cover slightly worn. "Sora, Warrior of the Sea." I’ve heard of it but never read it. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I settle into the loveseat near his desk, pulling the comic into my lap. The pages are colorful and exciting, and I find myself getting lost in the story almost immediately.

By the time Law walks in, I’m completely absorbed in the comic, nestled into the loveseat with my feet tucked under me. The door creaks open, and I don’t even notice Law at first until he quietly clears his throat. As I glance up, I see him standing there, his eyes wide. A faint blush rises on his cheeks. "Where did you find that?" he asks, a little too quickly, clearly caught off guard.

I shrug, holding up the comic. "It was right here. I like it. It's really good. Is it a favorite of yours?"

His reply comes almost immediately. "No."

I raise an eyebrow, smirking at him.

Law huffs, crossing his arms defensively. "Fine. Yeah," he admits, looking away for a moment.

I laugh softly, watching the way Law tries to compose himself. The great Captain Law, embarrassed over a comic book—it’s kind of adorable.

"I didn’t expect you to be into something like Sora, Warrior of the Sea," I tease, flipping another page and glancing back at him. "But it’s cute. I can see the appeal."

Law sighs, stepping closer now, his usual calm demeanor trying to reassert itself. He walks over to his desk, glancing at the scattered papers before shooting a look my way. "It’s not 'cute,'" he grumbles, though the faint blush on his cheeks is still there. "It’s... strategic. The hero uses his wits to outsmart his enemies. You could learn a thing or two."

"Mm-hmm," I hum, smirking as I settle deeper into the loveseat. "Strategic, sure. But you also have to admit that the hero’s pretty cool. I mean, come on, he’s practically unstoppable."

Law glances at me, and for a second, the stern captain façade slips. He looks almost amused, like he’s enjoying this little exchange more than he’s willing to admit. "Fine, maybe he is."

I grin, turning my attention back to the comic. "Well, I’m going to keep reading then. It’s nice to see a different side of you for a change."

He pauses for a moment, and he opens his mouth slightly, as though about to say something, but closes it again, watching me as I get absorbed in the story again. There’s a quietness in the room, the kind that feels comfortable. Like we’ve reached a new understanding without needing to say it out loud. Eventually, Law clears his throat and sits down at his desk, going back to his work, but every now and then, I catch him glancing at me, the corner of his lips twitching up just slightly.

This is our normal now—this unspoken closeness, these small, shared moments. I like it. It feels like I’ve found a rhythm here, a place where I belong, and as I flip another page of Sora, Warrior of the Sea, I can’t help but feel... content.

Law sits back at his desk, glancing over his papers, but then his eyes land on his perfectly curated schedile and scrunches his brow. His expression shifts slightly, and after a beat, he mutters, “Ah, damn. I forgot about this.”

I glance up from the comic, raising an eyebrow. "Forgot what?"

“I need to go… routinary machine check up on the boiler room. I insist on being there in case… well, you know Ikkaku and Shachi well enough now to guess why,” he says, already standing up and avoiding my gaze. “It’ll probably take a while. You can stay here if you want, though.”

I watch as he moves toward the door, there’s a bit of disappointment in my eyes, but I’m not sure he notices. “Alright,” I reply, a bit amused at his awkward escape. "See you later, cap."

He nods quickly and slips out of the room, leaving me alone in the dimly lit study. I settle back into the loveseat, still holding the comic, but now that he’s gone, the room feels... different. I try to refocus on the story, but after a few minutes, I can’t shake the strange restlessness creeping up on me.

I close the comic and glance out the window at the night sky, its soft glow illuminating the room in a way that usually comforts me. I love being here, surrounded by the scent of books and the quiet hum of Law’s desk lamp. But something feels off tonight. I can’t place it, but the usual sense of calm that fills me in this space is missing. I better try to get some sleep, though, it’s already pretty late.

I shift in my seat, leaning back and closing my eyes, hoping the familiar surroundings will lull me to sleep like they usually do. But after many long minutes, I’m still wide awake. I toss and turn on the loveseat, adjusting the cushion behind me, but nothing works.

“What’s wrong?” I mutter to myself, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. I’ve been sleeping so well lately, falling asleep easily no matter how crazy the day was. But now? Now, I feel like I’m stuck in a loop of trying to find the perfect position.

I lie back down, turning onto my side, then onto my back, and then onto my stomach. Still, no sleep. Huffing, I grab one of the throw pillows and bury my face in it. "This is ridiculous," I grumble into the fabric. My mind races, and the silence around me only seems to amplify the fact that I’m alone in this big, quiet room.

I toss the pillow aside, sitting up again and staring at the door. Law’s still not back. I wonder what’s keeping him so long. I’ve been drifting off to sleep without any problems these past weeks, and in this situation I can’t help but thinking that it might not have been the window what was lulling me to sleep so easily.

I try curling up with a blanket this time, but after another few restless moments, I huff again in frustration.

I stretch out my legs, stare at the ceiling, try counting stars—anything to relax—but nothing works. I feel every single second. Every single breath. I feel every part of my body uncomfortable, and when I close my eyes, I am afraid of the darkness that fills them.

With one final sigh, I stare out the window, laying still and hoping the beautiful colors of the water will make slumber find me.

… It doesn’t.

There’s no point in forcing it. I stand and stretch, glancing around the room. The study has always had this cozy, calming atmosphere—one that I love—but tonight, it’s like my body is protesting against it. So, instead of trying to sleep, I start aimlessly wandering around the room, poking at books on the shelves, trailing my fingers across the spines. Law always keeps everything so neat, but I can’t help but feel curious as I pick through a few items here and there. I glance at one of the cabinets, the glass surface of the door making me wonder why I had never looked through it before, and I find Law’s collection of precious commemorable coins. Some big, some small, they’re all so interesting and carefully made, I find myself wanting to hear him talk about them. I wonder what  he might say, what words he might use to describe them, and my mind drifts back to the coin I had bought for him in one of the towns, laying carefully hidden inside my sock drawer.

After that, I find myself drawn to his desk, the centerpiece of the room. The surface is cluttered with notes, charts, and a few random trinkets—remnants of his busy days. With a grin, I slide into his chair, sinking into the leather as I take a moment to admire the view out the window.

Then, I start mimicking him, leaning back in the chair as if I’m deep in thought. “I’m Trafalgar Law,” I say in a deep, mock-serious voice, my attempt at impersonating him making me chuckle. I can’t pull off his cool, collected demeanor, but it’s fun to try.

As I settle into the chair, I begin to explore the desk, pulling open the drawers one by one. The first drawer contains a hodgepodge of medical notes, scribbled calculations, and empty vials. The next holds spare pens, a couple of well-used bandages, and a pack of sticky notes, all of which make me smile. The organization contrasts sharply with my own chaotic nature, but there’s something comforting about his meticulousness.

But then, in the bottom drawer, my hand brushes against something familiar and unexpected. I pull it out, and my breath catches in my throat.

It’s my bounty poster.

I blink in confusion, holding it up to the light. How did this get here? I could’ve sworn I threw it away after everything that happened. Yet, here it is, folded carefully like someone meant to keep it. My heart races as I stare at the image of myself. Why would he have this?

But when I look closely, I freeze. As I scan the details, my breath catches in my throat. Law has scratched out Karkhova and replaced it with Newgate. It’s there, in his delicate, smooth, doctor’s handwriting.

Newgate .

Why would he do that? My mind races, grappling with the significance of the alteration. This isn't just a name change; it feels like a declaration. Law had scratched out my name, the one that haunted me, and replaced it with the name that felt like home—a name that had begun to feel like a gift rather than a burden. This was not just a poster to him; it was a token of how he saw me, how he cared. A rush of warmth fills my chest, and I can’t help but feel touched by the simple gesture. He recognizes me as what I am, which is Whitebeard’s daughter. A whole in my heart that I didn’t know I have fills up. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, a strange mix of emotions swirling within me. The past has haunted me for so long, but here, in this moment, I feel a flicker of something warm and hopeful. It’s as if Law is saying I can leave the past behind, that I’m not alone anymore. That I never was.

My heart swells with an inexplicable mix of gratitude and affection. A soft smile forms on my lips, and I clutch the poster to my chest, feeling as if I’ve stumbled upon a hidden treasure. In that moment, it’s like the weight of my past lightens just a little, replaced by the undeniable connection I share with Law.

How could he see me like this? I wonder, blushing at the thought, as I tuck the poster back in the drawer, wanting to keep this heartfelt discovery close to my heart.

Even though I wasn’t able to sleep a wink tonight, the warmth in my chest fills me for hours to come.

As I step onto the deck, the familiar morning hustle of our crew greets me like a warm embrace. The salty air fills my lungs, mingling with the faint sounds of waves lapping against the ship's hull. Shachi and Penguin are perched on the railing, their heads bent together in a conspiratorial huddle, whispering and snickering. I can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation as I approach.

“Look who it is!” Shachi calls out, his voice booming with mock enthusiasm that draws the attention of a few nearby crew members. “The captain’s favorite!”

I roll my eyes, trying to maintain my composure, even as a flutter of nerves dances in my stomach. “What are you two going on about now?” I ask, crossing my arms and leaning casually against the railing, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Oh, just discussing how lucky you are,” Penguin chimes in, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. He gestures animatedly at me. “You can wear that boiler suit however you like—loose, comfy, and all—and the Captain doesn’t even bat an eye!”

Heat rushes to my cheeks at his words, and I can’t help but fidget with the hem of my top. “What? I’m still wearing it!” I protest, though I’m acutely aware of how Law’s gaze lingers just a little longer when I wear it this way.

“Right,” Shachi replies, folding his arms across his chest with a smirk that clearly says he’s not convinced. “But have you noticed? The rest of us could be showing off our backs and torso like that, and he’d suddenly have a lot to say!”

I try to play it cool, but my mind flashes back to the time I’d worn my boiler suit a little bit too loose. I can still remember the way Law had shot me a startled look, his brows furrowing as he’d stared me and looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. My stomach knots at the thought. “Maybe he’s just used to it with me?” I offer weakly.

“Or maybe he’s enchanted!” Shachi leans in closer, eyes sparkling with mischief, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “What’s your secret? Some kind of magic spell you cast on him?”

I shake my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips despite my embarrassment. “There’s no magic here! It’s just—”

“Just what?” Penguin interrupts, leaning against the railing, clearly reveling in my flustered state. “Just that you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger?”

A nervous laugh escapes me as I consider the truth behind his words. “Do you hear yourselves? You guys are ridiculous!”

“Maybe we are,” Shachi replies, his smirk widening, reveling in the moment. “But you have to admit, it’s kind of true!”

Their laughter rings out across the deck, a vibrant sound that makes my heart race. I can’t help but feel a warmth spreading through me. This crew, with their playful teasing and camaraderie, reminds me of how far I’ve come since joining them.

Still, the teasing stirs something deeper within me—a flutter of excitement mixed with uncertainty. I glance toward where Law usually stands, a habit I’ve developed over time. I can’t help but wonder what he thinks about all this. Would he deny it if I asked him? Would he shrug it off with that calm, collected demeanor, or would his lips twitch into that rare, soft smile that makes my heart flutter even more?

“Come on, Ana!” Shachi’s voice breaks through my thoughts, snapping me back to the moment. “Admit it! You love it!”

I take a deep breath, feeling the sun warm my face and the laughter of my friends wrap around me like a cozy blanket. “Fine, I might enjoy the special treatment a little,” I admit, a shy smile creeping onto my lips. My heart races at the thought of Law’s gaze lingering on me just a moment longer than it does on anyone else.

As I look at my friends, their grins infectious, I can’t help but feel a mix of embarrassment and joy. I may not have all the answers about my feelings for Law, but in this moment, surrounded by laughter and teasing, I feel like I belong—like I’m part of something special.

The teasing about Law begins to wind down and Bepo walks over to us. He gives me a hug, and his boiler suit belt tangles with the chain on my waist. I laugh softly as I unbind it, Bepo blushing slightly. Penguin raises his eyebrows and leans in, eyes harbouring curiosity.

“Hey, Ana,” he says, pointing at the same chain, hanging delicately just atop my belly button, glinting in the sunlight. “What’s with that thing? You always wear it. It’s kind of... unique.”

I instinctively tug at the chain, feeling its familiar weight against my skin. It’s more than just a piece of jewelry; it’s a connection to something I hold dear. “Oh, this?” I reply, trying to sound casual, though I can’t help but feel a twinge of vulnerability at his question. “It’s a keepsake.”

“A keepsake?” Bepo echoes, leaning in closer, his eyes wide with interest. “What do you keep in it? Some kind of treasure?” Well, yeah, I think, in a way.

I bite my lip, deciding whether to share the significance behind it. The memories swirl in my mind like autumn leaves caught in a gentle breeze. “Well, you put tiny locks of hair from people who care for you inside the little charms hanging around here,” I explain, my voice softer as I let the memories with Luffy on Mt. Colubo, and Jinbei on Pop's ship, wash over me. I show off one of the little charms, which are just a tiny bit smaller than my thumb. “You weave the hair onto itself, and lock it up here.”

The air between us shifts as my friends absorb my words. A moment of silence falls, and I can almost feel the weight of their understanding. It’s a way of linking me to the people I care for. The Amazon Lily girls where kind enough to help me with it.

“Wow, that’s really special,” Penguin says, his tone sincere. “I didn’t know. I mean, I just thought it looked cool around your waist.”

“It does look cool,” Shachi adds, nodding appreciatively. “But I get it. It’s like a piece of your history you carry with you.”

I smile at their warmth, grateful for their acceptance. “Yeah, it helps me remember them, and keep the people I love close to me,” I say, the corners of my mouth lifting in a fond smile. Luffy. Jinbei. I hope you are both well.

“I do have to ask—how did you end up with their locks of hair? Did you cut ‘em off when they weren’t looking?” Penguin’s tone is playful, and it lightens the mood, causing us all to laugh.

I chuckle, rolling my eyes at his antics. “No, I didn’t steal them! I asked and they gave them to me.”

Bepo shuffles over closer, his large, furry form somehow managing to look both clumsy and endearing. He tilts his head, his big eyes sparkling with sincerity. “Um, Ana?” he says hesitantly, as if he’s weighing his words carefully. “Can I give you a lock of my hair?”

I blink, taken aback by the unexpected question. My heart swells at the thought, but I’m left momentarily speechless, my eyes wide with surprise. “What?” I manage to stutter, caught off guard by the sincerity of his offer.

Bepo fidgets, his ears twitching slightly. “You said it was to keep the people that love you closer to you,” he explains, his voice earnest. “So... I thought maybe—”

Before he can finish, I feel a wave of emotion wash over me. The kindness in his gesture touches something deep within, and I can feel the tears pooling in my eyes. “Oh, Bepo...” My voice catches in my throat, and suddenly, I’m overwhelmed. I can’t hold back the tears that spill down my cheeks, each one a testament to the warmth of their friendship and the love that surrounds me.

Bepo’s eyes go wide with concern. “Oh no! I didn’t mean to make you cry!” he exclaims, rushing to my side. His clumsy attempts to comfort me only make me smile harder through my tears.

“Wait, that’s actually a good idea!” Shachi jumps in, his eyes lighting up. “I want to give you a lock of mine too! I mean, if it helps keep us all close, right?”

“And me too!” Penguin adds, nodding enthusiastically. “Let’s all give her a lock of hair! We can start a whole collection!”

I can hardly believe what I’m hearing, a mix of surprise and affection bubbling inside me. “You guys... you really don’t have to,” I say, touched by their enthusiasm. “But it means so much to me that you’d even consider it.”

“Of course, we care!” Penguin exclaims, beaming at me. “You’re like family now!”

“I’d love to have something from all of you,” I admit, the warmth in my chest intensifying. “But don’t worry about me; it’s enough just to know you care!”

Just as I’m about to say more, I feel the tears spill over again. The kindness in their gestures, in the offers from Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi, fills me with emotion. My voice quivers as I say, “You all are amazing.”

Bepo’s eyes go wide with concern. “Oh no! I didn’t mean to make you cry!” he exclaims, rushing to my side.

“Yeah, Ana, don’t cry!” Penguin adds, his voice earnest and sincere. “We just want you to feel loved!”

“I love it,” I say, sniffling as I wipe my eyes. “I love all of you.” The words spill out before I can stop them, and I feel the warmth of their friendship enveloping me like a comforting blanket.

At that moment, Law walks by, his expression shifting from focused to alarmed as he sees me in tears. “What the hell is going on?” he demands, rushing over with urgency. His eyes dart between Bepo, Penguin, and me, concern etching deeper lines on his forehead.

I look up at him, my cheeks wet with tears but my smile wide and genuine. The contrast seems to throw him off; he reaches over, gripping my arms gently. He rubs up and down my upper arms. “Hey,” he whispers, his voice dropping to a softer tone, laced with worry. “Are you okay?”

Despite the tears, I can’t help but beam at him, the warmth in my chest expanding. “I’m okay, really!” I assure him, my voice still quivering but filled with affection. “Bepo just... he wanted to give me a lock of his hair!”

Law’s expression softens, the concern in his eyes slowly melting away into something more tender. “What?” he says, glancing at Bepo, who nods enthusiastically. “You’re crying over that?”

“It’s just so sweet!” I burst out, laughter mixing with my tears. “It’s just so nice to know you guys care!”

Law looks between us, a small smile creeping onto his face as he shakes his head. “You’re impossible,” he says, a hint of exasperation in his tone, but the warmth in his gaze tells me he’s not annoyed—he’s touched. It doesn’t escape me that his hand shifts to my back, just atop the scar. I think he’s about to step away, but he leaves it there, and stands close to me as I wipe my crocodile tears away.

Later on, as I walk to my cabin to lay down for a bit and just do nothing, my eyes shift to a piece of paper laying on top of my pillow. It’s folded, and below it is a box. My eyebrows scrunch up in confusion, as I walk towards the bed and sit on top of it, reaching for the note. My heart nearly busts out of my chest as I read the words.

“From the people that love you.”

I recognize the delicate, sharp, curved, handwriting. I’ve been staring at it every day for the past weeks. A knot tightens around my throat that leaves me speechless. I slowly reach towards the box and open it. In it I find not three locks of hair, but four. Two brunettes, one white, and one… black.

Chapter Text

My firelight,

I feel like I must address the last moments we spent together… as a couple, I mean.

You know as well as I do, things started to shift once you shared your plans with me. The day you told me you wanted to make Pops the King of the Pirates—it was the first time I saw you take on a dream that, in my eyes, felt more like an obsession. You spoke with such fire, such conviction, like it was something you’d been carrying for years, but I couldn’t see it the way you did. I remember telling you, "Pops is already a king in his own right—of the hearts of those who love him." But you wouldn’t back down. I saw it in your eyes; nothing else could match the passion you felt for that goal.

It was then that I knew our paths were beginning to split. As much as it hurt to let go, I knew I needed to find my own place, just as you had found yours. So, with Pops’ blessing, I left to study medicine on that quiet, scholarly island. A part of me hoped that by stepping away, we’d each find what we truly needed. I spent a year surrounded by books and the hum of seasoned doctors and scholars, throwing myself into every lesson, hoping the ache you left behind would start to fade.

But fate has a strange way of keeping us connected, doesn’t it? Even a year apart couldn’t erase you from my heart, and when I met you again by chance, in Alabasta, it was as if no time had passed. I never told you this, but my hands shook the moment I saw you. All that love, all those memories—it came rushing back with a force that left me breathless.

Then, as if the world knew just what we needed, Luffy found us not long after. I can still picture the look on his face when he realized we were both there—it was like he’d been waiting years for that moment. In some way, I think he had been. I remember the three of us laughing like old times, like no one else existed but the three of us, as if we were back to those days where it was just you, me, and him.

Luffy had this innocent, glowing happiness about him; he didn’t see the things that had changed. He didn’t need to know we’d broken up. It was easier, I think, for both of us to keep it from him. We pretended, for his sake, and maybe for ours, that nothing had changed. For those few days, we slipped back into who we used to be, and in some ways, I felt like I had my firelight back.

But when I looked into your eyes, I could still see that dream burning fiercely within you—the one that had driven us apart. Another obsession had consumed you, trying to answer for that bastard Teach’s crimes, as though you felt like you had to pay for them yourself. I knew you were trying to pay off something else—your past, your name, your blood relation to Gol D. Roger. And so I didn’t let myself hope too much. I knew, deep down, that we were different people with different paths. As much as I wished we could stay in that moment forever, the fire within you was too strong. And that fire—it’s what I loved about you and what I had to let go.

We shared a few quiet nights in Alabasta, just you and me beneath the vast desert sky. The air was thick with warmth, and the stars seemed to burn brighter there, as if reflecting the fire in both our hearts. We’d sit on the edge of the town, talking softly, letting our voices fill the silence that lay between us, words spilling out about all we’d seen and done in the year we’d been apart. It was like catching up with a part of myself I’d forgotten. You’d listen so intently, the way you always did, and when you’d laugh, it would echo into the night, comforting me like an old melody I’d missed.

Sometimes we’d fall silent, just staring up at the stars. You’d reach over and take my hand, like you used to, your thumb tracing small circles along my knuckles. In those moments, it felt like you hadn’t changed—that we were still the same two kids dreaming under the same sky. But then I’d catch a glimpse of that look in your eyes, that determined fire I could never extinguish, and I’d remember why I’d had to let you go.

One night, we wandered through the marketplace just as the last stalls were closing. You bought me a small bracelet from an old vendor—a simple thing, woven from colored thread. You smiled as you tied it around my wrist, and for a moment, I felt that familiar warmth, that sense of belonging. You looked at me with such tenderness, like I was the only person who mattered to you. I wanted to believe it; I wanted to let myself think that we could still be what we once were. But even then, I knew that our paths had grown too different.

On our last night, we sat together just outside the city, listening to the soft sounds of the desert. You held me close, and I could feel your heartbeat, steady and strong. I rested my head against your chest, breathing in the scent of you, memorizing every detail. Neither of us spoke. I think we both knew that this was the last time we’d have a night like that, just the two of us. The silence said everything we couldn’t bring ourselves to put into words.

As dawn began to break, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, you turned to me with a look I’d never seen before—one filled with a quiet, solemn intensity. You took my hands in yours, your thumbs tracing gentle circles on my skin, and I could feel the words forming before you even spoke.

“I love you,” you said, voice soft but unwavering. “I’ve never known a love like yours—so selfless, so unconditional. I’ll carry it with me, always. No matter where I go, you’ll be with me, even if it’s from a distance. I want you to know that.”

Tears welled in my eyes, and I let my fingers tighten around yours, as if I could somehow hold on to this moment forever. I looked up at you, my heart swelling, and I told you that I love you, just the same. You’ve always been a light in my life that burns brighter than the sun, Ace. Even though you’re walking a path I can’t follow, I’ll feel you close every time the sun warms my skin.

For a moment, we stood there, bathed in the first light of morning, our hearts open and vulnerable, laying everything bare. The world seemed to grow still around us, and it was just you and me, sharing the truest parts of ourselves, even as we prepared to let go. I saw the emotions flicker in your eyes, and I knew you felt it too—a sense of finality, a love that had to remain but could no longer stay the same.

We embraced, holding each other one last time, the warmth of the sun rising behind us. As I pulled away, I knew that this love, however distant it might become, would always be a part of us. Neither of us moved, hesitant to break the fragile peace that had settled between us. Your eyes met mine, and without a word, you leaned forward, closing the distance between us, our lips meeting in a kiss that was as soft as it was desperate. There was an ache in that kiss, a deep, unspoken longing, as if we were each trying to memorize the other, to hold on to every second we had left.

With gentle hands, you guided me back, and we found each other in a way that words could never capture. Our bodies moved together, a rhythm as familiar as breathing, yet tinged with the knowledge that this was goodbye. Every touch was a whisper of all the things we couldn’t say, all the hopes and dreams that would remain unfinished. We held each other close, our hearts beating in time, each moment stretching out like it could last forever.

We made love slowly, savoring each caress, every kiss, and with each touch, I felt the weight of what we were leaving behind. Your fingers traced my skin, as if committing it to memory, and I closed my eyes, letting myself get lost in you one last time, the fire and warmth of your embrace burning itself into my soul.

When it was over, we lay together, our breathing slowing as the first rays of light touched our faces. We stayed there in the silence, tangled together, neither of us willing to let go. Finally, you pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, whispering, “I’ll carry this with me, Ana. Always.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks as I nestled into your chest, listening to your heartbeat, wishing I could make it last forever. But I knew that this was our farewell, our final gift to each other—a moment of love that would live on, even when we couldn’t.

And so, as we held each other under the light of the breaking dawn, I let myself believe, just for a little while longer, that the world could stop for us, that maybe, somehow, this wasn’t really goodbye.

When we met again, my world had fallen into chaos, a whirlwind of emotions and sounds that blended into an unrecognizable symphony of despair. I stood on the battlefield, my heart pounding in my chest, an ominous drumbeat echoing my dread as I searched desperately for you among the clamor of clashing swords and the roar of flames.

Then, like a cruel twist of fate, I saw you—my firelight—standing tall, fighting valiantly against overwhelming odds. But in that moment, my heart dropped as I watched you take the hit meant for Luffy, my breath hitching in my throat. It felt as if time itself had frozen, the world around me fading into a dull murmur, until all I could hear was the frantic beating of my heart, a panicked rhythm pleading for you to stay safe.

As you fell, my heart shattered, fragments scattering like ash in the wind. I reached you just as your body hit the ground, the world around me blurring into a haze of anguish. I knelt beside you, cradling your head in my lap, feeling the warmth of your blood seeping through my fingers. Your eyes, usually so bright and filled with life, flickered dimly, and the pain reflected in them tore through me like a knife.

“Ana,” you breathed, your voice barely audible now. “You are… my everything. I love you. Always.”

And with those final words, the warmth drained from your body, leaving behind an aching emptiness that consumed me. The chaos around us faded into silence, the world collapsing as I cradled you in my arms, holding on as tight as I could, wishing I could breathe life back into you.

As I knelt there, surrounded by chaos, I felt the weight of a thousand emotions pressing down on me—grief, anger, despair—but most of all, a profound loneliness that felt insurmountable. You were gone, and in that moment, I realized that the world without you was a world I no longer wanted to be a part of.

The flames of battle raged on, but I was lost in my sorrow, the memory of your smile, your laughter, and the love we shared flickering in the recesses of my mind like a dying ember. And as I closed my eyes, I silently vowed to carry you with me, to keep your spirit alive in every beat of my heart, even as the world around me crumbled.

In the days that followed your departure, the world felt heavy, as if it had lost its color, its warmth. Each morning began with a dull ache in my chest, a reminder of your absence. I found myself wstaring up to the ceiling of the medbay, the echoes of laughter and teasing now hauntingly silent. It was as if a storm had swept through, leaving behind nothing but debris and emptiness.

I turned to writing, hoping that through words, I could reach you, wherever you were. As Pop’s taught us, to write our feelings down as they came up. Each letter was a lifeline, a way to channel my grief and my love into something tangible. As I poured my heart onto these pages, I envisioned you reading them, your laughter echoing in my mind.

My firelight, I wish you could see the sunsets from the deck. They remind me of those evenings on Mt. Colubo, when we would lay together, watching the sky transform into a canvas of oranges and pinks. Those memories are etched in my heart, as vibrant as the colors above us. I will always cherish those moments with the promise of adventure shining in your eyes.

I hope that these words will somehow transcend the void between us, that they will carry my love to you like a whisper on the wind. Each letter became a testament to what we had shared—a reflection of the bond that would never fade, no matter the distance or the separation.

The days turned into weeks, and I found solace in remembering. I thought of Dadan’s hut, where we all huddled together, forging friendships that felt unbreakable. Those days feel like a lifetime ago, but the warmth of our shared laughter is still fresh in my mind. I remember your fierce spirit, the way you never backed down from a challenge, the unwavering loyalty you had for those you loved.

Luffy, too, is a constant presence in my heart. He had become my brother since little, and the connection  felt even stronger in the wake of your passing. I would often catch him looking out at the horizon, and I knew he felt your absence just as keenly. Together, we mourned, but we also celebrated you—the great man you were and the legacy you left behind.

As I write, my thoughts drift to the unbreakable bond we have formed. I know I will always love you, Ace, with a depth that transcends time and space. You were not just a fleeting moment in my life; you were a part of my very being, woven into the fabric of who I am. You taught me about love, about courage, and the importance of living life to the fullest.

I write out of love, of how it will never wane, no matter where life takes me. Even as I move forward, I know I will carry you with me, a beacon of light guiding me through the darkest of nights.

My firelight, you are forever etched in my heart, a flame that will never extinguish. The memories we created together—the laughter, the dreams, the love—will always be a part of me. I will cherish them for the rest of my days.

And so, I write on and on, hoping that somehow my words will reach you, that you know how deeply you were loved and how profoundly you impacted my life. You were the greatest man I had ever met, and in my heart, I know that your legacy will live on, in Luffy, in me, and in the countless lives you touched with your kindness and bravery.

Even in the depths of my sorrow, I find solace in knowing that love never truly dies. It transforms, it evolves, and it continues to burn brightly, even in the face of loss. As I pen my final words in this letter, I whisper a promise to you: Ace, I will keep living, I will honor your memory, and I will love you forever.

Yours, until the last flames of the sun burn out,

Your firefly.

“Ana, come up! You have to take a look at this!”

A raven sits at the top of the rail, a letter bound tightly on its leg. On its seal, a white skull with a red mark across its left eye, and two swords crossed behind it.

“They’re coordinates.”

I breathe a long sigh.

I can say my goodbyes properly now.

Chapter Text

The journey to the island feels long and heavy. I try to keep my mind blank, but every time I close my eyes, memories flood in—flashes of Ace's grin, Whitebeard's hearty laughter, the warmth of a home I’ll never feel again. I’ve played this moment over and over in my head, but now that it’s here, I can hardly breathe. I clutch the keepsake around my waist, letting the charms dig into my skin as deep as possible to feel like they ground me. I can do this, with newfound strength, and with my family close behind me.

When the shore finally comes into view, I stand on the deck, gripping the rail, and swallow down the lump that’s been building in my throat since dawn. The place where Whitebeard and Ace are buried is as serene as it is haunting, the kind of peaceful beauty that only makes the hurt sharper. I’m not sure how I’ll ever find the right words to say goodbye.

After the crew lowers a small boat, I climb down, barely aware of the soft whispers and encouraging nods from the others. They’re giving me space, understanding what this moment means. As I row myself towards the shore, I’m grateful for their quiet respect, even though every stroke feels like a lifetime.

When I finally reach the gravesite, my heart stumbles. Their names are engraved on two stones side by side, and there’s a small pile of mementos left by others who came before me. I fall to my knees, brushing my fingers over Ace's name, then Whitebeard's, and it feels like the world is tilting, leaving me on the edge of something raw and deep.

I close my eyes, trying to summon the courage to speak, to let it all out. The words don’t come easily, but I whisper into the silence, hoping that somehow they’ll hear me. “I’m here now. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

I pull the letters from my bag, feeling the weight of each page—their creases soft from where my hands have passed over them a hundred times. They’re stained in places, with ink smudged from tears and the wear of travel. These aren’t just letters. They’re memories. Each one is a piece of my heart, of everything I couldn’t say when they were here, of everything I still want to tell them. And now, I’m finally letting them go.

I reach for the sake bottle, its glass cold against my fingers as I twist the cap off. The scent hits me immediately—a rich, familiar smell that sends memories racing back. I lift it high and whisper, “To you, Pops, the greatest father I’ve ever known... and to you, Ace, my firelight.” My voice cracks, but I press on. “For all the things I couldn’t say.”

I take a deep, burning swig, feeling the warmth spread through my chest. It’s the same warmth I felt whenever I was in their presence—secure, whole. I set the bottle down, heart pounding as I reach for a large sake cup, one that feels almost too big in my hands. Whitebeard used to drink from cups like these, tilting them back with a laugh that could shake the whole ship.

Carefully, I pour some of the sake into the cup, watching as the liquid catches the fading light of the day. It ripples with a soft glow, the reflection of the setting sun swirling on the surface. I hold the letters in my hands for a moment longer, my fingers tracing over the words one last time. Then, slowly, I place each one into the cup, letting the paper soak in the sake. They crumple slightly, the edges curling as they absorb the liquid, the ink starting to blur and smudge.

I pull a match from my pocket and strike it against the side of the cup, the small flame flickering to life. For a moment, I just hold it there, watching the flame dance. Then I let it fall, and the fire licks up the edges of the letters, swallowing them whole. The smoke rises, mingling with the scent of sake, filling the air with something bittersweet. I watch as the flames grow, consuming the paper until nothing but ash and embers remain.

The letters crackle and spark, each sound echoing in the silence around me. It’s my final goodbye, my heart burning along with the paper. Yet, as the flames begin to die down, I feel a calmness settle over me, a warmth in my chest that feels like them—like they’re here, just for a moment, saying goodbye too.

As the last of the flames smolder out, I stare at the ashes, letting the silence fill the space around me. It’s almost peaceful here, as if they’re right beside me, watching over me one last time. I take a shaky breath, feeling the cool breeze brush against my skin.

“Pops… Ace…” I start, my voice barely more than a whisper. “You don’t have to worry about me. Not anymore.”

The words seem to drift out into the air, hanging there, carrying with them the weight of my heart. I kneel down, placing a hand on the earth, feeling the connection between us, even now. “I’ve found a new family,” I continue, a small smile breaking through the sadness. “They’re not like any other crew. They’re… something special. They drive me crazy sometimes, but they make me laugh, make me feel like I belong.” I chuckle softly, wiping a stray tear that sneaks its way down my cheek. “They’re so different from anything I’ve ever known, but I love them deeply.”

I close my eyes, letting myself picture each face. Bepo’s loyal, steady presence; Shachi and Penguin’s endless teasing and infectious laughter; Ikkaku’s strength and kindness, the way she’s always watching over us. And Law… well, Law’s his own complicated storm. But even he has a way of making me feel safe, like I’ve finally found a place to call home.

“They’ve given me something I thought I’d never have again. I get to be a part of something, to love and be loved, to laugh, to live. I wish you could see it,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I wish I could bring them here and introduce them to you. I think you’d both like them… or at least, you’d know why I chose them.”

I pause, staring up at the sky as the sun begins to dip lower, the soft colors of twilight spreading over the horizon. “You’re still with me, both of you. You’re a part of everything I do. And I’ll keep living, keep fighting, just like you taught me. I promise.”

A warm breeze rushes over me, stirring the ashes that remain, and I close my eyes, letting it wash over me. “Thank you, Pops, for giving me a place to belong when I had nothing. Thank you, Ace, for showing me what it means to love with everything you’ve got. You were my first love… and I’ll carry that with me forever.”

Another tear slips down my cheek, but this time, it feels different—lighter, somehow. “Rest easy now, okay? I’ll be fine. I’m stronger than I look, you both know that. I’ll take care of myself, and my new family, too. I’ll make you both proud.”

I let my hand linger on the ground, feeling the earth beneath my fingers as if it’s a direct line to them. And, for just a moment, I swear I feel them there, like a soft warmth wrapping around my heart. The last light of the sun fades, the sky slipping into a gentle twilight, and I whisper my final goodbye, a promise wrapped in love and resolve.

I look down, fingers trailing over the earth, tracing a path as if it leads to where Ace is. I swallow hard, feeling the words stick to the back of my throat, but I push them out.

“Ace,” I whisper, my voice low. “There’s something you must know. I’m… I’m feeling my heart beat again.”

The words settle into the quiet around me, and a part of me waits, like I’m expecting him to respond, to say something back. I sit in that silence, eyes closed, letting the weight of it all press against me. Inside, I feel a strange mixture of guilt and hope, tangled together like an intricate knot I can’t quite unravel. I can’t ignore it, though; I can’t pretend it isn’t there.

I open my eyes, breathing out, as if speaking the truth has freed something inside me. “It’s not easy, and it doesn’t mean I’ll ever love you any less, Ace. But I know I owe you this. I need to tell you because… well, I want you to know that I’m moving forward, that I’m finding reasons to live again, to smile, to feel. I carry you in my heart with every step I take, but I’m letting myself reach for something I feel. “

It’s confusing and messy, but it’s real. And even though I don’t know what’s ahead, I feel like they’re with me, giving me strength, reminding me it’s okay to find happiness again. It’s okay to let my heart beat.

“I hope you understand,” I whisper. “I’ll love you forever, but I know you’d want me to keep living. And… that’s what I’m doing, Ace. I’m living.”

I take one last look at the graves, feeling a strange peace settle over me, like a soft, steady pulse in my chest. I close my eyes and breathe in the salty air, letting it fill my lungs. "Goodbye," I whisper, voice filled with warmth, a smile tugging at my lips. "I won’t forget you. Not now, not ever."

With that, I turn and walk back to the Polar Tang, the waves lapping gently against the shore as if urging me onward. Each step feels lighter, like I’m leaving behind the heaviness I carried for so long, and by the time I reach the sub, I feel ready—free, even.

The crew is waiting for me just outside, eyes filled with quiet expectation. They all straighten up a bit when I come into view. Bepo steps forward first, his usual warmth in his eyes as he gives me a small, concerned smile.

“You okay, Ana?” he asks, his ears twitching slightly.

I nod, my heart swelling as I take in their familiar faces, each one of them grounding me, reminding me of the family I have now. "Yeah," I say, letting a bright smile break across my face. "Actually, I feel… really good. Happy, even."

Louie scratches the back of his neck, a small grin forming as he looks between the others. “You sure you’re not just saying that?”

I shake my head, the smile never fading. “No, I mean it. I let them go, you know? I told them everything I needed to. I feel like I can finally breathe again.”

Jean Bart crosses his arms, looking satisfied. “Good to hear. Letting go isn’t easy, but…” He glances around at the rest of the crew, his voice softening. “It’s kind of nice to know they’re always with you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I reply, feeling a warmth spread through me. “They’re still here, in my heart. And I don’t feel like I’ve lost them. Not really.”

Law steps forward, eyes a little softer than usual, and though he says nothing, I can feel his presence steadying me. He clears his throat, his voice gentle. “You did well. They’d be proud of you.”

I look up at him, and for a moment, we just hold each other’s gaze, a quiet understanding passing between us. Then I break into a grin, feeling that sense of peace wrap around me like a comforting blanket.

“Thank you, all of you,” I say, my voice brimming with gratitude. “For being here, for giving me a place to come back to. I couldn’t ask for more.”

They each respond with a smile, nod, or gentle touch on my shoulder, and together we head back into the sub. As we move forward, I can feel the last of my burdens melt away, replaced with a sense of belonging. This is my crew, my family, and no matter where we go next, I know I’ll never walk alone.

The evening air in the sub feels different, somehow lighter. I rejoin the crew, and everyone is gathered in the dining hall, grinning at me like they’ve been waiting. There’s a plate of food at my usual spot, and a few bottles of sake, along with some beers, are spread across the table.

“Dinner’s on celebrating great people tonight,” Shachi says with a wink, pulling out a chair for me.

I smile, warmth spreading in my chest as I sit. Penguin slides over a glass of sake, and Bepo takes his usual place by my side, ears perked up with a gentle, comforting expression. Law is across from me, arms crossed, leaning back in his chair as he observes.

“Here’s to the memories of great people,” he says, his voice steady but softer than usual.

I lift my glass, and the rest of the crew follows, each one’s face shining with shared reverence.

“To Whitebeard,” I start, swallowing past the tightness in my throat. “A king in heart and soul. And to Ace, the brightest flame I’ve ever known.”

The crew echoes my words, raising their glasses high. I sip the sake, letting the warmth spread through me as memories flash before my eyes. Whitebeard’s laughter, Ace’s mischievous grin—they fill the room around me as though they’re here in spirit, sitting right beside me, laughing with the crew.

The conversation picks up, and I find myself smiling, my heart lighter. We’re sharing stories about our own memories, each one more ridiculous than the last. Shachi and Penguin chime in with tales about their wild adventures on the seas, and Bepo’s laughter rumbles beside me.

As dinner begins, the air fills with the rich aroma of food. I catch glimpses of steaming plates piled high with fish, freshly grilled and drizzled with sauce, alongside colorful vegetables. The crew digs in with enthusiasm, and I can’t help but join in, the flavors bursting in my mouth.

“Seriously, who cooked this?” I can’t help to ask, my eyes wide with delight.

“It’s all thanks to our very own Chef Louie,” Penguin boasts, slapping Louie on the back, causing him to nearly drop a piece of food.

Louie grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I might have pulled a few strings to get some fresh ingredients. Gotta impress our new crewmate, right?”

I chuckle, savoring another bite. “Well, you certainly succeeded. You’re telling me I’ve been on dinner duty all this time when you can cook like this? You’ve messed up big time, Lou. I’m never stepping into that kitchen again.”

We laugh deeply, and as we eat, the atmosphere turns jovial. Stories begin to flow, and the laughter rings out around the table like a warm melody. I lean back in my chair, enjoying the camaraderie, the easy banter filling the space.

“Remember that time we tried to catch a giant squid?” Shachi says, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “We ended up capsizing the small boat instead!”

“That wasn’t my fault!” Penguin protests, raising his hands defensively. “You were the one who insisted on using a makeshift harpoon!”

“Oh, please! You were the one steering the boat!” Shachi counters, and their playful arguing makes me smile. I can see how close they are, their friendship built on a foundation of shared adventures and laughter.

I listen as they recount tales of mischief and mayhem, including the time they stole a barrel of sake from a merchant ship, only to find it was empty. I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“And then I fell overboard while trying to grab the last bottle!” Bepo adds, his face lighting up as he recalls the story. “The look on your faces was priceless!”

“You’re a little too big to be falling overboard,” I tease, and Bepo blushes, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

“What can I say? It was a wild night!” he replies, his earnestness only adding to the laughter.

Amidst the chatter, my gaze wanders to Law, who sits quietly, an amused smile playing on his lips as he listens to his crew. It’s rare to see him so at ease, and I feel a warmth in my chest at the sight.

“Hey, Captain,” Shachi calls out suddenly, “how about you share one of your legendary stories?”

Law raises an eyebrow, feigning reluctance. “I’m not sure any of my stories can compare to the grand adventures you lot get up to.”

“Oh, come on! Just one!” Penguin insists, leaning forward with excitement.

With a small sigh, Law finally relents, his tone turning thoughtful. “Alright, but it’s not nearly as exciting as the squid incident. This one involves a run-in with the Marines. We were cornered on a small island…”

As Law begins to narrate, I find myself drawn in, captivated by the way he weaves the tale, effortlessly blending tension and humor. The crew hangs on his every word, laughter erupting at the punchlines while I take in the way he commands their attention, their loyalty unwavering.

I sit back, feeling the warmth of belonging wash over me, and for the first time in a long while, I feel a sense of hope blossom within me. As the stories continue and laughter fills the room, I can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, I’ve found my place among them.

The sub continues to sail under the night. The crew is in high spirits, laughter ringing out across the deck as bottles of sake are passed around. I can feel the excitement bubbling in my chest, and soon enough, I find myself swept up in the merriment, joining in the dancing and revelry.

Shachi spins me around, his laughter infectious as he drags me into the makeshift dance floor, which has formed amidst the swirling energy of our crew. The music blares from a portable dengdengmushi someone managed to bring aboard, and the sound of joyful shouts fills the night air. Everyone seems to be letting go of their worries, lost in the rhythm of the night.

“Come on, Ana! Show us your moves!” Penguin calls out, bouncing on his toes, his cheeks flushed from the sake. I laugh and twirl, matching his energy, the alcohol warming me from the inside out.

The stars glimmer overhead, a dark blanket of velvet sprinkled with diamonds, and I can’t help but feel a sense of freedom enveloping me. It’s as if the weight of my past has finally lifted, and I can breathe deeply without the suffocating weight of sorrow pressing on my heart.

As the party continues, someone suggests moving outside to the deck, where we can dance under the vast sky. The crew cheers and stumbles their way outside, and I follow, feeling a surge of excitement as the cool breeze brushes against my skin. I lean against the railing, soaking in the moment, the laughter of my crewmates ringing in my ears.

“Hey, Captain,” I call out, spotting Law leaning against the wall, observing the festivities with an amused smile. “Do you like music?”

He looks slightly surprised by my question, and after a moment of thought, he replies, “I don’t mind it.” I can tell he’s not entirely sure where I’m going with this.

“I would love to play some while we work in the lab,” I say, my enthusiasm bubbling over.

Must be the sake, because when I catch his gaze, I notice a faint flush creep across his cheeks. “Whatever you like, whatever you want,” he murmurs towards me, his voice steady, but I can see the hint of warmth in his eyes.

But something holds me there, staring deeply into his eyes, the world around us fading away. I can feel the warmth of the alcohol in my veins, the way it makes my heart race just a little bit faster. I can’t turn my eyes away from the deep gray eyes of my captain. There’s always been something about them that captivates me intensely.

“What, is there something on my face?” Law asks, suddenly self-conscious, his brow furrowing slightly.

I don’t respond. I’m too lost in the moment, my heart pounding and my mind swirling. Instead, I let out, “You have very beautiful eyes, Captain.”

Before he can respond, a loud shout breaks through the moment. “Ana! Come over and let’s play a game!” Penguin screams from the center of the deck, waving his arms dramatically.

With a final glance at Law, it takes me everything I have to break the gaze, the moment evaporating as I join Penguin and the others, feeling exhilarated yet strangely tethered to the conversation we just had.

Before I know it, we’re running and dancing, climbing over the top parts of the deck, laughter echoing around us. I don’t even know what we’re playing, but I know I’m having so much fun. The world feels alive, vibrant, and I lose myself in the exhilaration of the moment.

We make our way to the entrance of the sub, where a tall pole stands, glistening under the moonlight. “Let’s climb up!” Shachi shouts, his voice a blend of excitement and mischief. The others cheer in agreement, and without a second thought, we scramble up the pole, laughter erupting as we wave our arms in the air like a bunch of wild children.

“Come on, Ana! You can do it!” Ikkaku encourages from above, her laughter infectious. I grip the pole, my heart racing as I pull myself up, feeling the rush of the wind against my skin.

“Just a little higher!” Penguin cheers, and I can’t help but laugh at their enthusiasm, feeling emboldened. The camaraderie swells around me, pushing me to reach for the top.

As I climb, my foot slips momentarily on the slick surface, and my heart skips a beat. “Whoa!” I exclaim, trying to regain my balance. I manage to steady myself again, but the joy of the moment has me distracted, my laughter mingling with the others.

“I’m on top of the world!” I shout, throwing my arms wide open as I reach the highest point. But just as I do, the platform beneath me shifts slightly, and suddenly, I lose my grip.

“Ahhh!” I cry out as I slip and tumble down from the platform. As I tumble down, I feel a rush of air and then a hard thud as my head connects with the deck. Stars burst behind my eyelids, and for a moment, everything spins. The laughter around me feels distant, muffled, as though I’ve plunged into a bubble of warmth and confusion.

Bepo is the first to notice, his white fur standing out against the night as he rushes over, worry etched on his face. “Ana!” he calls, and I can barely register his voice over the ringing in my ears. I start laughing, unable to understand what the hell just happened.

But then I see Law, his tall frame cutting through the singing and dancing bodies, moving swiftly toward me. There’s an intensity in his gaze that pulls me back from the edges of the spinning world. He kneels beside me, and I can feel his presence anchoring me, grounding me.

“Anastasia? Anastasia, can you hear me?” he brushes my hair out of my face and rests his hand on the crook of my neck. His deep eyes’ stare changing between mine, probably looking for any signs of a concussion on my face.

“Ana?” he goes again, “Ana, heart, are you okay?” His voice is a mixture of concern and urgency, and it wraps around me like a lifeline. I can’t help but laugh, a bubbly sound that escapes my lips despite the dizzying sensations swirling in my head.

In the haze of my laughter, I feel the warmth of one of his hands snake around my waist, gently cradling me, his touch radiating through my body as he holds me. I’m not quite sure if I’m laughing or if I’m dreaming, but in this moment, nothing else matters. I feel dizzy.

Finally, as I blink away the stars, his words register, cutting through the fog. My heart swells, and tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I take a short breath once I register his words.

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said my name,” I whisper, gazing up at him with an almost childlike wonder.

His brow furrows in confusion, and I can see the concern still lingering in his eyes. But in that moment, all I feel is happiness. The world around us fades, leaving just the two of us suspended in this bubble of connection, and my heart races at the realization of how close we are.

Noticing the intensity of the moment, Bepo glances around at the small crowd that has gathered, curiosity and concern written on their faces. He waves his paws in a gentle, dismissive motion, his voice calm and reassuring. “It’s okay, she’s fine! Keep it up!”

With that, he turns and walks away, leaving us in our own little world. The laughter and music fade into the background, replaced by the soft sound of my heartbeat thrumming in my ears. I feel a sense of gratitude wash over me for Bepo's instinct to give us space, allowing this precious moment between Law and me to stretch and breathe.

I can feel Law's hands still resting on me, his expression shifting from concern to something softer, something almost protective. As the night sky hangs above us, filled with shimmering stars, I can't help but marvel at how, in the middle of this vast ocean, it’s just the two of us here.

I do notice the sudden shift in Law's expression as my words hang in the air, though. I can see it in his eyes, the way they widen slightly as the truth of my words washes over him. It hits him like a freight train, and I can’t help but smile softly at the effect my words have on him. I know he’s always been careful around me, intentionally keeping his distance by not saying my name, and suddenly, it feels like everything has shifted. This moment is no longer just a fleeting connection; it’s intimate, electric, and raw.

The laughter and revelry around us fade into the background as the world narrows. My heart races, both from the thrill of the night and the undeniable fact that Trafalgar Law has folded, and in doing so has said my name. The very thing that had kept this whole thing distanced, this whole thing from turning true. Real. I see it in the way he swallows hard, his gaze lingering on me as if he’s trying to decipher a puzzle he never expected to solve.

I laugh brightly, the sound bubbling up from deep within me, ringing through the air. The world feels soft around the edges, and even the throbbing in my head seems like a distant memory. Law’s expression shifts from concern to something almost tender as he helps me sit up, his hands gentle but firm on my arms.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, still kneeling beside me, and I can see the glint of worry in his eyes. The intimacy of the moment makes my heart flutter, and I want to tell him that I’m more than okay—that this feeling, this connection, is something I’ve craved for so long.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I assure him, my voice slightly breathy as I take a moment to gather myself. I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks, but it’s not just from the fall or the laughter—it’s from the way he’s looking at me, as if I’m the only thing that matters in this chaotic night.

In a burst of courage fueled by the drink, I reach out and grasp Law's wrist, pulling him closer. His surprise is evident, wide-eyed and slightly open-mouthed, and my heart races at the contact. It’s as if the warmth of the night and the thrill of our shared laughter have broken down the walls between us.

“Say it again, please,” I urge, my voice a whisper, desperate for that intimacy to echo between us once more. The way he said my name—it felt special, like a secret shared in the depths of a starlit sky.

His expression shifts, a mix of astonishment and something deeper swimming in his eyes. He hesitates for a moment, and I can almost see the gears turning in his mind, the weight of what it means to call me by my name settling heavily in the air.

I see him hesitate. I see the cogs turning inside his head. And after what feels like an eternity of me holding my breath, he speaks.

“Be careful up on the platforms, Ana,” He pulls me closer just as I hear Shachi and Penguin calling out for me to join them again. I stare up at him, and even though I can’t see my expression I bet it is nothing short to what a kid has on his face during christmas morning.

“Go,” he says softly, and then leans down closer to my ear, his left hand holding me by the back of my neck while his right found it’s usual place atop the scar on my back. Whispering, he says, “I’ll be here if you fall again.”

I’ll be here if you fall again. His words echo inside my head. I silently count all the ways he’s been there when I’ve fallen. Fallen in battle. Fallen sick. Fallen asleep. Fallen from the deck. Fallen in…

.

.

.

I’ll be here if you fall again.

Chapter Text

I find myself walking through the mist, my footsteps barely making a sound on the damp earth beneath me. The familiar heaviness presses down on my chest, the sensation of being watched, followed—those eyes are here again. I can feel them, tracing every step I take, silently judging, evaluating.

Ahead of me, the shape of a shrine begins to emerge through the fog, just like before. My pulse quickens, but I press on, drawn toward it as though something inside me knows this is where I need to be. There’s a low sound, almost like a purr of approval, as if I'm making the right choice, though I’m not sure what that choice is yet.

When I reach the shrine, there’s a table at the center, small and simple. Three items rest on top, illuminated by the faint, unnatural light seeping through the mist. My heart pounds as I approach it. The first thing I see is my keepsake—a chain, delicate and familiar. I reach out and touch it, the metal cool against my fingers. Beside it lies a surgical knife—sharp, clean, and precise, gleaming under the muted light.

The third object makes me freeze. A heart, encased in a small box. It’s unnerving, almost too perfect, too lifelike. The sight of it sends a shiver down my spine. What does it mean? Why are these three things here, together?

I stand there, staring, my breath catching in my throat, as the eyes follow me still, waiting for my next move.

My mind races with the possibilities, but somehow, instinct pulls me in a different direction. Before I make any decision, before I even think of touching the items, I step back from the table.

I turn toward the shrine, and without really thinking, I fall into a rhythm that feels natural, almost like a memory surfacing. I bow once, lowering my head toward the earth in respect. I bring my hands together and clap twice, the sound echoing in the heavy mist, cutting through the quiet. My hands stay pressed together as I close my eyes and bow again, silently offering a prayer.

I don’t know who or what I’m praying to—maybe to those eyes watching me, maybe to something larger that’s beyond my understanding. But my heart whispers the words anyway, a soft plea for guidance, for strength…for clarity.

The shrine stands silent before me, but something feels different now. Warmer. Like a weight has been lifted, or maybe shifted.

I turn back to the table, my eyes falling on the objects again. The keepsake, the scalpel…those I understand. They’re pieces of me, parts of my life. The keepsake, a symbol of love and loss, of those I’ve held close. The scalpel, my craft, the tool that shapes my purpose. Both feel right, like they belong to me.

But the heart? My brow furrows as I stare at it. It’s not beating. Why is it here?

I glance around, feeling the weight of those eyes pressing down on me even more now, their gaze sharpening as if waiting for my next move. I close my eyes for a moment, steadying my breath, and slowly reach out my hand. My fingers tremble as they hover over the heart. There's a part of me that hesitates, unsure of what will happen.

But I can’t stop myself.

As soon as my fingers wrap around the heart, warmth floods through me. The moment I lift it from the table, it pulses with life. It starts to beat, slow and steady at first, then faster. Each thud vibrates through my whole body, louder and louder, as if it’s syncing with my own heartbeat. The eyes watch me closely, their gaze now intense, almost predatory.

Then, out of nowhere, a deafening roar erupts, shaking the shrine. It’s so powerful that the ground beneath me trembles, and I feel the heartbeat thundering in my chest.

My eyes snap open, and I’m gasping, drenched in a cold sweat. The roar still echoes faintly in my ears, but the mist, the shrine—it’s gone. I blink, my heart still racing, trying to gather my bearings.

I’m not in my bed. I’m in Law’s study. But how…?

I shake the dream off as I sit up, my mind still foggy. Dreams like this have been coming and going for a while now, lingering in the corners of my thoughts. I’ve tried not to dwell on them too much—maybe it’s grief, or the weight of everything I’ve lived through, all of it clawing its way into my subconscious, trying to communicate something. But I can’t make sense of it, and frankly, I’m too tired to care right now.

What I do notice, though, is the sharp, pounding headache creeping over me. The familiar heaviness of a hangover settles in, and I groan, burying my face in my hands. As the pounding gets worse, flashes of last night start coming back in waves—laughing with the crew, the drinks, the stupid games we played. I feel like throwing up just thinking about it.

But then… Law.

My breath catches, and despite the nausea, a blush creeps up my cheeks. I remember the way he said my name. It wasn’t just "Ana"—he said "Anastasia." I hadn’t realized how much I wanted to hear him say it until those words left his mouth, and now I can’t shake the feeling it left behind. Warmth blooms in my chest, replacing the pounding headache for just a second. I shouldn’t feel this way—it’s ridiculous, really—but I do.

I glance around, my eyes adjusting to the dim light of Law’s study. Wait… how did I even get here? I furrow my brows, trying to piece together the fragments of last night, but the memory cuts off right after the round of shots Ikkaku prepared. Everything after that? A blur.

I rub my temples, wincing as the pounding headache refuses to ease up. Did I come here on my own? Did someone carry me? My cheeks flush at the thought, but I shake it off. No point in trying to figure it out right now.

I stretch out my legs and slowly stand, my body protesting with every movement. My stomach churns, and I can't help but wonder if the others feel as hungover as I do. The last thing I remember was us drinking like there was no tomorrow—surely, I’m not the only one paying for it now.

With a groan, I decide to head to the mess hall. If anyone else is suffering from this same miserable hangover, they’re bound to be there, probably nursing a cup of water or coffee. At least I can find some company in our shared misery.

When I step into the mess hall, I’m greeted by a pitiful sight. The crew is scattered around the table, slumped over their coffee mugs, talking in hushed whispers, their hands pressed to their temples like they’re holding their heads together. No one looks up at first, just a chorus of half-hearted grunts acknowledging my presence.

“Damn, you guys look as bad as I feel,” I say, my voice scratchy.

Ikkaku, slouched in her seat with dark circles under her eyes, lifts her head just enough to give me a tired smirk. “Right back at ya, sister.”

I wince slightly. I hadn’t even thought to look in the mirror this morning. No wonder I feel like death warmed over. My hand instinctively brushes my hair, and I suddenly have the overwhelming urge to check how bad I really look. Spotting a cupboard door with a decent reflection, I hop onto it and try to smooth out my hair, fix my collar, and straighten myself out.

Why am I doing this? The thought creeps up on me, uninvited. It's just the crew, and they all look like death too, so what does it matter? But my fingers linger on my hair a moment longer, and I catch my own gaze in the reflection. Why does it matter?

Then, as if answering my own question, my mind flashes back to last night—Law saying my name for the first time, his voice gentle, like he was speaking to someone he really cared about. The memory makes my face flush, and I find myself straightening my shirt just a bit more.

Why do I suddenly want to look… presentable? Why does it feel like he might walk in any second and I can’t be caught looking like a disaster?

I let out a sigh, shaking the thought away. I’m being ridiculous. He’s not even here right now. But still…

As if my thoughts had summoned him, the door to the mess hall creaks open, and in walks Law, holding a large tumbler in one hand. His presence fills the room like a sudden gust of wind, and my heart skips a beat.

“All right, everyone, line up,” he says, his voice calm but firm, carrying that effortless authority he has. The moment I hear him speak, I feel myself standing up a bit straighter, and—strangely—the nausea that’s been sitting heavy in my stomach seems to evaporate.

I peak over the top of the cupboard, but he doesn’t see me yet. The crew is already moving, shuffling into a line with their empty glasses, blocking me from his view. One by one, they step up to him, and he begins filling their cups with whatever concoction he’s brought. I watch as each of them mutters a quiet, grateful “Thanks, Cap,” before shuffling back to their seats.

It’s oddly peaceful, watching him go through the motions, taking care of them in his own way. Even with a pounding headache, I can’t help but notice how... steady he is. And though I’m still tucked out of sight, I find myself almost holding my breath, waiting for when it’ll be my turn.

I lean toward Bepo and whisper, "What’s that?"

Bepo, who somehow looks none the worse for wear—probably because he's a big bear and all—glances at me with a soft chuckle. “It’s a mix of electrolytes, salts, and minerals,” he says in that calm, steady voice of his. “Special recipe developed by the captain himself. It cures a hangover in no time.”

I blink, surprised. Of course, Law would have something like that up his sleeve. I glance back toward the line forming in front of him, the crew looking a little more alive with every sip. Maybe I should get in on that.

Still, I can't help but watch Law for a moment longer, taking in the way he moves so efficiently, the weight of last night lingering in my mind.

I feel a sudden flutter of nerves churning in my stomach at the thought of talking to Law. It’s silly, really—after everything we’ve been through, why should I feel this way? Still, the memory of last night lingers, his voice whispering my name echoing in my mind. I can’t help but feel a rush of heat in my cheeks.

“Bepo,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Can you fill my cup for me?”

He nods without hesitation, his gentle demeanor comforting. “Sure, Ana.”

“Thanks. I, um, need to go to the bathroom.” I hurriedly make up the excuse, not wanting to admit the truth—how I just need a moment to breathe, to gather my thoughts.

“Okay! I’ll take care of it,” Bepo replies cheerfully as I slip past him and step out of the mess hall.

As soon as I’m outside, my heart beats loudly in my chest, each thump echoing in my ears. I lean against the cool wall, trying to catch my breath and shake off the flutter of anxiety. What the hell is wrong with me?

As I lean against the wall,  I suddenly hear Law’s voice echoing down the hallway. “You know the drill; I want you back on duty at midday.”

There’s a chorus of “aye’s” in response, followed by Penguin’s voice, slightly exasperated. “No need to shout, Cap.”

Panic rises in me as I hear footsteps approaching the door, and my instincts kick in—I should hide! I should run! But in my frantic attempt to escape, I’m the clumsy, stupid mess that I am, and I end up bumping straight into his chest.

Smooth, Ana.

I stumble back, startled, my cheeks flushing a deep crimson as I look up at him, my heart racing faster than I thought possible. Law stands there, his expression shifts into a soft chuckle. “Morning. Already trying to run from me?”

The cheeky bastard. My face gets even warmer, and I stammer, “Hi, Captain Doctor, sir.”

He smiles softly at the little inside joke, and even though I can’t look at him in the eye, he doesn’t look fazed at all. Does he not remember last night? I desperately want to ask, but instead I blurt out, “Why don’t you look hungover?”

Law raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “You think I’m human enough to suffer a hangover?”

I can’t help but laugh, the tension easing just a little. “I think you might be a bit too good at handling your drinks.”

“Or maybe I just know my limits,” he replies, leaning casually against the wall, his gaze steady on me. I can’t help but admire the way he carries himself, even in the most mundane moments. Is he teasing me? Does he really not remember? The way I saw him so puzzled, so feeble when he said my name, I thought he wouldn’t have wanted to look at me in the eyes. Maybe I don’t know him as well as I think I do.

“Nah, I drank the concoction last night. Sparing myself the ugly morning ahead,” he replies with that signature smirk.

I can’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you do the same for the rest of the crew?”

He shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes. “In the state they were all in, even spoon-feeding them would’ve been a challenge.”

I laugh softly, picturing the chaotic scene in the mess hall. “I can imagine. You’d probably have a few of them trying to bite the spoon instead of drinking.”

“Exactly,” he replies, his smile widening. “And I don’t have time for that. I need you all functioning by midday.”

I nod, still caught in the warmth of his presence. There’s something comforting about our banter, and despite the nervous fluttering in my stomach, I feel more at ease.

“Ana!” Bepo walks out, handing me the concoction. “Well… bottom's up.”

I raise the glass, feeling a mix of determination and anxiety. Law lifts his hand, his expression suddenly serious. “Wait—you shouldn’t—”

But I don’t give him a chance to finish. I down it in one gulp, feeling the tangy liquid slide down my throat. Bepo takes the glass from me, and as I turn to Law, I expect to see that familiar smile. Instead, I find him looking somewhat panicked.

“What?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

“It’s your first time having it,” he explains, his voice tight. “You drank it all in one gulp. Your body might not react kindly to the sudden flux of nutrients.”

My eyes widen, and I feel a rush of heat flood my cheeks. “Why didn’t you say anything before?!”

“I—I tried!” he stammers, clearly flustered.

Just then, as if on cue, I feel a wave of dizziness wash over me. My vision blurs slightly, and I sway on my feet. “Uh-oh…” I mumble, clutching the wall for support. It feels as if my body is rejecting the drink, a sudden warmth creeping over me that makes my head spin even more.

“You foolish girl,” Law mutters lowly as he steps closer, his expression shifting from reprimand to soft concern. “You’re supposed to be a nurse,” he says softly, a hint of frustration lacing his voice. Before I can respond, he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me securely against him. His other hand flattens against my abdomen, steadying me. “Hold onto me. You’re okay. It’s alright.” 

The warmth of his body radiates through the fabric between us, grounding me as I lean into him, grateful for the support. And even though I feel like hell, my body tingles at the sensation of his hand, pressed against me.

He starts leading me somewhere, his voice soft and encouraging. “You’re doing great, just breathe.” Each step sends waves of heat and cold rippling through my body, and I can feel a cold sweat beading on my brow.

As we approach a door I’ve never seen before, Law pauses. “Hold on,” he says, before he uses his fruit. The world around us blurs and twists, and I feel a jolt in my stomach as we’re lifted into the air. I cling to his shoulder tighter, nausea stirring inside me as the sensation of movement overwhelms my senses.

When the wave of dizziness passes, I blink to clear my vision and take in my surroundings. We land gently inside a spacious room, the air thick with a rich, woodsy scent. Dark mahogany floors gleam beneath my feet, and the walls are lined with shelves overflowing with books and framed paintings. My gaze drifts to a large, imposing bed draped with a black sheet, its size dwarfing the room.

I stop dead in my tracks, realization washing over me. This must be Law’s room. The weight of the moment sinks in, and I can’t help but feel a mix of awe and confusion. This is Trafalgar-fucking-Law’s room. I’m in his fucking bedroom.

“Sit here,” he tells me gently, guiding me over to a cushioned stool. He helps me settle in, making sure I don’t tip over. As I watch him, he disappears through another door, leaving me alone in this unexpected sanctuary.

I take a moment to breathe it all in. The air feels different here, almost intimate, filled with hints of cedar and something distinctly him. I wonder if any of the crew has been in this room before. The bed looks neatly made, the sheets perfectly arranged. Does he sleep here? Does he sleep at all?

My thoughts spiral, questions flooding my mind. Why am I here? Why am I more curious about his habits than focused on calming the nausea churning in my stomach? I should be concentrating on feeling better, but all I can think about is Law—how he tends to this room, what he does when he’s alone, and the warmth of his hand against my waist.

The stool sinks slightly beneath me as I shift, and I close my eyes for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that what I’m feeling will pass soon. He’s here.

After a few minutes, the door creaks open, and Law walks back in, his expression serious. He kneels in front of me, his intense gaze locking onto mine, and I can feel the warmth of his presence wrap around me.

“I deeply apologize,” he says, his voice low and steady, “but seeing the state you’re in, you leave me no choice.”

Before I can respond, he effortlessly picks me up, cradling me against his chest. The world tilts as I instinctively wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to him for support. His body feels solid and warm, and a strange comfort washes over me despite the lingering nausea.

I can’t help but breathe in the scent of him—fresh, faintly clinical, and undeniably him. The pounding in my head quiets momentarily as he carries me across the room, his movements careful yet confident. I let out a shaky breath, both grateful and bewildered by this sudden closeness.

He carries me through the room, my heart racing as I try to process everything. As we approach the door he had vanished through earlier, I realize it’s the bathroom.

When he pushes the door open, I’m greeted by the sight of a white marble bathtub filled with steaming water, steam rising in soft tendrils and filling the air with warmth. My breath catches at the sight—it feels oddly serene, like a hidden sanctuary amidst the chaos of the ship.

He puts me down, but his arms remain around me, grounding me as I take in the sight of the bathtub. My medical knowledge kicks in. A hot bath... of course, I think, feeling a sense of clarity wash over me. Just as if reading my thoughts, Law begins to explain, “Your body needs to self-regulate; right now, it needs—”

“Yeah, yeah, homeostasis… and all that jazz,” I cut him off, a small smile creeping onto my lips. There’s no need for him to explain.

He smiles softly in return, as if acknowledging that, of course, I know what he’s talking about. “Hop in; I’ll lock the door behind me,” he says, helping me sit at the edge of the tub, ensuring I’m safe. “Scream if you need anything, though I bet you’ll feel better after a few minutes.”

With a silent nod, but with his eyes full of an emotion I can’t quite place, he walks out and gently closes the door behind him.

I take a deep breath, letting the warmth of the steam envelop me as I slowly undress. Each article of clothing feels heavier than the last, as if the weight of the previous night clings to them. When I finally step into the tub, the hot water swirls around me, instantly easing the tension in my muscles.

The heat seeps into my skin, chasing away the lingering nausea and the remnants of last night’s chaos. I lean back, allowing myself to relax, the soft surface of the water cradling me like a gentle embrace. It feels like the weight of the world is lifting, the steam around me creating a cocoon that shields me from everything outside.

I close my eyes, letting the warmth seep deeper into my bones. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all, I think, the memories of last night slowly fading into a distant haze.

I hear a slight swish and turn my head, curiosity piqued. There, in the corner, is a chair with clothing neatly folded on top. My heart flutters at the sight, realizing that Law has thought ahead.

The soft fabric looks inviting, a stark contrast to the dampness of my current state. I lean forward, momentarily forgetting the soothing heat of the bath as I study the clothes. There’s a black and yellow hoodie, with the heart pirates’ jolly roger on the front, and a pair of shorts, in deep shades of navy that remind me of the ocean.

It’s such a small gesture, but it fills me with warmth. He didn’t have to do this. He could have just left me to recover alone, yet here he is, thinking about my comfort. I take a moment to breathe it in, feeling grateful. After a quick glance toward the door, I decide to embrace the thoughtfulness behind this simple act.

Once I’m feeling steadier, I know I’ll change into them. For now, though, I soak in the warm water, allowing myself to relax a little longer.

I step out of the bathroom, feeling good as new. The hoodie is big on myself, reaching almost mid thigh, and hiding the shorts underneath. But it’s vey, very comfy, and smells really, really good, almost like Law.

The warmth from the bath has washed away the nausea, leaving me refreshed and surprisingly at ease. I take a moment to adjust to the new clothes, the fabric soft against my skin, before I step into the room.

As I emerge, my eyes land on Law, who is sitting at the corner of the bed, sharpening Kikoku. The rhythmic sound of the blade against the whetstone fills the space, a soothing backdrop to the moment. He looks up as I enter, his expression shifting from focused concentration to mild surprise.

“Hey,” I say, my voice slightly shy. “Thanks for... well, everything.”

He nods, a small smile creeping onto his lips, and sets the sword down beside him. “No need to thank me, I should’ve warned you sooner.” He chuckles to himself, “You feel better now?”

“Much better, actually. That bath really did the trick,” I reply, taking a step closer. I can’t help but admire the way he focuses on his task, the way his brows furrow slightly in concentration. There’s something calming about watching him work.

With a newfound courage bubbling inside me, I decide to break the comfortable silence. “Hey, do you know why I woke up in your study?” I ask, tilting my head slightly, curiosity getting the better of me.

Law raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “You fell asleep on the deck after all those rounds of shots. I figured it’d be better to bring you somewhere comfortable,” he explains, his tone casual, but there’s a warmth in his gaze.

I can’t help but feel a flutter of appreciation at his words. “You didn’t have to do that,” I reply, though deep down, I’m grateful. The thought of waking up on the hard deck is less appealing than the idea of being in his study.

“I know, but I wanted to make sure you were safe,” he says softly, tearing his eyes from our shared gaze, looking down. Almost like he didn’t want me to hear that.

“Thank you,” I say softly. The sincerity in my voice surprises even me, and I can see the acknowledgment flicker across his face.

 I take a seat at the edge of the bed and Law’s focus returns to me, a hint of curiosity flickering in his eyes. He picks up Kikoku and leans it on the bed, the blade sharp against the floor between us.

“So, you really didn’t have to carry me to your study, you know,” I say, teasingly nudging him with my foot. “I’m not that fragile.”

He smirks, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “You were totally passed out. Besides, you might’ve scared the crew if they found you asleep on the deck.”

I chuckle softly, picturing the chaos that would have ensued. “I can imagine Bepo rushing to my rescue like some sort of bear knight.”

Law shakes his head, his laughter low and warm. “He’d probably just try to cover you with his coat.”

As we share a light moment, I can’t help but feel comfortable in his presence. I adjust my position, folding one leg up onto the bed in a way that makes me feel cozy and relaxed. But in doing so, I accidentally nudge Kikoku, the sword teetering dangerously on the edge.

“Oh!” I exclaim, my reflexes kicking in as I lean forward to catch it, not wanting it to hit the floor. Law extends his hand as well, thinking the same as me, but I do it quicker. My hand, however, did not make it to the handle, instead meeting the blade.

I brace myself and wince, knowing how powerful and how deep Kikoku can cut. As we’re frozen there, I’m sure Law’s mind is racing on how to patch the cut that will form just as mine is bracing itself for the amounts of blood to come.

I hold Kikoku’s handle with my other hand, and shut my eyes hard, not wanting to see the cut. I slowly tear my fingers off, one by one, and finally, my palm.

There’s nothing there.

No cut, no blood, no nothing.

I blink in disbelief, pulling my hand away fully to inspect it. “What the—?” My voice falters as I turn my gaze to Law, who’s staring at me with wide eyes, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Without thinking, I pull Kikoku into the bed, placing the sword carefully between us. The weight of the blade feels oddly comforting now, almost protective. Law’s eyes flick between me and the sword, his jaw set tight and a deep furrow creasing his brow.

He reaches for my hand, inspecting it with a look of intense focus, as if my very life depends on it. But he doesn’t say anything. My breath catches on my throat. What the fuck?

Kikoku cuts everyone and everything. Kikoku is a cursed blade. Kikoku was supposed to cut me, but it didn’t.

Law softly lets go of my hand. But he doesn’t meet my eyes. He grabs Kikoku and sheaths it, putting it on a sword holder by one of the desks in the room. He stares at it, his mind racing.

“Law?” I ask, almost frightened. I’m not sure if I should interrupt him right now.

“I don’t understand what just happened.” He says, his brow still furrowed. He clears his throat, and tries to shake the thoughts that are seemingly plaguing his mind right now.

“We should, um… we should get back to our duties.” He adds, offering me his hand. I take it, and I notice he grasps it tighlty.

"Yeah,” I say, forcing a soft, awkward smile, unsure of what to say or even what to think.

We step out of the room together, and he still hasn’t let go of my hand. It feels natural, comforting, like we’re tethered together in this whirlwind of uncertainty.

“I had a great time with you all last night,” I blurt, eager to fill the silence that hangs between us.

“We did too,” he replies, a genuine smile breaking across his face. It’s almost as if he’s managed to forget the incident with Kikoku, but I know better.  I also know he doesn’t want to press it further. Not now.

Whatever the hell happened, he’ll probably reach a reasonable conclusion. He knows the blade better than anyone, after all.

“I know we all had a lot to drink… I definitely did,” I chuckle softly, my fingers nervously gripping the sleeves of my hoodie. Come on, Ana, it’s now or never. With a rush of courage, I plunge into the moment. “The last part of the night is a blur for me, but I remember most of it,” I say, biting my lip. “I don’t know if you—”

“I do too, Anastasia.” He looks at me, and in his grey eyes, I see warmth radiating like sunlight breaking through clouds. “I remember all of it.” He squeezes my hand again before letting it go, leaving a faint echo of that connection.

There it is, again. My name, and it sounds almost heavenly coming from his lips. He’s said my name again, I feel giddy that he remembers. That he choses to say it again. That he looks almost like he’s made peace with whatever this is that’s growing between us. I know it’s hard for him, though, to let someone close. For him, the intimacy of a name carries more than a thousand words. But he still chooses to say it.

“Off you go, then,” he nudges my shoulder slightly, a playful gesture in a moment of tenderness. He’s a man of a few words, just like Luffy.

“Alright, alright, see you in the med bay at 12,” I smile back at him as I walk further away, leaning into the hoodie and its warmth.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, Ana,” he emphasizes my name again, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a smile, his gaze steady and intense.

The way he says my name sends a rush of butterflies to my stomach. I can’t help but smile back, feeling both flustered and excited.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Law,” I reply, my heart racing as I turn away, blushing so intensely, it completely escapes me that Law’s cheeks are flushed as well.

Chapter Text

After bidding farewell to Law, and promising that I’d meet him in no time on the medbay, I make my way to my quarters to brush my hair a bit and grab the notebook I was using for notes and the big ass book Law had left me to read. I’m already halfway through, and it is every bit as interesting as I thought it would be. I’m learning so much about surgery, more so than I could have learnt taking care of Pops and the year I was studying with the scholars. I had the basics, yes, but never knowledge as meticulous as what working with Law is providing me.

I try to be as quick as possible, but if I’m being entirely honest, I couldn’t leave him waiting. Not even if I wanted to.

I tie my hair into a ponytail and decide to keep the hoodie on instead of changing into my boiler suit. I make an excuse in my head that it is a bit chilly today, after all. Besides, I don’t think Law will have anything to say if I skip the boiler suit today.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a bright yellow bag I had got in one of the islands we stopped by a week ago. I had bought 5 records and a dengdengmushi that was able to play them. Music had always been a part of me, something I could connect to, and I loved working with it. I want to play some music while we work, and my mind drifts to what Law had said last night. No, not my name, but how I could do 'whatever you like, whatever you want’. And he said it so softly, so intimately, I’m not sure I caught the full meaning of what he meant to say.

As I step out, I meet Ikkaku, who after asking where I’m going tells me she’ll walk with me since she’s heading down to the boiler room. We both feel alright now, the concoction the captain gave us proving to be most miraculous.

As we make our way down, I can’t help but notice how she's been eyeing me curiously for the past few minutes. I can feel her gaze but try to focus on our conversation instead, talking about the inventory we’re supposed to check in a few days.

“Hey, uh, I gotta ask. What's with the hoodie?" she mentions, gesturing with her elbow since her hands were in her pockets.

I glance down, mildly confused at first, did she have a problem with me not wearing the boiler suit? I know it’s like our uniform, but still…

“Oh, I decided to keep comfortable today,” I shrug casually, trying to brush off the moment as nothing. “It was with some clean clothes left for me, so I just... you know, put it on.”

Ikkaku raises a brow, a smirk creeping across her face. "Clean clothes, huh? Left for you? That looks suspiciously just like the captain’s hoodie."

My face flushes immediately. Law's? I tug at the fabric instinctively, like it might suddenly offer answers. “What? No, I didn’t— this isn’t his?,” I stumble over my words, feeling my cheeks warm, and the last part of my sentece sounds more like a question than a statement. “It was just there, I didn’t think of who it belonged to.”

Ikkaku snickers, leaning against the wall, clearly enjoying my embarrassment. "Uh-huh. Sure, sure. You ‘just happened’ to grab his hoodie, huh?”

I fidget awkwardly with the sleeve, feeling a mix of embarrassment and confusion. I genuinely didn’t know, but now that I think about it... it does have that familiar scent, like mahogany and something distinctly him. My stomach flips, but I wave it off. “It’s just a hoodie, Ikkaku. Don’t make it weird.”

She shrugs, still grinning. "I'm just saying, you two have been spending a lot of time together. People might start thinking things." Her tone is teasing, but there’s a playful edge to it, like she knows exactly what she's doing.

“Ha, ha” I huff, swatting at her as I move past her toward the medbay. She follows, laughing at my expense. “We’re both in the same field, dummy. You wouldn’t want me to ask medical advice to Shachi now, would you?”

“Oh, come on, I’m just teasing. But hey, if that’s his way of showing he cares, I say run with it,” she adds with a wink.

I shake my head, but the teasing lingers. As we walk into the hallway that leads to the medbay, I try to shake off the weird flutter in my chest. Law’s hoodie? Really? Why didn’t he say anything? Why did he give it to me?

Before I can overthink it more, I reach into my bag and pull out the records I bought from one of the islands we stopped by. “Okay, enough of that. How about some music?” I change the subject quickly, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Music, huh?” Ikkaku looks at the records in my hand, raising a brow. "Now you're talking. What did you pick?"

“Just some stuff to hear while we work, something that won’t bother the captain too much,” I shrug, setting them aside. "You know, something to lighten the mood in the medbay."

She quirks a brow again. “Music for the cap, too? Wow, Ana, you're full of surprises.”

I shoot her a playful glare. "It’s called being thoughtful. You should try it sometime."

She laughs, “Alright, this is you,” she points to the door of the lab and waves me goodbye.

I step into the medbay, the cool air a familiar welcome. Spotting Law by the counter, I offer a casual smile.

"Hey, you," I greet him, my voice light.

He turns to face me, his gaze steady as always. "Ana," he says softly, his tone carrying that same calm weight and the beautiful sound of my name on his smiling lips.

I glance around and notice something—he hasn’t sat down on the lab table yet. He’s usually there by now, going over charts or mixing compounds while I set my things up. But today, he’s just sitting at his desk, waiting. My heart skips a little as it dawns on me: he’s waiting because I haven’t laid everything out for him yet.

It’s such a small thing, but it makes me feel... needed. Without a word, I start pulling out the usual equipment, setting things up like I always do—the compounds, the medical charts, everything we’ll need for the day. This routine of ours feels natural now, like a rhythm we’ve fallen into. And as I work, I can’t help but feel good, knowing that Law relies on me to have things ready. That he finds me useful.

There's a quiet sense of satisfaction in it—this simple but steady partnership we’ve built in the medbay. I glance back at Law, and he’s still watching, not in a hurry, just trusting me to get it all done. I have to admit, though, his unwavering gaze makes me nervous, and I can feel butterflies going insane in my stomach.

Once everything is set up, I step back to admire the work, all ready for him to start. Law moves toward the table, finally sitting where he usually does, and I catch myself smiling just a little. He notices the yellow bag and stares into it nosily.

“Hey, I remember you mentioning this last night,” he says, his voice quiet but with a hint of amusement. "Music, huh?"

I glance over, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. "Yeah," I reply, trying to sound casual. "You said it was okay, remember?"

He nods, and I see a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "I did."

I reach into it, my hand momentarily grazing his, and pull out the dengdengmushi player and the rsmall ecords I picked up during our last stop. “I thought I’d take you up on it,” I say with a grin, setting up the small player in the corner of the medbay. I carefully place one of the records on, and after a moment, the gentle crackle of vinyl fills the room. The melody that follows is soft, calming—something that won’t distract from the work, just ease the silence.

Law’s eyes follow my movements, and for a second, I catch a faint smirk on his face. “You really went all out, huh?”

“You told me to do what I want,” I remind him, feeling a little more confident now as the music settles in, blending with the steady hum of the room. “So, here we are.”

He leans back slightly, the hint of a smile still lingering as he looks at the charts I laid out. His shoulders relax just a bit, and the atmosphere feels lighter than usual. It’s a small change, but it makes me feel good. Like maybe this place isn’t just about work anymore—like I’m bringing something into it that wasn’t there before.

“You didn’t have to,” he says after a moment, his voice softer now. “But… thanks.”

I glance at him, my heart skipping slightly. Twice in one day, and for the second time, there’s that rare hint of gratitude in his words. I try to play it off, though the warmth in my chest is hard to ignore. “It’s no trouble,” I say, fiddling with the record’s sleeve. “I figured it’d be nice to switch things up a bit.”

He doesn’t say much after that, but there’s a quiet understanding between us, one that feels different from the usual workday routine. Maybe it’s the music, or maybe it’s the fact that last night’s conversation lingers between us in more ways than one. Either way, I feel like we’ve found a rhythm that works for both of us, and that thought makes me smile.

As we dive into our work, I find myself humming along to the gentle melody wafting through the medbay. It’s a tune I can’t quite place, but it feels comforting, almost like a warm embrace as I move through the familiar motions of preparing compounds and checking medical charts. I lose myself in the rhythm, letting the music guide my actions.

After a while, I suddenly feel a presence—a weight in the air that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I glance up and find Law sitting across from me, his gaze fixed intently on me. There’s an intensity in his eyes that sends a flutter through my chest. It’s not a weird stare; it feels more like he’s captivated by something, and I can’t help but wonder what it is.

I can feel my cheeks heat up, and a nervous smile flits across my lips. “What is it?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light, but my heart races in response to the intensity of his gaze.

At my words, Law seems to snap out of whatever trance he’s in, his expression shifting slightly. He looks away, a flush creeping up his cheeks as if he was caught in the act of something he didn’t want to get caught doing. “Uh, nothing,” he mutters, the casualness of his tone clashing with the way his eyes dart toward anything but me.

There’s a moment of silence, thick with an unspoken tension. I feel both flattered and confused, trying to piece together what just happened. Did I really catch him looking at me like that? It’s a strange feeling, knowing that I made him lose focus, and I can’t help but blush even deeper.

“You sure?” I tease lightly, trying to lighten the mood, even though my heart is still racing. “You looked like you were lost in thought.”

His gaze flickers back to me, and I notice a glimmer of something in his expression—a mix of embarrassment and a hint of something else, something more profound. “Just—”

He’s interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. “Captain, you in there?” Louie’s voice calls from the other side, breaking the moment like a bubble popping.

Law's expression shifts immediately from contemplative to serious as he straightens in his seat. “Yeah,” he replies, a touch of annoyance creeping into his voice. “What do you need?”

“Can we come in?” Louie asks, his voice sounding cheerful and oblivious to the moment that just transpired between us.

“Sure,” Law replies, his tone flat as he turns back to the workbench, his focus shifting back to the tasks at hand.

I take a deep breath, the sudden interruption causing my heart to race for different reasons now. I glance down at the records I’ve been working with, feeling a bit of that earlier magic fade away as I prepare myself for the new dynamic.

The door swings open, and Louie steps in with a wide grin, followed closely by Jean Bart. “Hey, Ana!” he greets, eyes sparkling with energy. I smile in return.

“Uh, so,” Louie starts, scratching the back of his head, “Jean Bart here has developed some weird rash on his hands. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, so I had to practically drag him to the medbay.”

Jean Bart rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest. “It’s not that serious,” he grumbles, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Sure it’s not,” Louie shoots back, grinning. “But we’re here now. Right, Captain?”

Law looks up from the workbench, his focus shifting as he nods. “Yeah, we’ll take a look. That’s what we’re here for.” He gestures for Jean Bart to follow him, leading him to the medical bed.

As Jean Bart sits down, Louie starts poking around the lab, bouncing his head to the beat of the music still playing softly in the background. “Hey, great song! Didn’t know you had good taste in music, Cap,” he calls out, his voice cheerful.

Law glances over at me for a brief moment, a hint of amusement dancing in his grey eyes. “It’s all Ana,” he replies, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile. I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t have the strength to look into them. Not when my knees are at the edge of buckling over the weight of the hoodie. His hoodie.

Instead, I step forward into the light of the surgical light and glace curiously at Jean Bart’s hands.

Law furrows his brow as he examines Jean Bart’s hands, looking a bit perplexed. After pausing for a bit, he clears his throat. “It’s just a  epidermal rash,” he murmurs, frowning slightly. “It’s a simple skin irritation of—”

Before he can finish, I step closer, catching sight of the small, inflamed patches of skin. I can’t help but tilt my head, a thought forming in my mind. “Jean Bart, have you been working with any algae you’ve never dealt with before?”

He blinks at me, surprise flashing across his face. “Actually, yeah. I helped Louie with some on the last island we stopped at. There was this bright green stuff we didn’t usually see. Thought it looked tasty.”

“Just as I thought,” I say, crossing my arms. “It’s an allergic reaction to one of the pesticides they used to keep the algae fresh. I’ve seen it before.”

Law raises an eyebrow, glancing between us, still trying to piece things together. He looks impressed. “So, what do you recommend?”

I step forward, feeling a surge of confidence as I grab a few supplies from the shelf. “Some antiseptic should do the trick. It’ll help soothe the irritation and prevent any infection.” I turn back to Jean Bart, meeting his gaze. “And make sure to wear gloves next time you’re working with that algae. It’ll protect your hands from any future reactions.”

“Got it,” Jean Bart nods, looking relieved as I hand him the antiseptic. “Thanks, Ana. I’ll be more careful.”

Law watches me, a flicker of something in his eyes that I can’t quite place. “Well done, Ana,” he says, his tone warm. “You caught that quickly.”

My cheeks flush at the praise, but I push it aside, focusing on Jean Bart. “Just glad we could help. And come to us whenever, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies with a grin, carefully applying the antiseptic to his hands. I can’t help but smile back, feeling a sense of accomplishment wash over me. It’s moments like these that remind me how much I enjoy being part of this crew and the work we do together.

As Jean Bart finishes applying the antiseptic, Louie leans against the doorframe, watching with a broad grin. “Alright, all done?” Jean Bart asks, looking relieved.

“Yeah, thanks to Ana,” he replies, giving me a grateful nod. “I’ll definitely be more careful next time.” He pushes himself off the medical bed, stretching his arms. “See you around!”

“Take care, Jean Bart!” I call as he steps out, feeling a sense of camaraderie wash over me.

Just as Jean Bart is about to leave, Louie perks up and turns to me. “Oh, and Ana,” he says, making me turn back toward him.

“Yeah?” I ask, my heart racing slightly.

“Nice hoodie,” he teases, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

I open my mouth to respond —not sure what, yet— with my cheeks flushing at the attention, but before I can find the words, Louie looks like he’s about to say something else. Suddenly, Law steps forward, a glint of annoyance in his eyes.

“Okay, off you go now,” he says firmly, giving Louie a gentle shove toward the door.

Louie stumbles back, still grinning, “Alright, alright, I’m going!” He throws me a wink as Law shuts the door behind him with a decisive click.

I can’t help but giggle at the interaction, a warm feeling bubbling in my chest as I turn back to Law, who shakes his head, trying to hide a smile.

Does he know I know? And does he want me to know?

Just as the door closes behind Louie and Jean Bart, the calm atmosphere in the medbay shatters. A loud bang reverberates through the ship, followed by shouts echoing from the deck above. My heart races, adrenaline spiking as I turn to Law, whose expression has hardened into a mask of focus.

“What was that?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Law strides toward the door, his demeanor shifting. “Stay here,” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument.

But I can’t just stand here. “What’s happening?” I press, my pulse quickening as I instinctively move closer to him. The sounds from above grow more chaotic, punctuated by the shouts of the crew.

Law looks at me, and for a fleeting moment, I see concern flicker in his grey eyes. “It’s probably another pirate crew. We need to prepare.”

I take a step forward, refusing to be sidelined. “I can help! Let me come with you.”

He hesitates, glancing at the medbay’s supplies, then back to me. “Ana, it could get dangerous. I can’t—”

“Exactly. I’ve been training with you, and I’m not just some medic. I want to fight, too!” My voice rises, fueled by determination. I can’t just stay and do nothing.

“I will not repeat myself. Stay here and—”

“No.” I cut him off firmly as I take the hoodie off. It won’t be helpful to have it hanging over me while I’m fighting. “You brought me on your ship, so like hell you’re gonna let me stand by while my family is threatened.”

With a resigned sigh, he nods, albeit reluctantly. “Fine… but stick close to me.”

As we make our way to the deck, the atmosphere is thick with tension. I can feel the crew’s energy—a mix of fear and adrenaline—as they prepare for whatever is coming. I step onto the deck behind Law, who quickly scans the horizon.

There, in the distance, another ship is approaching—a vessel I recognize from stories, notorious for its ruthlessness. My heart sinks; this isn’t just any crew; it’s the Green Tide Pirates.

“Everyone, take your positions!” Law barks, his voice cutting through the chaos. I watch as the crew springs into action, and the sense of urgency intensifies.

“Stay behind me, Ana!” Law calls over the noise. I nod, but my heart pounds with excitement and anxiety. I’ve seen the crew handle threats before, but this is different. This time, I’m part of it.

The enemy ship closes in, cannons readied. I grip my weapon tightly, feeling a surge of adrenaline. I’m ready for this—ready to prove myself.

As the enemy ship draws closer, I can make out the menacing flags fluttering in the wind. A jolt of fear runs through me, but I push it aside, focusing on the adrenaline surging in my veins. Law stands tall, exuding a calm authority that anchors me amid the chaos.

“Prepare for battle!” he shouts, and the crew responds with a chorus of affirmations. I take a deep breath, positioning myself behind him, my heart pounding like a war drum.

The Green Tide Pirates’ ship looms larger, and I catch sight of their crew preparing to board us. They’re a ragtag group, rough around the edges, with a palpable air of chaos swirling around them. I grip the handle of my weapon tighter, readying myself for the inevitable clash.

“Remember, stay sharp!” Law’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and I nod, forcing myself to focus. The last thing I want is to get separated from him in the middle of a fight.

The first cannon blast erupts, sending a shockwave through the air. The crew ducks and scrambles as wooden splinters fly, and I can feel the heat of the cannonball’s impact even from where I stand. The Black Tide Pirates are launching their attack, and it’s now or never.

“Boarding party, let’s go!” a voice bellows from the enemy ship. I glance at Law, who’s already moving forward, his sword drawn. The sight fills me with determination. I can’t let him face this alone.

With a rush of courage, I follow him into the fray, the sound of clashing steel and shouts filling the air. I duck and weave through the chaos, keeping my eyes locked on Law as he skillfully fends off attackers, his movements fluid and precise with the help of his fruit.

I step in beside him, my heart racing as I swing my weapon at an approaching pirate. The connection is jarring but exhilarating, and I quickly regain my footing, ready for more. I feel alive, a part of this crew, this fight.

“Ana, watch your left!” Law warns, and I barely have time to react before another enemy lunges at me. I sidestep just in time, feeling the rush of air as the blade swings past me.

“Got it!” I call back, adrenaline fueling my movements. I spot an opening and take it, landing a quick strike on the pirate’s side. He stumbles, and I can’t help but grin at the victory, but there’s no time to celebrate.

The clash of swords and the shouts of the crew create a symphony of chaos, and I lose myself in the rhythm of battle. Law fights beside me, his presence both reassuring and electrifying. I catch glimpses of him, his fierce concentration as he takes down another enemy with ease, and I can’t help but admire him.

But my thoughts are quickly interrupted as I hear a shout from across the deck. “Get down!”

I turn just in time to see a cannonball soaring toward us. Time seems to slow as I realize it’s heading straight for us. Without thinking, Law leaps toward me, shoving us out of the way just as the cannonball slams into the deck, sending splinters flying.

We both hit the ground hard, and I’m left momentarily dazed. I scramble to my feet, shaking off the impact, and I see Law beside me, his eyes wide with surprise and something else—something deeper.

“Are you okay?” he asks, urgency lacing his tone as he quickly checks me over, his hand on my jaw.

“I’m fine!” I insist, adrenaline still pumping through me. “We have to keep this up!”

A fierce shout breaks our moment, and I feel the urgency of the battle pulling me back into focus. “We can’t let them take the ship!” I declare, determination surging within me. I’m not just a medic; I’m part of this crew, and I’ll fight for them.

“Right!” Law replies, his expression shifting back into battle mode. “Let’s finish this!”

Together, we charge back into the fray, our resolve ignited. The fight rages on, but now it feels different. I’m not just standing beside Law; I’m fighting with him. We’re a team, a force to be reckoned with, and I refuse to back down.

As the battle intensifies, I can feel the tide turning. The crew fights fiercely, rallying together against the invading pirates, and I’m right there with them, ready to protect what’s ours.

The tide of battle turns in our favor as we begin to take down the remaining crew members of the Green Tide Pirates. We fight with a coordinated fury, adrenaline pumping through our veins as we overpower them one by one. Soon enough, we manage to tie up the last of them, securing them against the mast while the crew breathes a collective sigh of relief.

“Good job, everyone!” Law calls, his voice steady, but I can see the tension still coiled within him, his eyes scanning the area, ever vigilant.

Just as I relax for a moment, catching my breath, a strange noise pierces through the fading sounds of the fight. It’s a metallic click—the unmistakable sound of a gun’s safety being disengaged. My heart races as I glance around, trying to locate the source.

Then I see him—a lone pirate, lurking in the shadows near the edge of the deck. His eyes are locked onto Law, and the gleam of a gun catches the sunlight, sending a shiver down my spine. My breath catches as I recognize the telltale signs of a gun loaded with kairoseki bullets.

“No!” I shout, the word tearing from my throat as instinct kicks in. Without thinking, I sprint forward, putting myself between Law and the pirate just as the gun fires.

My whole life flashes before my eyes. Ace, Pops, Luffy, Jinbei, the people I had fought for, the people I was able to protect, and the people I wasn’t able to. No way in hell I’m letting them take someone from me again.

The world slows, and I can feel the rush of air as the bullet grazes my shoulder, a searing pain lancing through me. I stumble but refuse to fall. Instead, I pivot and launch myself at the pirate, tackling him to the ground with all my might. He struggles against me, but I manage to pin his arm down and wrench the gun from his grasp.

“Get away from him!” I hiss, my voice strained but fierce. With a swift motion, I knock him out cold, the adrenaline masking the throbbing pain in my shoulder.

As I stand, my vision swims for a moment, and I glance down to see blood seeping through my shirt. Panic surges through me, but I force it down, focusing on Law instead.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

But Law’s expression is a storm. He strides toward me, anger etched into every line of his face. “What were you thinking?” he demands, his tone a mix of fury and concern as he surveys the wound.

“I—I had to,” I stammer, guilt flooding through me. “You were in danger, and I—”

“You think I wouldn’t have been able to take them? That doesn’t matter! You could have been killed!” he interrupts, the heat of his anger palpable. His eyes blaze with a fierce intensity, and I can see the fear lurking beneath the surface.

“I couldn’t just stand by and let something happen to you,” I reply, the words spilling out before I can catch them, my eyes squinting at him. I am angry, too. Angry that he’d think I’d rather have something happen to him while I can stop it.

“Scream all you want to me, captain, but we need to patch up the crew, now.”

Law’s expression darkens, his anger still simmering just beneath the surface. He rips a strip from his own shirt, the fabric tearing with a sharp sound that cuts through the tension in the air. “You don’t get to act tough when you’re bleeding, Ana,” he snaps, his voice clipped as he moves closer to me.

Before I can respond, he presses the torn cloth against my shoulder, tying it around the wound with a firm but rough motion. The pain flares up again, and I wince, but I don’t pull away. I can see the intensity in his eyes, a mix of frustration and concern that almost makes me forget the throbbing ache. It’s just a graze, I won’t bleed out immediately.

“Listen up!” Law barks, his voice commanding the attention of the remaining crew members. “Get the knocked-out idiots and drop them overboard. The ones who can still stand, get the injured to the mess hall. We don’t have time to waste!”

The crew jumps to action, scrambling to follow his orders. I watch as some of them carry the unconscious pirates toward the edge of the ship, tossing them overboard with little ceremony. I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt—part of me wishes there could have been a different outcome, but right now, our priority is keeping everyone safe.

I turn back to Law, who’s still focused on my wound, his brow furrowed with determination. “You should—”

“Don’t you dare tell me what to do. I will patch up my crew, as I’m supposed to.” I snap at him, turning to sprint to the mess hall, where they’ve gathered the medical supplies and I do what I’m most good at. I patch them all up. Law is there helping now, too, and he still looks pissed as fuck.

After the chaos of the battle and a hurried dinner, I find myself on the deck, the gentle sway of the ship barely calming the storm brewing inside me. Has been giving me the silent treatment, and that just makes me angrier. What is he? And angsty sixteen-year old?

The anger swirling in my chest is mirrored in the cool night air, and I need to escape it, at least for a little while. I should be heading down to sleep now, in his study, but I refuse to meet the man while he’s behaving like a pompous asshole.

With a sigh, I pull out the dengdengmushi and flick through the records I bought, hoping the familiar tunes will drown out my frustration. I close my eyes, letting the music wash over me, but every note feels strained under the weight of what’s left unsaid between Law and me.

Just as I’m beginning to lose myself in the melody, I hear the soft patter of paws against the deck. Bepo steps out, his usually cheerful demeanor replaced with a hint of hesitation. “Um, Ana?” he starts, looking nervously at me.

“What is it, Bepo?” I ask, my tone sharper than I intend.

“The captain… he’s asked for you in his study,” Bepo stammers, his eyes wide with concern.

I scoff, crossing my arms defensively. “Tell your captain if he wants to speak with me, he can come look for me himself.”

Bepo flinches at my words, clearly caught off guard. His gaze flickers to the ground as he searches for a response, but before he can say anything, Law steps out from the shadows of the doorway. His expression is a mix of anger and frustration, and he snaps, “Is that what you want, Anastasia? Fine.”

Bepo glances between us, eyes wide with panic, then quickly retreats, leaving us alone in the tense silence of the night.

The air feels thick with unspoken words, and I can almost hear the tension crackling between us. I take a deep breath, willing my heart to settle as I meet Law’s piercing gaze. He looks just as furious as I feel, and the silence stretches, heavy and suffocating.

“Are you here to scream more?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, but it comes out sharper than I intended.

“Why did you jump in front of me?” he shoots back, his tone laced with frustration. “Why didn’t you think it through?!”

“I did what I had to! I did what I wanted to, Law!” I retort, the anger flaring up again. “I don’t understand what you’re getting so pressed over.”

“Don’t you get it? You put yourself in danger for me!” His voice rises, matching my intensity. “I told you to stay behind me, and yet you—”

“I don’t take orders like that!” I cut him off, my own emotions boiling over. “I didn’t think. I just reacted! You should know what that’s like.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he’s going to argue further. But instead, he runs a hand through his hair, his frustration morphing into something else—something that looks an awful lot like hurt. “You’re so reckless, Ana. I can’t—”

I step forward, my heart racing. “Reckless? I was trying to save you! Do you have any idea how it felt seeing that gun pointed at you?”

“Then you should have let me handle it,” he snaps, the heat in his voice cooling slightly as he steps back. “You’re not immortal. You can’t just jump into danger whenever, I shouldn’t even be explaining myself just because I can’t keep losing people I care about. I just—”

“Care about?” I echo, my voice dropping to a whisper as the weight of his words settles over me. “You care about me, but you won’t acknowledge that I care about you, too?”

The silence that follows is deafening. I watch as he shifts uncomfortably, his eyes a mix of frustration and something deeper—something that scares me to confront.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, okay?” he finally admits, his voice lower now, almost vulnerable.

I blink, taken aback by his admission. My anger falters, replaced by a rush of conflicting emotions. “Then stop scolding me like a child,” I say softly. “I can handle myself, and I need you to understand I will jump at the chance to protect those close to me.”

Law looks away, and I can see the gears turning in his mind. He’s processing everything, and I can feel the tension shifting. It’s almost a relief, but there’s still so much left unsaid.

“It’s been a long day,” he exhales, taking his hat off and running his hand through his hair again. His muscles flex. He reaches over to the open door and pulls off something from the handle. His hoodie.

“Let’s just… go to bed, and—”

“You go to bed. I’m exactly where I need to be.”

“Ana, just come to the study,” he gestures towards the door with his hat. I say nothing. I won’t budge. I understand where he is coming from but if he’s acting childish then so am I.

“I don’t want to—”

“Ana, please,” it almost sounds like begging. “Just come to the study, please.”

He offers me the hoodie in his hand, and I sigh and turn the dengdengmushi off.

“We can keep fighting tomorrow,” he says now, his tone a little teasing, a little serious. There’s a small smirk forming on the corner of his lips.

“Fine,” I finally say, defeated. I smack the hoodie out of his hand and put it on. I pick up the rest of my stuff and push the door open with my foot.

We begin walking down the hallway, the yellow bag on my right arm, Law walking on my left.

The air is less tense, now. I can breathe calmly again. I can’t tell if it’s the smell of the hoodie that’s making me feel this way.

“I’m still mad at you,” I say to him without meeting his eyes, just staring straight ahead.

He reaches for my hand and grasps it tightly.

“I’m still mad at you, too.”

He doesn’t let go of my hand this time.

Chapter Text

The deck looks as good as new, despite the chaos from the recent skirmish. The crew worked tirelessly to repair the parts of the sub that were damaged, and I have to say, I’m impressed. Nothing was too far gone, and we’ve managed to restore everything back to how it should be. It’s almost like the fight never happened, the way the ship gleams under the sunlight now. The usual laughter and banter have returned, and the crew’s spirits are high, as if they don’t even know the meaning of fear. Brave. Valiant. That’s the only way to describe them.

I couldn’t be happier to be among them, to call this place home.

As for my... kerfuffle with Law, I don’t want to think too much about it. We haven’t brought it up, and honestly, I don’t think either of us will. I’ve forgiven him, even if I won’t say it out loud. The truth is, when I woke up the next morning, he was there, slumped over on the couch beside me. His hand was so close to mine, I could feel the warmth radiating off him. It felt strange, comforting in a way that made me forget all about the argument.

Maybe that’s why I can’t stay mad at him. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve already forgiven him for everything he’s done, and for anything he could ever do after that.

There’s just something about him, something I can’t shake.

Later in the afternoon, I find myself at one of the tables in the mess hall, playing poker with Shachi and Penguin. They’ve roped me into their usual games again, and I can’t say I mind. It’s a nice distraction from everything—no high stakes, just friendly competition. I pretend to know what I’m doing, but Shachi and Penguin? They’ve clearly got me beat.

“I can see right through your bluff,” Shachi grins, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed.

Penguin chuckles, shuffling his cards. “You might want to work on your poker face, Ana.”

The game continues, but just as I’m about to lay down my next hand, Uni strides over to us with a curious look in his eyes. He’s holding something in his hand, and the way he’s cradling it makes it look important—too important for a casual mess hall visit.

“Hey, take a look at this,” he says, sliding a black envelope onto the table. It has a red seal, almost regal, gleaming against the dark paper.

Shachi, Penguin, and I exchange glances before leaning in to get a closer look.

“What is that?” Shachi asks, reaching for it but stopping just short of touching it.

“I have no idea,” Uni replies, still staring at the envelope. “We docked at the island earlier, and I went into town to pick up a few supplies. Some sentinel handed this to me.”

“A sentinel?” Penguin echoes. “That’s not something you see every day.”

Before we can speculate further, Louie comes bounding into the mess hall with his usual energy, holding up another identical envelope. “Guess what I’ve got!”

“You too?” I ask, eyes widening.

He nods, his face alight with excitement. “Yeah, they’re handing these out all over town. It’s like an invitation or something.”

“An invitation?” I glance at the black envelope again, feeling a little uneasy. “For what?”

Louie shrugs. “Beats me. None of us have opened them yet. Figured we should wait for the captain before we do.”

I share a look with Shachi and Penguin, both of whom are equally as curious as I am. The air in the room feels charged, like we’re on the verge of something, but what?

The mess hall is buzzing now, more crew members filtering in, each holding the same black envelope. The table is littered with them as the crew gathers around, wondering what on earth could be so important to warrant such regal-looking invitations.

As if on cue, Law steps into the room, his eyes immediately narrowing at the sight of the mysterious envelopes. His presence silences the hum of conversation as everyone looks to him, waiting for his reaction.

“What's all this?” he asks, his voice steady, but there's a clear undertone of suspicion. He walks toward us, his gaze locking on the stack of black envelopes on the table.

Uni clears his throat, stepping forward. “Captain, these were handed out in town. We haven’t opened them yet—we were waiting for you.”

Law raises an eyebrow but says nothing. With a flick of his wrist, he breaks the red seal on one of the envelopes, carefully unfolding the letter inside. His expression is unreadable as he scans the elegant writing, but the rest of us are on edge, waiting for him to speak.

Finally, he lowers the letter and addresses the room, his voice measured. “It’s an invitation to the annual masquerade ball held by the mayor of the town.”

The reaction is instant. Shachi and Penguin practically leap from their seats, grinning from ear to ear, already humming some tune. Bepo, catching their enthusiasm, starts waltzing around the room on his own, his large frame awkwardly swaying to an imaginary beat.

“A ball?” Ikkaku asks, leaning over to catch a glimpse of the invitation. “Sounds like a good time.”

“I’ve never been to one!” Louie says, his face lighting up like a kid on his birthday. “Can we go, Captain? Please?”

Law frowns, clearly not sold on the idea. “I don’t know… We don’t really know the town, and though it seems benign, I wouldn’t want something to go awry.”

Penguin, never one to back down, grins and claps his hand on Law’s shoulder. “Come on, Captain! It’s just a ball! We’ve had a tough few days… I say we’ve earned it.”

“Yeah!” Shachi chimes in, bouncing on his heels. “Plus, we’ll be wearing masks! No one will even know it’s us. We’ll be safe.”

Law still looks unconvinced, his lips pressed into a thin line. He doesn’t argue, but it’s clear he’s not fully comfortable with the idea.

Ikkaku, always quick to read the room, leans over to me with a playful nudge. “Go on,” she whispers, her eyes twinkling. “You try.”

I hesitate, glancing at Law, who’s clearly bracing himself for more attempts to sway him. Still, I can't help but give it a shot.

“Please, captain sir?” I ask, turning toward him with my best puppy eyes. I know it’s a long shot, but maybe, just maybe, I can get through to him.

Law sighs, closing his eyes for a moment as if weighing his options. When he opens them again, they’re focused on me, and I feel a flicker of hope.

“Okay,” he finally mutters, sounding almost defeated. “We’ll go.”

A cheer erupts from the crew, and I can’t help the smile spreading across my face. Law rubs a hand over his face, already regretting the decision, but there’s a hint of something else—maybe he’s a little excited, too?

As the crew continues celebrating, Shachi and Penguin already planning their masquerade outfits, Ikkaku gives me a sly grin.

“Told you you could do it.”

I just laugh, watching Law from the corner of my eye. Even though he tries to hide it, there’s a small, amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when watching his friends.

The crew’s excitement is palpable, the mess hall suddenly alive with chatter and plans. Shachi and Penguin are already bouncing ideas off each other, and before I know it, everyone’s in on it.

“I’ve never been to a black-tie event before!” Louie exclaims, wide-eyed as he re-reads the invitation. “What does that even mean?”

“It means formal,” Ikkaku replies with a grin. “You know, suits, dresses, the works. Fancy stuff.”

Penguin chuckles, elbowing Shachi. “Guess that means no more of your Hawaiian shirts for one night, huh?”

“Hey!” Shachi pouts, but the grin on his face shows he’s all in on the fun. “I’ll find something that screams ‘classy.’ Just you wait.”

The laughter is contagious, and soon enough, everyone’s brainstorming their outfits for the event.

“I think we should hit the town tomorrow,” Ikkaku suggests, looking over at me with a mischievous glint in her eye. “We’re gonna need dresses, makeup, hair… the whole shebang.”

I raise an eyebrow at her enthusiasm, but I can’t deny the excitement bubbling inside me either. “Makeup and hair? Oh boy, that’s a whole other level of planning.”

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun!” Ikkaku winks. “Besides, it’s not every day we get to dress up and go to a fancy ball. Imagine the reactions when we walk in.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Alright, alright. Let’s do it.”

Bepo, standing nearby, looks more concerned than excited. “Do you think… I’ll be able to find a tux in my size?” His large, fluffy form doesn’t exactly scream “black tie-ready.”

Penguin claps him on the back, almost getting knocked over by the force. “We’ll figure something out, Bepo! Worst case, we’ll have one made just for you. A custom tux—how fancy is that?”

Bepo’s ears twitch in excitement. “That would be amazing.”

The conversation drifts between ideas for outfits, hair, and even the best places to shop in town.

Ikkaku taps her chin thoughtfully, turning to me again. “Ana, I bet we could find a dress-shop in town. Something really elegant.”

I smile at the idea. It’s a far cry from our usual day-to-day life on the sub. “That could be fun. I’ve never really done something like this before.”

“We’ll make sure you look amazing,” Ikkaku assures me, her eyes gleaming with determination. “Trust me.”

Louie, still holding his invitation, glances over at Law, who’s leaned up against the doorframe, watching all of this unfold with a mix of amusement and resignation.

“Captain,” Louie says, grinning, “you might want to start thinking about your tux too. You gotta outshine the rest of us, right?”

Law just raises an eyebrow, clearly not sharing in their level of excitement, but he doesn't protest. Instead, he just sighs, a resigned look settling on his face as the crew continues to chatter on, already planning for the ball that promises a good time for all of us.

The next morning, the atmosphere on the Polar Tang is buzzing with energy. The black envelopes have lit a fire under the crew, and they’re practically bouncing off the walls as they prepare to head into town. I sit in the mess hall with Ikkaku, sipping my coffee while she flips through some of the supplies she picked up on the last island—lipsticks, eyeshadow palettes, and small pots of shimmer.

"You think this'll work for a ball?" Ikkaku asks, holding up a shimmering golden eyeshadow.

I grin. "If we're going for regal, it'll definitely fit the theme."

Ikkaku laughs, leaning in closer to inspect the colors. "Good, ‘cause I’m thinking bold. Something that screams 'look at me!' You?"

I hesitate, glancing at my reflection in the polished surface of my mug. "I think I'll keep it a bit more understated. Maybe focus on the dress instead of the makeup."

"Suit yourself. Though I have to say, you'd look stunning with something bold too." She winks at me, clearly enjoying the planning process.

Across the room, I hear Bepo muttering to himself, “Do they make masks in my size?” He’s holding up a measuring tape, trying to get an idea of his size, while Louie and Shachi are teasing him about finding something that won’t look like a circus tent.

"Of course, Bepo!" Shachi pipes up, smirking. "I bet the town will be full of people trying to sell things for the event.”

Louie joins in, laughing. "Or we could make you a custom mask out of one of the ship’s sails."

Bepo frowns, his brow furrowing. "No way! It has to be perfect. This is a black tie event."

Penguin, lounging in one of the chairs, is flipping through a fashion magazine he found somewhere. "Yeah, yeah, we’ll figure it out," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "Besides, what do you think the captain’s gonna wear?"

The mention of Law snaps my attention to Penguin. Law’s been uncharacteristically quiet about the whole thing. I glance around but don’t see him, though I know he’s likely holed up in his study, avoiding the chaos.

As if reading my thoughts, Ikkaku nudges me with her elbow. "You should ask him what he’s wearing. I bet he hates dressing up."

I raise an eyebrow at her, unsure whether to laugh or feel bad for him. "Yeah… I’m not sure he’s the ball type."

"Exactly why you should go check on him." She grins mischievously, already anticipating the conversation. "I mean, c’mon, imagine him in formalwear. He might just need a little push."

I smile, finishing my coffee. “Fine, I’ll see what I can do.”

As Ikkaku giggles, I slip out of the mess hall and make my way to Law’s study.

I make my way through the quiet corridors of the Polar Tang, when I reach Law’s study, I stop at the door for a moment, gathering my thoughts. The idea of Law in formalwear is amusing to the others, but I know he’d look good in anything. Handsome, even. But he’s always so consistent with his look—his hat, his coats and sweaters, his calm and collected demeanor. I can’t imagine him being thrilled about wearing anything remotely “fancy.”

I knock lightly on the door, half-expecting him to ignore me, but after a few seconds, I hear his voice.

“Come in.”

I push the door open to find him seated at his desk, several medical charts and books spread around him, as always. His hat is on the desk, and he’s leaned back in his chair, looking up from whatever he was working on. His expression is neutral, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

“You’re hiding from the excitement,” I tease, stepping into the room.

Law’s eyes narrow slightly. “I’m working.”

I chuckle, crossing my arms. “Sure you are. But you do realize there’s a masquerade ball happening, and your crew is currently losing their minds planning for it. You’re not even a little curious about what you’re going to wear?”

Law’s eyebrow twitches, and I can tell he’s not thrilled with the idea of dressing up. “I don’t see why it matters. It’s just a ball.”

“Just a ball? It’s black tie!” I gasp with mock seriousness. “You’ll need a suit, and a mask—something that fits the occasion. You wouldn’t want to embarrass the crew, right?”

He looks at me, clearly unimpressed with my attempt to rile him up. “I don’t need to impress anyone.”

“Not even your crew?” I press, leaning against his desk. “They’re all looking forward to it. Even Bepo’s trying to figure out if there’s a mask that’ll fit him.”

Law lets out a sigh, his eyes drifting to the door as if he’s contemplating escaping the conversation. “I have an old tux laying around in my room, somewhere.”

“Or,” I say, leaning in a little, “I could help you. You know, make sure you don’t end up looking like you’re going to a funeral.”

His gaze snaps back to me, his lips twitching in what I can almost swear is a suppressed smile. “And what do you suggest I wear?”

I grin, sensing I’ve managed to break through his stoic exterior a little. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe something classic—black mask? a little touch of mystery, or something that pops the color of your eyes. You know, formal but still very you.”

Law studies me for a moment, then sighs again, though there’s less resistance in his tone now. “Ikkaku put you up to this, didn’t she?”

“Maybe,” I admit, shrugging. “But it’s for a good cause. The crew’s really looking forward to this."

He rolls his eyes, but I catch the smallest hint of a smile on his face. “Fine. I’ll let you pick out my mask for me. But don’t expect me to enjoy it.”

I laugh softly. “Deal.”

As I turn to leave, he calls after me. “Ana.”

I pause, glancing over my shoulder.

“You’re not going to ask me for color preferences?”

I blink, caught off guard by the question, and his slight smirk tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Sure, captain, what colors do you like?”

“Hmm,” he fakes thinking, his voice amused, “I do very much like blue, but you can go with whatever you think is best."

I smile, knowing very well now that blue is one of his favorite colors. The fact that I’m wearing another blue top right now doesn’t escape me. I fight back a blush.

“Very well, captain doctor,” I bow mockingly before I turn and leave the room. I can hear a chuckle escape him as I do.

Back on the deck, we’re ready for our little excursion into town. I’m excited to look for a dress, not having worn one in ages. We spread out along the shops, looking through the windows, and chatting about anything, really.

Ikkaku and I see a little shop in a corner that looks promising. We step into the boutique, the sound of a small bell chiming as we enter. The shop is alive with vibrant colors, racks upon racks of gowns in every hue imaginable. The soft hum of classical music plays in the background, and the air is filled with the scent of fresh fabric and a hint of perfume. I feel the excitement bubbling in my chest; it’s been so long since I’ve worn something elegant, something beautiful—and this masquerade is the perfect excuse.

“Let’s start over here,” Ikkaku suggests, motioning to a rack near the window. “We need something fabulous, and I have just the eye for it.”

I nod, feeling slightly out of my element. As much as I want to embrace the idea of dressing up, I can’t help but feel unsure of what I’m looking for. Ikkaku, however, seems to be in her element, her enthusiasm infectious as she pulls dresses from the rack with practiced ease.

“This one’s nice,” she says, holding up a sleek red number with a plunging neckline. The fabric looks expensive, catching the light with a bold glimmer. “It’s bold.”

I glance at it and chuckle nervously. “Bold’s an understatement. I don’t know if I can pull that off.”

She hands me another, a deep green gown adorned with delicate lacework along the sleeves. “What about this one? It’s a little more understated but still elegant.”

I run my fingers over the lace, appreciating the craftsmanship, but I can’t quite picture myself in it. “It’s nice… just not quite right. I feel like I’d be playing dress-up.”

Ikkaku shrugs, her determination unwavering. “No worries. Let’s keep trying. This is all about finding the dress.”

After a series of outfit changes, I step out of the dressing room, feeling a little defeated. Ikkaku has picked out a green dress with the most beautiful neckline. She said she wasn’t one for dresses, but this one practically screamed her. In the best way possible, she looked absolutely gorgeous in it. I wasn’t as lucky.

Ikkaku, still optimistic, sifts through a few more racks, determined to find the perfect gown.

“Okay, let’s think outside the box,” she says, her eyes scanning the room. “You’ve got to be feeling something by now.”

I shake my head, sighing. “It’s not that. I just feel like none of these dresses are me.”

Just as I’m about to lose hope, something catches my eye—a shimmering grey dress, almost hidden amongst the more vibrant colors. The fabric glistens under the soft lighting, a silvery sheen that catches the light just right. I step closer, drawn to it. The dress is simple yet elegant—a backless design that ties with delicate straps at the bottom. The fabric flows like liquid silver, cascading down to the floor in gentle waves.

The grey reminds me of Law’s eyes—the exact shade that I’ve found myself noticing more and more lately. The dress is subtle but captivating, much like him.

“I’m going to try this one,” I say, my voice soft with excitement.

Ikkaku glances over at the dress and raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile creeping onto her face. “Good choice. That’s going to look amazing.”

Stepping back into the dressing room, I slip the gown over my head. The fabric is cool against my skin, and as I tie the straps behind my back, I feel the soft material settle perfectly against my body. The open back leaves a daring amount of skin exposed, but the shimmer of the fabric balances it with a certain elegance.

I take a deep breath before stepping out to face Ikkaku, my heart racing with anticipation.

Her eyes widen immediately. “Whoa. Okay, that’s the one.”

I look at myself in the mirror, turning slightly to see the full effect. The shimmering grey catches the light with every movement, and the way the dress flows makes me feel graceful, confident. I can’t help but twirl a little, the skirt flaring out around me.

“This feels… perfect,” I whisper, a small smile tugging at my lips. The grey really does remind me of Law, and for some reason, that thought brings a warmth to my chest. This dress—it feels right.

Ikkaku grins, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You’re going to knock everyone’s socks off at this ball. Specially the captain.”

I roll my eyes playfully, though I can’t deny the tiny flutter in my chest at the thought. “Yeah right, he’s not exactly the kind to gush over things like this.”

“Please! He’s a man. He’ll appreciate seeing you look stunning,” she insists, nudging me gently. “Plus, you’ll make him look good too, and he loves being the center of attention—though he won’t admit it.”

I chuckle, the thought of Law gaping at my appearance making me smile softly. Was he going to like it as much as I did? “Okay, you’ve convinced me. I’ll take it.”

As I head back into the dressing room to change, Ikkaku’s voice drifts in from outside. “We still have to look for the masks! We need to bring out our natural beauty!”

I nod, a smile lingering on my face as I change back into my clothes. After settling on the dress, I can’t help but feel a surge of anticipation for the ball. I glance at my reflection one last time, imagining how Law might react. With every thought of him, my heart races a little faster, and I can’t help but feel that this masquerade is going to be a night to remember.

“Ana, over there!” Ikkaku points to an accesory shop nearby and we almost sprint to get in time before it closes. We browse the shelves, fabrics and jewelry hanging from every corner, the shop a conglomeration of colors and textures of the best quality.

As I browse through the accessories, my gaze lands on a black mask that catches my eye. It’s not the typical hard plastic one; instead, it’s crafted from soft, flowing fabric that curls elegantly at the edges. The material is velvety to the touch, giving it a slightly ethereal quality, and I can tell it will mold perfectly to my face, providing both comfort and an air of mystery. The intricate patterns embroidered along the sides shimmer subtly, hinting at a hint of allure without being overly flashy. I can imagine the way it will accentuate my features, the soft fabric creating a seamless blend with my skin.

As I’m about to turn away, one in particular draws my attention—a navy blue mask that appears almost black in certain lights. It’s crafted from a luxurious satin fabric, sleek and smooth, with subtle patterns that catch the light just right, revealing a depth that complements the rich color. The edges are soft, curving gently to fit the contours of a face, and the overall design is elegant yet understated, making it perfect for someone like Law. I can already envision how striking it would look against his skin, the deep blue a striking contrast to his gorgeous grey eyes.

Ikkaku notices the masks in my hand, and she lifts a perfectly curved brow at the sight of the tie.

“A tie too, huh?” she smirks at me. “And it just so happens to perfectly match the dress you picked…”

“Oh, my,” I can’t help but feel flustered, “It’s a bit too on the nose, right?”

Ikkaku snickers at my embarrassment, wrapping one arm around my shoulders in a playful hug. Over these past few months, we’ve become quite close—like sisters, really. She’s been my confidante, the big sister I never had, and our bond is strong enough that I feel I can share anything with her. I can let down my guard, and in return, she always seems to understand.

I glance around, almost unconsciously searching for Law. Ikkaku, ever observant, picks up on this habit of mine. She’s noticed the way I’ve been glancing for him when he’s not around, how I haven’t been sleeping well in our shared quarters, and how I tend to wear his hoodie to bed. If anyone can read the signs of my growing feelings, it’s her.

But she’s perfectly fine about it. In fact, I think she finds it amusing. It’s almost like she’s rooting for it, even if she won’t outright admit it.

“What? That you have a crush on him?”

“Ikkaku!” I shush her, blushing a bright red.

She laughs again, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “My love, if anything, it’s been a long time coming. The way you light up when he walks into the room? It’s adorable.”

“I… I don’t know what I feel,” I admit sheepishly, looking down at my hands. The truth is, I’ve been wrestling with my emotions. Part of me is terrified at the prospect of falling for someone like Law—someone so complicated and guarded. Yet, another part of me longs to lean into those feelings, to embrace the warmth he brings into my life.

Ikkaku gently nudges me with her elbow, her tone softening. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now, you know? Enjoy the feeling. It’s nice having a crush that fills one up with butterflies, isn’t it?”

 Oh, she can read me like a book.

“Yeah, yeah, did you find a mask for yourself?”

“I did!” she beams at me, proudly pulling out a gold mask adorned with fringes along the bottom.

“Okay, should we head back then?” I ask, pulling everything into a bag.

“Already? Do you miss the captain so much that we have to go running back?” she teases, pouting her lower lip at me in mock disappointment. I laugh, playfully nudging her shoulder to quiet her down. “Come on! I’ll buy you a drink,” she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me out the door.

Just before dinner, I find myself tiptoeing through the dimly lit corridors of the sub, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves. I know exactly where Law’s room is now—so I don’t think he’ll mind me stepping in just for a second.

I pause outside his door, glancing around to make sure no one is watching. The anticipation in my chest swells as I gently push the door open, the familiar creak barely audible in the silence. Inside, it’s just as I remember: everything perfectly neat, but still unmistakably Law’s.

I set the navy blue mask and grey tie down on his desk, ensuring they’re positioned just right. The fabric feels soft beneath my fingers, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of him wearing them.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a small piece of parchment I’ve scribbled on. My handwriting is neat but hurried, and it reads:

“Thought these might help you look a little less like you’re heading to a funeral. For the best captain with the best eyes. –Ana N.”

Chapter Text

Captain's Log

Subject:  Kikoku anomaly

It’s been approximately three days since the incident with Kikoku, and I still can’t find a logical explanation for what happened. Kikoku is a weapon I know down to every inch, honed to an edge I can rely on as surely as my own heartbeat. In all the years I’ve wielded her, Kikoku has never shown any exception to her cutting edge—not for steel, not for flesh. But that day, as Ana reached to catch the blade by its edge, Kikoku simply… did not cut.

I’ve tested the blade multiple times since then. Each time it works as expected. She cleaves paper, bone, and steel without hesitation. Yet in that moment, it felt as though the blade’s will matched mine. Kikoku and I share a connection—I’ve read enough on the nature of cursed swords to understand that it’s no mere object, and yet I can’t make sense of why it would yield only to her.

Even for a cursed blade, this defies every explanation. Swords don’t simply choose who to harm. Or, if they do, it’s because the wielder demands it. But in that moment, it felt as if the blade responded on its own, aligned with something beyond what I can pinpoint. Did she react to Ana’s intent? Was it instinct, or some peculiar affinity that neither Kikoku nor I were fully conscious of?

I wonder if it’s tied to something I’ve overlooked, or to Ana herself. She caught my blade without hesitation, almost as if she trusted it wouldn’t harm her—trusted me. No one has ever reacted that way. Every rational side of me says it was pure chance, some minor quirk, even luck. But deep down, I know better than to dismiss Kikoku’s behavior so simply. I can't understand it, and I feel weary about it. 

Personal note: Repeat tests to rule out variables.

Subject: Reflections on Ana’s history, recurring thoughts, ???

Learning about Ana’s past is like tracing a line I know all too well—too close, too familiar. Every detail she shared filled the gaps in what I’d already suspected. I saw the fractures, pieces of her put together with resilience instead of rest, the way someone keeps a broken sword bound to keep wielding it. When she spoke, it was as if every shard of her pain had broken free, and I couldn’t look away.

For all her resilience, the way she hides in laughter or presses forward like nothing’s wrong, there’s an exhaustion in her that’s hard to miss. She has scars that go deeper than anything visible. The way she doesn’t flinch in the face of darkness—because she’s lived in it for so long—is proof enough. It’s as though she’s survived on reflex, not choice, and that choice has only recently become hers.

It’s strange. I never saw anyone else who would dive headfirst into the unknown, knowing full well what’s at stake. Someone with that kind of courage, or maybe it’s recklessness, but still somehow feeling every wound of her past as if they’d just opened yesterday.

I don’t know how to help her. I wonder if she even wants that.

It’s easy to believe we’ve moved past our histories until someone holds up a mirror. She didn’t ask me to carry her burdens, nor does she need me to, yet seeing her pushed that same rush of memories back to the surface. Those years when I would have done anything to rewrite the past—where I trained, survived, and made every sacrifice without stopping to care if it hurt anyone. It’s a part of me I thought was dulled with time. She’s awakened it, and with that, the reminder that I, too, am unfinished.

When I first set foot on this path, I knew there was no turning back. This wasn’t about recognition or petty power. It was about vengeance, a promise made to myself for the one person who ever showed me selfless love. Corazon was more than a mentor. He gave me a future, and I owe him a debt that can’t be repaid with words or memories alone.

Becoming a Shichibukai would give me leverage, resources, protection. I need that title if I’m to see through the work Corazon started and crush the heart of Doflamingo’s empire. The underworld is his web—one that’s poisoned lives and taken fathers, brothers, and sons. And it has to be burned from the inside out.

But there are risks. I know that, maybe better than anyone. You don’t walk this path without leaving scars. Each choice leads further from anything that resembles normalcy, binds you deeper into a world where trust is currency, and survival is victory. Yet, if the price of becoming a Shichibukai brings me one step closer to dismantling his network, to fulfilling Corazon’s last wish, then I’ll pay it tenfold.

Even if that means distancing myself from those around me—even Ana. She’s felt the underworld’s grip too, lost as much to it as I have. Maybe even more. And sometimes, I see that fire in her, a determination to fight against the very chains that held her down. It’s another bond we share, a silent understanding of why I need to do this.

But I also know she’d worry. She might see it as throwing myself to the wolves, walking headlong into the same darkness that claimed her family. If she knew, I wonder if she’d try to stop me. I don’t doubt her strength, but there’s something unreasonably protective in me that wants her far from any danger. Yet we both know our paths aren’t safe. They’ve never been.

If I’m going to follow this course, I’ll have to keep the line steady, keep the others focused, and above all, make sure Ana stays out of any fallout that might come with it. She’s carrying enough ghosts of her own.

Personal note: Should I keep my distance? I know I was prepared to die for my ideals. Until she came into my I'm ready to die for this.

Underneath my thoughts of a Shichibukai title, there lies the real goal—the reason that pushes me forward, day in and day out. Corazon's voice, his laugh, his steady presence—every moment he spent guiding me, protecting me, all to give me a future he never had. He sacrificed everything, including his life, to set me free from Doflamingo’s grasp, to show me a path where survival didn’t mean becoming another monster. He taught me what true selflessness looked like, what family could be. I owe him everything.

And Doflamingo stole that from me. From him. He’s left countless wounds, but it’s Cora-san’s I’ll never forgive.

So, every step I take now is calculated, carefully aligned to bring down the man who thinks he’s untouchable. The title of Shichibukai isn’t just a stepping stone; it’s my way in. A way to stand close enough to Doflamingo to unmake him, to dismantle everything he’s built with the same cruelty he’s inflicted on others.

I’ve been collecting information on his allies, his operations, his weaknesses—everything I can use against him. I know it won’t be enough to face him alone, not yet. He’s powerful, well-connected, and calculating. But with each island we pass, each person we meet, each alliance we form, I feel that day drawing nearer.

Subject: masquerade ball

Some damn invitations for a masquerade arrived, folded with a formality that reminds me of the world I left behind. The type of world I swore I’d never need again. And yet, here I am, headed toward it once more—this time not alone, with a crew, a family. And her.

Ana.

These past few months have been… unexpected. With her around, things feel different, not just on the ship but within me. I’m not entirely certain how it happened. I tell myself I look for her in the medbay to make sure she’s doing her work, or that I check in to confirm she’s safe after any skirmish. But if I’m being honest, it’s more than that. I find myself drawn to her voice, her laughter, the way she loses herself in the small things—like the evening light on the ocean or one of Bepo’s terrible jokes. There’s a steadiness to her that’s disarming.

It’s reckless, though. Wise or not, this feeling—whatever it is—pulls me in, and I can’t seem to step back from the edge. Every time I catch myself staring at her, telling myself I’m only making sure she’s safe, my eyes stray. Her smile, her hands, and even the scar on her back—it all reminds me of someone I never thought I’d see in anyone else. Corazon gave himself for me without ever asking for anything in return, and when I see Ana… I wonder if she’d do the same.

That scares me more than I’d ever admit. The selflessness in her is a dangerous thing, and I can’t let her turn it on me, not if it means risking her own safety. But I can’t stop feeling the pull.

And then there's the whole thing about my hoodie. Why did I give it to her? I could've brought some clothes of her own but chose to give her mine. It was purely out of impulse, but the feeling in my stomach tells me there's something more premeditated behind it. Something that doesn't sit well with me.

The mask and tie she left on my desk this evening didn’t help. That note of hers… it’s maddeningly straightforward in a way that’s so entirely her. A laugh escaped me when I read it, and the thought of her going to the trouble—choosing something grey, as she put it, for the captain with the best eyes… I don’t know what to make of it. 

I’m not one for dancing, for masquerades, for any kind of social affair. But she’s looking forward to it, and somehow, I want to be there with her, just to see what this night brings. A thought that’s as reckless as everything else about this. But we're friends. Right? We're friends. I like being her friend. Just as I like the friends in my crew. She fights just right in, doesn't she? But I can't help but wonder if

I don’t know what the night will bring. I don’t know what any of this will bring, honestly. But I know I’ll be at that ball, and I know she’ll be there, too.

For now, that’s enough.

Dr. TDWL

Chapter Text

The day has been a blur of excitement and last-minute adjustments, laughter echoing through the halls as everyone scrambles to prepare for the masquerade. Even now, the air on the ship feels lighter, filled with an energy I can’t quite pin down but that I find myself smiling along with. Shachi and Penguin were hopeless with their ties, of course; I spent a good ten minutes helping each of them with their knots while they joked and bickered like brothers.

Ikkaku was a whirlwind, bouncing between rooms, insisting that everyone add some “flair” to their looks. She even threatened to bring out feathers and glitter if we didn’t step up the effort. “This is a masquerade, after all,” she said with a grin, but neither her nor I have started getting ready yet. We’re both too focused on helping the others out. Her confidence is contagious, though, and I feel a strange warmth at the idea that we might fit in among all of town tonight, even if just for a few hours.

But as the preparations went on, I found myself glancing around more than once, hoping for a glimpse of a familiar dark coat or that ever-present hat. I haven’t seen Law since morning, and the thought of him walking into the masquerade is… well, it’s surprisingly distracting. I wonder what he’ll think when he sees me in the dress—the way it shimmers, the way it feels both foreign and exciting. Does he even care about these things? I seriously doubt it.

A small smile plays on my lips at the thought, but then I shake it off. It’s ridiculous to let my mind wander like this; after all, I know he’s busy, probably focused on planning or some task I can’t even fathom. Yet a part of me can’t help but hope he notices… even just a little.

Once everyone else is ready, I slip away to my quarters to start getting ready. Hair and makeup… woah, it’s probably gonna take a while. But first, the dress.

I take a deep breath and look at myself in the small mirror on the wall, smoothing my hands down the dress one last time. The fabric catches the light, shimmering faintly with each movement, and for a moment, I’m almost… dazzled. I barely recognize the person staring back. The grey fabric clings to my frame, falling in elegant lines that make me feel both exposed and confident, a combination I’m not used to.

The backless part still feels bold, like a secret I’m daring to show, and yet, somehow, it makes me think of him. The grey mirrors a certain steadiness, the way his eyes look at me sometimes with that intensity, like he’s seeing more than I’m willing to share. My heart beats a little quicker at the thought, a flutter of nerves mixing with something almost electric.

Just as I finish adjusting the ties on my dress, there’s a light knock on our shared bathroom door, followed by Ikkaku’s voice. “Ana! Are you decent? I need to show you something.”

“Almost! Give me a sec!” I call out, giving my reflection one last look in the mirror. My gaze falls to my keepsake, resting patiently on the bathroom counter, its charms glinting softly under the dim light. There’s no way I’m leaving it behind—not tonight, not ever. Carefully, I wrap the chain around my thigh, securing it with a garter high up on my leg, hidden from view. The slit on my dress opens at mid-thigh, letting a glimpse of the keepsake’s delicate chain peek through the fabric as I move.

I open the door to find her grinning, her beuatiful dress perfectly in place and the ends of her hair swept up in a way that feels effortlessly glamorous. “Look at you!” she says, eyeing my dress with a proud nod. “That’s what I’m talking about—pure knockout. Oh, and that leg jewelry… hot!”

“Stop it!” I laugh, feeling a rush of embarrassment even as I turn, letting the dress shimmer in the low light. “You look stunning, too. We’re going to show them how it’s done.”

“Now,” she says, linking her arm with mine, “Makeup!”

Inside our room, the air is filled with the upbeat rhythm from the den den mushi as Ikkaku and I start with our faces. Ikkaku’s expertly curled hair bounces around her shoulders, and she adjusts her necklace with a grin. The two of us have been laughing non-stop, exchanging jokes and feeling the bubbling excitement of the night ahead.

Just as I’m putting on the finishing touch—a hint of shimmer on my cheeks—there’s a loud knock at the door. Ikkaku, still fixing her earrings, sticks her head out with an impatient sigh.

“Alright, alright, who’s rushing us?” she calls out, exasperation just barely veiling her amusement.

“It’s Penguin,” comes his voice from the other side, sounding slightly muffled. “We’re all ready to go, and you two are still getting dolled up?”

I can’t help but laugh, listening in from the other side of the room as I slip on my heels. Ikkaku smirks, raising her eyebrows as she responds. “We’re not quite ready yet, so you can wait or go ahead without us, Peng,” she says, drawing out his name teasingly.

“Oh, come on! You’ll be late if we wait much longer,” Penguin protests, but his tone is more amused than annoyed.

There’s a beat of silence, then Bepo’s familiar voice pipes up from the hallway. “Um, Penguin, maybe the others should go on ahead. I can stay behind and… and escort Ana and Ikkaku to the party, make sure they’re safe.”

Ikkaku glances back at me, biting her lip to stifle a laugh. “Hear that, Ana? We’ve got ourselves an official escort.”

I grin, finishing my last adjustment and grabbing my mask. “We’re almost ready, right?”

Ikkaku turns back to the door, poking her head out again. “Alright, Bepo, your wish is granted. You get to be our chaperone tonight.”

Penguin groans theatrically, and I can practically see him rolling his eyes. “Alright, then. We’ll see you three at the party—don’t keep us waiting too long!”

With a nod, Ikkaku turns back to me, grabbing a small makeup brush. "One last touch!" she insists, brushing a hint of color across my cheekbones. "Perfect! Now, close your eyes. Just a tiny bit of sparkle," she says, dabbing a shimmer on my eyelids. “We’re going to make them wish they’d waited longer.”

I laugh, doing as I’m told. “This masquerade might never be the same again.”

After one last look at herself, Ikkaku slips on her mask—a delicate black piece adorned with gold fringes that glints under the light. She adjusts it carefully, then turns to help me with mine. I take a deep breath as she ties the ribbon around the back of my head, securing my own mask in place. It feels strange, mysterious, almost thrilling to be hiding behind it. The fabric is soft, curling around my eyes and resting snugly against my cheeks, and the dark, swirling edges of the mask frame my face in a way that adds a touch of mystery to my reflection.

“You look incredible,” she says, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “And that dress—I wasn’t kidding. They’re going to be speechless.”

I feel my cheeks heat up, a blush that thankfully the mask conceals. “Thanks, Ikkaku. You look incredible too. This dress is… well, it’s kind of magical.”

“Magic’s exactly what we’re going for,” she agrees with a wink. “Ready?”

With one last glance in the mirror, I nod, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement pooling in my stomach. The upbeat music from the den den mushi echoes behind us as we gather ourselves, and I brush my hair and adjust the slit of my dress, making sure the keepsake chain peeks out just the slightest bit.

When we finally step out of the room, the lights in the hallway seem softer, casting a warm glow across the walls. The hum of the ship feels different tonight, as if it, too, knows something special is happening. I can’t remember the last time the sub was this quiet.

Bepo stands at the end of the corridor, fidgeting with his mask, his eyes brightening the moment he spots us. He straightens up, his usual gentle smile replaced with a look of pure admiration.

“Wow…” he says, trailing off, his gaze moving between Ikkaku and me. “You both… you both look amazing.”

Ikkaku grins, giving him a playful nudge. “Thanks, Bepo. We clean up well, don’t we?”

He nods enthusiastically, his ears twitching a bit with excitement. “Yeah! You look like you’re princesses!.”

“High praise, coming from the best escort in town,” I reply, smiling at him.

Bepo gives a sheepish laugh, reaching up to adjust his mask. “Alright, shall we? The others are probably already causing a ruckus without us.”

With a last shared glance, Ikkaku and I link arms with Bepo, and together we head down the hall, ready for whatever the masquerade will bring.

As we make our way down the narrow steps of the sub and into the cool night air, I feel a flutter of nerves mixed with excitement. The town’s lights are visible in the distance, their glow spilling across the water like scattered stars, and I feel a small thrill at the thought of the masquerade waiting for us.

The path from the sub to town is quiet, lined with low bushes and trees casting long shadows in the moonlight. The night feels still, almost holding its breath, and I can hear the soft crunch of our footsteps against the gravel. I take in a deep breath, trying to shake off the strange feeling of being watched.

As we pass by a clump of dense bushes, I catch a sudden glint—a flash of light, like a pair of eyes staring right at me. They’re bright, sharp, almost glowing against the shadows, and they’re fixed on me. I stop in my tracks, narrowing my eyes to see more clearly, but the figure seems to disappear, slipping into the darkness as quickly as it appeared.

“Did you guys see that?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder.

Ikkaku pauses, looking at me with a curious tilt of her head. “See what?”

Bepo stops beside her, his eyes scanning the bushes. “What did you see, Ana?”

“I thought I saw…” I start, but then the rustling fades, leaving only silence. I shake my head, trying to brush it off. Maybe it’s just the excitement, my mind playing tricks on me. “Never mind, it was nothing. Let’s go.”

They both shrug, and we continue down the path, the strange moment lingering in the back of my mind as we make our way toward the distant sounds of music and laughter. But as we walk, I can’t quite shake the feeling of those eyes watching us, waiting, like a shadow slipping through the night.

We arrive to the Mayor’s house, in the center of town, and as we step into the grand hall, the air changes—it's warmer, filled with the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the soft strains of music. The first thing I notice is the staircase, wide and sweeping, descending down to the gleaming floor below. It’s luxurious, the kind of staircase you’d expect to see in a palace, with gold accents tracing the railings and deep crimson carpet stretching down each step. And waiting at the bottom, our crew stands clustered together, looking up with wide eyes.

The room quiets as we step forward, every face turning towards us, and I can feel the heat of all those gazes. I glance over at Ikkaku, who’s beaming, her confident stride matching the radiance of her gown, her every movement deliberate and graceful. Beside her, I feel like I’m walking in sync with something larger than life, caught up in the surreal sense that we’re in a dream, or maybe the pages of a fairy tale.

As we descend, I take in the awe-struck faces around us. The men in tailored suits and the women in elegant gowns watch as if they’ve forgotten to breathe. I can feel my cheeks warm under the attention, but I force myself to keep my chin high, moving with the same calm poise I’ve seen in others so often, but never imagined I’d attempt myself.

As I descend the staircase, I can feel the mask on my face—a delicate, soft fabric that hugs my features yet allows my eyes to shine through. It’s more than just an accessory; it’s like a veil that grants me anonymity and, with it, a surge of unexpected courage. In this moment, nobody knows who I am. I can slip into a version of myself that’s wilder, sexier, a part I didn’t even know existed until now. The shimmering grey of my dress, the way it moves with me, adds to this newfound boldness. It’s as if the mask has unlocked something deep within—a daring spirit that dances on the edge of mischief and adventure. I feel untethered, liberated from the weight of my past, ready to embrace the night and all its possibilities.

Near the bottom of the staircase, I spot our crew clustered together. Shachi has his hand frozen halfway to his drink, his jaw slack, eyes wide as he stares. Penguin looks equally stunned, clutching his glass like he’s forgotten he’s even holding it. The rest of the crew is much the same—faces a mix of admiration, pride, and disbelief.

It’s Louie who snaps out of it first, his face lighting up with an enormous grin. He nudges Penguin, who promptly drops his glass, catching it just before it shatters on the floor. Shachi whistles, his voice low with awe as he says, “Damn…they look like they stepped right out of a magazine.”

As Ikkaku and I reach the floor, I spot him—Law, standing at the base of the staircase with the rest of the crew. His eyes widen, and I can’t help but notice the way his mouth falls slightly open in surprise, almost as if he’s seen a ghost. There’s a moment where our gazes lock, and time feels suspended, the crowd fading into a blur around us.

The way he looks at me sends a rush of heat through my cheeks, and I feel like I’m on display, but not in a bad way. It’s as if I’ve stepped out of a dream, and he’s the only one who can see the magic in it. The shock in his expression transforms into something deeper—admiration, maybe even awe. I can feel the flutter in my stomach as I take in the sight of him, the mask on his face adorning his features sharply. It’s an electrifying moment, and I realize that all those worries about how he’d perceive me vanish in an instant. I’m not just Ana in this dress; I’m something more, something that captivates even the serious, stoic, cold captain.

he warmth of Law’s presence pulls me closer, and despite the crowd, it feels like we’re in our own world for just a moment. His expression softens, and I catch a glimpse of something vulnerable beneath his usual stoicism, something that makes my heart flutter even more.

“Wow,” he finally breathes out, his voice low and tinged with disbelief, as if he’s still trying to comprehend the sight before him. He genuinely seems like he’s in a trance. In fact, I’m not entirely sure he noticed the words leave his mouth.

His reaction sends a thrill through me; I’ve never seen him look so captivated. I want to bask in it, to relish the feeling of being seen by him in this way. For the first time, I feel like I’m not just a shadow in his world—I’m someone who can stand tall beside him, someone who commands attention.

“Do you like it?” I ask, my voice playful yet laced with uncertainty as I spin slightly, letting the fabric of the dress catch the light.

He takes a step closer, still a little awestruck, and his lips curve into a slow, genuine smile that sends butterflies racing through my stomach. “You look…”

He stares, and stares, and opens his mouth to speak, but it seems he either can’t find the words or they get stuck in his throat.

“Ana…” he lets out again once he spots the keepsake around my thigh.

“You look absolutely stunning.”

As his words sink in, warmth spreads through me like a gentle tide, washing away any lingering doubts. The intensity of his gaze makes my heart race, each beat echoing in my ears as if the world around us has faded into an ethereal background. I can see it in his eyes—the way they spark with something unspoken, a blend of admiration and maybe even desire.

“Thank you,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper, the weight of his compliment sending shivers down my spine. I can’t help but twirl again, allowing the shimmering fabric to billow out like a cloud of starlight. The laughter and chatter of the crowd fade into a distant hum, and in this moment, it’s just him and me—two souls connecting amidst the chaos of the masquerade. The rest of the crew are already talking, and drinking with smiles on their faces.

“Seriously, Ana,” he says, shaking his head as if trying to dispel the haze of disbelief. “I—” he pauses, searching for the right words, and I can see the way his brow furrows in concentration. “You look like someone out of a story. It’s... incredible.”

“Honestly, you don’t look too shabby yourself, Captain doctor, sir,” I tease, a playful smile gracing my lips as my gaze drifts down to his undone bowtie, resting loosely around his neck, the shade of it perfectly matching the grey of my dress. Was he going for the laid-back, casual look? Tsk, tsk. No can do, not on my watch.

A sudden surge of boldness fills me, and it surprises even me. What am I doing?

“Looks like someone needs a little help,” I say, taking a half-step closer, feeling the thrill of the moment. My heart races, and I can’t ignore the flutter in my stomach as I reach my arms around his neck. He’s so much more taller than me, I have to stand on my tip toes even with these high heels on. His mouth is agape, gorgeous gray eyes switching rapidly between mine.

“What?” I tease, a smirk playing on my lips. “Don’t tell me you couldn’t do it by yourself?” My voice drips with playful seduction as I slide my hands down his chest, letting my fingertips linger on the fabric before finding the ends of the bowtie strings. What am I doing???

Law’s eyes widen in surprise, and I catch the faintest hint of pink dusting his cheeks, even behind the mask he wears. He stutters, struggling to form a coherent response, and it’s utterly adorable. “I, uh—”

“Shhh,” I shush him softly, my tone coaxing, as I pull the bowtie slightly, allowing him to feel the warmth of my hands against him. There’s a spark in the air, and the world around us seems to melt away once more. “Let me do it for you.”

As I tie the bowtie, our eyes lock, and I can see the way his expression shifts—uncertainty mingling with intrigue. I take my time, relishing the intimacy of the moment, enjoying the way the tension builds between us. The laughter and music fade into the background, and it feels like we’re suspended in our own little universe, where the only thing that matters is this connection, this shared breath of anticipation. I can feel his chest breathing, hard.

Once I’m done, I let my hands rest in his chest, just a little longer. He looks down at the tie, then back at me. “Thank you,” Law breathes out. He’s leaning further down, just as Ikkaku steps out of the crew and comes running to me.

Ikkaku links our arms playfully, making me step a bit further away from Law.

“Look at them! They’re completely stunned!” she whispers between the two of us. I can’t help but laugh, a sound that feels light and free, echoing off the walls. It’s contagious, and soon Ikkaku joins in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Should we give them a little show?” she suggests, and I can’t resist the idea. Law stands there, gripping the drink on his hand tightly. I want to say I can feel his eyes on me, but I might be flattering myself too much.

“Let’s do it,” I grin back at her, and out of the corner of my eye, I think I hear a groan, and see the captain downing the rest of his drink.

Together, we strut across the floor, our heels clicking rhythmically against the polished tiles. With each step, I feel more empowered, my earlier nerves dissipating like mist. I catch glimpses of other guests turning their heads, their whispers mixing with the music, and I can’t help but revel in the attention. This is what I wanted—to feel bold, to step out of my comfort zone, to be seen.

“Hey, ladies!” a man’s voice cuts through the air, and I turn to find him grinning widely, his own mask adding an air of mystery. “You both look absolutely gorgeous!"

We both laugh. I turn to scan the room, and my gaze lands on Law once more. He’s still watching, a mixture of wonder and admiration etched on his features. It’s as if he’s seeing a side of me that I’ve only just begun to explore, and I want to dive deeper into that feeling. I take a breath, straightening my posture, and suddenly, it’s not just about impressing him. It’s about embracing who I am and who I can be.

We make our way to the dance floor, where the music swells around us like a wave, and I feel the rhythm pulling me in. With Ikkaku by my side, we twirl and spin, letting the energy of the night wash over us. As we dance, I catch glimpses of Law from the corner of my eye, and I can’t help but grin, feeling a thrill run through me every time our gazes lock.

“Does he dance?” I ask Ikkaku as we sway our bodies to the music together. I can feel numerous eyes on us, admiring us, and I can’t help but feel good inside.

“Cap?” she chuckles, “I don’t know, but perhaps we can tempt him.”

“What?” I breathe out, confused smile and all.

She winks at me as she lets go of my hand, and I lose her in the crowd of people. What’s she planning? Knowing Ikkaku it could be literally anything.

I try not to think much of it, and lose myself in the music. I’m dancing by myself when a tall, blond man approaches, his smile warm and inviting. He’s got an air of confidence that instantly draws my attention. “Excuse me, miss,” he says, his voice smooth and melodic. “Would you do me the honor of this dance?”

My heart races at the unexpected invitation, and for a moment, I hesitate, a wave of nerves washing over me. But then I remember the vibrant energy of the night, the laughter, and the freedom I’ve embraced. “Um, sure,” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel.

He takes my hand, his grip firm yet gentle, and leads me toward the center of the dance floor. As the music shifts to a slower, more romantic melody, I feel the atmosphere change around us. The world fades into a blur, and it’s just him and me, a shared moment amid the swirling crowd.

With a graceful movement, he places one arm around my waist while he lifts my hand, guiding me into a classic waltz position. The warmth of his touch sends a flutter through me, and I instinctively settle into the rhythm, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

“You look great,” he compliments, his gaze lingering on me, making my cheeks warm. “You really light up the room.”

“Thank you,” I respond shyly, trying to focus on the dance and not the fluttering in my stomach at the attention.

As we begin to move, the world around us begins to shift. Out of nowhere, I hear a soft “Room!” It’s so gentle that I almost miss it. Suddenly, I notice a veil of shimmering light enveloping the space around us, creating an ethereal barrier that seems to separate us from the rest of the chaos. I’m the only one who seems to notice it, though, everyone else dancing as normal.

With each step, I’m swept away in the music, lost in the moment as he twirls me gracefully. The edges of my awareness begin to blur, and when I complete a spin, I expect to see his masked face again. Instead, I find myself staring directly into Law’s intense gray eyes, shock and recognition coursing through me like lightning.

“Law?” I step back a little, confused about the whole thing. What just happened?

“Disappointed?” He leans closer with his eyebrow raised, and I can feel his strong grip on my waist. Part of me wishes his hand would slide closer to my back and touch my skin. I shiver at the thought, goosebumps lining up my arms.

“Flattered,” I bite back, a small smile on my lips as I wrap my hands around him before I continue. I stare at him back, trying to match his intensity.

“I had a dream last night that I was dancing with y—”

“Anastasia…” he murmurs softly. My cheeks heat up once he leans further down, closing the gap between us. “Please don’t speak.”

I tremble under his intense gaze, wondering why he would shut me up so suddenly. My eyes shift through his, taken aback by his words. Did he not want to do this? Why’d he do it then? Was he jealous? The thought sends a thrill through me, and I can hardly breathe as I try to decipher the heat in his eyes. Is he really dancing with me? Why me?

I just look up at him, my eyes giving him a soft, pleading look. I think I can see pleading in his eyes, too.

“Just dance with me, and not speak,” he breathes out into my ear. “I’m afraid of what I might say if you keep looking at me like that.”

Chapter Text

My mind is reeling and my heart is pounding a thousand beats per minute at his words. His prescence is intoxicating, the smell of his cologne flooding my mind, and I’d be lying if I say that I didn’t feel as though I was drunk right now. Drunk of him.

For a moment, I can hardly breathe. “I’m afraid of what I might say if you keep looking at me like that.” I can’t deny the flurry of emotions bubbling up inside me no longer. Do I ‘like’ Law? Am I falling… for him?

The weight of his words—so raw, so unexpected—lingers in the air between us, charged and humming with a clarity that makes my heart race. I’ve never seen him like this, never heard that hint of plea in his voice. It’s as though, for the first time, he’s showing me a piece of himself that’s usually hidden away.

I’m so hyper-aware of every detail now. His hand resting in mine feels strong and steady, grounding me in a way that makes me feel safe and on edge at the same time. His other hand, firm against my waist, pulls me closer, guiding me in sync with his steps. The warmth of his touch seems to sink through the fabric, right down to my skin. I feel myself leaning in without thinking, drawn to him like gravity.

Every turn, every sway, feels like a confession in silence. His hold on me is gentle but unyielding, and I can sense the restraint in his grip, as though he’s holding back a storm of words and emotions. My mind keeps flashing to his voice—“just dance with me, don’t speak.” It was as if he was afraid of saying too much, or maybe afraid that I’d see through him. I can’t help but marvel at the fact that he room’d himself into my arms. It is so entirely him, but I can’t help but feel butterflies in my stomach.

I lift my eyes to meet his, and that steady, intense gaze makes my heart skip. How could someone who’s usually so guarded look at me with this kind of intensity? As he pulls me closer, our steps slowing with the music, I let myself melt into the moment, wondering if he can feel my pulse thrumming against his fingers.

I never knew dancing could feel like this—like something out of a dream, like we’re the only two people in the room.

As we continue to dance, I feel his hand on my waist pull me just a little closer with every step. Our bodies nearly touch, the space between us thinning until there’s only a whisper of distance. His fingers, warm and steady, begin to shift along my waist, sliding toward my exposed back. A shiver races up my spine as he makes contact with my skin.

I feel his fingertips trail slowly, almost reverently, down the length of my scar. It’s a part of me I rarely touch myself, but under his hand, I find myself craving for more. The way he traces it, unhurried and deliberate, makes me feel like he’s exploring me without words—like he’s acknowledging every moment, every memory, etched in my skin. Chills beam through my body, and I catch my breath, unable to tear my gaze away from his.

It’s overwhelming, the tenderness in this small, unexpected gesture. The thrill and intensity of it all make my thoughts spin, but I don’t want him to stop. I want to stay here, suspended in this closeness, wrapped in his warmth, where I feel like he’s seeing me—maybe with desire?—for the first time. And maybe for the first time in a long time, I’m ready to let someone in like this.

The song slows to a stop, and I damn it in my head for ending so quickly. I wanted it to stretch on, to savor this closeness a little longer. Law’s hands slip from my waist, almost reluctantly, and the absence of his touch leaves me feeling strangely untethered. I immediately miss the warmth of his hand, the way it had settled against my back as though it belonged there.

The guests around us begin to drift toward the tables set for dinner, and I make a move to follow, but then I feel a light touch trailing down my arm. His fingers trace a gentle, deliberate line from my shoulder down to my hand, igniting goosebumps as he moves. My pulse quickens when he lifts my hand, his movements slow and sure, as if he’s making a promise to himself.

He brings my hand to his lips, and the world seems to blur around us. His gaze doesn’t leave mine as he murmurs, “Thank you, heart,” in a tone so soft it’s like a secret meant only for me. Before I can even breathe, he presses a small, quick kiss to my knuckles—so tender, so intimate, it’s all I can do to stand there, rooted in place.

The moment lingers just long enough for me to feel the heat rise to my cheeks, and then, just as quickly, he lets go. He steps back, his expression unreadable, before turning and heading toward the crew as though nothing happened. I take a breath, trying to steady myself, to catch up to the rush of emotions swirling in my chest.

The dining tables are buzzing with laughter and conversation, the crew relaxed and unwinding after the excitement of the dance floor. I find myself nestled between Law and Bepo, warmth radiating from both sides. Law, unusually quiet, is close enough that our shoulders occasionally brush. I try not to let it distract me, but each accidental touch sends a little spark through me, one that I keep buried beneath the lively chatter surrounding us.

On my other side, Bepo’s voice rumbles as he explains something animatedly to Shachi and Penguin, who laugh in response. Meanwhile, I’m engaged in a conversation with Ikkaku across from Bepo, who’s reminding me of an incident from a few days ago.

 “Do you remember when Shachi tried to barter with that vendor and ended up paying double for that hat?” She can barely keep a straight face as she speaks.

“Oh, I’ll never forget it!” I laugh, recalling the vendor’s deadpan expression and Shachi’s proud grin, not realizing he’d been outwitted until we told him afterward. “The look on his face when he found out! I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone turn that shade of red before.”

Ikkaku chuckles, shaking her head. “And then he tried to get a refund, saying it was a ‘team discount.’ Classic Shachi.”

I laugh with her, enjoying the easy, lighthearted moment. Just then, I glance down to see my glass is empty, and I sigh. “I think I need a refill,” I say, excusing myself as I stand up from the table.

Law’s gaze follows me for a brief second, and I can feel the weight of it even as I stand to walk away.

As I lean against the bar, waiting for my drink, I let myself admire the decorations around the room. The crystal chandeliers glow softly above, casting a golden warmth across the crowd. The soft glint of polished silverware, the floral arrangements, the elegant, flowing curtains—it’s all carefully curated, opulent, and… unexpectedly calming.

But then, just as the bartender slides the martini my way, I hear a low, familiar voice behind me, the kind that coils around you like a snake. “Well, well, well…”

My body locks up in an instant, the cold rush of dread flooding my veins. My grip on the glass tightens as his words slide into my ear like a whisper, yet louder than anything else in the room. “Still as beautiful as ever, Ms. Karkhova.”

No. No, no, no, no. Not here, not now.

I don’t turn around. For a split second, I can’t breathe, my mind frantically churning. How could he be here?

His prescence is a knife to my gut, making me feel nauseous. I force myself to swallow, but my heartbeat thunders in my ears, almost drowning out the sounds of the party around me. I scan the exits, my mind racing through contingency plans.

I’m already calculating how fast I could get back to the crew. If I run, would anyone follow? Could I draw him away from Law and the others without tipping them off? I map out a route in my head—how many doors, how many obstacles. Should I grab Law first? Would he understand if I just told him to trust me and run?

I exhale shakily, trying to keep my face blank, even though every fiber of my being is screaming to move, to act. I quickly scan the room, the masked faces feeling me with dread when I’m trying to assess danger and the only thing I’m met with is anonymity.

In a split second, I make a decision. I’m not running away anymore.

“That is not my name,” I say, steadying my voice as I turn to face him. I’m not that terrified little girl anymore—I can stand my ground. I lift my chin and stare him down, taking in his cold, calculating eyes. “Polkovnik,” I address him formally, testing his reaction.

He seems amused, chuckling darkly as he swirls the amber liquid in his glass. “Well,” he says with a smirk, “that’s not my name anymore either.”

The words settle over me, and I let out a silent sigh of relief. He’s alone, and from the look in his eyes, maybe not a threat. I glance around, subtly, to confirm there’s no one else lurking nearby.

He takes a slow sip, then lowers the glass and studies me with mild interest. “The old man and I… let’s just say we’re no longer in each other’s good graces. He has a knack for making things… difficult.” He chuckles, his tone laced with something almost mocking, as if he’s reminiscing on a bitter joke. The twitch on his mouth translates directly to me: he hates Abram now.

For a second, I relax. He’s here, but maybe not for the reason I feared. I still hate his guts though.

“The wind speaks, however…” he leans in, his voice low and unsettling, “and it tells me he’s looking for you.”

I tighten my grip on my glass, but I don’t let it show on my face. I’ve known this for a long time now. I won’t let him see fear.

“Don’t worry,” he says, voice almost conspiratorial. “I won’t say a thing.” A hint of an old, almost fond smile twists his mouth. “I always liked you, devochka.”

I chuckle darkly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I let the bite in my voice come through. “Years of torture say otherwise.”

He raises his glass slightly in acknowledgment, his eyes still glittering with that edge of familiarity. “Ah,” he says with a smirk, “but look what it’s made of you”. But there’s something else in his gaze—a glimmer of respect, perhaps, or just amusement at seeing me now, unafraid and unfazed. He raises his glass at me, and downs the rest of his drink.

For a moment, I feel the sting of his words, the ghosts of my past whispering in my mind. I grip my glass tighter, the cold rim pressing into my palm as I fight the unease bubbling inside me. It’s a strange feeling, one I’m not sure how to handle. Those words are a reminder of what I’ve been through, the emotional scars of my past, words that could briefly threaten to crack my armor. It's a reminder of how far I’ve come, but also of the cost. It might not show on my face, but deep inside, the tension lingers, and a fleeting flicker of vulnerability passes through me.

On the other hand, there’s also a quiet relief that I’m not letting him manipulate my emotions anymore. He’s clearly trying to get under my skin, and I’m perhaps momentarily thrown off by his words, but I’m not backing down. It feels me with strength, even when I feel the familiar burn of my history rising to the surface.

The sting is there, though. An old wound being touched.

We stay like that for a moment, locked in a quiet battle of wills, until I decide I’ve entertained his presence long enough.

As I turn to walk away from him, he grabs my arm.

“Будь осторожна, девочка, [Be careful, girl.] ” He whispers glancing around, speaking ina tongue he knows only I will understand. For a moment, it almost seems like he cares. In his own sadistic, cruel way. “Не стоит его недооценивать. [Don’t underestimate him.]”

I harshly pull my arm away from him. I think about just walking away, but I stop myself. I glance back at him, martini in hand, and the most insane looking smile I can muster on my lips.

“Fear not, Polkovnik,” I hold his gaze, “Он понятия не имеет, какого монстра он создал.”

He has no idea of the monster he’s created.

I step away, and make my way back to the table, the clinking of glasses and the hum of conversation around me barely registering as my mind races. "He's looking for you." The words echo in my head, that voice taunting me like a shadow I can't shake off.

My hand tightents until my knuckles turn white, but I steady myself as I reach the table. My gaze flicks over the crew, all of them so carefree, laughing and enjoying the night. They don't know what just happened, and I’m not sure if I want them to.

They’re happy—so I’ll let them stay that way. I’ll tell them about my little encounter later, when the night isn’t so full of light and laughter.

Penguin finishes a joke just as I sit down, his voice loud and animated, and the moment he delivers the punchline, the entire table erupts in laughter. Even Bepo laughs so hard he nearly chokes on his drink. The sound is so contagious, so real, I can’t help but smile, my chest warming at the familiar feeling of the crew all together.

And then... I feel it.

A hand—Law’s hand—slips onto my thigh. It’s light at first, almost like he’s searching for something to hold as he steadies his loud laughter. A touch, a connection, the kind of contact you don’t think twice about until it happens. But when he gives me a soft squeeze, his fingers pressing lightly into my leg, it's like a jolt of lightning surging through me.

I freeze for a moment, my breath catching in my throat, feeling the heat of his touch as it slowly starts to seep into my skin. It’s grounding, pulling me away from the edge of my thoughts, dragging me back to the present. He’s still laughing, oblivious to the effect his touch has on me, but I can feel my anger slowly melting away.

It's strange, how with just a simple gesture, Law can do something no one else can. It’s like he holds this power over me, this calmness that seeps into me with the most minimal of touches, as if he’s anchoring me to something solid. To him.

I focus on that warmth, on his hand resting so effortlessly on my thigh, and I let the moment wash over me. For now, the anger fades into the background, overshadowed by the softness of this strange, grounding connection between us. I don't know how he does it, but right now, I don’t care. It’s enough to simply be here, surrounded by the crew, with him beside me.

I can’t let myself get lost in the past again. Not tonight.

So I lean back, letting myself enjoy the laughter, the sense of belonging that I haven’t felt in so long. I choose to relish this moment, even if it’s fleeting. Even if it’s the calm before the storm.

As the dinner wraps up, the crew steps out onto the dance floor, all of us crumpled together, moving and swaying slightly to the soft music that fills the room. Laughter echoes in the distance, coming from the other side of the space, but it's so loud here that it doesn’t faze us. People are scattered, everyone caught up in their own world, and with all the chatter and clinking of glasses, the noise blends into the background.

But Law... Law hears it.

His reaction is immediate. I watch his eyes snap to the source of the laughter, his pupils narrowing in recognition—his expression suddenly tightens, his brow furrows, the faintest shadow of tension flickers across his face.

I don't know what it is, but something in his posture shifts. He freezes.

His grip on his glass tightens so violently that I hear a sharp crack. The next thing I know, the glass shatters in his palm, the shards of crystal clinking against the floor as the last of his drink spills across the dance floor. For a brief, intense moment, all I can focus on is the way his fingers curl around the jagged pieces, his knuckles turning white with the force.

"You're so clumsy, Captain!" Penguin laughs, clearly unaware of the shift that just happened, and the rest of the crew erupts into lighthearted chuckles, brushing it off. They’re back to their conversation, none the wiser.

Law, however, doesn’t laugh. His hand is still clenched shut, fingers twisted in a way that makes me uneasy. He doesn’t bleed, so he didn’t hurt himself. But the way his palm remains curled, like he's holding onto something that shouldn’t be there, something sharp and painful, makes my gut twist.

Something’s wrong. I can feel it in the air, like an invisible pressure pushing down on the room. I glance over at Law, studying his face—his gaze locked on the crowd, but it's distant, far away, like he's somewhere else entirely.

I can tell now—he’s not just startled. This isn't about the glass. It's about whatever he heard.

And whatever it means, it’s got him on edge. I don't know what triggered it, but I do know that Law’s rarely this affected by anything.

I should say something. I should ask him, but the crew is still laughing, and I don’t want to make a scene. Instead, I take a small step closer, just enough to make sure he knows I’m here—here to ground him. And for a brief moment, the anger from earlier with the Colonel bubbles up again, but I push it down, focusing entirely on Law, trying to figure out what’s eating at him now.

Law’s breathing begins to quicken, shallow and ragged. I can see his chest rise and fall with each strained breath, the tension in his body almost suffocating. His eyes are fixed ahead, but they’re not seeing the room around us. They’re locked on something—or someone—that’s clearly thrown him completely off balance.

His jaw tightens, the muscles in his neck standing out, and there’s something in his gaze that makes my skin crawl. His usual calm, calculated demeanor is gone. What I see now isn’t the man I’ve come to trust, the one I’ve seen smile—albeit rarely—at the oddest moments.

This? This is something else entirely.

There’s an unrecognizable fury behind his eyes, raw and violent, like a storm waiting to break. The kind of rage I’ve only heard whispered about in the rumors, the kind that has earned him the name Surgeon of Death. It’s as if everything he’s worked so hard to keep under control is slipping away.

I’ve seen him angry before—bitter, frustrated, even annoyed—but this... this is a different level. His anger feels primal, unhinged, and it makes the air thick with tension.

For a split second, I freeze. My heart skips a beat, and I feel a chill creep down my spine. There’s a part of me that’s scared—scared of what this is, what’s going on inside of him. I’ve never seen him like this. And for the first time, I wonder: how much of him have I really seen? How much do I truly understand about him?

The way he’s holding his hand so tightly makes me think he’s trying to control something—something so dangerous that even he knows better than to let it slip. I’m not sure if it’s the laughter that rattled him, or if it’s something more, but whatever it is, it’s unsettling.

"Law," I say softly, my voice a gentle pull through the storm I can feel brewing inside him.

But he doesn’t respond, doesn’t even blink. His entire focus is elsewhere.

I can’t help but glance around, my mind working overtime, trying to piece things together. Could it be... that man? That laughter?

I reach my head further, and try to look amongst the sea of people. But the only thing I can spot at the other edge of the big ballroom is a pink, feathered coat.

Bepo, always the observant one, notices the fury of his captain. His gaze darts between Law and the crowd, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. Without a word, he steps forward, positioning himself in front of Law. It’s subtle but effective—a physical barrier that prevents Law from moving any closer. He leans down towards him, blocking the view but staying calm, his voice low but firm.

Law doesn’t react at first. His hand clenches into a fist at his side, then his fingers twitch. He reaches for Bepo’s jacket, gripping it tightly with a force that’s almost desperate. The look in his eyes is wild, barely contained.

I step closer, my curiosity and concern getting the best of me, trying to make out what Bepo is saying to him. His voice is barely a whisper, but the words are sharp and direct.

“—here. Not yet, we have a plan. Look at him, he’s leaving already. You know he can’t stay  for long.”

The words cut through the tension, and I realize something I hadn't fully considered. Whoever it is, they won’t be here for much longer. Law knows that too. But the fact that he’s still gripping Bepo’s jacket so tightly—like he’s struggling to stay in control—sends a fresh wave of unease through me.

I can see it now, the small, deliberate movements Bepo is making to try and ground him, keeping Law from breaking free. It’s not angry, not harsh—just calm. But firm. He’s trying to stop Law from doing something reckless.

I turn away from them again and crane my neck higher. I don’t see the pink feathers anymore. I glance around the room. Whoever that was, he’s not here anymore. He's gone.

The knot in my chest loosens just slightly, but it doesn’t completely go away.

Law’s breathing is still erratic, his hand pressed against his forehead like he's trying to push away the storm in his head. He looks like he’s been trying to keep it together, but the cracks are showing. His body shakes just slightly, and then with a swift motion, he pushes off of Bepo, not roughly but like he’s been holding back a tidal wave and it’s finally breaking through.

He turns away from the rest of the crew, undoing his tie with one hand, his movements sharp, almost frantic. He walks toward the side doors, the ones that lead to the balconies. The sharp clink of the glass breaking still echoes in the back of my mind, but Law’s departure pulls me back to the present. I watch his silhouette against the light as he disappears through the doors. A part of me wants to follow him, to reach out, to do something, but another part knows he needs space.

Bepo must have noticed me staring, because he catches my eye, a small frown pulling at the corner of his lips. He steps closer to me, his usual gentle demeanor back in full force.

“Don’t worry about him,” Bepo says softly, his eyes darting briefly towards where Law left. “He just needs to clear his head.”

I want to push more, to understand what just happened, but Bepo’s stance tells me it’s not something I can ask about right now. “What happened?” I ask anyway, my voice low, a mix of concern and confusion.

Bepo hesitates, just for a moment. He looks at me with a hint of regret in his eyes. “Sorry, Ana. It’s not my story to tell.”

I open my mouth to ask more, but Bepo’s bright smile cuts me off. He gently nudges me with his elbow, his tone light and reassuring. “Come on! Let’s continue enjoying ourselves. He’ll be fine.”

I glance back toward the side doors where Law disappeared. For just a moment, I catch a glimpse of his figure through the stained glass windows, his form fading into the night as he walks away. The sight leaves a gnawing emptiness in my chest, but I nod at Bepo, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.

I wait, one minute, two minutes. But Law’s face and anger knaws at me, and I can’t hold myself back.

I’m not letting go through whatever this is alone. If he pushes me away, I’ll stand back, but I can’t just do nothing. Not after everything he’s done for me.

I take a deep breath, my steps growing more purposeful as I make my way toward the side doors. I know what I’m doing—what I have to do. As my fingers brush the handle, I gently pull it open, wincing at the soft creak of the door. The noise feels too loud in the quiet tension between us, but I don’t stop.

Outside, the air is cool against my skin, and the soft hum of the city below fills the night. The balcony is dimly lit by lanterns hanging on the walls, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Law stands there, leaning over the railing, his arms stretched out in front of him like he's holding the weight of the world. His head hangs low, and I can hear his breathing—deep, labored, like he’s trying to calm himself but can't quite manage it.

I swallow hard. I’ve never seen him like this…so vulnerable.

I take a step forward, my heart clenching. I close the door softly behind me, making my approach slow and measured, trying to be quiet. But it’s impossible to mask the sound of my heels clicking softly against the stone floor.

Law’s head snaps up, his staring straight onto the city below, but he doesn’t turn toward me. I stop for a moment, my breath hitching, wondering if he heard me or if I should just turn back. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even acknowledge my presence, and that tells me he knows I’m here. It’s enough of a sign for me to keep going.

I step closer, closer until I’m standing just behind him. My hand reaches out before I realize it, instinctively, and I stretch my fingers toward his shoulder.

“Law…” His name is a whisper, fragile, like it’s a secret only meant for him.

But as soon as I’m within reach, he spins around with a speed that catches me off guard. His hand grips mine harshly, pulling me toward him with a sudden force that takes me by surprise. Before I can process what’s happening, I’m pressed against him—his chest hard and unyielding, his arms wrapping around me in a tight, almost desperate hold.

I gasp, feeling the weight of him, the heat of his body seeping into mine. His grip on me is so strong, so intense, that I’m almost afraid to move. His breath comes in fast, shallow bursts against my neck as he holds me close, as if he’s trying to anchor himself to something, to someone.

I feel his pulse, erratic, pounding beneath his skin, and I freeze. This isn’t the Law I know—the calm, controlled man who always seems to have a plan. This is someone else entirely, someone raw and hurting, and it shakes me to the core.

“Law…” I say again, this time my voice trembling, unsure of how to reach him, unsure of what he needs from me.

His arms tighten around me, and I can feel the tension in his body, as if he’s afraid to let go, afraid to let me slip away. But despite the weight of everything he’s carrying, I don’t feel afraid. Not anymore.

"Just hold me, please," Law says, his voice strained, breaking in a way I’ve never heard before.

I freeze, the words hitting me like a sudden gust of wind. This isn’t like him. The cool, composed captain, the man who never asks for anything, would never say something like this. But the desperation in his voice, the rawness, makes my chest tighten. It’s as though everything he’s built up inside is finally spilling over, and I’m the one he’s reaching for.

I wrap my arms around him, pressing into him just as firmly, wanting him to feel the same comfort I always find when I’m near him. I don't know what’s going on in his mind, what he's battling with, but I’m here. I’m here, and I won’t let go.

"As long as you need me to," I reply, the words leaving my mouth steadily, and without hesitation.

I realize, then and there, that if it were up to me, I would hold him forever.

Chapter Text

After a while of holding him there, under the quiet night and beautiful stars,  I feel the tension slowly leaving Law. His breathing steadies, and his grip loosens around me, little by little. I almost don’t want to move, but he pulls away gently, hands still resting on my shoulders. His touch is light, steadying me even as he seems to be grounding himself.

His hands slide down my arms, his fingers brushing along my skin until they reach my hands. He holds both of them tightly, like he’s afraid to let go. I look at his face, searching for anything that might tell me he’s alright, that this dark cloud has finally lifted—but he doesn’t meet my eyes. Instead, I see something else there: a shadow of anger and frustration, fading but not gone.

I feel his hands tremble, just barely, almost too faint to notice. But I do. And that slight tremor is enough to make my chest tighten.

I open my mouth to speak. "Law—" but he cuts me off, his voice quiet, almost… vulnerable.

“You look beautiful tonight… as always.”

The words catch me off guard. I smile, but not from the compliment; it’s a soft, sad smile, a response to the concern that’s welling up inside me. He’s trying to cover whatever it is he’s feeling, to brush it aside. I can see it in the way he won’t look at me directly, in the way he squeezes my hands, as if that alone could keep his walls from crumbling.

I squeeze his hands in return, giving him the silent reassurance he seems to need. He doesn’t want me to ask, doesn’t want me to prod at whatever wound has been reopened.

So I don’t. Instead, I stand here with him, hands intertwined, offering the quiet comfort that I hope he knows I’ll always be here to give.

“That’s a stunning dress.” He points out with a small smile, openings my hands to my sides and making me sway a bit.

This time, I can’t stop myself.

“You like it?” I smile wider, “I chose it because… well… because it reminded me of your eyes.”

His eyes widen in surprise… those stupid grey eyes. His mouth slightly agape, I can almost see the thousand equations floating around in his mind, my comment clearly taking him off guard.

He chuckles softly, “I see,” he says, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Ana, I…” he starts.

“I want to tell you something,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze is still distant, unreadable, as he adds, “But… not here. Later.”

His hands slip away from mine, leaving a strange emptiness in their wake. He moves carefully, placing his hand on my back to turn me toward the doors. His touch is steady, grounding. The more he does that, the more it feels like his hand belongs there, like it’s meant to be there.

He clears his throat, snapping me out of the thought. “Let’s get back to the others,” he says, his voice regaining its usual firmness, as if willing himself back into the mask he’s always worn.

I give him a small nod, trying not to look too closely at him. As we step back inside, I feel the faint warmth of his hand on my back, lingering like a quiet promise. We make our way back to the others, and eventually, back to the sub.

I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling like my mind is unraveling in a mess of thoughts that just won’t settle. Beside me, Ikkaku is out cold, dead to the world after tonight’s whirlwind of events. I turn over for what must be the hundredth time, trying to shake off this heavy, uncomfortable feeling. I’m too hot. I push the blanket off, only to feel a sudden chill that makes me pull it back up again. I can’t find a spot that feels right, and it hits me—I’ve never actually slept in this bed before. I always fall asleep somewhere else and wake up here. No wonder I can’t find any comfort in it.

Just as I’m about to force myself to try closing my eyes again, there’s a sound—a soft knock on the door. It’s so quiet I almost think I imagined it. But something stirs in me, a curiosity, and I get up, wrapping myself in Law’s hoodie from the chair, as if it’ll shield me from whatever’s outside.

I open the door, and there he is, standing in the dimly lit hallway, his black coat draped around him, hat low over his eyes. He’s a shadow, dark and quiet.

“Can we talk?” he asks, his voice steady but low.

I nod, pulling the hoodie tighter around me, and step into the hall. We walk side by side in silence, each step feeling heavier as we move further down the corridor. It’s only when we stop that I notice where we are: his room. Not the study, where we sometimes talk, but his private space.

He glances at me, his eyes searching for permission, a silent question. I can tell he wants to be sure I’m comfortable with this, with the vulnerability of it. I nod, trusting him, and he turns to open the door. He steps back slightly, letting me walk in first, and I cross the threshold, taking in the quiet, unfamiliar stillness of his room as he closes the door behind us.

He leads me to the center of the room, and as strange as this moment feels, there’s a warmth here—a quiet calm that settles inside me. I look up to find him staring directly into my eyes, his gaze steady and intense.

“I’ve been wanting to speak to you about this for so long,” he says, his voice softer than usual, almost hesitant. “But… there is a favor I must ask of you first.”

A rush of thoughts floods my mind, each one wilder than the last. But before any of them can take shape, I nod, letting my trust answer for me. “Yes, Law. Anything.”

He pauses, studying me for a long moment, then turns and walks across the room. My eyes drop to my bare feet, toes painted a soft blue polish, glowing faintly in the low light. I almost don’t want to look up, afraid of breaking the tension building between us. But when I do, I see him holding Kikoku. He lifts the blade slowly, carefully unsheathing it with a deliberate grace.

He crosses the room, his steps quiet and sure. He’s barefoot, too, and something about the sight of him like this—skin exposed—feels oddly vulnerable, almost sacred. His expression is hard to read, though. There’s a firmness there, but his jaw is tight, as if he’s fighting some inner battle he doesn’t want me to see. Yet, in his eyes, I can glimpse the faintest trace of hesitation, a flicker of uncertainty that disappears as quickly as it came.

He stops just in front of me, standing close, his presence both grounding and electrifying.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, voice barely a whisper, but each word cuts through the silence. There’s a vulnerability in his tone, as if the answer could break him.

I feel my heart pound as I meet his gaze. “I do, Law. With my heart.”

I barely have time to comprehend what’s happening as he lifts Kikoku, the familiar blade I’ve seen him wield countless times in battle. Only now, it’s pressed flat against my bare skin, cold and unyielding against my abdomen. My heart pounds wildly, my mind racing with questions, confusion, and, yes, a flicker of fear—yet I stay still, trusting him, my skin alive with goosebumps from the chill of the blade and the intimacy of the moment.

My mouth opens to ask—what the hell is he doing?—but before I can get a single word out, he moves. The sword slides across my skin, swift and precise, with that unmistakable motion of a cut. I feel the icy press of the blade as it glides sideways, as if slicing clean through flesh and muscle.

But there’s no pain. Only the strange thrill of cold metal and my own ragged breath filling the silence. Law holds Kikoku firm, his grip steady, the blade angled where it would have left a wound on anyone else. We both stare down at my abdomen, expecting blood or a thin red line, but there’s… nothing. No cut, no wound, no blood, nothing. Not even a mark. My skin is untouched, smooth, and unharmed, as though the sword never even touched me.

My heart races faster, my mind grasping for answers. How is this possible? I look up at him, searching his face, but instead of finding the same astonishment in his eyes, he only looks focused. As if he’d expected this to happen, again.

“I need you to do the same to me.”

His words echo around me, making my pulse quicken. He wants me to do the same? To him? I stare at him, my head spinning with shock and disbelief. "What the hell, Law?" I manage, my voice shaking. My mind reels, every instinct screaming that this is a terrible idea, that I shouldn’t—can’t—risk hurting him like this.  "No! I can’t—"

“Ana,” he silences me with a steady look, his eyes filled with a calm that draws me in, as though he’s somehow unshaken by what he’s asking. He hands me Kikoku by the handle, guiding my fingers around it, then lets go of my hoodie, taking a step back.

Law’s voice breaks through my wandering thoughts, a quiet reassurance that makes my heart clench. "It’s okay," he says softly, with a confidence that somehow settles me.

He lifts his white shirt up to his chest with both hands. For a moment, all rational thought slips away as I catch sight of his body beneath the fabric; the lean lines of muscle ripple down his torso, his skin inked with that familiar tattoo, the tail of the heart stretching down his abdomen. I try to tear my gaze away, but the sharp curve of his V-line only draws me in further, trailing down and disappearing beneath his trousers, my mind wandering despite myself. Damn it, Ana, I think furiously, this is not the time to be distracted by that.

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of Kikoku in my hand, cold and unfamiliar; I can feel the danger humming beneath the surface of the blade, the sharpness practically vibrating through my fingertips. It scares me—scares me to death, actually—but I fill myself up with as much courage as I can muster and step closer, my heart racing faster with each inch between us that I close. I place my hand on his waist to steady myself, feeling the warmth of his skin; I grip Kikoku tightly with my other hand, my knuckles white, as I fight the urge to pull away.

As I press Kikoku against his hard midriff, I’m barely able to look him in the eyes; the fear of what could happen, of the very real possibility of hurting him, coils like a knot in my chest. But he doesn’t flinch; he stands steady, unwavering, the quiet assurance in his gaze a steadying force, silently encouraging me to trust what he somehow already knows.

My hand trembles without me even realizing it until Law’s warm hand steadies mine atop the hilt. The simple contact draws a shaky sigh from me, grounding me in the moment. When I look up, his calm, intense gaze holds mine, his grey eyes somehow soft and unyielding at the same time, like a storm stilled just for me. That look alone makes my knees go weak, but it’s his silent nod that fills me with just enough courage to push forward.

With his hand guiding mine, we angle Kikoku as if preparing for an actual cut. I brace myself, my breath catching as the blade inches toward his skin, cool and deadly sharp. I close my eyes, bracing for the unimaginable—and then we slide the sword, with every intention to cut.

But when I finally force my eyes open, I blink, stunned.

Nothing.

No blood, no bruise, no trace that the blade ever touched him at all.

“Just as I thought,” Law murmurs, pulling down his shirt and gently taking Kikoku from my hand. I can only stare, completely at a loss as he walks back to the sword stand and lets Kikoku rest there, as though this were just any other night. My mind races, trying to catch up with what just happened, my mouth hanging open.

“What…? What?” It’s all I manage to say.

Law seems strangely calm, not tense or suspicious of Kikoku like he’d been the first time this happened. He must’ve figured something out. “Kikoku cuts everything and everyone… except its master,” he says matter-of-factly.

I nod, urging him to continue. I know this already—but there’s something more, I can feel it.

He pauses, hands slipping into his pockets as he watches me. “Which must mean… Kikoku somehow recognizes you as her master, as well.”

The words sink in, but I still struggle to understand. “I… what?” I stammer, trying to process the weight of his conclusion.

Law chuckles softly, and for a moment, there’s an endearing warmth in his expression. He actually looks amused by my confusion, his lips quirking slightly, his eyes softening.

“I’m not entirely sure how,” he shruggs a little. “But it is what it is.”

The finality of his words gives me the hint: not to ask further. Nothing I ask and nothing he wonders will change the fact that Kikoku doesn’t cut me, just like it doesn’t cut him.

Law walks over to one of the couches, motioning for me to follow. I trail behind him, feeling the weight of this revelation still settling in my chest. He takes a seat, removing his hat and placing it carefully on the coffee table, then shrugs off his coat, letting it slide down his shoulders and onto the couch beside him. I take a seat across from him, crossing my legs, and wait. I don’t want to press him. Whatever he’s about to say, it’s clearly important, and maybe even difficult for him.

There’s a long pause as he leans forward, running a hand through his hair. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he begins.

“It started with the White Lead,” Law says, his tone distant, as if the words are coming from a place far behind him. “It was a sickness that spread like wildfire across my village. People dropped dead within days. There was no cure, no hope. My mother, my family... they all died from it.” His voice cracks slightly, but he catches it, swallowing the emotion before it can surface.

I can hear the pain in his words, and my heart twists. He doesn’t look at me; his gaze is fixed on the floor, his fingers tapping absently against his leg.

“I... I was sick, too. I was supposed to die with them,” he continues, his eyes lifting now, but not meeting mine. “But I didn’t. I had a few years left to live.”

He pauses, exhaling slowly, the memory heavy in his chest. “I was just trying to survive. I don’t know why I lived while everyone else died. I wasn’t important. I was just a child. But I fought for every breath. I couldn’t... I couldn’t give up.”

“After the disease took its toll, there was nothing left. No one cared. The Marines, they came to clean up, to eradicate what was left of the mess. I escaped…” he swallows hard, “I escaped hiding in a pile of dead bodies.”

He grits his teeth and tightens his hands. I want to reach out to him, but I must let him get everything off his chest first. I can’t do anything, I can’t say anything. I’m at a loss for words. It takes all my strength to keep listening. What a horrible world we live in.

“The world didn’t care,” Law adds, a bitter edge to his voice. “I was a survivor, a nobody. So I kept moving, trying to outrun it. I was filled with anger, hatred. I hated everything and everyone. I wanted to harm as much as I could before my life gave out.”

That’s when he met the Don Quixote family, he says. A group of ruthless individuals lead by an almost demonic leader, who seemed was also trying to escape his own past. Hatred recognizes hatred, and so he took Law in. Trained him, fed him, had him stay with them. They were cold, cruel, merciless killers, who saw value in him just for his expendability.

“That’s when I met Corazon,” he says, his eyes finally lifting to meet mine. There’s something different in his gaze now—a flicker of gratitude, mingled with sadness. 

“He wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t cold like the others.” Law’s voice drops, the faintest flicker of something like fondness mixed with sorrow lighting his features. “Corazon... He was different. He wasn’t like the others in the Marines who saw me as an infectious individual. He wasn’t like… Doflamingo. He actually saw me. He noticed me when no one else did.”

He leans back slightly, his hands folding into his lap as though he’s physically distancing himself from the weight of his memories. But his eyes are glued to me, searching, trying to gauge how much of this I’m ready to understand.

“Corazon took me everywhere trying to find a cure, and when he couldn't he realized my only option was eating a devil fruit that would help me,” Law says, his tone filled with an unspoken gratitude. “But that’s not the real reason I remember him. The real reason I remember him is because he chose to save me, when everyone else was just going through the motions. He was the first person in years who saw something in me worth saving.”

I feel a lump form in my throat, my chest tightening with every word he says. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to feel so alone, to think you weren’t even worth saving. I’m not sure what to say, but I wait for him to continue.

“Corazon wasn’t just some Marine,” Law says slowly, almost as if he’s convincing himself. “He had his own demons. He told me once that he didn’t care for the Marines, that he didn’t trust them, but he had to do his job. But when he saw me, when he saw what the disease did to me... he chose to do something different. He saved me from the same fate everyone else had. But he wasn’t just saving my life—he was giving me a choice.”

Law’s voice wavers for a split second. “It wasn’t just about survival anymore. He made me realize that I could have something more than just a life of revenge, or a life of pain. He made me think that maybe... maybe there was a future for me.”

His words echo in my mind, and I see the flicker of light that Corazon gave him in those dark days. For all of Law’s anger and resentment, it’s clear that Corazon’s kindness was the thing that pulled him out of that pit of despair.

“I’ve asked myself a million times: Why did he do it? Why did he risk his life for me, someone who had nothing to give back?” Law gives a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I guess... maybe he just believed in me. Or maybe he just didn’t want to let a kid die without a chance. But whatever it was, I’ll never be able to repay him for it. And when I could finally breathe, when I was alive, he made me a promise: that I could make my own future. I didn’t have to let my past define me.”

I see the weight of it all in his eyes—the immense burden of surviving, the need to live up to Corazon’s belief in him. But the sadness in his eyes is there, and I understand that it’s not just a debt of gratitude he feels toward Corazon. It’s something deeper.

“He got the Op-op Fruit for me. He saved me, Ana,” Law whispers, almost as if to himself. “And in the end, he gave me everything. He died thinking I could make something of myself. But in the end, I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t... stop it from happening.”

He looks away me for a long moment, as if weighing his own words, then exhales, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “But... that’s why I’m here, Ana. I’m still here, still breathing. And I’m going to keep breathing, for him. For Corazon.”

He shifts his gaze over to me, after a while. He seems more relaxed now, letting it all out. He’s mourned this before. Knowing him, I know he’s turned this his whole past around in his mind a million times, thinking about it, thinking about what he could’ve done and what he didn’t do. But he’s calm. He has accepted his past, in his heart, even if it still isn’t easy for him to talk about it. I don’t think anybody would want to reminisce loudly on a past like this.

Suddenly, his gaze shifts from calm to concern.

“Ana, heart, are you okay?” He sits closer to me and holds one of my hands.

"Huh?"

“You’re crying,” he tells me. I feel my chest tighten, my throat closing up as the tears start to fall. I didn’t even realize I was crying until Law points it out.

I feel the wetness on my cheeks. I wipe at my eyes quickly, but they keep coming, like they have a mind of their own.

I don't want this. I don’t want him to see me like this. But then, I can’t stop it. I didn’t even realize how deeply his story affected me until now. I thought I was holding it together, but the truth is, I feel... shattered. I can’t help but feel selfish, but my heart is truly broken at his story.

I swallow, trying to steady my breath. "I’m fine," I manage, but the words feel so empty. I’m not fine. How could I be? I’m furious. Furious at the world for what it did to him, furious that it happened at all. He was just a kid. How could anyone do that to a child?

I want to scream, to rage against everything that has hurt him, but I can't. I feel helpless. How could anyone—especially a child—go through something like that? How could they just leave him?

He just stares at me, waiting for me to say something more, but all I can do is sit there, the anger building in my chest. I want to pull him close, to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that he didn’t deserve any of it. I want to say something—anything—to make it better, but I can’t find the words. I just... I can't.

“I’m sorry, Law,” I say, my voice breaking a little. “I’m angry. I’m angry that you had to go through that. That you were just a kid, and they didn’t care. That they left you to die.”

My hands shake, and I feel like my chest is going to collapse in on itself. I can’t stop the tears, can’t stop the heartbreak. I’m angry at the world for doing this to him, angry that he had to carry this weight alone.

“You didn’t deserve any of it,” I whisper, and the words come out like a prayer. “You didn’t deserve to go through all that... alone.”

I blink hard, trying to clear my vision, but it’s useless. The tears keep falling. Why did it have to be him? I think. Why him? He was just a kid. He didn’t deserve any of that.

I let out a shaky breath, looking at him, and I feel a deep sadness settle in my chest. “I just want to make it right,” I say softly, my voice thick with emotion. “I want to make sure you never feel that way again.”

But what can I do? The past is already written. I can’t change what happened. I can’t undo what they did to him. All I can do is be here now, but even that doesn’t feel like enough. He deserves so much more than that.

Then it hits me.

“I know you’re planning something,”

I feel a quiet shift inside me, like the fog lifting just enough for me to see through. I know him. I know he’s planning something. I’ve seen the way his mind works, how he keeps things locked away until it’s time to strike. The pieces click together in my mind, and I don’t need to ask for details. I already know. I know he’s carrying something heavy, something dangerous.

But I’m not afraid.

My words break the silence, fragile but firm, like the first rain after a drought. "I don’t know what it is, but I know you’re carrying it alone.”

I take a breath, feeling the weight of my own resolve settle into my bones.

“You don’t have to carry it alone anymore,” I continue, my hands finding his again, this time with a quiet certainty. “Whatever it is, whatever you're about to do, I want to help. I’m here for you, Law. Always.”

I let the words hang between us, raw and real, and I don’t try to mask the truth in them. The truth that I’m not just offering to help with the task ahead, but with him. I want to stand beside him, to fight beside him, to shoulder whatever burden he’s been carrying all this time.

"I don't care what happens," I add softly, my voice a whisper, "I want to be there with you. Whatever comes next, you're not alone in it."

I feel him shift beside me, his warmth still close. I can see the hesitation in his eyes, the walls he’s built up, but I’m not going anywhere. I just... need him to see it. To see that I’ll be there, not as a distraction, not as a burden, but as someone who wants to stand by him through it all.

Because we both deserve to be more than just the weight of our pasts.

We sit in silence for a while, the kind that speaks louder than words. The air between us feels charged, as if everything we’ve shared tonight is settling in, grounding us to this moment. I feel closer to him than I ever have before, like the walls that kept us separate have finally crumbled away, leaving nothing but the raw truth between us.

“Corazon sounds like a great man,” I say quietly, my voice soft, almost reverent. “A wonderful man. I can see why he meant so much to you.”

Law’s lips pull into a small, tender smile, and I swear I see something flicker in his eyes—something vulnerable, something only I get to see. It makes my heart ache, because it’s the part of him that’s always been hidden, the part he’s guarded with such ferocity. The part that still remembers the loss, the grief, the love.

“You’ve become someone I think he’d be proud of, Law,” I add, my words wrapping around the weight of his past, lifting it, just for a moment.

He smiles again, but this time it’s softer, a little sadder, like he’s finally letting go of something, even if just for tonight. His eyes never leave mine, and the world outside fades away, until all that’s left is the two of us, sitting in the quiet, sharing something deeper than either of us has shared with anyone in years.

We lean in just a little closer, almost without thinking. The silence between us feels thick, comfortable, and yet... heavy with something unspoken. His grey eyes draw me in, and for a brief moment, I can feel the tension in the air shift. His breath catches, and I see his gaze flicker down to my lips, just for a second, but I notice.

I don’t pull away. Instead, I breathe in slowly, the space between us narrowing with every second. The warmth of his presence, the intimacy of everything we've shared tonight—it feels like a pull, an invisible force drawing us closer, as if the universe itself is conspiring for this moment to happen.

He’s so close now, I can feel the heat of his skin, the steady rhythm of his breath against mine. The space between us feels like it’s been shrinking for ages, and I can sense that we’re both waiting for something, for the world to stop spinning, for something to happen.

“I’ll help you with your plan,” I whisper, our mouths almost close enough to touch.

And just when I think it’s going to happen, when I think I can’t breathe without feeling his lips on mine, something shifts.

He stands up so abruptly, the space between us widening in an instant. My heart races, but not in the way it did moments ago. Now, it’s a mix of confusion, frustration, and the sharp sting of disappointment. The warmth of our shared moment feels like it’s slipping away, and I don’t know how to stop it.

“I can’t do this,” Law says, his voice tight, strained, as if he’s trying to hold himself together.

I blink, feeling the coldness start to seep into the air between us, replacing the warmth that had been there just moments before. My chest tightens.

What?

My pulse is hammering as I rise from the couch, standing a little too abruptly. The anger in me burns hot, but it’s not just anger. It’s hurt, it’s confusion. I thought—no, I felt—we were growing closer. I thought his story, his past, was a bridge between us. A step forward. But now? He’s pushing me away.

“We just shared such a… moment together,” I say, trying to steady my breath, my voice betraying the frustration building up inside me. “What has gotten into you?”

His eyes flicker to me for a moment, but it’s not the look I was expecting. There’s no tenderness there, no softness. It’s guarded, distant. As though he’s pulling away again. His mouth opens, but the words that come out make my stomach twist.

“No, no. You’re imagining things.”

I’m imagining things?

I stare at him, my eyes wide, feeling a bitter heat rise in my chest. 

“I'm sorry? I'm imagining things?” I bite back, my voice incredulous. There’s no way I’m letting this go. Not after everything we’ve just shared. Not after the weight of the truth he gave me.

He turns around, a little too quickly, and for the first time tonight, his face is hard. There’s no crack in the armor. There’s no opening. It’s as if he’s shut me out again—just like that.

I take a step closer, my voice softer but full of something raw. “I want to help you, Law,” I tell him, hoping he can hear the sincerity in my words. “I’m here for you. I’m here, Law. Please, let me in.”

He exhales slowly, like he’s running out of patience, or maybe fighting something inside himself. His jaw tightens, his shoulders rigid. But then, his words cut through me like ice.

“You can’t help me. I won’t let you.”

The words hit me like a slap. I feel the sting of them deep inside, where it hurts the most. I won’t let you?

I can’t understand. How can he say that after everything?

I look at him, my heart pounding, trying to make sense of it. “You’ve opened up yourself to me,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. “And now you’re pushing me away? Help me understand, Law.”

I know I’m angry—I know it’s obvious—but I don’t want to be. I don’t want to demand answers. He’s already told me so much tonight. So much pain, so much loss. I should be gentle, should be patient. But it’s hard. It’s hard not to feel betrayed. He knows I care about him. I know he cares about me, if not like something more, then at least, like a friend.

It feels like we’ve reached a breaking point, and I’m not sure what’s going to happen next. I don’t understand why he’s doing this—why he’s pulling away when everything in me wants to pull him closer.

He opens his mouth to say something, but this time, I see it in his eyes before he even speaks. I want to reach out to him, to make him understand that it’s okay, that I can handle this. But something in me tells me he needs more time. That right now, the only thing I can do is wait, to show him that I won’t give up on him.

But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him keep pushing me away.

“You’ve completely misread the situation,” he says, his voice tight, but there’s something else there now—something softer that I wasn’t expecting. He opens his hands, a gesture that feels almost desperate, like he's trying to ward off something he doesn’t want to face.

“Have I?” I echo, not backing down. The frustration builds in my chest, but so does something else—something that feels like an ache I can't quite name. I step forward, slowly, deliberately, the words pouring out without filter.

“You heal my wounds. You bring me coffee in the mornings, you hold my hand when we’re walking together, you carry me to bed when I’m too exhausted to move... you trace my scar like it’s something you treasure. What of that am I imagining, Law?”

His jaw clenches, and I watch the storm behind his eyes. He’s trying so hard to hold it together, but the cracks are showing. For a moment, he looks like he’s battling something inside of him—something painful, something he doesn’t want to let me see.

I can’t help but stand my ground, even though my heart is hammering in my chest. “I’m not imagining any of this, Law,” I say, quieter now, but no less determined. “You’ve been letting me in. Letting me care for you, for God’s sake. You know I do. In fact, I think you already know that I like you, Law.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. The silence between us is heavy, thick with things unsaid. I can see the inner turmoil fighting for control behind his gaze.

“I really, really, like you. I might even go to the lengths to say that I’m fa—

“You can’t! I can’t, Ana! Don’t you see?” he cuts me off abruptly, “I can’t lov— like you!”

“What are you so afraid of?”

“Damn it Ana, I can’t lose you!”

I freeze at his words, the weight of them crashing down on me harder than anything else he’s said. My chest tightens, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. He looks at me, his eyes burning with an intensity that cuts through everything, but there's something else there too—fear. A fear that mirrors the depths in my core.

He runs a hand through his hair again, his eyes avoiding mine. “You don’t get it, Ana,” he says, his voice strained, as if each word is being dragged from him. “The path I’m on... it’s dangerous. I’m dangerous. I’ve been trying to protect you from it, from me. I can’t let you in because if you come too close, I—” His voice falters, like he can’t say the words. “I can’t live with myself if something happens to you because of me. I... I won’t risk it.”

The way he says it, like a plea, makes my heart break. I see the vulnerability in him now, the cracks that are barely holding together his self-control.

“You don’t have to lose me, Law,” I whisper, stepping even closer, until we’re so close I can feel the heat of his body, hear the quickened pace of his breath. “We’ve been through hell, you and I. You’re not alone in this. We don’t have to do this by ourselves.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Law,” I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not afraid of what you’ve done or what you’re doing now. I’m here for you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. He just stands there, staring at me, and for a moment, it feels like we’re caught in time, like we’re suspended between what could be and what’s too painful to be. But slowly, almost imperceptibly, he lets out a breath, and I see the edge of his resolve crack.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, the words so quiet, I almost don’t hear them.

“Then don’t,” I say, my hand reaching up to gently rest on his arm. “Don’t push me away, Law. Please.”

Law stands there for a long moment, and I can see his inner turmoil reflected in the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers twitch at his side like he’s fighting himself. I stay still, waiting for him, my breath steady but my heart racing in my chest. I don’t know how much longer I can take this silence, this tension.

Then, slowly, he exhales, a shaky breath that almost sounds like relief, and his hand comes up to rest on my cheek. His touch is warm, familiar, yet hesitant, like he's afraid of making the wrong move. But when I look up at him, I see something in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before—a flicker of hope. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, his voice soft, vulnerable. “I’ve spent so long pushing people away, trying to keep them safe from me... but maybe it’s time I stopped running from this. From you.”

His gaze softens, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I see him let down his guard completely. “I’m… I’m sorry. I don’t deserve someone like you,” he whispers, his thumb brushing against my cheek in a way that makes my heart race even more.

“Don’t say that,” I tell him, my gaze unwavering and decided. “You deserve the world, Law.”

I place my hand over his, holding it there, grounding both of us in this moment. “We both bring trouble,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “But we’re here to face it, together. And that’s enough.”

He doesn’t say anything else at first. But then, his lips twitch into a small, bittersweet smile, the weight of everything between us seeming to shift. Slowly, he lowers his hand, but not completely, as if the touch is something he still wants to hold on to.

“We’ll figure it out, then,” he murmurs, his voice low, but filled with something real, something tender. “Together.”

I nod, finally letting the tension release from my shoulders. His words sink deep into me, and in this moment, I feel a shift between us, a quiet understanding. There are still a thousand unknowns in both our futures, but for the first time, I feel like we’re facing them side by side.

And maybe, just maybe, that's enough to start with.

I smile softly, meeting his eyes, and I see the spark of something—something that could be the beginning of something more. Maybe the path ahead is uncertain. Maybe there will be more moments like this, moments where fear threatens to take over, but for now, this is enough.

“I’m right here,” I promise, my voice steady now, my heart finally finding its rhythm again. “No matter what.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, Law’s gaze softens in a way that makes my chest tighten with something I hadn't felt in a long time. Something like...

“I know, heart,” he says quietly. “I know.”

And in that moment, we don’t need anything more. Not words, not explanations. Just the quiet understanding that we’re not alone anymore. That together, we can face whatever comes next.

We stay like that for a long while, the silence between us now comforting instead of heavy. 

And slowly, ever so slowly, the distance between us continues to close.

Chapter Text

As he leans in, slowly, but surely, closing the gap between us, he takes his hat off and throws it on the floor. He nestles his head onto my neck and holds me. We’re holding each other so tightly, it feels like nothing else in the world exists. His arms wrap around me, firm but gentle, like he’s afraid to let go, and it’s more overwhelming than I’d ever imagined. My throat tightens, and before I know it, a tear slips down my cheek.

Then I feel something wet against my neck. My breath catches as I realize he might be crying, too. But neither of us says a word. We just hold each other closer, as if we’re each other’s only anchor.

Without letting go, we sink onto the couch behind us. I curl up beside him, leaning into his chest, and he keeps his arms around me, as if letting go isn’t an option. I close my eyes and breathe him in—a calm, familiar scent, mixed with salt and metal and something warmer, deeper. He smells like home.

In this moment, I feel sheltered, secure. If he asked me for the world right now, I’d give it to him without a second thought.

His breathing steadies, the soft rise and fall of his chest lulling me. The gentle rhythm of his heartbeat anchors me, and my own heartbeat slows, syncing with his. His arms tighten, just slightly, and I close my eyes, letting myself drift.

Sleep tugs at me, and I feel him relax too, his breaths softening in time with mine. Just before I slip away completely, I realize he’s falling asleep with me. And in the stillness, with his arms around me, I let myself sink into sleep, wrapped up in him as though we’ll never let go.

When I wake up, the first thing I notice is warmth. Law's arms are still around me, steady and secure, his breathing calm and even, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek. For a moment, I don’t move. I just lie here, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling the quiet safety that comes from being held like this.

Slowly, I open my eyes. The room is dim in the early morning light, and his face is softened in sleep, free from the guarded look he usually wears. I can’t help but study him, taking in the gentle line of his jaw, the faint curve of his mouth that’s relaxed, almost peaceful. This side of him feels like something precious, something he doesn’t show the world. This is the first time I’m seeing him asleep.

I’m not sure how long I stay like this, barely breathing, but eventually, he shifts a little, his brow furrowing as he stirs awake. His arms tighten around me slightly, as if instinctively holding me closer, and then his eyes flutter open.

He blinks a few times, focus sharpening as he takes in the room, and then he looks down, noticing me still in his arms. For a second, there’s a flicker of vulnerability there—surprise mixed with something softer—and he doesn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he just watches me, his gaze searching, as if he's waiting for me to say something.

“Morning,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

“Morning,” he replies, his voice low and slightly rough from sleep. He blinks slowly, his usual guarded expression not quite returning yet. It feels like neither of us is ready to break whatever fragile understanding we’ve reached.

“Thank you,” I murmur, “for… everything. For letting me...”

He studies me, his hand still resting on my back. “You don’t have to thank me, Ana,” he says, and his voice is soft, almost gentle. “I just… I should be thanking you.”

The room is quiet around us, filled only with the early light and the lingering warmth of last night. I feel his hand move gently, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, and the tenderness of it makes my heart ache.

I can’t stop myself from smiling a little. “So… how’d you sleep?” I ask, my voice light, almost teasing, though there’s a real question there too.

He doesn’t look away. Instead, a rare, faint smile touches his lips as he answers, “Amazing. Best sleep I’ve had in a good while.”

His words make something flutter in my chest. I know he’s not the kind to say things he doesn’t mean, and the thought that he actually rested well—because of this, because of us—feels strangely precious.

“Me too,” I admit, my cheeks warming slightly. “I don’t think I’ve felt this… at peace in a long time.”

He nods, his gaze softening again. For once, there’s no need for words. We’re both just here, in this moment, and the silence is comforting, like we’re sharing a secret.

But then he sighs and shifts slightly, as if reminding himself that this closeness can’t last forever. “Ana, about… last night…” he starts, his tone hesitant.

I place my hand on his, squeezing lightly. “It’s okay, Law. You don’t have to say anything else.”

He pauses, and I can see him choosing his words carefully. “Actually, what I was going to say… you were right. I am planning something,” he admits, voice low and serious. “I’ve started, and I’ve been having Bepo help with a few things.”

I blink, surprised but somehow not entirely shocked. “Law…”

He nods again, holding my gaze. “All I’m asking now is for you to wait. Give me a little more time to smooth things out. Once I have it all figured out, I’ll tell you everything.”

I can’t help the small grin that forms. “What? You’re drawing a mind map or something?” I tease, hoping to lighten the weight of his words.

To my relief, it works. Law chuckles, a quiet, genuine laugh that makes his shoulders relax just a bit. He squeezes my hand a little tighter, and I realize he’s still holding me close. “Actually, yeah, something like that,” he says, a rare hint of playfulness in his voice, the corner of his mouth lifting in a soft smile.

“I’ve been keeping it on the desk in my study.”

“Oh, the desk where you keep my wanted poster?” I quip, raising an eyebrow as I meet his eyes.

He freezes instantly. The tips of his ears go pink, and I can practically feel the heat radiating off him as he tears his gaze away from mine, obviously flustered. “You… you saw that?”

I smile softly, squeezing his hand now. “Yeah, I was… sort of pretending to be you.”

He looks down and chuckles again, softly, sleepily gazing anywhere but at me.

“Why’d you keep it?” The words slip out before I can stop them. I try not to pry too much, knowing how private he is, but the inner workings of his mind make me so curious. It’s impossible not to wonder what’s going on behind that gorgeous head of hair.

He sighs, looking down for a moment. “I… well, I found it in the trash bin, and I thought you looked… well, you looked so…” He trails off, and though he doesn’t finish, the look in his eyes says everything. Beautiful—I looked beautiful to him.

“But,” he goes on, his eyes still holding that warmth, “I hated that they got the name wrong. So, I changed it. I kept it because…” He hesitates, his gaze softening even more. “Call it pride, I guess. I know it’s not my place to say so, but I’m so damn proud of you.”

The wind is completely knocked out of me. And I feel so vulnerable, so seen, so appreciated.

“That poster, it’s like it captures something wild, free—someone who’s fought through everything to become herself. And I’m… I’m just so proud of that.”

His words wash over me, filling me with a warmth so intense that it leaves me momentarily speechless. I can feel my heart racing, each beat echoing his words back at me, the sincerity in his voice making them linger.

I choose to say nothing, and instead, smile tenderly and lean back on top of him. Breathing him in. He traces my back, his hand resting atop my scar. As I close my eyes, to enjoy the moment just a little longer before we have to get up, I can feel his mouth on the top of my head, pressing a kiss to my hair.

It’s been a regular day, filled with the usual rhythm of duties. I spent most of the morning helping out in the medbay by myself, organizing supplies and charts, and later on, joined the crew for a bit of a clean-up. But Law and Bepo have been locked away in Law’s study since breakfast, buried in their “important planning.” I haven’t seen either of them since.

When lunch rolls around, I grab a seat next to Ikkaku, who’s already deep in conversation about some modifications she’s working on for the ship. I’d regularly sit closer to Law, but I’m already talking to her and it just seems easier to stay close. Damn, I’m really craving some caffeine right now.

I’m nodding along, genuinely interested, and I think about interrupting Ikkaku to tell her I’m just gonna take a cup for myself. “Yeah, I get that,” I say, “Hold on though, I’m gonna go grab…”

But that’s when I notice Law approaching out of the corner of my eye. He places a steaming cup of coffee in front of me with a brief, wordless nod and then walks over to sit at the head of the table—his usual spot.

Huh, I think to myself, talk about coincidence.

Ikkaku raises an eyebrow, giving me a knowing look before her gaze flicks over to Law. She studies us both, a smirk playing on her lips, and then leans a little closer to me, dropping her voice just enough to keep things between us. “Did something happen between the two of you?” she asks, eyebrows lifting with a mischievous glint.

“What do you mean?” I reply, trying to sound casual, but I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks. Ikkaku just tilts her head, glancing between Law and me again.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, a sly smile forming. “There’s something here. Some… tension? You both seem more in sync with each other, almost like you’re reading each others’ minds or something.” She tilts her chin towards Law, “And now he’s all the way over there, acting like he’s purposely avoiding you. You didn’t break him or anything, did you?”

“Come on, he always sits at the head of the table,” I scoff at her, rolling my eyes playfully.

“Nuh-huh,” she counters, shaking her head with a knowing grin, “That wasn’t even a thing he did before you showed up.”

What? Could it really be that he chose to sit at the head because I was there?

When I first came into the crew, I felt closest to Bepo and naturally gravitated towards him. He sat on the edge of the table, without fault, and so I tried to sit across from him to engage him in conversation. I reckoned Law would sit there, with Bepo at his right side, because he’s the First Mate. Even when I arrive late to the mess hall, he still sits there. It would’ve never occurred to me that this hadn’t been their usual spots before I came.

“I… that can’t be!” I say, a little too quickly. “And we’re fine. I didn’t break him or anything.”

I stare down at my cup and sip it slowly. Could he be regretting everything about last night? It was a little tough to get him to open up to me, could he already be resenting me for it?

“Uh-huh.” Ikkaku brings me back. “Now look at him, the man’s practically glowering at his coffee like it offended him. Whatever happened, he’s got that look again.”

I blink, taken aback. “What look?”

“The look he gets when he’s holding himself back from doing something,” she says with a shrug. “You’d think I wouldn’t know after all these years?”

I try to play it cool, but I can feel Ikkaku’s words burrowing into my mind, bringing up every detail of last night. That “holding back” look… what exactly is he holding himself back from? The thought alone sends a shiver through me, my heart races a little as I realize I’m not sure if I want to know the answer.

“He just looks like he has a lot on his mind to me,” I finally say, “But it’s probably nothing.” I glance over at Law, and sure enough, his gaze flickers up from his food, locking onto mine for the briefest second before he looks away, feigning interest in whatever Bepo is saying.

“Sure, sure,” Ikkaku says, obviously unconvinced. “Listen,  Ana,” she murmurs, leaning even closer, “I can read you both like a book. Don’t hesitate to be a little forward with him, even if he looks like he’s trying to hide something.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, not quite sure where she’s going with this.

She shrugs with a knowing smile. “Our captain’s good at putting up walls. He’s practically got an entire fortress built around himself. But last night, when he was actually smiling and leaning all over you at dinner? And this morning, when he came down looking all rested for once? That’s not usual. So whatever’s got him running now, you might just have to be a little… persistent.”

I can’t help but chuckle a bit at her advice. “Persistent? You mean… you think I should confront him about it?”

“Wouldn’t hurt to be a little bold,” she says, winking. “Maybe remind him that disappearing into his study isn’t going to make whatever this is go away. In fact, it’ll probably just make it bigger.”

I glance over at Law again, this time with renewed curiosity. He’s saying something to Bepo now, but there’s a stiffness to him, as if he’s working hard to keep his attention anywhere but here. I take a deep breath, letting Ikkaku’s words sink in. Maybe she’s right. Maybe Law does need a nudge—someone to remind him that he doesn’t have to bear all the weight alone, that he doesn’t have to keep everyone at arm’s length, especially not me.

The thought emboldens me, and I catch his gaze again. This time, I don’t let him look away so easily, holding his eyes just long enough to let him know that I see him, that I’m not going anywhere. I smile at him—a quiet smile that says everything I need him to know: I see you, and I’m not going anywhere.

His eyes widen for a split second, clearly surprised. He holds my gaze for a moment longer than usual, something softening in his expression before he quickly turns away, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to hide the tension that’s suddenly there.

“Well, would you look at that?” Ikkaku whispers with a barely concealed grin. “Seems like you’re already making progress.”

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden glow across the deck of the Polar Tang. The day has been calm, and after a morning full of work, I’m more than ready for a moment of relaxation. The crew is scattered around, some leaning against the railings, others sitting in a haphazard circle, talking quietly or simply soaking in the sea breeze. I sit off to the side, curled up with my latest book, enjoying the rhythmic sway of the ship beneath me. It's a rare moment when everything feels quiet, and I can just exist without needing to be anywhere or do anything.

“Ana, you coming?” I hear Shachi call from a little further down the deck. I glance up to find him and Penguin lounging nearby, both grinning at me with drinks in hand.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I reply with a smile, giving a small shake of my head. I can tell they’re looking for something to do, though.

“Oh, come on,” Shachi urges, nudging Penguin. “We’re just talking about playing Color Scramble again. You’re good at that, right?”

I chuckle, remembering the chaos of the last time we played. “I guess I’ve had a little practice.”

Penguin leans forward, his smile widening. “Great! How about we make it more interesting this time?”

“More interesting?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Shachi looks around at the rest of the crew, who have started to gather, curious. “Yeah, we up the difficulty. This time, we’ll give you one color, but you have to find something that has two colors—one that matches and one that doesn’t.”

A few of the others start to perk up at the challenge, and I can see Ikkaku eyeing them from the corner of the deck, her arms crossed. “Sounds tough,” she comments, joining the conversation.

Penguin gives a dramatic shrug. “Yeah, it’ll be tricky. You’ll have to think outside the box. First person to fail has to do a dare. What do you say?”

I glance over at Bepo, who’s been quietly watching from the side. He’s already nodding eagerly. “I’m in,” he says, his smile practically stretching across his face.

Shachi looks at me expectantly. “You in, Ana?”

I let out a small laugh and close my book. “Alright, I’ll give it a shot.”

The crew gets into position, all of us buzzing with excitement. Everyone’s eager to test their luck and speed, ready for the challenge. Shachi calls out the first color, and the scramble begins.

I’m on my feet instantly, darting across the deck, scanning the surroundings for the perfect pair of colors. The chaos of it all feels familiar now—running from one end of the ship to the other, trying to spot something that fits the bill. It’s a familiar mix of absurdity and fun, and I can’t help but smile as I dive into the madness once more.

The game is in full swing, and the crew is buzzing with excitement. Shachi is in the lead with 11 tokens, but I’m close behind at 10. Every round has been a race, a frantic dash across the deck to find the right object, and it’s been a lot more challenging than I expected. We’ve all had our share of laughs, but it’s clear Shachi’s got the competitive edge.

“Last two rounds!” Shachi calls out, grinning. “You ready to lose, Ana?”

I roll my eyes but can’t help smirking. “We’ll see who’s laughing at the end.”

The crew gathers again, ready for the next color. I can feel my pulse quicken as the tension rises. Shachi’s practically bouncing with excitement, while I just keep my focus, my mind ticking off all the possible objects on the deck.

“It’s Ikkaku’s turn,” Shachi announces, giving the floor to her.

Ikkaku raises an eyebrow and tilts her head, considering. “Let’s see… white!”

White? White? That’s going to be a tough one. I glance around the deck, my eyes scanning everything in sight—ropes, barrels, crates, the wooden rails—all I see are shades of brown, blue, and the occasional splash of red. Where on earth am I going to find something white with another color?

I start moving, a little agitated now. Everyone else is already darting around the deck, looking high and low. The seconds tick by, and I feel the pressure building. It’s getting harder to keep my focus as I try to avoid the clutter of the ship’s usual mess.

Nothing. Not a single thing with white and another color.

My heart sinks as I glance toward the center of the deck. I’m running out of time. I’m about to give up when I hear voices from the far side of the ship. I turn quickly, my eyes narrowing. It’s Law and Bepo, walking and talking as they make their way onto the deck.

My eyes squint at them. And then—there it is. My heart skips a beat as a plan forms in my mind.

“Shit!” I mutter under my breath, my legs already moving before I even think it through.

I’m not going to let this slip away. I bolt toward them, ignoring the exhaustion from running already. The others are still hunting for their objects, but they’re all far enough away that I might just have time to pull this off.

As I get closer, I can see that Law and Bepo are talking, unaware of me closing in on them. I don’t hesitate. Without thinking, I rush up to Law, stand on my tiptoes, and—without a word—snatch his hat off his head.

Law turns quickly, eyes wide and shocked as I dash past him, sprinting as fast as I can toward the center of the deck.

I don’t look back, my feet pounding against the wood, my breath coming in quick gasps as I feel the thrill of the chase. I can hear footsteps behind me, but I don’t slow down, not even when I hear the shouts from the others, realizing what I just did.

I reach the center of the deck, my chest heaving, just as the others are nearing. I drop to my knees, barely able to keep my balance as I slap Law’s hat on the ground, breathless but grinning from ear to ear.

Shachi stops just a few feet away, out of breath. He looks down at the hat, then up at me. “Well, damn. You actually pulled it off,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

I grin, my chest still tight with the adrenaline.

The crew gathers around, laughing, but I can’t stop smiling. I caught them all off guard. Even Law, still standing in the background, is staring at me with a mix of surprise and something else I can’t quite place. I lock eyes with him for a second, and then he slowly raises an eyebrow, as if to say, You really did that?

For a brief moment, the world feels still, the laughter around me a distant echo as I catch his gaze.

But then I hear the crew’s voices, cutting through the stillness.

“Did you… did you just take the captain’s hat?” Uni asks, his voice tinged with disbelief. The others are looking at me in awe, some with wide eyes, others grinning from ear to ear.

“Wait, how did you even manage to do that?” Penguin adds, eyes darting between me and Law, who’s now sitting on a bench near the railing, looking completely unfazed. “He would've killed me if I tried that!”

Ikkaku bursts out laughing, clearly impressed. “Talk about being bold,” she says, shaking her head. Then she winks at me, her smirk playful. “I’m starting to think you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.”

I feel my face flush, but I can’t help but grin at the compliment.

“Exactly!” Louie pipes up, holding up his hands as though presenting a trophy. “I can’t believe you got away with it!”

The others laugh, shaking their heads in disbelief. But then they all turn to Shachi. “Well, clearly Ana wins the game!” Penguin says, throwing his hands up in defeat.

Shachi immediately protests. “No way! We’ve still got one last round!”

But the others are insistent. “Come on, she took the captain’s hat, unscathed,” Ikkaku says, still grinning. “That deserves at least two tokens.”

“Two tokens?” Shachi scoffs. “I was about to win, but alright, alright.” He shakes his head in mock exasperation. “Just because I actually can't believe you did that. Damn." He grunts, "Two tokens. This is fine.”

The crew laughs, and they all walk to return their items from where they got them, shaking their heads at how crazy the game got. Everyone’s catching their breath, the energy of the game still lingering in the air. I can’t help but smile, still basking in the victory of snatching Law’s hat. But as I glance back toward him, I catch something in his eyes.

Law’s watching me out of the corner of his eye, a small smirk playing at his lips. His expression shifts when our gazes meet—his eyes flicker just slightly, amused but almost… interested? It’s hard to read, but something clicks in my mind, and before I overthink it, I get an idea.

Without hesitating, I slide the hat onto my own head, standing tall and turning toward him, my heart picking up the pace as I make my way across the deck.

As I approach, I see his expression shift slightly, eyes widening for a split second before he catches himself. His mouth is slightly agape as he takes in the sight of me wearing his hat. His eyes flicker to mine, a hint of surprise still there, but he quickly straightens himself up, shaking his head a little and clearing his throat.

“I hope you won after that... stunt,” he says, raising an eyebrow, his tone low, almost amused.

I smile, my own amusement bubbling up. I step closer, gaze locked with his.

“Can I have my hat back?” Law asks as he stretches out his hand nonchalantly.

I pause for a beat, considering his outstretched hand. The ship is quiet for a moment, everyone else still bustling around, and it feels like it's just the two of us. I let the silence hang in the air, feeling a little daring, and then slowly lower my chin as I think about what to do.

I take a step closer, a playful smile tugging at my lips. “Hm… Let me think,” I murmur, feigning indecision as I rest my hand under my chin like I’m pondering the meaning of life.

Law raises an eyebrow, his patience clearly starting to thin. He’s watching me intently now, the little smirk still there. “Anastasia,” he warns, his voice smooth but laced with something else—maybe amusement, maybe frustration.

“Sure,” I say suddenly, deciding it’s time to stop teasing him. But then, before I can hand it over, I kneel in front of him. His expression shifts, surprise mixing with something else as I look up at him from my position, head tilted slightly, daring him to make a move.

I place my head on his outstretched hand, teasing him with a playful challenge in my eyes.

“Want it? Take it.”

Law blinks, taken off guard by my sudden boldness. He blinks again, his gaze locking with mine. For a moment, I’m not sure if he’s going to make a move or just let the moment stretch out forever.

His jaw tightens, and he chuckles softly, more to himself than to anyone else. His hand stays in place for a moment, and I can feel the tension rising, but finally, he leans forward ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Alright then,” he says, his voice low, his tone shifting to something more controlled. He doesn’t rush, but there’s a flicker in his eyes that tells me he’s not backing down from this.

Before I know it, his other hand reaches out, fingers brushing against my forehead  as he takes the hat from my head. It’s a moment that’s far more intimate than I expected—his hand is warm, and the touch sends a flutter through my chest.

He pulls it back, straightening the brim a little as he looks down at me with that same subtle smirk. "Don’t think I’ll forget this," he says, his voice cool, though there’s a hint of something... lighter beneath it. "Go on, go win this thing."

I can’t help but grin, feeling both proud and a little breathless. I stand, but before I turn away from him I squeeze the hand that was holding my chin just a second ago.

"I think I just did."

Chapter Text

After lunch, the day feels quiet on the Polar Tang.

The crew is scattered—some napping, others tinkering with their tasks. The medbay is calm, and I’ve just finished brewing tea, its faint scent still lingering as I organize supplies. It’s one of those peaceful moments that feels like it could last forever. 

But, of course, it doesn’t. 

The door to the medbay creaks open, and Law steps inside. His movements are steady, calculated as always, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes that immediately catches my attention. 

“Got a moment?” he asks, his tone neutral but carrying a weight that makes me straighten up. 

“Sure,” I say, setting down the bandages I’ve been organizing. “What’s going on?” 

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small vial filled with pale blue liquid, setting it carefully on the counter between us. 

“This,” he says simply, tapping the vial. 

I lean in, inspecting it. “What is it?” 

“A paralytic,” he explains. “It’s designed to immobilize the body from the neck down while keeping speech and cognitive functions intact. Perfect for situations where you need to stop someone in their tracks but still get information out of them.” 

The concept is clever, maybe even brilliant, but my stomach tightens as I start to understand where this is going. 

“You want to test it,” I say flatly. 

He nods, his expression calm but resolute. “And I’m going to be the subject.” 

“Law…” I trail off, unsure where to even start. “You don’t know how this could affect you. What if the dosage is off? What if it lasts too long, or it damages something? You could seriously—” 

“I know,” he interrupts, his tone firm but not dismissive. “But I’m not putting anyone else through this until I know it’s safe. Besides, I reckon if worst comes to pass I’ll still be able to use my fruit.” 

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to push away the knot of anxiety building in my chest. I understand his logic, of course I do, but that doesn’t make this any easier to accept. 

“And you want me to help you?” I ask, opening my eyes to meet his. 

“I need you to help,” he corrects, softer now. “Monitor the effects, take notes, and make sure I’m stabilized if something goes wrong.” 

My fingers tighten around the clipboard he hands me, the metal cool against my palm. I glance down at it briefly, then back at him. I’m not sure what the substance is called, but from the notes I can tell he wants to test how long it lasts, and how well his cognitive functions stay after being drugged. Dear me, I realize, I’m about to drug my captain.

“You’re really set on this,” I say, more to myself than to him. 

He nods once, already seated on the examination table and rolling up his sleeve. “It might help us down the line. And I trust you.” 

That stops me in my tracks. It’s such a simple statement, but coming from him, it feels… heavier. 

“Alright,” I finally say, moving to the counter. I retrieve a syringe, my hands steady even though my mind is racing. I fill it carefully, triple-checking the dosage written on the clipboard: 30 ppm. The pale blue liquid glints under the medbay’s lights as I turn back to him. 

“Ready?” I ask, though I’m not sure I am. 

“As I’ll ever be,” he replies, giving me a faint smirk, the kind that’s meant to reassure but only makes me more nervous. 

I take a deep breath and step forward. There’s no turning back now. 

The syringe feels heavier in my hand than it should. I glance at Law one last time, his expression calm and composed despite the risk he’s about to take. 

“You don’t have to do this,” I say, my voice quiet but firm. “We can find another way to test it.” 

His smirk flickers, but his eyes hold steady. “This is the way. I trust my work—and I trust you.” 

I sigh, biting the inside of my cheek as I approach him. The needle hovers just above his arm, and for a split second, I hesitate. 

“Any last words?” I ask, trying to keep it light, though my nerves are anything but. 

“Don’t botch it,” he says, deadpan. 

I roll my eyes, the faintest chuckle slipping out despite myself. “Okay, here goes.” 

I push the needle in, the pale blue liquid disappearing into his vein as I depress the plunger. Law doesn’t flinch, his gaze locked ahead. When it’s done, I pull the syringe back and set it aside, immediately moving to the clipboard to start noting the time and dose. 

“How do you feel?” I ask, glancing at him as he flexes his fingers experimentally. 

“Fine,” he replies, his tone even. 

But that doesn’t last long. 

A minute passes, maybe two, before I notice his breathing shift. It grows heavier, his chest rising and falling with more effort. His hands tighten on the edge of the table, knuckles turning white. 

“Law?” I say sharply, stepping closer. 

He shakes his head slightly, but then he buckles forward without warning, his body folding as if all the strength has left him. 

“Hey!” I dart forward, catching him just in time. His weight sags against me, his hands gripping my arms tightly to steady himself. 

“I’m fine,” he mutters, his voice strained but resolute. 

“Sure you are,” I retort, already repositioning myself to support him better. “Come on, let’s get you to the bed.” 

His grip on me tightens, his fingers digging in just enough to keep himself upright as I carefully help him off the table. Step by step, I guide him across the medbay, his weight pressing heavily against me. 

“You’re heavier than you look,” I grumble, trying to keep my tone light despite the tension coiling in my chest. 

“Not my fault you’re short,” he mumbles back, a faint smirk tugging at his lips even as his legs wobble. 

I glare at him, but the sharpness in his voice helps ease some of my worry. If he’s still cracking jokes, he’s not completely out of it—yet. 

Finally, we reach the bed. I help him sit down carefully, his body trembling as the drug takes hold. He leans back slowly, his breathing still labored but evening out slightly now that he’s off his feet. 

I step back for a moment, grabbing the clipboard again and jotting down notes as fast as I can. My heart is racing, but I focus on the task at hand. I have to. 

“Let me know if anything changes,” I tell him, my voice steadier than I feel. 

He nods weakly, his head tilting back against the pillow. “I’m fine,” he repeats, but this time it’s softer, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as me. 

I glance at the clock on the medbay wall. Five minutes since administration. The drug seems to be working—Law’s movements have become sluggish, his arms and legs visibly unresponsive. Still, he can tilt his head slightly and move his eyes, just as he’d intended.  I reach out one of his arms and pull it slightly upwards, it falls with a thump, completely motionless.

I grab the thermometer and aim it to his head, his temperature seems normal. I reach for one of the little lights and hold it to his pupils to check his reaction time. Everything seems to be fine, for now, at least.

“Looks like you nailed the dosage,” I say, jotting down the time and observations I just took on the clipboard. He could’ve passed out or something, but maybe I shouldn’t have underestimated the infamous surgeon of death. He is one of the best medics I’ve ever met, after all.

Law hums in response, his voice faint but steady. “Told you.” 

“Don’t get too cocky. We’re just getting started,” I reply, keeping my focus on his condition. 

Another few minutes pass, and I notice a flicker of something in his eyes—a dazed sort of clarity, like he’s there but not entirely in control. 

“How are you feeling now?” I ask, stepping closer to check his pulse. 

“Hmm,” he murmurs, his head lolling slightly to the side. “Head’s... fuzzy. Like... too much sake.” 

I pause, watching him carefully. Fuzzy wasn’t part of the plan.  I write the notes down quickly and reach out to measure his pulse.

“Anything else?” I press, reaching for the pen again and jotting down his words.  16:45, head fuzzy, pulse normal.

Law’s lips twitch into what almost looks like a grin. “Your hair... catches the light, y’know?” 

I blink, glancing up from the clipboard. “What?” 

“Pretty,” he mutters, his voice soft but deliberate. “Like sunlight.” 

My pen stills mid-word. I stare at him, half-expecting him to smirk and tell me he’s joking, but his expression is... earnest. 

“Noted,” I say, forcing my voice to remain neutral as I scribble altered cognition—verbal inhibitions reduced.

But he doesn’t stop there. 

“Blue nail polish,” he says, almost dreamily. 

“What about it?” I ask, arching a brow despite the warmth creeping up my neck. 

“Looks good on you,” he replies, his tone firm even as his body stays slack. “Should wear it more.” 

I clear my throat, gripping the pen a little tighter. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

He hums again, his eyes briefly closing before fluttering open. “And those tops... the ones with the open backs. Loooovethose.” 

My grip on the clipboard falters, nearly sending it clattering to the floor. 

“I—what?” I stammer, caught completely off-guard. 

Law blinks lazily, as if the words he just said were the most natural thing in the world. “They’re... nice. Show off your shoulders.” 

I stare at him, my mind scrambling between professionalism and the burning heat rising in my chest. 

“Noted,” I say again, my voice faint as I scribble furiously: significant reduction in impulse control.

“You’re beautiful,” he adds after a moment, his voice soft but clear. 

My heart skips a beat. I pause, staring at him again. He’s not looking at me now, his gaze unfocused on the ceiling, but his words linger in the air like a challenge to my composure. 

“Altered... cognition,” I mutter under my breath, underlining it twice before I can lose my nerve. I notice my hands shake slightly. What is he saying? Is this the drug talking? I have to shut down the little voice inside me saying it isn’t.

The professional in me demands that I focus on the trial. The rest of me is a chaotic mess.

Law’s words hang in the air, and for a moment, I don’t know if I should feel flattered, embarrassed, or worried about how far this will go. 

“Alright, Captain,” I say, trying to steady my voice as I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Anything else you’d like to share with the class?” 

His head lolls slightly toward me, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “You smell nice too.” 

I can’t help but let out a small, incredulous laugh, the clipboard clutched tightly in my hands. “Okay, that’s enough compliments for now,” I say, pointing my pen at him like a weapon. “I’ll start charging for them. I meant if you feel anything else…” I poke my pen at his arm, “Like that? Do you feel that?” 

He chuckles softly, his laugh low and a little breathless. He completely ignores my question and adds, “Can’t help it. Drugs make... everything obvious.” 

“I’ll add that to the notes,” I mutter, scribbling possible euphoria or disinhibition onto the sheet. 

Law hums again, his head tilting back toward the ceiling, but his gaze is unfocused now, drifting somewhere far away. 

“Hmm,” he murmurs. 

“What is it now?” I ask, glancing at him over the clipboard. 

“Tell me...” he starts, his voice slurring slightly before he gathers himself. “What you mmph... really think of me.” 

I freeze, the pen hovering just above the paper. 

“What?” 

“You hearrrrrrd me,” he slurs over his words, a hint of his usual sharpness cutting through the hard R’s. “Honest answers only.” 

I stare at him, caught between the temptation to humor him and the professional boundary I’m desperately clinging to. 

“Law, you’re drugged,” I say finally, forcing a calm tone. “I don’t think this is the time for deep conversations.” 

He smirks again, his eyes half-lidded. “Coward.” 

My jaw tightens, but I bite back a retort. “Oh, you’re well enough to tease now?”

He blinks slowly, a loopsided smile on his face.

“I’ll take that as another side effect,” I mutter, scribbling down mildly antagonistic (teasing?) behavior.

“Smart,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Capable. Loyal.” 

I blink, my pen stilling. “What are you doing now?” 

“Describing you,” he murmurs, his lips curving faintly upward. “Since you won’t... return the favor.” 

“Okay, that’s it.” I snap the clipboard shut, tucking it under my arm. “You’re done for now. I’m calling this part of the trial a success.” 

He huffs out a laugh, soft and almost teasing. “You’re blushing,” he mutters. 

“Am not,” I say, turning sharply toward the counter to check on the thermometer and tying a pulse into his finger to check his vitals, though I can feel the heat on my face betraying me. 

Law chuckles again, his voice fading into a hum as he leans back on the bed. “Pretty,” he murmurs again, his voice so soft I almost don’t hear it. 

I grit my teeth, holding on to what little composure I have left. Just a side effect, I remind myself, repeating it like a mantra. It’s just the drug talking. 

But his words keep echoing in my head, no matter how hard I try to ignore them. 

After another hour of nonsense, with Law reciting some organic compounds out of memory to test his cognition (this was very funny, I have to admit, like a robot saying formulas in a slurry, drunken-like state), I moved over the screen that was monitoring his vitals and the little med table where I had some tools in case something went awry. The thermometer and flashlight sat among them.

I have moved myself to sit at his feet, constantly poking him to see if he could feel anything. He couldn’t. I don’t know if he went overboard with the dosage, wondering if the paralyzing effect was even meant to last this long.

Law groans softly, interrupting my thoughts, shifting his head against the pillow. I quickly stand up, worried he’s under some sort of pain.

“Law? Law? Are you alright?" I ask, nudging him softly.

“Head’s... pounding. Tell me... something." 

“Like what?” I ask, glancing up from the clipboard. 

“Anything,” he mutters, his voice low and strained. “A story. Memory. Something to... distract me.” 

I hesitate, the tip of my pen tapping against the paper. A story? My mind races for something suitable—not too heavy, not too silly. Finally, I settle on a safe memory. 

“Alright,” I say, pulling the stool closer to his bedside. “When I was younger, I used to climb this massive tree behind our house in Mt. Colubo. It had this one branch, just low enough to reach if you jumped for it, but high enough to feel like an achievement.” 

Law hums faintly, his eyes half-lidded but watching me. “Go on.” 

I relax a little, letting the memory flow. “I’d climb up and sit there for hours, pretending I was sailing through the sky. The view was incredible—you could see all the way to the edge of the forest.” 

“Sounds... peaceful,” he murmurs. 

“It was,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Until the branch snapped, and I fell straight into a bush.” 

That earns a soft chuckle from him. “Graceful.” 

“Very,” I say dryly. “It took weeks to get all the scratches to heal. Dadan gave me an earful.”   

I’m about to continue when he suddenly giggles—an unexpected, almost boyish sound. 

I blink at him, startled. “What’s so funny?” 

“Not... funny,” he mutters, his tone oddly calm. “It’s there. Staring.” 

My stomach tightens. “What’s there?” 

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze fixed on the far corner of the room. “Big. Watching us. Can you see it?” 

A shiver runs down my spine as I follow his gaze. The corner is dimly lit, shadowed by the overhead lamp, but it’s empty. Just the wall and the supply cabinet. 

“There’s nothing there,” I say, my voice steady despite the chill creeping into my chest. 

“Eyes,” Law says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Bright. Like amber. Staring.” 

I glance around again, my grip tightening on the clipboard. Nothing. It’s just the two of us. 

“Fur… Fur, and… claws,”

“It’s the drug,” I say firmly, scribbling down hallucinations: visual and auditory, onto the notes. “You’re just seeing things.” 

Law doesn’t respond, his eyes still locked on the corner. His lips twitch faintly, as though caught between a smile and something more serious. 

“Still there,” he murmurs, almost to himself. 

“Alright, that’s enough staring at invisible creatures,” I say, standing and moving to adjust the lamp. “It’s probably a trick of the light.”

But even as I turn back to him, his gaze lingers on that spot, and I can’t shake the eerie feeling crawling along my skin. Whatever he thinks he’s seeing, I’m certain it’s not real. 

At least, I hope it’s not. 

“Right. It’s been…” I reach out to check the clock on the stand, “Three hours now. How are you feeling? Is this even supposed to last this long?”

“I built the dosage for about 5 hours… So…” He giggles softly. It’s funny seeing him this way, like he’s drunk. I feel a bit relieved that nothing has gone wrong, and I can relax a little now. Everything’s fine.

The tension in the room eases as the worst of the effects seem to subside. Law’s breathing evens out, and the strange, hazy look in his eyes begins to clear, though he still seems a little off. 

“Okay, then,” I say, flipping to a new page on the clipboard. “Let’s test your mind now.” 

Law’s head rolls slightly on the pillow as he shifts his gaze to me. “Go ahead, Doctor,” he says, his voice low but steady. 

I smirk at the unexpected title and decide to start simple. “What’s your name?” 

He huffs lightly, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Trafalgar D. Water Law.” 

“Good,” I say, jotting it down. “Now, can you name your crew?” 

Law pauses for a moment, his brow furrowing. “Bepo... Shachi... Penguin... Ikkaku... Uni...” His voice trails off as he continues to mention all of us, and he winces slightly. “Am I missing anyone?” 

“No, that’s everyone,” I say gently. “You’re doing fine.” 

He exhales in relief, his eyelids fluttering as he stares at the ceiling. “Your turn.” 

“My turn?” 

“Yeah,” he mutters. “What’s your name?” 

I arch a brow at him. “You don’t know?” 

Law’s lips curl into a faint smirk. “Anastasia Newgate.” 

“Correct.” 

“I can think of a better name,” he adds, his voice soft but certain. 

My heart clenches at the mention, but I keep my expression neutral, focusing on the task at hand. “Alright, next question. What’s two plus two?” 

“Four,” he says without hesitation. 

“Good. What day is it?” 

“Does anyone actually keep track of days on a ship?” he quips, his smirk growing. 

I roll my eyes, unable to suppress a small smile. “Fair enough. How about this—what’s the name of this ship?” 

He pauses, his lips forming the word carefully. “Polar Tang.” 

“Perfect,” I say, making a few more notes. “Your cognition seems intact, though there’s a slight delay in your responses. That’s probably residual from the drug.” 

“Residual,” he repeats, closing his eyes for a moment. “Feels like my brain’s swimming through syrup.” 

“That’s one way to put it,” I say, setting the clipboard down. “But it’s a good sign you’re coherent. We’ll monitor you for a while longer to make sure it fully wears off.” 

He hums in acknowledgment, his body relaxing further into the bed. The lines of tension in his face ease, leaving behind an exhausted but lucid expression. 

“You’ve done well, Captain,” I say softly, watching him settle. “It’s been a while, though, and I can see some signs of dehydration.”

A knock at the door startles me. Uni’s face peeks in, curious but hesitant. “Captain? Ana? Are you coming to eat? Everyone’s wondering where you two are.” 

The soft orange glow of evening filters through the medbay’s small windows, casting long shadows across the room. The day has slipped away unnoticed, swallowed by the intensity of the trial and its aftermath. My stomach growls faintly, a reminder that dinner must be happening right now. 

I glance toward Law, who’s sprawled on the medbay bed. His eyes are half-lidded, his breathing steady but tired. He’s in no condition for dinner, and honestly, I don’t think I could sit through a meal either. 

“We’re busy with a med trial,” I say, waving Uni off with a faint smile. “Don’t worry about us. Just tell the crew we’ll eat later if we get hungry.” 

Uni’s gaze flickers to Law and back to me. “Got it. Take care of the captain.” He leaves without another word, the door clicking softly behind him. 

The quiet returns, settling over the medbay like a heavy blanket. Law shifts slightly on the bed, groaning faintly as his muscles test their limits. 

“Skipping dinner now, too?” he murmurs, his voice scratchy but teasing. 

“We’ve earned it,” I reply, setting the clipboard aside. “Besides, I’m not leaving you alone just yet.” 

He snorts softly. “I’m fine, Ana. You don’t need to hover.” 

I cross my arms, leveling him with a look. “Fine? You still look like you’ve been hit by a sea train. I’m staying up to monitor you. What if there’s a delayed side effect?” 

Law’s gaze flickers to mine, his tired eyes softening. “And what if there isn’t? You’ll just wear yourself out.” 

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” I say firmly, grabbing a blanket from the supply shelf. 

Law sighs, his head sinking further into the pillow. “You’re stubborn, you know that?” 

“Someone has to be,” I reply with a small smile. 

He watches me for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he closes his eyes. “Suit yourself.” 

“I’ll get you an IV,” I say softly, draping the blanket over him. “We can’t have you dehydrated.” 

The medbay has fallen into a calm, steady quiet, punctuated only by the rhythmic beeping of the monitors. I sit at the edge of the bed, unwrapping the IV line and preparing it carefully. The clear solution glints faintly in the low light as I attach the bag to the stand and gently slip the needle into Law’s arm. His breathing hitches slightly but evens out almost immediately. 

“Just to keep you okay,” I murmur, though I doubt he’s paying much attention. 

Satisfied that everything is in place, I shift to stand, intending to grab the clipboard and settle into the chair for the night. But before I can move, I feel a light grip on my wrist. 

I glance down in surprise. Law’s fingers twitch as they wrap around my arm, his touch weak but purposeful. It’s the first real movement I’ve seen from him since the drug took full effect. 

“You’re getting your strength back,” I say, unable to keep the relief out of my voice. 

His eyes open slightly, his gaze heavy with exhaustion but still intent. “Stay,” he says, his voice soft and raw. “Lay here. Please.” 

I blink, caught off guard by the request. “Law, I—” 

“I can’t rest with you so far away.” The words are quiet, almost pleading. His usual guarded tone is nowhere to be found, stripped away by fatigue and the lingering effects of the drug. 

I hesitate, glancing at the IV stand, the monitors, the clipboard full of notes. Every instinct tells me to keep my distance, to maintain professionalism, but the vulnerability in his eyes tugs at something deeper. 

“Alright,” I say softly, sitting back down. “But only to keep monitoring you.” 

Law doesn’t respond, his eyes fluttering shut as if he’s already satisfied with my answer. I adjust myself carefully, sitting further up on the bed and letting his head rest in my lap. 

His hair brushes against my hands as I settle him, the texture surprisingly soft. The tension in his body seems to ease almost immediately, and I can feel the faint rise and fall of his chest against my legs. 

“Comfortable?” I ask quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. 

“Mm,” he hums, the sound more like a contented sigh. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, my fingers instinctively resting near his hairline. 

For the first time all day, a fragile sort of peace settles over us, and I can’t help but feel the weight of it.

I reach and keep the thermometer in one hand, gently pressing the sensor to Law’s temple, checking for any signs of fever. The heart rate monitor beeps steadily beside us, confirming that his vitals are stable. My other hand, without thinking, finds its way to his hair again. 

It’s soft—softer than I’d expect, especially for someone who’s usually as meticulous about his appearance as Law. I let my fingers run through it slowly, smoothing down the strands, my movements almost soothing. His hair feels warm under my touch, and I find myself drawn into the act, the rhythmic motion almost meditative. 

Law’s breathing deepens, his body relaxing more with each stroke. Then, without warning, he groans softly. 

“Do that again,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of contentment. 

I freeze for a moment, surprised by the sudden request. But then I realize what he’s asking, and a small, involuntary smile tugs at my lips. 

“I’m just checking your temperature,” I murmur, though my hand doesn’t stop its motion. 

“Again,” he mutters, his voice laced with sleep.

I hesitate but then resume gently running my fingers through his hair. I can feel the tension melting away with every pass, his body unwinding like a tightly wound spring finally letting go. 

As I watch him, I notice how peaceful he looks. His usual sharp edges are dulled by the drug, and for a moment, it’s as if the burden of command, of being the captain, has simply slipped away. He’s just a person, resting in my lap, as vulnerable as anyone else. 

His breathing deepens even further, and I know he’s slipping into sleep. His chest rises and falls in a slow, even rhythm, and I can feel the weight of his head growing heavier in my lap. 

I don’t stop stroking his hair, though, not yet. 

I think back to everything that’s happened today—the trial, the unexpected side effects, the moments of unexpected closeness—and I realize just how much this quiet, intimate moment is needed. For both of us. 

Gradually, his breaths slow to a steady, peaceful cadence, his grip on my leg loosening. I glance down at his face, noting the relaxed expression, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. He’s asleep, finally resting. 

I lean back slightly, adjusting the blanket around him. There’s a strange sense of peace in this moment, something I didn’t expect when I first agreed to help him. I could sit here all night, just watching him sleep, feeling the weight of the world on both of our shoulders slowly lift. 

But for now, I stay, my hand gently stroking his hair, watching over him as he drifts deeper into sleep.

A s I sit there, my fingers gently running through Law’s hair, something shifts inside me. It's subtle, at first, just the quiet rhythm of his breathing, the way his weight feels heavy against me, his trust in me so palpable. But as the minutes pass, it grows—a warmth I can’t ignore, a pull I can't explain.

I’ve known Law for months now, worked beside him, followed him through every battle, every decision. He’s always been the captain, the one with control, the one who never let his guard down. He’s been vulnerable before with me, and has accepted me to be closer to him. And for the first time, I’m realizing I’ve been here, watching him, maybe too closely, for far longer than I realized.

I shouldn’t feel this way. I shouldn’t let this closeness get to me. After all, I’m here for him, to help him, to take care of him. We’re friends. But why does it feel so much more than that?

I glance down at his peaceful face again, my heart tight in my chest. The way he asked me to stay close earlier, the way his hand reached for mine, still lingers in my mind. It wasn’t the drug. I know it wasn’t. I know him better than that. This—this was something real. Just like the talk we had a few nights ago, I know he cares for me. But does he do it in the same way that I do?

He knows I like him. I know I like him... very much. The feelings of that night, of our old wounds being touched sort of threw me into a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing, and I'm not sure how much of it I was consciously saying out loud. It was a sort of confession, but feelings and emotions were high and I know that he said that he can't like me, even when I convinced him to let me in. It's us against the world now, that much is clear. But... I fear my world means nothing anymore without him in it. 

That conversation we had, then him having that 'holding back' look... I can't help but wonder if there are things unsaid between us. I tried to be bold, but it wasn't even clear to me what I was doing. The teasing, maybe I could call it flirting? What is my aim with that? What am I trying to achieve? I have to put these feelings into words.

For so long, I told myself I couldn’t feel this way about him. I couldn’t let myself fall for someone like him—someone so distant, so locked away in his own world. But the truth is, I’ve been falling for him piece by piece, quietly, in moments like this. The way he watches me when he thinks I’m not looking, the way he trusts me with his life, the way he lets me in when no one else can.

I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t lie to myself. I feel it, deep in my chest, this thing that’s been growing between us, something more than just friendship, more than just crew. It’s something I think I can name now.

And maybe, just maybe, he feels it too.

I let out a breath, my fingers pausing in his hair for a moment. I can’t keep pretending I don’t care, pretending I don’t want more. But the fear... the fear of what it might mean for us, for the crew, for everything we’ve built...

I take a deep breath, pushing the doubts away, if only for tonight. I’ll think about it tomorrow, when I’m not so close to him, when I don’t feel his warmth against me, his heart beating in his chest, wishing that it’d beat for me.

For now, I‘ll just stay here, lost in the moment, and let myself care. Let myself admit it.

I can’t deny it any longer. This isn't just a crush anymore.

I’ve fallen for him.

Chapter Text

Captain’s Log

Notes:

• Replace the bulb in the bunker. It's broken.
• Get Ikkaku a new wrench.
• I owe ฿500 to Shachi.
• Ana has changed her shampoo and the coconut vanilla smell is flooding my mind.
• I can’t get her out of my head. I don’t know what I’m doing. I also haven’t slept this well in years.

Subject:  Paralyzing drug trial

The results of the paralytic drug trials are promising, though far from perfect. The initial run produced significant side effects—blurred cognition, hallucinations, and unintentional disclosure of... private thoughts. I had hoped the latter was an anomaly, but the subsequent trials proved otherwise. Ana and I adjusted the dosage each time, carefully narrowing the parameters. After three trials, we’ve managed to reduce the severity of side effects, though complete precision remains elusive.

I’ve never trusted anyone else to take on the responsibility of administering a drug so volatile, yet with Ana, the decision wasn’t even a decision. I did it without hesitation. It’s a thought that lingers in my mind more than it should.

Ana...

I find my mind circling back to her more than it should. She handled herself admirably during the trial, as I expected. What I didn’t anticipate was how easily I trusted her—completely trusted her. Not just with administering the drug, but with my life. I handed over control to her without hesitation, something I’ve never done with anyone before.

It’s unsettling.

When I was hallucinating during the first trial, I said things I wouldn’t have otherwise. Things I’d been too careful to let slip. I remember her blush, the way she kept her professionalism despite my ridiculous words. She thinks it was just the drug talking. Maybe it was. I fear it wasn’t.

I remember the way her arms caught me when my body faltered, the way her voice remained steady, even as I lost control. It was... grounding. I expected clinical detachment from her—she’s always been professional to a fault—but there was more. A softness, a care I didn’t anticipate, and something in her gaze that I can’t quite forget.

It’s not the first time Ana has stood by me. She’s proven her loyalty time and again, whether on the battlefield or here, in the stillness of the medbay. I know she cares for me, for all of us. But this... this felt different. For a moment, I wasn’t a captain. I wasn’t a surgeon. I wasn’t even a man experimenting on himself. I was just me, and she held me steady when the world spun out of control.

The way she looked at me, her face carefully composed yet her eyes brimming with concern—concern for me—was enough to leave a crack in my resolve. I’m supposed to be her captain, a figure of authority. A man with a plan. But when her hands combed through my hair that night, I felt something I didn’t expect: comfort. A kind of peace I haven’t known since I lost my family, since I vowed never to rely on anyone but myself.

I can’t get it out of my head.

Her voice, her presence, the way she quietly stayed beside me despite her own exhaustion. That night forced me to confront what I’ve been avoiding. I feel something for her. It’s not just admiration for her medical skills or gratitude for her loyalty—it’s deeper, more personal. And I hate that it’s beginning to interfere with my judgment.

That thought is dangerous.

I can’t afford this. These feelings—whatever they are—are a distraction. Ana is a valued member of the crew, one I trust implicitly, but letting this... affection grow is a risk I can’t take. The seas we sail are ruthless. Attachments like this can be used against me, against her. And yet, no matter how often I remind myself of this, I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t stop thinking about her.

She’s become part of this crew, part of my... life. And yet, this life is no place for vulnerability, no place for weakness. The plan Bepo and I have been constructing to secure a seat as a Shichibukai is nearing execution. This is the only path forward. Gaining the title will shield us, for a time, from unnecessary battles and provide opportunities to undermine the system from within.

But my mind drifts back to... I can still feel the ghost of her hand in my hair, the warmth of her presence when I was too exhausted to keep my guard up.

I wonder if she knows how much she’s embedded herself into the foundation of this ship. Into me.

Subject: Planning

In contrast to these personal distractions, the plan with Bepo is nearing its final stages. Becoming a Shichibukai isn’t a decision I’ve made lightly. The title offers a certain protection—a shield against both pirates and the Navy—but it’s not without its dangers. Aligning with the World Government, even superficially, is a gamble. They’re treacherous, and I have no intention of becoming their pawn.

Still, the advantages outweigh the risks. As a Shichibukai, I’ll have access to resources and intelligence that are otherwise impossible to obtain. It’s a step toward a larger goal, though the crew doesn’t know the full extent of my plans yet, except for Bepo.

I hate keeping them in the dark, but it’s necessary. For now.

Ana’s role in this is something I’ve considered at length. She’s perceptive, almost unnervingly so. She’s already aware of what we’re planning. I can only hope she doesn’t ask too many questions—not yet. Once we’ve solidified our strategy, I’ll need to tell her and the rest of the crew. I know she’ll follow me, no matter the path I choose. That loyalty is both comforting and terrifying.

If this plan works, we’ll secure our position and resources for the battles to come. But if it fails... I’ve thought about failure more than I care to admit. Not for my sake, but for theirs. For hers.

I can’t let these feelings for Ana cloud my judgment. The seas are cruel.

And yet...

Every time I close my eyes, I see her.

There’s no place for this. No place for her. And yet, I’ve already let her in—more than I should have, more than is wise. She’s seen sides of me I’ve kept hidden from everyone else. She’s seen my weakness.

I don’t know if I can stop this myself from admitting this out loud.

The Shichibukai title is critical, and I can’t risk anything disrupting my focus. But if anything happens to Ana because of this plan, because of me...

I don’t know what I’ll do.

Subject: plan settled, start planning dates, tell Ana

The plan is set. I’ll collect the hearts of a hundred pirates, a gift the World Government won’t refuse. It’s barbaric, yes, but that’s what makes it effective. Fear is a language they understand. With those hearts, I’ll secure the Shichibukai title.

But that’s only the first step.

Once I’m established, I’ll forge an alliance with Caesar Clown. It’s a calculated move, not a partnership of trust but of necessity. His knowledge of SAD, the key ingredient to SMILE production, will give me leverage against Kaido. It’s dangerous, morally reprehensible even, but it’s the only way to dismantle the structure that’s held these monsters in power.

This… this will get me to Doflamingo. If I can make Kaido turn on him, they will destroy each other. Or at least Doflamingo’s iron rule. The blood in my veins boils at the thought of that monster walking around Dressrosa as if he’s a king. I will avenge Cora-san. This will take him down.

Take their tools and destroy them with their own creations. That’s the plan. It’s ugly, ruthless, and exactly what needs to be done.

The crew will wait for me once I get to Punk Hazard… But I’m getting ahead of myself. I have to collect the hearts first. I know the crew will trust my decisions, but this… this is different. And then there’s Ana.

How do I tell her? How do I look her in the eye and admit to everything I’m about to do? She’s seen blood, she’s no stranger to the cost of survival, but this isn’t survival. This is me taking the lives of others, wielding death like a scalpel to cut through the chaos.

I can almost hear her voice in my head, questioning, reasoning, trying to understand. Would she see the necessity of it, or would she see me as a man who’s lost his way?

Would she stay, knowing the lengths I’ll go to? Knowing the compromises I’ve already made? Even if she's promised to stand beside me, will she change her mind once she knows what I'm planning?

I don't know if I want to know the answer.

Ana is the kind of person who would forgive a thousand sins if it meant saving a life, but what happens when those sins are mine? When the life saved comes at the cost of so many others?

I’ve built my life around cutting out weakness, severing ties, moving forward. And yet, I find myself hesitating because of her. Because I want her here, even if it puts her at risk. Because I know, deep down, I’d rather burn alongside her than live without her. 

I want her to stay, and yet... I also want her far. Far away from all this chaos and danger. I want her safe. I want her alive.

The Shichibukai title is supposed to give us security, but all I can feel is the noose tightening around my neck.

What if it’s not enough? What if this entire plan fails? Or worse, what if I succeed, only to realize I’ve lost the very thing I was trying to protect?

I’ve always been prepared to sacrifice anything to achieve my goals. But with her, I’m beginning to question whether there’s a limit to what I’d give up. And that terrifies me more than anything else. I was willing to give my life for this. Am I still?

For now, I’ll keep this plan close. I need more time to prepare, to calculate, to figure out how to tell her. But one thing is certain: when the time comes, I’ll need to face her with the same resolve I bring to the battlefield. I can’t afford hesitation, not in front of her, not when so much is at stake.

I will end preparations in a few weeks. After that, I shall begin with my plan.

But there’s still a question in my head, and it’s making me feel nauseous.

Will she stay?

Will she agree to wait with the rest of the crew until I’m back?

Dr. TDWL

Chapter Text

This past week has been rough on all of us. We ventured into a storm, and the ship took significant damage. We had no choice but to make berth on the nearest island we could find, leaving us stuck here while the repair crew worked tirelessly to fix everything.

Louie and I picked up a few odd jobs around town—running errands and helping locals—to earn some berries while we waited. The boiler had sustained extensive damage when we went underwater, and neither of us were much help in that department.

Now, I sit in the medbay with a cardiology book open in front of me, but my mind is elsewhere.. I’m trying to make a mental map of everything that has been going on for the past ten months. All the way from the beginning. There’s been so much fun and adventure, but we’ve also had our share of troubles with other pirates and ship repairs. There’s also been the… intimate part of my journey. I hadn’t expected to find a kindred soul aboard this ship—a soul so troubled and tormented by its past that it felt achingly similar to my own. It was there, like a black hole, pulling me in so suddenly and so completely that even though I could feel its pull, I never could have guessed I’d fall for my captain of all people.

I have kept my feelings close to my chest, already having admitted to him personally that I liked him, but I don’t know if I have to courage to tell him to his face that I… gods, I can’t even admit it to myself. To say the dreaded L-word that not only would complicate our position further, but everything that’s coming towards us.

As for my past, there haven’t been any new confrontations, save for that night at the masquerade ball. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or uneasy about that—whether I should welcome the peace or fear the storm I can’t yet see brewing in the shadows.

Besides the usual recognition and… allutions to my past in every few times, I am thankful about people coming up to me and talking about how wonderful Whitebeard was, and how fearless Firefight Ace had been. By now, I welcomed the warmth in my chest to the compliments, saying thank you to the universe that had allowed me to share space in this vast sea with two of the greatest men that have ever lived.

I write to Luffy, sometimes. Letters that I rip apart once I’m done writing them. Knowing fully well not only that they were things that I’d never talk to him about (given his avoidance to serious conversations), and others that I knew if we crossed paths again would go about unspoken through a hug. I think of Jinbei and Marco, praying for their strength and safety, though I know they’ve always had plenty of both. The keepsake around my waist—never taken off—anchors me to my life aboard the Polar Tang. It reminds me to keep training, keep studying, and keep pushing forward.

I have been training relentlessly with Bepo and the others by order of Law. But I would’ve done it otherwise. Recently, I picked out a weapon from the arsenal, one that, as Bepo put it, “called to me.” The Okinawan sai now rests in a holster on my thigh, never far from reach. I’m still getting familiar with it, practicing whenever I can to feel its weight as an extension of my body. I’ll never forget Law’s expression when I chose it—a gleam of pride and warmth in his eyes, as if he approved.

This past week, while the ship was being repaired, Law told me he was nearly finished planning our next steps, so that I should wait a little while longer. He had that look again, though. The look Ikkaku mentioned about holding himself back. But I still couldn’t, for the life of me, decipher what he was holding back from.

I know he had the plan almost done. Was he holding back from saying something? Or was this about something else?

He’s been confusing me more than ever, and it hadn’t escaped my notice that after those little… confessions he let out during the med trials he’s avoided my touch like the plague. This morning, when our hands brushed while reaching for a rag, he pulled away so quickly it was as if I’d burned him. Yet, when he looks at me with those beautiful gray eyes, all my reason and confusion seem to melt away.

In those moments, I’m utterly lost in him.

Even though he’s been confusing me lately, we’ve still been falling asleep together on the couches in his study. Given he’s maybe-not-but-seemingly-quite-purposely avoiding my touch, (and my gaze), we’ve fallen asleep on opposite ends of the long couch on the center of the room. Yet, somehow, his hand always finds mine once he’s asleep. I make sure to pull away before he wakes up, afraid of the confrontation—or worse, him recoiling from me like I’m a disease.

As the day passes quietly, the sound of pages turning in my book is louder than it should be. My focus keeps slipping, my eyes scanning the same sentence over and over. My fingers trace the curve of the Sai holstered on my thigh absentmindedly, grounding me, when a soft knock on the doorframe breaks the stillness.

I glance up and feel my stomach twist. Law stands there, looking… unwell.

His sharp features are drawn, dark circles stark against his pale skin, like he hasn’t slept in days. His posture is rigid, his hand gripping the edge of the doorway as though it’s the only thing holding him upright. He looks thinner too, and the sight of him like this sends a pang of worry straight to my chest.

“Hey… I… erm,” he says, his voice quieter than usual, almost hoarse. “Can I come in?”

“It’s your medbay,” I say gently, with a small frown at looking at him like that, I motion to the chair across from me.

He steps inside, his movements sluggish, and pulls out the chair before sinking into it heavily. His fingers rake through his hair as he lets out a slow, uneven breath. He looks at me briefly, then away, and I realize he’s not just tired, he’s nervous. The kind of nervous that comes with the weight of too many decisions and too little time.

I wait, giving him space to speak, but the silence stretches. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and stares at the floor as if searching for answers there.

“Law,” I say softly, not wanting to push but needing to break the tension.

“I’m close,” he says abruptly, his voice rough. “The plan… it’s nearly finished. But it’s…” His jaw tightens as he struggles to find the right words.

I can see the burden he’s carrying, and it hits me just how much this is weighing on him. For all his strength and precision, he’s human. I lean forward, resting my forearms on the desk between us.

“When’s the last time you ate something?” I ask gently but firmly.

His head snaps up, and he glares faintly at me, the kind of glare that says he doesn’t like being called out. “I’m fine,” he mutters.

“No, you’re not,” I reply plainly. “You look like you’re about to keel over. I don’t need to be a doctor to see it.”

He doesn’t respond, his gaze dropping back to the floor, and his silence tells me everything I need to know.

“Fine, I’ll eat something later, but what’s important is, Ana, I… I have to tell you, and I— it’s just, I, damn, it’s…”

“Alright,” I say cutting him off, leaning back in my chair. “Meet me on the deck tonight. After everyone’s asleep.”

I can see he's having a really hard time telling me whatever’s on his mind. It weighs on his shoulders, slumped, and on his eyebags, which look darker and deeper than usual.

His brows knit together as he looks at me, clearly taken aback. “I—what?”

“Don’t tell me anything yet. Just meet me outside, later,” I say, keeping my tone light as I stand and stretch. “But for now, try to rest—or eat something. Anything.”

I don’t give him a chance to argue. I brush past him on my way out of the medbay, leaving him to stew over my words. Whatever’s eating at him, I have an idea to help. At least, I hope it will.

The night is calm, the ship swaying gently beneath a sky full of stars. I’ve set everything up on the platform just below the stars—candles flicker in the light breeze, a few blankets and cushions are arranged to make it cozy, and there’s a bottle of white wine with two glasses nearby. I’ve even brought out a small plate of rice balls, something simple but comforting. The Den Den Mushi player hums softly, playing quiet ambient music that blends with the sound of the waves.

I lie back against the cushions, staring up at the sky. One hand rests against my stomach, the other instinctively brushing over the small box in my pocket. It’s still there. I check for the hundredth time, even though I already know it is. My heart flutters—not from nerves exactly, but something close to it. I don’t want this to come across the wrong way. This isn’t supposed to be romantic—at least not in the obvious sense. Knowing Law, he won’t even think about it that way. He’s too dense when it comes to these things.

The point is to make it comforting, relaxing—a space where he can actually breathe for once.

Footsteps echo softly against the deck. I sit up just as he steps into view. His brows pull together slightly, his eyes flicking over everything—the blankets, the candles, the wine. I can see the confusion on his face, but there’s something else there too, something softer.

He looks at me, and for a moment, he just stands there, like he’s not sure what to say. He opens his mouth to speak, but I raise a finger to my lips and shush him gently.

“Come here,” I say softly, patting the space beside me. “Sit with me.”

He hesitates, and for a second, I think he might just turn around and leave. But he doesn’t. Slowly, he crosses the platform and sits down, though he leaves a small gap between us. His posture is stiff, but I can see it—the way his shoulders drop just a little, the way the lines of tension in his face start to fade.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “What’s all this, then?”

I smile at him, sitting up straighter. “I can see you’ve been working yourself to death. More than usual.” My eyes flick briefly to his hands. “Just because you’ve got the word tattooed on your fingers doesn’t mean it should become your routine.”

He glances at his tattooed knuckles, then back at me. His expression is hard to read, but the way his jaw relaxes just slightly tells me he’s listening.

“I want us to talk, Law,” I say, my voice steady. “Like friends would, in a comfortable space. Because even though it doesn’t always seem like it, the night is long, and right now, we have all the time in the world.”

He leans back slightly, his posture finally starting to ease. His eyes drift upward, toward the stars, but then they return to me.

I gesture toward the sky, keeping my tone light. “The stars are different tonight. See those three over there?” I point, and without waiting for his response, I let the words flow. “That’s part of the Lupus constellation. It’s supposed to be a wolf, but I don’t really see it. I mean, I guess if you squint and turn your head…” I glance at him, a small smile tugging at my lips, but he just looks at me, waiting for me to continue.

I lean back a little, letting my gaze wander over the vast expanse of the sky. “And over there, that one’s Argo Navis—or it used to be. They split it into three separate constellations a while back. Can you believe that? A whole ship, torn apart. It used to represent the ship of Jason and the Argonauts, this grand vessel that carried them on their journey to find the Golden Fleece. Now it’s just… bits and pieces. The sails, the deck, the stern, all scattered.”

My fingers trace the outline of the constellations in the air. “See that bright one there? That’s Canopus, part of Carina, the keel of the ship. It’s one of the brightest stars in the night sky. Sailors used to navigate by it, like a beacon in the dark.” I pause, my voice softening. “I think about that sometimes—how stars can guide people across oceans. How something so far away can feel so close, so important.”

I glance over at him again, but he’s silent, his grey eyes fixed on me. Encouraged, I keep going, pointing to another grouping of stars. “And there, that’s Crux—the Southern Cross. It’s small, but it’s one of the most famous constellations in the southern hemisphere. It’s like a compass, always pointing the way south. Imagine being lost at sea and looking up to find that—just four stars, but enough to guide you home.”

My voice softens further as I turn my attention back to the sky. “When I was little, I used to wonder if the stars ever got lonely. They’re all so far apart, scattered across the sky, shining alone. But then I realized—they’re not really alone, are they? They’re part of something bigger, constellations and galaxies, all connected in ways we can’t always see.”

But then I notice the way he’s looking at me. Not the stars—me.

“Sorry,” I say cutting myself off, lowering my gaze. “I’m talking too much, I wanted you to relax.”

“Don’t,” he says quietly. His voice is soft but steady, and when I look at him, there’s no trace of judgment in his expression. “I love to hear you speak.”

The words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know how to respond. But the way he says it, like he means it, makes me feel like maybe—just maybe—this is exactly what he needs tonight.

“Very well,” I say, my tone steady but soft. “So… you’re going to tell me about this plan of yours, but as you would to any other person. No walls, no filters. Just... talk.”

I pick up the bottle of wine and pour some into a cup, the soft glug of the liquid filling the quiet space between us. Handing it to him, I catch the brief hesitation in his movements before he accepts it. I place the rice balls in front of us, nudging the plate closer so there’s no excuse not to take one. “But we’re not just going to talk about that,” I continue, meeting his cautious gaze. “We’ll drink, and we’ll talk, and we’ll laugh. And you’ll see you have nothing to worry about.”

His eyes flicker at that, a subtle shift in their stormy grey depths, like I’ve brushed against something he’s been hiding. I press on before he can retreat, leaning just slightly closer. “Because I can see it,” I say softly, holding his gaze. “In your eyes. You’re worried.”

He exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging a fraction under the weight of whatever it is he’s been carrying. When he nods, it’s almost imperceptible, but I see it—a quiet acknowledgment, a crack in the armor he always wears so carefully.

Encouraged, I keep going, my voice warm but firm. “You don’t have to be. Not tonight, not here. This space isn’t for overthinking or planning every little detail. This space is for us to be… just us. No captain, no nurse. Just two people under the stars.”

I take a sip of my own wine, letting the moment hang between us. His fingers trace the edge of the cup, and though he doesn’t say anything right away, the tension in his posture eases even more. As I watch him visibly relax, the weight he’s been carrying all day beginning to slip off his shoulders, I realize this is the moment. He’s here, open and vulnerable, even if just a little. It’s enough.

My fingers instinctively move to the box in my pocket, brushing over its smooth edges. The coin inside feels heavier now than it did when I first bought it on that small island—the first place we visited together as a crew. Back then, it had been a simple, impulsive purchase, something I thought he’d like. But now, it’s grown into something more, carrying the weight of shared moments, trust, and… something I can’t quite put into words.

I glance at him, the way the faint candlelight softens his features, making him look younger, almost at peace. Almost. There’s still a guarded edge in his eyes, a reminder of how difficult it is for him to let anyone in.

I swallow, my voice steady but quiet as I say, “I’ve been holding onto something for a while. I didn’t know when the right time would be to give it to you, but… I think now feels right.”

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity flickering to life. “What is it?” he asks, his tone careful, like he doesn’t quite trust surprises.

I pull the box out of my pocket and hold it between us, offering a small smile. “It’s nothing much, really. Just a little… something I thought you’d appreciate.”

When he takes the box, his movements are slow and deliberate, as if he’s unsure whether to open it right away. I feel my chest tighten, a nervous flutter that I try to push down.

“It’s a coin,” I explain softly, before he even lifts the lid. “I found it on the first island we stopped at. I thought of you the moment I saw it. I figured… well, I figured you might like it.”

He opens the box, the candlelight catching the faint gleam of the coin inside. His fingers brush over its surface, and for a moment, he’s completely still. The pretty silver coin with a tree on one side, and a ship on the other.

He holds the coin in his hands for a moment longer, his gaze fixed on it as if trying to understand something deeper. When he finally looks up, his grey eyes are intense, but there's something softer behind them now. His voice is low, almost breathless.

“Thank you,” he says, and his words carry more weight than just gratitude. “I… I don’t understand how you can be so selfless. You care so much about everyone around you—about me—and I don’t know why you’d do that.” He exhales sharply, the emotion thick in his voice. “I just don’t get it.”

I swallow, a strange warmth spreading in my chest. His words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I don't know what to say. Before I can find my voice, he laughs softly, the sound light but laced with something unspoken.

“So, when did you get this?” he asks, still holding the coin.

I smile faintly, shifting a little where I sit. “I got it for you on the first island we visited together, the one where we picked up all those supplies. It felt like... like it should be something I gave you.”

His laughter deepens, a sound that feels almost like a release. “Well, isn’t that a coincidence,” he says, his lips quirking into a half-smile.

I blink, confusion creeping in. “What do you mean?”

He hesitates for a moment, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face, before he finally speaks, his voice quieter, almost uncertain.

“I... I got something for you, too, on that island.” He pauses, looking at me like he's unsure how to explain. “I didn’t know why I did it at the time. Or when I was supposed to give it to you. But I knew I wanted to.” He laughs again, the sound a little more nervous this time. “So I just... hid it. Stuck it in one of my drawers, and forgot about it.”

I blink again, my mind racing to process his words. “You… what?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “Yeah, I guess I figured I’d give it to you when the time felt right. But I didn’t know when that would be. Guess I was just waiting for the right moment.”

“Maybe you just have to make the right moment,” I tell him with a soft smile, feeling the weight of his hesitation lift slightly. I mean it, though. Maybe it’s not about waiting for some perfect, cosmic alignment. Maybe the perfect moment is the one we decide to create.

He looks at me, his expression softening just enough for me to see something real behind his usual guarded nature. “You’re always right,” he says, his voice low, but with a trace of something—admiration? Affection? It’s hard to pinpoint.

“I’m not always right,” I tease gently, but his words catch in my chest in a way I can’t quite explain.

He smiles, that familiar, rare smile that makes my heart do something funny. “Well, you’re right about this.” He pauses, a quiet breath escaping him before he adds, “Thank you, Ana. For the coin. I’ll make it the centerpiece of my collection.”

I feel my cheeks heat at the compliment, my hands slightly clammy from the sudden wave of warmth rushing through me. "You're welcome," I mumble, not really knowing how to respond to all of this. I try to hide my blush, but the way he looks at me makes it impossible not to notice.

“How’s the wine?” I smile at him, before diving into further conversation.

We sit there for what feels like hours, letting the conversation flow like an easy current. We drift from topic to topic—everything from the crew’s antics to the quirks of the islands we’ve visited recently. He tells me about the oddities he’s seen in his travels before I joined the crew: a forest where the trees grew upside down, a sea current that spun ships in circles like a giant whirlpool toy. I laugh as he recalls Penguin and Shachi’s ridiculous attempts to fish in that same current, both ending up soaked and empty-handed. I share little snippets from my time with Whitebeard’s crew, funny moments that don’t sting to talk about, like Marco’s constant teasing or Ace’s unyielding sweet tooth. It’s effortless, like we’re just two people who happen to enjoy each other’s company, and for a moment, the world beyond this quiet moment fades away.

Law listens intently, his rare smiles surfacing more than once as I recount the time Ace tried to sneak an entire plate of pies past Thatch and failed miserably, the result being a chaotic chase through the galley. His chuckle is soft but genuine, and it warms me to see him so at ease. In turn, he shares stories about his crew—how Bepo once got stuck in the kitchen’s pantry, or how Shachi and Penguin convinced Ikkaku to prank him by hiding Kikoku for a day. His tone is lighter than usual, and I can tell he’s carefully picking stories that won’t cut too deep.

We exchange these small fragments of our lives, the moments that shaped us, and I find myself marveling at how much he’s seen and done. There’s a subtle admiration in his voice when he speaks about his crew, a kind of quiet pride that makes me smile. It’s clear how much they mean to him, even if he rarely says it outright.

At one point, the conversation slows, and we sit in a comfortable silence. I look down at the coin in his hand, the way his fingers absentmindedly trace its edge. It’s almost hypnotic, the way he handles it, like it’s already something precious to him. “You’ve had quite the life,” I say softly, breaking the quiet. “More than most people could ever dream of.”

“So have you,” he replies, his voice steady but tinged with something thoughtful. “You’ve lived through things most people wouldn’t survive. And you’re still here.”

There’s something in the way he says it, like he’s not just stating a fact but offering me a kind of recognition, an unspoken understanding of what it means to carry the weight of a fractured past. I look away, feeling that familiar tightness in my chest, but this time, it’s not unwelcome. It’s grounding.

“You make it sound like I’m some kind of miracle,” I mutter, half-laughing, trying to keep the moment light.

“Maybe you are,” he says quietly, and the seriousness in his tone takes me by surprise. When I glance back at him, he’s looking at me with that same unguarded expression from before, like he’s seeing something in me I can’t quite see myself.

I don’t know what to say to that, so instead, I lean back a little, letting the weight of his words settle in my chest. “Maybe we both are,” I finally say, a small, tentative smile tugging at my lips.

He doesn’t respond right away, but the way his lips curve into the faintest smile tells me he agrees.

The silence between us stretches as Law shifts in his spot, his thumb absently tracing the edge of the coin I’d given him earlier. His expression is carefully neutral, but I can see the way his eyes flicker—like he’s trying to piece together the right words.

“Well, here it goes,” he says finally, his voice quieter than usual but firm.

I sit up a little straighter, the seriousness in his tone drawing all my attention. “What is it?”

He exhales, a slow, measured breath, and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s about my plan. The reason I was in… such a state.”

My heart picks up a little, but I nod, encouraging him to go on.

“It’s… not easy to explain,” he admits, his fingers tightening slightly around the coin. “I’ve thought about this conversation a hundred times, and no matter how I approach it, it doesn’t get any easier.”

My heart tugs at the mention of him replaying this conversation in his head. If he didn’t care about me, he wouldn’t have.

“You’re making me nervous,” I say with a small, hesitant smile, trying to lighten the mood.

He doesn’t return the smile. Instead, his gray eyes meet mine, and there’s a raw honesty there that I’m not used to seeing from him. “This plan—it’s dangerous. Ruthless. And it’s going to cost lives.”

I blink, his words hitting harder than I expected. “What do you mean?”

“I’m going to collect the hearts of a hundred pirates,” he says bluntly, the weight of the statement settling like a stone between us. “It’s the only way to secure the Shichibukai title. The government won’t take anything less seriously.”

The words hang in the air, sharp and cold. I open my mouth to respond, but he continues before I can.

“Once I have that title, I can use it to get close to Caesar Clown,” he says, his tone clinical now, as if reciting a strategy. “He has information I need—leverage to dismantle Kaido and, ultimately, take down Doflamingo.”

The mention of Doflamingo’s name makes his jaw tighten, his voice hardening with barely concealed fury. “This is about more than revenge. It’s about ending his control, tearing apart the structure that allows monsters like him to exist. But to do that…” His gaze drops, and for the first time, I see hesitation in him. “To do that, I have to become one of them. At least, that’s how it’ll look.”

I don’t say anything for a moment, my thoughts racing to keep up. His plan is bold, calculated, but it’s also horrifying in its coldness. And yet, I can see the conviction in his eyes, the way he’s steeled himself for what’s to come.

“And you were hesitant about telling me, because…?” I finally ask, my voice soft but steady.

“Because I don’t know how you’ll react,” he says, his honesty disarming. “I don’t know if you’ll agree, or if you’ll decide this isn’t something you can stand by. But I can’t move forward without telling you. You deserve to know, even if I don’t have the right words for it.”

My thoughts churn, caught in the gravity of what Law just laid out. A hundred hearts. The words echo in my mind, sharp and unforgiving. I try to rationalize it—tell myself they’re pirates, dangerous men who’ve likely done worse—but it doesn’t soften the edge. I’ve seen enough blood, enough death, to know there’s no way to come out of this clean. If I stay, I’ll have to dirty my hands too. My chest tightens at the thought, the weight of it pressing down hard. But I’ve told him, over and over, that I’m here for him, that I’ll stand beside him no matter what. What does that promise mean if I falter now? If I start questioning him, questioning myself? I want to believe in him, to trust that this is necessary, but the plan feels so cold, so calculated, it leaves me wondering if we’ll lose pieces of ourselves along the way.

I want to understand. I want to believe that this is the only way forward, that what he's doing is for a greater cause, but the thought of how far he’s willing to go makes my insides twist. A hundred lives—how do you even begin to justify that? Every life, no matter how dark their choices, has a story. A reason they became who they are. Can I stand by him when that line is crossed? Can I stand by him if I, too, am forced to become the thing I’ve always sworn I’d never be?

I try to imagine myself in his shoes—making those choices, carrying that burden. It’s a kind of power I can barely comprehend, but I can’t shake the feeling that it will consume him. That it will consume both of us. And yet… I know I can’t walk away. He’s already part of me, just as I’m part of him. Every time I think about leaving, the thought feels hollow, empty, like there’s no place left for me outside of this life, outside of him.

I know he’s not asking me to forgive him. He’s not even asking for my approval.

I take a moment, letting the storm of emotions settle before I respond. “Law… you’re right. This plan is ruthless. But I think I understand why you’re doing it.” My voice wavers slightly, but I force myself to meet his gaze. “You’ve always done what you thought was necessary to protect the people you care about. I don’t agree with all of it, but I know your heart is in the right place.”

He looks at me, a flicker of relief crossing his face, and he looks like he’s bracing himself for impact.

I take a deep breath, the weight of everything hanging between us, and for a moment, the world feels too quiet, too still. But then the words come, soft but steady. “I’ll follow you. Whatever it takes. Whatever you need me to do.”

The tension in my chest begins to ease, but the quiet storm inside me doesn’t completely fade. I don’t know where this path will lead us, or who we’ll become by the end of it, but I can’t turn away now. He’s my captain, my choice, and I trust him—trust him more than anyone else. My loyalty has never wavered, and it won’t start now.

I meet his gaze, steady and unwavering. “I’m here. For you. For the crew. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not saying I won’t have questions,” I continue, my tone firm but gentle. “And I’m not saying this will be easy for me—or for any of us. But I meant what I said before. I’m with you, Law. I won’t walk away now.”

The silence that follows feels heavier, but this time, it’s not uncomfortable. It’s filled with the weight of understanding, of choices made and shared burdens.

I know he has to discuss details with me further, but we can do that tomorrow. Right now, I want him to know I’m here, still.

“Thank you,” he says finally, his voice barely audible.

“For what?” I ask softly.

“For not running,” he replies, his gaze steady. “For staying.”

There’s that look again. That damned look I can’t quite place. Has he said all that he wants to?

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” I tease him, nudging him slightly.

He laughs a bit, running a hand through his face. He just shakes his head a bit, leaning a bit closer to me.

He doesn’t answer right away, just stares at me like he’s weighing something in his mind. I wait, the tension thick between us. He’s always been a man of few words, but this silence feels different. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, as if the words aren’t enough, as if they might never be enough.

I lean closer, the distance between us suddenly feeling too wide, too heavy. “Law,” I say, my voice low, but the words feel like a question I’m afraid to ask. What are you thinking?

It’s like he’s standing at the edge of something—maybe a decision, maybe an emotion, maybe both—. His eyes are darker now, but there’s a tenderness buried beneath the layers of hesitation. I can feel my pulse pick up, and the silence stretches between us, heavy with things neither of us are saying.

“Ana,” he finally breathes, his voice strained in a way I’ve never heard before. There’s something in his tone that makes me hold my breath, a vulnerability that he’s rarely shown. He hesitates, just for a second, before continuing. “You’ve always been there for me. Even when I didn’t ask for it, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

The weight of his words hits me, and I feel a flicker of something in my chest—something soft and raw. The words seem to hang in the air, like they’re waiting for me to respond, to make sense of them, but they’re more than just gratitude. They’re deeper. More meaningful. And for a second, I wonder if he even understands what he’s saying, or if he’s finally realizing it himself.

I lean more towards him, instinctively closing the space between us, and it’s like the rest of the world fades away. His gaze is intense, searching mine, as if trying to gauge whether I understand. And I do. More than I want to admit, I understand.

“I told you,” I say softly, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “I’m here. Whatever happens, I’m here.”

His eyes flicker with something—relief, maybe? Or something else I can’t quite put my finger on. He opens his mouth to say something more, but it doesn’t come out. Instead, his chest rises and falls, like he’s trying to steady himself, like he's waiting for the right words to come. But the tension in the room, in him, feels too thick now. The air between us is charged, as if everything we’ve both been holding in for so long is about to explode.

I reach for his hand slowly, unable to resist the urge to touch him, and this time he doesn't pull harshly away. It's as if everything that has been tying him down has finally become undone. He is finally here, with me. Not the surgeon of death, not Dr. Trafalgar Law. Just Law. Fully committed, letting me in. Finally.

My fingers trace the tattoos on his skin slowly, every inked line and curve, as if I’m committing them to memory. Each letter, each mark, is a piece of him that I want to hold onto. The touch is gentle, tender, as if I’m afraid of breaking him somehow, afraid of losing what we’ve just begun to understand. He watches me closely, his breath catching as I lift his hand to my lips. The warmth of his skin lingers against mine, and I press a kiss to each letter, one by one, my lips lingering for just a fraction of a second on the ink. The tattoos speak of his past—of pain, survival, and battles fought alone. But in this moment, it feels like a promise between us, one that I’m not ready to let go of.

I feel him tremble beneath my touch, and his breath hitches, like he’s letting himself feel something deeper, something he’s kept buried for so long.

“I don’t ever want to be far from you,” I whisper, my voice breaking through the silence. The words feel like a confession, an aching truth I can’t keep hidden any longer. I don’t want to let go of him. Not now, not ever.

There’s something deep inside me that knows the distance between us has always been there, even when we were standing close. I know it’s more than just the miles we’ve traveled, or the battles we’ve fought. It’s the emotional divide we’ve both kept so carefully locked away. But in this moment, touching him like this, I realize that no matter what comes next, I want him near. Always near.

I gaze up at him, my heart pounding, and I say it in my tongue, in this moment coming naturally to me.

"Я всегда буду с тобой, (I will always be with you)," I murmur, my voice barely more than a breath.

He looks at me with those dark eyes, searching, trying to make sense of it, but the feeling is there. He might not understand the words, but he understands the truth behind them, the raw emotion in my voice. His hand tightens around mine.

“Anastasia,” he says again, his voice low, rough now, barely a whisper. “I…” He stops, his eyes locking onto mine, and I see the hesitation in them. The walls he’s built for so long are crumbling, and he’s vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen before. He struggles to find the words, but I see it—he doesn’t need them.

“I can’t hold myself back anymore,” he mutters, his voice trembling just enough for me to hear. His eyes flicker to my lips, and in that moment, I realize how much he’s been fighting this. Fighting me. Fighting whatever this is between us. And now, he’s done.

Without warning, he leans forward, and his hands find me—first my shoulders, then my waist, pulling me into him with a force that’s not harsh but desperate, like he’s afraid this moment will slip away if he doesn’t act. I barely have time to process the shift before his lips are on mine.

It’s everything I’ve wanted but never dared to say. His kiss is deep and consuming, like he’s finally giving in to something he’s been holding back for too long. It’s a burst of emotion—raw, urgent, and hungry—and for a moment, it feels like everything else in the world has fallen away, leaving only us.

His lips move against mine, slow at first, like he’s savoring this newness, the way we’re both opening up to each other in a way that feels inevitable, like it was always meant to happen. I can feel the tension in him, the way he’s trying to pour everything into the kiss—every unspoken thought, every hesitation, every piece of himself he’s never let anyone see. It’s a confession without words, a promise in the way his hands tighten around me, pulling me closer, as if he wants to feel the connection between us in every part of him.And I’m kissing him back, just as fiercely, just as desperately, because I know this is it. This is what we’ve both been holding on to. It’s not just about the plan or loyalty or promises—it’s something deeper, something neither of us had the words for until now. His tongue brushes against mine, and my heart stutters in my chest.

When he pulls back, just enough to breathe, I’m left dizzy, heart racing, chest tight with a hundred emotions I can’t process all at once. His eyes are dark, but there’s a new softness in them, something fragile, something that wasn’t there before.

“I’m not letting you go now,” he says, his voice barely a whisper, as if the weight of the words is too much to say out loud. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do this.”

And in that moment, I realize I have been waiting for this, too. And I’m not going anywhere, I never could. He’s my captain, now more than a friend, and I’m not afraid anymore. I’m with him. No matter what happens next, I’m here.

“I’ve wanted you too, for so long.”

I pull him back to me, my lips finding his again, but this time, it’s different. It’s not just the release of everything we’ve kept inside, it’s the start of something new. Something neither of us can turn away from. And I know, without a doubt, that we’re in this together. We always have been.

Chapter Text

Once Upon a December

Snow drifts down from a sky painted in shades of soft grey and silver, each flake catching the light before settling on the deck of the Polar Tang. The cold bites, sharp and unforgiving, but there’s a quiet peace in the air. The kind of silence that only winter can bring—the world muffled under a blanket of frost, as if holding its breath.

I press my gloved hand against the fogged glass of the observation deck, watching as the island grows closer. The town nestled at its center looks like it belongs in a storybook. Winding cobblestone streets, rooftops capped in snow, and lanterns glowing warm and golden against the icy backdrop.

“Silverpine,” Bepo says from behind me, his voice a low rumble of excitement. “The locals say it’s one of the most beautiful winter islands.”

I nod, my breath misting the glass. “It looks like something out of a dream.”

Penguin and Shachi appear beside me, their faces pressed eagerly against the window.

“I heard they have a festival this time of year,” Shachi says, grinning. “Lanterns, music, food… the works.”

Penguin smirks. “And spiced cider. Don’t forget the cider.”

Their excitement is contagious, a spark of warmth against the cold. I wrap my arms around myself, the chill creeping through my coat, and let their voices wash over me.

But there’s something else.

Something beneath the surface.

The town pulls at me—not in the way an unfamiliar place does, but with a strange sense of familiarity. Like I’ve been here before. Or maybe… I’ve dreamed of it.

“Captain, should we dock?” Bepo asks, turning to Law.

I glance back as Law steps forward, his coat trailing behind him, the white fluff at the collar catching flecks of snow. His expression is calm, composed, but I’ve spent enough time by his side to notice the subtle shift in his eyes. He’s curious, too.

“We’ll dock,” he says after a moment, his gaze lingering on the town below. “We need supplies.” His eyes flicker to me briefly, a glance so fleeting I almost miss it. “And rest.”

Rest.

The word settles in my chest like a promise.

The Polar Tang docks smoothly at the small harbor, and the crew disembarks in a flurry of motion. The air is crisp and cold, each breath a puff of white. Snow crunches beneath our boots as we step onto the pier, the scent of pine and woodsmoke curling through the air.

I pull my scarf tighter around my neck, my gaze sweeping over the town. Lanterns hang from every storefront, their light casting long shadows across the snow. Children race through the streets, their laughter ringing out like bells, and merchants call out from stalls filled with ornaments, garlands, and steaming cups of cider.

It’s beautiful.

And yet…

A soft melody drifts through the air, faint and distant.

I stop in my tracks, my heart stuttering for a moment.

The sound is familiar.

Too familiar.

“Ana?” Shachi’s voice pulls me back. “You coming?”

I blink, shaking off the feeling. “Yeah. I’m right behind you.”

But the melody lingers, wrapping around me like a thread, tugging at something deep inside.

In the heart of the town square, a towering pine tree stands decorated with ribbons and ornaments that shimmer in the lantern light. A bonfire crackles nearby, its flames reaching up toward the sky, casting a warm glow over the gathering crowd.

The crew scatters, drawn to the various stalls and shops. I stand at the edge of the square, my hands tucked into my pockets, watching as the town comes to life around me.

It should feel festive.

It should feel warm.

But that melody…

It weaves through the air again, soft and haunting, like a whisper from another time.

I turn, my eyes scanning the square until they land on a small shop tucked into the corner—a shop I hadn’t noticed before. The sign above the door reads Silver Notes: Antique Music Boxes.

I hesitate, the pull of the music drawing me closer.

The bell above the door chimes softly as I step inside.

Warmth greets me, along with the scent of polished wood and aged metal. The shop is small, its walls lined with shelves filled with music boxes of every shape and size. Each one is a work of art—delicate carvings, intricate designs, and tiny mechanisms waiting to be wound.

I wander through the narrow aisles, my fingers trailing over the polished surfaces.

And then I see it.

A small silver box with a lid of deep blue enamel, snowflake patterns etched into the metal. It sits quietly on a shelf, almost as if waiting for me.

My heart skips a beat.

I reach for it, my fingers trembling slightly, and wind the key on the side.

The lid opens with a soft click.

A familiar melody spills into the air.

Soft.

Sweet.

Haunting.

My breath catches. I know this song.

I close my eyes, the music wrapping around me like a blanket, pulling me back to another time. Another place. A room lit by firelight. My mother’s soft voice humming this very tune as she stroked my head, the warmth of her presence chasing away the shadows.

I’m not in Silverpine anymore.

I’m a baby again.

Safe.

Loved.

Whole.

The bell above the door chimes again, and the memory shatters like glass.

“Ana?”

I open my eyes to find Law standing in the doorway, his gaze steady, curious.

I quickly close the music box, the final notes lingering in the air before fading into silence. My hands are trembling, and I press them against the smooth surface of the counter to steady myself. 

His voice is calm, but there’s something else beneath it.

I force a smile, though it feels fragile. “Captain.” 

He steps inside, the door clicking shut behind him, muffling the sounds of the festival outside. The space feels smaller with him here, the air heavier, charged with something I can’t quite name. 

“You disappeared,” he says simply, his eyes moving from me to the shelves of music boxes. “I thought something might have happened.” 

I shake my head. “Nothing happened. I just… needed a moment.”

His gaze returns to me, sharp and assessing. “A moment.” 

I can feel the weight of his scrutiny, like he’s peeling back layers to see what’s hidden underneath. Law has always been like that—methodical, precise, relentless in his pursuit of the truth.

I take a breath, trying to steady my racing heart. “This place… it reminds me of something. Of someone.” My voice is quieter now, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “A memory.” 

He steps closer, his coat brushing against one of the shelves. “A good one?” 

I nod, my fingers tracing the edge of the silver box. “One of the few.” 

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The only sound is the faint ticking of the music boxes around us, each one holding its own secret melody, waiting to be released. 

“What song was that?” Law’s voice is softer now, almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid of breaking the fragile thread of the conversation. 

I glance down at the box, the snowflake patterns catching the light. “It’s called Once Upon a December. My mother used to hum it when I was little. Before…” I trail off, the rest of the sentence catching in my throat. 

Before everything fell apart. 

Before she was killed.

Before my progenitor started experimenting on me.

Before I ran. 

Before I became someone else entirely. 

Law doesn’t push. He never does. It’s one of the things I admire about him—his ability to wait, to give me space, even when I know he wants to ask. 

I close the music box gently, the lid clicking shut. “It’s just a song,” I say, though the words feel hollow. 

He doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against mine as he takes the box from my hands. His touch is warm, a contrast to the cold that lingers in my skin. 

“It’s more than just a song,” he says quietly, his eyes meeting mine. “Isn’t it?” 

I swallow hard, the intensity of his gaze unravelling something inside me. “Maybe,” I admit. “It’s… a connection. To who I could have been. To a life I can’t name.” 

His fingers linger on the box for a moment longer before he sets it back on the shelf. “You’ve changed,” he says, not as a question but as a fact. 

I nod. “We both have.” 

He exhales softly, a breath that feels heavier than it should. “Do you miss it?” 

“The past?” I pause, considering. “Sometimes. But it’s… distant. Like a dream I can’t quite reach.” 

Law watches me, his expression unreadable. “Dreams have a way of lingering, even when we think we’ve left them behind.” 

I tilt my head, studying him. “Do you have dreams like that?” 

A flicker of something crosses his face—too quick to catch, but enough to make me wonder. “I have dreams,” he says finally, his voice low. “But they’re not about the past.” 

I feel a shiver run through me, though the room is warm. “Then what are they about?” 

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes a step closer, closing the distance between us. His presence is overwhelming, the air between us charged with something I can’t name but can feel in every nerve. 

“They’re about the future,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes are steady on mine, unwavering. “About what I want. About what has changed in my life ever since—” He stops himself, his jaw tightening. 

“What has changed?” I ask, my voice just as soft, as if speaking any louder would shatter this moment. 

His hand lifts, hesitates for a fraction of a second, and then he brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch careful, deliberate. “What has changed in my life the second you stepped into it.” 

The words hang between us, heavy and filled with meaning.  I can’t help what happens next.

I fling my arms around his neck and bury my head in his shoulder, tightly. I breathe him in, not sure what has come over me in this moment of vulnerability but every fibre of my being begging to have him closer, to feel him closer, to hold him closer to me. My nose must be cold, because Law can’t help but shiver when I press it against his neck. It takes every ounce of self-control in me not to press my lips against his neck, so I just leave them there, close enough so that he can feel me sigh from them.

He wraps his arms around me, defeated. He, too, buries his head on the crook of my neck, unconsciously snuggling closer. His strong arms ground me to this moment, on this island, after months of sailing together and developing a friendship with him, and I can’t help but feel warmth growing from my belly and spreading all around my body, all the way to my fingertips.

When we finally pull apart, I’m breathless, my heart racing in my chest. His forehead rests against mine, his eyes half-lidded, dark and unreadable, as if he’s trying to process what just happened.

“Ana,” he murmurs, my name a soft exhale on his lips.

I open my eyes, finding his gaze already locked on mine. “Law…”

For a moment, neither of us moves. The room is quiet, save for the soft ticking of the music boxes around us, their melodies forgotten as our arms are still wrapped around each other.

“I shouldn’t have—” I begin, but he presses a finger to my lips, silencing me.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Don’t apologize. Not for this.”

My eyes search his, hesitant, conflicted. “Sorry for hugging you unprompted…” I trail off, his hand still cradling my face, as if letting go would break the fragile connection between us.

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing against my cold, cold nose.

“Very well, let’s do something,” Law gives a step back and grabs me by the shoulders, staring straight into my eyes. “Anastasia Newgate, crew member of the Heart Pirates, residing in the Polar Tang…”

He takes one of my hands and lifts it up to his lips.

“You are allowed to address the captain however you see fit,” he kisses my hand softly, “Translation: you have the absolute power to hug me whenever you feel like it.”

My lips curve into a soft smile, the weight of his words settling over me like a warm blanket. “Is that so?” I whisper, still feeling the ghost of his lips on my hand.

He tilts his head, a rare flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “I don’t make declarations lightly.”

“I know,” I murmur. I do know. Law isn’t the kind of man who says things just to say them. Every word is measured, deliberate. Like the way he looks at me now—intentional, unwavering, like I’m something he’s carefully chosen to hold onto.

I feel the heat rising to my cheeks, a mixture of the lingering cold and the way he’s looking at me, like I’m something more than a friend, more than a crewmate. And for a second, I think about what it would be like to close the gap between us again, not in a fleeting embrace, but in something more deliberate, something real.

But I hesitate, unsure if I’m imagining the tension between us. Maybe this is nothing more than a shared moment, a product of the quiet shop, the snow outside, the warmth we’ve created in the cold.

“Captain,” I say softly, teasingly, testing the waters. “Is that an official order?”

His brow lifts, and for a moment, I think he’s going to deflect with one of his usual stoic responses. But instead, he surprises me. “It is,” he says, his voice low and smooth, like the quiet hum of the sea at night. “And I don’t expect you to disobey.”

A laugh escapes me, soft and light, and it feels like something has shifted between us. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply, my fingers still tingling from where he held my hand.

Law’s gaze doesn’t waver. He takes a step closer, and instinctively, I mirror him, closing the small space between us. There’s something unspoken in the air, something fragile and new, like the first snowfall of the season—beautiful and fleeting.

I glance down at our hands, his fingers still wrapped around mine, and I trace the outline of his tattoos again. “I think I like this order,” I say softly, looking up at him through my lashes.

His lips twitch into a faint smile, a rare, genuine expression that makes my heart stutter. “Good,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing gently over the back of my hand. “I intend to make it a permanent one.”

Something flutters in my chest, a warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the coat I’m still wearing. I bite my lip, unsure of what to say, unsure if I even need to say anything.

Instead, I reach for his hand again, lacing our fingers together. His grip is firm, steady, as if he’s anchoring me to this moment. The snow outside falls silently, a gentle reminder of the world beyond these walls, but right now, it feels like time has stopped. His eyes linger on me, thoughtful and searching, like he’s trying to read what’s on my mind. But I don’t want to say everything. Some things are better left unsaid.

“Come now,” I say to him, “Let’s find some place we can drink something warm.”

The pub is cozy, warm with the scent of roasting meats and cinnamon-spiced drinks. Outside, the snow continues to fall relentlessly, but inside, the flickering fire and the steady hum of conversation make it feel like Christmas has come early. A few crew members are gathered around a large wooden table, the hearty glow of the hearth casting long shadows across their faces.

I’m sitting back, a mug of mulled wine in my hands, as I listen to the banter between Shachi and Penguin. They’re arguing over who should be their Secret Santa. As usual, it’s more for fun than anything else.

“I’m telling you, I’m getting you something practical this year,” Penguin says with a grin, nudging Shachi’s elbow. “No more useless trinkets, alright?”

Shachi groans dramatically. “Practical? What, are you gonna get me a set of socks?”

Penguin shrugs, still grinning. “Maybe! Nothing wrong with socks! You know how cold it gets on the Polar Tang.”

Across the table, Ikkaku chuckles and takes a swig of her drink. “Maybe you’ll get him a shovel so he can stop whining about snow,” she says, nudging Law, who’s sitting a little farther away, quietly watching the scene unfold. He’s not one to join in on the loud conversations, but it’s clear he’s listening, even if he doesn’t show it.

“Better be careful,” Ikkaku continues, her eyes sparkling. “You know how they get. Shachi’s going to buy you a toy pirate ship or something useless, and Penguin will probably try to one-up you with something even more ridiculous.”

Shachi feigns offense. “My gifts are always thoughtful! I once gave you a set of notebooks, didn’t I?”

“I still don’t know what to do with them,” Ikkaku laughs, poking fun at him, but there's warmth in her voice, like the teasing is part of their usual camaraderie.

The conversation turns back to the matter of who’s drawing for whom. Penguin fishes out a crumpled bit of paper from his pocket and starts reading off names. There’s a kind of excited energy to the room now—everyone’s focused on the little tradition, the simple joy of giving gifts, of making each other smile.

I lean back, letting the chatter wash over me, a little smile on my lips. It’s so easy to get lost in the noise of the world, to forget about the people around you when you’re caught in the whirlwind of things that are too big to control. But here, with this crew, with this ragtag group of pirates, everything feels… right. For the first time in a long while, I feel like I belong.

I look across the table at Law, whose brow is furrowed slightly in concentration as he listens to the others. He’s never been much for these kinds of moments—lighthearted, carefree, the kind of celebration where everyone can just be... themselves. But in the way he watches, I see something. A flicker of interest. Maybe even… a smile.

“You’re in, too, right?” Ikkaku asks him, raising an eyebrow. Her tone is teasing, but there’s no judgment behind it. She’s not asking if he wants to be in—she’s asking because it’s expected, and because she knows he will be. “Don’t make us pull rank on you.”

Law finally looks up, his eyes catching mine for a second before he looks back at Ikkaku, a sigh escaping his lips. "Fine. But I’m not buying any ridiculous gifts. I’ll just get what’s needed."

“Needed? For who?” Shachi asks, clearly already in the mindset of how he’ll get something comically impractical for someone else.

“Needed for whoever I draw,” Law mutters, tapping his fingers on the table absently. "As long as it’s not a waste, I’ll buy it.”

I chuckle at his response, imagining him getting something ultra-practical, like a map or a set of tools. But then again, he’s never been one for the sentimental stuff. His gifts, I think, will always be practical. But I wonder if that will change.

"Alright, alright," Shachi says with a grin. "But you know, we’ve got the other part of this whole thing too, right? The part where we have to write a poem or something for our person. And don’t even think of not doing it, Law. I’ve already got my poetry skills ready."

Law raises an eyebrow at that, clearly skeptical. “Poetry?”

“Yeah, it’s a tradition,” Ikkaku says, her tone more serious. “Part of the gift, you know? A little creative expression, since it’s Christmas.”

There’s a long silence as Law processes this new bit of information. Then, with a very unamused look, he mutters, “This crew...”

I giggle, a laugh slipping out before I can catch it. And just like that, the tension around him eases. His lips quirk upward slightly, and I feel something flutter in my chest. It's not much, but it's something. He’s here with us. Part of the crew.

“Well,” Ikkaku says, grinning at Law’s expression. “We’ll see who gets who! It’s gonna be fun. No backsies, either.”

And with that, the crew continues to joke and chatter, the cozy warmth of the pub wrapping around us. Even though things are complicated, even though we’ve all been through more than we care to admit, moments like this remind me that there are still little pockets of peace, little breaks from the chaos of life. And I want to hold on to that, especially with them.

I feel a little nervous, though I don’t show it. The idea of giving a gift to someone has always felt a little overwhelming to me, especially when I’m not sure what people would even like. But this isn’t supposed to be about stress—it’s about fun, and that’s something I can definitely get behind.

"Alright, let's get this over with," Shachi says, holding up a bag. "Everyone draw a name, and you’ll ONLY have to get something for that person. No cheating. Remember we all did this whole thing because we didn’t wanna spend so much."

The crew takes turns drawing names, each person quietly pulling a slip of paper from the bag. I watch as everyone’s face flickers with various emotions—Penguin practically bouncing on his seat when he draws his name, Shachi pretending to pout when he draws his. I try not to let my nerves show as I reach into the bag, pulling out a small slip.

I open it with one hand, trying not to make it obvious how much I’m hoping it’s someone easy to shop for. My heart skips a beat when I see the name written inside.

I got Shachi.

I try not to let my relief show, but it’s there. Shachi’s easy to shop for, and he’s always so energetic and unpredictable that I feel like I can get him something that will make him laugh.

Though, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want the piece of paper to read someone else’s name.

As the rest of the crew draws their names, I take note of the smiles and laughter. The secrecy of it is what makes it fun—no one knows who’s buying for whom, and there’s something delightfully mysterious about it all.

But as I look over at Law, I catch a glimpse of his gaze, and something about the way he’s studying the piece of paper in his hand makes my heart flutter for reasons I can’t quite explain. I quickly look away, trying not to think too hard about it. Probability states he didn’t pull my name, so I shouldn’t dwell too much on it.

Back on the ship, the crew dispereses as quiet settles over.I step onto the deck by myself, the cold air greeting me like an old friend. The stars are brighter than I’ve ever seen them—clear and cold, twinkling in the night sky like a thousand promises. I walk to the edge of the Polar Tang, letting the sea breeze whip through my hair as I look out at the horizon, my mind drifting again, like it has every time I’ve heard that song.

The holiday cheer lingers in the air, but the weight of the moment settles in around me. It's strange, this feeling that Silverpine has pulled me into its grasp. I can't quite explain it, but something about this place feels... inevitable, like I was always meant to be here. It's not just the island, or the snow-dusted streets, or even the festivities that have filled the last few days. There's something deeper, something older about this place. Something in the air that whispers of forgotten dreams and stories left untold.

I close my eyes, breathing in the salty air, letting the gentle rocking of the ship calm the whirl of thoughts in my mind. The hum of the music box below deck, the soft strains of Christmas carols, drift to me on the wind.

Once upon a December...

The melody repeats in my mind like a lullaby, drawing me deeper into a trance-like state. The song, familiar yet foreign, tugs at something inside me—a forgotten memory, perhaps, or a feeling of longing I can’t name. As I hum the tune softly to myself, my mind begins to wander. The night air grows colder, but I don’t mind. My thoughts slip away from the ship and the people aboard it.

Suddenly, the scene shifts. I’m no longer standing on the deck of the Polar Tang. Instead, I find myself in the center of a vast ballroom, its high ceilings adorned with shimmering chandeliers, their soft light bathing the polished floors. The room is filled with movement—men and women in elegant gowns and sharp suits glide across the floor in perfect synchrony, their laughter and music filling the air. Their faces are blurred, indistinct, like ghosts caught in the middle of a dream.

The vision is so vivid, so real, that I can almost feel the music vibrate through my chest. The dancers twirl and spin, their movements graceful, their expressions joyful. I see the flash of skirts, the glint of jewelry, the shine of polished shoes on the smooth marble floor, but their faces—those faces—are lost to me, as if they belong to another time. Another place. Another life.

I try to move closer, but my feet feel heavy, as though I’m walking through water. Every step I take is slow, labored, and the dancers continue to swirl around me, oblivious to my presence. I reach out for them, but my hands pass through them like smoke, unable to touch or hold onto anything.

The vision shifts again. The ballroom blurs, the edges of the scene fading as if I’m no longer part of it. The sound of laughter becomes a distant echo, the soft strains of the music fading into nothingness. And then, as quickly as it came, the vision slips away, leaving me standing alone in the dark, the chill of the night air biting at my skin.

I blink, the disorientation settling in, and for a moment, I feel dizzy. My heart races, a sense of loss filling me that I can’t quite explain. What was that? Who were those people? And why does it feel like I’ve seen them before, or at least, felt like I should have?

The stars above me are sharp and clear, but their light feels distant now, almost unreachable. My fingers curl into the railing, trying to ground myself in the present, but the feeling persists—this sense of something unfinished, something important that I’m not seeing.

I think back to Silverpine. The town has been a strange mix of beauty and mystery, a place that feels alive in ways I can’t quite put into words. I’ve walked through its streets, listened to its stories, and yet, it all seems so... unreal. Like I’m on the edge of a dream that’s slipping away with each passing moment. There are moments when I feel as if I’ve been here before, in another life or in another time. The feeling creeps in when I look at the snow-capped mountains, or when I hear the distant chiming of a bell. It’s like the town is pulling at something deep inside me, a memory I can’t fully access, a story that’s been waiting for me.

I close my eyes again, letting the stillness of the night settle around me. The vision of the ballroom lingers in my mind, the faces of the dancers still blurred, still unreachable.

Why do I feel like I’ve been a part of that dance? Why do I feel like this moment in Silverpine is something I was meant to experience, as though the town, and its people, have been waiting for me all this time?

The feeling intensifies, and with it, a strange sense of clarity.

I don’t know who the dancers were, or why they came to me in this strange vision, but one thing is certain: the song, the place, the sensation of being drawn into something larger than myself... it all fits together in a way that’s beyond comprehension.

Maybe this December is more than just a holiday. Maybe it’s a turning point. A crossroads between the past and the present. A place where dreams and memories, old and new, come together.

I open my eyes, my chest tight with a mixture of emotions—confusion, anticipation, and a strange sense of peace.

The Polar Tang rocks gently beneath my feet, the faint sounds of the crew's chatter and laughter still floating up from below deck. The Christmas lights twinkle in the distance, warm and inviting.

But for a moment longer, I stand there, lost in thought, as the feeling of the ballroom lingers like a forgotten memory, just beyond my reach. This overwhelming sense that everything is somehow aligned—that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. It’s the same feeling I had the first time I heard the song, the same feeling that’s been growing inside of me ever since.

This is where I’m supposed to be. Not just on this ship, not just in this strange place called Silverpine, but with these people. With him.

Law.

The thought of him slips into my mind, and the warmth spreads through my chest again. I’ve been dancing around it for so long, trying to ignore the feelings that have been quietly unfurling inside of me. But I can’t anymore. The way he looks at me, the way his presence fills the space around us... it’s impossible to deny it. He’s changed everything.

I rest my arms against the cold wood, the gentle sway of the ship grounding me in this moment. The warmth of the fire inside, the laughter of the crew still faintly echoing from below deck, it all feels so far away. But I feel connected to it in some way, more than I ever have before. I’m not alone in this moment, even if I stand alone on the deck.

I blink, startled out of my thoughts by Ikkaku’s voice. I glance over my shoulder to see her standing in the doorway of the ship, her silhouette framed by the warm glow of light spilling from inside.

“Ana!” she calls again, her tone more urgent this time. “Get back inside, it’s freezing out here!”

I laugh softly, a little sheepish at how lost I got in my thoughts. The cold has started to creep into my bones, and I didn’t even notice. I step back from the railing, pulling my coat tighter around me as I head inside, grateful for the warmth that hits me like a wave the moment I cross the threshold.

The familiar sounds of the crew chatting and laughing fill the air. The low hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the soft crackle of the fireplace make the whole space feel cozy. The scent of freshly baked bread and spices still lingers in the air, and the flickering light from the fire creates soft shadows on the walls. It’s peaceful, comforting—exactly the atmosphere I need after everything that’s been weighing on me.

Ikkaku meets me halfway across the room, her arms crossed and an amused grin on her face. “You really need to stop getting lost in your head,” she teases, nudging me with her elbow. “It’s like you’re somewhere else entirely.”

“I know,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Sorry, just… thinking about a lot of things.”

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press further. Instead, she changes the subject, looking around the room as if making sure no one else is listening. “So, tomorrow’s the big day,” she says, her grin turning mischievous. “You ready to do some Christmas shopping?”

I roll my eyes playfully. “You know it’s not really Christmas yet, right? We’re still a little early.”

“Early or not, I think we both know we’re not just buying presents for the crew. We’ve got a secret mission to complete—Secret Santa, remember?”

I laugh, the sound light and easy. “Right, right. Forgot for a second.”

We both sit at the table, where the rest of the crew is scattered, continuing their discussions about the holiday plans. Ikkaku leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “So, any ideas for what you’re getting for your Secret Santa yet?”

The night flows over, Ikkaku and I exchanging gift ideas and planning for the day ahead.

There’s something about the warmth of the fire, the laughter echoing around the room, and the simple joy of being together that fills me with a sense of belonging I never thought I’d feel. With these guys—the crew, my friends, my family—I feel like I finally have a home. A place where I’m truly living each day. And no matter what tomorrow brings or where we go next, I know that as long as I have them by my side, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

With a quiet smile, I let the warmth of the moment settle deep inside me. I don’t know what the future holds, but for tonight, I’m grateful. This is the season for friends and family. Right here, right now, I’m so glad to have the best family in all of the Grand Line.

Chapter Text

The streets of Silverpine shimmer with the kind of holiday cheer that could warm even the iciest heart. Twinkling lights wrap around every lamppost, garlands dangle above our heads, and wreaths with bright red ribbons adorn each shop door. The air smells like cinnamon and pine, and though the sky above is a dull grey, it feels alive—like snow could fall at any moment. 

I glance at Ikkaku walking beside me. She’s already carrying a few bags, her cheeks pink from the cold, and her eyes bright with curiosity as she scans each shop we pass. “So, who’d you pull for Secret Santa?” she asks, nudging me with her elbow. 

I hesitate, fiddling with the edge of my scarf. “You’ll find out later, just like everyone else.” 

She snorts. “You’re no fun. Let me guess—it’s Shachi. And you got him something boring like briefs.” 

I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. “It’s not briefs. And it’s not boring. It’s... practical.” 

“Uh-huh.” She raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Surprisingly thoughtful. I’ll give you that much.”

“So… any gifts for a certain raven-haired captain that goes by the name of Law?” Ikkaku adds with a mischevous grin and a raised brow.

“I’m a Law-abiding citizen,” I wink at her and she laughs at my pun, “They said no gifts besides the secret-santa one, and we shall keep it that way.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun!” She laughs while she links her arm with mine.

I laugh softly, shaking my head. Ikkaku never lets me off easy, but I think that’s why I enjoy being around her. There’s no pressure to be anything other than myself. 

The wind picks up, and I pull my coat tighter, watching as a flurry of dry leaves scatters across the cobblestone street. “It’s really nice here,” I say quietly, almost to myself. 

“Yeah,” she agrees, her voice softer now. “It feels... I don’t know. Peaceful. Like one of those places that exists outside of time, you know?” 

Before I can answer, something catches her eye. “Oh, look at that!” 

I follow her gaze to a small shop tucked between two larger buildings. The windows are frosted, but soft golden light glows from within, and faint tendrils of smoke curl out of a chimney on the side. The painted sign above the door reads "Incense and Mirrh"

The scent of incense drifts out as we get closer, mingling with the pine and cinnamon in the air. Ikkaku pauses, tilting her head. “What do you think? Worth a look?” 

I nod, already drawn to the cozy warmth radiating from the place. “Let’s see what’s inside.” 

The bell above the door jingles as we step inside, and instantly, we’re enveloped in warmth. The air smells of sandalwood and lavender, mixed with something faintly metallic I can’t quite place. The walls are lined with shelves crammed full of crystals, amulets, jars of herbs, and polished wooden boxes. It feels like we’ve walked into another world—a quiet, secret place that’s been here far longer than the bustling streets outside.

Ikkaku wanders off almost immediately, her attention snagged by a display of carved figurines. I take my time, trailing a finger along a row of amethyst crystals that catch the light like tiny shards of ice.

“You know,” Ikkaku calls over her shoulder, “I bet Shachi would love one of these.” She picks up a small jade dragon and holds it up to me, grinning. “It’s very pretty.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not buying Shachi a dragon.”

She opens her mouth to say something but just before she can answer, a voice cuts through the soft hum of the shop. “Lizaveta!”

I freeze as a small, stooped woman rushes toward me, her eyes wide with something between joy and disbelief. Before I can react, her thin arms wrap around me in a fierce hug.

“You’re back,” she says, her voice trembling. “Oh, Lizaveta, it’s been so long!”

My heart pounds, and I stiffen in her embrace. “I... I think you have the wrong person,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

She pulls back suddenly, her hands gripping my shoulders as she studies my face. Her own crumples with realization, and she steps back, shaking her head. “Oh, darling girl,” she says, her voice soft and apologetic. “Прости, I thought you were someone else.”

Her accent is thick, but her words are clear enough. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “It’s... okay. Really.”

The woman’s expression softens, and she gives me a small, sad smile. “You just look so much like her,” she says, almost to herself. Then she straightens, her energy shifting back to something lighter. “But where are my manners? Welcome to my shop! It’s the holidays, and we must celebrate!”

Ikkaku steps closer, eyeing the woman with interest. “Celebrate, huh? What does that mean? Discounts?”

The woman laughs, a warm, tinkling sound that makes the room feel even cozier. “No, no. Something better. A gift!” She turns to me, her eyes twinkling. “How about a tarot reading? On the house.”

“Oh, I don’t think—” I start, but Ikkaku cuts me off with an exaggerated gasp.

“You have to do it,” she says, grabbing my arm. “Come on, Ana, it’s fate or destiny or whatever. Don’t be boring.”

I glare at her, but she’s already grinning, knowing she’s won. The old woman claps her hands, clearly pleased. “Wonderful! Come, sit.”

She leads us to a small table at the back of the shop, where a deck of tarot cards waits, neatly arranged. A single candle flickers in the center, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

I sit down reluctantly, my pulse quickening.

“Go, go, I want to check that dragon out… maybe get one for myself,” Ikkaku gestures, steps behind the curtain and walks away, leaving me to sit in front of the woman, her elbows on the table and her chin resting in her hands, looking far too amused.

Her hands hover over the deck of cards. “Now,” she says, her voice low and full of purpose, “Let us see what the cards have to say.”

The old woman shuffles the cards with practiced ease, her gnarled fingers moving so quickly it’s mesmerizing. The soft scrape of the cards against the table fills the quiet space, punctuated only by the occasional creak of the shop as the wind outside rattles the windows.

“Three cards,” she says, her voice low and rhythmic. “One for the past, one for the present, and one for the future.”

I shift uneasily in my chair, my fingers brushing against the woodgrain of the table.

The first card is drawn. She places it on the table with care, turning it to face me. It shows a tall, crumbling tower being struck by lightning, people tumbling from its heights.

“The Tower,” the woman says, her gaze meeting mine. Her voice is tinged with something heavier now, as if the weight of the card is spilling into her tone. “This is your past.”

I feel my chest tighten. The image on the card seems too familiar—chaos, destruction, everything falling apart.

“It speaks of upheaval and destruction,” she continues, her words deliberate. “A collapse of old structures, sudden changes. Trauma, loss, suffering. But from the rubble, there is always a chance to rebuild.”

I nod stiffly, not trusting myself to speak. She doesn’t need to explain further. The memories are sharp and unforgiving, and for a moment, it feels like I’m back in that dark, suffocating place.

The second card is drawn and placed beside the first. This one is brighter, more hopeful—a woman kneeling by a pool, pouring water from two jugs under a starry sky.

“The Star,” she says, and her voice softens. “This is your present.”

“Hope,” she continues, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies me. “Renewal. A light in the darkness. It’s about healing, self-discovery, and regaining trust—in yourself, and in others.”

I glance at the card, then back at her, but she’s watching me too intently, as if she’s searching for something deeper.

Her smile turns knowing. “I can see it in your eyes,” she says softly. “There’s someone you hold in very high regard, isn’t there?”

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I look away quickly. My mind betrays me, conjuring an image of a familiar figure—dark hair, gray eyes, sword at the shoulder, and the faintest hint of a smirk.

“See?” the woman says, her tone light and teasing now. “Your eyes are sparkling. That’s the Star.”

I clear my throat, trying to dispel the sudden warmth in my chest. She didn’t say anything I didn’t already know.

She draws the final card, laying it down with careful precision. A stern figure holding scales and a sword stares back at me.

“Justice,” she says.

“What does that mean?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intended.

The woman leans back slightly, folding her hands in her lap. “It’s about balance and truth. A reckoning for the future. You’ll face a choice—one that will require integrity, honesty, and fairness. This decision could shape not only your life but the lives of those you care about.”

Her words settle heavily over me, and I glance at the card again. It feels… like it had a long time coming, somehow, as if it’s a warning and a promise all at once.

“But,” she adds, her voice gentler now, “Justice also assures you that fairness will prevail, as long as you stay true to your values. And loyal to your family.”

I swallow hard, nodding. My thoughts are racing, though I can’t quite pin them down.

She sits back and studies me for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. Then she says, almost casually, “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”

I blink at her, startled. “No, I don’t think so.”

Her lips curl into a faint smile, and she shakes her head. “Perhaps not in this life.” She leans forward slightly, lowering her voice. I’m at a loss for words, and the only thing I can do is stare at the three cards in front of me, my mind swirling through emotions.

The woman watches me intently, still, but then her eyes drift just a little to the right of my head, as if watching something directly behind me. As I stare at her face, her eyes continue watching, almost through me. She bows her head soflty, as if in acknowledgement, before shifting her gaze back to mine.

“You’re blessed by the white beast, you know.” She blurts like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

My stomach twists at her words. “What? What do you mean?”

She tilts her head, as if listening to something I can’t hear. “It’s been following you for a great while,” she says simply. “But it isn’t ready to approach. Not yet.”

I open my mouth to ask more, but before I can, Ikkaku bursts through the curtain, “Alright! Is it my turn yet?”

The old woman’s attention shifts instantly, her expression brightening. Ikkaku practically drags the deck of cards toward herself, chattering excitedly about wanting to know if she’ll find her soulmate. Before taking a seat.

I try to focus on their banter, but my thoughts are stuck on the old woman’s words. The white beast. Following me.

What does that mean?

I slowly step outside, feeling a chill run over me. The faintest sound of snow crunching behind me makes me turn around quickly, but there’s nothing there. I swear I can feel a set of eyes on me.

The streets are quieter now, though the soft glow of lights strung across buildings still makes Silverpine feel alive. Ikkaku hums a festive tune beside me, her boots crunching lightly against the cobblestones.

I’m not really listening. My mind keeps drifting back to the reading—the cards, the cryptic remarks about choices and fairness, and most of all, the white beast. It’s all so surrounded in mystery that I can’t help but scoff at it. Fate, or whoever, or whatever, has dealt my cards with equal doses of love and loss, and I don’t know whether to feel grateful or mad about it. Yet deep inside me I feel a bit unsettled, whether it is because of the thought of something following me or the fact that the old woman spoke as though it was all inevitable.

The faintest melody echoes in my mind, like a thread pulling at the edge of my memory. It’s the tune from the music box, soft and haunting, once again worming its way towards me. I blink hard, trying to shake it off, but instead, flashes of something else hit me—a flicker of people twirling in a square under garlands of lights, their laughter mixing with the sound of snow crunching underfoot.

It’s so vivid it feels real, like I’ve been here before.

“Hey, don’t get lost on me now,” Ikkaku says, nudging my shoulder. “Come on, the guys are probably already two drinks in.”

I nod, forcing a smile, and we turn the corner to the pub. The warm light spilling from its windows and the sound of laughter inside is enough to push my unease aside.

Inside, the pub is alive with the hum of chatter, the clink of mugs, and the occasional burst of laughter. The crew has claimed a large table near the center, their voices louder than anyone else’s.

Shachi waves dramatically as we approach. “Finally! Thought you got lost in some alley or something.”

Ikkaku smirks. “Or something.”

The mood is amazing. Plates of food are passed around, drinks are poured, and the buzz of the holiday spirit fills every corner. A makeshift stage near the bar holds a group of musicians, strumming upbeat tunes that make a few patrons sway in their seats.

It doesn’t take long for the gift exchange to begin. Penguin claps his hands loudly, silencing everyone. “Alright, Secret Santa time! Let’s see who’s the best at shopping and who’s about to get roasted!”

When my name is called, I stand, holding the wrapped package in my hands. The crew quiets a bit, all eyes on me. I clear my throat, suddenly nervous, but then a playful idea strikes.

“For my recipient,” I begin, “Here it goes,”

‘For the loudest of us all,
Who’s always ready for a brawl,
This gift might help you stand tall.’

Shachi’s face lights up as he snatches the package, knowing very well that he was, in fact, the loudest out of all of us. The crew laughs in recognition at the one-liner that described him perfectly.  He tears the paper off with dramatic flair, revealing a pair of custom-made boots—sturdy, stylish, and just a little taller than the ones he has now.

“Hell yes!” he exclaims, standing and immediately testing the fit. “Look at me! I’m unstoppable now!”

Laughter ripples through the group as Penguin pats him on the back, muttering something about him still being short.

The exchange continues, each gift earning cheers, laughter, or playful jeers. Law is next, standing and handing Jean Bart a carefully wrapped package, saying nothing. Jean Bart opens it, revealing a pair of beautifully crafted gloves—the kind perfect for handling ropes and sails in harsh weather.

“Thoughtful,” Jean Bart says with a nod, his deep voice carrying over the noise. “Thank you, Captain.”

Law shrugs, brushing it off, but before he can sit down, Shachi pipes up, grinning. “Wait, wait, wait—you weren’t excluded from writing a poem too, were you, Captain?”

The rest of the crew immediately jumps on it.

“Oh yeah! Where’s the poem, Cap?” Penguin demands, smirking.

“Come on, give us a recital!” Bepo adds, tail wagging excitedly.

Law sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t write one.”

“Seriously?” Ikkaku chimes in, leaning back in her chair. “That’s, like, half the fun.”

“I’m not a poet,” Law mutters, his voice flat.

Shachi throws an arm around Penguin and puts on a mock serious face. “And they call him our captain. For shame.”

The table erupts in laughter, even Jean Bart chuckling as he pulls on the gloves.

“Fine,” Law says, raising an eyebrow at Shachi. “Next year, I’ll write a poem about how insufferable you all are.”

“Oh, we’ll hold you to that,” I say, unable to hide my grin.

His eyes drift towards me, meeting my gaze. The line on his mouth cracks into a smile, and he lets out a chuckle, looking away before sitting back down.

Shortly after, the crew’s laughter begins to fade as the noise around us quiets. Outside, the sound of shuffling feet and muffled voices grows louder. People are leaving the pub, their chairs scraping against the floor as they grab coats and hats.

We glance at one another, puzzled.

“Where’s everyone going?” Shachi asks, looking to the bar.

As if on cue, the man behind the bar emerges, wiping his hands on a rag before draping his coat over his shoulders. “It always snows on Christmas eve here in Silverpine,” he says, his voice warm and gravelly.

We all watch as he heads for the door. He pauses, looking back at us. “Everyone’s heading out to the square to watch the lights come on for the festival. Best not to miss it.”

He winks as he steps out, leaving the pub quiet save for the crackling of the fireplace.

Ikkaku grabs her scarf and stands. “Well, you heard the man. Let’s go.”

One by one, we gather our things and follow her out into the cold night.

The square is alive with excitement, voices mingling in a harmony of laughter, cheers, and anticipation. Strings of golden lights are lit and hang from lampposts and wrap around the massive Christmas tree standing proudly at the center. Ornaments glint like stars in the light, and the air smells of pine and warm cider.

We’re surrounded by townsfolk, bundled in coats and scarves, their faces lit with childlike wonder. The entire town seems to hum with warmth, despite the chill in the air.

The crew fans out into the crowd, drawn by the energy. Shachi and Penguin have already joined a group of kids laughing and tossing snowballs at each other. Bepo, ever curious, wanders to a cart handing out roasted chestnuts. Ikkaku nudges me with a grin before slipping into the crowd, probably on the hunt for hot cider.

I stay put, absorbing the scene, letting it wrap around me. There’s something magical about it—the way the tree sparkles, the hum of a countdown starting softly in the background, and the faint sense of déjà vu tugging at the edges of my mind.

I look up, scanning the square, and spot him.

Law leans against a lamppost, his black coat wrapped around him, watching the celebration unfold. His face is calm, yet I catch the faintest tension in his posture—the way his shoulders remain squared, his hands tucked into his pockets like a shield.

The lights on the tree flicker, drawing a collective gasp from the crowd as the countdown for the snowfall begins.

“Ten!”

I don’t think, I just motion for him to come over. At first, he hesitates, tilting his head slightly like he’s deciding whether to ignore me.

But then, slowly, he starts moving.

His footsteps are quiet, deliberate. He stops just in front of me, close enough that I can see the snow caught in his dark hair, melting against the faint warmth of his skin.

“Nine!”

The crowd’s voices fade into the background as I meet his gaze. I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t even know where to start.

Instead, I just say, “Thank you.”

Law’s brow furrows slightly. “For what?”

“Everything,” I say, my voice soft but steady. “For giving me a new chance. For trusting me. For… bringing me back to life.”

His eyes widen, and I reach out impulsively, grabbing his hands. I wish I could touch the skin beneath his gloves, but there’s still a steadiness to his hands that grounds me.

“Six!”

“I mean it,” I continue, my voice trembling slightly. “You didn’t have to take me in. You didn’t have to believe in me, but you did. You gave me a place, a purpose when it was stripped away. And I don’t think I’ve ever been able to say it properly, but I’m so, so thankful. For all of it. For you.”

The snow falls heavier now, soft and quiet around us, cocooning us in an almost private space. Law looks down at our joined hands, his expression unreadable, before lifting his gaze to meet mine.

“Three!”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says, his voice low but firm. “If anyone should be grateful, it’s me.”

“You?” I ask, genuinely puzzled.

As the countdown nears one, a single snowflake drifts down, catching the light as it lands on my nose. Before I can react, Law removes one of his hands from mine and reaches forward.

“Two!”

He brushes the snowflake away with a gloved hand, his touch featherlight against my skin. It brushes against my cheek as he lowers it, the pace slow as ever, as if he did not want to tear it away.

 His voice is low, barely audible over the countdown erupting around us. “One,” he whispers before stepping even closer to me.

“You have no idea what you’ve done for this crew,” he says, his tone softening. “For me. You brought warmth. You gave us something we didn’t even realize we were missing. You gave me something I didn’t think I’d ever find again.”

“Merry Christmas!”

His words hit me like a wave, and before I can stop myself, I step forward and hug him. It’s instinctive, an answer to the swell of emotion that rises in my chest. His body stiffens slightly in surprise, but then I feel his arms come up, hesitant but steady, returning the embrace.

I smile against his coat, recalling the words he gave me back at the antique shop. “You said I could hug you whenever I wanted,” I murmur.

“And I meant it,” he replies, his voice a little rough.

We stand there for a moment, the world around us fading into the background. The warmth of his presence, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it feels safe, grounding in a way I didn’t realize I needed. The crowd cheers and laughs around us, wishing each other happy holidays and exchanging hugs and kisses.

And then, just as I’m about to pull back, I hear him whisper, so quietly it’s almost swallowed by the snowfall, “You brought me back to life, too.”

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.

“What?” I ask, barely above a whisper, unsure if I heard him right.

He doesn’t repeat it, but his arms tighten around me slightly, the smallest gesture that says everything he won’t.

“Merry christmas, Heart,” he says.

“Merry christmas, Law,” I reply.

The lights on the tree glow brighter, and the square erupts into cheers as the first snow of Christmas blankets Silverpine. Around us, the townsfolk celebrate, the Heart Pirates laugh and shout, but all I can feel is the warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart against mine.

For the first time in what feels like forever, the world feels whole.

As we let go from each other, the music picks up, lively and inviting, as the townsfolk clear a space in the square for dancing. Couples start spinning and swaying to the rhythm of a cheerful waltz, their laughter mingling with the music. Vendors weave through the crowd, handing out steaming cups of hot cocoa and small knitted mittens. The air smells like cinnamon and frost, and I can’t help but smile as I take it all in.

“Dance with me,” Law says, his voice low but clear.

I blink up at him, momentarily thrown off. “You want to dance?”

He raises an eyebrow, his expression as unreadable as ever. “I think it’s part of the tradition,” he says, but he’s already taking his gloves off, stretching his hand towards me.

I hesitate, glancing down at his hand. It’s steady, the faint scars and tattoos on his knuckles catching the glow of the lights.

“Well,” I say, setting my cup down on a nearby ledge, “can’t break tradition.” I place my hand in his, gloves off, and he pulls me toward the center of the square.

The snow crunches softly underfoot as we step into the open space. I can feel the eyes of the crew on us, and Shachi lets out a low whistle that makes me want to sink into the ground. But Law doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just doesn’t care.

As we pass a vendor’s cart on our way to the floor, I catch a glimpse of myself in a tall mirror leaning against the side. I  freeze mid-step, my breath catching in my throat.

The reflection staring back isn’t me—not exactly.

In the mirror, I’m wearing an elegant yellow dress, the fabric shimmering faintly like silk. My lips are painted a deep red, and diamond earrings catch the light as I laugh—something I’m not doing at the moment. My real expression is one of shock, but the reflection in the mirror continues laughing, radiant, adjusting the white elbow-length gloves adorning her arms.

“Ana?” Law’s voice pulls me back, and I tear my gaze from the mirror. I blink rapidly, looking pack at the reflection, but this time, it’s just me. Just me, in my winter clothes, arm outstrechted to the front where my hand meets Law’s. What the hell?

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, though my heart is pounding. “Sorry, I just… got distracted.”

His eyes narrow slightly, like he doesn’t quite believe me, but he doesn’t press.

The music shifts again, this time to a hauntingly familiar tune. My chest tightens as the melody wraps around me, soft and aching.

“Once Upon a December,” I whisper under my breath, the words coming unbidden.

Law pulls me in, holding me closer to his chest. His smell is so intoxicating I almost forget what happened seconds ago.

“Your mother’s song?” Law asks, having heard me perfectly.

I nod as I look up at him. I place my hand in his as we start to sway to the music.

“It’s weird,” I tell him. And it really is weird, because I feel more connected to her, somehow. “It’s almost like she’s here.”

The music begins to die down, and the crowd starts dispersing, though the warmth of the celebration lingers. I stand near the edge of the square, trying to steady my breathing after the whirlwind of dancing and… everything else.

“I’ll get us some cocoa,” he says, and before I can protest, he’s already turned and walking toward the vendor carts. My hands feel cold again without Law’s.

I exhale, tucking my arms around myself to keep warm. The world feels quieter now, more still, as if the snow itself is holding its breath. I glance around at the glowing lights and the happy faces, and for a moment, I feel utterly at peace.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

The voice sends a shiver down my spine, but not from the cold. I turn quickly, and there she is—the old woman from the readings. The one with the kind smile and the knowing eyes. She’s standing beside me, closer than she should have been able to get without me noticing.

I press a hand to my chest to steady my heart. “You startled me.”

Her smile widens, the faintest glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Apologies, my dear.”

I let out a soft sigh and shake my head. “You know, I think… I think I know what’s going on,” I tell her, the words heavy but certain.

She doesn’t reply, just watches me, her gaze soft but piercing.

“Lizaveta was my mother’s name,” I say, my voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “But I think you already knew that.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but there’s something in the way she nods—a silent acknowledgment that makes the pieces in my mind start fitting together like a puzzle.

The visions. The song. The overwhelming sense of familiarity. It all starts to make sense.

“She was from here, wasn’t she?” I ask, my throat tightening as the realization settles over me. “That’s why you thought I was her.”

The woman’s smile grows a fraction, a soft light in her eyes. “You’re smart. Just like she was. This town is a little magical,” she says, her voice as gentle as falling snow. “You’re seeing it through her eyes, in a way.”

I blink, the weight of her words sinking in. “Through her eyes…”

“She loved this time of year,” the woman continues. “And being here, just like she was… it has deepened your connection to her. You are more alike than you know, my darling.”

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat threatening to grow. “She was a wonderful woman,” the old woman says, her voice thick with admiration. “With an even more wonderful heart.”

I smile despite the ache in my chest. “I know,” I whisper. I don’t feel sad—not anymore. Knowing this, knowing that my mother was happy here, that she had a piece of this beautiful, magical place in her heart… it makes me feel closer to her.

The old woman’s smile softens, and she reaches out to gently touch my arm. “Well, my darling, merry Christmas,” she says. “I must step away now.”

She starts to turn, but then pauses, her gaze locking with mine one last time. Her voice drops lower as she speaks again, this time in our tongue. “Белый зверь возвращается, [The white beast is coming back.]”

Just as I open my mouth to ask her what she means, she steps away and melts into the crowd, disappearing as if she was never there. What…?

Before I can dwell on it for too long, I feel an arm slide around my waist, warm and steady. I let out a soft gasp as I’m gently turned, suddenly face-to-face with Law.

He’s close. Too close.

His eyes search mine, his brow furrowing slightly, but there’s a small smile on his lips. I can feel my cheeks heat, the cold no match for the sudden warmth blooming in my chest.

“Here,” he says, handing me a cup of cocoa. I take it gratefully, holding it between my hands as if it’s the only thing anchoring me to reality.

“You look different,” he says after a moment, his head tilting slightly as he studies me. His voice is low, soft, almost curious.

“Different?” I echo, trying to keep my voice steady.

He nods, his gaze lingering. “Not sure how to explain it,” he says, his smile tugging wider, “But I like it.”

I take a small sip of the cocoa, letting the warmth spread through me. “I’m just happy,” I admit, looking up at him. “And happy to be here… with you.”

His expression softens, and he reaches for my free hand, his fingers warm against mine. Slowly, he lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it.

I feel my breath catch, my heart pounding in my chest as his thumb starts tracing slow circles on the back of my hand.

“Me too, Heart,” he says, his voice low and sincere. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades away. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”