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It feels weird coming back home. Actually, it feels weird calling this place home. You left the tranquillity of the countryside behind before finishing high school, deciding to live with your mother when she and your father separated because you always had a restless spirit and the Calm Belt is far too quiet for you to feel fulfilled.

It hurt to leave friends behind. When you’re in highschool your friends are akin to family and you feel like they will be with you forever, through thick and thin. And though you still text some of them regularly - Nami and Robin - other friends and acquaintances naturally drifted apart. 

You finished your college education and pursued a master’s degree while working at a prestigious company. Life in Grand Line City is amazing and fulfilling. You have wonderful friends, an active social life and your own place, which you share with your fiancé.

Well… ex-fiancé.

This is actually one of the reasons you are returning home. He’s the son of the owner of the company you worked for and, as you discovered after four years together, a marriage proposal and a shared life, he is a fuckboy.

The signs were always there, really, you just didn’t want to see them.

Another reason for your untimely return is the horse riding accident your father had. He assured you over the phone that he is fine and doesn’t require any help around the house, because his neighbours and friends have been helping him, but you are still worried about him.

He can be strong and very able, heck, he is still in his early fifties, but ever since he lost his arm when he was young, you felt the need to protect him, somehow. And, frankly, the timing could not have been better. You need to get away from the city.

Your mother doesn’t need your company anymore and spends a lot of her time on cruises - where she is at the moment - and you still speak with her every day on the phone, your apartment has become a landfill of hurtful memories and you quit your very promising job on the day you found out about your good-for-nothing boyfriend.

So now, at 25, you are returning to your hometown, your tail between your legs and seeking the care and comfort you know your father can instil in you. You’re still not quite sure what you are going to do with your life moving forward, but for now, all you need is a little rest and relaxation, time with your father to help him heal, and to clear your head.

And definitely, no men to hinder your life!

“Daddy, I’m home!” You call as soon as you open the front door with the key you never took out of your keychain. 

A freckled face with a wide grin pops up from the kitchen. His greasy black hair is sweaty and clings to his face. “Oh, hi, princess, welcome home.” The man walks out of the kitchen, still grinning. He’s only wearing jean shorts and a cowboy hat. 

Your eyes drink him in as if he’s a tall glass of water. Top to bottom and bottom to top. This man is sinful, to say the least. And familiar, somehow… Sweat drips from his glistening pecs towards his sculpted abs and drenching the hem of his shorts.

He leans in the doorframe, one leg lazily crossing over the other, and pops the can of beer open with just one hand, taking a long, lazy gulp while his dark eyes wander all over you. “Like what you see, gorgeous?”

You swallow the lump that formed in your throat and inhale deeply while a crimson flush settles on your cheeks. “And who are you supposed to be?” Good, your voice is still there and not as squeaky as you thought it would be. 

“Your daddy?” He chuckles at your unamused face, finishes the beer with another long gulp and crumples the can, forming a fist while the other hand presses against his heart. “You don’t remember me?” Shaking his head, he feigns a hurt expression. “And here I thought we had something in the past.”

Your confused face must be amusing him because he keeps grinning at you and, damn, how hard is it to stop looking at his sculpted body? It’s just a man! And yet his face is just as interesting… with those sweet sun-kissed freckles and-... oh!

“Ace?” The hat! The freaking cowboy hat and the attitude? Plus, how could you forget those freckles!

He is one of the neighbour’s grandsons. Mr. Garp. You went to school with the youngest, Luffy, and you hung out together quite often so you knew Ace well. He was a little troublemaker but once he hit puberty… you used to sigh and dream about him quite often, him being the older brother of one of your best friends. That was always a trope you were interested in. But then you left and those dreams stayed behind.

“Finally! I was actually getting hurt, you didn’t remember me!” He laughs while you grin back at him. “Can I get a hug?” The smile he gives you makes his freckles move and you blush some more.

“Hell, no. You look disgusting.” You scrunch up your nose feigning repugnance at him because of his sweaty body.

He pouts at you and you actually laugh out loud. “Wish I could say the same for you but, damn.” He looks at you from top to bottom again. You’re dressed in tight jeans and a purple top that shows a lot of cleavage and curves. “You look mighty appetising.”

You blush some more and it’s his turn to laugh out loud as he passes you by and picks up your heavy luggage like it weighs nothing. “Show me the way to your room, princess.” He winks at you and nods his head for you to lead the way.

You start walking towards the stairs and he follows you without putting on any shirt, so you keep your eyes ahead, enjoying the way nothing has actually changed in your childhood home. 

“Where’s my dad?” You ask nonchalantly. “You’d think that after half a year without seeing me, he’d be waiting by the door.” It’s your turn to pout now. 

“He’s fixing the fence outside. One of the bulls broke it and he wanted to mend it himself before any animal escapes.”

“What!?” You suddenly stop while climbing the stairs and Ace bumps into you, his head straight into your ass as you were a few steps ahead. “Ace!”

“I’m sorry!” He apologises as all the bags come crashing down the stairs, one of them opening up and scattering all the contents on the floor. “You just stopped! You gave me zero warning!” His face is as red as yours because you can still feel his face pressed against your bottom, his nose nearly at your core and you are so embarrassed.  “I’ll help you pick this up.”

Ace goes down a few steps and starts to gather your clothes but, as soon as his hands start to pick things up, you realise which suitcase fell and your heart sinks as you  hurry down before he sees it.

“It’s okay! It’s okay, Ace! I’ve got it!” You rush, kneel by his side and your hand reaches at the same time as his but you're too late. 

“Wow.” He mutters. His face is serene, though you can perceive the way his lips are thinning as if he is trying to hold back a smirk. 

“Shut up. Just throw it in the bag and don’t say a word.” You’ve never blushed more in your life than the way you are now. Why, oh why was the bag with your personal items the one that opened up? And why has Ace picked up your vibrator of all the things scattered around?

You are mortified. But he complies without another word, though his smirk returns to his lips. 

Bag filled again and closed, both of you resume your walk up the stairs. Your blush has settled permanently on your cheeks and you know there is nothing to be done about it but own it. You are a grown-ass woman, without a boyfriend, and you aren’t ashamed to say that you like pleasuring yourself. 

“Why is my father mending the fence if he’s supposed to be resting?” You ask, trying to change the subject. 

“Ah well, you see, he is a very stubborn man, so even though the doctor told him to stay in bed and rest, he replied with: ‘Screw you, son, I’m fine and I do what I want.’ and he did just that.” Ace sighs. “I was helping him when you arrived. Your father is fine, as you’ll see for yourself. He just gets a lot of back pain when he’s up for a while and needs to rest more.”

You nod as you make your way through the corridor, glancing at pictures of yourself as a small child and of you and your father wearing smiles and goofy grins. You get your stubbornness from him so you know he can be quite strong-headed.

“Here we are.” You stop at your door and Ace sets down the luggage, his face turning serious.

“Why did you come back?” His dark eyes pierce yours and you can see he’s serious. 

“I…” You struggle to find the right words. “I came back to help dad. I don’t want him to be alone.”

“Bullshit.” His arms cross in front of his bare chest and your brows scrunch together. “Your father is fine, which I’m sure he told you over the phone.”

You sigh. “I was homesick.”

“Bullshit.”

“I wanted to spend more time with my dad and...”

“Bullshit.”

“...with my friends, I’ve missed Nami and...”

“Bullshit.”

“...Robin, and...”

“Bullshit.”

“Fine!” You scream. Your arms cross defensively in front of your own chest and you look away from him as you feel your lower lip start to tremble and your eyes fill with tears. “I caught my fiancé cheating, and I needed a change of scenery.”

The silence that surrounds you both after that is not at all unpleasant and it helps soothe your unshed tears. “Well, it’s his loss, princess. Some men don’t know the difference between pinchbeck and gold.” 

You catch his eyes and he gives you a small smile and a nod with his hat. “I’ll be around. I help your father around the property all the time.” As he reaches the stairs, he stops and stares back at you, a very mischievous grin on his lips. “If you run out of batteries and still feel pent up, give me a call, will you, princess?”

And he was out of your sight before you could reply.

You take some time settling in your old room, removing old posters and storing your stuffed toys in a box to put in the attic. You consider looking for your father but you aren’t exactly sure where he is. Besides, Ace is probably still with him and you want to avoid him, for now. 

Your teenage self is gleeful and revelling in the attention he has given you today but your adult self keeps reminding you that men are only good at breaking your heart, and nothing else. 

Well… actually men are good for something else… but are you in the mood for some meaningless, rebound sex?

Your mind reminds you of perfectly sculpted, glistening and sweating abs and pecs; a beautiful freckled smile and a silly, goofy attitude. 

Rebound sex doesn’t sound so bad, after all…

“Sweetie? Are you upstairs?”

“Daddy!” You scream as you drop the clothes you were putting in your closet on the bed and rush out the door, jumping down the stairs, two at a time, to hug the red-headed man waiting for you at the bottom. 

“Hey! Here’s my little cowgirl! How are you, bug?” His strong arm envelops you in a tight hug as he plants kisses on your head, forehead and cheeks. 

“Daddy… I’ve missed you.” Your heart clenches against your chest at the security and comfort only Shanks can provide, and tears well up in your eyes again. You purse your lips trying to stifle away the sobs that are clawing at your throat but your father catches on quickly.

“It’s okay, bug, it’s okay. I’ve got you. The asshole doesn’t deserve you, anyway.” 

You had yet to have the opportunity to share with your father what had happened between you and your ex so, if he knows, it was either the work of your mother, or Ace… and your mother is on a cruise.

Either way, it feels good to be back in the safety of your father’s arms. Back in your hometown, back in your house, back in your room. 

What adventures await you, you can’t help but wonder. 

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“How’d you sleep, bug?” Shanks asks as soon as you descend the stairs. You're still in your PJ’s, which consist of shorts and a tank top - no bra, it's 8 in the morning for Christ's sake and you've been woken by the rooster call three times already. 

You actually had a nice night. Your childhood bed is still as comfortable as you remember it being and the light snores coming from down the hall in Shanks’ bedroom were oddly comforting, lulling you to sleep almost instantly.

It wasn’t until you woke up in the morning that you remembered why you were in your childhood home and just how much your life sucked at the moment, since all of your life’s plans and goals had been thrown down the toilet. 

“Like a rock until about 6. Then that stupid rooster made it his personal mission to get me out of bed.” You say in between yawns as you fill yourself a cup of coffee. “Hey I was going to make you breakfast!” You whine with a pout while you stare at the eggs and bacon strips on top of the stove. 

Shanks gets up and sets his mug in the sink with a wink. “Bug, if you want to make me breakfast, you need to get up when the rooster tells you to.” 

“I don't know if that is going to happen…” You mumble, stifling another yawn. “And where are you going?” You place a hand on your hip trying to look menacing but failing miserably. “Shouldn't you be resting? Do I need to go speak with the doctor?”

“I'm fine! I was bedridden for a week and a half and I only felt better when I started to work again. If you want your daddy happy and healed, you need to let me work.” You flash him an angry look and he raises his hands defensively. “I'll take it easy, I promise!”

You give him a small, resigned nod and he kisses your forehead with a chuckle as he sets his straw hat on his head. At the same time, the front door springs open and a bulky man with red hair walks through the door, straight to the kitchen. 

“Morning, boss.” He grunts as he passes Shanks and approaches the coffee pot which is right next to you. “Morning, Miss.” His hand reaches for the pot but stops mid-way. 

You stare at his orange eyes and he blinks twice, a crimson blush capable of rivalling his hair spreads across his cheeks. His hand falls back to his side as he finally turns to you, an embarrassed look upon his features as his eyes settle everywhere except on your face. 

“I… um… I… you must be… um…”

“The boss’s daughter.” You add with a smirk and extend him your - still untouched - mug of coffee. “Coffee?”

He grumbles a timid yes and takes the mug from your hand. 

“Hey, Kid. I see you've met my daughter. You remember I told you she was coming to live with me?” Shanks comes into the kitchen, a smirk spreading on his lips at Kid’s evident embarrassment. 

Which is rather cute, you can't help but think. He is really tall and muscular and he's wearing jeans and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looks very similar to your father, with his red hair and a missing arm. Secretly you hope he's not a long-lost brother. On his head, holding back his red hair, lays a set of goggles. He looks tough with his scarred face and heavy bulky body, but his embarrassment is endearing. 

“Yeah, I do.” His eyes wander back, up and down your exposed legs until he hears a dry harumph from your father and turns slightly away, never quite meeting your eyes. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same.” You smile back and tell him your name before you turn and open the cabinet door to get another mug for your coffee. The mugs are all the way in the back so you have to bend and stretch over the counter, your arms raised above your head, unintentionally exposing your belly and making your shorts ride up, almost flashing your butt cheeks. You hear a very audible gulp followed by loud coughing from Kid and turn back around, alarmed. 

He seems to be struggling to get some air, having choked while drinking the coffee, as Shanks just guffaws in the background. “That’ll teach you not to ogle at my baby girl!” He slaps the man's back with more force than necessary, and that helps him breathe again. “Come, Kid. The tractor ain't gonna fix itself.” Then he places a hand on the scruff of his neck and drags him away from you. 

You follow Kid with your eyes as your father drags him away and he flashes you a cocky grin, making you chuckle. 

Between Ace and Kid, your stay in the Calm Belt is sure to provide you with some very nice eye candy. 

After fixing yourself a plate of breakfast, you decide to scroll through your socials, trying to see what your big city friends are up to and how much of the social life you are missing. 

Obviously you end up depressed because, being an idiot, you didn't delete any of your ex’s socials and he doesn't seem to be the least bit fazed about your breakup or your departure since there's about a dozen different photos with him and three different bimbos latched onto his arm. 

“Having the best time of my life; Wasted and in trouble; Come and get your man!” You make a disgusted sound. “Ugh, what a jerk!”

You groan and block your phone in fury, all hunger forgotten as you get up, throw the plate in the sink and go get dressed. You need to vent. And you might have just the thing to help out with your stress relief. 

Choosing some jean shorts and a white, off-shoulder top, you search your closet from top to bottom before finding out what you were looking for: a bb gun! Shanks had offered you this when you were little and had helped you practise your target shooting with some cans, near the barn. Grinning in victory, you grab a can of pellets and place the bb - which resembles a shotgun - on your shoulder, fetch a hat to protect you from the heat, and head outside with a determined pace. 

On the way, you fill a bag with some empty cans from the recycling bin in the kitchen and draw something that resembles your ex on each of them with a sharpie. To be truthful, it's just a stick figure with his most characteristic traces, but it's the thought that counts, really, so you're satisfied. 

The barn is not far from the main house but the sun is very hot and you feel yourself starting to sweat before you reach the shade. That just adds fuel to the fire that's already burning your insides. 

Grumbling you line up the cans on top of the fence, making sure there are no animals nearby, and fall a few paces behind, aiming your gun as your father thought you to. You try to concentrate but all the clanking coming from inside the barn is distracting you, so you have to take a few deep breaths before you calm down. 

You shoot five times, one for each target, and you fail all of them. 

“What the hell?” You mutter between your teeth as you reload the gun. “I'm gonna have to do this like a freaking child.” You keep grumbling as you take a few steps forward, approaching the target. “Now I have to hit the target.”

You take another deep breath and notice that the clanking noise has stopped, so you can concentrate better. Another five shots and-... 

Another five misses. 

“Son of a nutcracker!” You exclaim while huffing and kicking a nearby rock. 

“Colourful vocabulary. Be careful, you might offend some five year olds.”

You turn around and meet the amused expression of Kid. He's leaning against the barn wall, his hand in his pocket and a smirk on his very red lips. He doesn't seem to be embarrassed by your presence anymore. It might've been just the shock of meeting you. 

You roll your eyes at Kid’s remark, your own smile tugging at your lips despite your frustration. “Why? Are you offended?”

“Sparkles, the person capable of offending me is yet to be born.” 

“Sparkles?” You don't know whether to feel insulted or flattered. “What am I, a dog?”

He smirks again, completely ignoring your question, and you stare him down with fire in your eyes. “You're doing that wrong.” He points at the cans. 

The dormant frustration in your belly roars and rises to meet his taunts. “What do you mean? Dad taught me how to shoot the cans.”

“Your father is great with many things, shooting is not one of them.” He approaches you and you have to look up to meet his eyes. He has to be at least 2 metres tall. “I'll teach you how to do it properly.”

You tilt your head to the side and grunt, annoyed by his arrogance, and get into position again after loading the gun. “I got it, thanks.” But before you shoot, his foot nudges yours to spread your legs open some more. 

“Spread ‘em, Sparkles.” Your eyes widen and you're about to show him some of your frustration when he gets behind you, his strong arm surrounding yours and raising your elbow, adjusting your aim. The rush of heat to your cheeks and the lack of air in your lungs makes you stop your fussing and actually do what he says. 

“Your weight needs to be evenly distributed or your aim will be shit. Rest the butt of the rifle  against your shoulder to help with the kick.” He adjusts the rifle accordingly and, surprisingly, his touch is gentle. 

You face the targets as he adjusts your arm a bit more, suddenly you're very conscious of the heat coming off of him in waves. He smells faintly of metal and rust, sweat and… gasoline?

His breath comes in hot waves against your ear and neck when he speaks. “You're going to want to aim with one eye closed and focus on the top of the can so you can compensate for the gravity. And then,” His hand wraps around yours and it's impressive how tiny your own hand looks against his, “squeeze the trigger, don't jerk it or you’ll ruin the aim again.” 

Kid removes his hand and you do exactly what he told you to, closing one eye and focusing on the top of the can. “Grip firmly, breathe deeply, let it out slowly and then hold your breath before you press the trigger.” He adds. “Take all the time you need between shots, don’t rush it. Got it, Sparkles?”

You hum softly, trying not to move and waste his efforts with adjusting your aim. You inhale through your nose - yup, gasoline - and exhale through your mouth, feeling Kid's taut muscles against your back.  He falls back just a little, giving you space, and you shoot. 

You try not to lose your cool as the pellets start knocking cans. You want a perfect score. You need a win. This is your inner revenge for those social media photos you had to put up with this morning. You imagine your ex’s stupid face on each of the metal cans, and they keep dropping down with resounding clangs. 

Five freaking hits. 

Taking just a second to absorb the feeling of accomplishment, you then squeal and jump, a victory roar rumbling from your chest as you approach the fallen cans and kick one of them into the air. “Take that, you fluffernutter!”

Kid follows you to inspect your handiwork and his laugh is thunderous but, somehow, it makes you giddy. “Still keeping it G? Not even PG? After hitting all the marks?” He tuts and shakes his head as he picks up one of the cans. “I'm disappointed, Sparkles.”

He guffaws before you have a chance to reply. “Who's this supposed to be?”

Leaning back against the fence and huffing a lock of hair away from your face, you sigh deeply. “An asshole.” You shrug and point at the can he's holding. “That deserves to be in the trash can.” You extend your hand waiting for him to pass it to you, so you can collect the rest and be on your way, but his grin widens, his brows scrunching down into a menacing scowl. 

“Fuck him, then.” He crushes the can with his bare hand into a pile of useless metal and you gasp, finding the action alluring and blushing against your will. 

“That was not PG. You should mind your tongue.” You whisper, your eyes never leaving his. 

“Sparkles,” Kid approaches you and deposits the crushed metal in your hand. Then he leans forward, his head lowering as his lips hover near your ear and his hand grabs the fence beside you, caging you between it and his larger frame. “Swearing is not the only thing I can do with my tongue.”

He groans in your ear - sending a shiver up your spine and catching your breath - and turns around, heading towards the barn and you're positive he's wearing that cocky smirk again.

He halts and turns - yup, the smirk is there. “Sparkles, you know? Like a lively, glittery, bright little thing. Something that brings joy. Not a dog.” He guffaws loudly and disappears inside the barn, leaving you flushed and flattered at the same time. 

Twice this morning you have been stirred against your will. First by the rooster’s wake-up call, and now by Kid’s cocky behaviour and arrogance. If the first one left you annoyed and bothered, the second one left you hot and bothered

You’re used to predictability but if all your days grant you surprises like this one, maybe being stirred awake is not such a bad prospect.

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You hear Kid’s truck leave in the middle of the morning, meaning he must've finished fixing the tractor and Shanks doesn't need him anymore. You text Nami and Robin in your girls’s group but both of them are busy today and you plan on meeting tomorrow at a new café they swear has the most amazing food ever and, somehow, they are dying for you to meet the owner. 

You still need to find a job, even if it's just a part-time job, since you plan on helping your father with the chores around the property, but it would be nice to start thinking about a semblance of a future. To be truthful, you don't really know how long you plan on staying in the Calm Belt, but at least for some months. It's not like you have that much going on in the city anymore. 

Anyway, you still have today's lunch to worry about, so you make some pasta with tomato sauce, some salad and fish out frozen garlic bread from the freezer to go with it. You're sure your dad is going to complain about the lack of meat on the plate, but if he's going to live with you, he better get used to eating less meat.

When all is ready, you go outside and ring the bell, like your mother used to do to you when you were a child and lost track of time while playing outside. Giggling, you let yourself get lost in the memories before your dad comes back. 

Except ten minutes pass and still no dad. “What the hell…?”

Making sure the stove is off and the pots have lids - these flying bugs and pests can be annoying - you step outside and look around the property. Where did he say he was? He mentioned he still needed to properly fix a large part of the fence since the wood was rotting. 

A weird coldness is settling about in your stomach as you take a deep breath and cup your hand over your eyes to shield them from the bright sun. “Where was the fence broken?” Your eyes follow the whole length of the fence, squinting and tearing up because of the brightness but, after a bit, you manage to locate your father's pickup truck. It's not that far. But there's no red-head in sight. 

You swallow down a lump in your throat along the feeling of dread that's starting to take residence in your chest and do a little sprint to where the truck is parked. “Dad?” You can't see him anywhere and, at this point, you're not sure if the acceleration in your breath is due to your little run or to the fact that you're starting to panic. “Dad!” You scream, your voice louder, squeakier and shakier. 

A muffled grunt grabs your attention and you look everywhere, trying to locate it. “Down here, bug.” Shanks’s voice is strained and tired and the dread in your chest keeps building up. 

“Daddy!” You whine as you turn around the truck and find him lying on the floor with the driver's door open. “What happened?” You kneel beside him but don't touch him, afraid to make things worse. 

“Ah, you see, bug,” he chuckles and groans at the same time, “it's just my back. Sometimes it gives out like this. But I'm fine!” The nonchalant tone of his voice has you fuming at the ears. 

“What do you mean?” You growl between your teeth. 

“It's just a jolt of sharp pain in my back. When it's this serious, I usually hop on to the clinic and the doc gives me a shot and all’s well that ends well.” He grins but your frown is undeterred. “I see you are not amused.”

“I'm calling an ambulance.”

“There's no need! Just drive me to the clinic. Help me up.”

“No! It might make it worse! Did you fall?” You take your phone out of your shorts’ back pocket and search for the number to the fire station because you know it's the fastest way to get an ambulance in this small town. 

“I didn't fall. My back gave out as I was climbing the truck and I lied down because it helps with the pain. Don't call an ambulance, just help me up.” He says your name sternly but you still don't budge, your finger hovering the green call button while your brows scrunch together in deep thought. 

“Bug, I'm fine, really. Let's not hog an ambulance. The town only got one and it might be needed.”

“Alright.” You put your phone back in your pocket. “I'm going to try and lift you up but if I can't, then I'll call for the ambulance and you can't whine like a baby!” Your finger is waving in the air and Shanks stifles a chuckle with another groan because, apparently, any movement hurts. 

You force a verbal agreement out of him before you position his arm over your shoulder and use all your strength to lift him up. Somehow he finds some semblance of strength in his legs and hoists himself into the back seat of the truck, lying down in a position that doesn't strain his back. 

“Okay, okay, you're fine. I'm fine. We're all fine.” You take deep breaths as you clean the dirt from your hands against your shorts. “I'm going to drive this baby up to the house to get our identification and my purse. Okay, dad?”

Shanks mumbles something against the seat since the best position for his back seems to be to lay on his stomach, and you sit in the driver's seat, having to adjust all the settings and the mirrors to suit your small height. 

“Oh, perfect.” You chuckle nervously. “It’s a shift stick. I have to drive with a stick.” You take three deep breaths as your father moans in the backseat.

“Bug, I taught you how to drive a stick! It's not that hard. You just-...”

Your body whips immediately to your father's slumped form and you manage to mutter between clenched teeth. “Dad, if you so much as mention a word about the way I'm driving from here to the clinic, I will either call an ambulance or drop you on the side of the road!”

Shanks chooses wisely and remains silent as you manage to, somehow, turn the pickup around to go back to the house for your stuff, screeching, halting and jerking all along the way, turning your father's moans into grunts of despair. 

“I can still call the ambulance!” You admonish him when you return from inside the house. 

“Let's just go, bug. Daddy needs some drugs for the pain.”

This time, you manage to get out of your driveway without much jerking and things seem to be going well as the road is clear of both obstacles and cars and the only thing weighing on your mind is how the hell you’re going to park the truck once you get into the clinic. 

Until you hit a giant pothole that came out of nowhere and blow a tire. 

“Aw, crap!” You curse as you stop the truck and pull over to the side. “Dad, are you hurt?”

“No more than before.” Comes his muffled reply though it does seem more strained. 

“Just stay there, I'll take care of this.” You assure him as you climb out of the car and ignore whatever he mumbles between his teeth. 

You know how to change tires. It was another thing your father taught you when you were a teenager but, like many things from your teenage years, it was something that was quickly stored away and disappeared alongside all the useless memories of your earlier years. 

So now you're screwed. 

You decide to start with small steps as you remove the spare tire from beneath the bed at the rear - just getting the thing out has you sweating bullets, but that's one part covered. You grab the jack from the back as well, and spend the better part of the next ten minutes finding the right place to slot the thing. 

“Dad, are you alright? I can still call the ambulance? Or do you want to call Ace or- …?” As you peek inside you discover Shanks is sound asleep in the backseat and you relax a bit. At least he's not in pain now so you can take your time. 

You rummage through the tools your dad has on the back of the truck at the same time as you find a tutorial online to help you through the process. You make quick work of taking the hubcap off and then the lug nuts, placing them on the driver's seat for safety. 

“Okay, okay, I got this!” You give yourself a pep talk but you should know that once you start to think you have everything under control, the universe throws you for a loop. So, as soon as you use the jack to lift the car up - with extreme difficulty, and, at this moment you have dirt, sweat and tears all over you - the tire escapes from under the truck because - you realise, much too late - you weren't supposed to remove the lugnuts before lifting the car. 

“No, no, no, no, no!” You scream as you start running after the tire. The thing just picks up speed and you are already panicking because you've seen one too many videos of rogue tires and the destruction and mayhem they can cause and you do not have the money to pay for a veranda window, right now. 

Luckily, and you really don't know how, the tire hits an elevation and slows down to a full stop by the other side of the road. Lungs aching, head throbbing and chest heaving, you lunge forward and grasp your knees with both hands, trying to force some air back into your chest. But you don't even realise you're in the middle of the road until you hear tires screeching and a police car abruptly stopping in front of you. 

A squeal is all that escapes your lips as you fall to your knees and cover your head with your hands, face contorted into a pained grimace as realisation hits: you were almost run over by a police car. 

“Lady, what in the world are you doing in the middle of the road?”

The policeman gets out of the car and he is intimidating. Muscles all over, tall and an eye missing. You'd think you were in trouble if that mane of green-hair wasn't so familiar. 

“Zo-zo…” You take a deep breath to calm your nerves, your hands grasping at the dirt below you for some grounding. “Zoro! It's me.” You tell him your name between shaky breaths and notice how his frown is quickly replaced with a shocked expression. 

“No way!” He exhales your name with a light chuckle as you smile back at him and get up on shaky legs. “You're really back? Nami said you were returning but I didn't believe her. You haven't even come to visit once since you left so I really doubted you'd come back.”

A tiny blush spreads to your cheeks. He's right. You didn't even come visit your father nor your friends once. Shanks was always the one who went to Grand Line City. That's how fed up with country life you were. Once the nostalgia kicked in, however, you were far into your studies, and then into your career, and then into the asshole and the timing was never right. 

“Yup, I'm back.” You get up on shaky legs and brush the dust off of your shorts before flashing him a grin. “The uniform suits you!” Damn right it does. It fits in all the right places. He wasn't so fine when you went to school together and all he wanted to do was start a Kendo club at school. 

“Why are you in the middle of the road? I could've hit you with my car, woman.” He frowns. 

“My dad's car. We had a flat and I decided that I was smart and independent enough to change it on my own. I did things in the wrong order and the tire ran away from me.” You chuckle nervously as you point at the tire on the side of the road. 

“You must be joking.”

“I wish I was.” You reply deadpan. But this story is too wild to be an invention. 

“I'll help you with the tire before you start any more trouble.” A dry chuckle emerges from his lips. “Incredible how some things never change..”

He’s right. You’re the biggest klutz to exist and you seem to attract trouble no matter where you go. So you just laugh along with him.

As soon as he parks his car and retrieves the tire from the other side of the road, you both get to work, Zoro effortlessly taking charge of the situation with you awkwardly passing him some tools and him pretending you’re actually helping. 

“So, Troublemaker, what brings you back to town?” He asks casually as he tightens the last lug nut.

You shrug and sigh. “I-... well… life brought me back.”

He sets down the tool, wipes his hands on a rag and stares at you, deadpan. “Life brought you back? What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“Stuff happened, alright?”

“Stuff?”

Exhaling deeply you just decide to rip off the bandaid. “My fiancé cheated on me and I needed a change of pace!”

“I’m sorry about that.” He says as he sets the truck back down and stores the tools in the toolbox again. 

“It’s okay. I’m over it.” Liar. “Thanks for the help.” You gesture towards the truck and shake your head. “I can’t believe dad is still asleep.”

Zoro laughs as he helps you put away the flat tire and all the tools.

“So you plan on staying long?” He’s wiping the rest of the grime from his hands and watching you as you sigh and give him a lopsided grin. 

“For a while, yes. We'll see how long!”

Shrugging, you close the rear door and flash him another grin, ready to thank him again, but, somehow, you trip on your feet and stumble forward.

Zoro quickly steps up and catches you by the shoulders to steady you. “Easy there, Troublemaker. How uncoordinated are you?”

You can’t help but notice how warm and big his hands are as he steadies you. Letting out a nervous chuckle, you realise you are blushing. “Ah, well, you know me! I did not get better with the years.”

The way his eyes wander over you makes you feel hot and self-conscious at the same time. Zoro removes his hands from your shoulders as his smile widens into a grin. “I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

Is he flirting? You’re about to reply but as you try to walk, you trip again! Except this time you realise it’s because of the untied shoelace of your sneakers. Alas, the realisation doesn’t stop your tumble and it’s great that you’re still so close to Zoro because he catches you again, this time with his hands on your waist as you reach forward and claw at his chest.

At his muscular chest. 

“My God, again!? I swear I’m not usually this clumsy!” Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. What is it with this man that makes you trip all over the place?

You try to steady yourself but you’re still a bit wobbly on your feet because you might have sprained your ankle - though you’re not about to admit that - and his hands grip you tighter to steady you better.

“Careful there. Wouldn’t want you falling for me.”

Your breath catches in your throat as your heart somersaults in your chest. Yeah, he’s definitely flirting. Your face whips up as your nails grip the fabric of his uniform, eyes locking onto his and a playful smile on your lips. 

“Would that be so terrible?”

His thumb moves slowly against the bone of your hip and the air is suddenly charged with tension. 

“On the contrary…” You can't help but notice the way his voice deepens. 

“Bug?” Your dad moans, breaking the spell and forcing you two apart. Clearing your throat you bend down to tie your shoelace. 

“Coming, dad!”

“Hey, Mr. S!” Zoro approaches the window of the truck and greets him. “I see you’re about to hop onto the clinic again! It’s the second time this week already, right?”

Shanks started to tut, tut, tut, Zoro as soon as he started to speak but it was too late. You raise your head and open the truck door suddenly, almost hitting Zoro’s nose in the process.

“Again? Second time?” You squeal, burning holes into your father. “Explain, Shanks!” You know your father understands that you’re mad at him once you call him by his name. 

“I, uh, well, it’s, uh… hmm…” 

You raise your hand to stop his blabbering, noticing him flinch and sweat, meaning he’s in real pain and you should just get him to the clinic ASAP. “We’ll discuss this later. Lie back down!”

“Yes, ma’am.” He whimpers and does as you told him. Slamming the door you try to turn to say goodbye to Zoro but notice your top got stuck in the door and you can’t move an inch. 

“Oh, my God!” You whine burying your face in your hands as you hear Zoro’s guffaws in the background.

You don’t move for a second, trying to gather your breath and shake away the shame, so Zoro steps up and opens the door, freeing you in the process, wearing an unbearable smirk.

His arm brushes against your side as he unlocks the door and you can feel his breath against your ear, making you shiver but, either he didn't notice the close proximity, or, at least, he does nothing to acknowledge it and the moment passes. 

“What will happen to you when I’m not here to rescue you at every step of the way?” He crosses his arms and cocks his head to the side. “I’m genuinely surprised you managed to stay alive to see the age of 25. Statistically, and from what I’ve seen, you should be dead. Or terribly impaired.”

You snort before you realise that wasn’t sexy at all but you decide to just go with it as you close the door again. 

“I have no idea. Maybe you should just stick around me, in case I get into more trouble.”

“I might just do that.” He finishes with a shit-eating grin.

“Bye, Zoro, thank you for everything.” You wave and open the driver’s door to get to your seat. 

“Oh, wait.” He exclaims as you turn around to meet his gaze. He takes a step closer and, before you can react, he reaches out and brushes a lock of hair away from your face. His feather-light touch sends a jolt of warmth through you, settling in your chest.

“You had something…” He murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as you look into the corner of your eyes to see a dried leaf on his fingers. 

The fingers that linger on your cheek for a moment while you’re both lost in each other’s gaze, but before you can say anything, a crackling sound emerges from Zoro’s police radio.

“Zoro, come in. We have a situation at the park. Need you to respond immediately.”

It’s amazing how Zoro’s soft expression suddenly turns hard and serious as he reaches for his walkie-talkie. “Copy that. I’ll be there ASAP.”

You take a deep breath and give him a smile. “Duty calls?”

“Yeah.” He grunts, his voice laced with regret. “Sorry. You’ll be okay for now?”

Chuckling and tucking the lock of stray hair behind your ear, you nod. “Just go and save the day, Officer Zoro.”

He laughs back at you and turns to return to his car. “Catch up later?”

“Definitely.” You answer him back as you climb into the driver’s seat. As his car whizzes past you you can’t help but smile again. Zoro changed. But then again, so have you. 

Maybe coming back home means more than healing wounds: yours and your father’s. Maybe it's about rediscovering lost connections. 

You shake your head and turn the engine on. 

You had absolutely zero intentions of getting mixed-up with another man, but it’s kind of hard to do that when one just caught you. Literally and figuratively. 

Chapter Text

Source for pic

Your dad's grunts and wails have been increasing both in volume and in intensity, so you let out a long breath of relief as you finally park the truck at the clinic’s - thankfully almost empty - parking space. 

“Hey, dad” you say softly as your heart clenches at the sight of your father’s sweaty face and scrunched up brows. “I'm going to grab you a wheelchair and some help, okay?”

You take his grunt as a positive answer and run inside the clinic, only noticing your dishevelled state as you catch sight of your reflection in the glass doors: your white top is not white anymore and there's a tear at the bottom; your shorts have dirt and oil all over them; you don't even want to get started on your knees and legs, which are bruised and scraped from kneeling on the dirt; and your once perfectly braided hair is no longer perfect and it is barely braided. 

You sigh as you enter the clinic and wince in pain as you step your foot wrong. You definitely sprained it when you were with Zoro. 

You drag yourself to the front desk and the blonde girl gasps as she looks at your state. “Oh, my!” She gets up hastily and goes around the desk to reach you. “Are you all right?”

You nod frantically. “I'm fine, I'm fine. I-... Kaya?”

The girl looks at you with a furrowed brow but it doesn't take her more than five seconds before her mouth turns into an ‘o’ and she exclaims your name happily. “You're back! It's been ages!”

You laugh and nod. “Yes, we should catch up. After we get my father inside. He hurt his back and-...”

“Again?” You swear this time your ears start fuming. This has happened more than once and this doctor keeps sending him home? Oh, he is going to get a piece of your mind. “Shachi, Penguin, can you be darlings and bring Mr. S. inside? He's had another incident.”

You cross your arms against your chest and frown as you watch two men go outside with a wheelchair to bring your father inside. 

“They'll take him to Dr. Trafalgar. How about you, sweetie, are you alright? You don't seem well.” Kaya was your friend from kindergarten to half of the middle school, until she went home to be home-schooled. You lost touch with her even before you left town, but she has always been such a nice friend that you actually find yourself sharing a soft smile with the blonde. 

“I've had a few mishaps with the car before getting here.” You sigh. “I'll go freshen up in the bathroom and then I'll meet my dad. Is that alright?”

She nods and points you to the ladies’ room. You stand in front of the mirror and, as you're passing your fingers through your hair, trying - and failing - to detangle its knots, you realise you should eat something. You discarded breakfast on account of that stupid asshole and his selfies, and you and your father didn't have a chance to eat lunch. 

But first, you let out a deep sigh at your appearance, you should try to make yourself presentable. You don't want to chew the doctor's ears out looking like a hobo. 

Washing up as best as you can, massaging your sprained ankle, and redoing your braid - there's nothing to be done about the state of your clothes - you deem yourself somewhat presentable and, as you leave the bathroom, you see your father being wheeled to a room so you follow him quickly. 

“Daddy!”

“Buuuuuug! The doc gave me the good stuff!” He slurs and guffaws, opening his arm and almost throwing himself off the chair to hug you. Then he turns his voice into a whisper. “He stabbed a needle in ma butt!” Shanks uses his hand to hide his cheeky laugh before he continues. “Imma stay here for a while because they'll put some more drugs in my arm. And then we can go.”

What? IV and an injection? That's the whole treatment? No. Not on your watch. 

“Yeah, that's good dad, rest.” You smile at him and then turn to the man with the brown hair who is wheeling him. “Hey, where's the doctor's office? I need to speak with him.”

“Er… I… Hum… Dr. Trafalgar doesn't like unannounced visitors…” He stutters but you silence him with an angry look. “But if you must know, it's that door.” He then chuckles nervously and wheels Shanks to a room. 

You take a deep breath and stomp towards the office the attendant pointed out to you. After one step, you stop stomping because your ankle hurts too much, but you still make it to your destination. You knock lightly on the door, because you're not a savage, but start to tap your foot on the floor when you don't get an immediate answer. 

As you raise your fist for a second round of angrier knocks, you hear a deep ‘come in’ from inside the office and you open the door, wearing a frown. 

Which is quickly turned into a stunned expression because you didn't quite know what to expect from the doctor you've been hearing about, but this was not it. 

He's hot. 

There's no other way to describe the man in front of you. His black hair is tousled to perfection and you have to swallow a lump when he fixes his amber gaze upon your own. The frown and the furrowed brows only add to his allure, as you notice the tattooed forearms and knuckles. What an interesting choice of tattoos for a doctor, you can't help but think. 

They spell DEATH. 

The rest of his arms are covered by his white coat but you can't help but wonder if he has more ink on them. But that wondering soon stops, because he's already asked you twice about what you need and you have been transfixed in the same spot, drooling at him. 

“Right, hi! My father. Shanks! He was just here.” You exclaim as if that explains everything. 

“Yes, I know. I'm his doctor.”

He stares at you. “Oh, it’s my turn.” You stumble with your words and, is that an amused smirk in the stoic doctor’s face? Couldn't be, since it disappeared as soon as it appeared. “What is wrong with him? I keep hearing that he needs to come to the clinic more than once a week because of his back. That's not normal.” You seem to regain your cool and remember that you are there to get some answers from this man. 

He leans back in his chair and gestures for you to sit but you're too wound up to stay still, so you decline and start pacing the office. You're having a hard time breathing, so you start to fan yourself with your hand. 

“You're right, it's not.”

“What is it, then?”

His fingers entwine with one another as his gaze follows your form. You're limping, fanning both of your hands now, and you look like shit. You must be quite a spectacle.

“Doctor/patient confidentiality.”

“Are you kidding me?” Does your voice usually sound so far away? Because everything seems super bright and all the sounds are blending together. You stop and grip the back of the chair tightly, your knuckles turning white from the strength. 

“I'm not. Your father is sane and, other than his back, of good health. I have discussed treatment plans with him. He knows what he has and he knows what he needs to do in order to recover. To you, I can't say anything without his explicit permission.” You see him tense up as he stares at you and your behaviour. His brows furrow further as he turns his body to the side, as if he's about to get up. 

“But I'm his daughter!” You let out a ridiculous whine and start to gasp for air. 

“And I'm his doctor.” He gets up and approaches you. “Sit. You're so pale I can almost see through you. When was the last time you ate and-...”

That's the last thing you remember before waking up in a bed next to your father. 

You blink as your eyes adjust to the brightness of the room and take shallow breaths. Your head is throbbing and the constant beeping noise from the machine is not helping you at all. You realise that the beeping machine is hooked to you through your finger, as well as an IV attached to your arm. 

You raise your torso with a grunt and see that the cuts and bruises on your legs have been tended to, and your ankle is now sporting a not-so-fashionable elastic bandage with a pack of ice sitting on it. 

“Bug! You’re up!” Your dad flails his arm in the bed next to you to get you to look at him. “Law! Kaya! Someone!”

Pressing your thumb and index finger against the bridge of your nose, you sigh deeply. “Dad, dad, there’s a button to call the nurse next to the bed, please don’t scream.”

But it’s not necessary to use the button because Kaya enters the room with a concerned smile and gravitates towards you. “Sweetie, how are you?” Her voice is so gentle and kind that it forces an immediate smile from your lips. 

“My head is killing me. What happened?”

“Well, Dr. Trafalgar said it’s probably hypoglycemia - low blood sugar - he had some blood tests done, the results should be in at any moment. Have you eaten anything today?”

You nod and are about to say yes, of course, but the words don’t leave your mouth because they are not true. You really haven’t eaten anything today. “No.”

“Then, that’s definitely it.” Kaya giggles. “I could hear you yelling at Dr. Trafalgar from where I was sitting. He looked kind of flustered when he opened the office door, carrying you in his arms.”

You blush as your eyes widen. “What?”

“Well, you were unconscious, so he carried you to the examination room.” She giggles again and lowers her voice so your father doesn’t hear the rest. “Sweetie, you two looked straight out of a romantic movie. He was carrying you bridal style with a look of concern and you looked rather frail all curled up against his strong frame.”

You keep feeling your face getting hotter as the beep from the machine next to you grows louder and faster. Kaya has always loved romantic movies, so it’s no wonder she would think something silly like this. For all you know, Dr. Trafalgar was dangling you by one arm and you banged your head on all the thresholds before reaching this room.

It would explain the throbbing headache. 

“Nurse Kaya, I do hope you’re questioning the patient about medical history and the possible cause of this incident and not engaging in idle gossiping?”

You gasp alongside Kaya as Dr. Trafalgar approaches you both, a scowl on his face and his brows scrunched. How is his forehead not permanently wrinkled from all the pouts and frowns?

“No, I was just gossiping. I’m sorry.” Kaya giggles as you gasp at her truthful response. Is she allowed to speak like this with her superior? His stare at Kaya is so intense that, after a moment, she excuses herself and leaves you two alone with your father on the other bed, seemingly distracted by a soap opera on TV, until he spots the doctor next to you.

“Oh, Law! How is my baby girl?”

“Don’t call me that, dad.” You whisper between clenched teeth. Law? Is that the doctor’s first name?

“I’m going to examine her now, Mr. S. You can watch your show.” Shanks mouths a droopy ‘okay’ and turns back to the TV. He is still pretty high on drugs, apparently. 

“Have you eaten anything today?” His amber eyes stare at yours and you feel compelled to look at his name tag, instead, but then you are staring at his chest, and is that more ink coming out from the neck of the shirt he is wearing? Does he have a chest piece?

The beeping becomes faster and you switch back to the piercing eyes. “No, I haven’t.” You say, trying to distract yourself. 

“It’s certainly hypoglycemia, then. I will observe you.”

You nod and he removes the stethoscope from his neck, pushing it against your exposed cleavage. “Breathe in.” You take a deep breath. “Now out.” You do. He takes a step forward and tells you to lean forward as he repeats the process on your back. “In. Out.” 

He reaches for a small pen-like flashlight from his coat pocket and points it at your eyes. “Look up. Down. Now the other one, up. Down. Okay, that’s it.”

“That’s it? Aren't you going to say I'm a good girl?” You giggle for a second and then stop abruptly. Suddenly mortified as his eyes pierce into your own with an unreadable expression. “I'm sorry. That was stupid. Are there drugs here?” You point to the IV and as his stare doesn't waver, the beeping on the machine just keeps getting faster and louder. 

“That's just a dextrose and saline solution. No drugs. That was all you.”

The machine just beeps louder and louder and you grunt as you rip the monitor off of your finger, rendering the beeping into a continuous, even more annoying, beep.

“Stupid thing! I think that might be broken.” You snort, wail and hide your face in your hands. Can you be an even bigger idiot? Why are you acting like this? Aren't you supposed to be yelling at this doctor on account of your father? Where has all of your bravado gone? 

Out the window when you passed out and were carried like a princess by her knight in shining armour. As well as all your sane thoughts on feminism and women’s rights, apparently.

Crap. 

“Are you done?” He asks, deadpan as he turns off the monitor and the beeping stops. Now you’re frustrated again, but you simply pout and nod without making eye contact. 

He flips through some files and hums softly. “Your blood tests came out normal. This was a simple incident of low blood-sugar, next time try not to stay too long without eating anything, or, at least, if you’re going to fast, drink plenty of liquids, tea or water, preferably.”

“I wasn’t fasting.” You mumble between clenched teeth, your eyes locked on the chipped nail polish that had come out when you ripped the monitor that was attached to your finger. 

“Whatever weird diet you are on, then. Stop it. You look extremely healthy, you don’t need it.” Could that have been a veiled compliment?

“M’not on a diet.” Your mumble is even quieter.

“Sorry?”

“I’m not on any diet, or fasting, or anything. I just didn’t eat, that’s all.” This time you speak loud and cross your arms over your chest for emphasis.

“You didn’t eat the breakfast I cooked, bug? Is this still because of that jackass that cheated on you?” Shanks is literally screaming so you know that, by now, the entire clinic knows you’ve been cheated on. Yet you simply inhale, use the back of your hand to wipe away a stray tear and nod.

“I'm going to kill him.” Shanks simply declares as he tries to get up from the bed. “Law, help me kill him.”

You glimpse that amused smirk on the corner of his lips as he watches your father struggling with the bed covers. 

“I would really like to be your partner in crime, Mr. S. But, you see, I took an oath.”

That statement makes you giggle and he turns his gaze back at you, smirk still in place, and your heart does a weird thing that makes you catch your breath. 

“Shove that oath up your-... Ouch, dammit!” Shanks’ legs get tangled in the sheets and he almost falls as he tries to get up. 

“Mr. S. please calm down. We're not killing anyone today okay?” Dr. Trafalgar turns to you. “He seems pretty determined, maybe you should distract him with something less illegal?”

Is he funny as well? He seems so stoic and uptight but he's responding to your father's shenanigans with a dark humour that's making you laugh. 

“Daddy, lie back down on the bed, we will schedule another day to kill him, I promise.” You use your commanding tone and your father grunts before settling back down again. “Besides, since it's the three of us together, I would like to ask you, Shanks, what's the treatment that Dr. Trafalgar recommended for your back because the Dr. doesn't want to share that information with me.”

Your lips turn thin as you cross your arms over your chest. 

“That's a good lad, Law. Thank you.”

You glare at both of them but Dr. Trafalgar just raises his arms defensively. “Doctor/patient confidentiality!”

“Dad!” You huff at the same time as your father groans loudly.

“Just tell her, Law. Or I'll never hear the end of it. And I still have a murder to commit.” He mumbles. 

You turn your attention back to the doctor and try your best not to give him your ‘see you could've told me earlier and we would've avoided this whole situation’ look, but you definitely give him one of those. 

“Your father has a herniated disc in his spine. This occurs when the soft inner core of a disc between the vertebrae protrudes through the tough outer layer, putting pressure on nearby nerves.” 

Your brows tighten at all the medical jargon but you're understanding the essentials, so you nod for him to continue. 

“Mr. S. experiences stabbing pain that radiates along the path of the affected nerve and can lead to episodes of intense pain and sometimes a feeling of weakness or numbness in the affected area. Activities that cause strain on the spine can make it worse. Something like bending down or lifting stuff.”

You turn to your father with a glare in your gaze, your frown heavy and your eyes watery. “I told you you should rest!” Your words are but a sliver that escapes your lips. Dr. Trafalgar continues.

“When the medication hasn't provided enough relief, as it's your father’s case, surgery may be recommended. The procedure typically involves removing the herniated portion of the disc to relieve pressure on the nerves and alleviate symptoms.”

The silence stretches and evolves into a thick fog that encapsulates the three of you within. Your next words are measured carefully, but need to be asked. “Is it a complicated procedure?”

Of course it is! It's on the spine! 

“Each case is unique on its own. The complexity can vary based on factors such as the location and size of the herniation, as well as your father's overall health.”

“And the risks?” Your gaze alternates between the doctor’s professional stance and your father's slumped and defeated form.

“Like any surgery there are inherent risks of infections or allergic reactions. Specifically to this surgery, there's always the chance of the symptoms remaining or that another surgery might be necessary. There's also a more severe risk of nerve damage, which can cause temporary numbness or weakness. Yet, in this case, I would argue that the benefits far outweigh the risks.”

“Dad…” You start. 

“I don't want to discuss this right now.” He discards the use of your nickname and calls you by your birth name, declaring his seriousness of the matter. 

Your lower lip trembles and you nod at him letting out a very soft ‘okay’. Suddenly, realisation hits you. This was probably the reason why he had the horse riding incident. It was the cause not the consequence. 

Dr. Trafalgar places a very gentle hand over yours and you gasp at the shock of his touch. “I will send nurse Kaya to remove your IV and your father's so you can both be on your way and discuss this properly.” You nod. “If you have any questions, you can always call me or visit the clinic.” You nod again, suddenly exhausted as your body starts to complain of all the abuse it suffered today. 

He leaves calling out a ‘take care, Mr. S.’ to your father at the door. Silence permeates the room as you turn and let your feet dangle from the bed, your eyes focusing on the lying form of Shanks. 

“Dad,” you start. “I know you don't want to talk about this, and I will respect your wishes, but just hear my opinion, you don't have to say anything!” You add and your father takes a deep breath but doesn't say anything so you take that as consent for you to continue. “You're young and very active. These episodes keep you from living a normal, fulfilling life. Dr. Trafalgar said that the benefits are far more than the risks and I think you should consider the surgery.”

The door opens up and Kaya comes in with a bright hello and a smile. “Think about it, dad.” You finish as Kaya stands at your side with a tray of equipment to relieve you of all the paraphernalia attached to your body. 

“So, how are we feeling?” She asks you as she swiftly disconnects the empty IV from your arm. 

You sigh and give her a lopsided smile. “I'm feeling better, Kaya, thank you.”

“Aaaaaand?” She giggles at you and your brows scrunch at her. “Dr. Trafalgar?”

You feel your cheeks grow hot, even if you will them not to. “He's very competent. He explained to me everything about my father's condition. He's very professional. I'm impressed.” As you admit this, you realise that maybe you should apologise to him for your earlier behaviour but maybe he's with another patient now. 

“That's not where I was going.” She pouts at you. “He's single, you know?”

You wince as she takes out the needle in your vein and puts a bandaid over it. “That's… okay, I guess.” You don't really know what to say. Kaya seems to be trying to set you up, but you really don't want to think about men at this moment. 

“You're impossible!” She mutters your name as she shakes her head and removes the melted ice pack from your ankle. “There, you're done. I'll take care of your father and you both can leave.”

Penguin and Shachi insisted on taking your father to the car themselves and you were at the desk with Kaya, settling the payment and documents. You were exhausted. Physically and mentally. The news about Shanks had left you preoccupied and you were having trouble processing. 

As Kaya finished inserting some data on the computer, you sighed deeply and pressed the bridge of your nose with your index finger and thumb, closing your eyes and trying to suppress the growing throb in your head. 

Suddenly, you feel a presence on your side as a deep voice fills the air. “Are you feeling well?”

Opening your eyes and forcing a weary smile on your lips you slightly nod. “Just the culmination of all the exciting events of today, I guess. A throbbing headache.” You shrug. 

Dr. Trafalgar takes out a set of keys from his pocket and goes behind Kaya opening one of the cabinets and taking out two pills from one container. Then he goes to the water dispenser and fills a cup. 

“Give me your hand.” You open your palm as he sets the pills there, lightly brushing his long fingers against your skin. “Take them. It will relieve the pressure on your head.” You set the pills in your mouth. “Water.” He hands the cup to you and you drink it. Then he reaches into his pocket and takes out a wrapped onigiri. “Then eat this.” You reply with a meek ‘okay’. “Good girl.”

He smirks and you nearly choke to death on another sip of water. Then you burst out laughing and you notice that the smirk is still adorning his lips. Surprisingly, he laughs along with you and you are forced to admit that the way his deep voice slurred with the words ‘good girl’ made your knees buckle and your body tingle in very unholy places. 

“I'm sorry.” You start, as soon as the laughter dies down. “For overreacting earlier.”

“It's alright. I will blame your reaction on your abnormal state.” He says cheekily and you smirk back at him. 

“By the way, do you carry all your fainting patients in bridal style?”

He scratches the back of his head and looks down, seemingly embarrassed. “Just the cute ones.” The blush spreads from your cheeks to your nose and you're left speechless. Where had the stoic doctor gone? There seemed to be a cheeky flirt in his stead, did he have a twin?

“Thank you, Dr. Trafalgar, for everything.” You decide to finish the conversation there since you're liking it way too much, which can turn very dangerous. 

He nods. “It's Law.” You raise your brow at him. “My name, call me Law.”

“Law. Thanks.” His smirk turns into a slight smile that traps your gaze as you breathe slowly. Single, right? How? 

Kaya’s soft harumph seems to wake you both from your trance and Law excuses himself with work he has to do. “Don't be a stranger.” He adds and then wishes you and your father well before leaving. You sigh as you turn to Kaya, who's watching you with a knowing look and a very silly smile. 

“This was rom/com happening in real life, I swear. Girl, I'm dying here. You need to go on a date with him!” She squeals. “I don't think I've ever heard him laugh!”

“I'm not going on any date, Kaya.” You say, deadpan as you accept the receipts she hands you. “I'm off men at the moment, thank you very much.”

“Yeah we all heard your father. Sorry about your fiancé thing… Though maybe it was better to find out before the wedding actually happened!”

You nod. You couldn't agree more, actually. “I'm going to go now. Dad and I both need rest.”

You and Kaya exchange phone numbers, not wanting to fall out of touch with her, and wave goodbye. The exhaustion is taking its toll on you and you still have to try and convince your father to agree to the surgery. Maybe you'll leave that fight to another day, though. 

As you walk to the truck you unwrap the onigiri and take a small bite. It tastes homemade. Delicious. 

As scrumptious as Dr. Trafalgar Law, actually. 

No, nope. Not gonna happen. You shake your head as you take your seat ready to face the challenge of driving with a stick yet again. And somehow, between driving with a stick and trying to avoid thinking about Dr. Law, the first one seems like an easier challenge. 

Chapter Text

Source for pic

Your father avoided the subject of surgery for the rest of the day, and you decided to give him some time before approaching it again. You had shared your thoughts with him at the clinic, and you were certain he was reflecting on your words. If he was still too stubborn by the end of the week, you were prepared to use your ‘daddy’s girl’ privileges and maybe even shed some tears to guilt him into agreeing to the surgery.

In the meantime, both of you arrived home almost at dinner time and despite being totally exhausted, you told your father to eat the pasta you had cooked for lunch - and stored in the fridge - and for him to go straight to bed afterwards - he was still groggy from the pills - while you would feed the farm animals before closing up. 

You had helped him yesterday with those chores, so you know where everything is and, even though he offers to call Ace to help you, you refuse. First because you want to show your father - and yourself - that you are capable of doing this on your own, and second because you are still mortified about his vibrator comment from before. 

By the time you finish and finally close everything up, you are ready to drop into bed and sleep as if you’re in a coma. Except you can’t do that. Because you can almost hear Dr. Law’s voice in your ear telling you to eat something.

So you do. After blushing hard and slapping your face two times with both hands because imagining Dr. Law's voice in your ear purring ‘ good girl’ managed, yet again, to do some unholy things to your body. 

After you calm down, you heat up a plate of pasta and force it down with a full glass of water. 

As your head hits the pillow, you realise you should’ve showered because you kind of smell, but you can’t find any strength to get up, so you don't. Even if you smell like horse. 

You'll just change the sheets tomorrow. 

The unforgiving crow of the rooster comes, without fail, at six in the morning and you groan into your pillow. Maybe you should buy some earplugs to help you in the mornings. 

Yet you hear your father rustling and grunting while his bed creaks and you're up in a moment's notice, eyes wide and already rushing towards the door. 

“Dad?” You call from your room, not wanting to barge in on his privacy. Who knows how he sleeps? Your ex liked to sleep naked and there were plenty of times the two of you took advantage of that fact. Shaking your head to rid yourself of those painful and angry memories, you call again. “Dad, are you alright? If you don't answer me, I will barge into your room!”

His bed creaks again as he makes another low grunt. “I'm up, bug. I'm alright. As soon as I take my pills, I'll be ready to face the day!”

You sigh in relief. “OK, daddy. I'm going to take a quick bath and then I'll make you breakfast, okay?”

“Yeah you better bathe.” His head peeks from the door of his room and he wrinkles his nose. “I can smell you from here.” He chuckles at the look of murder you give him and, as you can see he is well, you chuckle back, and go back inside the room to collect your essentials. 

After you’ve bathed, you go down to find your dad already busy making breakfast. You give him a good scolding but it’s all in good spirits because the pancakes smell delicious and you are actually hungry today.

Shanks remains by your side until you clean the plate and he nods in satisfaction as you wash the dishes. You know he wants to make sure you eat, just in case you faint again! 

“Do you need my help with the chores?”

“No, bug. Ace is coming over to help me today. You mentioned you were going to meet with your friends so I asked if he could come by.” You swallow a lump in your throat as you feel your cheeks heat up. Are you ready to face Ace again after that whole fiasco?

“So is it okay if I go to town now? I wanted to see if I could find a part-time job and start pitching in with expenses before I meet the girls.” 

Shanks cleans his hand with a cloth and raises his brow your way. “Why would you need to do that?”

“Because I want to help dad. Besides, maybe you should think about hiring a permanent helper for the property. To ease some of your load.”

He huffs angrily. “I don't need a helper! I can still work!”

You close the tap with more force than necessary and place your hands on your hips, facing him. “Really? The two times per week you are able to walk? Or the other times when you're at the clinic?”

Shanks grunts and turns his back on you, grabbing his straw hat. “We'll talk later! Be careful in town.”

Gritting your teeth you follow him with your eyes. “Don't think you can get off so easily! We will talk about the surgery!”

Your father slams the door as you curse. That man is unbelievably stubborn! 

After you finish cleaning up the kitchen, you go to your room and choose a pretty sundress to wear with your white sneakers. It's a very hot day outside and you don't want to feel stuffy in jeans. 

Your dad is using the pickup so you take the keys to the beaten-up 90’s red Ford Mustang that your father bought for you at a yard sale but you never got to use. It's a stick shift again! But now you hope you're more used to it, after the crash course you had yesterday. 

Shanks uses the car once in a while so it's in good condition, has gas and it's clean. It's good to go! After you adjust the seat and settings, of course. 

You pass by your dad and Ace on the way out of the property and you stop to remind Shanks where you're going. Also because Ace is shirtless and sweaty again and you don't mind the mental picture to help you sleep better. 

“I'm leaving daddy! I'll be back after lunch. Call if you need anything, will you?”

“I will, baby, if you give me your number.” Ace lets out a cheeky laugh before Shanks swats his head with his open palm. 

“Stop flirting with my daughter.” He growls and then smiles sweetly at you. “Okay, bug. Be careful! Oh, sometimes the car doesn't want to start. You need to give it a while, talk to it softly and then try again.”

You look at him with an unreadable expression and he continues to smile waiting for your confirmation so you just nod weirdly, not knowing what he meant by talking softly to it. It's a freaking car. 

“Okay, see you later dad! Ace.”

“Bye, princess! Don't buy batteries okay?”

You snort and show him the finger behind your dad's back. “It's electrical, dumbass.”

You leave the property with his sweet guffaws still ringing in your ears. 

You go by the post office first because you know they place job advertisements there but your search comes out fruitless. There are advertisements for working at the local supermarket or as a farmhand. None of them are part-time, which you need because you want to keep helping your father, and you’d rather not go for the supermarket job just yet. 

You don’t want to be that person, but you do have skills that you know will be wasted as a cashier. You keep that job in mind, though, if you don’t find anything else. 

You do some window shopping and stroll around town, remembering all the shenanigans you used to pull when you were younger and smiling and chit chatting with the people who recognized you.

When it’s almost lunchtime, you get in touch with the girls and they give you the location to meet them, since they both work nearby the café - which also serves lunches - and will go there as soon as it’s lunch time.

It’s a quaint little café on a corner where a video rental store used to be. It has some metal tables outside with big parasols to create shade and protection, beautiful tablecloths, and a vase with fresh flowers on them. 

You smile as you read the name of the café - The All Blue - and push the door open to access the cool inside. 

It’s just as quaint and beautiful inside and you keep smiling at the simplicity and the familiar, homely feeling it transmits. Some tables already have patrons but, before you can find a table, a blonde man, tall and lean - but still muscular, you can tell - saunters to you with a big smile and a menu in his hand. 

“Good morning, madame , table for one?” You smile at him. He’s very handsome, maybe he’s the cook your friends want you to meet? Yet you can’t help but shake the feeling that he is familiar, somehow. 

“No, for three, actually. I’m meeting my friends. I’m not sure if they made a reservation. If so, it will be under Nami or Robin.”

His eye - just one because you can’t see the other one - lights up as his smile widens. “Sweet Nami and Robin? They didn't make a reservation, but I always keep a table for them at lunchtime. Follow me, please. Is it too bold to ask for your name? I’m their good friend as well, I’m Sanji.”

God, even the name is familiar… you stutter your name but your smile vanishes from your face. Once he shows you the table, you’re scrutinising his face intently, your heart beating faster and faster against your chest.

The signs are there. The name, the swirly eyebrow…

No, it can’t be. How can this happen? How could you find someone related to your fiancé, the man you wanted to escape from, in your hometown?

His smile vanishes once he realises the worried look upon your face. “Are you alright?” He says your name with worry and you shake your head rapidly.

“I’m sorry, you’re just… so familiar…”

He cocks his head to the side, the small grin returning to his features. “Really? Maybe we’ve met in another life and are destined to meet again?” Holding the chair for you to sit, he makes a flourish gesture that you realise is rehearsed and he must use it on every girl that crosses through that door. 

Being a fuckboy must be in the genes.

“Are you a Vinsmoke?” The question leaves your lips without your permission. You didn’t mean to be so blunt, but you also didn’t mean to be reminded of your ex when you stepped into this café. 

He freezes instantly, his mouth slightly agape and his eyes wide. 

“How do you… how… why do you ask?” He tries to smile again but only a pained grimace takes place on his mouth. 

“I used to work for Vinsmoke Judge at Germa 66 Enterprises, in Grand Line City.” You leave out the part that you were engaged to his eldest son.

Sanji pales and you see his knuckles turn white from gripping the back of the chair. “No. I’m not.”

You’re about to protest with a lot of follow-up questions, because he’s clearly lying, but you hear a shrill sound, and soon you are enveloped by two pairs of arms in a crushing hug.

“Girls!” You greet as your friends squish you between them and exclaim your name with glee.

“Oh, we’ve missed you so much! Talking over the phone is not the same thing!” Nami says as she releases you from the strong vice they both locked you in. “I see you’ve met Sanji!”

Sanji’s easy smile is plastered back on his lips, but you can still perceive some small stress lines on his forehead and eyes. 

“Yes, Nami, I’ve had the wonderful pleasure of meeting her just now.” He sets the menu on the table as his smile strains again. “I’ll send Cosette to get your order in a while.” He turns to you and his eyes scrunch. “Nice to meet you.”

As the three of you sit at the table, Nami looks at you quizzically. “What happened? Sanji is usually all smiles and he loves a pretty lady, so what did you do to him?”

Robin chuckles at Nami’s statement and you shrug. “He just seemed familiar. I asked him if he was related to someone I knew and he reacted this way.” You’re certain he’s hiding something, but you do not press the subject with the girls. Maybe he has some sort of secret he doesn’t want to share? It might not be your place to pry. “Anyway, tell me how life is treating you, girls?”

Robin crosses her arms and Nami does the same while looking at you. “First let’s talk about why you’re here. I’m all in for bad-mouthing that stupid prick that broke your heart!”

Your smile travels easily to your face, this time. They know what happened because, even though you haven’t physically met them in about five years, since they visited you, you talk every week and consider them, still, your best friends. 

So lunch passes quickly while you three catch up and make plans to meet again. You tell them about looking for a job and they promise to ask around and help. Sanji doesn’t go by your table anymore but you keep catching him stealing glances your way. Especially when the food arrives.

And the food is so delicious you’re practically moaning into your fork. Robin and Nami agree that Sanji cooks the best food they’ve ever tasted and that’s why they eat lunch there every day. When the meal comes to an end, Sanji finally approaches your table. The strained smile is no longer in place and he resembles the happy blonde man who greeted you at the door. 

“How was lunch, ladies?”

“Wonderful!” You exclaim as the girls sing him more praises. “It’s amazing food, Chef Sanji.” You smile back at him, trying to wordlessly apologise for having been inconvenient. 

“It’s on the house.” 

“No, no.” You start, but Nami gets up  with a wide smile.

“Thank you, Sanji!” Robin chuckles as she also gets up.

“Yes, thank you, Sanji! We have to get back to work.” She says your name and stares back at you. “Have fun, we’ll talk later.” And the raven-haired girl drags Nami away by the arm, sensing that you and Sanji could use a moment alone. 

You wave them goodbye and, looking around you realise the café is emptying since the lunch rush is over. 

“Sanji… can I borrow a moment of your time?” He nods and gathers the dessert plates from the table.

“Let me just clean the table. Do you want coffee?” The strained smile is back as he knows you’ll want to speak more about the Vinsmoke and Germa 66 business. As you nod and sit back down, he swiftly gathers the dirty dishes and leaves.

When he returns, he’s bringing two cups of coffee and sets them down as he sits across from you. 

“I’m sorry if I was too abrupt earlier.” You start. “It’s just… well I’m not on the best terms with the Vinsmokes at the moment and… well I was not expecting to find someone who reminded me so much of them in my hometown.” Your sigh turns into a weary chuckle. 

“It’s okay.” He looks down. “I actually lied and I’m sorry too.” You knew he was lying. “I’m a Vinsmoke, yes. A… distant relation.”

You nod softly, he must be telling the truth since you never saw him at family meetings. “I didn't tell you the whole truth, either…” You inhale deeply through your nose as a soft blush creeps onto your cheeks. Why is it so hard to admit you were cheated on?

Is it because it seems as if you’re not worth it? That there’s something wrong with you?

“I was engaged to the eldest son.” You whisper.

“Ichiji?” He sounds alarmed as his eyes bore into yours and you nod. Grunting he regains some of his composure. “Was? You’re not anymore?”

Shaking your head you take a sip of the coffee. How is it that he can make even black, plain coffee taste wonderful? “He cheated.”

“Figures.” He huffs and sips his own coffee. “I’m sorry.”

Your shoulders raise in a resigned shrug, and you smile softly. Silence settles for a moment around you as the last customer leaves and Sanji waves goodbye to the familiar face. “How is it that a wonderful chef like yourself ends up in this washed-up town in the middle of the Calm Belt? You could work at the hottest spots in Grand Line City!”

You smirk as you try to lighten up the conversation. Nami and Robin told you that Sanji had moved into town about four years ago and had quickly befriended everyone, since he was so lovable. You managed to pry out of them that he loved to flirt with girls and, since he was so handsome, you were sure that half of them ended up in his house, but neither of the girls shared that information with you. 

“Ah, you see,” he smirks back at you. “Here I was on my way to become the world’s greatest chef, already having lined up competitions with the biggest names in the industry, the path of fame awaited me!”

You chuckle softly at his dramatics as he stops and looks at you with dreamy eyes. “And then I got distracted by the most beautiful woman in the world who walked right into my café.”

A faint blush creeps its way to your cheeks and you squint your eyes at him. “Does that line usually work for you?”

The prettiest of chuckles leaves his lips as he raises his hands in mock defence. “Not even once. It’s still half-true, though. The part about the most beautiful woman, at least.” He winks. “I came here exactly to get away from the big city. This place is paradise. And my café is a little slice of it.”

“And it is a wonderful slice. You’ve done a wonderful job with the place. Much improvement since the dingy video store. Unless…” You chuckle and lower your voice. “Is there a restricted section in the back as well? Adults only?”

You seem to take him by surprise as, this time, it’s his turn to blush and stutter. “Ah… no.” You press your lips together trying to hold back your chuckle. He looks so cute, all flustered. “I mean, maybe you can check out the back room yourself?”

He cringes as if he’s just said the stupidest thing ever and this time you laugh out loud. 

“That was pathetic, I’m sorry. I’ve got no moves other than that other line. I don’t usually get past that point!” He chuckles back at you, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. 

The laughter continues to bubble up within you and you realise that everything seems to come so easily and naturally around Sanji. You haven’t felt this relaxed in months. “I appreciate the honesty, Sanji. It’s quite refreshing.”

“I can still impress you with my cooking skills, since my pickup lines are terrible.” He tries, leaning forward with a huge grin.

“Oh, I think you already covered that. Lunch was amazing.”

“Thank you, but I was thinking of something more personal… more intimate.” His fingers play with the coffee mug in a show of nerves. “You tell me what you like and I will cook you the meal of your life.” 

The smiles vanish from both your faces as you also lean forward, hands on top of the table as well, close to his hands. “Confident much?”

“I am. I was on my way to become the world's greatest chef, remember?”

The blue in his eyes is nothing short of spectacular. You hadn’t noticed yet, but they almost sparkle. 

“Alright. Let’s see how well you can back up that confidence. I will make a list of favourite ingredients and you work your magic.”

His lip trembles as it rises to a sheepish smile. “It’s a date. Just tell me when you’re free. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

A date? Wait… really? “It's dinner, not a date.” His smile falters and you shrug. “I’m off men at the moment, but I’m always open to making new friends.”

He nods in understanding. “I can’t argue with that. Friends it is.” You’re glad he’s maintaining his easy nature, even after you rejected his idea of a date. 

You finish your coffee and rummage through your purse for some change but he stops your hand with his stronger one. “No way. I told you, it’s on me.”

“Just this once, okay?” You say as you get up and smooth your dress. “Oh!” You exclaim as you take out a pen from your purse but fail to find a paper, so you retrieve a paper napkin from the table and write down your number. “Here. We’ll stay in touch. Friend.”

You giggle and he smiles warmly at you while he accepts your number. “ Madame, I will cherish your number and look forward to our next encounter.”

You exchange warm goodbyes and he walks you to the door, holding it open for you like a gentleman. Sanji was a nice surprise. Your friends were right. Even if the biggest surprise came in knowing he was related to your ex, you won’t let that get in the way of your friendship with him.

Or, who knows, maybe his cooking will impress you in a way his lame pick-up lines never could and the friendship turns into something more.