Welcome to my home, On the Island of Nerdfightaria

You will not get consistency from this blog. Do not expect such. This blog is older than some on this website. She/Her. https://just-a-nerd.dreamwidth.org/

[parabiota]

STOP SCROLLING

Your life ends in the wasteland.

[professionalchaoticdumbass]

there’s a japanese radish just below this post but you can’t reach it

[eraserheadadult]

as a lover of Women Fighting & Killing media it's so important to me when they actually let the women look like shit. you know what i mean. like im so bored when a woman is in what's supposed to be a brutal fight and her hair is just aesthetically tousled or something and her makeup is still pristine. fuck offfff. if she's beating the shit out of someone and fighting for her life she should be covered in blood n bile she should look like she got hit by a truck and the truck exploded

[thatsbelievable]

[edithsweetithh]

some of my favorite tidbits from american history in honor of the 250th!!

clara barton, a battlefield nurse for the union army and eventual founder of the american red cross, was dubbed the "angel of the battlefield" for her vital and timely assistance to soldiers and doctors alike. during the 1862 battle of antietam, barton discovered that one of the soldiers she was tending to happened to be a young woman -- mary galloway, who had disguised herself as a man, joined the war effort following her lover lieutenant harry barnard, and would later name her daughter clara after barton eventually reunited the couple

stetson kennedy helped take down the kkk by exposing their code words and secret rituals on a 1947 superman radio show

in 1777, sixteen-year-old sybil ludington rode forty miles to warn the local militia of an upcoming british attack. traveling twice the length of paul revere's journey, she roused around 400 men by banging on their doors with a large stick, and it's even said that she gained recognition from george washington himself

robert smalls, an enslaved man in south carolina, emancipated himself as well as fifteen others in 1861 by disguising himself as a confederate ship captain and sailing the css planter into the union territory (simultaneously providing another warship to the union). not only that, but in 1864, smalls purchased the former mansion of henry mckee -- the man who had once enslaved him

during the 1969 chicago seven conspiracy trial, abbie hoffman reportedly once came in wearing judicial robes with a chicago police uniform underneath, called judge julius hoffman "julie" several times, and raised his middle finger when being sworn in as a witness

after american troops arrived in france In 1917, they made a (mostly symbolic) march through paris, stopping at the grave of the marquis de lafayette to honor his immense contributions during the american revolutionary war. with the tomb at his feet, colonel c. e. stanton declared, "lafayette, we are here!" (over a century too late after the us decided not to aid the french during the revolution, but a cool statement nonetheless)

in 1930s america, a pro-nazi organization called the german american bund was active across america. however, another group was also gaining traction at around the same time: the minutemen. while those in new york were mostly made up of jewish mobsters and those in new jersey mainly consisted of jewish boxers, both had a common goal of breaking up bund meetings by beating the shit out of their members

between 1913 and 1915, there were at least seven instances of people mailing their children through the postal system, since it was cheaper to buy a stamp for your child and have them transported by a trusted mail carrier than purchasing a train ticket for them

the first minnesota volunteer infantry regiment captured a confederate flag from the twenty-eighth virginia infantry regiment in the 1863 battle of gettysburg, and the minnesota historical society still has it today, despite virginia requesting for its return in 2000, 2002, 2003, and 2013. governor jesse ventura famously responded to the 2000 request with "why? i mean, we won"

although many members of various native american nations served as code talkers during the world wars, the most famous of which are probably the navajo code talkers. between 1942 and 1945, over four hundred navajo worked as code talkers for the marines, providing a system that even the most skilled code breakers couldn't crack -- largely due to the fact that navajo has no written alphabet and highly complex tonal qualities. for decades the contributions of these men went unrecognized, but in 1992 they were finally honored at the pentagon for their vital involvement in the allied war effort

founding fathers thomas jefferson and john adams both died on july forth, 1826, with adams allegedly declaring "jefferson still survives" on his deathbed, unaware that his former colleague was already dead

after woodrow wilson had a stroke in 1912, his wife edith wilson took over many of his presidential duties, making her the first female president in practice. she and physician cary grayson decided to keep her husband's condition hidden from the public, even staging several pictures of him to make it seem like he was hard at work in the white house

the youth international party (yippies) held a rally for their presidential nominee, a hundred and forty-five pound pig named pigasus, outside the democratic national convention in 1968. his acceptance speech was being read by jerry rubin when he and six other yippies were arrested along with pigasus and a sow apparently called "mrs pigasus"

after hitler banned bold makeup from public functions in 1933 because he deemed it improper for a good german woman, wearing red lipstick became a symbol of solidarity against fascism. allied militaries were quick to implement it as a part of their female uniforms and issue propaganda encouraging women to wear it. in 1941 elizabeth arden created a shade of lipstick called victory red for civilian women, and in 1942 the us women's marines corp adopted her shade montezuma red as a standard part of the uniform

harriet tubman was not only the most famous conductor of the underground railroad, but also a nurse, soldier, and spy for the union during the civil war. the first woman in american history to lead an armed military raid, in 1863 she commanded the combahee river raid, which included the liberation of over seven hundred and fifty enslaved people

in 1782, deborah sampson disguised herself a man, adopted the alias robert shurtleff, and joined the fourth masschusettes regiment. she managed to protect her true identity for over two years -- however, after she lost consciousness due to illness, her sex was discovered and was given an honorable discharge. after her death, her husband petitioned congress for pension as the spouse of a soldier, and surprisingly he was awarded the money

adolf hitler had a nephew who fought for the united states navy during world war ii. born william patrick hitler, in 1933, he declined his uncle's request to denounce his british citizenship, earning himself the nickname "my loathsome nephew." after his 1939 lecture tour of the united states where he warned americans about the nazi threat, he enlisted in the us military because he wasn't allowed in the british forces. he eventually became a us citizen in 1946 and legally changed his name to william patrick stuart-houston

in 1970, richard nixon signed the poison prevention packaging act, which required all prescription and over-the-counter drugs to have childproof packaging. stephen bull, a former presidential aide, recalled that he was once asked by the president to open his allergy medicine, and the childproof cap had numerous teeth marks on it from nixon's apparent attempts to gnaw it open

the elephant became the mascot of the republican party to demonstrate union war strength (as "seeing the elephant" was slang for experiencing combat). the donkey became the democratic mascot because people frequently called andrew jackson a jackass

alice roosevelt, daughter of president theodore roosevelt, was infamous for various antics she pulled, which include but are not limited to: smoking on the roof of the white house after her father told her to stop smoking inside of it, sneaking whiskey into parties, jumping into a pool fully clothed and convincing a congressman to join her, carring her pet snake named emily spinach in her purse, burying a voodoo doll of first lady nellie taft in the white house lawn and consequently getting herself banned from the taft white house, cutting her wedding cake with a sword she borrowed from a military aide, racing cars through the streets of washington, and putting a tack on the chair of a congressman

[cynicaloptimism2]

The Robert Smalls story is fucking amazing.

Episode 303: Robert Smalls (2.7.2025)

On May 13, 1862, Robert Smalls took command of a Confederate ship and liberated himself and his family from slavery. His great-great-grandso

[wing-ed-thing]

God Spelled Backwards is D-O-C-T-O-R (Trafalgar Law x Reader, Chapter XVIII)

Synopsis: Dr. Trafalgar Law is the brilliant, cold, new electrophysiologist fresh out of residency with something to prove. He wasted no time in singling you out as you battle his unyielding demands and an overbooked schedule with non-existent back up. Your dynamic goes beyond professional tension, and in a hospital where boundaries are protocol, and protocol is gold, it’s an all out fight for power and control.

Word Count: 12.5k

Tags/Warnings: Minors DNI, CardiacElectrophysiologist!Law, EchoTech!Reader, AFABFEM!Reader, Modern Hospital AU, Language, Enemies to Lovers, Institutional Medical Malpractice, Salmon

Glossary for Nerds

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI Chapter XVII Chapter XVIII

By the end of that day, Admin had made everything official, which left Law viewing the series of streamlined decisions as somewhere between supernaturally serendipitous and infuriatingly corporate. Though given how much effort he’d put into lining up all those ducks, Law couldn’t complain too much when they showed up with ribbons. 

He was officially in charge of the review board, and you were the lead for imaging. While there were many other figures above him involved in all of this—figures Law could’ve done without— the two of you making it to the other side was all that mattered. Now you could do what needed to be done. 

But even someone as ambitious as Law knew you couldn’t do it alone, so he gathered his staff after they’d finished with the last patient of the day. 

Law stood at the entrance to his pod, wearing his usual poker face as the team slowly trickled in. Once everyone had taken their places at their desks, Law poised himself to speak. 

“As you may already know, Dr. Hogback’s practice had been temporarily suspended,” he began, his voice cold and even. “Dr. Jaygarcia, along with others in admin, has entrusted me with the care of his patient population, in addition to a post-mortem review of quite a number of records.” 

Law kept a steady eye on the team. “And as the lead on this review, I ask for your support, your skills, and your time,” he said, his hands buried in the pockets of his white coat. “This isn’t mandatory, and if you choose not to be involved, it will not be held against you. If you choose to assist with this review, you can expect your workload to double. Because of HR restrictions, all of our activity would be confined to work hours on paper, so you would not be making overtime, and there’s no guarantee that I can secure stipends for any of you.” 

Law paused, more aware than anyone that he wasn’t exactly selling his cause—though Law was never one to sugarcoat things. 

“And your research?” Bepo asked softly after a moment of silence. 

Law glanced up, his gaze quickly sweeping over the team again. “Will have to be expedited if we want to make it in time for the conference.”

Shachi badged into his computer, tabbing through the upcoming days on the schedule with a frown. “Well, if we’re integrating everyone we currently have on the schedule with Hogback’s cases, when are you going to have time for that?”

The breath caught in Law’s chest for a single, undetectable second. If there was anything he hated more than having a hole in one of his plans, it was someone pointing it out. Law exhaled slowly.

“Working on that,” he muttered. 

“Well, how about this?” Penguin started, sliding his chair close to Shachi’s. He pressed the tip of his finger to the screen. “What if we put, uh, I dunno… two-thirds of the patients in the morning? We can prioritize the testing-heavy patients in the morning and place new referrals later in the day. That way, we’re less likely to get backed up by ten.” 

“I can work on clearing your afternoons,” Bepo chimed in, now also on the schedule screen. “Moving people around, I mean.”

“I think if we prepped it just right, we could see most of our regular schedule by noon,” Chopper added, scribbling something down. “If I take some of our regulars and we do some heavy research into who needs to be seen by Hogback, we should be able to run it like rounds. It’s something we’re used to, so we could use the same structure as a starting point.” 

“And how many people will you need here after hours?” Jean Bart leaned back in his chair and pivoted to fully face Law. 

Law blinked, his thoughts swirling across his golden irises. He stared at Jean Bart for a moment, then trained his attention on Shachi and Penguin, before drifting to Bepo and Chopper. Everyone remained quiet, their eyes on Law as they waited for his word. Law coiled his arms over his chest. The corners of his lips pulled slightly downward.

“You’re helping me,” he said flatly. He didn’t exactly sound enthused, but Law hardly ever did. 

Shachi’s brow knitted. “Yeah?” he affirmed, glancing around for a little backup. “Of course we are.” 

“We love you guys.” Penguin’s mouth almost resembled a frown. “And we know how much these projects mean to you both. I’m a little offended that you thought you had to ask.”

“We can start reviewing charts today if you want,” Chopper offered, seemingly oblivious to the clock. “We could build criteria for who qualifies as needing to be reviewed and make a spreadsheet where you can sort by condition.” 

Without a single word from Law, the pod began conversing amongst itself. Chopper quickly opened a document, and everyone became engrossed in scheduling strategies. 

Jean Bart hadn’t turned in his chair. He folded his hands in his lap, and his voice was a low enough timbre to stand out from the uproar over his shoulder. “So, how many people would you need to be here early and late?” he asked again. 

Law pursed his lips in thought. “I’d like to fit everything during hours.”

“Which will be impossible,” Jean Bart replied. “Especially considering everything else that’s been thrown your way.”

“Probably two,” Law said on the heels of Jean Bart’s words. “I’d expect two people, but it seems like something I’d have to run by someone above my head. I’m not even sure if it’s HR at this point.” 

“What do you think HR cares about more right now—patients dying under Hogback’s care, or a relationship rumor with zero official proof?” Jean Bart countered. “You’ve always pushed your luck. I don’t see why you’d stop now.” 

Law leaned a shoulder against the entrance of the pod. He bobbed his head in consideration. “Yeah,” he said, “You’re right.”

***

Any progress you might have made before being sent to Syrup was lost. Not only did your time away from the main hospital set Law’s case back, but the patients’ unavailability and Hogback’s antics caused progress to grind to a halt. There was only so much Law could do without the complete dataset, and with the conference just around the corner, it was past crunch time. No, this was cramming. 

It certainly felt that way as Bepo walked down the hall balancing two trays of coffee. 

“I’ve got two Hogbacks in 6 and 7, who are insisting on physical copies of every echo they’ve got done here,” Shachi called to no one in particular. His face barely lit up as he snatched his frilly latte from Bepo as he passed. “Can we even do that?”

“Well, they’re going to have to wait.” Penguin stood at the hall station and received the remaining three drinks in the holder, one of which contained Law’s black coffee. “Just tell them Cap’n’s reviewing their chart personally. Patients like hearing the word ‘personally.’”

Shachi zoomed past, already onto the next task. 

Chopper barely batted an eye as he came out of a room, a packet of paperwork in one hand. He closed the door softly, standing in front of it for a beat. Penguin glanced up at him from the station. 

“You alright?” he asked. 

A moment went by before Chopper nodded. 

“They brought a binder,” he whispered before disappearing back into the pod. 

By the time he arrived, Bepo had emptied the second drink tray. Chopper found his frappe on his desk, the condensation making the sticker on the side peel. Haku and some of the other floats flocked around Bepo as if he were a godsend. 

The morning was all-in, but that meant little in the wake of the hurricane of patients that just tore through Law’s wing. 

“I think if I hear the word ‘lawsuit’ one more time, I might implode,” Ikakku, who was in charge of patient services, muttered into her coffee. 

“Don’t you hear that regularly enough?” Uni muttered from a random chair he commandeered, barely able to muster the energy to speak. 

Ikakku zoned out into a random corner of the hall. “Not like today.”

Marguerite, from research, rounded the corner. She glanced around, searching the gathered crowd with a frown. “Dr. Trafalgar’s still not here?” 

“He’s in a room.” Jean Bart rounded the corner, peeling a pair of gloves off and discarding them in a nearby waste bin. “Let me just check something, and I can help get things set up.”

Marguerite tried to hide her sigh. “Echo isn’t ready either, so I wouldn’t rush,” she said. 

As if on cue, two opposite doors opened at the same time. Law rushed out of one, and you tugged your cart out of the other. You both nearly collided with each other as you turned. 

“Sorry.”

“My bad.”

You drew a breath, doing an awkward double-take as you met Law’s somewhat widened eyes. His stare sharpened a fraction, uncharacteristically thrown for a moment as he took a half step back. You remained frozen in place for a beat too long before you had half the mind to compose yourself. You pulled your cart out of the way.

“Dr. Trafalgar.”

“Technician.”

You both managed to speak at the same time, followed by another pause. Law stretched out a hand, motioning down the hall. You wasted no time in maneuvering your cart. Law followed after. 

You’d hoped all of this would have been like riding a bike. At the end of the day, scans were scans, and you’d done thousands of them in the past. Though you suspected that being back at Main—and doing the workload of Main—would have been the least of your adjustments. 

You and Law worked together nearly effortlessly when Saturn collapsed. But as you awkwardly shuffled around each other, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d just caught lightning in a bottle. 

It was easier when you worked together before. It was a lot simpler to hate Trafalgar Law, and by all means, he made it easy to. Even the odd times you were fooling around in ways that were less professional than you would have liked to admit, you at least had a blueprint as to how you should interact with him. 

Like you’d smack him at any moment. And you had in the past. 

But now, you were far from mustering up hate for the man. That much was evident by the very fact that you felt like you could hardly breathe after almost crashing into him. Before, you were certain you’d have no qualms letting your cart wheels run into him, and you’d jeer something snide at him for good measure. 

“I’ve been looking at your notes,” Law said as he followed behind you. “I’m surprised you weren’t hit by a character limit.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’ve been skimming them.”

Law’s brows bounced, and the pressed line that his lips formed creased his cheeks. “Oh, I’ve been reading them,” he mused.

You huffed, returning your attention to your cart. “You’re in a shockingly good mood.”

“I am?” Law raised a brow. 

You resisted the urge to laugh. “I can’t imagine that Hogback’s patients have been giving you an easy time. I keep kicking all the tough questions down the road to you.” 

“Ah,” Law sighed, “You’re the reason why my nine o’clock was asking for a lecture on diastolic dysfunction.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that one. “Which nine o’clock? You had five,” you jabbed, knowing fully well who you’d given the ammunition to. “Besides, I thought you’d be drooling over the opportunity to show off how smart you are.”

Law’s brows raised as he tilted his head slightly. You could see the thoughts race behind his golden irises. 

“That wasn’t a compliment,” you said quickly, stopping at the hall station.

“Sounded like a compliment to me,” Law mused victoriously. 

You handed Law the cup from the tray labeled with his name before taking your own. He took a sip, not quite savoring the flavor as much as he appeared to be debating with it. 

“Your notes are what’s been making my coffee go cold.”

“Don’t go blaming me when you’re the one who told me to hold nothing back,” you hummed, plucking up the last drink in the tray before maneuvering your cart to an out-of-the-way spot just around the corner from the pod. “How many cups has that been today? Three?”

“Regretfully more.”

You pivoted, cocking your head playfully. “Caffeine isn’t good for the heart, you know.”

Law buried a hand in the pockets of his slacks. He shook his head before taking another sip. “Do as I say and not as I do.”

“That’s good, because I never do what you say anyway.” Your eyes glimmered with something mischievous. Law’s eyes shifted a suspicious amount, but he didn’t say a retort out loud. “I’ll remember that the next time you decide to hover and adjust my gain. I can’t believe I almost forgot you did that.”

“You’re still on that?” Law frowned. “I adjusted it because it was wrong.” 

You matched his scowl, planting your hands on your hips. “Do you want me to go back to Syrup? I’d work with Kaya any day over you.” 

Law rolled his eyes. “We both know you’d take my clinic any day over the—what?—one patient you were seeing a day in Syrup?” he scoffed. 

“No one likes a backseat driver.” You turned to step toward the pod. Law continued to follow. 

“That’s called supervision,” Law said, clasping his hands behind his back. “Besides, I like the view.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, almost tripping on your own feet. He didn’t even pretend to mask his self-satisfied smirk.

The balls he’s got on him… 

“If you like the view so much, don’t touch my dials,” you huffed. “You really are a machine.”

Penguin met you both as you rounded the corner, a grave expression on his face.

“Research’s been waiting for half an hour,” he muttered lowly. 

“We’re coming,” Law said, his exterior icing over as his attention turned back to work. 

Marguerite stood from the stool she’d commandeered from the pod, gathering her items. You slid out of her way, tucking your coffee cup next to Penguin’s monitor. 

“Your patient came early,” she said, wasting no time leading you down the hall. 

You scrambled to grab your cart, orienting the wheels to follow. Marguerite walked at a pace that rivaled Law’s, her mild annoyance radiating off her like smoke.

Law frowned into the rim of his coffee. “That’s a first, considering he skipped out on our last couple of sessions.”

“It’s because I’m here,” you bragged, your collective stride creating a light breeze. “He likes my jokes.”

“I don’t think you can consider yourself a comedian if your one-liners need to be accompanied by anesthesia for anyone to find them funny,” Law muttered. 

“Do you need time to review?” Marguerite asked, stopping short in front of the closed exam room door.

“I read up on things last night,” you said. 

“I haven’t been looking at anything else,” Law muttered. 

Marguerite was already rapping lightly on the door. “Alright then, ready or not.”

“Team effort,” you breathed, glancing at Law. 

He nodded. “It’s about time.”

The door swung open, and the three of you stepped inside. 

***

By a miracle you could attribute to the power of friendship, you managed to settle into a rough routine by the end of the week. Daylight hours were dedicated to LVT damage control. The team prepped for an influx of patients, including Law’s returning population and Hogback patients who needed review. The schedule template had been carefully curated after many sleepless nights into a robust guideline that was pulled up on every computer in the pod. 

While you were working your way through what seemed like a never-ending parade of patients, Law had little opportunity to hover. Especially by the end of the week, you and Law missed each other more often than not, exchanging brief updates and notes either through the chart or on the move. He had his hands full taking the full brunt of patient questions. And god, there were a lot of them.

You considered that if the world were a bit fairer, Hogback would have had to explain himself to the influx of upset patients. Perhaps he could sit there and sweat, nervously pushing his glasses back up his nose as he told people to their faces how he’d failed them. 

But you suspected that Hogback would never face repercussions as fitting as that (if at all). And so, Law went room to room, assuming a sort of patience and bedside manner you didn’t know he had. 

“You’re wondering why I’m the one seeing you instead of your usual cardiologist,” you heard Law say through the door as you were passing by.

You heaved in a breath, eyes widening and lips pursing as you shook your head. 

You certainly didn’t envy him. 

“I’m going to be transparent about why you were contacted on such short notice,” Law said. 

You mused for a moment that maybe, despite his general attitude, Law was always meant to be a doctor. Because god, he sounded like one. His voice was nothing short of confident, almost commanding in a sense. In a conversation already charged with hesitancy and fear, he had to take control and steer it toward something productive. 

“We’re doing a formal review of a group that’s been pulled for a quality review process, and you are in that batch of studies,” Law explained. “This doesn’t mean there’s something wrong automatically, but we’re going to review what we have today, repeat imaging, and likely reformulate your treatment plan. Your team is still going to be involved in your long-term care.”

“If I’m fine, then why was I called back at all? Where’s Dr. Hogback?” you heard, quickly moving along. 

You didn’t have time to linger, even if you wanted to. 

Then, as the clock ticked toward 5 o’clock, the atmosphere in the pod changed. As Law wrapped up with his last patient, most of his team trickled out for the night. Those who had self-designated themselves to stay late shifted into a new gear. Because after hours, the clinic belonged to the administrative side of Law’s research and prep for the next day. 

The team assumed the role of auditors, digging through records and charts, aligning everything perfectly to give you and Law the best shot at the truth. All that information was compiled into a robust spreadsheet, which was the basis for the day-to-day outlines. 

The pod didn't empty so much as it thinned.

The smaller number of people there only seemed to make the mess on the stations worse. The entirety of Shachi’s backpack had staged a violent overthrow of Bepo’s workdesk, and Penguin had slotted himself through the armrests of three rolling chairs to create a makeshift lounge. Meanwhile, Chopped had decided to try energy drinks for the first time that day. 

Just as the sky was beginning to change color outside, the smell of grease and fries wafted through Law’s wing. Jean Bart—bless his sweet soul—volunteered himself for one last fuel run before he left for the day. He placed two bags in front of his station, trading them for his backpack and gallon-sized water bottle. 

The pod lights were dimmed, and the hall’s glow took on a somewhat liminal quality. Someone had brought in a space heater that wasn’t exactly compliant with hospital policy. The trash produced a mountain of coffee cups. 

The pod lights were dimmed, and the hall’s glow took on a somewhat liminal quality. Someone had brought in a space heater that wasn’t exactly compliant with hospital policy. The trash produced a mountain of coffee cups. 

“You’re a hero,” Shachi muttered. 

“All hail,” Penguin echoed. 

“I’m headed out, but I’ll be here to open in the morning,” he said, passing Penguin a container of fries. “Don’t drink too much caffeine.”

“I think it’s too late,” Chopper whispered, spinning circles in his swivel chair. 

Jean Bart snatched the Monster Energy from Chopper’s hand on his way out. 

You and Law holed up at two adjacent work desks toward the back of the pod. Law arranged his chaos neatly, shoving aside keyboards, pencil cups, and paper bins to make room for his laptop. A smattering of papers spilled over an adjacent chair and across his lap. 

Law had stripped down to his sleeves, leaving his perfect white coat hanging on a nearby hook. He’d undone the first two buttons of his button-up and loosened his tie to an extent you didn’t think was possible for Trafalgar Law to wear. You could see visible streaks where he’d run his fingers through his hair. The information on his three monitors danced across his pupils as if the charts permanently impressed themselves on his lenses. 

“The EF is listed as in the fifties, but the archive images—”

“—look like they’re in the thirties,” you finished, already copying down the chart information into the priority sheet. “I’ll pull him.”

“Thank you,” Law said quietly. 

In a way, you couldn’t help but be reminded of your college days with Shachi and Penguin. You weren’t strangers to camping out in some odd common area, study room, or library to crunch study packets as hard as the snacks. Your thoughts returned to the lighting: something about the juxtaposition of the dark evening with the overhead fluorescent bulbs, teleporting you to another dimension—one of near delirium where everything was urgent. Perhaps it wasn’t too unlike the hospital itself. 

Chopper bounced his knee in the chair next to Law, keeping a close, protective proximity. The guys had switched in and out of that spot just to make it unmistakable to anyone who might walk by that the two of you hadn’t ended up alone. 

Time melted deeper into the evening. The fast food containers morphed from full to empty. Penguin fortified his rolling chair canoe with an assortment of jackets and a medical pillow. Shachi had put on Law’s white coat. Chopper had already hit a caffeine crash and fell asleep under one of the desks, cradling a container of sani-cloths in his arms. 

Meanwhile, you and Law had exhausted all the conversation you could’ve possibly had about his research. One scan at a time, Law dropped your earlier work directly into his presentation. The slides filled one by one, though they still sported gaps that would need to be filled in the coming weeks. 

Law had already hopped onto his latest set of cue cards, though you doubted they’d last the rest of the night. He’d jot down his script on one card at a time before his original words became unreadable under the revisions that overlapped them. Once his cards became a jumbled mess, Law broke out another set. Rinse. Repeat. 

That was how things carried on for the coming weeks. Law saw his return patients as usual, with Hogback’s patients interspersed. Every so often, you’d see Law’s cor triatriatum dexter patient in the afternoon. Everything else found crumbs of time in the early morning or late evening. 

It seemed like the world shifted for Trafalgar Law, just as it always had. You supposed that hadn’t changed since he was first onboarded. Law was a magnetic force, a storm that tore through the North with sheer youth and determination alone. 

Even embroiled in a scandal that had turned your day-to-day upside down, Law only proved himself indispensable. 

“I think you’re in good shape,” you hummed, turning over one of Law’s flashcards. 

The corners of Law’s lips twitched downward. “I wouldn’t consider going a minute and twenty over to be in good shape. I was aiming for thirty seconds under.”

You shifted, tugging your swivel chair to stick your bent knee through the space under the armrest. “Well,” you started, unable to help the little smirk that curved your mouth. “You could afford to condense your conclusion, but I was talking about you.” 

Your brows bounced once. “Between the Hogback patients and your presentation, you’re going to be… golden. I mean…” You trailed off, not noticing Law’s steady gaze. “If a once-in-a-lifetime case isn’t enough, you rescued a veteran doc’s patient pool and the division head while you were at it.”

A tiny, amused huff blew from Law’s nose. “It’ll be over soon,” he said, “I know you’ve been working hard.”

“We have been working hard.” You gestured in a circular motion, your index finger stopping at Law. “And you should take it easier. Presenting to the Dr. Vegapunk with your usual eye bags isn’t going to fly.”

“It isn’t going to fly?” Law echoed, leaning back in his chair. A glimmer of energy sparked across his tired pupils. 

You shook your head, kicking your tired, scuffed sneaker shoes to match his perfect, polished leather ones. “Nope. Means you have an excuse for a spa day to get the princess treatment you deserve.”

“Tempting,” he said, reaching for a blank flashcard. He’d already written half a note by the time the word left his tongue. “Maybe after this. Once all this gets quieter.” 

You huffed a laugh. “Heh, maybe for you.”

“Things will settle down after the conference,” he said quietly. “I promise. You won’t have to deal with all this, at least not the way it’s been.”

Law spoke casually enough, his words as dry and even as they usually were. No matter what words came from his lips, Law always sounded certain, just like a doctor should. But something felt different in his usual assured tone. 

“That’s a bit melodramatic, isn't it?” you breathed. 

The silence between you lingered, only broken by the sound of clicking keys and the shifting of seats. The HVAC system kicked in overhead, chilling what was already a cold and sterile environment. The sole of Law’s shoe barely slid across the tile before the feather edge brushed against your heel. 

A moment passed—monitors illuminated in front of you, the desk littered with flashcards, and dial tones rang out behind you as Bepo clicked quiet keys. Cold air fluffed the ends of Law’s hair. You continued to nurse your water bottle. 

***

The day of the conference came like an avalanche in slow motion—hulking, shaking, and imposing, impossible to escape yet too slow to swallow you whole. You supposed that the strain of the month steeped you all in so much pressure that the day before the conference felt like any other day. 

Even with the research patient wrapped up, Law’s clinic didn’t feel any lighter. Between his return patients and the last of Hogback’s recheck population, Law seemed determined to tie up as many loose ends as possible before his presentation. 

“We’re busy anyway,” Law had muttered once. 

“You’re too comfortable putting us all to work,” you had murmured back. 

Law had to be coaxed to cut clinic off at a somewhat reasonable—well, reasonable for him—time, nixing the typical after-hours stay in favor of some rest before the big day. And to boot, he’d made a large dinner reservation for the entire team at somewhere fancy, promptly at 7:30 PM. It gave you just enough time to get the hospital smell off you. 

The pod buzzed about it all day, having already been spoiled with bagels and pastries from a nearby bakery and a promise of lunch from one of the vendors parked downstairs. Law either planned very meticulously or pulled a few strings to get you all a spot at that new restaurant uptown—both of which were possible. Jean Bart had the menu pulled up on his monitor for the better part of the morning. 

“It doesn’t even feel like you’re in the city,” Jean Bart insisted in earnest, his voice picking up enthusiasm the more he thought about the menu. His brow bounced in thought. “Everything I’ve had there is good. The short ribs are great.” 

“You’ve been?” Shachi gaped. 

A sly, suppressed grin broke out across Jean Bart’s lips. “A few times,” he said. 

“And you never told us?”

Jean Bart shrugged. “No one asked.”

Penguin peered around Jean Bart’s shoulder at the menu, snaking a hand toward the mouse. 

“I’m getting whatever’s most expensive,” he blurted with glee. “With how hard we’ve been working, the least we can do is a little financial harm, right, Cap’n?”

Everyone’s eyes instinctively glanced toward Law. He didn’t speak a word, shaking his head to himself as he pored over a chart.

A round of laughs erupted from the pod. 

The rest of the day seemed to float on that laughter, no matter how jam-packed Law kept things. You pressed on, annotating the images for Law’s population while Franky handled the rest of the floor. 

For once, you had consistent help at the main hospital. Even though it was only one person, Franky’s presence made all the difference. 

Meanwhile, you hadn’t heard a thing from Lucci or whatever administrative council had taken over the investigation. No emails. No requests for meetings. Silence. The matter had loomed in the back of your mind despite your busy schedule. You desperately wanted to consider that no news was good news, but the quiet felt ominous.

The other shoe hadn’t dropped. You couldn’t help but consider that maybe the roof would finally crash down after all the suits left. North Blue University Medical Center was a prestigious institution; you wouldn’t have been surprised if the administration tried to sweep the ugly parts under the rug before so many esteemed eyes arrived.

But for once, it wasn’t time to worry about the institution. 

It was time to eat. 

You pulled in next to Shachi’s beat-up Saturn, which juxtaposed sharply in comparison to Law’s sleek, black Lexus, which was parked in the neighboring spot. To your surprise, most of the team was already there, having all gathered in a small group at the side of the building. 

By some miracle, everyone had cleaned up beautifully. Jean Bart looked properly sharp in a way that somehow made him seem larger, while Penguin and Shachi had dug their only collared shirts out of the back of their closets to look decently presentable. Chopper combed his hair into a neat side part, and Bepo had shown up in what looked alarmingly like a prom tux. 

Even Marguerite was invited. She barely made an appearance in the pod outside of Law’s research sessions, but you considered that even she wanted a chance to try this restaurant. She was dressed in an elegant yet understated dress, looking like she belonged there far more than the rest of the group combined. 

And in the middle of the group was Law. He looked as perfect and put together as usual, sporting a pastel yellow dress shirt and a neatly pressed pair of slacks that stopped just above smart brown loafers.

You blinked a few times as you crossed the lot. Law’s gaze found yours as if drawn by a magnet. His eyes didn’t widen, nor did he smile, but his stare glinted, softening by an undetectable amount as you joined the group. Everyone spoke amongst themselves, seeming relieved to see each other outside of the hospital. 

“I’m here after these two?” You gestured toward Shachi and Penguin. 

Shachi rested his forearm on your shoulder. “Heh, heh! You showed up last!” 

“Proves you’re not as excited about free food as the rest of us.” Penguin shook his head. “So Shachi and I decided we’re not sharing apps with you.”

“No apps,” Shachi echoed. 

You glanced over his shirt with a frown.

“You are covered in cat fur,” you said, your eyes darting toward Penguin. “And your shirt looks like it’s been crumpled into a ball for the past five years.” 

Shachi looked down at himself as you dug through your bag, grabbing the hem to stretch his shirt. “It’s called tactile art.”

“You are not going to be seen with me at a restaurant this nice looking like you got into a fight with a furry,” you muttered. You produced a lint roller, peeling the used layer away to reveal the new, sticky paper underneath. You rolled it over Shachi’s shirt furiously, stuffing the discarded layer into the front pocket of his pants. 

“What’s a furry?” Chopper whispered in the background. Bepo clamped a knowing hand on Chopper’s shoulder. 

“Would mine be better if I just poured some water on it?” Penguin asked.

“I will kill you if you pour water on yourself,” you muttered, your blood pressure rising slightly. 

“Hey—enough with the lint rolling! This is a good shirt!” Shachi squeaked. 

Law cleared his throat. 

For a moment, a visceral instinct to pull away clapped through you—some ugly self-consciousness from weeks of being watched too closely. But the warm air around you brought you back to the present as softly as a breeze. 

This was Shachi and Penguin, the team—your people. Law. If anyone were going to read your gestures honestly, it would be the friends gathered here. 

“Now that everyone’s here—” Law started.

“I can get a break from being assaulted on the sidewalk?” Shachi interjected. 

“It’s corrective action,” you corrected, finally dropping your lint roller back into your bag. 

Law paused just long enough to sigh, his attention flicking briefly across the group before settling on you. “Now that everyone’s here,” Law repeated. “We should head in before they decide we’re underdressed.”

The host was already waiting by the door and greeted Law by name as soon as you walked in. You shuffled in a quiet procession to your table, not doing a great job of not gaping as you went. 

Light poured over dark, polished wood floors and over deep green walls. Candles sat on each table, and the seats boasted plush padding. Elegant paintings and trim dressed the dining room in soft neutral colors. 

“They’ve got a chandelier,” Chopper hissed just a notch too loud to be a whisper. 

Jean Bart’s gaze had already found the open kitchen, while Penguin was so captivated by the glimmering bar that he nearly caused a pile-up. 

By the time you reached your table, the chaos had already begun. Shachi and Penguin rushed to different seats, and then the bickering started. The shifting of chairs and not-so-discreet whispers cut through the neutral hum of conversation in the dining room. 

You didn’t have a seating preference and would have taken the first available seat if Law hadn’t quietly pulled a chair out beside his before anyone could claim it. Your breath hitched, and your skin burned in a way you couldn’t help but feel sheepish about.

Law held the chair for you as you sat, sliding it underneath you before he sat in his own seat. Across the table, Penguin’s eyes flickered between the two of you before Shachi elbowed him hard enough to make him wince. 

You met Penguin’s gaze silently, offering him a gentle smile. 

He held your stare for a moment, something gentle passing across his face before he turned his attention back to the menu. His chin dipped slightly, as if he were surrendering a single nod to a truth he’d already made peace with a long time ago. Penguin was delayed in matching your smile, his lips morphing into something resembling fond, brotherly resignation.

“I didn’t say anything,” he breathed. 

“Good,” you muttered. 

Water glasses appeared alongside two baskets of bread, an early tribute from the restaurant that seemed to understand exactly what sort of group this was. 

“Okay,” Penguin exclaimed, the tone having shifted, “What’s the cheapest thing here?”

Jean Bart eyed him from the opposite end of the table. “I thought you wanted the most expensive,” he stated, almost accusingly. 

“That’s before I saw numbers with two digits after them.” Penguin sucked in a breath, his lips pursing before he exhaled through his nose. 

“Wait,” Bepo interjected. “What happened to solidarity in maximum financial harm? I feel guilty now.”

“Can we get some appetizers for the table?” Marguerite hummed. 

Jean Bart nodded furiously next to her. 

“We’d better,” Shachi huffed, glancing around at the group. “I hope everyone understands that it’s every man for himself.” 

He paused, pondering for a moment before he glanced toward you and Marguerite, respectively.  “Ladies.”

“Are the short ribs worth it?” Bepo wondered aloud. 

Jean Bart studied his menu with the same focus he gave to charts. “It’s worth it,” he affirmed gravely. 

“Is that what you’re getting?” Marguerite asked him. 

Jean Bart nodded. 

“If I get the chicken marsala, would you be willing to split?” 

Jean Bart nodded again. 

“They have charcuterie,” Chopper gasped.

“Get whatever you want,” Law said, not even glancing up from the menu. 

The table stilled for a moment. Shachi and Penguin exchanged glances. 

“Within reason,” Law corrected.

He glanced toward your menu as the group discussed amongst themselves, then to your face. 

“What are you getting?” he asked quietly, just under the noise. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted, still in awe of the selection between your hands, “Everything sounds amazing.”

“The salmon’s good.” 

You shifted slightly to look at him.

“You’ve been here before?” you asked, the question coming out more pointed than you intended.

“Once,” he answered with a shrug.

“For work,” you filled in, still tracking him as he reached for his water glass. 

He bobbed his head back and forth in a noncommittal answer.

“So yes.” You grinned, turning back toward the menu. 

Law’s shoe gently bumped against yours under the table. 

“Better than the Baratie,” he muttered under his breath. 

You lowered your menu to blink at him. “Was that a joke?” 

The corners of Law’s lips barely perked up. “Nope.”

When the waiter came around, you found yourself ordering the salmon before you could overthink it. The amount of appetizers the table requested could have fed all of you twice over, and yet everyone insisted they’d have room. Shachi and Penguin engaged in a culinary custody battle, and Bepo apologized to the waiter several times for no particular reason. 

Conversation carried easily, just like it always had. Being out of the hospital setting only lightened the atmosphere and made the jokes raunchier than they already were. Then, the drinks arrived. 

“Speech!” Penguin exclaimed, lifting his class. 

You lifted yours with the rest of the team, glancing next to you at Law, who you presumed was trying to melt into the chair. 

“No.”

“Cap’n… There are cloth napkins here,” Shachi argued. “Not making a speech is, like, sacrilegious.” 

Law glanced toward Jean Bart to be a voice of reason, but even he was holding up his wine glass. Jean Bart offered Law a knowing nod. “Just get it over with, Dr. T.”

You were the last one Law looked for solace. You continued to hold your glass up, offering him an apologetic smile and a partial shrug. “I dunno, I think you’re cornered.”

Bepo leaned slightly forward to look at Law from the other end of the table. “You can’t buy us dinner like this and not make a speech,” he said in a tone so earnest that it sounded like soft pleading. 

That seemed to do the trick. 

Law’s lips parted, then closed. He leaned back in his chair, grappling with the same apprehension you imagined he’d feel if he ever had to admit he was wrong. He breathed in, then out.

“You all worked hard,” he said, his words more forceful than necessary. 

He looked around the table, flitting from face to face as if trying to freeze time. His shoulders deflated a fraction as he reached for his glass. Law held it up half-heartedly. 

“Thank you for staying late—for coming in early and helping. You…” Law trailed off for a moment as if another thought eclipsed his head. “You’ve all done more than most people would and better.”

Law raised his glass another inch.

“Whatever happens after tomorrow,” Law breathed, “the work you’ve done mattered. The patients mattered, and you all have done right by them.”

The words settled over the table more gravely than intended. Law glanced back down toward the table. “That’s it. I’m not repeating myself.”

“Cheers,” you chirped, and everyone clinked their glasses together. 

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said, Cap’n!” 

“You really do care.”

“I think I’m tearing up.”

“You can’t cry now, Bepo, I see our appetizers!”

You watched as Law brought his glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before he noticed your stare. His eyes flickered once, then twice. Not even a second was wasted by his gaze, immediately locking onto yours for analysis.

“What?” he asked. 

You hadn’t stopped smiling since you arrived. You leaned back in your chair, pressing your knee against Law’s as you watched the conversation go on without you. You could feel the warmth of him, even like this. 

“I was just thinking,” you mused, half-paying attention as the appetizers hit the table. “This is nice.”

Law’s eyes drifted around the table another time, taking in the same as you—the laughter, the empty bread baskets, and the glimmering expressions. Quiet. 

“What?” you asked. 

Law shook his head before taking a sip of his drink.

“Nothing.”

***

Everyone had insisted that they would have enough room for entrées and desserts to varying degrees of success, but what they all had in common were the takeout boxes. Stacks of carefully wrapped takeout boxes sat across the table, with more piled like a mark of shame in front of those who’d overestimated their appetites. 

Bepo sat straight, as if he thought he would pop out of his tux at any given moment. Chopper had stopped pretending to be sophisticated by the time he had been halfway through his entrée, his eyelids drooping as if he was going to fall asleep at any moment. Marguerite and Jean Bart continued to nurse juxtaposing drinks, and for the first time that night, Penguin and Shachi had quieted somewhat. 

Then, the waiter returned with the bill. Shachi craned his head to glance at the total as it passed by. 

“Holy shit,” he muttered, turning to Law, who received the bill without fuss. “You can’t pay that by yourself.”

Penguin’s brows bobbed. “Well, he can.”

“How much is it?” you asked, leaning over to look at the total, but quickly tapped his card on the machine with one hand and crumpled the paper copy in his other hand. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said quickly, clicking through the receipt options with practiced efficiency. 

“I brought cash,” Bepo croaked from the next to you as he rifled through his beat-up Yu-Gi-Oh wallet. 

“Put it away,” Law muttered. 

He offered the waiter a curt nod as he retreated, and with the bill taken care of, everyone began to stand slowly. Chairs scraped softly against the floor as the table was cleared of boxes and personal items. 

You rose with everyone else, readjusting your clothes where they’d bunched up from sitting. Your body felt pleasantly heavy from the good meal, dragging against your muscles with the same sort of fatigue that usually came after being full. You could tell that you would get great sleep that night. 

The energy stayed much the same as the group cleared out of the dining room, although fullness served to make things quieter. 

The air outside was cooler than you expected, a stark contrast to the warm air from the restaurant. Goosepimples rose on your skin under the pale moonlight. 

The group split from there as if everyone was subtracting the hours until morning, walking one by one to their cars until only you and Law remained. You stood at the curb, staring off at nothing particular in the distance. The sky wasn’t even noteworthy that night, littered with partial clouds and hosting a moon phase no one cared about. 

“Nervous about your presentation?” you finally asked, turning to face Law. 

He stared ahead, pensive and quiet, until he finally nodded. One blink, and his gaze met yours, and you wished in that moment that you could muster the calm Law had before one of the biggest moments of his career. You weren’t even presenting, and your heart pounded on his behalf. 

“Maybe a bit,” he admitted, though hesitantly, “But I don’t think so.”

You shook your head, unconvinced. “You’ve been… off tonight.”

“Is it so strange to see me in a more relaxed state?” Law raised a brow.

A loud, ugly laugh tore from your throat. “You were not relaxed!” You grinned. 

You took two lazy steps forward, drifting in the vague direction of your car as Law trailed behind. He dug his hands in the pockets of his sports coat. 

“That’s why I said more relaxed.” 

“I don’t think you know what that word means.”

“I do,” Law assured. “I took a full meal without responding to a single email.”

You rolled your eyes. “The bar is in hell.”

The lot was quieter than the street, lit by delicate overlight lamps. Even the outside of the restaurant felt elevated, like you were already paying the moment you entered the property.

You stopped at your respective cars. The spot in between where Shachi’s Saturn had been was still empty, leaving a long, dark space between you. Both of you stalled for a moment, not so much as touching your keys, even to pretend you were going through the motions of leaving. 

You parted your lips to speak, the air in your lungs catching in your throat. 

“You know what they didn’t have?” you mused, gesturing vaguely back toward the restaurant with your head. 

Law waited.

“Fries.”

“You’re kidding,” he deadpanned. 

You leaned back against your car door, your expression playfully mischievous. You crossed your arms over your chest. Your keys dangled from your curled fingers. 

“I mean, it was very fancy,” you mused, nodding a few times in consideration. 

Law’s eyes narrowed a fraction. 

“You still haven't confirmed that it was better than the Baratie.” He frowned. 

Your brows raised as you spared a blink. “You were serious about that?”

“I told you I wasn’t joking.”

“And I wasn’t joking about fries.” You nodded decisively. Your headlights flashed as you pressed your key. “Franky Family’s just a block over.”

Law’s feet remained firmly planted where he stood, his hands still in his pockets and his posture as improper as usual. Law stared, only blinking once as you tugged your car door open. 

“You’re trying to get me to a secondary location.” 

“I’m not trying to get you to do anything,” you defended from the driver’s seat. Your leg still dangled out the open door. “I’mjust expressing my desire for fries.”

Law blinked again. “You were just complaining about how full you were.”

“Dessert goes to a different stomach,” you hummed, your key already in the ignition. Your headlight illuminated the neatly manicured shrub in front of you. 

“That is not true, and fries are not dessert.” Law continued to frown.

You held up a finger. “If you eat them after dinner, they are,” you said matter-of-factly.

Law waited a moment longer, as if you’d thrown new numbers into the equation involving the current time and morning. You watched as he breathed out, shaking his head one more time.

“You’ve been hanging around the pod too much.” He walked around to the driver’s side of his shiny car. “I’ll follow you.”

A few short minutes and one drive-thru stop later, you’d obtained one large, greasy bag of French fries. You and Law parked on the far side of the empty lot at just the right angle, so the gargantuan neon twenty-four-hour sign wouldn’t glare into your tired eyes. Then you popped the trunk, and the two of you sat there watching the road.

Neither of you spoke. Cars zipped along the road, preceded only by headlights and the scraping of rubber. Muffled rock music hissed from the fast-food restaurant, and every so often, the neon sign would flicker to proclaim that they served the best “burrs.”

You ripped off the top of the bag to make a little makeshift bowl. You tossed the discarded paper aside into the void that was your folded-down back seat. You hummed in approval as your first fry touched your tongue. After dessert, you needed something a bit salty, and maybe, after your salt fix, you were obligated to find something sweet again. 

Law spared a glance toward your fries. 

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned mid-chew. 

Law huffed. “Well, now I know for sure where Shachi and Penguin get it from.”

“Get what from?” you grumbled, fries still in your mouth. 

Law slid his hand swiftly into the bag, plucking a few up and into his mouth before you could even protest. He leaned toward, one hand on his hip and the other draped across his bent knee. 

“The attitude,” he chewed. “About food more specifically.”

You pressed a palm to his forehead, pushing his head away. You cradled the bag in the crook of your elbow like a football. 

“You’re talking to me about attitude?” you cried, letting out a gasp of disbelief. “You’re the one who gave me such a hard time about coming here!”

“I just didn’t know you needed a second dinner after I took you to the nicest restaurant in the city,” he mused without much seriousness in his tone. 

“My need for fries to sustain me has nothing to do with that really nice dinner you so generously bought all of us,” you stressed, balancing the sincerity with playful sarcasm. You hesitated a beat as you plucked up some fries before pushing them toward Law. “See? Look what you’ve done. You’ve made these pity fries.”

“I would like to go back with you sometime.”

You couldn’t have been making an elegant face, at least not one that matched Law’s level of earnestness. Not with your mouth full. 

Meanwhile, Law leaned back against the side of your trunk, not quite as enclosed as you were. Perhaps it was the angle he sat at, or maybe your trunk just couldn’t accommodate the sheer leg Law had on him, but even slightly scrunched up and hanging half out of your car, Law looked… perfect. 

Perfect as usual, even with his slightly disheveled hair and loosened tie. Awake with you in a parking lot at a later hour than either of you anticipated staying up.

“You know…” You averted your gaze, your arms wrapping around yourself in an unconscious hug. “Do you ever think about just… coming out with it? Making it official? Dealing with the consequences.”

Your eyes flickered to his. Law stared toward you, his eyes unchanging. Listening. 

You turned your attention back toward the road. “I mean, if that’s something you’re interested in,” you muttered quickly. 

He didn’t answer right away, letting a few too many seconds stall his answer.

“I am, I just… Let’s get through tomorrow and see how you feel about being with me,” he said carefully. “As long as you’re not mad at me.”

An electric pang shot through your chest as you instinctually snapped back toward him, a defensive glint in your pupils. 

“Why would I be mad at you?” Your eyes narrowed. 

Law shrugged, slowly reaching for a fry. “If I bomb tomorrow, you might not think I’m smart anymore.”

You let out a disbelieving huff through your nose. “That is the stupidest thing you’ve said all week.” 

The corner of Law’s mouth dipped in consideration. “All week? That’s not bad coming from you.”

“You’re not going to bomb,” you stressed, leaning forward to place your hand on his knee. “I’ve listened to your presentation too many times for you to bomb, and since it’s all my imaging work in there, if you bomb, I bomb, and that’s just not acceptable.”

Law’s eyes trailed from your hand and up your arm before settling on your face. The taught muscle around his forehead relaxed, melting into a tired softness. 

“If this is your way of letting me down easy—” Your eyes fluttered shut. —“It’s terrible.”

You felt his hand slowly morph over yours. His skin was warm. 

“That isn’t what I’m doing.”

“Then what are you doing?”

Your gaze flickered to Law’s soft stare. He squeezed your hand. 

“I want this,” he said. “I would love nothing more than to not have to sneak around with you or have to pretend you aren’t… what you are to me.” 

You swallowed, your trunk feeling smaller than you remembered. 

“What am I to you?” you asked, barely above a whisper. 

You moved to draw your hand away, but Law held you steadily in his gentle grasp. 

“You’re someone I want to be with,” he said quietly. “I mean it. I want this. I want you, and if it were up to me, we would have stopped hiding it a long time ago.”

His words robbed your lungs of their air. You stalled, a small line appearing between your eyebrows. 

“Then… why are you making it sound like something bad is about to happen?” Your voice sounded smaller than you intended, thinner. “Law, I—”

“Listen to me.” Law closed the distance between you, taking your hand in his and pressing his forehead to yours. “Nothing bad is about to happen. I’m not hesitating because I don’t want this. I do. I want a real chance with you—but not if it comes at your expense. Not with everything else going on, not if it just pulls you back down. That’s not happening. I won’t be the reason.”

You pressed your forehead farther into his, letting his tousled hair brush against your heated skin. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked,” you breathed, the skin around your eyes tightening. “I know you’re already on edge with the deadline and Dr. Vegapunk and—”

“Hey,” Law whispered. The grip on your hand tightened just enough to anchor you. “This isn’t that. I’m not trying to talk about all that.” His thumb brushed your knuckles. “I just need tomorrow to happen first.”

Your lips formed a thin line. “Because of the presentation.”

Law paused. 

“Among other things,” he said. “And after tomorrow, once this is all over, make a decision without all the weight on your shoulders. We’ll talk as soon as it’s over. I promise.”

You pulled back just far enough to meet his golden irises. 

“That was disgustingly romantic for a French fry excursion,” you huffed softly. “Maybe we should have gone to the restaurant by ourselves after all. I feel like the setting would’ve been more appropriate.” 

Law’s brows bounced once. 

“I’ve been choosing to ignore the setting.” He lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, so brief it made your heart wrench. “Just try not to decide I’m insufferable after the Q&A.” 

You grinned, huffing out a laugh as you leaned toward him again. “Too late.”

You felt him smile back against your lips. “Good,” he said. 

He kissed you softly, as if you might shatter at any moment. But there was certainty in every fiber of him against you. And when you broke for air, he breathed, “It’s late. You should probably get some sleep.”

You hummed in half-hearted agreement, not wanting the night to end just yet. 

***

The morning felt heavy, weighted with nerves, anticipation, and a sobering gravity. Not wearing your scrubs, for once, felt wrong, like getting up for work on a weekend. Most people tried to take research days like these off, given their supervisors were feeling particularly benevolent. 

At least at the outpatient facilities, doctors saw fewer patients. If you were to guess, at most, there were twenty patients seen across Main and the various satellites, and you doubted none of them were complex cases. 

But the low patient load didn’t stop the North from cramming bureaucratic pomp into the day. Between trainings, resident recognition awards, and, of course, the annual conference, the campus seemed to buzz more than usual. 

The parking garages—which weren’t all that reliable to begin with—were full. Delivery trucks idled at the curbs, their hazards flashing like warning colors. Important people in suits moved in sleek little herds, shepherded from building to building by guides who might as well have been safari escorts. The population of baby docs—true, timid, fledgling creatures that they were—had more than doubled, with baby-faced fellows huddling together like penguins in bad weather. In the conference area, familiar faces prowled among banners and balloon towers that rose too high, like jungle cover swallowing the rafters.

You immediately searched for Law the moment you stepped into the hall. Hancock stood near the entrance, her staff having already commandeered two cocktail tables as territory while they turned their backs toward everyone else. Doctors, nurses, and all colors of technical staff gathered around the charcuterie oasis at the far wall. The bar, despite being dry, still accumulated a swarm. Perhaps when you permanently smell of ethanol, even the cranberry juice might give you a buzz. 

Hogback, somehow, had planted himself in the middle of it all, nursing a soda near the hospital brass. His laugh carried too loudly across the floor for a man under review.

Just as you considered you’d trekked across the entire hall and back, you spotted him. He sat next to Saturn in a more stagnant cranny of the hall, talking shop with serious nods and curt hand gestures to boot. You breathed a sigh, not knowing what you were expecting as you turned back on your heel. 

Maybe Law wasn’t nervous after all. Any comfort you could have offered before his presentation was probably eclipsed by Saturn’s attention alone. Given what you’d heard about Shaka, you wouldn’t have been surprised if Law’s place in the conference was more of a formality than it was an audition. 

You retreated toward the food table in search of different familiar faces, and to a lack of shock, you found Shachi and Penguin. They had already filled two plates each with everything that wasn’t a vegetable. Marguerite and Jean Bart chatted a distance away at a cocktail table near Hancock’s team. 

“I am astonished the two of you are here,” you announced in playful disbelief. 

The two turn toward you in unison, smiles spreading across their faces. 

“Wha’da’ya mean?” Shachi chirped in the worst impression of a Boston accent you’d ever heard. 

“It’s a big day!” Penguin exclaimed, though his botched accent leaned more Australian. 

You squeezed between the two to scrutinize their plates. Your eyes flattened. “This is all salami.”

“And stuffed bread!” Shachi defended. 

“The stuffed bread is so good!”

“Please, I beg of you, please eat something green,” you sighed. “Like, three pieces of broccoli.”

“I mean—” Penguin pushed a potato chip into a mound of dip. —“Artichoke dip is kinda green.”

“Why would I eat broccoli raw?” Shachi huffed. 

By that point, the three of you were officially blocking the line, and so you dragged each boy by the sleeve toward the area you figured was reserved for Team Trafalgar. 

“I’m pretty sure people usually dip the broccoli in vegetable dip,” you sighed. 

“At that point, isn’t that just artichoke dip?”

At the cocktail table, Marguerite and Jean Bart engaged in a less childish conversation, although you didn’t consider the recall of alcohol pads to be particularly riveting. 

“Hey!” Marguerite chirped as soon as she spotted you. “Have you seen Law’s patient yet?”

Your forehead scrunched, considering momentarily that some research-fueled delusion had consumed Marguerite.

“What?”

“Mr. John said he wanted to watch the presentation,” she said. 

Your brows bobbed in consideration. “I guess that makes sense,” you hummed, reaching for Shachi’s sparkling grape juice. “Insurance approved transport for that?”

Marguerite shook her head. “He said his grandson is bringing him.”

“That guy does not look like he has a grandson,” Penguin mused. “Doesn’t act like it either.”

“Is he already here?” you asked. 

Marguerite shook her head again. “Not that I saw. I was hoping you might’ve spotted him on your way in.”

“Well, I’ll tell you if I see him.” Your gaze flickered across the crowd. “But knowing him, he might show up late.” 

Shachi shrugged. “Cap’n going last anyway, so he’d got buffer time.”

“Imagine sitting in a room with over a hundred-something people to hear someone talk about your fucked up heart,” Penguin mused. 

“Fucking Christ. If I’d known there would be this many people here to look at my fucked up heart, I would’ve charged goddamn admission money!” a gruff voice cut through the low, professional roar of the room. “I’ve seen airport terminals less crowded than this place.”

The five of you turned in near-perfect unison.

Mr. John barrelled through the crowd in a wheelchair two times too big for his stature. A pole stretched out from the back, bearing a little flag. Just behind him, mostly obscured by a dark hood and baseball cap, his grandson looked as if he were praying for spontaneous combustion.

“Quit trying to run people over, old man,” he muttered, steering around a cluster of attendees. 

“Then get me to the bar faster.”

“It looks like they just have pop, you goddamn alcoholic.”

Something about that voice snagged deep in your memory. You knew that rough drawl, even if it sat a register lower than you remembered.

You glanced up just as Mr. John’s wheelchair stopped short in the middle of the crowd. The chair jolted. Mr. John lurched forward with a curse, frail fingers clamping around the armrests before he could pitch himself into the stream of passing attendees.

“The hell you think you’re doin’, Kid?”

He froze when he met your eye.

The years hit all at once, and yet not at all. The black hoodie did nothing to hide the breadth of him, nor the harder edges time had carved into his face. Beneath the brim of his cap, his pale blue eyes caught on yours from the dark.

Kid.

Mr. John’s gaze locked onto you. He let out a laugh. “There she is! There’s the imaging woman with the sense of humor!”

Marguerite brightened instantly. “You made it!” She beamed. “We were just talking about you.”

“Well, you know what they say about the devil,” Mr. John gruffed, jabbing a thumb back toward Kid. “This one certainly thinks I am. You’d think I was askin’ him tuh—tuh jump off a cliff with me instead of haulin’ me down here.”

Meanwhile, Kid hadn’t taken his eyes off you for a second. His hands remained wrapped around the handles of Mr. John’s chair. The blue badge he’d been handed at the front, labeled “guest,” was the loudest thing about him. 

Your eyes flickered to the ground and back. “Hi, Kid,” you said softly. 

Kid drew in a breath, his mouth forming a thin line. “Hey.”

The silence that followed was not the curious kind, nor the kind the rumble of the room could swallow. Mr. John glanced from face to face, his mouth turning down as it became increasingly clear he was missing something.

Kid’s stare finally shifted, finally taking stock of the rest of the table. His shoulders went taut. 

“Shachi. Penguin,” he gruffed, offering them a nod each. 

Shachi and Penguin exchanged glances.

“Eustass,” Shachi mumbled at last. “Been a while.”

Penguin’s mouth formed a tight line. “I thought they banned you from campus.”

Kid drew in another breath, his eyes closing for a second as if he was bracing for impact. “I knew this was gonna happen,” he muttered. 

Jean Bart quietly excused himself. 

“This some kinda reunion or somethin’?” Mr. John barked, his forehead knitted. “Ya’ll gonna just stand around and stare at each other all day or what?”

“The four of you know each other?” Marguerite asked innocently. 

The four of you traded looks, as if mentally negotiating an answer. 

“Kid used to work here,” you said quickly, “A long time ago, when I first started.”

“I just used to work here, huh?” Kid repeated flatly. 

Mr. John twisted around in his chair. “For Christ’s sake, are we doin’ this now? I came here for a heart lecture, not whatever weird shit you’ve all got goin’ on. And I’m not about to let’cha make a fool of me in front of my funny imaging lady.”

“I can help you get settled.” Marguerite set her drink down on the cocktail table. “They reserved you a spot near the front.”

“Good,” he grumbled. “Finally, someone in this room’s got some sense.”

Marguerite moved to usher them through the crowd, but Kid didn’t follow right away. 

His eyes flickered back to yours again. “We’ll talk later,” he said flatly, and then he left. 

Silence wavered in the air when he left. 

Penguin played with his artichoke dip. “Well,” he started, “That’s one way to kick off the conference.”

Shachi glanced at you. “Did you—”

“No,” you breathed from behind pursed lips. You shook your head, eyes slightly widened. “I did not.”

“Are you okay?” Penguin asked. “Do you want us to stick with you?” 

You heaved a sigh. Then you shook your head. 

“No,” you said at last, though it came out quieter than you meant it to. “No, I—” You swallowed. “If I don’t do this now, it’s never getting done.”

Neither of them argued.

Your gaze flicked toward the front of the room, toward the dark hood disappearing between shoulders and conference badges. Something old and unfinished pulled tight in your chest.

“I’ll be back,” you said, already stepping away.

“Go,” Penguin said. 

Shachi nodded. “We’ll be here.”

You slipped through the crowd toward the entrance to the main lecture hall. Marguerite already had Mr. John settled in front as you appeared in the doorway. Kid’s gaze flickered up, catching yours by instinct alone. 

His attention flickered from where Mr. John and Marguerite were talking, then back to you. Kid gestured curtly out into the hall to his left with his head before slipping out through the doorway. You weaved around to the side corridor. 

Kid leaned against the wall just a few feet down from the lecture hall. He had already coiled his arms over his chest. One of his heels rested against the wall behind him. He still did that thing where he bounced his knee. 

“I was wondering how long it’d take for you to come after me. I didn’t think it’d be so quick.” He glanced at you once as you approached. “I was hoping I wouldn’t see you.”

Your steps slowed until you came to a stop a few feet away. Familiar words crept onto your tongue: “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

Kid scoffed out a laugh. “Yeah.” His brows bounced. “Just peachy.”

The corridor was quieter than the conference floor. Muffled voices muttered in the background through the walls. Barely audible laughter echoed from somewhere deeper in the building. 

“I didn’t know John was your grandfather,” you said.

“Didn’t know you were still here,” he shot back. 

You looked at him, unblinking. “I work here.”

“Yeah.” Kid shook his head. “I noticed that.” He ran a hand over his face. “God, I had a feeling. I had a feeling it was you every time Pops talked about ya.” 

Your lips formed a sad line. “He could never remember my name.”

A resigned puff blew from Kid’s nose. “Yeah, that’s what happens when you start your day with a bottle of Jack.”

Silence weaved between you. Its presence was thin, not sparing either of you from the thickening atmosphere. 

“Who’s running things in imaging nowadays?” Kid muttered. 

You breathed in as you glanced away, and with more confidence than you’d had since you arrived, you answered, “I am.”

Kid paused. His brow barely twitched. 

“What happened to Wapol?” 

“Retired.” You stood still. “A while ago.”

Kid nodded once, his attention to the floor. He brought a hand up to his lip. His thumb traced the corner in thought. 

“And they put you in charge.” His tone held an indecipherable neutrality, like a statement of fact. 

You bobbed your head. “Something like that.”

For a moment, Kid didn’t say a thing. 

“What?” you asked. 

Kid hummed, shifting to stand slightly straighter against the wall. His hand retreated from his mouth back to the crook of his elbow. 

“Nothing.” He tipped his head back against the wall. “Just...” His mouth tightened just before a troubled grin appeared across his lips. He shook his head. “Shit, maybe you were stubbornly right after all.”

You blinked. “What?”

Kid waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m not sayin’ that shit again,” he scoffed, but paused in consideration. “But you actually did it.”

You cocked your head. “Did what?”

Kid pushed off the wall then, turning fully toward you. He was just as tall and broad as ever, all hard edges. And when he said, “You said this was the only place for you. You let me walk away over a place you’d worked at for barely a month,” you expected nothing but bitterness. 

You would’ve understood if he was still thinking about your last conversation. He had his reasons back then, and so did you. But even if he was still angry, he was here now. You didn’t want to kick yourself later. 

Not again. 

But as his eyes held yours, they only softened. “You stayed. And now you’re where you always wanted to be.” A humorless twitch pulled at his mouth. “Still think it was a stupid move. But you did it.”

You looked away. “You weren’t wrong.”

Kid scoffed. “Yeah, I figured that much the second I saw that dickbag was still here.” He jerked his chin toward the main hall. “They’re still letting him practice?”

You heaved out a loaded breath. “Don’t get me started.”

Kid watched you for a second too long, his smirk easily morphing back into a scowl. “That bad, huh?” You watched as his eyes narrowed like compound lenses. 

A breathy laugh tore from your throat, the air loaded. “It’s a whole thing.”

“He came after you again,” he assumed bluntly, though correctly. 

You surrendered a nod. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Knew it,” he grumbled, bobbing his head a few times. “Always did.”

“I know,” you said softly. “You weren’t wrong about him. You never were. It’s like you said, running into the wall a few times—”

“I said a lot of things I didn’t mean,” Kid interrupted, holding up a hand. He leaned his shoulder against the wall before he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was so goddamn mad at you. I said a lot of shit.” He breathed out steadily. “It’s one of the reasons I didn’t wanna see you today.”

A small, sad smile crept onto your lips. “I know that too,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I don’t think—”

“I couldn’t understand why the hell you’d stay in a place that treated you like that,” Kid cut in. He fidgeted with his hands like he was yearning for a cigarette. “Think that’s part of why I got so pissed and said all the bullshit I did.”

An otherworldly silence spread through the corridor. Being there with him felt like a dream. 

“But even back then,” Kid finally said. He breathed in the same way someone might’ve in a confessional. “I think I knew you saw something bigger in it than the rest of us did. I knew you wouldn’t be happy at the shop.”

He didn’t shy away from his concession, and in true Kid fashion, he didn’t make a flourish of it either. Kid’s stream of consciousness always flowed through his mouth, never restrained. That much had stayed the same.

“You said some true things, too,” you offered. 

A crooked smile tugged at his mouth. “Yeah. That’s usually the part that gets me in trouble, Trouble.”

The old nickname drew a breathy laugh from you. “I’ve missed seeing you around, even if you were impossible,” you mused. “I had to learn to fix my own equipment, you know.”

“Oh shit. That’s fuckin’ tragic,” he breathed, the corners of his lips still upturned. “So why did you come find me?”

“I always did, didn’t I?” you asked, the memories you shared together flitting through your head. “The day we stopped talking… it felt like a loss, didn’t it?”

“To me it was.”

Kid’s expression didn’t change. Narrowed. Honest. Maybe too honest.

“Right,” you breathed almost sheepishly. “It’s bothered me, you know. Knowing you left because of me, and I stayed and had to live with the empty space after.” Your attention returned to Kid. “Not to make it about me.”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about bein’ polite with me, Trouble. I’d be offended.”

Kid’s eyes shifted from you to just over your shoulder. His smile morphed from fond to mischievous. “Hey, buddy,” he barked. “You need something?”

You turned.

Law stood at the mouth of the corridor, his materials tucked at his side and his other hand deep in the pocket of his coat. He stared only at you, not sparing even a glance toward Kid. 

“I was looking for you,” he said as he crossed the hall. “They’re about to start.”

“Right,” you laughed nervously. 

Law stopped just behind your shoulder. His eyes flattened, just like they did when a technician messed up his protocol. 

Meanwhile, Kid’s smile only grew wider. 

You took a half step toward the lecture hall. “Should we go?”

“So, you gotta name?” Kid prompted.

For the first time since he arrived, Law spared one glance toward Kid. “Dr. Trafalgar.”

Kid let out a low hum, as if Law’s presence was answer enough to a few questions he had. “This one isn’t your usual type.”

Heat rose up your neck. 

“Kid—”

“I’m Eustass,” Kid said over you. “I’m an old friend.”

Law glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Usual type?”

Your face burned. “Can we not do this?” You breathed in sharply. 

Kid ignored you. “You usually go for less put-together than this.”

Law’s eyes remained flat and never once left you. “And yet,” he muttered. 

Kid studied him for a moment as an amused hiss teased out from behind his teeth. “Don’t sound so pleased with yourself, doc.” 

“Are you done?” Law asked, frowning.

“Oh, he’s very serious.” A daring glint flashed in Kid’s pale irises.

“You said they were starting?” you cut in, clearing your throat as you turned to Law. “We should get going.”

Law stepped back to let you pass first. You moved without a second thought, grateful for the excuse to break eye contact with either of them. Your heart pounded in your chest.

As you passed, Kid’s gaze caught yours one last time.

“Later, Trouble,” he said, his voice gone suddenly softer.

You didn’t look back. “Later, Impossible.”

Law followed a step behind you, leaving Kid alone in the corridor.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Glossary for Nerds

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI Chapter XVII Chapter XVIII

[neenarchive]

really hilarious and unsexy when hetero romantasy authors refer to love interests as males and females. you sound like david attenborough narrating a special documentary on two turtles humping in the mud

[neenarchive]

i don't care if he's the king of the fae. if that man called me a desirable female i'd have him gelded

[the-big-mood]

[scooplery]

"it's just growing pains" -> "you're too young for that to hurt that bad" -> "you just need to get in better shape" -> "welcome to being old, everyone is in pain"

[pukicho]

Worst dog name, go.

[pukicho]

[depsidase]

[viralfrog]

[creatingblackcharacters]

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ trust me, if white people know you aren't safe to be racist around, we'll notice! Your ACTIONS will speak for you!

[patrochillesvibes]

[swan2swan]

Where's that tweet about how American chants are "let's go [team name] and some other country (Irish?) fans are "I've made up a song about the other team's drinking problem to the tune of London Bridge Is Falling Down one two three"?

[luimnigh]

[ladydevoir]

[transmascmarypoppins]

why is this post completely broken in every way imaginable

[cecilsrandomeverything]

Broken notes… deactivated account… removed image….

Finally, we have them all.

[spacefinch]

In addition: OP’s name is just… gone. No “[insert username]-deactivated[insert a bunch of numbers]” as is the standard for deactivated blogs.

Just the world “deactivated.” Look upon their post, ye mighty, and despair.

[chatblancofficial]

It’ll be almost impossible to find this post unless it wanders across your dash.

[black-quadrant]

Reblog this triple-dead post for something good to happen to you this week.

[fox-moxin]

[merlinsbeard4332]

“The Only Moral Abortion is My Abortion”

When the Anti-Choice Choose By Joyce Arthur Copyright © September, 2000 Available in a German translation Available in a Russian translation

I never pass up an opportunity to share this essay.

[dailycatsblog]

[parkayquarts]

"what if someone regrets transitioning" if you are 18 or over in free country usa you can walk into any tattoo parlor and ask for a tattoo that will be on your body forever and ever and ever and they will give it to you with the understanding that if you dont like the result or you regret it later that's your fucking problem and not theirs