Your Multifandom Bartender: Wing | No Pronouns, Just Call Me Wing| Posting Occasionally | Adult (20+) | Current Hyperfixation: One Piece | Character Driven Stories | Requests are CLOSED | Lurker Blogs DNI | Minors DNI with Adult Content |Masterlist | Rules | WIP List | AO3 |
Unless specified with a specific trait, all of my Readers are nameless, shapeless characters with their own personalities! I also enjoy adding world-building that was not in canon. If these things sound like your drink of choice, welcome!
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𓆃 ATTACK ON TITAN
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𓆃 MY HERO ACADEMIA
𓆃 NARUTO
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𓆃 List of Rules ∣ 𓆃 WIP List (Last updated 6/30/2026) ∣ "Is this series abandoned?” (Last updated 6/30/2026)
Congrats on finishing GSBID. How r u feeling now that it's done?
I've had another question that's been bothering me since the fic ended and if this goes against ur rules, obvi don't answer
There weren't anymore smut scenes in GSBID after the whole fight between Law and Reader. It made me wonder if their dynamic in bed or the sex changed after Reader's assault since that's when they started having less animosity towards each other at work/hating each other less or if they were still that freaky for each other. I was hoping for another smut scene in the story (yes, a little cause I'm a freak but mostly) to see how they interacted once they were starting to finally figure things out between them. I was a little too scared to ask since I didn't want to make you uncomfortable and fill ur inbox with horny asks 🫣 but I haven't been able to let the thought go
Thanks for writing such an amazing story! I'm excited for part two of ur other Law story
Hey! It doesn’t feel real. But considering my ambitions for it, I still don’t feel like it’s actually done. Still a lot of work to do
Thank you for such a great question. I wish i had a better answer for it
I had intended for them to have sex again where it started off more gentle—maybe MC starts out on top—then they kinda look at each other and go nah too soft and go back to something much more freaky. But that scene didn’t have a natural place in the story, especially with them being so candid for each other toward the end.
I thought about adding it in the second to last chapter after their fry excursion but then i felt like it would make the twist in the last chapter feel like a more sinister betrayal. Same for the epilogue, it just didn’t seem natural to put there.
I’m already planning on doing some heavy editing because I want to release GSBID as a standalone book. Since MC is a reader insert, I didn’t delve too deeply into her, so I didn’t have much room to explore deeper themes—especially since the fic was already so long. I think they’ll get a moment when MC is actually a fully formed character in the finalized version.
All in all, I thought it was far more important to highlight their emotional proximity.
In my writing style, I have a rough outline in my head, and I write until it feels just right and then I stop. I’m sure with this as a fully formed draft, I can better move things around to check off all the boxes I wanted to cover.
TLDR: I didn’t feel like a final smut scene fit in the rhythm of the story, but I’m planning on editing and publishing a more focused version as a stand alone book that delves deeper into themes.
God Spelled Backwards is D-O-C-T-O-R (Trafalgar Law x Reader, Chapter I)
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: 6.1k
Tags/Warnings: MINORS DNI, CardiacElectrophysiologist!Law, EchoTech!Reader, Modern Hospital AU, Language, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, AFABFEM!Reader
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
Notes: Why hello my new obsession...
“What’s the difference between God and a doctor?” you remembered one of your patients asking just as you were about to insert his IV.
“What’s that?” you hummed, feeling him tense slightly under your touch as the needle poked his skin.
The patient, seeming otherwise unfazed, turned his head to beam at you, a broad grin on his face.
“God doesn’t think he’s a doctor!” he laughed, and you couldn’t help but consider that the joke came to mind after an interaction with Dr. Trafalgar Law.
You would be surprised if it had nothing to do with him at all, not after the odd pattern you had been noticing ever since a new name popped up on your schedule. It wouldn’t have been the first time that week that a patient made an offhand remark about the new cardiology doctor, something you assumed was a bid to confirm that his lack of bedside manner wasn’t just a figment of the imagination.
“The new EP is ice cold,” Penguin told you during one of the times he hid out in imaging. Imaging was always a good place to hide for a while.
“Scary,” Shachi agreed. “I don’t envy whoever ends up on his team.”
“Guys, he’s been here for less than a week,” you dismissed, taking a sip of your morning beverage. “You know how baby doctors are, they’re always intense when they first start because they’ve gotta show off that textbook knowledge right out of residency. Whoever it is, I’m sure he’ll simmer down.”
“Not Dr. Trafalgar D. W. Law,” Shachi spoke ominously, “Ain’t that a name? You’re only saying that because you’ve never met him.”
”He’s intense.” Penguin nodded.
As if on cue, brisk footsteps resounded from the hallway, not quite a stomp so much as heavy, deliberate steps on their way to put out a fire. And perhaps they wouldn’t have been so out of place if it hadn’t been for the relatively mellow schedule you had laid out for you that day. A bunch of post-ops: certainly nothing to charge through diagnostics for.
The door flew open, as if the very entrance to your wayward office wanted to be out of the way of the storm that entered. The man who came in was a new face, tanned with meticulously groomed facial hair. You couldn’t help but notice the dark tattoos that adorned his hands that stretched out from the sleeves of his stiff white coat. His badge hung neatly from the left breast pocket, but the distance made it difficult to read the name printed on it.
And perhaps your description of him might’ve been more complimentary if it weren’t for his following words.
”Ah, so it’s a real party down here.” He frowned, not bothering to hide how he scrutinized the three of you. The doors flapped closed behind him, swaying in his wake from the force he used to push them open. “Is this how NBUMC runs its operation?”
North Blue University Medical Center. The North, for short.
The doctor’s dark eyes narrowed, staring directly at you.
“You’re the echo tech?”
“Among other things,” you matched his deep frown. At this point, Penguin and Shachi quietly picked up their coffees and made a swift exit. “Who’s asking?”
“I need a repeat scan on one of Hiriluk’s old patients in room 211. Irregular rhythm, everything in the chart is useless. That's the theme I’m seeing from Hiriluk…” He didn’t even look at you, too buried in whatever was on the screen of the laptop he balanced in his arm.
“Ah,” you sighed, visibly deflating, “You must be the new attending.” Speak of the devil.
You turned toward your computer, clicking through a few things in the system. You frowned. So this was how things were going to be…
“This patient just had scans a few days ago.”
“The images are inconsistent and don’t have measurements—”
“I can add measurements.”
—“I want a clearer look at the chamber dimensions. Valve morphology while you’re at it.” Law toggled a few things on his screen before meeting your eye again, a flicker of annoyance evident in his gaze. “The order is in now. I want this one expedited.”
Expedited. One of your least favorite words, along with “they’ll be with you shortly.” This was a hospital for fucks sake— it never was shortly.
“Your patient is going to have to wait. I’ve got a morning filled with post-ops. I’m not going to make them wait just for a second opinion on a perfect scan that’s less than a week old.” Much like your time employed here, baby doc.
“I have time,” he retorted, but rather than sauntering off to whatever hellhole he came out of, Dr. Trafalgar stayed exactly where he stood.
You glanced at him incredulously.
“You’re going to stay here,” you asked, sounding more accusatory than questioning, “While I go through my morning.”
“The patient who was supposed to be next on my schedule came early and got out quickly enough, so I can wait on this one. It’ll be faster.” Law didn’t sit. He didn’t even move out of the way. He only folded his laptop, tucking it under his arm as he stared straight ahead at you.
“Look, I know that you fresh-out-of-residency types think you know everything, but I think I can say with a certain degree of certainty that that’s not how time works,” you huffed.
“We’ll see,” Law said, offering you a single nod.
A notification pinged on your computer, and you swiveled around to check your inbox.
A grey box appeared next to your first patient’s name.
Canceled. Not Feeling Well/Sick.
You stared at the box, a sinking feeling beginning to set in. You didn’t even want to turn around.
You breathed in a single, steady breath.
Motherfucker.
“Alright,” you sighed, your tone laced with spite. “Let’s do this.”
You didn’t want to see his face as you went, and you certainly tried to ignore the way he peered over your shoulder as you performed your scan.
You were good. You couldn’t have made it as far as you have without being exceptional at your job. The orientation of the probes made sense to you, and your hand was naturally light and precise. Plus, you were sure you had more bedside manner and charisma in your left pinkie finger than Law had in his entire body.
His eyes were glued to your monitor, his very presence absolutely suffocating. You had done hundreds of these, a handful— to your dismay— with a white coat hovering over you. You could usually shake the looming presence, but today it was unignorable.
You glanced at Law from the corner of your eye, watching how he scrutinized your monitor and not seeming to care how he encroached on your space. Seeing him made your fingers twitch, which showed up as acute noise on the scan.
It was the slightest amount of artifact, but Law’s eyes immediately flicked to it. It made your insides boil, and you kept as steady as you could until you were finished.
And at the end, he only offered you a single nod.
“That’s better,” he hummed.
You were going to ring his neck.
***
Whelp, Penguin and Shachi weren’t kidding. The guy was a dick. He was so much of a dick, you were no longer surprised when patients brought Law’s attitude up to you. A little rough around the edges or a rather intense young man were the polite ways of calling it the way everyone sees it. It was old person speak for what an uptight asshat.
But to your continued surprise, despite offhand comments about his frigid exterior, you consistently heard nothing but praise about his professional prowess. There were even a few rumors that Law had already been invited to speak at the annual cardiology conference.
You knew you weren’t lucky enough only to get one unfortunate interaction with Dr. Trafalgar. One pushy interaction, and you would have written it off as yet another green doctor throwing their weight around to try to establish some dominance. You’d seen his type before, and more often than not, you could wait them out and let the job put them in their place organically.
But as you checked the work queue the next morning, you nearly spat out your coffee as you saw your patient list had more than doubled.
STATUS NEW REQUEST. REF BY PROVIDER TRAFALGAR, LAW D. W. REF BY DEPARTMENT CARTIOLOGY ELECTROPHYSIOLOGY DIVISION.
STATUS NEW REQUEST. REF BY PROVIDER TRAFALGAR, LAW D. W. REF BY DEPARTMENT CARTIOLOGY ELECTROPHYSIOLOGY DIVISION.
STATUS NEW REQUEST. REF BY PROVIDER TRAFALGAR, LAW D. W. REF BY DEPARTMENT CARTIOLOGY ELECTROPHYSIOLOGY DIVISION.
STAT was bolded in red next to a vast majority of them, many of the names hauntingly familiar to you.
Your heart sank as you began plucking names into the records server. Your breath nearly hitched as you noticed the date on the very first patient of your new influx.
Three days ago… This patient just had imaging three days ago.
You gawked at the screen, nose twitching in disbelief. You typed in another name.
Images were completed a week ago. So on and so forth.
Seldom did you ever have to venture out of your imaging cave to speak to a physician directly. Imaging and your wayward office were, after all, more out of the way than not. Your door didn’t even have a label, likely from a time when admin went nuts and decided that all the door signs needed to have the good ol’ NBUMC logo on them. Yours, inexplicably, didn’t get one.
You preferred it that way. You got your orders, your set schedule, and you were left to your own devices in a quiet part of the hospital. Sometimes an occasional add-on would spice up your day and give you something to complain about, but if anyone needed to speak to you or if you needed to speak to anyone, you could use your standard secure chat.
However, having half of your queue consisting of new urgent requests wasn’t going to work. And you weren’t about to repeat all those scans and allow all those patients to be charged for repeat testing just because some new doctor was going on an ego trip.
Law was already hard at work in his pod, glued to something on his computer that had him too engrossed to notice the way you approached him with fury. And just when you thought something couldn’t pissed you off more, you got a glance of just what was keeping him so engrossed.
One of your fucking scans.
“Dr. Trafalgar—”
“Mh? Oh, good timing.” He didn’t even bother turning around to face you. “I was just looking at some of your work.”
You resisted the urge to scoff.
“Funny,” you snarked, barely about to hold your mask of professionalism. “I was just coming to talk to you about that.”
“It’s decent,” Law continued, almost as if he hadn’t heard you, “But it’ll all have to be redone.”
It’ll all have to be redone.
It’ll all have to be redone.
“Excuse me?” You nearly choked. Between the insanity of the statement and the bluntness with which he said it, you weren’t sure what threw you off more.
“When Hiriluk retired, I got his patient load.” Law finally turned somewhat in his chair, ignoring you once again. He shook his head, his face contorting in condescending disbelief. “And a majority of them are diagnosed wrong.” He rolled his eyes.
You paused.
“Wrong?” you repeated.
“Catastrophically misdiagnosed,“ Law affirmed, “Dangerously so.”
“Dr. Hiriluk’s patients love him,” you spat. “Who are you to say he got it wrong?”
“Because I’m actually paying attention,” Law quickly retorted, and the snap of his words almost made your heart skip a beat. He turned back to the computer, hands folded over each other in front of his face as he leaned forward. “Can you imagine having to tell someone their heart is worse than their doctor— who they’ve seen for years, by the way— told them? Psh, he doesn’t even deserve to be called a doctor.”
No, you couldn’t imagine having the conversation at all. You couldn’t even imagine Law breaking the news.
“I want to get through as many patients as I can, especially the cases that are urgent. We need to completely make over the treatment plans to actually start saving some lives.” Saving some lives. He threw that line around so casually. Yeah, he’ll be a hit around here.
“My scans are perfectly good, no matter what Dr. Hiriluk might’ve gotten right or wrong, his diagnosis is separate from my data,” you pressed on. This wasn’t about a fight; it was about your work queue. “The volume you’re asking for is impossible. You’re not the only doctor here.”
It wasn’t just the time spent doing the scans, but also all the time before and after that that required your attention: the clerical work and the messaging. Your department was stretched thin as it was. After the umpteenth fiscal year of not being approved for additional positions and your peers being stretched across multiple clinic locations, you often found yourself working alone at Main.
“They’re unusable,” Law frowned. No comments. No reasoning. No compromise. “And when you repeat them, they’ll be done my way.”
It was an order, just like the ones he filled your queue with. He didn’t turn. He didn’t even look at you when he spoke. Law clicked around a few times.
“Then do them yourself.”
“I could.” Law leaned back in his chair, his finger flicking across the mouse to zoom out on the scan he had pulled up on his computer. His elbow rested on the arm of his seat as he gestured toward the screen. “But it wouldn’t be as good as this one from the 23rd.”
“You really are digging…”
“12:29 PM… You don’t even take a lunch, do you?” Law swiveled in his chair, triumphantly, and smugly sat back with his hands folded in his lap. “I like that.”
“One early afternoon patient is not an excuse to pack my schedule, Doctor,” you spat.
“You’ll have your hands full enough.” Law stood, adjusting the way his pristine white coat sat on his broad shoulders. “Because I want all of those repeats to look exactly like that one,” he said, and just as he brushed past you, he leaned toward your ear, “Or I’ll be sending them back.”
You barely had the time to whirl around before he was halfway down the hall, clipboard in hand. You opened your mouth to call after him, but even your words weren’t fast enough.
“Before you go,” he called over his shoulder. “Whoever that Ussop tech is… I don’t want him anywhere near my cases.” You could see the smirk on his lips as he disappeared into an exam room.
***
“Try to breathe as naturally as you can. I’ve got some jelly here that might feel a little cold.” You placed your probe, glancing toward your monitor as you stepped on your foot pedal to begin recording.
Your hands were steady, your scan perfectly oriented, and your momentum smooth even as Law stood with his arms crossed in the corner of your peripheral. He slipped through the door quietly, and perhaps you wouldn’t have even noticed him if he hadn’t oriented himself right at the edge of your vision.
“Very good,” you hummed to the patient, “You’re doing great.”
You kept your voice low, but friendly. A little praise went a long way in patient care, both in calming patient nerves and improving their attitude. It also gave you an excuse to break the silence as you worked. However, it appeared that you didn’t have to concern yourself with commentary.
“Your orientation is different today,” Law’s blunt voice broke through your carefully curated atmosphere. You could feel him walk up next to you, filling what little space existed in front of your monitor.
“You have to orient yourself differently with different patients, Dr. Trafalgar.”
“You’re limiting your window.”
His presence over your shoulder made you feel like you were in training again. Law was easily as abrasive as any supervisor.
Your grip unconsciously shifted as his voice appeared closer to your ear than you expected. Law didn’t notice you startle, only the acute change on the scan.
“Better,” he said.
You had a lot you wanted to say. That was an understatement. But unlike Dr. Nitpick next to you, you knew when to hold your tongue when a patient was in the room.
“If you’re going to be in the room critiquing my work, isn’t that just halfway to doing the scan yourself?” you complained the moment you were out of the patient’s earshot.
Law crossed his arms.
“I’m communicating what I want, and if you’re off, I’m telling you that you’re off.”
“If you don’t like the way I image, you have a slew of other technicians and clinic locations to choose from.” Your arm shot out in a wide gesture around you.
Law let out an amused scoff as he dug his hands in his front pockets. That same, self-assured smirk from the day before was plastered on his lips. His chin almost had an upward tilt, like he wasn’t even hiding the way he looked down his nose at you.
“On the contrary,” he started with an amused crinkle of his forehead, “You’re the only one who gets it right.”
Gets it right. Pretentious ass—
“You’ve watched me scan, how many times now? Twice?” You scowled.
“I only need to see it done right once.” He shrugged, dipping his head. “You set quite the standard.”
You scoffed, “I’m the one setting the standards here, huh?” Your tongue dipped into the space between your cheek and your gums, almost as if you risked it lashing out at Law by itself if you didn’t keep your jaw tight. You shook your head. “Look, I don’t know who you’re trying to impress here, but I don’t have time to play pet tech.”
“Good thing I’m not trying to play,” Law retorted, appearing very clearly less bothered than you were. “I’m demanding because it’s my job. I want precision and reproducibility.” He met your eye, his continued self-satisfaction explicit. “And you give it to me.”
***
“We’re gonna dieeeeeeee…”
You looked down at your tired, disappointing lunch. It had apparently not been a lucky week for anyone.
“He’ll simmer down once the flow sets in,” you half-heartedly reassured. You were trying to tell yourself the very same thing, and perhaps you would have believed yourself if you hadn’t had so many run-ins with the heartless heart doctor himself. With his brand of brutality, you weren’t sure if he was the type who had the capacity to simmer.
“You’re not the one who has to do his work-ups,” Shachi wilted.
“Try working with him on his post-implants,” Penguin groaned, dragging his hands over his face. “The only one he doesn’t seem to glare at is Bepo.”
“That kid who’s like… fresh out of high school?” you asked.
“He’s the one who talks the least,” Shachi chimed, practically melting over the back of his chair. The answer made you bob your head in consideration. That checked out. “Maybe even Dr. Trafalgar is hesitant about ripping into someone with such a round baby face.”
“And speaking of the opposite, we heard talk that Jean Bart is going to come back as lab nurse,” Penguin said.
“Aww… Jean Bart.” You smiled, thinking about the gentle giant. He briefly dabbled in imaging and had a surprisingly gentle hand. Plus, he never hesitated to take creepy patients before you could even say the word. “C’mon, Jean Bart is plenty cute.”
“I think his appeal is more the fact that he looks like he’s fresh out of prison,” Penguin considered with a downward dip of his lip, “I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone else kept their heads down when it came to the idea of being the new EP’s lab.”
“If he can’t deal with that frigid jerk, I don’t know who can…” You muttered.
“Who are we calling a frigid jerk?”
You despised the minuscule jump that came from the sudden presence over your shoulder. You turned your head to frown up at Law, who seemed to have teleported behind you sometime during the tail end of your conversation. He glanced down at you, his lips forming a tight line that just barely disguised an amused huff.
It was like he had an obsession with appearing right over your shoulder.
“Good,” he said loudly, “If you have time to gossip, you have time to tend to my patient in 204.”
“I’m not on right now,” you deadpanned, barely resisting the urge to let a few choice words slip. “If you need someone, my co is—”
“Clock back in. I need this imaging to be clean.” Law’s eyes bounced briefly to the rest of your tiny lunch table. “Ah, and it appears that you’re already acquainted with some of my new team.” His eyes returned to yours, and the little restraint he put into not looking smug melted instantly. “All the better.”
You glanced over at Penguin and Shachi, hoping that at least one of them would back you up here. But Penguin looked like he was trying to psychically connect with his half-finished coffee, and Shachi was on the verge of reinventing the sandwich.
Cowards.
“You’re assigning me cases now?”
“It’s urgent.”
Your forehead twitched, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
“If I had a nickel for every time a white coat with an MD sprang a patient on me and told me it was urgent—”
“You’d be very rich, I’m sure, but you’re the only one who does them the way I want.” Law’s acute smirk seemed to vanish, morphing back into his default frown and intense eyebrows. The glare, you decided, was much preferred compared to the smugness.
And the little compliment at the end there— if you could even call it that— somehow made your mood worse.
You sat back in your chair, fully intending to stand your ground with this one.
“There’s a process to these things. You can’t just play favorites when I have a whole schedule of other doctors—”
“Like I told you before—” Law narrowed his eyes at you. Icy. —“I’m not playing.” He turned to walk out of the break room, calling over his shoulder just as he did that morning. “Room 204.”
You considered staying, going back to your lunch as if nothing happened. But the idea that he was about to leave a patient waiting somewhere in the building sparked your damned sense of duty. Because, unlike that jerk, you actually cared about people.
You cursed, leaving your things on the table with Penguin and Shachi— you’d be sure to scold them later— to run out the door after Law. And to your complete and utter dismay, he was already waiting for you. Law had his hands tucked in the pockets of his coat as he leaned a shoulder against the wall.
“Good of you to join me.”
You walked straight past him, your mind already calculating what you need to arrange to get this done as quickly and efficiently as possible. Getting a chance to look at the chart would be a great start.
“If you’re going to keep breaking protocol and interrupt my lunch, I expect food. Preferably warm,” you grumbled as Law followed behind you. You didn’t even have to turn to feel the triumphant air around you. “And expensive. I’m sure your baby doctor salary can afford that.”
“Baby doctor?” Law scoffed.
You turned around suddenly, and the ever-disciplined Trafalgar Law stopped just perfectly so as not to crash into you.
“Yes, baby doctor,” you emphasized. “Newby docs who ask for imaging up the ass because they don’t have the wisdom to use the standard information that every other experienced doctor can go off of. I’m sure you’ll ask me to diagnose a patient or two within the month… you always do.”
Law’s eyes narrowed dangerously. All semblance of playfulness drained from him as the atmosphere seemed to become ten degrees colder. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning encroachingly into your space.
“No one’s diagnosing my patients except me,” he gruffed. You actually rolled your eyes this time.
“And we can only hope we can keep it that way,” you grumbled. You turned to continue down the hall. “Lunch is on you next time, doc!”
***
“Jesus, you look like shit.”
“Gee, thanks, Nami.”
You continued to lie with your head in your arms on your desk, eyes half lidded as you watched Nami’s slender hands place three different types of drinks on the surface in front of your face. Your head pounded. You were willing to bet it was a stress headache. Or maybe it was because you were getting shit sleep—or both.
“One for hydration, one for caffeine, and one fun one,” she hummed triumphantly. Nami stood with her hands on her hips, her posture triumphant as she waited for you to praise her carefully curated selection.
“Thanks, Nami,” you croaked, already reaching for the caffeine.
She frowned, her pose already deflating.
“Damn, is the new EP really that bad?” she asked, leaning over where you sat to take your mouse to click through the programs you had open. “I’ve been hearing all about him all the way over at the satellite office.”
“I appreciate you coming here,” you mumbled. “I don’t think I would be able to handle today’s schedule without you. Especially the morning.”
“I don’t think anyone would be able to.” Nami scrutinized the schedule, toggling between it and the work queue. “Not unless you became the echo machine itself and gained sentience.”
“Already losing the sentience part,” you yawned, “You wouldn’t believe how late I was here last night.”
Nami swatted you on the back of the head.
“What are you doing staying here after hours?” she scolded. Probably a bad person to admit that to. Nami was the queen of work-life balance. A staunch advocate for it, in fact. “The docs have a cut off, they know that.”
“This one doesn’t…”
“Well, he should. Don’t take any more scans if it's getting too late. If you don’t hold your ground, then everyone is going to be sending us stuff at the ninth hour.”
“It’s fine,” you yawned again, finally sitting up to take a responsibly vertical sip of your beverage. “I knew if I didn’t do it then, I would have even more on my plate.”
“You already have a lot on your plate,” Nami said, finally having enough on the workload on your computer. “Can’t you throw your weight around a little?”
“Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ll keep trying, but I have a feeling I’m gonna have a bad time for a little bit.”
Nami disappeared into the background as she prepared the equipment. You let her do her job as you continued to sip on your caffeine fix, because, unlike some people, you didn’t get a hard-on from micromanaging others.
“Dr. Trafalgar apparently got a lot of Hiriluk’s population, so that’s been his new pet project.”
Nami poked her head into the room, lips pursed.
“Yikes.”
“Yeah, Dr. Hiriluk wasn’t the best,” you admitted, switching to the beverage that Nami had dubbed “for hydration,” as if all the other ones weren’t.
“That’s one hell of a perfect storm,” Nami mused. “Newbies already get a little extra as it is.”
“You have no idea,” you sighed heavily. “And for some reason, that means that we’re repeating imaging on everyone and their mother.”
Nami shot around.
“What the fuck?”
You couldn’t tell if her brows were raised in shock, anger, or both. You waved her off, resting your head back in your hand.
“I’m working on it,” you sighed again, gaze turned toward the computer. “It’s why the work queue looks like…”
“A fire truck?”
You chortled.
“I was thinking an ambulance, but with this massive fire that Dr. Trafalgar’s put on my plate, that might be more appropriate.” You watched lazily as Nami began to wheel the equipment across the office. “What are you up to?” You took another sip.
“Rest a little bit. I’m going to take these first few patients. You need it more than I do.”
On a typical day, you’d battle her, but today…
“Thanks, Nami, you’re the best. Just be careful?”
“I know how to handle guys like him. Don’t you worry about me.”
She wouldn’t have taken no for an answer anyway.
***
Even after a few minutes of relaxing, closing your eyes, and resting your face, your headache continued to pound. Today was going to be a very long day, wasn’t it?
You stood, making toward the door. One thing you didn’t hate about working in a hospital was that it was like its own little community, and when you needed something, more often than not, you could find it. Overpriced, perhaps, but you can still find it.
You floated through the hallway, probably quicker than you needed, but the speed was a force of habit. You considered it was something psychological about the sorry color of the walls. They were the worst shade of NBU gray, and with a lack of wall art, the color only served to make every inch of the building into a torturous maze. A maze that you, unfortunately, knew by heart.
The pharmacy had over-the-counter painkillers. That just might be the key to getting through the day.
“You’re not doing this. That’s not a request.”
“Imaging is so overworked that this is the first day in weeks that there’s been two of us here. I offered to come here and help carry the load today because of the influx of patients you’ve decided to send. I’m perfectly qualified.”
“I don’t care about your qualifications. It’s about being precise. I don’t need you to fight your way into that room just for me to send it back to be done the right way.”
“I don’t know how your interactions have been with other people here, but I’m not about to put up with your attitude, especially if it's interfering with patient care.”
“You’re the only one interfering with patient care here. I want my tech on my cases. End of discussion.”
“Your tech?”
That was about the point where you turned the corner, and the scenario was just about what you anticipated. A part of you was hoping that the pair fighting weren’t Law and Nami, but you knew you couldn’t have been that lucky.
Nami had a hand on the handle of her cart, knuckles practically turning white.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize Dr. Hiriluk retired and made you king,” she snapped. “You’re not even a year in and you’re already out here claiming people like you own this place.”
Nami stepped closer, ever fiery, but Law didn’t move an inch.
“Imaging is here to help. Not be owned and treated like personal echo machines. And if you actually gave a shit about actual people like you pretend to about patients, you’d be backing off and not staking claims and cherry picking favorites like you own the schedule,” Nami spat. “You’d think a doctor would be able to tell when someone’s exhausted, especially when it’s your own workload.”
Nami’s gaze accidentally wandered as she turned her head, having to do a double take as she spotted you from around Law’s shoulder. Law’s head swiveled as he followed her shocked gaze, before he fully turned to see you standing in the middle of the hall. You held your drink in your hand, waving tiredly with the other as if you hadn’t been standing witness to a good majority of their exchange.
Nami’s shock wore off first. Her fury didn’t give way easily to distraction.
“Did you know you were spoken for?” Her eyes narrowed at Law. “Did he even buy you dinner first?” she snarked.
“Didn’t even buy me lunch,” you sighed, approaching the two to take the cart.
Law didn’t even spare so much as a glance toward Nami’s pointed stare, keeping his eyes intently on you. Nami turned to you.
“You can’t be okay with this.”
“It’s fine.” You surrendered your cup to Nami before turning your attention to Law.
“Which room?”
“Four.”
You took the cart and went.
When Law entered the room, you had already dimmed the lights.
“Mood lighting?” he commented sarcastically.
“Headache,” you said softly, half distracted by your scan, half asleep. “I was actually on my way to the pharmacy just now…”
Law said nothing, choosing to watch on as he typically did. But this time, his attention wasn’t predominantly occupied by the scan.
You did look tired, like Nami said. Your typical bedside manner, while better than he could muster then exhausted, was evidently lacking first thing that morning. You were going quicker than usual, not rushing, but powering through efficiency.
“You missed those angles,” Law commented, his note filling the room—a beat when by without retort.
“They’re stacked. Don’t worry, Doctor, you’re getting everything you need.”
You weren’t lying. Despite your clear state, your frames were pristine as usual. Perfect.
When you finished with your scans, you were surprised to turn and find that Law was no longer in the room with you. You gave his absence a half second of thought, that he made such a fuss about this scan, only to decide he wasn’t going to be picky. You didn’t know what was worse: the demand without the follow-through or the demand with the follow-through.
You stepped the short distance down the hall to Law’s pod to tell him you were finished, but he rounded the turn. You nearly crashed into him, but ever-perfect Law stood utterly still, seemingly unfazed.
“Take this,” he said, holding out both hands to you.
In one hand was a cup from the breakroom. Water. With ice in it. He held two little white pills in his other palm. Law inverted his hand, clutching the pills with his tattooed fingers as he motioned to give them to you.
“Poisoning me now?” you muttered. “Have I been upgraded to guinea pig?” You let out a huff of a laugh. It wasn’t a very funny joke.
“Painkillers for your headache,” Law said.
Your eyes shot up to his, your gaze somewhere between surprised and skeptical. But Law said nothing, motioning for you to take the cup and pills for a second time, and you finally got with the program and accepted.
Law watched you with an uncomfortably intense stare as you popped the pills in your mouth, almost as if he was trying to make sure you actually took them.
“Are these prescription?” you asked, the thought dawning on you after you’d taken them.
“No,” Law answered.
“I would have thought you’d feel powerful signing off on something.”
“If I were signing off on something, you’d know,” he said. “There’s plenty of time left in the day for that.”
“Right…” you trailed, remembering the heavy schedule you had set for the day. “Well… thank you for this…”
“Just look out for some changes for today. I’m going to rearrange things to try out a few workflow strategies. Take a little heat off imaging.” Law seemed to refuse to meet your eye.
“I should have Nami yell at you more often.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Law retorted without a pause, his stare coming back to you. Unyielding. “If you’re taking on all my cases from now on, I need to make sure my patients aren’t waiting an obscene amount of time for imaging. I refuse to get backed up just because you think you can’t handle what I give you.”
“Wait, you were serious about that?”
Law stared at you as if you had just asked where the heart was.
“We’ve established this.”
“No, no, no.” You shook your head, “You can’t give me every imaging patient on your schedule and just expect me to take it.”
Law scoffed, his typical smugness returning.
“You’ll take what I give you.”
“Not all of your patients from now to—”
Law stepped closer, and his proximity shut you up quickly as he leaned his forearm on the wall next to your head. Your words died on your lips as he leaned close, your equipment just behind you and trapping you in. You could smell the faintest hint of cologne, and the smirk on his lips spiked your pulse in a way that made your breath hitch.
“But you just did,” he whispered, tapping the rim of the water cup still in your hand.
And just like that, he stood straight, walking around where you stood frozen in the hallway to bark orders like nothing happened.
“Keep hydrated, I don’t need your hand shaking for the rest of my scans today.”
God, you hated when he did that.
Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.
Notes: I try to not use reader pronouns in my works, but I'll be candid that this insert is likely going to be AFAB fem because there are some themes that I want to tackle that are specific to that demographic. I hope you enjoy the ride
Next chapter drops at 100 notes
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
God Spelled Backwards is D-O-C-T-O-R (Trafalgar Law x Reader, Finale and Epilogue)
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: 10k
Tags/Warnings: Minors DNI, CardiacElectrophysiologist!Law, EchoTech!Reader, AFABFEM!Reader, Modern Hospital AU, Language, Enemies to Lovers, Institutional Medical Malpractice, Fluff, Drama
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
Notes: I hope this is a satisfactory ending. It went through exactly one edit before release so if i’ve failed you sue me
Fluorescent bulbs lit the lecture hall too brightly for comfort. The cold air from the vents kept the atmosphere moving as people settled into their seats. Law stayed close but left just enough distance to avoid prying eyes. And they did pry, scrutinizing as you made your way across the room.
Hogback had already taken his seat near the front. He crossed one skinny leg over the other, his presentation materials already nestled against his large belly like a delicate treasure. He held his chin pompously upturned, and the very sight of his smug grin made your stomach churn.
“You alright?” Law whispered just below the room’s roar.
The very sound of his voice made the tension in your shoulders melt just slightly. It was almost as if it didn’t matter that this was the biggest moment of his career to date. He spoke with the same even tone as he always did.
The thought occurred to you again.
He was made for this.
You nodded too quickly. “I should be asking you that,” you huffed out a nervous laugh.
Law let out an almost inaudible snort. “You seem like you have a lot more going on.”
A small, sheepish smile returned to your lips.
“I’ll give you the backstory later, I promise.”
But as you approached the row, gravity entered the atmosphere like a meteor. Shachi and Penguin looked up with a strange, pensive cast to their faces.
You glanced between them. “Hey,” you greeted tentatively, to no response.
You turned your attention to Marguerite for an explanation. But she said nothing, offering you only a small smile as you slid into the third seat between her and Penguin. Further in, Jean Bart, Bepo, and Chopper didn’t greet you at all.
Your eyes ran across the row as you swiveled your head.
“What?” you asked.
Penguin, who almost always had a comment ready, said nothing. Shachi had practically folded into himself. Instead, they both looked at Law, who still lingered at the end of the row.
“I need to head up front,” Law said curtly. He spared you one last glance, pausing for the briefest second before giving a decisive nod. “I’ll see you soon.”
He headed down toward the front of the room without another word, and somehow the air only felt heavier once he was gone.
You looked around again, but no one would meet your eye.
“Is this about Kid?” you asked.
Shachi wrapped his arms around himself. “It’s nothing,” he muttered.
You frowned. “It doesn’t feel like nothing.”
Marguerite brushed your arm lightly. “Everyone’s just on edge,” she said. “That’s all.”
The answer, though plausible, felt a bit too convenient to settle your nerves.
The conference.
Sure.
You had been running yourselves ragged, stressing long hours about this very moment all month, but that didn’t explain why Bepo was clutching his hands so hard his skin was turning white. It didn’t explain the absence of sneaky banter between Shachi and Penguin, or why Jean Bart held himself more upright than usual.
You placed a hand on Penguin’s knee.
He met your eye instinctively, catching himself too late as he became the first one to look you in the face. He held his breath.
“What’s going on?” you asked, firmer this time.
Penguin’s gaze ticked to the side, then he breathed your name.
“When you have someone who’s like a sister to you—” He slowly brought his hand over the back of yours. “—you get certain rights as a brother.”
Your forehead crinkled. Your breath hitched in your throat for a reason only your instincts knew as you glanced between Penguin’s face and his hand.
“What are you talking about?”
“The right to snoop,” he breathed. “And the right to tell you that—”
Before he could finish, the lights dimmed a fraction.
His attention snapped to the front.
Your other hand grasped the back of his, shaking him slightly.
“Tell me what?”
A hush fell over the room as conversation settled, and several members of the administrative board stepped up to the podium. The microphone crackled once, then twice, before a member of IT rushed up to correct the audio system. A subtle red light on the recording device blinked at an angle you were sure only you could see.
That would be a pleasant distraction for the entire conference.
You barely registered the opening pleasantries and polished thanks to the most important people in the room. Not even the polite applause grounded you.
Penguin withdrew his hand to clap twice next to you, but fell quiet again shortly after.
The first presenter stepped up to the podium.
You tried to listen. You really did, but your gaze kept drifting between Penguin and the front row.
Law had settled to the side with the other presenters. Shadows made by the stage lights fell over him like a shroud. He leaned back with one hand on the presentation materials tucked at his side. Even from where you sat, he looked more composed than anyone in the room. Assured. Certain. Just like he always was.
You shifted toward Marguerite. “How long before his talk?” you whispered.
“Not for a while,” she said softly.
Right. She said he was going last.
You glanced back toward the front to find Law already looking at you. He met your eye for only a second. You offered him a small smile. He offered you a curt nod, then he looked away.
Your stomach turned, but Law didn’t look back at you again. Something about the slight rigidity he held in his neck made it difficult to settle into the lecture.
The first presentation was dense and number-heavy, one you might’ve been interested in under any other circumstances. Something technical. Something niche. Today, you hardly even retained the topic alone.
You hardly retained any of the presentations, yet you remained painfully aware of how much time had passed. What had always seemed like heaven every other year now dragged on like a punishment. The number of speakers seemed to drone on forever.
Presenters cycled through, introduced to muted applause and followed by far too many slides for your liking. Every so often, a presenter would be granted a Q&A section, and each drawn-out answer made your skin crawl.
Nerves.
Just conference nerves.
And whatever the fuck Penguin didn’t finish saying.
Meanwhile, Law hadn’t moved an inch, which was better than you could say. You shifted in your seat, your weight from one hip to the other. You picked your feet up in countless uncomfortable combinations as the clock ticked by.
Around the end of the lecture session, Hogback rose to a smattering of applause.
A cold sensation made your skin bristle.
Hogback approached the podium with a confidence born of nothing less than arrogance and tenure. He waved at the room as if he were a movie star, then adjusted the tie that sat too tightly around his neck.
Hogback smiled before cracking a corporate joke to polite laughter from the crowd. He cleared his throat, making an ugly sound into the microphone just before the first slide filled the presentation screen, and when he spoke, he used the same voice he always used when schmoozing important people.
The same voice you remembered from your training days.
He spoke with authoritative confidence at a pitch that felt like ringing in your ear. Hogback fidgeted with the clicker as if it were a conductor’s wand.
At the front, Law watched Hogback steadily.
You looked toward the other side of the room. Kid leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his bouncing knees. He watched Hogback with the precision of a panther hiding in the tall grass.
Two rows ahead of you, someone leaned over to whisper to their colleague as Hogback moved to his next slide. Charts. Numbers. Imaging stills with Franky’s name in the corner.
Hogback looked like an experienced doctor, and at first he sounded like one too. But he quickly started clicking through unrelated data and talking in a blur of jargon and buzzwords. The longer you sat with what he was saying, the less it held up, which you supposed was on brand for Hogback.
Not even his presentation offered anything special. Despite the politics that had dominated the hospital since Saturn’s collapse, Hogback stuck with what he knew: non-specific LVH. The very idea sounded like a death sentence, but perhaps Hogback was arrogant enough to think a conference stage could salvage his reputation. Given the review, though, it was hard to imagine what possessed him to present at all, and if the LVH cases had not already buried him, his performance nearly did.
“As always, the challenge in complex cases is distinguishing clinically meaningful findings from well-intentioned overinterpretation,” Hogback said with a pompous intonation, like a punchline.
You clutched your fists in your lap. A few people nodded along.
When the presentation finished, the entire team, except for Marguerite, didn’t clap.
Then the moderator stepped back up to the podium. You drew in a breath, your stomach dropping even though it wasn’t even you about to be called up to the stage.
Law stepped up after his introduction and met with muted applause.
A thick silence overtook the room as he plugged his flash drive into the port. His presentation pulled up right away.
You held your breath as Law remained quiet for a beat. He stood in front of the microphone, his hair as perfect as always. The harsh stage lights only highlighted his dark brow and sharp cheekbones.
When he glanced over the crowd, he didn’t indulge in the attention, looking just briefly enough to find you before glancing away.
He drew a breath in.
“Good afternoon.” His voice carried cleanly across the hall, cutting through the silence like a knife. “Today I’ll discuss a patient who came to me after an earlier workup proceeded under an incorrect anatomical assumption; the final diagnosis was cor triatriatum dexter.”
A hushed murmur passed across the room.
Law continued through his presentation exactly as he’d practiced it. He narrated the early timeline in a steady rhythm, gliding swiftly through initial assumptions, the previous treatment plan, and the mismatch between symptoms and anatomy.
Everything just as practiced.
“Cor triatriatum is itself uncommon. In most cases, when encountered, it involves the left atrium and is typically identified far earlier in life. This case was three things: already uncommon, in the right atrium, and identified later in adulthood, which only emphasizes the importance of questioning the original diagnostic framework rather than anchoring to the initial impression.”
“The turning point and the starting point for this case came during repeat transthoracic imaging.” Your initial scan bloomed across the presentation screen. Law didn’t even glance up. “Our lead echo technologist flagged a right atrial structure that was not consistent with previous documentation.”
The entirety of Law’s team turned to you. Shachi hissed out the quietest cheering noise while Penguin subtly shadowboxed your knee. Chopper offered you silent applause from down the row.
Law advanced to the repeat views.
“This is more than confirmed on the repeat views, which, as you can see, the membranous division became clear enough to alter the procedural pathway entirely. Without that catch, we would have continued to plan around the wrong anatomy.”
Law outlined the follow-up study, the confirmation of the membranous partition, the hemodynamic implications, and the procedural reconsiderations that had followed. He spoke with the cool authority he brought to most everything in the hospital, like he’d spent his entire life preparing for this exact moment.
Every sentence flowed off his tongue exactly as practiced and perfectly memorized. His scribbled notes flashed across your mind as he flipped through the slides. And despite the countless revisions, Law remembered every tweak and every aside. He moved from one beat to the next with clinical assurance.
Law was, as usual, perfect.
Your pulse pounded steadily in your ear. You leaned forward, gripping the edge of your seat. Each word of his presentation morphed silently over your lips, and then,
“In addition to imaging, this case relied on the flexibility and coordination efforts from staff across research, nursing, and clinical support,” Law said.
He hadn’t practiced that one with you.
Then he began naming people, every single person who so much as touched this project. Law didn’t dwell on the names, nor did he pause for praise for his recognition. He meticulously—though swiftly—rattled off the list as if he’d been ruminating on names all morning.
“I was aiming for thirty seconds under,” you remembered Law muttering.
Thirty seconds under. To make room for this.
Shachi exhaled a tiny sound of approval through his nose. Penguin’s hand morphed over yours, giving the back of your hand a soft pat. Down the row, Bepo sat up straight, beaming with pride. Jean Bart’s lips formed a crooked line, just barely suppressing bashfulness at the gratitude. Chopper had gone completely red.
Then, Law moved to his last slides. He narrated the corrected plan and outcome, each word concise and measured. Elegant. Clean. And when he was finished, silence overtook the lecture hall.
Law hooked one thumb lightly in the front pockets of his slacks, back straight. He didn’t look for roaring applause, nor did he invite it. He stood, leaving the last slide suspended on the screen. He didn’t need a one-liner to close. He didn’t need the approval to know he did well.
But he got it anyway.
The room broke.
Applause cardioverted the room back to life, dwarfing the reaction yielded to Hogback just previously. It was a professional roar despite the interrupting whoops and hollars from Shachi and Penguin. You were one of many to stand, offering your applause with glittering eyes, only to be pulled back to your seat by Penguin.
The moderator swiftly stepped back to the stage to invite questions, which came quickly. A microphone runner stepped up to a raised hand.
“Given the rarity,” an older physician started, “what made you confident this was cor triatriatum dexter rather than hypoplastic right ventricle?”
“Because it was simply inconsistent with our findings,” Law answered, clicking the remote back to the slide with the repeat views. “The underdevelopment one could expect from hypoplastic right ventricle simply wasn’t there, whereas the pathology here in the right atrial membrane is consistent across repeat views.”
Another hand popped up across the room.
“CTD is typically diagnosed in adolescence, and for a reason. Do you believe that the delay in recognizing the membrane materially changed the amount of risk the patient has faced up until now?”
“Yes,” Law said curtly. “Upon confirmation of the membrane, the treatment plan was immediately tailored to our new findings.”
A handful of questions popped up across the hall, and Law answered each one with clinical precision that didn’t look too dissimilar to watching a professional pool player lining up shots. He didn’t waver for a moment. He didn’t lecture or stall, keeping steady eye contact as he delivered each answer without hesitation.
The moderator stepped forward again. “Last question?” he offered, but none followed.
A ripple of light laughter moved through the hall. For once, perhaps in the conference's history, the crowd of academics was left speechless.
Law glanced over the room just briefly enough to find your eyes amongst the sea of people. For the second time that day, you could feel the smile on your face, the way it crinkled the skin around your eyes and puffed up your cheeks. But again, Law didn’t smile back, only offering a slow blink before his gaze flickered away.
Then, the lecture portion of the conference concluded. The moderator barely made it through closing statements before people stood from their seats. The dull murmur of conversation crossed the room as the lights came back up.
People blocked the aisle before you could even rise from your seat. A large crowd gathered around Law at the front of the stage, with Albert Vegapunk leading the pack. You suspected that people would keep him talking for some time, and, well, he could keep chattering for longer than you suspected any of the white coats or suits could’ve ever expected.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.
He did well, just like you knew he would, and now, he could soak up some well-deserved praise.
Law had a rough start to his career at the North. Inheriting Hiriluk’s population had been enough to put on anyone’s plate, but Law had always taken the workload in stride. Then the rumors circulated. HR got involved. He was put on display for scrutiny and had no tenure to hide behind.
And so, after tending so diligently to Hogback’s patients and the crunch to present at all, you waited in your seat. You could congratulate him at any other time. Now was for him to bask in everything he’d been working so hard for.
The rest of the team has already cleared out around you.
You nudged Penguin.
“What were you going to say before?” you pressed, a fluttering still in your chest.
He offered you a sad smile. “I actually think it’s the perfect time to talk to Cap’n about it.”
Your eyes narrowed, and Penguin held his hands up in surrender.
“Not escaping,” he defended. “It’s his news.”
Penguin gestured his head toward the front, where people continued to swarm Law.
You heaved a deep breath, glancing over the crowd.
“Good news?” you breathed.
Penguin shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s good or bad,” he admitted. “It’s just news.”
And so, you stayed.
You remained seated until the crowd began to thin, and people trickled out into the main hall. Once the aisle cleared, you made your way down to the main stage, searching for Law’s neatly combed hair.
You approached a small gathering of people speaking by the stage, convinced that you’d spy Law’s tall figure buried on the other side. But when you reached the group, Law was nowhere to be found.
You popped out into the corridor, only to find it empty. Then you scanned the bustling hall from the entrance. By the time you’d walked a full circle around the lobby, the lecture hall became empty and quiet.
No one remained except for you.
You took in the stillness for a moment, running your fingers over the backs of chairs as you descended the steps once more toward the stage. The podium still illuminated, even as the space stood empty.
You should have moved on to cycle through the list of places Law could’ve possibly hidden away. But something made you stay.
The quiet. The gentle hum of the hall.
Slowly, you stepped into the light and up toward the podium. The microphone was still adjusted to Law’s height. You touched the dark-stained wood, and as you glanced out into the empty hall, you couldn’t help but imagine what Law must’ve felt not too long ago.
You imagined the crows. Dr. Vegapunk sitting up front. Then your eyes drifted to the row where the team had just been sitting. You stared, almost getting lost in mixed lighting.
Until your gaze flicked to the right.
Law’s flash drive was still plugged into the USB port. You glanced up; the recognition slide was still hanging on the projector. You found Penguin and Shachi, then Bepo, Jean Bart, Chopper, Marguerite, and then you. You had the imaging category all to yourself, dubbed officially as lead echo technologist.
You took another step toward the podium to grab the USB case. With a light pull, it popped out into your palm. A stark departure noise chimed over the speakers.
“Are you happy with yourself?”
The sudden voice nearly made you jump, but your body somehow remained calm. You turned to your left to find Hogback on the other side of the stage. He clasped his hands behind his back, and a deep scowl tugged on the corners of his lips.
You glanced around the empty room, only to find it just as dim and empty as before.
“You think you did something, fudging Trafalgar’s data like that?” he hissed. Spit particles flew into the air.
For a second, you only stared at him. “What?”
“You should have stayed in your lane.” Hogback took a step closer, his gaze narrow and dark. “I warned Wapol about that.”
Your fingers tightened around the flash drive.
The stark lights only made your breath heavier as, for a moment, the world seemed to shrink to the side of the presentation stage. Despite the heat from the powerful bulbs, a cold shiver ran down your shoulders.
“Franky’s been handling your imaging lately, just like you requested—”
“You don’t get to play innocent with me,” Hogback spat. “I know what you are. I’ve known since you came here how arrogant and attention-seeking your generation is…”
“I’m not doing this,” you snapped. “And I’m certainly not going to stand around while you insult me.”
“You were hired to do an easy job,” Hogback ignored you, “not play doctor, not feed Trafalgar ammunition, and certainly not make a spectacle of yourself in front of the entire department.”
The stage lights cast harsh shadows over Hogback’s face, deepening the creases around his cheeks and bared teeth. A faint hum continued to run through the room, but around you, everything seemed to go unnaturally still.
You turned on your heel; the wary sensation of turning your back to him was enough to make you nauseous.
“I’m not taking this from you.”
You barely made it a step before his voice thundered through the quiet.
“You don’t get to tell me when I can speak! You don’t get to determine what I do when you’re nothing but a stuck-up whore.”
It stopped you in your tracks.
You spun back on instinct, eyes widening slightly, every muscle tightening at once. He was already two steps closer.
Hogback’s mouth twisted, his voice suddenly quieter. “First the questions, then the notes, then the mess you made when you thought a chart didn’t say what you thought it was supposed to say.”
“And what were they supposed to say?” you snapped, clutching your fists tightly at your sides. Heat burned across your skin.
You stared directly into his eyes. You watched as the burning rage choked him, clogging the words in his throat until his face turned bright crimson.
“Whatever I want them to say,” he hissed. “The charts say whatever I want them to say!”
Hogback clenched his fists in the air, shaking as he gritted his gnashing teeth. He gestured toward his chest with a trembling fist. “I am the doctor! Not you! You got your start in my wing. I gave you opportunities. I pushed for you to succeed, and this is how you repay me?”
Hogback’s voice dropped lower.
“You were useful when you were obedient. Eager, grateful to be there, a dumb little girl who had one job.” His eyes swept over you with a familiarity that made your skin crawl. “Do you have any idea what Trafalgar’s little campaign has cost this department? Pulling patients back, reopening diagnoses, dragging old cases into a review of all things because he’s arrogant enough to think everyone else is below him—”
“You are beneath him,” you bit out at last.
You glared at him down the line of your upturned nose, your mouth tightening with disgust. “You failed so many people — so many families. Real lives. You’re a fraud!”
Hogback went still. Hot air steamed from his nostrils. Then he laughed—one single, sharp sound that echoed off the walls of the lecture hall.
“Is that what this is to you?” he scoffed. “What do you think this place runs on? A matter of purity?”
His lip curled.
“You do know that the programs, the research, the cases—all of that—you do know those take money, right?” he mocked. “Do you think they don’t know what it takes to keep funding lines open like this? You don’t like it because you’ve never had to keep the machine running.” Hogback took another step forward.
Pressure crowded your sinuses. You dragged in a short breath.
“Do you think anyone here wants those numbers examined too closely? Or that anyone wants this dragged out to the public?”
He stopped only a short distance away.
“Now,” he said, just barely above a whisper, “once Trafalgar is gone, no one’s going to be around to protect you. I’ll handle you then, because no one’s going to believe Code E.”
The air sharpened around you. Your mouth went dry.
Code E.
A chill shot down your spine as the pieces slid into place.
The conversation at the party.
The rumor that followed you from unit to unit.
The Vinsmoke brothers transferred from Hancock to Hogback.
Everything they had heard.
“You,” you whispered.
Your grip tightened so hard around the drive that the metal edge bit into your skin.
Hogback’s expression didn’t move.
Gravity flooded your system, and heat rose across your body. A hot rush tightened your throat as anger and humiliation swirled together in your chest so fast it made your vision blur at the edges.
“You started that,” you said, louder now. “You started all of it.”
His lips twitched, barely able to restrain a smirk.
Your legs froze where you stood.
Every downward glance.
Every time you had to work twice as hard to be taken half as seriously.
Each trainee who had drifted through imaging bright-eyed and curious, only to vanish again after some private conversation you had never been invited to hear.
It had never been random.
It had never been you.
“You were always too emotional to manage your own reputation,” Hogback hummed. “You didn’t even have to do much. Trafalgar did most of it for you. That’s the thing about rumors like this—harmless entertainment, but enough to remind someone like you exactly what you are.”
Your eyes shot to him in alarm.
“You’re disgusting! The rumors you started were anything but harmless—!”
It was subtle.
Buried.
You wouldn’t have caught it out of the corner of your eye if you hadn’t been turned at just the right moment.
The red blinking light from the recording device.
You caught Hogback glancing from the microphone to you.
He jerked forward, his hand already outstretched toward the podium. You instinctively braced yourself, throwing your body in front of the recorder. You expected an impact.
But instead—
“Hey, Pig Dick!”
Hogback nearly tumbled to the floor at the sound of Kid’s voice. He stumbled, barely catching himself before retreating two steps back.
Kid took the stairs in a handful of strides. One hand hit the edge of the stage before he vaulted himself up as if the height were nothing. He glanced once at the recording light, then at the control panel, and finally at Hogback with a flat, unimpressed stare.
“I wouldn’t,” he muttered before he came to stand between the two of you.
His hair glowed like a flame under the stage lights.
“Eustass!” Hogback’s face drained of color as if he’d seen a ghost. His voice cracked on the name. “What are you doing here?” Spit flew from his lip as he glanced around, now cornered. “This is departmental business!”
“I’m a guest,” Kid said flatly. He held up the little badge he’d been clipped to his hoodie when he first came in. “A guest of Doc Traffy’s.”
Kid took a step forward.
Hogback took one back.
Kid glanced over his shoulder, but whatever he saw on your face wiped away his self-satisfied grin. “He said enough.” Kid’s gaze flickered to the floor, then back to Hogback. “Don’t touch anything yet. I’ll get the file before some idiot ‘accidentally’ loses it.”
Your brows melted together.
“Kid—”
“Go,” he said. “Go find him.”
Your heart lurched.
Not because of the rumors.
Not the confirmation.
No, it was something else that Hogback said.
Once Trafalgar is gone.
You kept the flash drive in your hand and ran.
You ran all the way across the hospital with a stamina you didn’t have.
Across campus.
Up the stairs.
Two right turns, then a left.
A door to badge into.
And when you reached Law’s office, you barrelled into the doorway. You held the door handle in one hand and the door frame in the other.
You expected him to be there. To be sitting behind his desk as usual, peering at you from behind his computer monitors. His coat hanging up. His bag slumped over on the shelf of his file cabinet.
But Law wasn’t there.
Nothing was.
You stepped into the room, your hands reaching for cabinet handles and drawers.
Empty. Empty. Empty.
His computer monitor was gone. His books were gone. No papers. No coffee. No laptop.
The only evidence that Law had even been in the room was the faintest smell of ethanol. A fancy new car. Sterile gloves. A designer aftershave. A sleek penthouse apartment with leather couches and exactly one throw pillow.
The scent of something familiar. Something that was yours.
When you turned around, a gasp tore from your throat.
Bepo stood in the doorway, heaving almost as heavily as you were.
“I’m sorry,” Bepo whispered.
You glanced around the room again.
“No,” you breathed, “No, if he’s not talking with Dr. Vegapunk in the hall, he was supposed to be here.” You spun, as if turning your head quickly enough would put everything back where it belonged.
“He doesn’t like attention.” You ran a hand over your hair. The pace of your breathing picked up. “So he would’ve slinked off here. To his office. He should be here right now.” A suffocating heat burned at your throat.
Bepo stepped inside, careful and hesitant, as if entering too quickly would make you break where you stood.
You stared at the desk chair, pushed in neatly with not even a jacket sling across the back. Your pulse beat like a drum in your ear.
“Where is he?” you asked, your voice suddenly sober.
You turned toward Bepo.
“Where is he?”
“None of us realized he was going to leave so soon after,” Bepo said, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want you to find out alone.”
You stumbled forward to press one hand against the desk. You stared into the swirled patterns of the dark-stained wood below.
“That’s why everyone was acting like that,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Bepo. “That’s who no one could look at me.”
You could hear your pulse beat faster.
Bepo shifted behind you.
“He only told us before the presentations,” Bepo said softly. “Barely before.”
Your throat tightened so hard it hurt. “You all knew,” you choked. “That’s why you were all… fuck, I should have known.”
“We just—we promised him. He said it had to be after the conference. He said if you knew before, you’d try to stop him—”
“Where is he now?” you demanded, already moving.
You marched around Bepo and out into the hallway.
His footsteps scrambled after you. “I think he needed to talk to admin before he went—”
You shook your head, muttering more to yourself than to him. “No. If Hogback already knew, then it’s already done. He’s already leaving.”
The words nearly took your breath away.
You broke into a run.
“Wait—where are you going?” Bepo called. He was already so far behind you.
“The parking lot!”
You hit the stairwell door and shoved through it, bounding down the stairs as you ran through directions in your head. You remembered the garage Law liked to park in. The parking spots he usually chose—the fastest way from his wing to there.
By the time you reached the ground floor, you could hardly breathe. Your legs ached as you pushed yourself back across campus. You took steady breaths in through your nose, cursing the shoes you wore.
Your lungs burned, but you didn’t care about the pain.
By the time you reached your car, you were shaking so badly you nearly dropped your keys. You shoved them in the ignition and turned. The engine stalled.
You cursed under your breath, trying again before your car roared to life. You whipped out of the parking space with reckless speed. The speed bumps you rolled over nearly made your head hit the roof of your car. Your forehead slammed against your sunshield. You clenched your ticket in your hand on the steering wheel, and you fumbled with your wallet with the other.
Your momentum slowed at the exit gates. You were shoving your ticket in the machine before you came to a complete stop. Out of the corner of your eye, a familiar, sleek, black Lexus was already rolling toward the exit gate. You slammed your card against the machine with gritted teeth.
“C’mon!”
You flew out of the garage the moment the gates went up, your eyes never once leaving Law’s car. You shot down the lane, swerving hard across the exit and solid-colored lines as you turned.
Your wheels screeched against the pavement. You weren’t even driving anymore as much as you were following through with a reckless momentum.
In an instant, you swung out in front of Law, skidding completely horizontally across the lane to completely block his path.
Law slammed on his brakes. He barely managed to stop short enough to avoid hitting your passenger’s side. The back of his car lurched, flying up as Law flew forward, then slammed back against his seat.
You clutched the steering wheel as your car wobbled, balancing on the two driver’s-side wheels before finally settling.
For a moment, Law stared at you through his windshield, his eyes wide and his face frozen in shock. You stared back at him through your passenger window, your hair falling in your face. Neither of you moved for a beat. You were still half-anticipating the airbags going off.
Law was the first to move, his lips contorting into a sharp scowl as he unbuckled his belt, letting it snap back as he pushed open his door.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted. The driver’s side door snapped closed with a sharp pop.
You sucked in a disbelieving breath. Your shock quickly melted into rage, as if hearing his voice was enough to remind you why you had cut him off in the first place.
“What the hell am I doing?” you screamed, throwing your door open as you marched right up to him, jabbing a finger in the center of his chest. “You think I wouldn’t hear about what you were doing? You sent Bepo to let me down, you jackass!”
Law took a steady breath in. “Move the car.”
“No,” you snapped.
Law’s jaw tightened as he glanced away. The polish he’d worn for the conference had long faded, revealing a raw, strained varnish underneath.
“Move it,” he said again, lower this time. “You could have caused an accident.”
You stared at him, scrutinizing his downward gaze. You didn’t humor him with more than a laugh.
“What, exactly, was the plan here?” you gritted. “Finish your presentation while the team choked on your secret, and then what?” Your voice broke upward. “Disappear? That was your genius idea?”
Law’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “You weren’t supposed to find out like this.”
“Really?” Your eyes narrowed. “Because it looks an awful lot like you were going to leave me to figure it out!”
Law’s eyes clenched as he ran a hand over his face. “Bepo wasn’t supposed to let you be alone.”
“You left Bepo to clean this up?” you raged. Your nose scrunched up into a snarl. “You left that kid to do your dirty work—”
You pressed your finger against his chest again. This time, Law caught your wrist, his touch firm and warm enough to make your pulse lurch traitorously against his fingers. You stared into Law’s golden eyes, tears starting to prickle in yours.
“You don’t get to go cold on me,” you gritted breathlessly. You tried to pull your hand back, but Law held you in his grasp. “You don’t get to go silent and leave without a word after all that talk about trusting each other and doing this together. Whatever happened to not keeping things from me? You don’t get to leave me behind like this!”
Law slowly lowered your hand, never letting go as he looked into your eyes.
“I wasn’t leaving you behind,” he finally said, his fingers squeezing gently into your skin. “Just the hospital. It was the best option.”
“For who?” you spat.
Law didn’t answer right away. The only continued to hold your hand. He held you like you were the last person on earth, and you relaxed in his grip with an embarrassing softness. It was something in his eyes. In his pretty golden eyes. An earnestness that left your rage defenseless.
Law brushed the back of your hand with his thumb.
“I took care of it,” he said. His voice was even, steady. “I already made an agreement.”
Your forehead crinkled. “What agreement?”
He held your gaze for a long moment.
“You don’t have to worry about the case anymore. You don’t have to worry about the rumors or feel like you’re going to die thinking about them. Because I’ve taken care of it.”
The words were familiar.
Your lips parted in realization.
“I didn’t want this,” you breathed. “When I said—when I wished— God, I didn’t mean this. This doesn’t protect the team or me. Your patients need you—”
“They’re covered,” Law cut in softly. “Hancock and Crocus are taking over until they hire another EP.”
“I need you.”
Law paused.
Whatever he wanted to say died on his lips as he wavered. Something complicated flashed across his eyes before disappearing with a blink.
“If I step down,” he began, “If I took responsibility for what our relationship ‘looked like,’ then you can stay.” His thumb brushed against the back of your hand again. “I had one option that kept this from spreading any further. So I took it.”
He offered you a single nod.
Tears spilled over your waterline.
“You didn’t tell me any of this?” you whispered incredulously.
Law didn’t deny it. “You would have tried to stop me.”
You recoiled away as if he’d slapped you. Law let go of your hand, his fingers lingering on your skin as long as he could.
“Yes!” you snapped. “I would’ve!”
“I know…”
You couldn’t help the hiccup that tore from your throat. As if the motion broke something loose, tears finally spilled freely down your cheeks. You shook your head, staring at the buttons on his shirt.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. All you did was protect me, and they used you to get at me—”
“And if I stayed,” he said, his voice low and level, “it would’ve been worse.”
“And you think they’re still not going to do that just because you left?” you howled.
“Yes.”
Law spoke with the same measured certainty he always had. Doubtless. Sure.
For a second, the parking lot seemed to disappear around you.
“How?” The word tumbled from your mouth, like a plea. Broken and quiet.
Law paused for what felt like an eternity.
“Because that was the agreement.”
Color drained from your eyes, but Law was already speaking before you could ask a thing.
“If I resigned quietly, then the hospital was prepared to characterize me as having compromised judgment. The Vinsmokes are also being quietly removed.” He spoke as if he were explaining a diagnosis to a patient.
“No,” you gasped.
“They wanted another person,” Law continued. “I’m new. I have other offers. The video from that night—the one where I showed up—well, it wasn’t a good look for the hospital. But I don’t have to be working down the hall for us to be together… if that was something you still wanted.”
You hated how the mere mention of a future together disarmed you. Nothing from the rest of the day seemed to matter. The burning rage you felt toward your situation, the institution, at Law, and yourself almost didn’t stand a chance against the prospect that the thing you wanted most.
“Hogback knew,” you simmered. You tossed the flash drive to Law from your pocket. He caught it mid-air. “He cornered me after you vanished. He knew you were leaving—he was counting on it.”
Something complicated flashed across Law’s eyes. Even now, he was crunching data, calibrating in real time.
You crossed your arms over your chest.
“He said enough on a live mic to hang himself by the way, so if you were planning on nobly sacrificing yourself because of that dickwad’s mess, you picked a really stupid day.”
The air stilled between you.
Law eyes searched yours, craving information he was too prideful to ask. No, you were serious. This wasn’t a bid to get him to reconsider.
“First—” His golden eyes continued to search yours. —“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” you huffed, looking away.
“I’m serious,” Law said, more sternly this time. “Did he touch you?”
“No,” you affirmed quickly, lost in a random divot in the pavement. “Kid stepped in before he could do anything stupid.”
Another pause.
“Kid,” Law repeated, his frown returning.
Your nose flared once as you held up a finger. “That is not the part to focus on right now.”
“What did he say?” he asked, his breath hitching for a second. “Hogback, I mean.”
“Enough,” you scoffed. “Between the grant money talk, the rumors he admitted to, and the review, if the North wanted a fall guy, they’ve got one.”
Law went still. For the first time since you’d cut off his car, he looked genuinely caught off guard. The muscles in his face contracted in thought. You could see the data flash across his golden irises.
“Who heard what?” he asked.
You scoffed. “I’m sure everyone heard everything. It’s recorded too.”
“That…” Law drew in a sharp breath. “Might change a few things.”
“It changes everything.” You nodded furiously, the fire returning to your voice. “Hogback fucking himself or not, if you walk away now, it doesn’t change anything for me. I’ll still be the distraction. I’ll still be Code E—”
“No, you won’t.”
“If you’re going to leave, at least let me come with you.”
Law didn’t even give the suggestion a thought.
“No,” Law said again, more sternly this time. His jaw flexed as he glanced back toward the ground. “That is not a solution.”
“But you leaving is?” you shot back.
“You’re not going to leave everything you’ve built—that you’ve achieved—behind. What about your position, your work, your department—”
“What role, Law?” you snapped. “I’ve built everything I wanted!” you exclaimed, the tears spilling down your cheeks again. “I don’t even have a real position, Law. I never got a title or pay when Wapol left. Every late shift. Every early call. Every single doctor on the floor that I tended to alone. I’ve lost friends over this place!”
You wiped at your tears with annoyance.
“And now, when it finally matters,” you hiccuped, “you think this is the best place for me.”
You were shaking now. With anger. With adrenaline. With the memories of Wapol and Kid. Shachi and Penguin. Hogback and the QC meetings. Every raise and title change you never got.
Law went completely still. He glanced toward the hospital, then at you.
“You can’t come with me,” he said quietly, taking a careful step toward you. “But I also can’t stop you. You’ve never listened to me before.”
For the first time in a long while, a little smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “You jump, I jump, right?” you whispered, inching just a bit closer. “I’m serious.”
“I know.”
Law’s hand came up to your jaw before sliding to the back of your neck, warm and steadying. You leaned into him on instinct, balling the fabric of his shirt into your fists as if you were the only thing anchoring him to the ground.
Then he kissed you, exhaling like it was something he’d been holding in too long.
The parking lot melted away around you. A weight lifted from your shoulders, like shedding a fur coat in the middle of summer. Your hands traveled up his shoulders, looping around the back of his neck as you pulled him closer, threading your fingers through his hair.
There was only him, the hitch of his breath when you kissed him back harder, and the way his other hand found your waist like he’d been starving for your touch alone. He kissed you like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words.
And you let him.
You let him tell you in slow, unsteady breaths and the press of his lips. In the way his hands held your body, drawing you closer like he didn’t believe you were actually there. And in that moment, the world perfected itself, simmering down to you and him.
You and him.
It had always been the two of you.
When he pulled back, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours. His breathing was uneven now, his voice raw. You could feel his heart pound in his chest.
“I thought you’d hate me,” he breathed, as if he were whispering a confession.
You huffed a light laugh, holding him closer. “Don’t worry, baby doc, I do.”
Law snickered, his chest vibrating against you. Your hands traveled from the front of his shirt to his shoulders to wrap your arms around his neck.
But just as you were about to lean into another kiss, you heard the sound of an electric motor behind you.
“Dr. Trafalgar! Wait! Wait, Dr. Trafalgar!”
You both turned. A golf cart came tearing across the lot at a speed no golf cart should ever achieve. Albert Vegapunk half-stood out of his seat with his foot on the pedal and two pale fists on the wheel. He braked crookedly, one tire bumping the curb.
He jumped out in a rush that was somehow both frantic and deeply uncoordinated, stopping just short of Law’s still-running car. His lips were poised to speak, but as he looked between you and Law, his words slowly died. Dr. Vegapunk’s gaze lingered on where your arms were still looped around Law’s neck.
“Oh.” He blinked before clearing his throat. He took a step back as if he’d intruded on some private, invisible circle. “Well. That is—goodness—that does explain quite a bit.” He nodded.
Heat returned to your face as you immediately dropped your arms. You stepped to the side as if you weren’t already incriminated.
Law, infuriatingly, almost looked composed.
“Dr. Vegapunk,” he greeted formally, as if they’d run into each other anywhere else.
“No, no, no, no! You do not, ‘Dr. Vegapunk’ me, young man.” Dr. Vegapunk shook his head, waving his arms frantically in front of him in a large ‘X’ shape. “I leave for one plate of apple slices—one plate—and suddenly I am informed that our best up-and-coming talent is about to vanish via side exit like some sort of robber in the night!”
Law’s expression didn’t change. “Rest assured, I was not robbing anyone.”
Dr. Vegapunk shook his head again. “Forget this! Forget this!” He jabbed a finger at Law. “The point is the vanishing. The secrecy. The melodrama of the parking lot. This is unacceptable, entirely unacceptable!”
“And you.” Dr. Vegapunk turned to you, and your heart nearly sank. His gaze flickered between your open car door and Law’s front bumper. “You appear to have intercepted him with your vehicle,” he noted, his voice far more even compared to the scolding Law received.
You blinked. “I did.”
Dr. Vegapunk offered you one concise nod, running two fingers over the sides of his mustache. “Excellent initiative. Questionable adherence to safety standards. We’ll revisit later.”
You couldn’t help the small grin that crackled your lips. Law eyed you from the periphery.
“Not a compliment,” he muttered.
“Sounded like one to me.”
Dr. Vegapunk waved a hand in the air. “Right now, I need to know if the rumors metastasizing through my conference hall are merely humiliating or institutionally catastrophic.”
You and Law exchanged glances. “Potentially both,” you said in near unison.
Dr. Vegapunk stilled, a sober expression overtaking his face. “Explain.”
Somewhere behind him, a car honked.
Dr. Vegapunk immediately turned around with righteous fury. “Go around!” He stepped away from the two of you toward the car, waving his arms toward another lot exit. “Go around!”
The driver hesitated just long enough to look offended.
Dr. Vegapunk pointed more aggressively. “This is not the lane for you today! Not today!”
The car backed up as you and Law exchanged glances. Only once it was gone did Dr. Vegapunk turn back to you both, running a hand over the front of his shirt as if he’d just restored the order of the universe.
“Now,” he hummed. “Explain.”
You didn’t know where to start. There was too much to be summarized into a few short sentences. And so, you gave him as close to the bones as you could.
Hogback’s manipulated data buried at Syrup. Hiriluk’s misdiagnosed patients. The notes. The rumors. The review and the investigation.
Dr. Vegapunk listened carefully. He didn’t interrupt, but something in his face hardened.
Law outlined the agreement he made and the conversations he had with the administration.
“I only knew because Hogback cornered me,” you ended. You paused, worried that you’d missed something in your recap.
Dr. Vegapunk only nodded gravely. “And this is what I heard over my apple slices.”
Neither you nor Law spoke as Dr. Vegapunk seemed to ponder. For a moment, only the humming of your cars filled the air.
“Alright,” Dr. Vegapunk finally said decisively, gabbing two thumbs in the direction of the hospital. “The two of you, back inside.”
You blinked. “Inside?”
“Yes, inside,” he said, as if you were being obtuse on purpose. “I still have donors, board members, and three extremely important guests wandering around that conference hall who are far too close to realizing this institution isn’t nearly as functional as we seem. I prefer to preserve the illusion for another hour or so if at all possible.”
Dr. Vegapunk turned partially toward the hospital. “I had tried to take more of a backseat given that I’m getting up there in years, but it is clear that trying a morsel of retirement was a terrible mistake.” He pointed another finger toward Law. “Never retire. Retiring is the grave.”
He made his way back toward his golf cart, muttering to himself as he went.
“You,” he said to Law from the driver’s seat, “are not leaving.”
Law offered a tense but curt nod. “Understood.”
Dr. Vegapunk began to back up, his cart jolting as he rolled off the curb. “Good. Wait for me in my office. Don’t talk to anyone in the meantime. I’ll be joining you shortly as soon as I’ve finished sorting everything and smiling at people I do not like.”
The electric motor roared as Dr. Vegapunk shot out of the parking lot.
Beside you, Law’s fingers brushed yours. Gingerly, you took his hand in yours.
“So,” you whispered. “What do you think he wants to talk about?”
Law squeezed your hand. “I guess we’ll find out together.”
***
You didn’t remember walking back into the hospital. After that, the day vanished into a blur of conference rooms, shut doors, and fierce arguments.
The negotiations themselves were ugly. You only saw pieces of them, but by the end of the week, Hogback had been escorted off campus. Then, an email listing various leadership names was sent to the entire employee population announcing their immediate departure.
It wasn’t an apology, and it definitely wasn’t justice.
In fact, Hogback’s removal seemed to be the only thing that moved quickly.
The rest took time. The investigation that had once hung over your head was quietly reclassified and then later folded into a wider, internal movement. The rumors lasted only a day before talk across the hospital seemed to quiet overnight. After all, there wasn’t time for rumors anymore, not when inquiries dominated the institution.
Meanwhile, Dr. Vegapunk had stayed true to his word. In the aftermath of the conference, he stepped back into a more active leadership role despite objections from his children. And from there, there wasn’t much that could be denied to the founder of the entire North Blue hospital system. He couldn’t erase what happened, but he could address other things.
It wasn’t a fix, but it was a change.
Then, there was you.
It felt odd carrying your things to the office that remained labeled “Wapol” since you’d started. The room had only been used for storage since he departed, and so when you set your box of things down, it almost blended in with the rest.
Inside were your pictures from your corkboard. The certificates. The awards. Everything you’d collected up until now.
Staying didn’t feel triumphant, but it didn’t mean accepting less either.
For a while, it felt more like stagnation. Too much had happened for your choice to stay to feel natural. But for all the ways the hospital had failed you, it was now also a place that gave you the room to make something better of everything it had nearly taken.
It wasn’t a victory. It was work — perhaps harder than leaving would have been. But after all you had been through, hard work no longer intimidated you.
A soft knock came from the doorframe.
“Is this the office of the Senior Imaging Supervisor?”
You turned.
Law stood with his shoulder braced against the door frame. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his white coat, as usual.
“Among other things.” You didn’t hide the wide grin that covered your lips. “That depends on who’s asking?”
The corners of Law’s lips twitched. “A physician with a scheduling concern.”
You shook your head, planting both palms on the edge of your new desk as you leaned back against the hardwood. “Denied,” you hummed. “You’ll have to file in writing.”
“I was afraid of that.” Law’s gaze drifted as he slowly pulled Wapol’s name card from the door label. He pushed off the frame and stepped into the office. “It suits you.”
“Mh,” you hummed. “Not quite yet.”
You glanced around at the clutter that surrounded you and over the stored equipment before you settled on the nameplate next to you on the desk. You picked it up wordlessly, then crossed to the trash.
Law met you there without a word, holding Wapol’s door card loosely between his fingers. You hardly spared a look at the cheap little plastic strip that had labeled this room for longer than it ever should have, then at the plate in your own hands.
Together, you stood side by side over the bin and dropped them in without a word or a flourish. The two labels immediately sank to the bottom of the empty bag.
Law’s shoulder barely brushed against yours. His golden irises had already been studying your face for a few seconds now.
“Better?”
You nodded once. “Yeah,” you said, finally meeting his gaze. “What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be across campus all morning.”
“I was.” He bobbed his head. “Until the board approved the outreach program—”
“What?”
Law didn’t even have time to react before you jumped on him, wrapping your arms around his neck and squealing into your ear. You bounced on the balls of your feet even as you pulled away. Law had scrunched his chin toward his neck, his eyes slightly widened, and his lips forming the same neutral line they usually did when he was caught off guard.
You laughed. “So it’s official?”
“Yes.” His hands went back to his pockets like they always did, and an untrained eye might have taken his slightly puffed chest as rigidity instead of quiet pride. “Dr. Vegapunk thought that incorporating Corazon’s clinic back into the North network was something we should’ve done a long time ago. Priority intake for uninsured patients and those living below the poverty line for more consistent days than just the last Wednesday of the month.”
Law cast his eyes down, a small, sincere smile ghosting his lips.
“Law.” Your brow softened as you reached for his hand. Your touch drew his attention back to you like a magnet. You rubbed the back of his hand with your thumb. “He’d be so proud of you,” you said softly.
For a moment, Law didn’t say a thing. He nodded, squeezing your hand. “I know he would,” he muttered.
“And so—” You tugged him toward your desk. You hopped up onto the edge, and Law, in all of his tall stature, leaned next to you. “You’re heading it?”
His brows bobbed. “Can you believe they’re already calling me director?” Law shook his head. “It’s more Dr. Vegapunk’s baby. I’ll need to get a lot of other people on board for it to actually work.”
“It’s not just Dr. Vegapunk’s baby,” you corrected, knocking your shoulder against Law’s. “It’s yours and Cora’s more than anyone.”
Law nodded a few times. “I suppose you’re right.”
“So, what does that mean for cardiology-cardiology?”
Law tilted his head with a shallow shrug. “Not yet,” he said slowly, “But not never. We’ll be working closely enough, just not the same as things have been.”
You stared at him for a moment. “Vegapunk doesn’t want to let you off leash until the dust settles?”
“Bingo.”
Your hand drifted up the sleeve of Law’s coat.
“So… about tonight…”
Law’s expression softened.
“I didn’t forget,” he said, “Everyone’s coming to ours at seven.”
Your breath hitched. “Ours?”
Law grasped the hand you had on his arm as he turned his head toward you. “I hate to break it to you, but you never spend any time at your building anymore.”
“Your parking garage is air-conditioned.”
“And you’ve already taken up half my dresser.”
“It’s not hard when you only wear collared shirts,” you scoffed. “Jean Bart said he couldn’t make it.”
“Marguerite said the same thing,” Law replied. And after a brief pause, “What are the chances—”
“They’re definitely together,” you affirmed. “I heard him talking about short rib again.”
A snicker teased from between Law’s teeth. “Well, in that case, it’s going to be Kid, Killer, Penguin and Shachi—if they show up on time—and Bepo is bringing dessert.”
Your brow perked up. “Is he bringing baked Alaska again? Because that kid—”
“Needs to open a bakery? Yes.” Law offered a curt nod.
Footsteps echoed out in the hallway. A familiar voice addressed what sounded like a group.
“I think that’s Nami,” you whispered, leaning your head against Law’s arm. His hand still grasped the top of yours. “With our new hires.”
Law glanced toward the door, then back at you as you began to pull away. He stood up straight, and you hopped off the desk to face him.
You met his soft, golden irises, still savoring the feeling of his skin on yours.
Law leaned toward you and kissed you once, brief and sure, before stepping away.
“Tonight,” he said.
You smiled. “Tonight.”
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
Special Thanks to: @aveocadeo @augustanna @starzbrii @sporkslol @chillerkiller @weepingjudgediplomatbasketb-blog @notbleachtea @yunloyal @valval08 @vilemint @all-mights-wife @breakingthebank13 @lipstick-stains-and-coffee-rings @starchild-unnamed @sin-namonroll
Super Special Thanks to: @qui-sap @r3nstar @nerdgirlsdoitbest
Series Soundtrack: Agora Hills - Doja Cat, Go to Town - Doja Cat, Before the Day is Over - Joji, Glimpse of Us - Joji, Circles - Kid Bloom, Killshot - Magdalena Bay, I Wish You Love - Laufey, Arms Tonite - Mother Mother, Past Won’t Leave my Bed - Ayli’s Version, Are We Keeping Score - Pleaser, Canibal Queen - Miniature Tigers
End Credits: Come Around - Peter McPoland
Notes: Thank you to everyone who followed this story. It was such a pleasure to write, and I hope that one day I can edit this work so I can release it as my first published novel. The community I’ve had the opportunity to interact with has been nothing but sweet and supportive. You all made this project so worth sharing. Thank you again.
Polls: You all voted for #1 and for “here,” which meant that Law was going to sacrifice his job and that they were both going to stay at the hospital.
Extra notes: shower me with comments please i am still an attention whore
A Taste of Home (Trafalgar Law x Reader x Eustass Kid) Chapter I
Synopsis: Hailing from the North Blue and a founding member of Kid’s crew, you’re the resident, overworked cook on the Victoria Punk. Unable to sleep, Trafalgar Law lends you his bed. Your cooking only brings you closer to the Heart Pirate crew and their captain.
Word Count: 7.6k
Tags/Warnings: No Reader Pronouns, KidPiratesCook!Reader, Arguments, Sleep-Deprivation, Forbidden Relationship.
Notes: Endgame couple at the end for folks who want to know up front.
Dining on the Victoria Punk was more like a series of snacks than full meals, spread across the day and night. The frequent, small bites were as gastronomic as dining got. While you could try your darndest to coerce any member of the Kid Pirates into eating a vegetable, things appeared to operate better when your kitchen became a glorified food stall.
Kid never paid much attention to it, and that morning was no different. It had been way too long since he last stepped onto the Victoria Punk and inhaled the fresh ocean breeze of the beach. Kid had been inland for too long, but as he boarded his ship, a scowl formed on his face. No, being at Kaido’s mercy for any length of time kept his stubborn heart bitter, and he doubted that anything could change that. That was, until he walked into the kitchen.
The Kid Pirates didn’t allocate much space to an activity as useless as food preparation, but you always seemed to make the space work. Appliances lined the left-hand wall of the room, just to the left of the door, and floor-to-ceiling cabinets for storing dried goods were on the right. A narrow island sat between the two walls, barely enough room for prep work and for five to sit on the stools closer to the right side of the room. Beyond your kitchen was a decently sized, circular table and a matching booth that pressed up against the windows.
Killer was already there, a newspaper in one hand and a coffee cup sporting a straw in the other. A few other members of the crew—fresh from sleep despite it being the middle of the afternoon—gathered randomly around the narrow space, talking among themselves and to you.
And speaking of you, you were hard at work. You must’ve had five different dishes going on—everything from pancakes to chicken cordon bleu—and you still had time to laugh at a few terrible jokes and refill coffees.
When he entered, the gathered crew greeted him with enthusiasm. Smiles. Enthusiastically raised eyebrows. And just like the rest of them, just like the morning itself, you were no different.
You had the windows open, the breeze taking the edge off the oven's heat. Natural light cast over you as you turned to glance over your shoulder. Your somewhat shocked expression melted into a gentle smile.
“Good morning, captain,” you greeted, your voice far softer than the flurry of enthusiastic shouts filling your kitchen. You turned your back on him, arming yourself with mitts to pull a dish from the oven. “I had a feeling you’d be stopping by.”
You were uncharacteristically… soft today.
Kid didn’t say a word, ignoring the greetings and sarcastic jokes as he stepped up to your little island. Sure enough, you pulled a hot, steaming dish of cabbage rolls out of the oven, no doubt just for him.
Perhaps you were worried. Maybe you missed him while he was away.
“Your favorite,” you hummed, more to gloat over your good work and even better memory than to offer a reminder. “Let me just—”
You turned to grab a plate and serving spoon, but when you pivoted back around, Kid had already stolen the entire platter in his prosthetic hand. The metal spoon flew from your grasp, and Kid caught it in his right hand. He sat down across from Killer, moving to place the hot dish directly on the wooden table. You plucked a circular trivet from the counter and threw it across the room with a flick of your wrist. It landed beneath the platter just before it hit the table.
“What did I say about ruining my table?” you snapped with a frown.
Yep. There it was.
Kid had already split a cabbage roll in half using the edge of the serving spoon. “Carpentry has never been your strong suit, shrimp,” Kid proclaimed rudely, a massive bite already in his mouth. It was far too hot, causing him to huff out his words incoherently. “Can’t look rougher than she already does.”
You frowned. You’d installed the table yourself, not too long after the Kid Pirates obtained the ship. The surface panels were uneven. The heads of the necessary nails jutted out just slightly, and while wonderful for pooling dipping sauces without a sauce dish, the rough surface wasn’t ideal for a table.
“Sorry we can’t all be master craftsmen,” you scoffed, serving up a few more dishes and sending your crewmates on their way.
You took the lull in business to arrange a neat pile next to the sink before you flipped on the faucet. Killer stood as soon as he heard the running water.
“Let me get that,” he said, moving swiftly to grab the pan from your hand. The movement spilled half a pan’s worth of soapy water onto the floor. “Go sit down for once.”
You frowned, but didn’t acknowledge your now-damp pant leg. “I got it,” you tried to dismiss, making a swipe for the pan.
But Killer didn’t allow for it, swiftly shoulder-checking you out of the way. You stumbled, nearly slipping on the wet floor.
“You’ve been on your feet for hours. Have you even eaten today?” he asked. You could hear a few snickers tease through his mask. “Nothing on a tasting spoon counts.”
You couldn’t help the light smile that threatened to tug at the corners of your mouth as you glanced away. You knew he couldn’t help it, and you were also certain he’d never talk about it. But Killer had never been expressive before, and these new laughs seemed like a window into something you’d barely seen before.
Killer took your pause for an answer, and, well, he was right. Killer didn’t acknowledge you as he sighed. “Go into town and grab something. Or if you’d like, Strawhat’s cook has been making enough to feed an army. I’m sure he’d give you a plate.”
The suggestion caused your eyes to widen in consideration, brows bouncing upward. “Oh?” you hummed. “Is that whose cooking I keep smelling?”
“Oh, like hell,” Kid scoffed, his mouth full. “No crew of mine is going to beg for food from Strawhat of all people. If I catch you crawling over there, I’ll drag you back here myself.”
You drifted to the end of the island closest to him, just a few steps from the table where he sat. You crossed your arms, leaning against the countertop.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked. By this time, Kid had already cleared a majority of his platter, which you thought would’ve lasted at least two days. You glanced at it pointedly as you leaned over the table. “I’ve been slaving away in here all day because my captain is a child who can’t maintain a dining schedule over the crew to save his life! Are you going to cook for me, huh?”
Your flat palm swatted against his goggles, and Kid slapped your hand away.
“You’re a cook,” he grumbled. “I don’t get why you’d need to get food from anyone else, let alone Black Leg… Make yourself useful and cook something for yourself.”
You opened your mouth to retort.
“But don’t you go stinkin’ up my ship with that North Blue slop,” Kid cut in before you could speak.
At that point, you hopped up onto the table, leaning forward over Kid’s nearly empty dish. Your nimble fingers swiftly plucked the oversized serving spoon from him, bringing it down on his head with a speed that made the air whistle. But you were blocked again, and a loud clang echoed through the small kitchen.
Kid magnetized himself, causing the spoon to stick unyieldingly to his arm, but that didn’t discourage your iron grip on the handle. You beat your hand against the back of his metallic palm, a protest to get your weapon back.
“Our ship,” you corrected in between smacks. “Wano’s done a number on you—you thug!”
“Thug?” Kid mused, taking the last cabbage roll into his hand before taking an unceremonious bite. “You really pullin’ out the dirty words, huh, shrimp? You used to be nice.” Kid frowned, but his raised brows were mocking. “What happened?”
“Oh, what do you think?” you huffed, finally snatching his now-empty dish away from him. “Glad to see prison didn’t beat the attitude out of you at least,” you huffed, adding the dish to the sink. Killer had made good work on your pile.
“Aw, shucks. You don’t really mean that, do ya?” Kid turned in the booth, knees splayed.
He grinned. There was nothing quite like testing your patience. Now, Eustass Kid of all people was hardly a connoisseur of cute things. Kid and cute were, after all, hardly associated with the same brand. But you were nothing short of adorable when you were angry.
He’d thought so ever since the crew’s early days. Ever since he saw you telling that dumbass customer of yours off in the middle of shaking a cocktail, it was something in the way you scrunched the space between your brows and curled your nose into a snarl. It contorted your otherwise aesthetically pleasing exterior into a violent, rageful grimace. And it was something about the juxtaposition that delighted Kid more than he’d admit.
“I’m going out,” you decided, turning toward the door. “Try not to starve to death.”
You stormed out of the kitchen without another word.
Kid watched as the door swung open, closed, and then opened again. It wavered a moment in the doorway before finally becoming still. Killer finished the dishes not too long after, wiping his wet hands on a nearby towel. Kid eyed him, a cocky smirk on his lips as he stared into the blue-and-white mask.
“What?” Kid probed, standing from the table. “What do you gotta say, Kil’?”
“Nothing,” Killer muttered.
Kid frowned, the self-satisfied grin on his face wiped away in an instant. He turned, leaving his dish forgotten on the table, to face Killer fully. Kid’s frown morphed into a scowl.
“You’re worried about nothing,” Kid grumbled, “Don’t be a damn priss about a couple of jokes.”
Killer didn’t say anything in reply, adjusting the now-very-damp towel in his hands on the stove's handle.
Kid leaned against a nearby cabinet, his scowl only deepening as he stared into blank space. “We all have our jobs here. You’d think that you’d know that after this many years,” he complained, perhaps to no one but himself. Something complicated flashed across Kid’s expression. “This is how we’ve always been.”
His eyes flickered up toward Killer for acknowledgment of his fractured ramblings, only to find that his first mate had already left.
***
There was something about cooking for yourself that put you in a foul mood—even the thought of it. You guessed it had to do with smelling and tasting your own cooking all day, which tended to dull your senses. And if your crew could stick to a schedule that even resembled three square meals a day, you might have been able to tailor a routine that didn’t leave your taste buds bored.
You found the very idea of acquiring a plate of someone else’s food alluring, though you weren’t entirely sure whether this new, temporary pirate alliance extended to plates. But considering the massive outdoor kitchen the Strawhat cook had set up a short distance from their ship, you didn’t think you’d have to persuade him.
The Straw Hat crew weren’t the only ones looking forward to enjoying an evening meal. Samurai, Minks, and assorted people from Wano mingled with them, already drawn by the aroma wafting from the cook’s workspace.
Identifying the Straw Hat’s cook wasn’t difficult. If the bright pink ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron didn’t make it apparent enough, the fact that he seemed to be the only one doing any of the kitchen work made you immediately forget why you left your ship in the first place.
You wanted to leave your ship’s galley, but something about the makeshift kitchen on the shore made you pause. A familiar scent wafted into the air, growing stronger as you grew closer.
You didn’t think about your approach, already rolling up your sleeves, your eyes darting to the various places where he could use help. And when you crossed the threshold from sandy coast to sacred ground, you didn’t ask for permission. You didn’t even introduce yourself; you immediately moved to wash your hands.
You moved like you’d been there the whole afternoon. The outdoor kitchen was tight by conventional means, but compared to the glorified closet on the Victoria Punk, you almost felt like things were too far apart.
The Strawhat cook set up the works: bowls of prepped vegetables arranged in neat rows, a chopping block that was still wet from rinsed herbs, a generous prep station, and two large pots, one simmering a delicious-smelling broth. He’d done the hard work, but when you had this many mouths to feed, you knew as well as anyone that the labor most certainly didn’t stop at prep.
You slid into his rhythm, immediately too busy to notice the cook’s face light up upon seeing you. He didn’t freeze for a second, moving around you as he made his subtle assessments.
You moved to several large covered bowls, gently lifting the cloth from the top. You inspected the pale, elastic dough. You poked it, watching as the mound sprang back quickly, but didn’t fill all the way back in. You glanced toward the Straw Hat cook.
“A Northern boy, huh?” you mused, already flouring the large cutting board in front of you with a goofy grin.
The Strawhat cook spared a second of attention away from his work to barely meet your eye. “I really grew up in the East,” he answered, his eyes flickering to the rolling pin in your hand. You were already working the dough on the board with perfect technique. “And you?”
“Starport, way up North,” you said. “I’d be surprised if you’ve heard of it.”
“Must’ve missed it,” the Strawhat cook said. “The name’s Sanji.”
You offered him a wide smile and gave your name in return. “Thought you could use the extra set of hands.”
Sanji shrugged. “Yours look capable.”
Sanji winked before you sank back into the rhythm of work.
It’d been a long time since you got to make Northern cuisine. Kid practically put a permanent ban on it on the Victoria Punk.
“That pigswill makes the whole crew gag,” he’d say, and after enough times, you stopped making it altogether.
You rolled the dough out into a long slab and, starting from the bottom, rolled it around the long rolling pin like a spool. You continued with rhythmic motions, gradually flattening the dough until it reached your desired thickness. You wrapped the dough around the pin one last time, then dropped it so it folded over itself.
With a sharp knife, you began to make precise cuts. Every few slices, you grabbed a handful of the forming noodles, shook them out, and arranged them neatly into nests until you’d processed all the dough.
You’d spied the handles of a few pasta baskets sticking out of one of the large pots. You brought your neatly arranged board over to the closest surface.
Sanji already had an army of bowls set up, each with a bit of oil at the bottom. Wano got chilly at night. This was the perfect evening meal. You began the first batch of noodles, putting them in the baskets and shaking them when they were done. You and Sanji worked together like machines, layering noodles, broth, and toppings like the best culinary assembly line the world had ever seen.
There was something meditative about the way service got on days like this. It wasn’t every day that you got to plate anything so uniform. Usually, your rush was twelve different dishes that required ten shades of prep and 350 degrees of patience. It felt like you were working through it all in no time. Between slinging noodles and garnishing, you were handing out trays to anyone who gathered around what had turned into a dinner stall. As quickly as the bowls were made, they were taken.
You couldn’t remember the last time your job was as easy as slicing noodles and enjoying the scent of rich broth. The familiar aroma of the stock began to melt tension off your shoulders as your body eased back into a memory of itself. There had been a time when you had fewer scars, when your back hurt less. In the past, when you were salting rocks glasses in snowy taverns before you ever set your feet on a sandy shore.
You were sure you had a goofy expression on your face as you turned around. Kid always said you looked dumb when you were thinking about the past. You definitely had your mouth open, and your tongue dug into the side of your mouth when you locked eyes with the prettiest charcoal blue eyes you’d ever seen.
The pirate in front of you appeared tall with broad shoulders. His skin had the kind of olive tone that deepened easily in the sun, giving contrast to the dark tattoos scattered along his arms.
He wasn’t pretty. His cheekbones angled sharply, almost making him look sickly. His facial hair grew patchy in some places, in stark contrast to the unruly hair that brushed at his nape. The dark circles around his eyes made him resemble a specter more than a pirate.
And still, you stared.
You attributed the momentary lack of oxygen to the way you short-circuited, to the way the bowl in your hands tipped, just barely. You made the mistake of blinking because in that second, the weight of it vanished.
Your heart dropped as you instinctively glanced down, expecting hot broth, shards, and wasted food.
You didn’t realize what had happened until the pirate muttered a low, rough “Thanks,” finally noticing the bowl in his hands as if it’d teleported.
Then, he walked away without another word.
It took you a moment longer than you’d comfortably admit for you to snap yourself out of your trance. You turned back to your baskets and garnishes, having faltered in the consistent rhythm you’d established with Sanji.
You tried to return to slinging noodles, your thoughts lingering on your brief and unfortunate interaction.
“Was that—?” you started, after a few beats of consideration. Sanji glanced up from his ladle. You stared down at your baskets. “Was that who I think it was? With the big hat.”
Sanji swiveled his head, looking somewhere through the crowd. His brows furrowed slightly. “What? You mean Traffy?”
Traffy. You’d heard rumors about their earlier alliances, though you were somewhat surprised by the degree of familiarity they shared.
“I just… I’ve just never seen him in person before,” you breathed, trying a bit too hard to appear nonchalant. “He doesn’t really look like his bounty poster.”
Sanji laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think he looks like 500 million berries either!”
You finally got to eat a proper meal. You didn’t care so much about plating it yourself as you did about not having to make it alone. After the initial rush, you had enough time to eat, finishing just a handful of minutes before the dishes started coming back.
You dialed back the heat beneath your pots. Throughout the cleanup, you spoke with Sanji about all manner of food: dishes you’ve made, ingredients you picked up at the last islands you were on, and, of course, Northern cuisine.
“Do you make it a lot for your crew?” you asked, hooking a pasta basket on the rim of the pot to drip.
The corner of Sanji’s lip dipped. “Not much. Most of the crew has a taste for Eastern food, and that’s what I was trained on,” he explained, pausing a moment to think. “Not to say I only cook Eastern food. Northern dishes take more time than I think my captain has patience for.”
You snorted, playing with the ladle's handle. “Oh, trust me. I know about a captain with a lack of patience,” you muttered. “Try a whole crew.”
Sanji let out a chuckle. “Sounds familiar. Don’t get it twisted. They’re impatient. Loud. They want their plates yesterday.”
“But?” You raised a brow, eyes on the stack of clean bowls in your hands.
“They know I’ll take care of them,” Sanji said, rinsing a pan under the rinse barrel. His movements were meaningful. He wouldn’t waste a thing, not even water. “We don’t have the most punctual schedule. I’ll do a midday snack; I’ll tailor the menu to what I know they like, but it’s a routine. They trust my hands.” He set the pan aside to drip.
“You mean you don’t get woken up to chop up mango?”
Sanji shook his head. “Even better—I’ve got a lock on my fridge.”
You stopped mid-step and stared at him. “No shit.”
You barely heard the sound of a bowl being set on the makeshift counter behind you.
“Seconds.”
The voice was too close behind you for how little you heard his approach. When you turned, it was him again. Trafalgar Law. He pushed the bowl toward you before stuffing his hands in the pockets of his slacks.
You eyed him, wordlessly making your approach to pick up the bowl.
“Starport,” Law said.
You blinked, your eyes shooting up to his. “What?”
Law gestured toward the noodle pot. “The cut,” he said. “You snip the ends.”
Perhaps you shouldn’t have fallen into the trap of looking into his eyes again. He wasn’t even looking at you, and you were having a hard time processing what he was saying.
“Usually, noodles are sliced straight, but you trimmed the ends so the tips split like a star,” he continued dryly, finally glancing back at you. “That’s a Starport thing. No one does it by accident.” Law nodded decisively.
You were quiet for a beat too long. Law continued to stare, expecting a reply.
You gulped. “You’ve been there?” You tucked a non-existent strand of hair behind your ear. You immediately touched it again, as if the first motion hadn’t been enough.
If Law noticed, he didn’t bring attention to it.
“A long time ago,” he said.
His reply didn’t leave you enough time to think about what to say next. The very fact that you were tripping over your words left you horrified. You weren’t a stranger to small talk—not in the service industry, you weren’t—and you definitely weren’t intimidated by any pirate, no matter how high his bounty.
Your captain was one of the most—if not the most—infamous pirates among the Supernovas. You lived elbow-deep in rowdy men with tattoos and cold stares, and that never stopped you from trying to beat Kid with a wooden spoon or take Killer by the ear when he was acting particularly foolish.
And yet…
“Then you remember enough to know I can’t let it sit,” you said, hurrying breathlessly, avoiding his gaze as you made him a new bowl. You placed it on the counter as if fearing that handing it to him directly would make your knees collapse. You sought anything to keep your hands busy. “It’s best when it’s hot enough—“
—“To melt the frostbite off—” Law said at the same moment you did.
Your head snapped up despite yourself. A smoldering heat crept up your neck for reasons unrelated to the soup.
“Good,” Law said, taking the bowl in his hand. “You haven’t forgotten. And you’ve still got your accent.”
He turned back the way he came and vanished into the noise and bustle in the evening light.
***
Sanji told you that he’d be set up for three meals a day until the raid on Onigashima. Part of the reason was the ease of feeding the groups gathered to take on Kaido, and the other was the limited food amongst the locals. You weren’t opposed to a mission, and if you could force your crew into a routine for at least a few days, you were taking the opportunity.
“Alright,” Kid started as he burst into your quarters. The door slammed against the adjacent wall. You didn’t even glance up from your book. “You have some explaining to do.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered, flipping the page. A colorful image of a salad dish sat in the top left corner. “Knock next time.”
Kid’s gaze tightened, the skin around his brows scrunching as he gritted his teeth. “Oh, is that right?” he hissed. “So you don’t know anything about the rumor that you’ll be cooking for the Straw Hats? Where were you expecting this crew to get their food, huh?”
He stalked toward you, eclipsing your book with his metal palm and forcing it down onto your lap. He towered over you as you sat in your desk chair, as if he thought you’d be like half the rivals you’d met—intimidated by his size. You looked up at him with a frown, impatience tugging at a vein on your forehead.
“I’m not cooking for the Straw Hats; I’m cooking with them, so it’s easier to feed all of our crews—this one included.” You reached a hand up to Kid’s bare chest, giving him a shove. He didn’t budge.
“All of our crews?” he snarled. “Last time I checked, you only had one—unless you’re considering a change of allegiance. Try it, and I’ll make an example of you.”
“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes, pushing him harder with two hands this time. Kid let himself concede half a step—enough room for you to shove your book onto your desk and stand. “Get your head out of your own ass and stop being dramatic.”
In your small quarters, Kid continued to invade your space, hulking over you with a scowl. “What did you say?”
“It’s a more efficient way to get people fed.” Your gaze narrowed. “We’re already in an alliance, aren’t we?”
“That’s different,” Kid gritted. “You could just do things like you always have instead of trying to fix something that isn’t broken in the first place.”
“I swear to god, you’re insufferable,” you groaned, turning back toward your desk. You reached over it to tug at the window, cracking it to let in the cool evening air. Things were getting a bit heated. “Things have been very broken, and if you bothered to listen to me, you’d know I could use a load off.”
“Oh, so it’s about what you want, now?” Kid chastised.
You turned, one hand on your desk. Your jaw tightened.
“As your captain, I’m saying no.” He scowled, taking up most of the room with his stature. “If I so much as see you with the Straw Hats—”
“You don’t get to pull the captain card on me—”
Kid’s metal hand hit the wall beside your head, just hard enough to leave a dent in the wall and make the windowpane rattle. His face scrunched into a fearsome grimace. A red flush began to pool under his fair skin.
“Want to test that?” he growled, his low voice rumbling in his chest.
You hardly blinked, letting your grip on the desk slide away. Slowly, you leaned back against the wall with a laxness that might’ve melted you into it. You heaved a deep sigh as if preparing for osmosis.
“Do we have to do this here?” you breathed. “In my cabin?”
“Don’t act tough. You’re the one who’s been sneaking off,” Kid growled.
You rolled your eyes. “I told you where I was going. We had an entire discussion about it.”
“Yeah, one where I told you not to go.” He finally recoiled his arm from the dent in the wall, but he didn’t back off enough. His shadow cast over you, baring his teeth. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? It’s a disgrace—running off with some pretty-boy cook because you can't handle your job.”
“My job used to be cooking.” You crossed your arms over your chest. Your nails dug into your bicep. —“and patching you up, and dragging you out of whatever mess you’d get into. Not playing glorified vending machine.”
Kid groaned, finally stepping back. He seemed to pace for a moment—although your quarters were too tight to allow him—before staring up at the ceiling. He heaved out a deep, steaming breath.
“You didn’t use to be like this,” he drawled, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You used to just…” The words on his tongue twisted his lips. “You used to handle it.”
“Handle what?” you barked incredulously. “Handle you?”
Kid shook his head. “Don’t start. You’re acting like we’re chaining you to the stove.”
You shrugged, brows bobbing with incredulous consideration. “If the boot fucking fits.”
“I’ve got bigger things to deal with than who’s hungry,” Kid scoffed. “That’s your job. You get to do that. You’re the only one on this crew who doesn’t have to stand watch.”
Your head shot up, your eyes wide. “That is not the problem here,” you snapped. “The problem is that people are banging on my door at all hours of the day for me to cook. I’m constantly in the kitchen. And let me tell you, no one ever wants the same thing.”
“That’s your fucking job,” Kid repeated, clapping his hands with every word. “You’re lucky you have a door. You should be grateful that I let you have your own quarters—”
“Oh, fuck off, Kid!” you shouted. “I needed my own space after everyone kept waking me up, and you know what? They’re still waking me up! It’s every day and every night. I lock my door and everyone still—”
“So you want to start on some Straw Hat bullshit then,” Kid barked.
“It’s not Straw Hat bullshit,” you shot back, barely repressing a frustrated groan. “It’s normal meal times and time for me to prep a normal amount of things.”
Three loud bangs rumbled through the wall next to you. You and Kid looked over instinctively. You supposed that the crew on the other side wanted you to quiet down so they could sleep.
They understood when it was their sleep.
Kid’s eyes cut to you. “You used to do your own damn part to contribute to this crew.” He shook his head, glancing around the room. He gestured in front of himself as if trying to physically conjure up the words physically. “You were… nicer. You used to be… fun.” He waved his hand vaguely between you, the air, and the ship. “You used to roll with us.”
“And you used to be my friend.”
Kid froze for a second, staring at you like he didn’t hear you right. Or maybe he did hear you right. Maybe you didn’t say what he thought you said.
He gritted his teeth, his jaw flexing. “I know I didn’t hear you right.”
The room went still for a moment, the tension simmering with a heat palpable to feel.
You gulped, almost hesitating before breaking the silence. Almost.
“You’re standing in my room telling me I was ‘nicer’ before,” you said in a small voice, almost whispering. “I wasn’t always just your cook, you know.”
“You want to talk about friends?” Kid quietly simmered. “Friends don’t embarrass each other by running off and teaming up with the Straw Hats behind my back—”
“We’re already in an alliance.”
“You’re making it look like I can’t feed my own damn crew.”
“Maybe I could keep up with the spontaneous demand when there were just five of us, but we have thirty-one people, Kid,” you stressed, almost forgetting to take a breath. “Just… let me rest, just… a few hours to let me sleep. Please back me up on this one thing… as captain.”
You moved back to the desk chair. As you slumped, you let your head roll back over the back post, exposing your neck. You finally sounded defeated.
Kid stood over you for a moment as you let your eyes close.
“No,” he said finally. “You’re the cook. You cook.”
You breathed in, letting a beat pass.
“Okay,” you muttered. Your eyelids fluttered open, your gaze boring into the closed cover of your book. “I told you what I need, and you don’t care. I’m done fighting you.”
You forced a breath in. Kid opened his mouth to report.
“Just get out,” you breathed. “I’m done talking.”
Kid stood over you, watching you with narrowed eyes for a moment more than was comfortable. Like maybe if he glared at you hard enough, you’d change your mind.
“If you’re so done running your mouth, then stop acting like you’re the only one who works around here.” He stomped across the short room. Kid slammed the door behind him, and the frame rattled.
***
You didn’t have time to dwell on your fight with Kid. It was one of many, or at least, that’s how it felt nowadays. You didn’t have time to ponder long, not when you knocked out as soon as your head hit the pillow.
At that point, you must’ve been up for well past twenty-four hours. You didn’t know how long you'd been asleep when you woke up, but you knew it was nowhere near as long as you needed.
A sharp thudding erupted from your cabin door. In your exhaustion, you tried to ignore it and go back to sleep. But the knocking only continued. You rolled over, clutching your pillow over your ears, but your muffled name didn’t stop.
You glanced up at your cracked window. The starry night sky hovered quietly on the other side, casting just enough light into the room to illuminate the wood floors.
Another round of pounding rattled the door in its frame.
If you stayed quiet, they would keep knocking. If you answered, they would want food, and if they wanted food, no one would want the same food. You wouldn’t see a wink of sleep, and by the time you were finished, the others would be up for breakfast.
So as the thudding continued, you slowly peeled yourself out of bed. You slipped on a pair of shoes and threw on a random jacket before you climbed your desk and onto the windowsill. The glass felt cold against your hand, but the evening breeze was far warmer.
You took in the smell of salt and that evening’s dinner before you jumped out onto the dock. Your landing made an unmistakable bang on the wood.
You glanced over your shoulder toward the ship. The rapping at your cabin door continued, though the sound resounded lighter on your ears.
The shore at night stood still and quiet. The water below you ebbed gently, as if the sea itself understood what time of the day it was. Your tired eyes had since adjusted to the moonlight as you strode aimlessly down the dock.
Your body had passed away tired hours ago, and if you closed your eyes right now, you might fall asleep and continue walking through the jungle until you woke.
The cool air helped. It kept you moving, but the sound of the sea countered your efforts. The waves lapped against the wood beams, tempting you into sleep.
Only when you reached the shore did you notice the unhurried footsteps behind you. You turned to glance over your shoulder. Then you froze.
Law stopped a few feet away on the dock, his gaze moving over you once before stopping at your exhausted face. Of course, the next time you saw him, you still appeared anything but put together and elegant. Not in your loungewear, half-secured shoes, and the most random jacket in your wardrobe slung across your shoulders.
“You shouldn’t be out here.” He frowned.
You turned fully. You crossed your arms over your chest in a half-hearted attempt to look less haphazard than you were. “What are you doing out here then?”
His expression didn’t change.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he drawled in what sounded awfully like a scold.
You almost laughed. Pirate alliances… always so suspicious of each other, though you couldn’t say it wasn’t a healthy amount of caution. Uniting to take down two emperors at once didn’t eliminate the possibility that anything could go wrong.
You looked away from his piercing stare out into the dark water. “Couldn’t sleep,” you admitted. “That’s all.”
“And wandering around half-dressed seemed like a good solution?”
You scoffed, not even having the energy to shoot off a retort to his prying. You barely had it in you to keep standing, let alone start a fight with a man you’d just met that evening.
“It was better than staying where I was,” you muttered, shifting your heel to depart.
“Better,” Law repeated, dragging the word out slightly.
Your gaze flicked back to him, brow furrowing. The corners of his mouth had pulled up, just barely.
“Where,” he said next.
“What?” you asked. You blinked a few times. If you were having a stroke, at least a doctor was with you to witness it.
Law took a half step forward.
“You pronounce ‘better’ the way the Southerners do,” he said, although the explanation did nothing to smooth the wrinkles around your brow.
“It’s a South Blue Crew,” you retorted.
“But you pronounce ‘where’ like you’re from Starport.” He bobbed his head exactly once.
You thought about it for approximately two seconds before your brain gave up on you. You breathed in. “Where,” you said again.
Law’s smile widened, small but real. Moonlight caught faintly in his eyes. “Where,” he repeated back.
Your bottom lip curled down. “That’s what I said.”
Law shook his head. “No,” he said, a quiet laugh slipping out with the word. “It isn’t.”
You stared at him for a moment, too exhausted to be properly embarrassed or logical enough to let the matter go.
“You’re making fun of me.”
“A little.”
You let out a long, labored breath and dragged a hand over your face. “Good to know I sound funny to you.”
“You don’t sound funny,” Law said. “You sound exhausted.”
“I was working on that.”
Law took a measured blink. “Out here?”
You crossed your arms tighter over yourself, the night breeze turning colder. “I didn’t have much of a plan beyond getting out the window,” you admitted quietly.
He looked at you flatly. “The window.”
“Don’t get me started,” you sighed. “I was just going to—”
“What? Sleep in a tree?” Law glanced toward the treeline, then back at you.
Your gaze drifted toward the beach.
“I’m sure the sand is still warm,” you trailed off with a concerning amount of resignation.
Law stared at you for a second.
“No.” He shook his head curtly. “You’re not planning on sleeping on the beach.”
“It’s like camping.”
His mouth flattened as he stepped down onto the shore beside you. “You’ve clearly never been good at camping.”
Your breath hitched at the proximity, but he only passed by you a second later, tipping his head over his shoulder for you to follow.
“Where?” you asked.
“To get you somewhere to sleep,” he called, never once turning back.
You glanced around the empty beach, then back at the quiet ships lined up along the shore. You hesitated just long enough for Law to get a few steps ahead before forcing your tired legs to follow.
The Polar Tang sat a little apart from the others, with the Thousand Sunny separating it from the Victoria Punk. Aside from the single lookout on the top deck, the ship was quiet and still. Even from the shore, it looked more orderly than most ships in port—no shouting, no drunken laughter, no brawls.
You stopped short once you reached the gangway, your steps having grown heavier.
Law noticed almost immediately. He turned to glance over his shoulder.
You looked past him at the dark ship, then back at the empty stretch of beach behind you. It was late. You barely knew him. He was a man you barely knew, leading you to an unfamiliar place in the middle of the night.
Kid would kill both of you for the implication alone if he knew.
Law shifted just slightly, his weight now on his back leg.
“You can say no,” he said.
You made the mistake of meeting his piercing, charcoal blue stare. You were convinced he could see right through you.
“I’ve got a quiet cabin you can use. It locks from the inside if that’s what you’re worried about,” Law explained, his voice even.
You took a breath in. After the lack of sleep you’ve been getting, nothing sounded better than quiet.
Your lips parted, then closed. A beat of silence passed.
“Why?” you asked.
Law’s expression didn’t change.
“Because I’m not using it.”
He turned and started up the gangway without another word.
You stood there for a beat, trying to wrap your tired brain around it all.
Not using it?
You didn’t even realize you’d hopped up onto the gangway to follow him.
“What do you mean?” you asked from the dock.
Law had already climbed the ladder up onto the deck.
You really should have left. You should have turned around and found another place to spend the night. The sand felt warm, just like you’d assumed. You might even be cut out for a tree, apparently.
But instead, without a second thought, you climbed the ladder. Law was waiting patiently for you. A woman stood at the far end of the deck, half-turned as she studied you with wide eyes out of the corner of her eye.
Law didn’t acknowledge her. He continued to walk, leading you inside the Polar Tang.
You nearly stopped the moment you stepped inside. This ship was definitely not the Victoria Punk.
The Polar Tang smelled clean, though not sterile. You had expected a submarine to have an atmosphere thick with sweat and heat, but instead, soap, metal, and what smelled like a familiar cleaner laced the cool, crisp air. A consistent, cold breeze blew from the vents lining the hall.
And more importantly, it was quiet.
A gentle hum rumbled throughout the ship. A round of muted laughter sounded somewhere in the distance.
No shouting from down the hall. No music, far too late. No boots pounding down the hall. The only aroma resembling alcohol was a vague ethanol scent.
Law led you deeper down the narrow corridor. The lights were low.
You followed a step behind, watching his back before he finally stopped at a door near the end of the corridor and reached for the handle.
He stepped inside just enough to let you pass, but you didn’t follow.
You didn’t have to know Law well to judge the made bed, the books and papers arranged neatly on the desk, and the coat hung by the door, as unmistakably his. The room he revealed was small and neat. Clean and quiet.
You remained frozen where you stood in the hallway, just a step or two from the doorway. Exhaustion and caution swirled together in your chest.
“This is your room,” you said weakly.
“There are two locks on the inside.” Law took the heavy metal door in his hands, closing it just a fraction to demonstrate the thick deadbolts.
You shook your head. “I can’t take your bed.”
Your gaze met Law’s. His expression hadn’t changed from the even look he gave you on the dock.
“If you want to leave, leave,” he said. “If you want to sleep, sleep.”
Your eyes drifted to the bed behind him. It looked painfully comfortable. The blanket overtop even looked like Northern sheep’s wool.
You exhaled slowly before stepping into the room.
Law moved out of the way immediately. His hand lingered in the doorway just long enough to turn the light down before he stepped back into the hallway.
“Use the locks. No one’s going to bother you,” he muttered. “And don’t worry about stripping the sheets tomorrow.”
Then, he left, closing the door behind him.
You stood there for a few moments, listening as his footsteps faded down the hall. Before you could ask yourself what you were doing, you reached for the lock.
The first deadbolt slid into the place, then the second. Your brain glazed over as you stared at the locks.
You blinked, finally snapping yourself out of your hypnosis as you turned to face the room.
Everything about the situation felt strange and wrong. It didn’t feel like you were supposed to be there. No, not in Trafalgar Law’s bedroom. It felt forbidden to kick off your shoes and drape your jacket over the back of his desk chair. But as you sat at the edge of his mattress, Kid and the rest of your crew were the furthest things from your mind.
When you slid under the covers, a tired hum rumbled in your throat. The bed dipped just slightly under your weight, and you melted with it. It was warm and soft, just like a bed should be.
And it smelled like him. Clean fabric. Soap. Nitrile gloves.
Maybe you should have felt more self-conscious about how easily you curled up in the bed of a man you barely knew. If you weren’t so damn sleep-deprived, you might have been embarrassed by how quickly his scent coaxed you to sleep.
Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.
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.
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
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.
In the rhythm of the "wack" meme: No age in bio, no tag! Minor, no tag (MINORS DNI ANYWAY)! No series interaction, no tag
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 Finale and Epilogue
i’m putting a lot of care into the last chapters of GSBID. I ideally only want two more chapters, and for that to happen, they’d ideally be beefy. if i forget to wrap up a single plot thread please put me out of my misery by karate chopping the back of my head like a squid
only two scenes left in the entire story. probably 4k words or less left. it’s been a ride everyone. i’ll try to edit fast and hopefully get at least one portion out by sunday at the very latest
i’m putting a lot of care into the last chapters of GSBID. I ideally only want two more chapters, and for that to happen, they’d ideally be beefy. if i forget to wrap up a single plot thread please put me out of my misery by karate chopping the back of my head like a squid
only two scenes left in the entire story. probably 4k words or less left. it’s been a ride everyone. i’ll try to edit fast and hopefully get at least one portion out by sunday at the very latest
i’m putting a lot of care into the last chapters of GSBID. I ideally only want two more chapters, and for that to happen, they’d ideally be beefy. if i forget to wrap up a single plot thread please put me out of my misery by karate chopping the back of my head like a squid
