Chapter Text
Rosinante had always imagined death would be painless. Not the act of dying, no. He knew his fate was going to be something bloody and cruel since his brother shot their father. But he figured death itself would be blank- as devoid of pain as it was of joy, if there was any consciousness after death.
But Rosinante was conscious, and very much aware. Aware of the blackness of the eyelids he couldn’t open. Aware of a burning pain throughout his torso. Aware of the deep part of him that always hummed when he used his Devil Fruit.
It was humming now. A heavy, persistent feeling, almost stronger than the pain.
It ached to keep it up. Rosinante didn’t know why he did. He started to let it slip, only to remember in an instant.
Law.
Law needed to get away.
Had he already escaped, Rosinante wondered. How long had he been drifting in this empty space. Was it seconds? Hours? Days?
He had no way to know.
What if, a horrible part of him whispered, in dying while using his Devil Fruit, he had stolen Law’s sound forever.
Law had already lost too much.
It didn’t matter that he had learned sign language, or at least enough to be insulting, when he thought Rosinante was mute. Rosinante had promised himself that Law wouldn’t lose anything else under his care.
(He had wondered, then, if that was how Sengoku felt when he took Rosinante in.)
He thought about the panic on Law’s face when he’d told him his plan. About the fact that he had put it there. Rosinante’s stomach rolled. His hands twitched.
His hands twitched.
Dead men didn’t move.
Hope grew, uncertain and wild, in Rosinante’s chest.
He took a deep, rattling breath, and tasted frost on the cold air.
His eyes felt like they were welded shut. Rosinante forced them open. He’d always been a stubborn bastard.
He was blinded for a moment, despite the dimness of the light. It took a long while for his eyes to adjust. He used that time to feel around.
His fluffy coat was the only thing between him and the cold, hard ground. He was bare-chested, apart from bands of fabric wrapped tightly around his torso. He realized, when his eyes finally cleared and focused, that they were the remains of his shirt.
He poked carefully at them, expecting to find agony where he’d been shot. There was pain, sharp and nearly blinding, but not as bad as he’d been expecting.
Rosinante felt around, finding a wall behind him, and took a steadying breath before hauling himself into a sitting position. He dropped back against the wall, chest heaving, head spinning, and fighting the urge to vomit.
It took a few minutes for him to gather himself enough to open his eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d closed them.
He was in a cave, small and cramped, with blood stained snow spilling from the mouth of it. A distant part of Rosinante realized that it was probably his.
But that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how he had gotten there. It didn’t matter who had saved him. It didn’t matter why. The only thing that mattered was making sure Law had gotten away.
Law, who was collapsed next to him.
Rosinante bit down the urge to shout, panic settling as quickly as it arrived when he saw Law’s body rattle with breath. But he was breathing too heavily, too quickly, curled pitifully around himself half on Rosinante’s coat, and half on the cold ground. Rosinante rolled him onto his back as carefully as he could. Law didn’t stir.
Rosinante’s heart caught in his throat. Law was the lightest sleeper he knew- plagued by paranoia and nightmares the moment he closed his eyes.
His skin was flushed with fever, warm when Rosinante brushed a hand across his forehead. The bags under his eyes looked more like bruises. That, and the blood on Law’s hands came together to paint a picture Rosinante didn’t want to see.
Law hadn’t escaped.
He had heard everything that happened, and had dragged Rosinante’s dying body god knew how far to save his life. He had to have used the Devil Fruit he couldn’t control to do it.
That eased and frightened Rosinante in equal measure. A week after he had first eaten his Devil Fruit, he lost control. He let go of the careful balance and ease the fruit demanded. He still wasn’t sure what happened, Sengoku had never told him, but he did know he hadn’t woken for two days.
The Op-Op Fruit was known to exhaust it’s user. Rosinante had decided it was worth it- the risk of a coma nothing compared to keeping Law alive. But now, the absence of bright white patches the only thing proving that Law wasn’t still dying, he wasn’t so sure.
With careful hands, Rosinante adjusted Law’s hat so it sat more snugly on his head. He rested back against the cave wall, and let his eyes fall closed.
Doflamingo had tried to kill him. He was still alive. Doflamingo had tried to take Law, but he was still with Rosinante.
He needed a plan to get them off Minion Island. To get them far, far away. Out of North Blue and Doflamingo’s reach. It wouldn’t be as simple as going to the Marines- Vergo had proven that, and Rosinante couldn’t imagine Law would be happy to wake up in the government’s care.
Rosinante needed a plan. But first, he needed rest. He couldn’t keep them both alive if he was dead on his feet.
✦✦✦
Rosinante didn’t know how long he slept, but when he woke the first thing he did was gather Law in his arms and drag them both to another cave.
Doflamingo and his pirates would be looking for Rosinante’s body, if by any chance they’d discovered it gone. It was impressive how far Law had managed to drag them, but the trail of blood left behind wasn’t inconspicuous, even as it was being covered by fresh snow.
Rosinante let himself rest for another day before sneaking down into the nearest populated town. He stole new clothes, food, and information.
It was good to get a warm shirt on, to replace his makeshift bandages with real ones. Better still to not hear a single whisper of his disappearing ‘corpse’.
As far as Rosinante could tell, Doflamingo hadn’t started hunting Law yet. They could make it out.
Arranging their escape took longer than Rosinante cared for. Stealing enough makeup to hide the tattoos on his face and the worst of his bruises took time. But he needed to. If he didn’t, he would be too conspicuous when he slunk into town.
He did this six times. He bought passage on a boat bound for East Blue twice, once further north, once all the way to Sabaody, and twice to South Blue.
The smallest part of Rosinante was glad that Law was comatose. He never would have agreed to being bundled into a large, over the shoulder bag, for Rosinante to carry.
It was easier that way for him to jump last minute onto a ship bound for West Blue.
They were at the edge of North Blue when the ship stopped to restock, and Rosinante slipped off. In the morning he snuck on another ship headed in an entirely different direction.
After that, Rosinante dyed his hair black. He was still paler than Law, but it would be easier to pass them off as blood related this way, if anyone saw them.
He repeated this shuffle three more times, over the course of a month. Law would wake sometimes, but was never lucid, only staring blankly at Rosinante as he tried to get him to eat and drink. His fever would break in brief spurts, but that only made Law’s sleep more fitful. He would twist painfully, scratching at the fading marks Amber Lead had left on him, and sobbing in the sloping language of Flevance that Rosinante had been trying to master. What he could understand was begging- desperate crying out for people Law had lost. Rosinante heard his own name more than once.
Each time he did, Rosinante would take Law’s hands in one of his, the other running through Law’s hair as he tried to soothe him in his clumsy Flevean. Sometimes it calmed Law. Other times, it made him cry harder.
On the fourth ship Rosinante travelled openly with Law, spinning a story of his son falling ill in West Blue, and of their desperate need to return home to the South. Instead they stopped in East Blue, on a small island in a smaller village that Rosinante had never heard of.
The passing of days brought more color to Law’s skin. His fever was the lowest it had been since they left North Blue, breaking and staying away longer and longer each time.
“Is there an inn in this village?” Rosinante asked the first person he met- a friendly looking old man sitting by the docks, who had been watching Law with concern. “My son caught a fever while we were traveling. I thought it best to stop until he’s well.”
The old man softened immediately, his eyes darting from Rosinante to Law, to the worried slope of Rosinante’s shoulders.
“Poor boy,” the old man hummed, his words shaped carefully and slowly with the practiced ease of someone used to speaking to foreigners. Rosinante had a knack for languages, it was an essential part of being a spy, but he’d still spoken to the old man in clumsy Eastern with the softest lilt of a Western accent.
“The inn is usually full this time of year,” the old man said. Before Rosinante’s heart could start to sink, he added, “but I know Makino keeps a few rooms over her bar free, if you don’t mind the noise.”
Rosinante bit down the desperate urge to laugh. “I’d be grateful for anything, in truth,” he said, and let the old man lead them through town.
He brought them to a homey looking bar, pushing inside and ignoring the early evening crowd as he waved to the woman behind the counter. Her eyes widened when she took in Rosinante’s height, before immediately fixing on Law in his arms. She slid a drink to a man down the bar without looking, and hurried over.
She said something to them in a language Rosinante didn’t recognize, before the old man held up a hand to calm her.
“It’s alright, Makino,” he soothed. “This man is only looking for a place to stay while his son recovers from a fever.”
Makino’s brow pinched in sympathy. “Of course. You can stay here as long as you need, mister...”
She trailed off, blinking at Rosinante expectantly. Something about it felt like a challenge.
Rosinante offered her the hand that wasn’t holding Law. He hadn’t forgotten his manners.
“Cora Rosinante,” he told her, thinking of what Law tended to call him. It would be easier to explain his son calling him by his surname, rather than a new name entirely.
“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Makino,” she said, her grip on Rosinante’s hand surprisingly firm. He nodded politely to her, before offering his hand to the old man.
“I apologize for not introducing myself earlier,” he said, but the old man waved him off before giving his hand an enthusiastic shake.
“It’s no harm at all,” he soothed. “I’m Mayor Woop Slap.” He grinned widely at Rosinante’s surprised hum, before turning to Makino. “Why don’t you get Cora settled in, and I’ll bring the doctor.”
“Doctor?” Rosinante asked, even as Makino nodded.
The mayor huffed. “Of course the doctor! Your boy’s had that fever for some time, hasn’t he?"
His stare was surprisingly sharp, and Rosinante couldn’t bring himself to lie quick enough.
“I don’t have much money,” he admitted instead.
He’d always kept a considerable amount on him when he was acting as a pirate, but most of it had been eaten away by transport and the assorted medicines he was bringing Law.
“That doesn’t matter as much as you might think, around here,” Makino said kindly. “Now, why don’t you come upstairs with me?”
Rosinante found himself nodding and following after her, up a staircase behind the bar and through a narrow hallway to a cozy room with two beds. Rosinante carefully set Law on one, as Makino fussed with the covers.
“I’m afraid the bed might be a bit small,” she said. “We don’t see many people as tall as you.”
“Not many places do,” Rosinante laughed.
He was spared from any awkwardness in the silence that followed by the mayor appearing in the doorway. He was followed by a stoop-shouldered old woman.
She didn’t say anything as she bustled over to Law, ignoring Rosinante in favor of checking Law’s pulse, temperature, and poking and prodding him in ways Rosinante assumed had medical purposes.
He thought he was being very patient, giving the doctor a fair amount of space to work with. That was until she turned to him and snapped, “Stop looming over me!”
Rosinante backed up and tripped onto the other bed as she glared at him- arms windmilling. The moment he was settled she turned back to poking at Law.
“Any chance he caught some disease?” she asked.
Rosinante pushed down the cool anger that flickered in his chest. These days Law’s spots looked more like scars, or vitiligo, than Amber Lead.
“I think he’s just exhausted.” His voice was sharper than he meant it to be, and he felt Makino turn to eye him.
“What happened?”
Rosinante swallowed before answering- buying himself time. “He’s never slept well. But it’s been worse since he- he saw something terrible. It’s why we’ve been traveling.”
“What did he see?” the doctor asked, almost managing to sound indifferent.
“Someone who looked after him got shot.”
Makino made a sharp noise. The doctor’s shoulders slouched a bit more.
“Did this person die?”
Rosinante shrugged. “It certainly seemed that way.”
He had done his best to ignore any thoughts of Law- unnaturally silent and panicking- as he tried to stop Rosinante’s bleeding. Tried to wake him.
He didn’t want to think about what would have happened if he never woke.
The memory of Law shaking the treasure chest behind him as he bled out had been horrible enough. The feeling of his Devil Fruit swallowing the sound of screaming, worse.
(Law could be so terribly loud. In his anger. In his grief. His sound didn’t fit his small body; like he was bursting at the seams with feeling, and the only outlet it had was noise. It was ironic, in a twisted way, that he had suffered so silently through the Amber Lead. Rosinante wondered if he’d have the chance to grow into his voice now, or if it would always be the biggest part of him.)
“Was it pirates?” the mayor asked. “The attacks in West Blue have been so cruel lately.”
“It was a pirate,” Rosinante nodded, before offering the mayor a small smile. “Is my accent really that bad?”
The mayor rumbled a laugh. “Your accent is plenty good, boy, but my ears are better.”
Before Rosinante could say anything else, the doctor straightened up.
“You were right,” she told Rosinante. “I can’t see anything wrong with him beyond exhaustion, and a bit of malnourishment. All I can tell you to do is try to keep his temperature down and get him something to drink and eat when he’s awake.”
“But he will wake up? He’ll be alright?” Rosinante pressed, and the doctor raised a bushy eyebrow at him.
“I don’t see why he wouldn’t.”
The strings that had been holding Rosinante the whole journey were cut. He slumped forward, tucking his head to his hands. He tried, and failed, not to cry.
Rosinante wasn’t sure what he would have done, if he had gone through everything only to have Law kill himself trying to save him. It had been a thought too horrible to linger on. But it had plagued him every day that Law blinked at him with hazy eyes.
Law had never looked at him blankly, not even when he’d hated Rosinante. His eyes were the most expressive part of him. At first he’d watched Rosinante cruelly, sharply. The way that cold look had thawed felt like a miracle. Before they’d been caught, towards the end, Law’s eyes had been alight with something warm and new, even as he grew sicker. Rosinante could recognize the hope and affection only because they had been foreign to him too, once. The trust Law had looked at him with had almost been too much to bear.
Rosinante wanted nothing more than to live up to that trust, to that faith.
To have Law look through him, to see his clever eyes unfocused and dull; it turned Rosinante’s stomach.
Rosinante had fallen into the ocean only once after eating his Devil Fruit. Sengoku had seen it happen, had ordered a Marine to jump into the water after him and haul him out, but not before water had forced itself into Rosinante’s lungs.
It had burned. Burned in a way Rosinante had never felt before. But the worst part of it by far was the helplessness. No matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t move his limbs. He couldn’t fight the sea, couldn’t fight to save his own life. He could only watch darkness creep into his vision.
Being free from Doflamingo, being free from the fear of Law dying, it was better than the first breath he had taken after Sengoku had pounded on his back.
But, in a strange way, it hurt too. Just like his gasping breaths had.
Relief could be just as overwhelming as fear.
A small hand settled on Rosinante’s shoulder. He looked up to find Makino, the only person left in the room, smiling softly at him. She set a bowl of water and a small cloth on the table next to Law. Rosinante couldn’t quite find his voice to thank her.
“You should rest,” she told him. “It won’t help your son if you’re both exhausted.”
Rosinante had to clear his throat a few times before he could answer. “I’m not sure how to repay you for this.”
Makino shrugged. “Maybe you can help me fix some of the higher shelves over the bar. But we can talk about that in the morning.”
She left before Rosinante could say anything else, quietly closing the door behind her. The bar beneath them was rowdy, but a clap of Rosinante’s hands blocked that out.
He soaked the cloth Makino had left, wringing it out a few times before setting it on Law’s forehead. Then he reached into the bag he’d carried Law in before, rooting around for a minute before finding Law’s hat.
It would do more harm than good to put it on Law, he knew, but he’d never seen Law without it. He figured it must be some sort of comfort, so he pressed it into Law’s hands. Law’s fingers immediately curled around the fluffy brim, and he settled as Rosinante pulled the sheets up over him.
Rosinante laid down on the other bed, staying on his side to keep watch of Law’s chest rising and falling. Almost without realizing it, he began to hum, then sing, the quiet lullaby his father had sung for him when he was young.
It was a song about peace. About love, and safety. About family stronger than anything else. Law wouldn’t understand the words, if he could hear them, but Rosinante imagined the sentiment was easily understood.
✦✦✦
In the morning Law was conscious long enough for Rosinante to bring him food and water. His movements as he ate and drank were mechanical. His eyes never focused on one spot in the room. Never focused on Rosinante. But when Law lay back down, his fever had broken.
Rosinante took the washcloth from Law’s forehead and re-wet it before heading downstairs to speak to Makino. She was wiping down the bar, chatting with a few patrons as she did. Rosinante knocked lightly on the doorframe to get her attention.
“How’s your son?” she asked. The worry in her eyes looked genuine.
“Better than he’s been in some time,” Rosinante said, and her smile grew to match his. “You mentioned something about the shelves over your bar, right?"
Makino’s brows pinched together. Maybe she had expected Rosinante to forget. He’d never liked being in debt to people. His time in Doflamingo’s crew only exacerbated that.
“I’ve been replacing the shelves behind the bar, but I can’t reach some of them without a ladder,” she explained. “If you’d be willing, I’d really appreciate some help.”
“I’d be happy to,” Rosinante said. He needed something to focus on other than Law.
Rosinante spent the next two days working on Makino’s shelves, minding Law, and people watching. The tiny village bar had an interesting range of clientele. The mayor was a regular, surprisingly capable of holding his liquor. A gang of mountain bandits frequently stopped by as well. They never caused any problems, though. They sat and drank and laughed as their leader slouched over the bar and ranted to Makino about the trouble ‘her boys’ were causing. Her stories made Makino laugh so hard she cried.
From the way the bandit spoke, Rosinante wasn’t sure if the boys in question were children, or impressively destructive dogs. When she mentioned her boys dragging home a wild boar they had killed, Rosinante decided he could live with the mystery.
On the afternoon of the third day, Rosinante was putting the finishing touches on the last shelf, listening to Makino’s stories about a monster that lurked in the waters around the island.
Rosinante figured it was a small Sea King.
“It nearly ate one of the local boys,” Makino hissed, scrubbing at a stubborn spot on the bar, personally offended by the fact.
Rosinante was about to reply, when a loud clattering from upstairs reached him. Rosinante was up the stairs in an instant, Makino close behind him. He threw open the door to his and Law’s room.
There were glass shards scattered across the floor. Law was sitting upright on the edge of the bed, staring at the glass and his hands like he didn’t understand what had happened.
“Law?” Rosinante called, afraid Law wouldn’t respond. Afraid that he would be as blank as he had been every other time Rosinante said his name.
Instead, he turned towards Rosinante, blinking slowly. His eyes cleared. Widened.
“Cora?” he whispered, disbelieving. Rosinante rushed forward, catching Law as he scrambled towards him, and pulling him into a hug.
Law clung, chokingly tight, to Rosinante’s neck. He had dropped to his knees to catch Law, and shards of glass bit his legs. Law shook violently, pressed so tightly against Rosinante he could feel Law’s frantic heartbeat.
“You’re alive,” Law babbled, over and over again in desperate Northern. His voice shook as he sobbed.
“We’re alive,” Rosinante promised, squeezing Law tighter to reassure himself. “We’re alive. We escaped.”
“He shot you,” Law said, before his words seemed to register and he pulled back enough to look at Rosinante. He didn’t let go. “You said he wouldn’t- he shot you.”
Then his hands were scrambling across Rosinante’s chest and shoulders, looking for wounds that were still healing. “Are you- what- did I?”
Rosinante caught his hands carefully. “You saved me,” he said, then turned Law’s hands so he could see the backs of them. “You saved yourself, too.”
Where there had once been a snow-white patch, there was now only a slight discoloration on Law’s right hand. Law gaped at it.
“How much do you remember?” Rosinante asked.
He wanted to know how exactly Law saved their lives.
He wanted to know if Law remembered he was a Marine.
Law frowned. “I- I don’t know.” He scrubbed furiously at the tears running tracks down his cheeks. “I don’t know.”
“That’s alright,” Rosinante soothed, running a hand through Law’s hair.
Law leaned into it.
“He tried to kill you. Because of me,” Law hiccuped.
“No, Law. No, ” Rosinante said. “He tried to kill me because I betrayed him.”
“Because of me!”
Rosinante’s stomach sank. “Law, he would have killed me even if I hadn’t taken you.”
Law’s eyes met his, teary and fierce. It pushed Rosinante to admit what he hadn’t wanted to.
“Doffy has been planning to kill me since I joined his crew.” His voice was rough, gravelly and tight. “Maybe even before then.”
For all that Rosinante hated Doflamingo, he never managed to stop loving him. He couldn’t separate the monster he knew now from the brother he had known. The brother who told him bedtime stories so he wouldn’t be afraid of the dark. The brother who would wait however long it took for Rosinante to speak, even when he forgot words or his tongue seemed to tangle. The brother who first taught Rosinante how to throw a punch.
The brother who said he loved Rosinante so much he would do anything for him. The brother that Rosinante loved just as much.
Was it better or worse to think that Doflamingo had been lying?
Rosinante took a moment to steady himself, to cup Law’s face and smile, as bright and warm as possible.
“None of it was your fault.”
Law ducked his head, a fresh wave of tears dripping from his chin.
“Why?” he asked. He’d never sounded so much like a child. “Why did you- why me?”
“Law…”
“I still could have died. Why go that far? For me?” Law collapsed further in on himself, dropping onto the bed and tucking his knees to his chest. “Why? Was it- was it because of my name?”
It took Rosinante a moment to understand. When he did, he pulled Law back into his arms. Law unwound his limbs and hugged him back.
As if the Will of D could have anything to do with Rosinante loving him.
“Law, no,” he held Law tighter. “I did it because you’re family to me.”
An understatement, but Rosinante figured anything else would be too much for Law to hear. As it was Law started sobbing again, clinging to Rosinante like a lifeline.
“You… You’re family to me too.”
Law’s voice was so soft that Rosinante barely heard it. His heart soared. He tucked his head against Law’s and let them both settle. They were alive. They were alive.
A few hours later, Rosinante crept back down to the bar. Law was dead tired. After Rosinante explained how they’d wound up in East Blue, he left him to sleep. Law had been sick for so long. It would take time to recover.
“How is he?” Makino asked. She had left Rosinante alone with Law as soon as she’d seen there was nothing wrong.
“Better than I could have hoped.” Rosinante dropped the broken glass he collected into a bin beneath the bar. “He’s resting now, but he’s finally himself again.”
“I’m so glad!” Makino’s smile was heart-warmingly kind. “Why don’t you sit down?” she said, nodding to the other side of the bar counter. “You look like you need a drink.”
Rosinante laughed, but let himself be guided onto a bar stool, and thanked Makino when she set a large glass of beer in front of him.
“Do you mind if I smoke here?” he asked her, ignoring the fact that there were at least twenty other patrons with cigarettes balanced between their lips.
“Not at all,” Makino promised.
Rosinante managed to light his cigarette without lighting himself. Maybe some god was looking down on him, and decided he’d been having a hard enough time lately without accidentally burning a bar down too. Whatever the case, Rosinante was grateful as he slouched against the bar. He made idle conversation with Makino, smoked, and nursed his beer.
Finally, finally, he could relax.
Of course that was the moment the bar doors swung open, and a loud, familiar voice called, “you’re as busy as ever, Makino!”
Makino’s eyes lit up. “Garp!”
Rosinante couldn’t believe it, not even when he turned to look. Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp, still in uniform, had just marched into a tiny East Blue bar.
His sharp eyes landed on Rosinante. Surprisingly, he paled.
“Something wrong?” Rosinante asked, amazed his voice didn’t waver.
Garp gave himself a shake, and grinned at Rosinante. “Sorry about that,” he said, settling onto the stool next to him. “My friend just lost his brat. You look an awful lot like him, is all.”
Rosinante could taste bile in the back of his throat. He forced it down. Forced himself to think.
Garp hadn’t brought any of his underlings into the bar with him.
He had known Garp as long as he’d known Sengoku. Thought of him as an uncle. He knew the kind of man Garp was.
If he couldn’t trust Garp, he decided, he couldn’t trust anyone in the Navy.
“Oh, come on,” Rosinante said, forcing the words with a heavy tongue. “Is a bit of hair dye all it takes to trick you?”
For a long moment, they both froze. Garp’s eyes slowly widened. Rosinante tried to smile, but it fell flat. Garp’s eyes watered.
Then his expression hardened.
“Why don’t you come have a smoke with me?” he asked. “Outside?”
Rosinante put his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray, and followed Garp out the bar’s back door. He wasn’t sure what he expected to happen.
Garp punching him in the chest, then dragging him into a blubbering hug was not at the top of the list. It wasn’t entirely unpredictable either.
Rosinante barely had time to register that he’d been hit before Garp was wrapped around him. He wasn’t sure how Garp’s troops didn’t have chronic whiplash.
“You brat,” Garp growled. Any intimidation was undermined by his blotchy red cheeks and the fact that he couldn’t stop crying. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? In what world is this alright? Letting us all think that you’re dead?!”
“It wasn’t on purpose,” Rosinante promised. Garp was, as usual, a bit overwhelming. “Not at first.”
“At first?” Garp pressed. “Sengoku’s been beside himself. Did you even-“
“Garp.” Rosinante cut him off. He didn’t think he’d be able to stomach Garp saying any more. “I barely made it out alive. Doffy thinks he killed me. It wasn’t safe for me to go straight back home.”
A part of Rosinante, the part of him that was still the frightened child Sengoku took in, had wanted to run home immediately. He had never believed Sengoku could protect him from everything, but he made it easier for Rosinante to live with his fear. The bitter, realistic part of him knew how disastrous it could have been to return to HQ. Would have been, with Law involved.
Garp frowned, scrubbing at his eyes. “So you’re doing… what, exactly? Hiding?”
“Hiding,” Rosinante agreed. “Hiding and healing. Not all of us can brush off being shot as easily as you do.”
“Do you need a doctor?” Garp asked, his concern outshining any anger he had over Rosinante making him and Sengoku grieve.
Rosinante shook his head. “I’ve already been treated.”
He had been keeping an eye on his wounds as he and Law travelled. They’d been healing shockingly well, considering the circumstances. Law might have been a child, but he knew more about medicine than adults who’d practiced it their whole lives. Rosinante trusted him with this.
“What happened?” Garp asked.
Rosinante told him everything.
It took a few hours. By the end of the story, he and Garp were both sitting at the table behind Makino’s bar, smoking and staring up at the stars.
Rosinante felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest.
“Pretty round about way of giving Sengoku a grandkid, if you ask me,” Garp muttered.
Rosinante choked on a laugh. “Oh, that’s going to be a disaster,” he said, more to himself than Garp.
Rosinante being a Marine would be a betrayal, to Law. But Rosinante’s father being the Fleet Admiral? He would be surprised if Law didn’t try to kill Sengoku on principle alone.
Rosinante waved off the look Garp shot him. “I’ll explain tomorrow. But tonight… I need to sleep.”
Garp nodded. He shuffled to his feet and offered Rosinante a hand up. “We can talk in the morning.”
Before he could leave, Rosinante said, “you know you can’t call Sengoku about this, right?”
“Doflamingo’s got spies of his own, yeah?” Garp sighed. “I won’t report this.”
“Thank you,” Rosinante said, and watched Garp trudge off towards the harbor.
When Rosinante finally dragged himself to bed, he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.