Mass x Acceleration

By Dixxy Mouri

Prologue

The young woman had passed out, and Mac nearly panicked. However, his house was in sight – just a little bit more and they'd be inside. Braeburn was next to him, trying to keep an eye on the young man in his arms, the mayor, and the young woman he was carrying. Cobbler was moving about around them, circling them as they walked – he, too, was trying to protect these injured strangers.

"Where do you think they could have come from?" asked Braeburn.

"Don't know, don't care – as long as they're here, on this island, it's my job to make sure they're safe," Mac said stoically. They passed through the gate in the backyard, and the mayor nudged the backdoor open. Into the kitchen they went, Braeburn kicking the door closed as soon as the dog was inside. Cobbler sat by the door, stoically looking at his master and the blacksmith.

Mac looked at the young woman in his arms again. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what had happened to her, but whatever it was had been nasty. He wasn't sure if her passing out was good or not – he supposed it was possible this meant she was resting, or she'd slipped into something worse. He didn't know. He wasn't a doctor.

Doctor. Of course.

"I've got a guest bedroom upstairs with two twin beds – let's get them up there and get them under the covers. After that, go get Robert – there's only so much we can do and it's not going to be enough. We need to get him here as soon as we can," Mac ordered, leading Braeburn to the stairs. "And we need to keep this quiet for now – once things get better we'll figure out what to do next but I don't want this to start a panic in town."

"Wait – why are we keeping them a secret?"

Mac lowered his eyes as they got to the base of the stairwell. "I'm the mayor of this island. Don't get me wrong – I want to help these two just as badly as you do, but I have to protect the people who live here as well. Besides, this could cause a panic – not only would that be bad for the other people here but it might hurt these too as well."

Braeburn understood – telling everyone on the island what happened would do nothing to help these people – it might even make it worse if a panic started and people started marching on the mayor's house demanding answers, possibly disrupting the patient's rest of any of Gala's attempts to treat them. The only people who had any business knowing what was going on (aside from those already privy to that information) was the island's doctor and maybe the mayor's mother, a retired midwife and the only other person with any kind of medical training to be found. Other than that, no one, really.

When they got halfway up the stairs, Mac felt a hand tugging on his arm. The girl's eyes were half open. "Bellemere," she said. The mayor paused, looking at her in curiosity. Did she need something? He readjusted her in his arms and rested her head on his shoulder. She seemed to calm down, relaxing a little in his arms. "Bellemere . . ."

I wonder who she's talking about? "It's okay, it's okay, everything's going to be all right," he said. She quieted, seeming to have passed out again. Mac frowned. Poor things. They must have been through a lot. He held her closer, continuing to tell her it was going to be all right and wondering how long it was going to take them to get Dr. Gala to his house.

They finished the climb as Braeburn led them to the guest bedroom door. There were two twin sized beds in the room, and the men quickly and quietly assigned a patient to each. The warmth of the blankets would probably do them both good, as there was no telling how long they'd been out there in the cold. In a few minutes the two drifters were nestled snuggly in the beds, but neither looked very comfortable.

Braeburn looked to the mayor for guidance. "Okay, what now?"

"Robert," said Mac.

"Right. Robert."

There was banging outside of his door.

Dr. Robert Gala looked up from his book and out the window to see the blacksmith pointing at the door with an angry look on his face. The young doctor tilted his head to the side, stood, and walked to the door. "In a minute, in a minute, I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered. He opened the front door and was nearly knocked on his rear as the blacksmith bolted in.

"Where's your bag! We need to go now! NOW!"

Gala stared at Braeburn in bewilderment. "What?" he asked.

"There are sick people at Mac's and we-"

The word "sick" was all Gala needed to hear. He glared, and the blacksmith quieted. "How sick?" the doctor asked, folding his arms and looking at Braeburn in concern. The blacksmith wasn't the type to get THAT panicky over a papercut, so whatever had riled him up must have been serious (or, at the very least, appeared serious to someone without medical training). "If they are that sick I need symptoms so I know what I need."

"Oh God, I don't know – they were washed up in a little boat wearing next to nothing – bald, skinny, pale, you have to see for yourself – something's wrong with them but we don't know what!" Braeburn put his hands on the doctor's shoulders. "I am a blacksmith. Mac is a mayor. We don't KNOW any doctoring. That's YOUR job!"

The doctor had heard enough for the moment. Even without knowing what happened, if they were barely dressed in this weather they're in danger of frost bite and hypothermia. If there's anything else I won't be able to tell until I get there, but we need to hurry. He quickly made a short, mental checklist of what needed to get to the mayor's house as quickly as possible and volunteered the blacksmith to fetch anything he needed for symptoms he didn't anticipate. Which, considering what little he knew, could be a lot of things.

Gala raised his hand to Braeburn's lips and pointed down the hall. He needed to calm the blacksmith down and get him focused on the task at hand. "My office. Now. We're loading up my medical bag with as much as we can carry. Be prepared to do a lot of running – if I find something else you will need to get it to me an hour ago – clear?"

Braeburn nodded, following the doctor into the medical room. As Gala started to gather supplies and had the blacksmith gather the easily identifiable ones, he empathized with the other man and Mac. They wanted to help, but neither was very good at basic first aid, never mind taking care of seriously ill patients.

"Tell me everything you can remember – it might help."

The mayor's new suits looked amazing.

Ria Elstar was humming to herself as she carried the carefully packed parcels through town towards the mayor's house. He had been in need of new suits – badly – and she was pleased with how the order had turned out. Certainly the suits were going to cost him a pretty penny and she'd be able to stuff some extra berries into her rainy day fund, or buy her girls new dolls – they had been particularly well behaved as of late – or maybe treat her family to a special dinner.

She nearly started to drool over the thought of getting a nice big ham, or maybe a turkey.

Ria left the main part of town to get to Mac's home. She thought it was a bit inconvenient to have the mayor's home and office away from the main part of the island, but it was nice and quiet there, and maybe when the home was built the islanders thought it would be best for their leader to have a place away from all the commotion to do his work in peace. It wasn't like it bothered her, and it didn't change that he had an office in the town hall so it wasn't like he was inaccessible.

The mayor's house came into sight. Ria smiled – she'd probably be able to go in for a few minutes and have a cup of tea or something else nice and warm. Snow was very pretty, but also very cold, and Ria wasn't a fan of the latter. Still, it was nice living on one of the few islands on the Grand Line that had multiple seasons.

Ria got to the door and started to knock. "Mac?" she called.

No answer came right away, but before she started to worry she heard the sounds of footsteps rushing down the stairs. She raised an eyebrow – Mac had a bad knee and had to be gentle with it, so it was very rare for the man to run. Maybe Dr. Gala had come up with a new treatment for him to heal the old injury better?

She could hear Mac calling out from behind the closed door, and it was soon obvious he had been expecting someone else. "That was fast! Were you on this end of town or something? The patients are- " The mayor threw the door open, looking worried and frazzled. When he saw it was the seamstress outside and not whoever it was he was expecting, he looked exasperated and disappointed.

"Don't look so happy to see me," she said dryly.

The mayor looked like he was trying to decide something. Odd. It wasn't like there was much of a decision to be made. He wanted a suit. He ordered a suit. She took his measurements and made the suit. They had done a few fittings to fix what Mac didn't like and adjust places that didn't fit. All he had to do was take the suit and pay her.

Ria paused – he had said something that made very little sense with what she was there for. Did he mean "patience", like what Wendy and Sundae didn't have while she was trying to make them dinner, or did he mean "patients" like sick or injured people? The former made no sense – the suit was supposed to be done the following day and she had gotten a little extra time to finish it ahead of schedule. As for the latter . . .

The mayor took a deep breath, giving his decision one last go over, over then let it out. "I'm sorry, Miss Elstar. . . something's happened," he said slowly. "I realize it isn't your forte but you've taken care of the girls when they were sick before, right?" Ria paused, then slowly nodded. Of course she took care of her babies when they weren't feeling well – was he stupid or something?

"Are you okay, Mac?" she asked.

The mayor swallowed. "I think I need your help – just until Gala gets here."

Ria froze. "What do you need Gala for?" she asked.

Mac shuddered. "We have a pair of . . . God, I don't know what happened to them, but they washed up on the beach this morning. Braeburn's run off to find Dr. Gala and . . . I don't know what to do here." He reached out and grasped her hand. "Please help me. I've never had to take care of anyone in bad shape before."

"If you're this desperate for Gala-"

"Please help me – don't you have mother's instincts or something?"

The seamstress relented. "Okay, okay, we'll figure something out, just calm down."

"Something isn't right," Gala said, pondering what Braeburn had told him as the swiftly walked towards the mayor's home. The blacksmith looked at the doctor funny, to which the doctor shook his head. "They were in awful shape, right? Torn up clothes, thin, barely conscious – those could all point to being out at sea for too long after being marooned or shipwrecked."

Braeburn nodded. Shipwreck made sense to him.

"But you described them as pale – that makes no sense for someone who's been out on the open sea. They should be sunburned or tanned after prolonged exposure – not pale. That doesn't make any sense." He looked at his hands, trying to weigh the possibilities. "I'm going to need to take a closer look at them to figure out what happened, but the more I think about it the more it's giving me the creeps."

Braeburn swallowed. If Gala was this nervous without even looking at them . . .

Mac definitely needed her help – Ria wasn't much of a nurse herself, but the poor mayor didn't have a clue. Keeping the two bundled up in the beds he had provided them with, the seamstress told him to get water. If they'd been out on the open sea, they needed clean drinking water. True, they were underweight and probably malnourished, but dehydration was the faster killer.

Once upon a time, I was a complete stranger who washed up on this island in distress. And this place is my home now. It's where I've been able to raise my little girls and watch them grow. Maybe it's only fair that I help the next drifting strangers to find themselves here, she thought to herself, trying to get the young woman to drink.

"It's okay, Sugah – it's just water," she said, trying to talk soothingly and calmly. She gently brushed her hand over the young woman's forehead, putting the cup to her lips and hoping she'd drink. "Come on, we want you to stick around for a while longer – you've got to hold on until Dr. Gala gets here to fix you two up."

The young woman seemed to cringe at the mention of Gala's name. Ria wondered why – Gala was a perfectly nice man and possibly the best doctor she'd ever encountered. She couldn't imagine his name making someone uncomfortable. She closed her eyes. Although . . . those things they were wearing . . .

Ria's eyes widened. Could this have been the work of some kind of mad doctor?

Gala couldn't believe was he was looking at.

Being a doctor, he had seen people in various states of the distress, but this might have been the worst he'd seen anyone – including several men and women who'd been lying on their deathbeds. Though they didn't look like they were knocking down death's door quite yet, they wore pained expressions on their faces that told the doctor there had been emotional trauma involved, which he wouldn't know the full extent of until they woke up.

He'd chased Mac and Miss Elstar from the room so he could focus on his patients, but thanked them both for trying their best before he got there. Even if there were two people in very bad shape, it was better to have one knowledgeable doctor by himself than two makeshift nurses who didn't know what to do beyond giving them water and keeping them warm. It was hard to split his attention between the two, but he found a way to do it and had makeshift charts for both of them he was furiously scribbling vital signs and symptoms onto.

"Wh . . . where . . ."

Gala turned to see the young man was shuffling around in his bed. As far as he knew this was the first the young man had been awake. "It's all right now," the doctor said soothingly, turning his attention from the charts to the young man. The young man turned to him, and looked at him with a distant, far away look.

"Is she . . . is she . . ."

"Your companion is just fine. She's in the next bed." Gala stood and pushed the chair back to allow the young man to see. Relief seemed to wash over his patient and he closed his eyes, mouthing the words "thank God". "You've both been through quite a lot, but you're in good hands. Just get some rest now, all right?" The young man blinked at him, then rolled over and pulled the covers tighter around himself.

Gala felt a little better – the young man probably wouldn't remember any of their exchange and probably wasn't truly conscious, but knowing his companion was all right had set him at ease a little which was probably good for him. He didn't want to wake up the female to do the same – let her wake up on her own if she needed to.

He wondered what their relationship was. Mac and Braeburn had said they'd been huddled together on a small lifeboat, but that didn't hint at anything. They could have been brother and sister, husband and wife, friends, or even complete strangers who'd just happened to end up in the same awful situation.

Gala took a second look at the sleeping young man and paused. There were thick lines on his arms and chest. He blinked – he'd missed those during his initial examination, but then again he'd been focused on isolating the most life threatening symptoms. These, though strange, were faint bruises – nothing life threatening from those.

The doctor took a second look. No, something was wrong. They still weren't life threatening, but they were consistent with repetitive restraint. Gala felt his stomach churn. Wherever they came from, they were being held down often, if not constantly. He wondered why. Who would do such a thing, and why?

Unfortunately, that wasn't the last thing Gala noticed. There was a strange scar on the back of his neck. The doctor moved in closer, and his blood froze when he saw the scar was . . . writing. "0-5-4-4," he said in a hushed whisper to himself. He wondered if it was some kind of bizarre coincidence all of the scars looked like numbers.

The doctor turned to the female. Unless . . .

"Where did you find them!"

Mac, Ria, and Braeburn all looked up in surprise to see Gala staring at them intently from his perch halfway down the stairs. "Uh, the beach? Maybe a half mile in the direction of the orchards?" The mayor stood, crossing his arms. "Is there something else wrong with what happened here? Are they contagious?"

Braeburn trembled. He'd run through town and could have hurt the others in the village.

"No, they're not contagious, but where did you find them! There may be others!"

Ria swallowed. "Others?"

Gala took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and composed himself. "There are scars on the backs of their neck, and they look like numbers. Sequential numbers. And the numbers are too . . . precise . . . to be some kind of bizarre coincidence. The numbers are each four digits long and start with a zero. I'm worried there could be more – a lot more."

Mac couldn't even give the order to Braeburn and Ria before the two of them were on their way out the door, already discussing plans to comb the beach for more survivors – Cobbler tagged along, seeming to understand that there were more sick people and another set of eyes and ears – even canine ones – would be helpful. He looked at the door as it slammed shut, then back to the doctor. "Tell me what you need me to do," he said. "Cook? Fetch? Anything – just say the word."

Hours had passed. Ria, Braeburn, and Cobbler returned – no one else had washed up on the shore. They weren't sure if that was a relief or not, but Mac quietly pointed out that if more had shown up, Gala wouldn't be able to handle that many patients in that bad condition. None of them needed to voice that they hoped there were no others.

Cobbler had gone upstairs and was now guarding the guest room. No one complained.

Braeburn urged Ria to go home – the twins would be done with their play date soon and they would be looking for their mother. The young woman looked between the people and the room and the door in a panic – she wanted to help, but her daughters were her first priority. She told Mac she would be back with pajamas for their patients and food for everyone involved.

Braeburn stayed behind in case Gala needed anything else. The two men sat quietly on the couch, contemplating what was going on. "We don't get a lot of new people on this island," said Mac. "And everytime we do, there's some kind of drama involved. First it's Gala and his special brand of baggage, then you show up with Ria about to go into labor, and now this. Apparently people can't come to this island without . . . stuff."

"Well, think about the overall situation of the island, Mac – normal people aren't going to come here knowing what's on this island unless they have no choice. Of course once you get here it's fine and lovely or whatever you want to call it, but you had to have known that this island was going to see trade with most of the rest of the world grind to a halt," said Braeburn. "Maybe this island does scare away your so-called 'normal' people. So what? The people already here are good and yeah, maybe it takes them a while to get used to the newbies but after a while it's like we've always been here. The two upstairs are going to be no different."

Mac sighed. "I know what you mean, and you're right. You and Ria have established yourselves and your businesses very well here – and Ria with two small children in tow, no less – and we were lucky to get any doctor, never mind someone as competent as Gala. You three have made yourselves at home here and everything worked out fine. It just seems like these two . . ."

"They have a tougher road ahead of them because they have to get healthy on top of everything else – oh sure, giving birth to twins isn't a picnic but women have been doing it since the beginning of time and Ria's a tough cookie. But they've survived this long, and as long as Gala's up there it means he hasn't given up on them yet, either. Maybe it'll all be okay."

The mayor sighed. "Maybe you're right, Braeburn. I can't help but worry though."

Gala emerged from the guest room to talk with Mac sometime later. Braeburn had fallen asleep on the couch, and the mayor was just finishing draping a blanket over him. "Mac?" The mayor nodded, gesturing for the doctor to follow him into the kitchen – both for consideration of the sleeping blacksmith's slumber and a desire to not have him overhear what was going on.

Once they arrived, Gala flopped into a chair, looking emotionally drained and beside him. He had his head in his hands and was struggling to compose himself. Mac got up to put on a pot of tea – both for his nerves and the nerves of the island's only doctor. "I don't know who did this to them, but this isn't the result of being lost at sea."

"Then . . . what is it?" asked Mac.

"I don't know. But it was bad. There's evidence they were held against their will, and everything else suggests that whoever had them was probably not the World Government, unless they're pulling the wool over the public consciousness. I'd like to stay here for the night to keep an eye on them, and then perhaps send Braeburn back to my office for more supplies – I just don't know what I'm going to need yet."

"That's fine – stay as long as you need," said Mac. "Do you have any idea who they are?"

"None, but I've checked them both over for scars and identifying marks – other than those awful numbers. The girl has a tattoo covering a stab scar – the tattoo is very decorative, so I'm guessing this means she received it voluntarily and for cosmetic purposes. She also has scarring on one of her feet, like it had been impaled, but there are no other physical markers. She has a SLIGHTLY irregular heartbeat but it's not irregular enough that I think she's in immediate danger. I'm keeping an eye on it, of course, but for now I'm not immediately concerned."

"And the young man?"

"Well, he has a few nasty scars, including an old stab wound on the small of his back but he also has a few very small ones on his fingers, consistent with minor accidents involving cutting implements like a chef's knife or whittling tools – he's probably learned a trade of some sort," said Gala. "This all tells me two things. One, they didn't grow up in this environment – the tattoo on the young lady and evidence of the young man learning a trade are evidence that at some point they were both living quote-unquote 'normal lives'. But the other scars tell a different story. We're dealing with people who have seen combat – pirates, Marines, or bounty hunters most likely. I have no way of knowing which."

"Your guess is as good as mine – you know we don't get a lot of any of those around here anymore," said Mac. He frowned as he poured their tea. "That's one thing that kind of stinks about not being associated with the World Government anymore – I don't have access to wanted posters or missing persons files so if things like this DO happen I don't know who or what I'm dealing with."

"It isn't like we're not taken care of," said Gala.

Mac sighed, leaning his head back. "That's true . . ."

"If they're pirates, they're in no shape to hurt this island. And there's no guarantee they would anyways – not all pirates are monsters," said Gala, a smile on his face. He sighed and stood. "I'd like to request you get some sleep for a few hours. I'm going to go as long as I can, but then I'm going to ask you to watch them again while I get some rest."

"Of course," said Mac. That made sense – if Gala was overtired he might do something stupid. The two men took their tea, drank it quickly, and stood to head upstairs, but not before Mac made sure all of the ground level doors were locked – he didn't want anyone wandering in, innocent villager or malicious hunter alike.

Ria wasn't sure what to tell her girls.

I wasn't supposed to be out for so long – just an hour, really. That turned into several hours. This mess right here . . . oh dear. She was sitting on the couch in the two bedroom apartment above her shop, a toddler on either side of her displaying varying reactions to her extended absence. Wendy, her older, was mad. Sundae, the younger, was hanging onto her arm and crying up a storm.

She put her arm around Wendy's shoulder. "I had a good reason for being delayed. I'm sorry you two had to wait, but something happened at Mr. Mayor's house and he needed my help for a little bit," she said quietly. She closed her eyes. "Mr. Mayor doesn't want everyone around town talking about it yet, but some sick people washed up on shore this morning."

Wendy's scowl softened, and Sundae stopped crying, wiping her eyes. "Sick?" Wendy asked.

"Do their tummies hurt?" asked Sundae.

"It's . . . different," said Ria. "But Mr. Mayor was waiting for Dr. Gala when I showed up. And he needed my help until the real doctor could get there. Then your Uncle Braeburn and I had to make sure there wasn't anyone else, and then I came home to you two." She felt her stomach churn and held her girls closer. "They're very sick. Very, very sick."

"Did Dr. Gala get there?" asked Wendy.

"If he got there then he'll fix them so it'll be okay, Mommy," said Sundae.

I don't think this is something Gala can fix that easy-

"I KNOW!" Wendy yelled.

Ria turned to the older twin. "Inside voice, Wendy!" she said.

"We gotta draw pictures!" Wendy squirmed away and darted in the general direction of their bedroom. Sundae nodded and agreed, following her sister while Ria watched in bewilderment. She followed them into the room, where Wendy had already put paper on their table and Sundae was looking for crayons.

"What are you two doing?" she asked.

"Remember when Mr. Mayor's Mommy got sick and we drew her pictures? She got better, so if these people are REALLY sick we're gonna have to draw a LOT of pictures," said Wendy. She looked at the box of crayons Sundae brought over and frowned. "I hope we have enough crayons, Sundae." She looked at her mother. "Can we use some of your colored pencils if we run out, Mommy?"

Ria covered her mouth with her hand. She closed her eyes. "Of course you can."

In the middle of the second day, Braeburn headed out for a short bit to get food for Gala and Mac (and maybe the patients, if there was anything for them there) from the Cider Mug. Gala and Mac both had favorite foods there, and besides, Braeburn had a different errand he needed to run there anyways – one he wasn't terribly looking forward to.

The Cider Mug was one of the few hang out spots on the island. During the afternoon and early evening, it was a small restaurant that did okay business. People would go there sometimes during breaks for a quick bite to eat, or have larger, longer meals if they needed to discuss something business related. Couples occasionally had dates there. But where the establishment really shined was its later evening services – they still served food (well, some food, mostly booze), but they also played music or hosted musicians to play live so people could dance and unwind after a long day.

During his spare time (which he had an inordinate amount of – the blacksmith's forge was busy enough to keep food on his table but not busy enough to keep him busy even twenty hours a week sometimes), Braeburn was in a band that played at the Cider Mug. It consisted of others who had enough spare time on their hands to practice and perform and in his opinion they were pretty good.

Except that their vocalist, Deltana, was a whiny prima donna who sometimes made what they did a nightmare. Maybe Darryl Gravenstein had missed a note or Jimmy Grieve had shown off too much during a drum solo – she complained about it. How dare the guitarist make a mistake like any other human being and how dare their drummer do what he loved best when it took away from her performance?

That was only part of it. Deltana regularly missed practices (claiming she didn't need to practice like the rest of them did when, really, Deltana was slightly above average at best and had only gotten into the band because no one else seemed interested) and had shown up blitzed to three performances over the last month, culminating on her barfing, mid show, all over poor Mac.. The rest of the band voted her out and decided to take a hiatus to calm down, clear their heads, and then see what they could do to hunt down someone who didn't make something they did for fun and a little extra money a completely miserable experience.

Braeburn had been elected to tell Cliff Haralson about their situation. It wasn't that he expected the restaurant owner to be mad or angry, but it still wasn't a conversation he wanted to have. They all loved performing and talking to Haralson would be finalizing their break and meaning no, they would not be practicing together or having jam sessions for a while.

Then again, the sense of dread he'd been feeling over this 'discussion' had dwindled because what was going on at the mayor's house had put the whole situation into perspective for him. Their situation could have been a hell of a lot worse. It wasn't like they were breaking up forever – they had picked a date to get back together and start brainstorming their next move. None of them were lying unconscious in the mayor's house after going through some sort of torture that probably made anything Deltana could have done seem like a minor annoyance.

And then there's . . . Braeburn clenched his eyes shut. His heart pained at the thought, and he shuddered where he stood. It always hurt to think about that, and he needed a moment to compose himself. Right. There's nothing I can do about that. Not anymore. And even if I could do something about it, I probably shouldn't. Still shaky but able to go forward with what he had to do, Braeburn buried that burden as deep as he could and made the rest of the walk to the Cider Mug.

As he put his hand on the door to the restaurant, Braeburn paused. It seemed so stupid now. Yes, Deltana was a bitch and he was glad to be rid of her from the band but he couldn't help but feel indifferent to the situation anymore. He closed his eyes. It didn't matter. It really didn't matter. Fuck Deltana. Her bullshit was behind him and he had way more important things to do now. He was going to do what he could to help the drifters get better and get them back on their feet because that was a way better use of him time then stewing about a vocalist who sometimes didn't wear underwear with her miniskirts.

After two days of taking turns keeping an eye on their patients, Gala said it looked like they were finally out of the woods and it was only a matter of time before they truly woke up. Mac, Braeburn, and Cobbler were the only ones who had stayed the whole time to support the doctor. Ria mostly stayed away for the sake of her daughters (which was understandable, especially considering their young age), but had stopped by several times with food for the makeshift hospital staff the doctor had to deal with. Perhaps the most important thing she brought, however, was four sets of pajamas – for each patients – so they could wear something other than the ragged hospital-gown shirts they'd been wearing.

Braeburn and Cobbler mostly kept watch or ran errands for Gala. Sometimes they needed to turn someone looking for Mac away, the blacksmith explaining that an emergency had cropped up and the mayor was not in a position to see anyone (which, even when he wasn't helping was true – he was something of a nervous wreck over the whole situation as time wore on).

However, two mornings after they had been found they were both sleeping peacefully, each lying on their side or belly with the blankets wrapped around them as they each subconsciously saw fit. Both were mumbling things in their sleep, but some of the mumblings seemed neutral or positive – names, foods, and otherwise lighthearted nonsense occasionally slipped from their lips.

"Gala, if they're in as good as you say they are you need to go home and get some rest," said Mac. Gala wanted to protest, but the mayor was right – it wouldn't be much longer before his medical knowledge would be rendered useless by a lack of sleep. He told Mac to call him if he needed anything, although Braeburn suggested calling in the mayor's mother if something happened right away.

"I know you don't like your mom going through the snow by herself, but she's the only other person on their island with ANY kind of medical knowledge – Gala's worse than useless to them if he doesn't get any sleep," said Braeburn. "C'mon, Gala, I'll walk you home so you don't take a nap in the snow."

Gala nodded dumbly. "They're out of the woods . . . they're out of the woods . . ."

Braeburn put an arm around the doctor's shoulder, quietly agreeing with him as he led the other man towards the door. He turned to the mayor, nodded and smiled, and mouthed that everything was going to work itself out fine at this point. Mac smiled back, grateful that things were looking up but still worried for the sleeping lost souls upstairs.

As Mac watched the blacksmith and the doctor head towards the village, their patients woke up.

Author's Notes

Sorry for the delay – between the prologue not being where I wanted it to be and stuff going on in my life the delay happened. But it's here now!

So far all of the characters are named at least in part after breeds of apples – mostly last names (although Braeburn and Gala notably are usually referred to by their last names and Mac you could argue is both a reference for McIntosh apples and Apple Computers), but other apple cultivars that can be used as a full name may show up in smaller roles. Most of the important islanders have been introduced and most of those who haven't been introduced are minor or supporting characters.

Some of the more pressing questions you may have from "Sought" will be answered in single digit chapters of this story (if all goes according to plan). However, at least one mystery will be unsolved for a while yet, possibly not until "Equal But Opposite".

Speaking of "Sought", a few of you were concerned that Luffy and the others were looking for replacements for Sanji and Nami. First off, they technically hadn't started yet – they were still discussing it. Second, Sanji and Nami have key jobs on the ship that need to be filled. Although it is true that they had survived for over a year at that point no one on that ship is a cook or navigator by trade. Note that Franky said if something were to happen to him he would want the other Straw Hats to find a good shipwright to take care of the Thousand Sunny. No one wants to have a cook who isn't Sanji or a navigator who isn't Nami but they need to make sure that everyone who is left is safe and well fed.

See you next time!

-Dixxy