The first installment of a relatively short fic. I anticipate only one more chapter; maybe a third, but I doubt it. This fic was initially made because I'm a perverted fangirl. Which means there WILL be smut; just not in this chapter.

Also, I'm the only person who did any editing of any kind. I'm looking for a beta-reader other than my boyfriend, who only reads what I write because I ask him to and I only ask him to because I don't have anyone else to ask. (I'm a little picky with my betas though... maybe that's why I haven't found one. I need someone incredibly nitpicky and hard to please. Just who I am...)

Meeting

Eustass Kid was not a patient man.

This readily observable fact reiterated itself in Law's mind with each round the bulky, half-dressed figure made about the room. Combat boots on thin carpet; the friction between pant-legs; an occasional sigh of frustration. There was a soft rumble from the air ducts, and a persistent buzz nagged at the room from the light fixtures. All of these things formed a rhythmic pattern that faded into white noise as Law became more immersed in an article on political unrest in Alabasta.

Despite the World Government's call for cease-fire, fights continue to rage on Alabastan streets. Three weeks after the death of Prime Minister Crocodile and the revelation of the Baroque Works Scandal, rebels continue to combat the country's remaining governing forces. Thousands of refugees have crossed the border since the conflict began, and the number of evacuees has only increased with this latest assault on the capital.

A conference at Marine Headquarters has been called to discuss the possible need for military intervention; this has been a highly controversial subject, however, as there is yet no confirmation of the circumstances within the country. Head of International Affairs, Saint Roswald, declared his opposition to the idea shortly after the meeting was announced, but chose to withhold his reasoning until the conference convenes in five days.

Silence made Law pull himself from the magazine. Kid had taken a seat in the chair on the opposite side of the room, and was now gazing intently at the clock as if these kinds of situations ran on a schedule. The secretary was chatting softly into an office phone, typing something up on her computer. The glossy pages stuck to his hands as he tried to set down the article. He would ask how much longer they could expect to wait, and if it was too long he would leave for lunch.

"Don't push too hard-!" He gripped one flailing limb and then another, trying to make sense of the wound. "I said stop, you'll break something!" The man named Killer made a frustrated huff, his bloody hands on Heat's abdomen clearly unable to find the balance of pressure Law was referring to.

"Eddie, quit! You're making it worse!" Kid ground out, pushing down on his legs to keep him from kicking the man in the driver's seat. An agonized scream reverberated around the finite space of the car, rendering everyone momentarily deaf. They were still ten minutes from the hospital even at the speed they were going, and it looked like Heat would pass out from the pain long before they ever got there.

Lunch. Simple thoughts like that had been the furthest from his mind just an hour ago. He couldn't help but wonder, as he stood from his seat, how utterly fucked up his day had become. It began with his normal commute, and turned into a bloody mess in the backseat of someone's Buick.

The receptionist looked up from her work to watch Law approach; Kid was watching him too, and it felt strange to be the center of attention for something as simple as walking. "Can you check on his condition?" He asked quietly. The room was empty apart from himself and Kid, and the people on the other side of the service window; his normal volume would have been excessive in this place.

"Sir, I won't know anything until he gets out of the O.R.," she huffed, as if he should have somehow known that already. He could have said something like 'In my clinic all the operating rooms have little windows on the door, and if you peek through those you can usually see if the patient's died yet,' but he was just so exhausted he didn't want to bother. Fuck her, fuck this hospital, fuck everything. He wasn't in the best of moods, and the only reason he'd hung around this long was out of a sense of responsibility to the wounded.

If the guy was still in O.R., then he'd be stuck at the hospital for a while. A week in recovery at least, given the severity of the damage, though he might get carted off to a rehab clinic for that. Still, Law figured he had time enough for a quick bite before Mr. Eddie Heat disappeared into the vast, faceless city. Or worse.

Shoving his hands in his coat pockets, he turned from the desk and slowly made his way to the door. He didn't have this kind of attachment to his own patients, so why was he feeling it here? Was it a simple curiosity? Or perhaps he was being vain, wanting to see this man alive and know he had contributed to that, with nothing but torn-up bits of shirt and an empty pen cartridge. Or maybe... maybe he was just worried. Like normal people sometimes get.

Now that was a scary thought.

Kid's eyes widened as the man pushed open the door to the waiting room and shuffled off down the hall. Why had he bothered to stick around this long if he was just going to leave?

'He probably has his reasons; no business of mine.' Kid told himself, trying not to feel irked. His biggest concern right now was Eddie – reliable people were too few in this world, and men like Ed were a rare breed.

Eddie, Kid... all of them, really; they were lucky they made it this far. That man had just been passing by – in an empty fucking alley, at that. Kid and Killer and Wire had been thoroughly useless, idling there as Heat bled out. Then the man, who Kid could only assume was some kind of doctor, had spotted their dying friend, and the paralyzed idiots watching him, and he had taken charge.

He couldn't let this unknown man depart without... without something. A 'thank you', at least, or maybe a 'where are you headed? I'll drive you', except that Killer still had the car. Possibly money? Sure, but his blood-drenched coat – as well as the wallet tucked snugly in the breast pocket – was in the car with Killer.

"What's your name?" he asked, before using his teeth to shred up bits of Kid's shirt. Eddie had been sufficiently subdued, still squirming as he grappled with the pain. He was pinned by all three men as the strange newcomer looked over his wounds.

"Eustass Kid." He nearly cringed at the sound of his own voice; his name felt worthless. Empty. It usually carried weight when he said it, and he always said it the same way; but the underlying tone of helplessness in this instance made his gut wrench – a sickening feeling brought on by having one's pride dragged through the dirt.

"Okay, Eustass; you know what a tourniquet is? He needs one on his leg, here."

"How tight?"

"As tight as you can. You don't want him to lose any more blood." Kid swallowed, taking a piece of his shirt and doing as the man said. The stranger was trying to keep them busy, and he was silently grateful. He felt less like a fuck-up; like there was some way to control the outcome after all.

Fuck, he hated feeling like he owed someone.

Kid heaved himself up and made his way to the front desk. The receptionist watched him from the corner of her eye while she worked, muttering unintelligibly into the receiver. He grabbed a brochure for flu vaccinations and scribbled something hastily on the back, then reached across the desk and pulled the phone right out of her hand.

"Wha... what do you think you're-" he slapped the brochure in front of her.

"If anything – anything – changes, you call this number."

"Give that back!" She reached for the phone, but he only raised it further above her head. The words 'I'll call security' were on the tip of her tongue, he could practically read them. But they both knew she couldn't, because he'd grabbed the damn phone. Some other office jockeys stopped to watch the display, gawking at his audacity, but Kid really didn't care.

"Not until you understand," he growled impatiently. "The man getting sewn back together in there is my friend. I would die for him. I would kill for him. Now all I'm asking, from you, is to call this number when something happens. If he gets out of surgery. If he dies. If he gets better or worse, or whatever. I don't give a shit. Just fucking call. Get it?"

She pursed her lips, looking quite annoyed, but also quite intimidated. She nodded her head, expression all ice, and he handed her back the phone before rushing out of the clinic and after the unnamed man.

Law half-wished he'd taken the magazine with him, watching rain pound the pavement and bounce back up about half a foot. His coat didn't have a hood, and he almost wondered if he dare brave the hospital cafeteria. No... he could handle the rain; getting a little wet was a better fate than whatever indigestion might await him here.

His eyes squinted as the wind rushed him from outside; he had to tug on the door to get it shut fully. Forcing his hands back into their pockets, he swore at the miserable weather. The dark clouds loomed threateningly and he briefly wondered if this was the start of a monsoon. Water dribbled down his face freely and he kept his eyes half-lidded so the rain wouldn't splatter into them; it streamed down his chin and dribbled inside his coat, but he was getting assaulted from all angles anyway so it didn't really matter. One way or another, he was going to get drenched.

He was already halfway down the street when he caught a voice on the air; someone's shouting, drowned out by the deafening hiss of rainfall and howling of wind. He turned his head a little, checking just in case it was directed at him.

"Hey, you! Wait!"

The man from the waiting room was sprinting after him in this miserable torrent without a shirt. Law stood rooted to the spot, gawking at the man as he caught up. Rain flooded the contours of his abdomen like a series of rivers, forking off in some places and joining in others. His pants were soggy and drooping, and he'd unconsciously assigned one of his hands to keep them from sliding down. The other wiped his bright red hair from his eyes as he slowed to a jog and then stopped maybe a foot from where Law was. He hadn't noticed before, but Kid was a good few inches taller than him, and he had to raise his head to look at his face.

Law couldn't bring himself to speak, still trying to work out what this guy was thinking, running around like that.

"You... ah..." Kid had to think for a minute. His pursuit had been brought on by sudden impulse; now that he had this stranger's attention, what was he supposed to say? He eventually settled on something simple. "What's your name?"

Law's stupor hadn't really been visible to Kid, it seemed; if for no other reason than the rain. Both had water coming down on them, unrelenting- the visual equivalent of an endless bucket of it being poured over one's head. It distorted each man's ability to see and be seen, not that either of them seemed to mind that part. Law stopped his ridiculous stream of thoughts, recalling that Kid had asked him a question.

"I'm... Trafalgar."

The small coffee house was a pleasant change, and the barista had been kind enough to offer them each towels. Law had given Eustass his jacket, feeling slightly at fault for destroying the man's shirt in the first place. And the cafe wouldn't serve him so long as he was bare-chested.

Now they sat, ominously silent as they watched the storm worsen through the window. A small television in the corner was broadcasting a flash-flood warning for the area, and advising people to stay indoors. They were both thinking on the questionable fate of the man in surgery just three blocks away.

If Law had known Kid a little better, he would have been awed by his silence. As it was, he could still feel the sense of resignation and despair that cloaked him. He seemed very much a mirror of the raging elements on the other side of the glass.

Kid gave Law a once-over, taking in more of him now that there was nothing else to hold his attention. This guy was definitely some kind of doctor, he concluded. Beneath his coat had been scrubs, the sleeves cutting off just above his elbows to display the unique designs inked into his skin. The word 'DEATH' was tattooed across his fingers on both the hands; a disconcerting sign given the field he worked in. What kind of doctor had ink like this, and those piercings? He looked more like a street-punk than anything. Trafalgar was gazing out at the road, and Kid meandered along various paths of thought, eventually forgetting he was even looking at him.

Law had grown so accustomed to the silent company that he jolted slightly when Kid eventually spoke.

"Why did you help us?"

At first glance, it was an ridiculous question, and a more naïve person would have scoffed. After all, when you pass a dying man on the street, you don't just do nothing.

But dying men were such for a reason, and not an uncommon sight these days. More often than not, doing something in this city would brand you with their deeds, and going against local crime syndicates was a very easy way to disappear forever. It was a fact everyone knew around here, instinctually at the very least. Fear was the reigning king, in Sabaody.

So his question was fair. Law wasn't quite sure how to answer it, himself; so he chose a simple response.

"It's what I do."

Kid would have liked to claim he was surprised, but somehow, he wasn't. It was almost as if he knew that would be his answer. Thinking about it, and quite shocked once he realized it, he found that he felt like he'd known this man for years.

But he didn't know this man. He was here to settle a debt, before the chance could slip away. He wouldn't go on owing anything to anyone; doing so would be like letting someone else lay claim to his successes, to take responsibility for his achievements. Not that he realized it all so plainly. These weren't thoughts he was thinking, but emotions he interpreted without words. It was a personal quest he'd only just discovered, because until now the only people he might've felt indebted to were his comrades. The distinction was that Eddie, and Killer, and Wire were friends; people he wanted by his side to share in his victories. Trafalgar was no such thing.

"What can I do...?" Kid began, nicking the plastic lid of his travel cup with his thumbnail. The polish was chipping.

"Hm?" Law was pulled back into the land of the living, and he raised a brow slightly as he watched Eustass struggle to form words.

"How can I thank you?" Kid shifted uncomfortably under Law's gaze, feeling scrutinized and insignificant all at once. When in the hell had he become such a passive little bitch?

Those had been the last words Law expected to hear. Not because he knew Kid well enough to know the scarcity of his gratitude, because he didn't. But because he felt like he'd already turned down any idea of compensation. His answer to Kid's first question seemed to suggest that helping dying men on the street was its own reward; it wasn't, to be sure, and Law found himself wondering why the hell his subconscious was trying to trick him into turning down recompense.

'At my clinic you'd see a bill upwards of six grand.' He didn't say it. First, the guy didn't look like he had any money on him. Second, he didn't want the money. All kinds of alarms should have been ringing in his head; since when had he given a rats ass about the fate of a man who wasn't a paying customer? He should carry out some kind of exchange, if only to trick himself into believing that he'd saved Eddie's life for something more superficial than he suspected. But what did he want?

Absolutely nothing. He looked straight at Eustass' face as it dawned; there was this nervous feeling like someone had punched him in the gut. He didn't want a goddamned thing. Well, more accurately, he wanted nothing.

Opting to puzzle out whatever the hell this introspective episode revealed at another time, he heaved a sigh. "Don't worry about it."

But Kid was persistent.

"There's got to be something."

"There isn't."

"Anything. Money? A favor? My favors are worth quite a bit."

"I don't want anything. Quit asking."

Law's irritability was clear, and Kid let out a sigh of his own. Propping his elbows on the table, he leaned forward and slid his fingers in his hair. What the fuck was he supposed to do? He had nothing to give the guy, apparently. Both of them seemed to think so. But he really hated the idea of letting this man walk off without somehow making things even. The scale was tipped toward Trafalgar, and he bristled at the thought that it might stay that way.

The fuck it would.

Law had returned his gaze to the street, his brows slightly more creased this time. He chewed the tip of his straw mindlessly, watching cars slosh by as pedestrians tried to dodge their splashes. More than once, a wayward spray of roadwater washed over the window by their seat.

"Eddie will probably want to say thanks." Law tried not to look too peeved, since Kid had mentioned the wounded man. "If he lives, I mean."

Kid was getting at something. Law could sense it coming, like a tidal wave in the distance. Small little signs here and there that left only one conclusion when you look at the big picture; his body language, the parting of his lips, the unnatural look of desperation creased around his eyes.

"If you give me your number, I could pass it on to him. And if... if he doesn't make it, I can call and let you know. If you want."

Something seized Law's heart; clutched it in a vice-grip and he damn near winced. Something about the way Kid had said that... The possibility of death was very real, both of them had known this whole time. But suddenly Law found himself not wanting to know that outcome. He didn't want to know if Eddie died. All he wanted was for him to live.

The selfless discovery shocked him into numbness. He wanted the man to live. He wanted that phone call; to hear a voice he'd never heard, apart from groans of pain and gurgled screams, tell him 'thanks'. Just like that.

He did want something in exchange for his help. He wanted that one word, from that one man; to know that his actions had done their part. In the office, it didn't matter if a man lived or died; he'd had to steel himself from attachment, or the job would have torn him to pieces years ago. Yet here he was, wanting something he shouldn't, knowing that this was one mistake too many.

He should have just left Eddie Heat to die.

Kid was offering Law an olive branch; he didn't know that was what he was doing, but then again he didn't look like the kind of man to seriously consider the implications of his actions. He was giving Law a way to bridge the gap between his humanity and the cold moat of indifference he'd built around it. If he accepted Kid's offer, whether Eddie lived or died would become irrelevant, because then, either way, he would care.

He was fucked. It was that simple.

Law hadn't come back to the hospital with Kid. There was no need; Kid had promised to call once he knew anything, and Law had to come up with a damn good explanation for why he wasn't at work today. The monsoon seemed convenient enough, so he just went with that.

As for Kid, he and his friends were seated in the waiting room. Heat had been in surgery for four hours now, and the tension was palpable. Killer had thought to bring his boss a shirt, but noted upon his arrival that he'd come by a coat on his own. The stranger's, if memory served.

If Trafalgar wouldn't except anything in terms of payment, then only one option remained in Kid's mind. Law didn't know that this was his intention, and he didn't need to know. It really wasn't that big of a fucking deal anyway, if he planned it or not. It made sense, after all; if he didn't repay him in some way, Trafalgar would just keep occupying his thoughts.

So, if he wouldn't accept compensation, then he would just have to become someone Kid wouldn't feel the need to compensate. Someone to share in his victories with.

It was that simple.

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