Title: Shuddup & Drive

Summary: After what might be considered as an early midlife crisis, Trafalgar Law does what any sane person would do—quits his job, rents a fast car, and leaves it all in the review mirror in favor of driving across the continent. Now all he needed was a partner in crime-but who else would be crazy—or desperate—enough to tag along? (M/M LawLu)

Genre: AU, Romance/Comedy/Adventure

Characters: Law/Luffy with Penguin, Shachi, Ace & Sabo and others.

Rating: M for language, adult situations, possible violence and general male shenanigans

Warnings: Good question. Hmm, let me think on it….

DISCLAIMER: I have no ownership rights with either One Piece or its Characters. Those belong to Eiichiro Oda. I'm just the crazy lady listening to the voices, acting out dialogue in the shower and spending most of my life staring at blank pieces of paper.

*A/N: For a certain little Monkey who helped to inspire and motivate me—even going as far as to help with the monotonous editing when I was so tired my eyes crossed…

So, thanks.

For listening to all my bullshit, especially the 3 A.M. bullshit.

You fucking rock. Hope you like it.

CH 1: LAW Part I: Headed for a breakdown

Trafalgar Law, was a Surgeon.

A Cardiothoracic Surgeon who specialized in open heart transplants, one of the best and most sought-after specialists on the continent. He was renowned recognized by the NWMA as one of the top experts in his field. This was not ego, this was fact. Also, a fact, he had more doctorates than any other Surgeon currently employed at North Blue Regency Hospital short of Board President Vegapunk himself.

He was only 26 by the time he was 21, he'd already been published in 'The New World Medical Journal'. Twice.

And what did all of these facts add up to?

About forty-five minutes, spent calmly explaining that a having a pacemaker did not defend against double cheeseburgers and one diagnosis of Gastral Esophageal Reflux Disorder—AKA acid reflux.

Law mentally cringed.

Junk-food. Mortal enemy of cardiologists everywhere.

Processed foods and Trans-fats were truly the bane of Law's existence. How many tired, morbidly obese patients had filtered through his office over the years with their coronary arteries clogged to death with fatty plaque deposits? Repeat offenders, that's what those in the Medical field referred to them as. Law's list in particular seemed to be a mile long lately. Pearl Krieg had just been the latest example.

Law placed his latest repeat offender's file firmly in the "seen" pile, but hesitated to pick up the next one, finger poised on the edge of the overstuffed manila folder.

Of course, all of this wasn't to say that Trafalgar Law didn't still love his job. Because he did.

Really.

Or, at least, it was sentiment that felt like it should've been true, had been true at some point, and undoubtedly if asked he would have testified that it still was.

But, then there were times like now. Days like today, that made him doubt his sanity in becoming Surgeon, and made it difficult to remember exactly why anyone would voluntarily suffer through years of medical school for an existence like this.

Overworked and sleep deprived, with nerves like shredded tissue paper— If Law's morning went any further south, Satan was going to start charging him rent.

Law took his hand off the file, closed his eyes and rubbed his temples where he could feel a headache slowly throbbing away.

He hasn't been home in over two days, surviving off shitty cafeteria food and the minimal rack time he'd managed to steal in the on-call rooms. He'd gotten out of two extensive back to back surgeries at three A.M. this morning and has been seeing patients one after another ever since.

The Surgeon fought to muster every last ounce of professionalism he had left, but with each step it was getting harder and harder to maintain his mask of clinical—but attentive—indifference.

Honestly, the only thing Law could think about at present was his desire to collapse on the nearest comfortable surface so that he could sleep for a week.

He could feel his expression slipping.

Turning his back on the patient's files, Law made the executive decision that he needed to get off the floor. Stat.

He found himself detouring to the nurse's breakroom rather than the doctor's lounge (that would have required passing by the receptionist's desk, which was a whole other can of worms Law had no interest in opening), not that it mattered. For Law, the designation itself was insignificant. All that really mattered was the full pot of hot coffee that would be waiting on the counter.

Caffeine was an essential part of every medical professional's life support system.

If junk-food was indeed his mortal enemy, then coffee was Law's best friend

Pushing open the door and entering what he'd initially thought was an empty room, he was momentarily disappointed to catch a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye—until he saw exactly who it was.

It wasn't really all that surprising that he hadn't noticed the man when he'd first entered. After all, Penguin had mastered the fine art of invisibility long ago. Though he wasn't much shorter than Law himself, his shoulders had a casual way of slouching forward that appeared to greatly diminish his presence. His appearance itself was completely, and utterly average. Average messy dark hair, unkempt and without sheen, the color of coal dust as opposed to Law's own glossy blue-black. Average face with an average smile. In fact, the only thing that did stand out were his eyes, particularly their unique coloring.

They were a combination of blue's, crystal shards of color that ranged from pale arctic to midnight, all of which were pieced together in an eerie stained-glass effect. Every time you thought you'd grown used to them, the colors would shift, like a living kaleidoscope.

If eyes were the window into one's soul, then Penguin's were like a window into your own.

Truthfully, it had taken Law himself some time before he'd been able to maintain eye contact with the man. Though there were still times when the other male's gaze was a little too intense for comfort. Those same eyes, the ones he tended to hide behind cheesy novelty hats while not at work, were now following Law in unveiled interest.

But out of the two people he actually could stand in the hospital, Law was grateful that it was Penguin and not Shachi, because at least the Dietitian had enough self-preservation not to ask until AFTER Law got his coffee. Too tired to try and mess with the cream and sugar, he took it straight black, slouching back against the counter, taking cautious sips and grimacing at the sharp and bitter taste.

It wasn't like he drank it for the flavor anyway.

There was one other thing worth mentioning about being alone with Penguin though.

It went without saying that Shachi and Penguin together was never a good idea, but at least Shachi was too bullheaded to be anything but straightforward—Penguin, the deceptively mellow one, had a sneaky, underhanded tendency to get into your head, until you were spilling your guts before you'd even realized that your mouth was moving.

Most conversations with the Dietitian were similar to a game of chess. Law sipped his coffee, calmly waiting for Penguin's opening move.

"You look like shit." And there it was, round one. Point blank.

"Your face looks like shit," Law fired back without any real heat.

Penguin chuckled. "Have you SEEN your face lately?"

Law grunted, scratching his jaw at the annoying three-day old stubble, a constant reminder of how tired and overworked he was. He was definitely rocking the grunge look more often than not lately. He knew he looked rough. His skin had managed to achieve an unnatural shade of pale that was quite impressive—considering his natural complexion was more of a copper-tan. And even he had to admit that the dark smudges under his eyes–which were so often mistaken for eye liner—had grown undeniably deeper than usual.

"Who was it this time?"

Against his will the surgeon could feel the mask slowly slipping off, and it was like shedding an outfit that was dangerously tight, the relief of being able to breathe without constriction.

"Krieg," Law groaned, melting into the chair opposite of the Dietitian. The same Dietitian who was currently hoarding monstrous sized bag of M&M's—the kind normally reserved for children, teenagers and menstruating women. He even had the gall to tip the opened end of the bag in Law's direction. The surgeon disdainfully eyed the bag filled with its little surgery coated artery cloggers. Really Pen?

Honestly, if cheeseburgers were at number one, then candy was a close second on the heart doctor's shit list.

"So, Pearl's back?" His friend smiled good-naturedly and took back the offering, popping another handful of the rainbowed candies into his mouth. "How much damage did our little bowling ball manage to do this time?"

"Twelve pounds." Law complained, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand. "Twelve pounds in two weeks! The man mistook indigestion for a myocardial infarction." The surgeon sighed, "You're going to have to talk with him again." For what little good they both knew it would do. It was the unfortunate business of being a medical professional, you couldn't save someone who wasn't interested in saving themselves.

"Yeah, yeah," Penguin replied flippantly. He'd get to it eventually. "Speaking of crazies, saw your stalker out there today." His friend's eyes were once again locked on Law's, "Psycho-Sadie still giving you trouble?"

Law scoffed. He wished that was his biggest issue at the moment. While undeniably annoying, as long as he didn't let himself get locked inside any storage closets with the woman, he'd be good.

"She's harmless ." Mostly.

"Careful man," his friend cautioned. "The way that woman looks at you—I can't tell if she wants to screw you," Penguin shook his head, "—or take you to church and spank you."

Law snorted. "You're just assuming it's not both." Simultaneously—If he had to guess. The Surgeon, sadly, had some personal experience in this area. Unfortunately, he hadn't always been so particular about his bed partners in the past. The decision to go 'Psychosocial' back in college hadn't exactly been Law's most shining moment. Thankfully he'd been better about it in med school. Nowadays, he could always spot those special kinds of freaks in a literal heartbeat, and knew well enough when to keep it in his pants.

Law sighed, already feeling a headache coming on. "Why's it always the crazy ones?" he asked, not even registering that he'd spoken out loud until Penguin was answering him.

"It's the night-of-the-living-dead look you've got going man," His friend paused, and seeming to think for a moment. "And the tats," Penguin snickered. "Definitely the tats."

Law scoffed. Like there was anything he could do about that. The time for THAT intervention would have been back in high school when he'd gotten the damn things. Not that he regretted it. Even if, sometimes, having the words "DEATH" branded across your knuckles did make life a bit more difficult.

Especially as a Surgeon.

"But for real dude," Penguin continued. "You look half-dead. I've seen bodies bagged and tagged that looked healthier. Seriously, when's the last time you saw actual daylight?"

"You're a damn Dietitian," Law chose to ignore the dig about his appearance. So maybe he looked like a fucking zombie, so what? Not like he had anyone he needed, or wanted, to impress. "—where'd you ever see a body?"

"The morgue." Penguin blinked, like, Duh, before tossing back a few more M&Ms.

Law rolled his eyes. There went Shachi abusing his doctors badge again. God. He was friends with such freaks. But then, maybe that just went without saying. Before he can start harping on things like morals, or common decency, Penguin headed him off. "Go home. Eat something," his friend insisted, with an expression of genuine concern. "—sleep in your actual bed for once."

"Can't," Law grunted. "I'm the only hospitalist on-call. Plus, I've already got an overbooked

schedule." Which had little to do with short staffing and everything to do with Caesar being the one in charge of admissions and they both knew it.

"Just tell the assclown to shove it," said Penguin between mouthfuls, looking exasperated—as if saying such a thing to your boss was the most reasonable thing in the world. "We both know your more than capable." Which was true. It wasn't like Law was in any way intimidated by the man. His friends knew that, if pressed, Law could go toe to toe with the devil himself, and Caesar Clown was nothing more than a bigoted, self-important, well… assclown.

Law gave his friend a flat look.

That was different though. This wasn't just about Law's ability to pick fights with any authority figure—regrettably, his two friends were more than well acquainted with this compulsion—that was the outside world. Work was work, and he had an obligation. An ethical responsibility.

He must have had that look on his face—or maybe it was because he'd spent so much time lately making the same excuses—because his friend seemed to have read his mind, waving him off before he could start.

"This is a hospital you know. There are other doctors here," Penguin leveled him with a look that was unusually serious. Even though the Pediatrician wasn't, in all likely hood, even on the floor—they didn't get a lot of kids in the cardiac department—he could still hear the redhead being channeled through his normally more reserved friend. "You're not going to be able to help anyone if you end up your own damn patient."

The corner of Law's mouth curved as he offered his friend a small, albeit a tad rusty, smile. "I thought lectures were Shachi's area."

Penguin smirked. "We're switching it up," Leaning back in his chair, the man folded his hands behind his head, looking completely unrepentant. "—he says you never listen to him."

"Well," Law sighed, taking another sip of his coffee before muttering, "—he's not wrong."

X X X

Luckily, Law only felt like he was dying. Out there, only a few meters away and down the hall, there were plenty of people, sitting alone in the cold and sterile rooms—with real, potentially life-threatening illnesses—who might actually die if Law continued hiding out in the break room instead of doing his damn job. Thankfully this fact was still enough to give the surgeon the strength, and motivation he needed to put the mask back on and re-enter into the chaos that had become his daily routine.

Maybe Law wasn't such a lost cause just yet. Even if he did hesitate in in the doorway, just for a moment, before gritting his teeth and stepping back out on the floor, shutting the door behind him.

Passing by the receptionist's desk, he didn't even glance across the counter—he didn't need to see in order to feel the woman leering at him with that repugnant sneer. Personally, he'd take those looks any day when compared to ones she tossed his way when she believed no one to be looking. Those were the ones that tended to make his skin crawl.

Grabbing the thick manila file outside the door, Law had to keep reminding himself that his real work, his true professional obligation lay beyond the horrors of endless of paperwork and creepy judgmental receptionists.

No.

Laws real job–what he'd actually suffered through medical school, residencies, and internships for—was so that he could save fucking lives. Taking a breath, Trafalgar Law opened the door to his next patient under the belief that his day couldn't possibly get much worse.

Apparently, the universe did not agree.

If there was one thing Law hated beyond the idiots who couldn't be bothered to try and save themselves—it was the attention seeking, over privileged, self-centered sorts idiots he was too often forced to deal with.

The queen of said idiots—and current bane of Law's earthly existence—Kalifa Powers, was now sitting before him, perched high and mighty on the exam table in her patient gown, with her six-hundred dollar Gucci pumps swinging off the side.

Law froze in the doorway, fighting the compulsion to back out and retreat back to the sanctity of the nurse's break room.

"It's about time," The woman's overly painted features scrunched together in annoyance. "I've already been here over an hour. Do you always keep your patients waiting like this? Did you know that no one has even come in to check on me? No one, not even a nurse. What would you have done if something had happened? I could have been laying out on the floor and nobody would have been the wiser. What sort of hospital is this? Do you even care about your patient's well-being?"

God, did the woman ever breathe?

Law could feel his eye beginning to twitch. Against every instinct he had to walk out and slam the door behind him, Law instead stepped forward, cracking open the manila file to begin reading off the series of test results. Results he could have recited in his sleep by now.

"EKG's clean, pressure and heart rate well within normal range, chest X-rays negative, blood tests say that all your cardiac markers are well within a healthy range." Law calmly informed the woman, carefully making sure to let no emotion into either his tone or his expression. "You've been hooked up to leads that've been monitoring all your vitals, if you'd have been in distress our staff would have been immediately notified."

"Are you saying that this machine is an acceptable substitute for an actual human being?" The woman scoffed. Law wanted to roll his eyes. Of course she'd feel that way, machines couldn't give the same attention that people could—the attention she was seeking as opposed to actual medical assistance.

Keeping his expression relaxed became an exercise in self-restraint

"I'm saying that we take our patients safety as our top priority and that if at any point your well-being was at risk then an actual human being would have been here along with our rapid response team and a crash-cart."

Not that that would've been an issue, considering this woman was perfectly healthy.

The one thing her blood tests had shown, was a decline in hormone levels. Taking into account her age and her symptoms—the hot flashes, night sweats, trouble sleeping, flushing, mood swings—the woman wasn't having cardiac issues, what she was experiencing was textbook menopausal denial.

But no, rather than acknowledging that her biological clock was ticking, she'd chosen instead to parade around the hospital, playing victim to a cardiac crisis because—GOD—anything was better than an overprivileged socialite having to admit she'd struck middle-age.

Law sighed, wanting to rub his temples where he could feel a migraine building. "There's always stress testing."

"You mean making me run on a treadmill like some lab rat?" The woman made a haughty sound that had the veins in Laws forehead beginning to pulsate. "I don't think so. Are you trying to kill me?"

Well look who's been reading WebMD. Apparently, she'd missed the part where it said stress could be alternately achieved through drug induction, but who was Law to correct the little internet scholar?

Maybe if he hadn't been so dog tired, he might have noticed the shifting of the rooms atmosphere, but as it was the woman's next words caught Law completely off-guard.

Kalifa Powers was giving the surgeon what he could only assume was meant to be a coy look. "I was thinking, something along the lines of…" the woman arched her back as one professionally manicured nail tip slid down the neckline of her smock, "–a more hands on examination?"

Law froze.

Fuck-the-what-now?

This was new—new and fucking disturbing. The woman's voice had a sickly-sweet lilt to it that did NOT bode well for Law's mental wellbeing. The ridiculousness of anyone trying to be sexy while wearing a damn hospital gown was so insane he almost laughed.

The Surgeon warily eyed the shameless display of chest and could feel his gag reflex starting to kick in. The only way he was going anywhere near those monsters, was with a scalpel in his hand.

For surgical purposes, of course. Law after all, wasn't the psycho here.

He was just the psycho catnip.

What was with these women? He was a damn doctor not some kinky sex toy. Was it some kind of—literally—crazy pheromone thing?

Maybe he should have himself checked out.

Otherwise the next scalpel he picked up really might not be for medical purposes.

"That would be completely unnecessary." Law stressed the word, meaning every bit of it.

The woman's expression froze, perfectly penciled brows scrunching together in disbelief, before twisting into a sneer.

"What kind of Doctor are you?" To Law's relief, the venom was back in her voice. Really, anything was better than that disgusting saccharine attempt.

"Overly certified and in the wrong department," Law could feel his irritation broiling just below his surface, which was what he'd later blame for the lack of impulse control that followed. "—what you need is a psychologist, not a goddamn surgeon."

The words were out. And did he regret it?

Well, no, not exactly.

It was true. As an expert, Law could confidently attest that the woman's heart was indeed perfectly healthy—It was her head that was the problem

She gasped, blood rushing to her face. "Excuse me?!"

But Law ignored the woman, continuing to talk over her, because that was it. This woman needed some shock therapy, and that was something Law felt he was more than qualified to give.

"You're unexcused," Law smirked mirthlessly, "—but if you really feel like pushing this, there's always option of exploratory surgery and I have a free table this afternoon, shall I schedule you in?"

His words seemed to throw the woman off balance. Good. But Law wasn't finished yet.

"I don't think that's necess—"

"Let me explain exactly what it is I do here," the Surgeon immediately cut her off, "—because you seem to be under some mistaken impression. This is the cardiac floor, I am a cardiothoracic surgeon, a specialist in open heart surgeries. If you really want to go down this road here's exactly what's going to happen," Law closed the manila file, snapping it shut as he took a step closer into his patient's space, his darkening aura causing the woman to unconsciously lean back and away.

"Once you're under I'll start with a lateral incision, dissecting your torso from the base of your neck to your naval, after which I'd be able to first peel back the upper and lower dermis—that would be your skin—once that's been clamped back and out of the way I'll be able to start retracting the layers of fatty tissue and muscle to get to the ribcage…"

The woman's already pale complexion blanched even more until she was practically a match for the overly starched scratchy hospital sheets that were currently beneath her overprivileged—and more than likely surgically enhanced—ass.

"—from there I would use what you would call rib splitters, steal retractors with a manual hand crank, that's how I'll crack open your sternum to expose your vital organs, some of which will have to be shifted aside or temporarily removed if we're to get to your heart, because that's where you're sure the problem lies right?"

Mrs. Powers turned impossibly whiter, skin now a sickly translucent color and started looking like she might just hurl. Or maybe pass out. The woman opened her mouth, probably to offer some sort of outraged protest, but the Surgeon wasn't done with her just yet.

"Technically speaking protocol for open heart surgery is fairly similar to that of preforming an autopsy," Law's mouth curved in a sinister display of sharp teeth. "But don't worry, unlike pathologists we always put our patients back together properly. If all goes well you'd only be looking at a recovery time of six to nine months, though of course as with any highly invasive surgery there's always a low risk of infection. Now that can get ugly…"

The woman made a small choking sound, it seemed to take a moment for her to recover her voice. Her arrogance appeared to have drained out along with her coloring. "You can't just—I… I mean y-you… "

"I'm sorry, does this mean you've changed your mind?" Law's grey eyes went ice cold. "If so, then go home. Delete WebMD from your bookmarks, lay off the Gray's anatomy, and quit wasting everyone's damn time."

X X X

He couldn't suppress the slight, smug sense of satisfaction he was feeling. It'd been a good while since Law had intentionally frightened another human being, but he couldn't bring himself to say the woman hadn't deserved it.

The feeling lasted all of ten seconds before he realized his grievous mistake.

Unfortunately for Law, in his sleep deprived state, he had forgotten to shut the door when he'd entered. Thus, apparently leaving the entire hospital privy to his little outburst. Any other time he would have been appalled at his slip-up, (Doctors never forgot to close the door when giving a consultation, it was a clear-cut violation of a patients right to privacy) but right now he just couldn't find it in himself to give a damn.

Stepping out into the hallway, Law was hardly surprised by the large audience that seemed to have gathered. Techs, Nurses, PA's—all stood frozen in the hallways, rather than being in patient's rooms as they should be. Some were loitering around the receptionist's desk—Pyscho Sadie included.

Had he really been that loud?

Law took a step forward and that seemed to be the signal for them to scatter, faces ducked down, eyes cast anywhere but in Law's general direction. In fact, only a certain Dietitian—leaning hip cocked against the hallways guardrail—was still purposely looking at him. Penguin, eyebrows slightly raised but otherwise unruffled, seemed to be the only one not shocked by the sudden turn of events.

Law went to shut the door behind him, but changed his mind, the damage had already been done. Besides, he doubted Mrs. Power's would be staying long after his little demonstration. Hell, she was probably just waiting for him to leave so that she could escape without having to physically pass him.

He closed his eyes forcing himself to breathe in a pattern meant to foster mental clarity. The effort was ruined when he hears his name called out in what had to be one of the world's most annoying voices.

"Doctor Trafalgar," Caesar Clown, the bastard who rarely ever stepped out on the floor, seemed to have miraculously emerged from his office and was now standing at the reception desk, eyes bugging. "My Office. Now." The man turned on his heel, white lab coat billowing behind him.

Law sighed, well aware he'd just shot himself in the foot

On his trek down the hall, Law passed by Penguin, who coughed up a sound that sounded suspiciously like "Assclown" before giving him a meaningful look.

Law pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a slow deep breath before nodding his head once. "Right." As he walked down the hall, the Surgeon couldn't help but feel like a child who'd been called into the principal's office.

X X X

The unit director's office smelled like a mixture of hand sanitizer and black licorice stemming from the large dish of disgusting candies on his desk. He was always popping the revolting things into his mouth like some sort of addict.

"You insulted that woman," Caesar Clown's twisted, yellowed eyes lit up in barely concealed glee at the prospect of punishing Law. It was obvious that the man was ecstatic to at long last, finally have something to hold over the young Surgeons head.

"I did no such thing, I just stated the facts." Law took a slow breath, and he thought that maybe he was trembling, but if he was, it was from pure, repressed outrage. "That woman is an ER delinquent that spends nearly as much time in this hospital as I do and by some godforsaken miracle always manages to find her way into my patient list."

"That woman, Mrs. Power's, is a highly valued client." Law noticed not even Caesar was acknowledging the woman as an actual patient—client indeed. "Her husband is a huge contributor to this hospital; do you have any idea how much he's donated this year alone?"

Law's spine was stiff enough to snap.

There was a fine line between exercising one's freedom of speech and a full blown mental breakdown, and right now Law knew, he was precariously balancing on the thinnest part of it.

"Well then, if her husband should ever come around I'll be sure to thank him—but unless Mrs. Powers is requesting an STD screening, whomever her bed partner may be, is completely irrelevant to her treatment. Furthermore, that woman is a textbook hypochondriac. I'm not a counselor nor am I some kind of drug dealer, I'm a damn surgeon. She doesn't need me, she needs a damn therapist."

"Just because you're the hospital's board of director's golden child—"

Law rolled his eyes, more like the golden goose. He couldn't even begin to calculate how much revenue he'd earned this godforsaken place. He wasn't just a cardiothoracic surgeon, he was a cardiothoracic surgeon who specialized in freaking heart transplants. People flew in from all over the country seeking his expertise, his reputation as one of the best brought in high profile, high paying patients who never would have stepped into this hellhole otherwise. This was not Law being egotistical, these were the goddam facts.

"I'm a goddamn cardiac transplant specialist, that's my job, that's what my contract says. I'm not here to deal with heartburn and head cases, that being said, I don't mind helping with the surgical work load when necessary—but anything short of that is a goddam waste of my time and effort!" Law's eyes snapped open widely as the words came out of his mouth, not because he regretted them but because they were so fucking true. It was like some higher power had reached down and flipped some internal switch and said 'now let there be light'.

The realization hit him like a sucker punch to the face.

He WAS wasting his time—God, he wasting his LIFE. Why the hell had it taken him so long so realize this? How long had he felt this way? For someone who was supposed to be a genius Law felt like the world's biggest dumbass, second only to the assclown on the other side of the desk.

Well fuck that shit.

Calmer than he would have though himself capable of, Law pulled back the lapel of his lab coat digging out the two little demon devices he was always forced to carry, and tossed both the hospital phone and his pager onto Caesar's desk. "I'm done."

Caesars face screwed up in an incredulous look. "What do you mean you're done?"

"I mean I'm DONE." It was like a flood gate had opened, just ditching those two items had made him feel so much lighter. Like a dog who'd been let off-leash. "Consider this me taking a personal day," Law paused. "—actually, make that a week."

"You can't do that, you have an obligation to your patients—"

Law clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Not today I don't. You've got a degree, don't you? You deal with it."

Caesar started rising up from his seat. "Trafalgar Law if you— "

Law finally snapped, stepping forward. "If it's still not clear to you," The younger, much taller doctor leaned over the desk until he was nearly in the older man's face. He was pleased to see the older doctor cowering backwards, but the man was an idiot if he thought the desk between them would protect him from the Surgeon's wrath. Law's lip curved back in a wicked smile that was nothing but teeth. "You can read my fucking lips," His voice was low and calm, barely more than a whisper; he had no need to shout because the threat was blatantly clear in his cold, gray eyes. "I'm going home."

It took a long, drawn out moment before Caesar managed to find his voice, which Law's pleased to note, seemed to have risen several decibels higher. "Don't dare think about walking out of this office…! "

But Law was already two feet out the door, with his back to the angry assclown. He stopped, and without turning around or so much as batting a fucking eye, he raised his right, tribal tattooed, arm high enough for the whole damn floor to see, and gave Caesar a bold, single fingered salute.

Almost everyone was staring now, including Psycho Sadie, her too wide mouth with its thin lips caked in firetruck red lipstick, hanging open as if appalled by his behavior—while somehow, STILL managing to give him that look that made his skin crawl, practically undressing him with her eyes, like she was imagining what it'd be like to trace his ink with her tongue.

Ah, hell, he was on a damn roll, so why the fuck not…

"And you," Law snapped, jabbing a finger in the receptionist's direction. "Yes—they are tattoo's." He held up the same finger now effectively cutting off the second most popular follow up question. "Yes—I DO have more of them. Would you like me to draw you a diagram," he grinned in a humorless display of flawlessly white teeth, "—or should I just strip right here?"

The closeted pervert's face turned a shade of red that was even deeper than her lipstick, looking like SHE might be experiencing a myocardial infarction.

Well, that would be too bad for her, because Trafalgar Law was so fucking out of here.

Finally, Penguin couldn't hold it in anymore, bursting out in raucous laughter.

Law turned around, noting his friend's fist which was held out to the side, Law mirrored the gesture as Penguin fist bumped him, before taking long purposeful strides down the hall towards the exit.

What should have been his walk of shame, was probably the most liberating experience of his year.

Hell—maybe even longer than that.

His only regret was the shitstorm he knew he was going to get from a certain Pediatrician, because Shachi was surely going to be pissed that he'd missed it.