warnings. / none.

15.

PICK YOUR POISON

stand by.

The early morning sun peaks over the horizon, casting the sea and cloudless sky in hues of pink, red, and orange. Bright light reflects off of the arrays of dull metal and glass that litter the ocean side and up to junkyard. The junkyard itself is quiet, only the distant white noise of city life and the sloshing of ocean waves to occupy the space. Admittedly, the scenery is as horrific as it is lovely; the perfect representation of humanity's influence on nature.

Law snores at her side on the large slab of metal they have temporarily called their home, his limbs splayed out with a snot bubble waning in conjunction with his breath.

He didn't wake her up this morning.

This should be a fact to celebrate. Lami should be elated that she can finally sleep in without interruption. She should feel relieved that Law is finally sleeping through the night— but, instead, she finds herself waking up at dawn anyway. And though she tries and tries, her body refuses to go back to sleep, restless and uncomfortable with the buzzing of electricity beneath her skin and their current ambiguous circumstances. Her thoughts race. Her body aches. Yet, sleep remains just out of her reach.

It's terribly frustrating. She just wants to sleep.

Maybe if Lami were a romantic she would be satisfied waking up to watch the beautiful sunrise.

She's not, so instead, she angrily stares out at the ocean.

It's so typical that she can't sleep. It would be much too convenient for the universe to allow her a peaceful night's rest. It needs to assert its dominance over her somehow, she supposes, since Lami has refused to die so far. She's the nail that sticks out, the traveller that has yet to pay its debts, the ripple that'll create tsunamis and storms—

Lami sighs.

Curling up with her legs against her chest and her head pressing against her knees, Lami admits that her thoughts have become dramatic; odd; excessive lately. It's as though she believes that the universe; that death itself has some sort of… vendetta, or presence, when in reality they are simply facets of life. Not the embodiment of her strife or society's rampant disregard for human rights. She needs to follow her own advice; place the blame onto the people who have wronged her, focus her energies on them and not the things she cannot change anymore.

But, first, she needs to focus on surviving through the Donquixote's.

Frowning, Lami ponders over the day before. Her body still stings and aches; it's odd. Sometimes her limbs refuse to move the way she wants them to, her night filled with agonized thoughts over bones, bruising, and gashes instead of lead, death, and bang bang—

Lami would never admit it out loud, but the pain is kind of... freeing.

Running both hands through her hair, Lami can feel her face flame with embarrassment. Law would have a field day if he heard her say such a thing; he certainly has said a lot about her recent brushes with death and lack of initiative to properly defend herself. She can't help it, though. She doesn't know how to convey it, the descriptors falling away like sand on her tongue as she tries to conceptualize the torn, rancid emotions and reliefs inside of her.

Maybe it's best to just not think about it.

Corazon.

Something must be wrong— Corazon, in the once tale, is supposed to be kind, compassionate, willing to give up everything for Law. He spends… an amount of time… taking Law around to various hospitals, trying to find a cure, only for… someone, to tell him about the fruit that will save his life.

Rubbing at her forehead, Lami tries to remember the other details. He's Doflamingo's brother, was terribly traumatized by something in his past, Corazon isn't his actual name but a title—

No, no, wait, she's just reiterating information that Diamante told her yesterday.

"Fuck," Lami quietly whispers to herself, head in hands.

If it were anyone else, Lami wouldn't care. If it were any other plot point or discrepancy in the world, Lami wouldn't care.

But this information hinges on her, and Law's, survival. Doflamingo will… get involved, somehow, and though they have yet to interact with him or be accepted into the Donquixote Pirates she knows that it will be extremely difficult to get out of the crew once they join. Even if they do manage to get the fruit with Doflamingo's help… It's practically a given that they will not leave the Donquixote's. They need Corazon on their side, need him to give his life for them because— because—

Fuck.

Does it have something to do with the power of friendship?

Groaning, Lami aggressively rustles her hair. She can't imagine a man who kicked two children off a ten-story building would be persuaded by something so… romantic.

And, yet, somehow Corazon and Law are supposed to love each other.

Something doesn't add up.

Pursing her lips together, Lami gives her bag a side-eye. She should just… look at her notebooks, see if her past self knows more about the future than she currently does. However, there's a part of her that is hesitant to touch any of her belongings from Flevance.

The reality is, Lami's not ready.

A beat of silence.

Scoffing quietly to herself, Lami drags her bag closer and half haphazardly begins rifling through its contents.

The world doesn't care if she is ready or not. Lami needs to be able to push through this, even if it's through sheer grit and stubbornness. She can't flounder or let— let these feelings impede her actions. The only way to truly succeed is to take the world by its horns and force your will onto it. Or, something similar. Either way, she can't afford hesitance or weakness.

For the first time in over a month, Lami opens the plastic container. Carefully unwrapping the books from inside the t-shirt, Lami carefully sets aside the scrapbook and language notes— avoiding direct eye contact as she takes hold of the Once Tale notebook. Despite being over six years old, it doesn't have much wear and tear to it, though one of the corners is a little stained.

It's out of morbid curiosity that she smells it. The regret is immediate— she already smells The Pit in her dreams, she doesn't need another reminder.

Scowling, Lami carefully takes the cover and starts ripping the corner off before throwing it as far as a piece of paper will allow. The moment is rather anticlimactic as the paper slowly falls five feet away from her and slips between metal scrap.

Flipping through the notebook, Lami looks for the information about the Donquixote's. Warlord, strings, psychopath, something about a dress and a rose? Dressrose? Dressrosa? Becoming a king through bloodshed, a cage, toys, yadda yadda…

Aggressively flipping through pages, Lami huffs with quiet impatience. Law has always criticized Lami for her awful handwriting, chicken scrawl by his accounts, and she is only now understanding what he means. It's not that the letters are illegible, per se, but that she's out of practice with English and trying to work through this and the handwriting is…

Her lips thin as she reads through what she wrote about Law's history. Trained by Dolfamingo. Saved by Corazon. Fall in platonic love. "Wholesome montage". Corazon is killed by Doflamingo, Law escapes—

Lami knows all this already!

"Fuck!"

Law jerks awake at her shout, mumbling as he turns over and looks around.

She ignores him.

Anger simmers in her stomach— irrational, caustic, heavy in her chest. Standing up, Lami fights the urge to chuck the book as far away as she possibly can. Instead, she paces back and forth on their slab of metal, tapping the notebook on her thigh as something to do while her thoughts race.

What's the point of having this book if it can't do her any good? What was the point of protecting her bag to the point where Lami almost died for it? Only for this information to be useless when she needs it? What is she supposed to do now? Hope and pray that the timeline continues as it originally did? Hope has done fuck all to her so far, so she sure as hell isn't going to gamble on something as baseless as that.

"Fuck, fuck, shit."

Wringing her fingers into her shirt, Lami glares down at the ground. It's all so stupid and pathetic. There is such a narrow path that Law and Lami can follow to live— how is she to know whether she is going in the right direction? What if she does something to fuck up their chances in the future? What if Law does something to fuck up their chances? He has already expressed his opinions to her about this, isn't willing to believe that there is a cure out in the world! She has already witnessed some form of deviancy in his actions— well, she is the deviancy. There are so many outcomes that dumb, stupid choices can make and can absolutely ruin their chances of survival and—

Lami stops, breathes in and out, and tries to rein in her spiralling, fatalistic thoughts.

She needs to stop thinking about this; needs to accept what she currently has at her disposal and make use of what is in front of her. The genocide was only a month ago. Sleep evades her. She can't remember the last time they had a real meal. Placing the world on her shoulders while in an already debilitated state is only going to make matters worse and she needs to be functional if she wants to have any hope of a future.

Okay.

Lami can work with this— she still has some knowledge. She's ambitious, she's smart. There can't be only one way to survive all this.

It's… unfortunate that Corazon is not the man that she was hoping for.

But, well.

That would have been too easy. Nothing is ever easy. It was naive of her to assume that someone would just take Law and Lami into their open arms and love them without incentive or motive. Looking back, it's almost pathetic, even. The thought makes something, something, something close to disappointment; heartache, burn in her chest, at the back of her eyes.

Looking out to the ocean, Lami breathes in and out. She ignores the way her lips tremble.

New plan.

Law and Lami join the Donquixote pirates. They get as strong as they can and win a few favours. If Doflamingo sees potential in them he might— no. This won't do. They'll make it so Doflamingo can't pass up on their innate potential, or at least convince him that they have potential. He'll be forced to find the devil fruit, or something else, and save them. Getting out of the Donquixote Pirates afterwards will be incredibly difficult, but there will be an opportunity to escape. They will make one.

They will have their freedom.

Her shoulders relax as she heaves a deep exhale. Yes, good. This could work. This will work. It'll require improvisation and more charisma than either Law or Lami have in their arsenal, but she thinks that they are up for the challenge.

If Corazon turns out to be a great guy after all— well, fantastic. Maybe he's faking it. Maybe, in a few years, he'll realize that brutalizing children is wrong and bad and will try to change his ways by saving two distraught children. But she's not going to rely on these sorts of unreliable what-ifs.

"It's just a book," Law says from behind her, suddenly jerking Lami away from her thoughts.

She turns to stare at him blankly. Honestly, Lami forgot that she woke him up.

He fiddles with his hat before gesturing towards her, "It's just a tear, then."

Looking down at the notebook, she glances at the ripped corner.

"Yeah," Lami says, voice oddly despondent, knowing that it's not especially convincing.

"Yeah?"

She can feel Law's judgement as she sits down, "Right."

There's a moment of silence as they stare at one another.

"Good to know I can always count on you being weird no matter what happens," Law grumbles, rubbing at his eyes.

Wrinkling her nose at him, Lami decides to ignore the remark as she returns the books to her bag.

/ / / / / / / / / /

She takes a deep breath. Everything is fine now that she has a plan.

There's no other choice.

/ / / / / / / / / /

Pain burns through her side; the world going white and crooked as a boot connects with her sensitive and bruised ribs. Her back slams against a wall, broom in hand clattering to the ground a few metres away. The impact of falling to the floor hurts worse, the side of her head smacking against stone.

Corazon says nothing as he continues to walk by.

The floor is almost cool against her cheek and arms, although it does little to belay the hot embers of pain that have once again sparked up in the face of the younger Donquixote brother. Frozen on the ground, her eyes squeeze shut as she tries to remember how to breathe again. Lami smacks an open palm against the rough stone floor with thinly veiled frustration.

Fuck.

Slowly drawing herself up into a kneeling position, Lami turns to heatedly glare in Corazon's direction.

Three days; it's been three days and this prick must be following them around because he's lurking around every corner and misses no opportunity to brutalize them. What's worse is that she rarely ever anticipates it happening— his voice gives little away and there are some moments where she swears that she can't hear or see his voice at all… Only for, wham, the smack of a hand to startle her out of her thoughts and onto the floor or out into the open junkyard.

Lami's not sure where Law is at the moment, but she has heard enough rage-induced rants to know that Lami is not the only one facing the clown-faced bastard's ire.

Mouth twisting as she struggles to stand on her feet, Lami brushes her palms against the fabric of her shorts.

What's most puzzling is that she can't figure out why Corazon is doing this.

Diamante, and the few other grunts that she has spoken to in the past few days, have implied that it's because he hates children— but if this is the case, why doesn't she feel;hear it? Instead, Corazon's voice is simply… silent. You would think that someone who hates children would find some satisfaction in kicking them around, but he rarely ever sticks around long enough to see them struggling to stand. What's the point of sadism if he's not even taking the time to watch them suffer?

If she could understand his behaviour, she wouldn't even care about this treatment. He'd just be some asshole who is abusing children. But the question refuses to rest no matter how often she tells herself that it doesn't matter.

Releasing a held breath, Lami leans against the stone wall and stares at the broom on the floor with mild exasperation.

This must be a test.

It has to be.

Nevermind the confusing and contradictory knowledge of the once tale— it makes sense that the Donquixote would try to haze newcomers, children or otherwise. The past three days have been spent in relative silence; occasionally being told by a woman named Giolla to do various chores around their base. The chores themselves seem too mundane of a buffer period for the Donquixote to figure out if Law and Lami have the disposition to be members of their family. They need to know who has the grit to withstand abuse and hardship.

Maybe she's waxing too much poetry; maybe Corazon is just a dick and the Donquixote's are having a jolly time watching.

Limping over to the broom, Lami leans over to pick it up. She then moves to collect the dustpan and a partially full garbage bag. Giving the floor a side-eye, she figures that she has done enough sweeping for today. It's not like a broom is going to have much effect on a stone floor in a junkyard— the floor is going to be dirty no matter what she does.

Maybe this is another test.

Muttering under her breath, Lami runs her fingers through her hair. Now she knows that she is overthinking things.

/ / / / / / / / / /

Lami is temporarily allowed into the public showers in the warehouse upon request, Giolla handing her shampoo while pointedly plugging her nose with manicured fingers.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Lami is stunned.

She doesn't recognize this… person, body, thing.

Perhaps it's the stringy hair and the pallid skin; fading in colour and saturation— not white, yet, but surely on its way there. Perhaps it's the purple bruises ringing around her neck; the dry blood crusting in her nostrils and at the edges of her lips; the way the left side of her face is swollen and red. Perhaps it's how thin she, this person, is. Perhaps it's the eyes. Black as they've ever been— but there's something wrong, here. Something off.

Looking away from the mirror, Lami ignores the now-familiar sensation of bile at the back of her throat and the heavy discomfort that has settled behind her jaw and in a place between her ribs.

( she doesn't know this person )

The shower is cold. She doesn't mind. Dirt and blood slide off her body and swirl around the drain, but she pays no mind.

Instead, her eyes are trained on the white patch of skin that has formed on her hip. Static bristles in her ears, the world around her going fuzzy and muted as she leans against the metal stall of the shower. How long has it been there? How has she not noticed? How has Law not noticed? Have they simply been too preoccupied, or are they just so desensitized that it didn't even register? Does Law have patches, too? Does this bode badly for Lami's future, or is this par for the course?

Fingers brush over the white, white, white skin; her chest carved out and feeling dull.

/ / / / / / / / / /

Days pass. Sleep eludes her.

It doesn't seem to matter how her body turns to bricks; head weighing heavily and mind made of mud and the crackling of wood in a fire. She stares dispassionately at the world around her, ignoring the way the back of her neck prickles when those with nosy eyes are watching. She takes the brutalization in silence, the pain momentarily drawing her back into focus before the weight of her exhaustion softens it back up.

Tired, so tired.

/ / / / / / / / / /

( bang. bang.

two bodies hit the floor. )

/ / / / / / / / / /

"What did you do," Lami asks after they are told by a handsome man in a pristine suit to join the Family in the dining hall. She levels Law with a flat look as they walk through the warehouse.

"What did—" Law rounds on her, "why do you assume I did something?"

"I don't know," she says with a facetious tone, "maybe it's all the talk about killing Corazon?"

Huffing, he mutters, "Well I haven't succeeded so far, so it must have been something you did."

Honestly, time has been slipping on her again; the past few days blurring together in an ineligible fashion. So, maybe she did do something. Maybe she said something? No, no, Lami doubts it. She can barely function well enough to eat, let alone to achieve anything that would warrant the attention of the Donquixote's.

"So, you have tried, then."

"No." Law pauses, "Though I have thought about it."

"I suppose a mens rea isn't enough to convict," Lami says idly, ignoring the way Law's head snaps towards her.

Knocking on the door in place of continuing the conversation, they wait until a voice on the other side tells them to enter.

The Donquixote Family sits in a U-shape around a large wooden table fitted with a luxurious silken table cloth. From edge to edge the table is filled with dozens of different culinary dishes; pizza, pasta, and salad are the first to draw the attention of Lami's aching stomach. Doflamingo is settled at the center of the table, staring Law and Lami down as they approach. Trebol and Diamante are on either side of their captain as they indulge themselves with food and drink, indifferent to their arrival. Even the two children, of whom Lami has yet to speak with, sit at the end while sharing a conversation among themselves.

Aside from the food, Lami can't help but notice how clean everything is— although they are in a junkyard warehouse, the room is decorated with curtains, artwork, and candles that give the room flourish and ambience. The clothes of the Donquixote's are posh and well-kept, napkins tucked into the neckline of their shirts.

She immediately feels out of place. In comparison, Lami is small and filthy.

Rotating her shoulders, trying to alleviate the buzzing under her skin, Lami can't bother to focus on what is being said— this time it's not the voices;lights that bother her, but the actual noise. A dozen voices speak; glasses clink together; the smells that make her stomach clench and ache with hunger; silverware scratching against the surface of plates; mouths loudly chewing food, agitating her ears and making it difficult to follow the train of conversation.

But the voices;lights, too, are distracting. Loud. Loud, they are so loud— Doflamingo's oddly bright but silent voice rising above the rest, but Diamante's and Corazon's voices are loud, too, at this moment. The rest vary in… intensity, but all seem… brighter than the average layman.

Isn't it odd, though, that their voices seem… happy, almost?

Such an odd, odd feeling; sound; light. Maybe she has become too accustomed to voices that are sobbing and aching with heartache and pain.

Lami scratches the back of her neck, trying to stop herself from covering her ears. She needs to find the proper vernacular for these sensations that she is feeling; the lights, the emotions that are not her own. She's starting to confuse herself. Of course, she needs to find some understanding of what this is, other than some unwanted and unnecessary superpower of some sort. It's only been a hindrance so far and she wonders if there is a way to turn it off.

Doflamingo's voice is starting to… not hurt her, per se, but it's… something. A ringing, a wordless song, an intensity that seems to reverberate in the aching, sensitive scars of her mind. A feeling that she doesn't have the vocabulary to describe.

She doesn't like it.

Law, at her side, speaks— dragging her out of her thoughts.

"That's nothing," Law scoffs, wiping at his mouth with the bottom of his shirt, "I've already seen hell."

Lami stares blankly at him. She has no idea what they are talking about, but he is certainly starting to sound like a teenager. Her eyes, however, trail down to the white patch that stretches over his ribs.

Doflamingo laughs, and for a moment she is distracted once more. It's somehow both ridiculous and oddly discomforting, the silence of his voice worsening the effect. Everything in her is telling her to go, go, leave, get out—

Lami jerks when someone—Giolla—screeches, feeling reminiscent of a stray, skittering cat.

"He's got— they've got the White Lead Disease!" Giolla gasps, pushing back in her chair as if the few centimetres will help her evade the non-contagious poisoning that ails them, "Be careful you don't catch it!"

One of the kids—the boy— starts panicking in response, but Lami ignores him.

Feeling Law's anger, she gently reaches out to brush her fingers against his. They share a look, long-suffering and festering with ill hidden rage. Lami knew that this treatment would continue for a few years, but a part of her had hoped that once they left the island no one would be particularly savvy about the "White Lead Disease", or whatever the people outside of Flevance are calling it. But it was all wishful thinking on her part.

She is unwillingly, unbiddenly, reminded of her father's many, many attempts at clearing the misconceptions about Amber Lead.

( bang. ban—)

A hand slams against the table, and all eyes turn toward Doflamingo.

"Stop embarrassing yourself by speaking of things you've only heard as rumours, Giolla. Shame on you." Doflamingo clicks his tongue against his teeth, impassive as Giolla wilts in the face of his disapproval, "See how Buffalo believed you? Amber lead is a toxic substance, as such the White Lead Disease is a form of poisoning and isn't a contagion. You can't catch it."

The boy, Buffalo, does not seem to be comforted by this.

Lami squints her eyes, fighting to keep her face blank as her thoughts race. So Doflamingo does know about Flevance and the truth of their "disease". She knew this, already, in a vague sense but it's different to face the reality of the situation. But this simply leads her to question: how?

How did they find the information? How long have they known?

Are they innocent, somehow, by coming across this information after the genocide? She's not sure what channels they would learn this from, especially since it always felt like a large corporate secret that the World Government and Flevance's nobles kept from the world. Or are the Donquixote perpetrators of indifference; knowing about the poisoning, perhaps even involved with the Amber Lead industry, and doing nothing about it? She would not put this past them. She knows that the Donquixote's are capable of terrible cruelty.

Answers. She needs answers.

Doflamingo leans into the table with a sort of elegance and grace that distinguishes his tall and gangly form, idly rotating a fork with his fingers as peers down at them, "Are there other survivors?

"Dunno." Law shrugs his shoulder, voice dry as he says, "Too busy trying to escape to keep a headcount."

"How did you manage to get away?" Something closer to interest colours his voice.

( run, a part of her says )

There is no hesitancy in Law's voice as he says, "We hid in a cart of corpses. They didn't expect anyone to be desperate enough to sneak between the bodies, so they wheeled us past the gates of quarantine."

Someone makes a notable gag.

"I was unconscious when it happened," Law offers Lami a glance, "they dumped us in a canyon where they were storing the bodies. Lami dragged us out."

Lami squints at him, petulant anger burning in her chest.

"Oh?"

She's not sure if she likes the infliction of Doflamingo's tone, especially as a grin starts to form on his face.

Not having anything that she is willing to contribute to the conversation, Lami merely stares blankly at Doflamingo.

"Once we were past the quarantine lines no one cared who we were," Law finishes, his fingers gently brushing against the inside of her wrist. She allows herself some comfort in this.

A slow, coiling laugh spills from Doflamingo's mouth as he absently strokes at his jaw, fork forgotten in his pasta. "... And what grudge do you hold?"

A scoff is pulled out of Law in turn, "What grudge don't I hold? The world is corrupt; I've seen it firsthand. I don't trust anyone or anything anymore and I just want to spend the last few years of my life raining hell on those who have done this to us, on those who sat back and watched as we suffered."

Law crosses his arms, face set into a scowl as he stares up at Doflamingo. She can feel his anger, the resolute way his eyes promise nothing but an end.

"I'm not afraid to die. While you have your blood clause, we have one of our own. If anyone hurts Lami I will see to it that I have my revenge on them. Doesn't matter how tough they are or who they have in their back pocket, political or otherwise. One day they'll see my face and wish they had never hurt my family. A week, a month, a year, on my deathbed— it doesn't matter how long it takes."

He gives a conspicuous glance towards Corazon.

"And if anyone hurts me, well..." Law then offers Lami a slow look, "They'd be better off dead."

Static echoes in her ears as they meet each other's eyes. The room is near silent, now. Lami's not exactly sure what he means by this, but she knows that he means it.

"And what of you, girl?"

Lami feels a dozen eyes settle on her, the electricity under her skin sparks and trembles as she looks at Doflamingo in the— well, glasses. Oddly enough, she doesn't feel nervous. Simply… hollow; ice forming in her chest.

"I am going to live," Lami says with certainty as she lifts her chin, voice rough and scratchy, "and then I'm going to burn them all down."

If Law gets to be dramatic, then so does she.

She doesn't speak for the remainder of the meeting, mouth pressed into a line as she ignores the bristling electricity under her skin, the eyes behind glasses that seem to follow her.

/ / / / / / / / / /

Later that night Doflamingo's laugh echoes in her mind, his sharp grin painted behind her eyelids with something, something, something—

Not a threat.

A promise.

/ / / / / / / / / /

"Hey—" Law asks the next night, the sky hues of dark blue and purple as the stars start to blink into view, "are you okay?"

Lami nods as she gives a noncommittal hum, her eyes drooping and body swaying softly from side to side.

She's alive, so she's okay. Nothing to complain about.

"It's just," he does not sound convinced, "I can feel you zoning in and out of the conversation sometimes. All the time."

She hums again, not having anything to say to that. It's true. Lami can feel herself zoning in and out of… well, not consciousness, but sometimes the world just skips for a bit, sometimes she just cannot focus on a task or her thoughts. This isn't a new thing, though. It's been happening since… well, since—

( bang. bang.

two bodies hit the floor. )

There's a brief silence before Law sighs softly.

"Are you experiencing… headaches? Confusion? Sensitivity to light and/or noise? Difficulties remembering things? Dizziness?"

"I don't have a concussion, Law," Lami mutters, pulling forth the energy to flatly glare at him.

But. Well. She is experiencing all of the above.

"With the way that bastard is treating us, I wouldn't be surprised if you did."

"I don't."

"I'm just saying that you're checking off all the boxes," Law says with a shrug.

"I'm checking off a lot of fucking boxes right now, Law."

She's not sure why, but something, something, something in her just... overflows. And then the words start bursting out.

"I'm sad. I'm getting patches. I hate waiting. I hate, hate, hate waiting. We're getting beaten up on the daily. I haven't eaten in days. I'm exhausted—" Heat starts to sink into her tone as frustration takes hold of the silence that has softened her chest, "And I can't go to fucking sleep without thinking about Mom and Dad getting shot. Over and over and over like a broken record and I just— I can't get it to stop, Law—"

She takes a deep breath, but it's wet with emotion and something in her panics.

"I just want to sleep in a fucking bed. Have a bath. Wear clothes that aren't stained and—"

Curling her legs to her chest, Lami rests her forehead against her knees and heaves a loud, aggravated sigh. Wiping the water from her eyes, Lami sniffs.

Pathetic.

Law inches closer, resting his head on her shoulder. He doesn't say anything, just gently takes her hand and presses his thumb against her knuckles.

Minutes pass as Lami focuses on her breathing, eyes pinched shut and counting under her breath. She's not being fair to Law. Lami knows this. There is no need to lash out at him like this, no need to vent like this. He's just worried about her.

"...Sorry. That's— I shouldn't—" Lami shakily breathes out, frustration instead turning to herself, "Thank you... for caring."

Silence. Law sniffs; it sounds wet.

Lami's throat and eyes burn as she quietly confesses, "Thank you for caring about me."

"Always," Law says immediately, fiercely.

Mouth trembling, Lami wipes her eyes once more, "Promise?"

"Always."

Entwining their fingers together, Lami can't help but laugh, "Guess you're stuck with me forever, asshole."

"Surprise," Law scoffs, "you were always gonna be stuck with me. Took you long enough to realize, you bastard."

Smothering her mouth with her hand, Lami and Law shake with quiet laughter. Leaning into Law, she tries not to think about the swirling; coiling emotions that clash in contrast.

"Can I ask something selfish?"

"'Course."

Rubbing her cheeks, Lami leans closer and whispers her request into his ear.

She pulls back immediately, looking away towards the ocean, almost embarrassed.

"That's not selfish," Law's voice is near soft, sounding no longer like the angry stranger who has taken his place.

"Oh," is all she can say, risking a glance towards him before looking away again.

"Here," he pats at the space beside him.

Carefully and slowly curling up into a ball at his side, Lami closes her eyes and breathes out. Law's fingers tangle into her hair before lightly playing with the stands. Relaxing, Lami adjusts herself into a more comfortable position as she focuses on the way his nails scrape against her scalp. His voice is soft and comforting, gently lulling her to sleep.

Lami doesn't last longer than a minute; the world around her fades away.

/ / / / / / / / / /

She dreams in black and white; of strings and smiles and unspoken promises.

It's a welcomed respite.

/ / / / / / / / / /

Lami wakes up to the sound of screeching gulls.

Rolling over onto her back, she dozes in a state between wakefulness and slumber. Nearby she can hear the sound of pages flipping, idly noting that she can't hear any voices nearby. Not even Law's. Yet, it feels… oddly comforting. Silence. Warm, as the sun beats down on the junkyard and heats the metal drum that she is laying on.

She doesn't know how much time passes before her stomach becomes too acidic and aching to ignore.

Sitting up and flattening her bedhead, Lami stares at Law as she yawns. He's flipping through the photo album, legs curled to his chest and looking down at the album over his knees.

Does he do this often? Look through their pictures?

Lami can only be glad that she hasn't had the heart to look at it yet; that she hasn't put in the photos of the genocide. She could have unwittingly, unintentionally hurt him.

"'Bout time you woke up," Law mumbles, a finger tracing a photo.

Lami doesn't look, merely says, "What time is it?"

"Past midday. You've slept all night."

She stares incredulously.

"Feeling better?"

Lami hums, mind still stuck on the fact that she slept for more than four hours, "Hungry."

"Fair. We need to feed Owen soon," he flips the page, "don't want him dying on us."

"Who?" Dread simmers. Is Law having trauma-related hallucinations?

"The Den Den Mushi."

Oh.

Wait—

"We are not calling it Owen—"

"Why not?"

"That's— that's so morbid!"

Law's face is completely blank as he looks up and says, "I honestly never want to hear you, of all people, saying that ever again. Need I bring out the wedding rings as proof or are we going to argue about this again?"

Pursing her lips together, Lami reluctantly relents, "Fine, okay, I get it."

Mouth quirking, Law mutters, "Well, that's a first."

/ / / / / / / / / /

It takes about three hours before the voices pop back into place.

A part of her is relieved for the momentary silence, another part of her is perplexed by why it even happened in the first place.

/ / / / / / / / / /

"Please don't kill him," Lami sighs wearily as she rubs at her ribs.

Righting herself from the bottom of the wooden staircase, she experimentally flexes her fingers and rotates her wrist. It doesn't feel like her arm is broken, thankfully, though pain streaks and burns up to her shoulder.

Law ignores her, swearing under his breath as he glares after Corazon. It takes him a moment before he rolls over onto his stomach and pushes himself onto his hands and knees. Blood is seeping from his hairline again, trailing down his cheek and onto his shirt. She notes that his fists are red, bruised, and littered with new and old cuts alike. His expression spells trouble and festering resentment; though his voice rages and sparks with a storm of emotions.

Corazon doesn't even look back as he ascends.

"Actually," Lami amends as she stands up and pats at her thighs and knees, "please don't try to kill him. We want these people to accept us, remember?"

"What, you don't think I can kill him?" He shoots her a look, eyes sharp and mouth pressed into a line.

"No, I don't. I also don't think you should try— even if you did succeed, you certainly wouldn't survive the Donquixote family."

Law scoffs and he stands, aggressively gesturing to the staircase as he says, "This is fucked up; we can't just… let him keep doing this to us! Throwing us out windows, pushing us down staircases—"

"If we want to join, then yes I think we do—"

"So, you just don't care about the fact that he's—"

"I do—"

"Oh, really?" Law's voice is flat and pointed, "And that's why you want us to do nothing, after everything we've been through."

"I just think that we should be redirecting our anger in a more productive manner," She says as she rubs at her throat— it's been… near two weeks, and it still hurts when she talks too much, "you know, acquiring strength or political savvy. Killing every schmuck that looks at us wrong isn't going to do anything but hold us back and distract us from what we're aiming for."

"Sorry, not all of us can redirect or control our anger in ways that are convenient for you, Lami," his voice isn't particularly kind as he says this.

"That's not—" Lami gaps momentarily, trying to retrace their steps and see where she might have indicated this. "Stop putting words in my mouth."

Law stares at her petulantly before looking away, grumbling quietly under his breath.

"We should look at this like…" Lami struggles to find the words, "like a learning opportunity, you know? Use this as a chance to fine-tune our evasion skills against an opponent who is seriously looking to do us harm."

"That sounds like a terrible idea," Law says flatly.

"Well, he's obviously not trying to kill us." She tries to reason, "If he were he would have done so already. He's just a sad bastard with a bone to pick against the world and we are too weak to pose any threat to him. We should make the best use of our situation and twist it to our advantage. We're going to have to learn this anyway, and it's better to do so in a somewhat controlled environment than in some brawl where there are no guarantees."

"Ever the opportunist," Law snarks, taking off his hat and roughly wiping the dirt from its fur, "there's no point putting a bow on this blatant show of abuse, Lami. It's still just abuse."

"I know, I know," Lami wipes at the blood that has started oozing over her eye; she hadn't noticed the cut that had formed, "but, I mean, it just makes me feel better thinking that there is a reason for this."

"Sometimes people just want to inflict pain. Sometimes bad things happen. No rhyme, no reason. That's just the way it is."

"There has to be a reason."

"No, there doesn't. You're just so obsessed with rationalizing your behaviour—" He pulls his hat on past his ears, turning to her with a knowing smirk, "—that you find it imperative to find reasons for other people's behaviour, too. You don't like the fact that there can be no reason because that means there are no grounds for you to control it. No way for you to understand it."

Lami gaps at him.

He shrugs, "You project onto others because there are parts of yourself that you cannot control, but need to believe that you can, because despite everything that would imply otherwise you're still somewhat an optimist."

"Gez," she mutters, unsure what to say, "no need to psychoanalyze me."

"I'm just talking out of my ass, but honestly your response indicates that what I've said has some sort of truth to it," Law says with a snooty tone, and it reminds her so, so much of days spent in libraries, arguing over trivial subjects. "You psychoanalyze everything and everyone, always have and always will, but you're too chicken-shit to be honest with yourself."

Staring at her hands and trying to count her fingers, Lami idly says, "Am I dreaming?"

"Ah, yes, because I can't think about these sorts of things as well," sarcasm weighs heavily on his tone as he stands up and holds his hands out to her. "Now, come on, let's go before Corazon swings back around for round two."

She lightly high fives him, eyes squinting at him with scrutiny.

"What?" Law's voice is oddly amused.

"I'm not saying that you can't think about these sorts of things," Lami says slowly, "I just didn't… expect you to."

"We've been on the run for over a month, what else am I supposed to think about?"

"I don't know… murder, swords, revenge."

"I've spent a fair share thinking about those as well."

Lami continues to squint at Law as he jumps off the ledge of the sidewalk and into the piles of trash. Sometimes it's so incredibly uncanny to see how… intelligent and mature he is for a ten-year-old. Lami has her excuses, a past life, but what of Law?

/ / / / / / / / / /

Laying down on a flat sheet of metal, Lami soaks up the midday sun. It's been three days since the majority of the Donquixote's left for some kind of mission, leaving Law and Lami with little to do but bicker and sit in silence.

"Look at him," Law scoffs at her side, staring across the junkyard, "reading a newspaper without a care in the world. Why do bastards like him get to live but our parents don't? It's so fucked up."

"The world isn't very fair," Lami says, holding back a sigh. She's guessing that he's talking about Corazon because it's always about Corazon. They've talked about this at least five times a day and she's honestly getting pretty tired of it, "He's probably just taunting you."

"He's too clumsy to think of that."

"Being clumsy has nothing to do with it."

"You know what? You're right. I shouldn't kill him." Law's voice has taken a troublesome tone to it, "Corazon is clumsy. It would certainly be a tragedy if he were to accidentally do something to himself to cause tremendous, if not lethal, harm. He's constantly setting himself on fire— it would be horrible if, I don't know, his coat was washed in gasoline. Or if he fell down a fleet of stairs and onto a dozen knives—"

Lami opens her eyes and flatly stares at the blue, cloudless sky.

"Or if he were to step into a bucket of cement, trip out the window and into a pile of razor-sharp glass—"

"I don't think you can prank him to death, Law."

"Me? Oh no, as you said, I shouldn't kill him. What Corazon inflicts on himself, however, is a different matter."

"I don't think that's going to hold up in court." Lami huffs a quiet puff of laughter, "The court, in this example, is the guy's brother. It's a biased, corrupted court designed specifically so you won't win."

"It'll be fine. I just gotta get… creative."

"Law, I'm going to be honest with you," Lami sits up and places a hand on his shoulder, "your plans suck and they rarely work out the way you want them to. Maybe you should take a step back, reflect on how unlikely this all is, and reevaluate."

"My plans do not suck—" Law gaps at her before pouting, "Plus, I'm not being serious. I'm just having fun."

Lami fixes Law with a look.

"Okay, I'm probably not being serious." Law then gestures towards Corazon, "But look at him! He's fucking with us so we should fuck with him!"

Lami opens her mouth to refute it— but.

"Well…" her thoughts race, "I guess so long as no blood is shed then it might be okay…"

Law grins but doesn't say anything. It's odd; she doesn't think she has seen him smile in… Lami's not sure. It's been a while.

"We'll have to be clever about it—" she ignores Law's whoop, "—and we have to understand that we are risking death and torture by doing this."

"We've been through worse," Law says with a confidence that, frankly, worries her.

"Sure. Right. Totally." She tries not to wince.

/ / / / / / / / / /

Lami shoots Law a suspicious glare as they ascend the wooden staircase.

Law wrinkles his nose at her, pointing towards her then the junkyard before giving an exaggerated shrug.

She's not quite convinced by his answer. Sure, she knows that he has been with her the entire time they've been waiting for… whatever, to happen… But being called out of nowhere by Doflamingo, if Giolla is to be trusted, has certainly set her nerves on fire with a fight or flight response. It's been less than a week since they last spoke to Doflamingo, and she doesn't see any reason for him to directly talk to them— Giolla has, more or less, been the messenger.

Rolling his eyes at her, Law huffs and looks away with his mouth pinched into a scowl. Obviously, he is upset about her frequently suspecting him of doing something despite his reassurances that he will not.

Well, she can't quite blame him for feeling upset about this.

Lami switches her stare towards Giolla and a large blond man, of whom she does not have a name for. Their lights are dim in comparison to the likes of Doflamingo but are a fair bit brighter than civilians. It's difficult, though, to distinguish— Corazon and Doflamingo are obvious due to the intensity of their respective lights, however past Diamante everyone's lights just seem to mesh and swell together without personality.

"Young master!" Giolla chimes as she opens the door to the Donquixote office, "We found them in the junkyard, just as you suspected!"

Doflamingo and Corazon sit on the couch and chair situated at the back end of the room, seeming mid-conversation as they enter. The two Donquixote children hover at the window, probably waiting for some sort of entertaining event. However, the girl looks at Law and Lami with something close to sadness, maybe, in her expression. She ducks her gaze when Lami furrows her eyes brows, almost hiding behind Buffalo in her efforts to avoid eye contact.

Lami refrains from rolling her eyes.

Twisting the strap of her bag, she turns to frown at Corazon. He is looking the same as always, clown makeup and a cigarette wedged between his lips.

"I've called you both here for a very special reason," Doflamingo says, leaning forward with his elbows perched on his gangling legs. "I want to make you official members of the Donquixote Family!"

Oh. She should have expected this.

It takes everything in her to not immediately show her relief. That would be quite embarrassing. However, Lami wonders if there is a difference between being a member of the "family" and being a member of the "crew"— or is it one and the same?

"Such a horrible experience you've been through," He shakes his head, a masquerade of sympathy as his mouth quirks into that sharp grin of his, "the hate and apathy I see in your glares— you have the quality we are looking for. I see a little of myself in both of you."

"Oh my!" Giolla's gasp turns into a loud laugh of mirth as she gently pats both Lami and Law on the head, "The young master likes you! The grandest of compliments, you know he has quite the eye for talent."

Lami shrugs off the touch, trying not to visibly display the disgust; discomfort that suddenly snakes beneath her skin. She doesn't like it. The touch. The way they are treated as a commodity. The way the eyes around them only look at them now that Doflamingo has displayed some sort of interest— as if Law and Lami held no importance before this sudden revelation.

"Why?" Law asks, suddenly, ignoring Giolla's words as he slaps her hand away, "You know that we are going to die in three years, right?"

Biting her tongue to prevent herself from speaking, Lami stares heatedly at the floor. Law should have just accepted the invitation without question— does it matter why Doflamingo chose to take a bet on them? No. What matters is that they find the cure to their disease so they can finally live.

"Law, you should take a page out of your sister's book!" Doflamingo says with his slow, lingering laugh.

Lami goes rigid at the callout, trying with all her might to not go bug-eyed.

"That's for your luck to determine—" he points at Law, "—the fact you found your way here is just the first stepping stone. We're specialists in the black market, and dealing in devil fruits just so happens to be one of our focuses. The powers of devil fruits are diverse and surpass human understanding— should luck be on your side, you may even come across one that can save you from your condition."

Law sneaks a glance at her, though she doesn't quite know what it means.

Frankly, if it weren't for her knowledge of the once tale, she would think it a little limiting to only look at devil fruits when the world is so expansive and filled with varying levels of technology. That said, she already knows the fruit that will save them— whatever it's called. There are probably others out there too, but Law's fruit suits their needs the best.

Linking his fingers together, Doflamingo leers at them, "I'm going to groom you both into the business. Such potential between the two of you. I can even recognize the aptitudes shown as prospects for the role of my future right-hand man." He pauses, and Lami can't help but note the way his thumb seems to absently rub against one of his knuckles, "Positions to be determined. I'm certain that we'll find a... suitable place for both of you."

Doflamingo laughs once more.

How ominous.

it's been a minute! if i'm being honest, i struggle a lot with rehashing canon scenes. but they're necessary, so here, i just want to get this out and move onto the more interesting bits!

thank you all for reading, reviewing, and following! i hope that you are all safe and sound. cheers and see you all next time!

[date: 2O2O/O7/11] [wordcount: 8531]