Gawd. Guys, I am so sorry for this insane hiatus, so soon after the last one. I have no excuse bar having had a bad case of robots on the brain, which is a sad affliction cured only by the reading and writing of lots of rather… interesting fanfic. (I fell in love with Transformers Prime, and with shipping Optimus and Ratchet. I have committed porn without plot, mpreg and many other things I swore I'd never do besides. I'm actually not sorry at all for that.)

This is basically a filler chapter, full of OCs and whatnot. Loki starts her assistance in the doctors' cabin and Things Happen. We start a timeskip with the next chapter and begin moving into the canon timeline – Luffy getting his first bounty and whatnot.

WARNING - if you are at all squeamish you may want to skip the last third or so of this chapter. Especially if you are creeped out by creepy-crawlies of the maggot variety. It's based on a true medical story, and things that are based on true medical stories are usually pretty damn gross.

Something In The Water

Chapter Seventeen: If There's Lessons To Be Learned

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I didn't sleep well that night. Though my eyes felt gritty with exhaustion, and my conscious mind went blank for minutes at a time, I couldn't quite wind down to the point where I was able to drift off to sleep.

Subconscious parts of me were hooked on what had happened earlier that day. My confession – my scary, awkwardly honest, spectacularly nervewracking admission of something even I could admit I didn't fully understand – kept pushing itself out from my subconscious and into my wakening thoughts. The way Marco's eyes widened as he stared at me, seeing me for what I wanted rather than what I was, kept forcing my own eyes open. Thoughts of the way his lips had felt against mine, making my breath quicken, my skin tingle.

Memories, precious experience. All of a sudden, I felt doubly afraid of forgetting it all.

When I finally drifted off to sleep, I dreamed of dark water, deep and terrifying. I felt the rain on my skin as if it were real, freezing my flesh in creeping fingers of white, soaking me to the bone. Waves, storm-high and capped in white froth, towered above me, building up into mountains of water before crashing down on my head with the force of a hurricane. I struggled to stay afloat, gasping for breath when I surfaced through an atmosphere that seemed more water than air.

I woke in the middle of the night, I don't know how much later, with my heart pounding, my bundled blanket wet with my own sweat. A trickle of cool tropical water dribbled down my forehead, dripping from a leak in the cabin ceiling.

The sound of soft breathing filled the cabin, the warm Yaffan air close and stifling. The faint crack of furled sails snapped in the wind outside.

I pulled myself up and out of my hammock, landing on the deck with a thump stunningly loud in the midnight hush. I froze instinctually, listening for my crewmates. Sierra snorted in her sleep and rolled over; Verna's hand peeked out from under her thin sheets. None woke.

Water and sweat trickled down my face. I blinked it out of my eyes, wiping my face with the back of a hand. My heart still thumped madly against my ribcage. I slowed my breathing, hoping it would calm the adrenaline flowing through my veins.

I needed to get out of here. The ceiling loomed, shadows like waves bearing down on my shoulders. I headed through the darkness to the ladder, emerging onto the top deck with a physical rush of relief.

One of the night's watchmen hailed me, softly out of respect for those who were sleeping. He approached me with a flickering lantern in his hand. I recognised Tad behind the bandanna across the lower half of his face.

His voice still sounded quite nasal, and looking at the livid bruise which stretched across his cheeks and up between his eyes I was left in no doubt as to why.

"What's up, No-Grins?"

"I had a nightmare," I said. "There was a leak dripping on my face. Thought I was drowning."

Tad slapped a booted foot against the deck. It had rained that evening, and the timbers were still very damp. "Can't say I'm surprised. Get to Dollface and the repair guys in the morning. They'll probably be happy for something useful to do."

"Will do." I spread my toes against the wet decking and balanced myself as the ship rocked in the wind. Yaffa's windows were dark, barring a few still-active pubs around the waterfront. "What's the time?"

Tad shrugged. "Buggered if I know. Past time I was in bed. I got rained on, you know."

"Panther would say that that just builds character."

"Bah! When was the last time he took a night watch in the rain?" Tad rolled his eyes. "At least this is Yaffa. Rainy night watches on winter islands are the most miserable thing in the entire world. You just wait until you've suffered through one. You haven't really lived until you do."

I snorted – that's what I think of that idea. "What's still open in town? I need to distract myself. And stop distracting you before the watch captain finds us."

Again, Tad shrugged. "Pirate bars. There's a bath-house on Rue Vanadin that's open all hours. Ace's toymaker might still be in his shop. Have a poke around; you'll probably find something."

All of which sounded like a good idea. I was buoyed up with nervous energy, fingers twitching, nerves thrumming. "Thanks. Have a good watch."

"To be honest, I pray for a boring one," Tad said drily, and moved off.

I found the boarding plank by lamplight and left the Moby Dick in silence.

The township of Yaffa stretched out from the main town into a thin crescent reaching along the waterfront to the headlands at either end of the bay. Rather than heading north into the main town, I turned south and headed along the thin dirt road behind the beach. The fresh wet smell of rain overpowered almost everything. The occasional gust of wind brought the ever-present salty tang of waves and spume in off the sea, a thick taste that coated the inside of my mouth with every breath.

I ended up on Rue Vanadin, a narrow stone-cobbled alley leading up into the hills behind the very end of the beach. A small rivulet splashed down the gutter in the middle of the street, washing dust and rubbish away. The occasional nocturnal traveller wandered past, the glint of eyes in shadowed faces flashing under streetlamps bracketed to the plastered walls of houses. Most had the look of pirates. I kept a close eye on them as they passed one by one. I was not in the mood for trouble.

The bath-house's door was open, warm golden light spilling out onto the street. Soft murmurs drifted out into the street, men's voices and women's alike. A sign hanging from the side of the building proclaimed that seven pools and eighteen showers were still open.

Neroli had paid me a small sum of money to go into a chocolatier's in town for her that evening, shortly before the rain hit. I had spent most of it on a new notebook and a pair of chalk pencils already, but I still had a few berie left over. With luck, that would be enough to pay for a shower.

I headed inside, into the light.

The women at the desk broke off their conversation, turning their heads and smiling tiredly at me. There was a clock on the wall behind them; it read twenty-five past three in the morning.

"How much for a shower?" I asked, digging the coins out of my pocket. There didn't seem to be a price list anywhere. "Private, if possible."

"Showers are free, but private'll cost," the first woman, redheaded and brown-skinned, said, rolling a cigarette between painted fingers. "Fifty berie. I'd say seventy, but I don't get paid enough for that at this time of night."

The second woman laughed, taking my money with a warm smile and passing me a key in return. "Here you go, dear. Doors lock from the inside so you won't have any nasty surprises. Soaps and washes should be in a basket inside the cubicle; call the attendant if there's anything missing."

"Thank you."

She pointed me towards the leftmost door into the rear of the house. I passed through it into a narrow, windowless stone corridor. Iron lamps punctuated the gloom, light reflecting from the brass hinges and handles of very new-looking doors.

I kept going until I found a door near the middle of the corridor that wasn't locked already. The room beyond was small, but high-ceilinged and with a set of shutters above head height opened wide to let in the night breeze. There were two lamps, both already lit. It looked very clean; the tiled floor was free of mold and the stone walls gleamed their natural colours under the light.

I stepped inside, locking the door behind myself. The click of the mechanism echoed through the vaulted space.

There were no showers on the Moby Dick, but Lorna's house in Tusanto had had one. I knew how to work them. Sort of.

I stripped my clothes off, folding them and placing them in a corner, well away from the muddy footprints I'd left when I entered.

My own naked body caught my attention, and for a moment I stood staring down at myself as if at a fascinating new animal. I raised my hands and blinked at the calluses over my palms and fingers, then cupping them over my breasts, my biceps, my belly. I'd gained weight since I'd joined the crew. In Tusanto I could have felt my ribs through my skin without pressing down, but now a layer of fat and muscle covered everything. There was an outward swell to my belly, disguising the hard abdominal muscle I could feel beneath it. My upper arm and shoulder muscles felt huge and strong. No wonder I'd been finding rigging duty so much easier lately!

I drew in a deep breath and released it, closing my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again, I turned to the shower controls and pulled the water stopper all the way out.

Icy water hammered down onto me. I let out a strangled shriek, shoving it back in. The hail of tiny bullets stopped. I leant forward, pressing my forehead against the wall for a moment as I closed my eyes and tried to claw back my body heat.

Okay.

There were a couple of dials beside the water stopper knob. I fiddled with the ones marked 'hot' and 'cold', then gingerly turned the water back on. The temperature this time was much more bearable, the spray hard and refreshing rather than drilling into my skin. Gravity dragged at the bottom of my stomach, my Devil Fruit stirring. Showers were not enough to trigger the full reaction, but I sat anyway, dragging the soap basket over and choosing a sweet-smelling rose-pink bar with something rough and white all through it. Pumice, perhaps.

I wasn't expected back at the Moby Dick until the next afternoon. I could take all the time I wanted.

With that in mind, I set to work.

It was a nice feeling to be clean. The dirt and mud that had settled on my body over the past week swirled away down the drain, and with it went some of the stress and nervousness I'd been feeling since the war on Kiiroen.

I exhaled, and kept going with renewed strength and a small, unconscious smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

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I presented myself in the doctors' cabin at half past six that morning, having refueled myself on a cup of hot green tea with honey and a small wheatcake-and-banana breakfast after returning to the ship.

Lilian, returning to the cabin with a steaming mug of coffee in hand, waved me inside.

The cabin was one of the big ones on the high rear deck, across the corridor from Whitebeard's rooms. The open windows faced east, and bright morning sunlight streamed through and onto the row of fourteen sickbeds beneath. Panther looked up from a local newspaper, narrowing his eyes when he saw me. Neroli was asleep again, her face from the nose down tucked under a clean woollen blanket. Small pot plants hung from the roof, swaying gently in the motion of the ship.

Lilian moved to a cluttered desk by the opposite wall, downing most of his coffee in one gulp. "Good morning, Loki. I hope you slept well last night, because I intend to give you a thorough workout today, in both mind and body." He gave me a gentle smile, his eyes twinkling with good humour behind his shaggy mop of hair. "How are you feeling?"

"Clean," I replied, entirely honestly. I'd scrubbed every inch of my body until the skin was pink and clear. The walk back had undone the effort as far as my feet were concerned, but the rest of me was certain the sacrifice had been worth it.

"I see." Lilian smiled. "Fitting, because your first lesson is all about cleanliness. There is a sink and a strong soap at the rear of the room, down there. Go and wash your hands with that soap for thirty seconds."

More washing? I did as I was told nevertheless. There was a clock on the wall, but it was behind me, so I counted thirty ticks before rinsing and drying my hands.

"Good. Come back and show me," Lilian commanded. He inspected my fingernails for dirt, then gave me my hands back with a pleased grunt. "If you're going to do anything at all in this room, I want you to wash your hands often. Every time you handle medicines, every time you touch a new patient, even if it's for a minor procedure. Get into the habit of doing so. I'd prefer that we had gloves to use, but they're hard to come by and we need to save them for emergencies. Dirt and bodily contact are two of the main mediums through which disease is transmitted. Washing our hands often is therefore one of the best ways of preventing outbreaks of disease. Every time you enter this room, wash your hands. All right?"

I nodded. The soap had been so strong that it almost stung. Disease transmission sounded like a serious thing.

Lilian twisted in his chair and took a massive book off the shelf behind him. "Fortunately for you, we haven't had any patients aside from these two recently, so there is no washing or cleaning to be done this morning.. Have a look through the first few chapters of this book this morning. Take notes if you want; I've got some paper hanging around somewhere. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me. I'm going to wash my hands now, but after that I'll be refiling things for an hour or two, and I have a feeling I'll welcome the distraction!"

There was a soft snort from the beds. Panther looked as though he were absorbed in his newspaper, but certain tightness around his mouth made him look as if he were trying to hold back a smile.

"All right," I said, taking the book. It was heavy – I leant back, lacing my fingers together around the spine and taking as much of its weight as I could on my hips. "Where should I sit?"

Lilian hummed thoughtfully. "On one of the beds will do. Barring a surprise attack in our own territory we're not likely to be needing them anytime soon, and everyone could do with a little more sunlight in my opinion."

I headed for the one on Neroli's other side, flopping the book down onto the covers and climbing on. The sun drenched my back in warmth. I crossed my legs and carefully opened the book to its first page.

The ship came awake as the sun rose higher and higher into the sky, the constant murmur of voices inside the doctors' cabin and out on deck keeping me company. More people came in and out of the infirmary than I had expected over the course of the morning. Two of Whitebeard's nurses arrived shortly after I'd sat down, occupying Lilian's attention for half an hour before the brontide rumble of Whitebeard's voice rose into levels audible through three walls, prompting them to hurry away with his morning dose of medicine. Half an hour later, a short, curly-haired woman slipped through the open door, looking around furtively. Her dark face lit up in a brilliant smile as she caught sight of Panther.

"Priscilla!" he exclaimed, putting down his newspaper and returning the expression with interest. She climbed onto his bed and installed herself beside him, and they spent the best part of the next two hours curled up together, talking in hushed voices and kissing as if they wanted to be joined together forever.

About half an hour after Priscilla left, Neroli stretched and sighed and tried her best to wake up. Lilian sent me to the kitchen to get her some breakfast. The cooks all but buried me under a tray full of strong-smelling beef stew, bread and cheese and slices of three different fruits. When I returned, Neroli was sitting up, blinking, and there was a strange man in Lilian's vacated chair.

"Who are you?" he demanded as I walked into the room, drawing himself up in righteous affront. "You haven't been authorised to be in here."

I nervously came to a halt. Should I give Neroli her food first, or should I answer? The man must have outstripped me by close on twelve inches. He wasn't broad or fat, but he wore big clothes and his hands dwarfed the empty coffee mug on Lilian's desk, which the doctor had had to hold in both hands.

Panther, of all people, came to my rescue. "Actually, Sherwood, she has. I know Lilian told you yesterday."

Annoyance flashed across the man's face, thin lips pursing and washed-out blue eyes narrowing. "I don't remember anything like that," he said, as if that fact was all our fault.

I made an executive decision and brought the breakfast tray to Neroli before she fell asleep again. She grinned quiet thanks at me and got stuck into the stew.

The strange man huffed, looking me up and down. I'd never met such a scrutinising gaze. I felt as though every inch of me was being weighed up, judged and evaluated, and found lacking. I looked him in the eyes and stared back out of self-defense. It was an awkward standoff, but I was determined not to make the first move.

"Hmph," he said eventually. "What's your name, chit?"

"I'm not a chit, whatever that means," I replied, as evenly as I could. Everything about this man was abrasive, from the natty little hat he wore to the obsessively-waxed exterior of his leather shoes. The way he'd said 'chit' was making my throat close up. It was a thoroughly unpleasant sensation.

He rolled his eyes as derisively as I'd ever seen anyone do, and repeated the question. "What's your name, girl?"

"I'm Loki. Lilian's asked me to be his assistant for a while. Who are you?"

The man sniffed. "I can't say I think much of his choice to do so." He turned, picked up a thin book from the top of Lilian's desk, and swept out of the room.

I blinked until the tight feeling in my throat eased, then turned back to the bed I'd been sitting on earlier. The patch of sun had migrated closer to the bedstead in my absence. I sat down on the pillow and pulled the book closer, attempting to forget all about the incident.

"He's Sherwood Brandywine," Panther croaked, picking up his newspaper once again. "The Lightyears' doctor. He's one of the ones who protested the Kiiroen expedition. I can't say I've seen him act like that before – but then, he's only been helping treat us for a few days now."

"Perhaps he got out of the wrong side of bed," Neroli suggested through a mouthful of stew. "Or maybe he just doesn't like blondes."

Panther sighed. "He is a good doctor, although his bedside manner leaves a little to be desired. Try to get along with him; it will make things easier in the long run."

"I'll do my best," I said.

It took me a while to concentrate on the book again. Neroli and Panther chatted companionably as the morning wore on, and I kept hearing things in their conversation that brought me out of my focus.

Lilian returned about ten minutes later with another mug of coffee and a young guy with a nasty set of rope burns on his hands in tow. He called me over for five minutes to watch the wound's treatment – run under cold water, wipe with peroxide, dose with aloe gel and wrap in a thin bandage – then, patient sent on their merry way, quizzed me for a few minutes about the contents of the book so far. I hadn't gotten very far, but it had been a fascinating read. The first chapter had focused on basic human anatomy, with a few handwritten notes – Lilian's, I guessed – about fishmen in the margins. He seemed pleased with my progress, however. The last of the nasty feelings from Sherwood's visit quickly dissipated.

The day stretched on. Sherwood returned around three in the afternoon. I did my best to ignore his presence while he spoke in low voices with Lilian, then sat on a stool in the corner, sipping black tea and scowling at the floor. I tried not to look at him. Every time I did, my muscles tensed and my heartbeat quickened; like fear, but without the threat of physical harm.

I turned the page a little harder than I'd meant to, and the old paper ripped. My heart leapt into my mouth.

Fortunately the rip was only small; the length of my thumbnail or so. I smoothed the paper with my fingertips and took a deep breath, wondering if there was anything I could do to repair it.

There was a knock at the door.

An unfamiliar man looked in. Another former Lightyear, by the brands on his bare wrists. His face was lined, his silvering black hair drawn back into a sailor's ponytail that slipped over his stooped shoulder as he limped into the room. He wore a ragged grey Carolingen-style robe over a loose ruffled shirt. I blinked, and remembered that I'd seen him in the gathering when Marco and I went to negotiate with Amarna on Kiiroen Island. He'd been one of a few older pirates who had hung back, looks of wary respect on their faces.

"Dustin," Sherwood greeted, rising with a paternalistic scowl on his face. "How is your foot?"

The man shrugged, looking away. "Hurts a bit. Thought I oughta come find you."

Sherwood actively tutted. I'd never heard a man make that sort of sound before. "Well, come over and sit down. It's well past time I should have checked on it."

The man, Dustin, did so. He wasn't dragging his foot, but he seemed loathe to put his weight down on it, which resulted in an almost hopping gait. His massive boots, which looked as though they'd survived unchanged from the time of the Void Century, knocked loudly and arrhythmically against the deck.

Lilian picked a thin sheaf of unmarked papers from the mess on his desk. "How much of his patient history can you give me?"

Sherwood, moving forward to give Dustin a hand, raised his eyebrows. "Patient is Dustin Landry, sixty-two years old. Current injury is a deep laceration to his left foot caused by the former Lightyear Pirates captain, Amarna della Fiorienzi. Initial wound was sustained two weeks ago; I was unable to treat it until sixteen hours subsequently. It required sixteen stitches, two of which I removed twelve days ago." He installed Dustin on the stool and turned his attention towards his patient. "When was the last time you changed the dressing?"

"On Kiiroen," Dustin grunted. Sherwood sucked in a whistling breath between his teeth and practically levitated. Dustin cut him off with an aggrieved growl. "I haven't exactly had the chance since then, mama hen! I been stuck in the brig below decks and ain't no-one woulda given me anything to do it with."

Lilian's bushy brows came together in concern. "How does your foot feel? Honestly, please, without trying to be tough. We are here to help and we cannot do that unless you give us accurate information to work with."

Dustin looked down. Sherwood had started unlacing his boot. A muscle in his cheek twitched and his eyes slid away as though afraid of what he might begin to see.

"...I can't feel my little toes," he admitted.

"Never a good sign!" Sherwood said pointedly. "Tell me if this hurts."

Dustin did not get the chance to obey: as Sherwood slowly pulled the boot off, his eyes screwed shut and he bared his teeth, hissing in pain.

Sherwood stood up abruptly, blocking my view. "I need alcohol, swab and a specimen container, now."

"Loki, glass containers are in the cupboard up there," Lilian ordered, pointing toward the near end of the room. I leapt off the bed. Inside the cupboard was a box which clinked when I pulled it out. "Yes, in there. Be careful."

I brought the dish to Sherwood at about the same time as Lilian retrieved the swabs and the alcohol.

It did not take a medical professional to work out what had gone wrong with Dustin's foot. The bandages were old and dark with blood, and the inside of a boot which hadn't been removed for days was not a clean environment under the very best of circumstances.

Sherwood, having meticulously washed his hands, began to unwind the bandages.

I noticed something white, like a bit of fluff, clinging to the opening of Dustin's abandoned boot. It took me a while to work out what it was – and then it moved.

I recoiled so hard I took an involuntary step backwards.

Lilian drew me backwards and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Are you all right?" he asked softly, directing the question at me and me alone.

I nodded shortly, eyes locked on the squirming maggot on Dustin's boot. "Can I ask a question? Is that something which happens often?"

"Unfortunately I can't say that it's rare," Lilian admitted. "It is among our crew, because we have a higher standard of personal hygiene and crew care than most, but others? No, not particularly."

"I see," I said, forcing myself to blink and look away.

On the floor, Sherwood grunted. He'd removed the stinking bandages, and sat staring at the small threadlike maggots that crawled over – and in some cases through – Dustin's bruised and pale foot. I could see the wound that had started the whole thing, wrapped around the outside arch of his foot, red, crusted with dried blood and weeping fluids.

"How did they get in there?" he murmured, almost absently. His voice firmed, and he continued, "I'm going to need a torch."

"Why?" Dustin asked with, due credit to him, only a small quaver in his voice. His eyes were quite tight shut, and there was an air about him as if he were attempting to pretend that the foot in question had absolutely nothing to do with him. His lips were drawn tight in utter disgust.

Lilian returned to his desk and pulled a few small drawers open, pulling out a small glass-and-steel bauble attached to a chain before switching to the vials of powders held securely in racks on the wall. "Because maggots are attracted to light. They'll come up to see what's happening, and then we can pick them out. The thing is, they're actually not doing anything bad where they are – they eat dead flesh, and will leave the living alone. Doctors a long time ago used to deliberately introduce them to wounds which had gone bad and leave them for a while to clean it out. We have more efficient ways of doing this these days, fortunately! Either way, you do not need to worry."

He poured the contents of one vial into the bauble, then struck a match and poked it in as well. The powder caught alight with a ferocious burn. He quickly withdrew the remnants of the match and passed it to Sherwood, who held it quite close to Dustin's foot and began picking the creepy-crawlies off of the wound.

I closed my eyes and turned around, not sure that I had the stomach to continue watching. When I opened them again, I was greeted with the sight of two bedridden pirates who had seen and heard things far beyond their ken. Panther had lain down and pressed his pillow over his face as if to block both sight and sound of the procedure, and Neroli, far less disciplined, was staring up at the ceiling, her face a rictus of horror.

Well. By those standards, I supposed I was doing well.

I sat back on my bed and resumed my studies while Dustin was steadily de-bugged. Despite his protests, Sherwood put him in one of the sickbeds afterwards, forbidding him expressly to leave until his foot was no longer corpse-coloured. He suffered through an alcohol bath, the draining of the wound, and the insertion of new stitches, after which he still couldn't feel his toes but Sherwood was optimistic that he wouldn't have to have his whole foot amputated.

Lilian let me off the shift at five that evening, just in time for dinner. "You've had an eventful afternoon," he told me, jade-green eyes twinkling. "Go find your friends and see if you can't put them off their food for once."

I doubted the story would have robbed Ace or Teach of their appetites, but took pity on them regardless and saved the retelling of my first day as doctor's apprentice for after the meal.

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Word Count: 4899

-Constructive Criticism Welcomed!

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