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ilikethequiet · 1 year

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In the Wee Small Hours (A The Nanny Fic)

Title: In the Wee Small Hours Summary: A late night conversation reveals a softer side to C.C. Rating: G, for now. Might go up in later parts. Author’s Note: This came to me, and I decided to run with it. There will be more parts, yes.

I checked it through with Grammarly, so it sounds okay, tell me if it doesn’t 😘Feedback/likes are so appreciated. Will also be posted to AO3.

It wasn’t unusual for C.C. to stay at the mansion, sometimes the endless revisions to plays and productions ate up her time and it was too late to head back to her apartment which truthfully, she preferred, her apartment was so cold and sterile compared to the Sheffield’s home; it was warm, and the fridge was always stocked with goodies and alcohol, what more could a person want?

The house was quiet, the family has gone to be hours ago. In her early days of staying over, C.C. entertained the idea of sneaking into Maxwell’s bedroom and offering herself to him, but she could imagine how that would go down, rejection and never-ending ridicule from Niles if she failed. She wouldn’t be able to show her face again. Getting the ice cream out of the fridge she leaned on the counter, taking a few mouthfuls.

She heard soft footsteps come down the stairs and hoped that it wasn’t Nanny Fine, she did not want to put up with that woman right now. C.C. looked over, surprised to see that it was in fact Brighton coming down the stairs. She didn’t have a lot of contact with the children, she preferred it that way, but the boy looked unsettled, she supposed she could try talking to him.

“You’re up late. Everything all right?”

Brighton shrugged as he went to get a glass of milk, an important date was coming up that the rest of the family had either chosen to ignore or had forgotten about but not him, and it had been playing on his mind.

C.C. wondered what it was that had put him in such a melancholy mood, a test at school perhaps? Bullies? A girl? As she observed him, she couldn’t help but notice how much he resembled his mother; Maxwell often said as such about the girls, but C.C. thought it truer of him. She glanced over at the calendar and suddenly understood what was vexing him.

“Ah, Sara’s birthday.” She’d been too involved in work to notice the date was fast approaching. It wasn’t something the family celebrated; Maxwell always tried to distract the kids with some activity to do that day so they wouldn’t be sad and while it worked, C.C. could tell it wouldn’t this time.

“You were friends, right? You don’t talk about her.”

“Your father thought it would be easier for you and your sisters if we didn’t.” She took a seat next to Brighton. “But I miss her every day, I still expect her to be here when I walk in.” C.C. smiled sadly.

“When her birthday comes around, I try to do everything that we would have done together; get coffee, go to the theatre, come back and annoy Niles while he’s cooking.” She chuckled; that was one tradition she kept alive daily. “Then I go to the cemetery and place flowers on her grave.”

“Thank you,” Brighton answered, he hadn’t been to their mother’s grave in years, and it never felt like the right time to ask. It was nice to know that Miss Babcock kept the woman in her memory. “I just wish I remembered more about her,” Brighton said solemnly; his memory had gaps and while they had home videos, it wasn’t the same.

“You get your cocky attitude from her,” C.C. commented, while Maxwell would claim otherwise, C.C. knew that Sara was the real comedian; One time she had even suggested that Niles was in love with her, C.C. Babcock, the very idea. “And you have her smile.”

“Do you think I can come with you when you go to the cemetery? I just want to see her, I guess.” Brighton knew she wasn’t there, that it was just bones and a piece of stone that commemorated who his mother had been, but he wanted to visit.

“Perhaps if you decide to take a sudden interest in the theatre on that day, something can be arranged.” C.C. could always use a gopher and then let him walk in Sara’s footsteps.

“I can probably go to sleep now. Thanks, Miss Babcock.”

“Don’t tell anyone about this all right? I’ve got a reputation to protect.” It cannot be known that she was nice to a child, she would never work in this town again.

Brighton washed out his cup and put it in the dishwasher. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Brighton.” She smiled and went back to her ice cream.

-------

In another part of the house, Niles had been privy to the entire conversation having figured out long ago how to keep the kitchen intercom on, finding it helpful to keep him abreast of goings on. When he heard Miss Babcock address Brighton, he thought perhaps he should intervene should the witch try to cook him in the oven but something out of the ordinary happened; the ice queen ended up having a civil conversation with the boy, one where they had seemingly planned to celebrate the late Mrs Sheffield’s birthday together.

Niles had to wonder if the real Miss Babcock had been taken by pod people with a copy put in her place because there would be no way that she would willingly spend time with one of Maxwell’s children. He needed to find out what her angle was.

When he got to the kitchen, C.C. was rummaging through the fridge, Nile took a moment to take in her outfit; white silk pyjamas with a matching long robe, very different from what Miss Fine wore but classy, Niles expected no less. He moved quietly until he was behind her, then spoke. “What are you up to, witch?”

The voice was unexpected, and it caused C.C. to jump, almost dropping the cake she had retrieved from the fridge. She glared at Niles and put it over on the counter. “Eating cake? What, did you have a bad dream or something?”

“Mm yes, it was quite horrifying. I dreamt you were a decent person.”

C.C. smirked as she cut into the cake. “That doesn’t sound like me. What was I doing? Feeding the poor? Giving away my money?”

“Comforting a child.”

Her eyes snapped to Niles’, his words were too much of a coincidence for him to come up with such a thing on his own, he must have had the kitchen bugged or something.

it was a thrill watching the heiress so unnerved. “You put so much effort into pretending you don’t care but deep down you do have a heart. You even remembered Brighton’s name.”

Of course, C.C. knew Brighton’s name, she was his godmother after all, but it was one of those titles that had been lost over time due to Sara’s passing.

“You’ll be telling Mr Sheffield about your plans, yes? Should bring your brownie points up to one.” Not that he kept a chart, but Miss Babcock would have to put in extra effort if she was going to catch up to Miss Fine.

C.C. glared at him; did he really think her to be so shallow as to use her friend’s death to get in Maxwell’s good books? “Okay servant, what is your silence going to cost? Name your price.” C.C. regretted her words immediately, who knew what the butler would want in return, or how long he would hold it over her?

Niles smiled devilishly, having the producer in his debt had several interesting possibilities. “A decision such as this should not be made lightly, like a fine wine it needs to be savoured.”

God, he was pretentious. “Well, I’m going to bed, some of us work early.” C.C. made her way back up to her room, going over in her head what Niles could ask for. He could be crafty, but a Babcock’s word was their bond, C.C. would have to honour it, whatever it was.

It couldn’t be that bad, right?

#tv: the nanny #fic: in the wee small hours #the nanny #c.c. babcock #brighton sheffield #niles #niles x cc #this is apparently the year where I'm just going to end up writing a bunch of fanfic on well #everything most likely #stay tuned for that #fic

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dettiot · 4 years

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Fic: late-night interruption 1/?

late-night interruption Author: dettiot Rating: G (for now) Ship: Anidala Characters: Obi-Wan, Anakin, Padmé, Sabé, Rex

Summary: When Obi-Wan receives a late-night comm from Sabé, he’s not sure what to expect. But what he learns will change many lives . . . and the fate of the Republic.

Note: This is an expanded and revised version of a ficlet I posted on my Tumblr. I loved this idea so much and a lot of people wanted more, and the follow-up ficlets just didn't scratch the itch for me. So I hope you enjoy this!

Also posted on AO3!

Chapter 1

As the blue holoimage of Master Yoda faded away, Obi-Wan Kenobi let out a breath. “Well.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say? ‘Well’?”

“No, that is not all I have to say, Anakin,” he said, looking at his former Padawan. “But where to begin? That’s the question.”

“How about with the Council playing right into the Separatists’ hands by keeping us bouncing around the Outer Rim like this?” Anakin said, turning to face him. “While we’re chasing droid armies, Dooku and Grievous are planning something, I know it.”

Folding his arms over his chest, Obi-Wan gazed down at the holotable, even though there was nothing on display. Because it was hard to deny Anakin’s words. For the last six months, they had been moving around the Outer Rim, fighting battles at a clip they hadn’t seen since the early days of the war.

Battles that felt pointless. Like a distraction, a misdirection, allowing the Separatists to conceal their true plan.

“What do you think they’re planning, then?” Obi-Wan asked him.

Anakin shrugged. “Whatever it is, it’s bound to be big. The Separatists have been losing ground for the last year. Almost like they’re letting themselves be pushed out to the edge of the galaxy, so no one will think they’ve got a big offensive in them.”

“Going by that logic, their next move will be to attack the center of the galaxy,” Obi-Wan said, stroking his beard. “Like Coruscant.”

“Yeah,” Anakin said, looking worried. “That’s what I thought.”

The silence that fell between them was heavy and thick. Full of words they wouldn’t say, emotions they wouldn’t acknowledge.

As he looked at Anakin, Obi-Wan was struck by just how old he looked. Anakin wasn’t even twenty-three yet, but he looked much older. But even more than that, he just looked . . .

His hair was disheveled and unwashed. His clothes smelled of smoke and bore more than a few singe marks. And he was definitely too thin.

No matter how bad things were, Obi-Wan made time to shower, to change his clothes, to eat. He might be as short on sleep as Anakin, but otherwise, he attempted to take care of himself. Because such efforts paid off in the long run. It was hard-won knowledge, learned as his youthful energy faded in the face of continuous challenges.

But Anakin was stubborn. Convinced of his invincibility. And he didn’t respond well when he felt Obi-Wan was telling him what to do.

“I suppose we should be thankful the Council is being cautious. It allows us to take advantage of the downtime,” Obi-Wan said, eyeing Anakin.

“You say cautious, I say dangerously inactive,” he grumbled.

Well . . . it was hard to argue with that. But the point of this wasn’t to get into a fight with Anakin about the Council’s position. It was to encourage him to get some rest.

“Be that as it may, we should both try to get some sleep,” Obi-Wan said firmly.

For a moment, Anakin looked at him, and even opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. It was rare for Anakin to hesitate like that--so rare that Obi-Wan took a step towards him.

“Anakin?”

As quickly as the moment came, it went. Anakin shook his head and stepped back. “Nothing, Master. You’re right, we should take advantage of this break to catch up on our rest.”

It was tempting to press Anakin, to step up to the door he had opened for a moment and ask for admittance. There had been something bothering him for the last few months, Obi-Wan knew. Ever since their last visit to Coruscant, Anakin seemed to be mulling something, to the point of outright brooding.

But Anakin was an adult now. If he chose not to talk to Obi-Wan about whatever was in his thoughts, that was his choice. And as difficult as it was to let Anakin struggle when Obi-Wan felt like he could help, he knew he should respect Anakin’s decisions.

“Yes, indeed,” Obi-Wan said, following Anakin out of the private conference room and towards the hanger bay. For flexibility, they had been traveling on separate ships, to allow them to split up when needed. But that flexibility had come at the cost of Obi-Wan monitoring Anakin.

Captain Rex fell into step with them. “Generals,” he acknowledged them. “Any word on what’s next?”

“Still waiting for it,” Anakin said, sounding disgruntled.

With his typical equanimity, Rex just nodded. “Sure to come soon, sir.”

“Only if we’re lucky,” Anakin said.

Anakin and Rex kept talking as Obi-Wan followed them, contemplating the matter at hand. He didn’t want to pry, but . . . if Anakin wasn’t sleeping, it would catch up with him. Usually at the worst possible time.

No, if he was going to get his former Padawan to actually rest, it would take going behind his back and arranging for him to not be disturbed. And if there was one thing Obi-Wan Kenobi was perfectly willing to do, it was to be sneaky.

“Did we get the transmission of the Chancellor’s latest speech?” Anakin asked Rex.

“Yes, sir. Waiting for you when we get back to the ship,” Rex said.

There was an exchange of glances between Anakin and Rex. Something about it made Obi-Wan take another look at the two men. Remembering those times lately when Rex had seemed to be covering for Anakin while he was doing . . . something.

Obi-Wan gave his head a shake. He was becoming paranoid--a sure sign of his own exhaustion. As soon as he took care of Anakin and saw him and Rex off to their ship, he was going directly to his quarters.

And then Anakin literally walked into a wall and Obi-Wan made up his mind.

“Anakin, are you all right?” he asked, stepping forward to offer him a hand up.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Anakin said sheepishly, rising to his feet on his own power. His cheeks were flushed and he rubbed a hand over his face. “Just tired.”

Turning to Rex, Obi-Wan said, “You should pilot the shuttle to the Resolute. If Anakin did it, you’d probably wind up flying into a black hole.”

“Master,” Anakin said, his voice practically a whine.

Obi-Wan gave him a look. “Why don’t you go prep the ship for launch? If you do it properly, I’m sure Rex would be more comfortable putting his life into your hands.”

That wasn’t quite enough to pacify Anakin, but it got him onto the shuttle, just as Obi-Wan wanted. He turned to Rex. “Captain, I’m ordering you to hold any of Anakin’s comm messages until he’s gotten at least eight hours of sleep.”

Rex shifted his feet a little. “You sure about that, General?”

Translation: Rex was fully prepared to throw him under the speeder if Anakin found out. Which, to be honest, was just what Obi-Wan expected Rex to say.

“Yes, I am,” Obi-Wan said. “I’ll deal with Anakin if it comes to that.”

“Understood, sir,” Rex said, his sense of worry easing slightly. “I’ll take care of General Skywalker, never you fear.”

“I have no doubt of that, Rex,” Obi-Wan said with a small smile.

With a crisp salute, Rex followed Anakin up the landing ramp of the shuttle. It only took a few moments for the ramp to lift and for the ship’s engines to spool up. With Anakin on his way to his ship, that meant Obi-Wan was able to head to his quarters.

A few minutes in the sonic shower and a ration bar was enough to make him feel ready for bed. But he still sat on the floor and dropped into a short meditation, doing his best to clear his mind before bed. He had found that a few minutes of meditation before sleeping was enough to help hold off the worst of his nightmares.

He just hoped tonight that he would fall asleep quickly.

By the time he rose from the floor and pulled back his covers, Obi-Wan was yawning. Slipping between the sheets, he closed his eyes and felt the warm, dark blanket of oblivion fall over him peacefully.

XXX

As she trailed behind Padmé, Sabé was struck with a sense of déjà vu. It had been years since she had served as a traditional handmaiden, but it was rather remarkable how all the old skills came back to her.

Keep her head lowered but her eyes up. Make a note of every person and droid who crossed their path. Stay two steps behind Padmé, fading into the background whenever anyone approaches her. Listen to every conversation without appearing to hear anything.

Yet serving Padmé as an aide instead of a handmaiden was very different. On Naboo or during their trips off-planet, Queen Amidala had played a different role. A role with more respect, more autonomy.

Now? As a Senator? Sabé didn’t know how Padmé could deal with the lack of control, with having to sway other Senators to her point of view.

But then, that was why Padmé was the Senator and Sabé was the aide. Her old friend and former Queen had all the skills needed to be a Senator, while Sabé preferred to gather information and work on the fringes or in the dark.

It was only due to Padmé’s condition that Sabé was here at all, stepping in to allow Dormé to double for Padmé more frequently.

Because even though it was probably obvious to most people who looked at her, Padmé had refused to make any public announcements about her pregnancy. And Sabé knew why, could understand why . . . but she didn’t have to like it. Not when it meant Padmé had to keep working, had to keep pushing herself instead of taking it easy.

Sabé found herself worrying more and more about Padmé’s child, even as her worries for Padmé herself increased exponentially.

Without the mid-adolescence growth spurt Sabé had experienced, Padmé had remained the same height as when she was a fourteen-year-old queen. Her figure was slight, and even though Sabé knew Padmé was strong and physically fit . . . it seemed like her swollen belly dwarfed her figure.

The moment Sabé had seen Padmé upon her arrival on Coruscant, her first thought had been how could a woman so small be having such a large baby? Sabé had immediately asked about Padmé’s prenatal care, but her friend had waved aside her concerns.

“I’ve regularly seen a med droid and I’m in good health,” Padmé reassured her.

She had opened her mouth to argue that a med droid was fine in a pinch but no replacement for an actual healer, but the tightness of Padmé’s mouth, the strain in her eyes, made Sabé hold her tongue.

At least Padmé had asked her to come, Sabé had tried to console herself. She was Padmé’s oldest friend, the first handmaiden selected upon Padmé’s election as Princess of Theed and future Queen of Naboo. Padmé must have had some concerns about her health to ask Sabé to come, instead of pretending everything was fine.

And since her friend had asked her to come, Sabé had of course gotten on the first ship to Coruscant. Nothing would prevent her from helping Padmé.

It had only taken a few days for Sabé to see just how much Padmé needed her help. Her work schedule was even more punishing than it was when she had been Queen. It wasn’t just the hours of reading and research, either. Achieving anything in the Senate seemed predicated upon tedious socializing: cocktail parties, dinners, nights at the opera and the ballet . . .

No wonder Padmé looked exhausted even before you considered she was seven and a half months pregnant.

But tonight would be different. There were no social engagements, and it was still fairly early. They could go back to Padmé’s apartment and Sabé would order some dinner while Padmé bathed. If luck was with her, Sabé could convince Padmé to actually relax by watching a holomovie or talking, instead of doing more reading.

When Senator Bendon approached them, Sabé was very tempted to nudge Padmé along. They were nearly to the speeder dock, where Padmé’s pilot and security escort was waiting for her. They were so close to escaping!

But of course Padmé wouldn’t ignore a colleague, so Sabé hung back as Padmé, with help from C-3PO, spoke with Senator Bendon.

However, as Sabé watched her friend, she couldn’t help feeling like something was wrong. There was a tension in Padmé’s shoulders--a tension, she now realized, which had been there since Sabé had arrived on Coruscant.

Padmé’s body suddenly flinched, and Senator Bendon made an Ithorian gesture that seemed to represent concern.

“Senator Amidala, are you all right?” 3PO translated.

“Yes,” Padmé lied. Her voice was breathy and thin, and she half-turned towards Sabé, who was already stepping forward. “I’m sorry, Senator, but I was on my way home--”

The other senator made a few noises and 3PO said, “I’m sorry to have kept you. Have a good evening, Senator Amidala.”

Sabé supported Padmé, who leaned on her heavily as they walked to the speeder dock.

“Padmé, is it--?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lips tight, Padmé nodded. She said nothing further until they were settled in the speeder, zipping through Coruscant’s traffic towards 500 Republica.

“I . . . I’ve been having contractions for a week, but--but it’s too early,” Padmé said, her face white and beads of sweat appearing on her forehead.

It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. How could Padmé let herself be in this condition for a week without saying anything? Sabé held tight to her frustration, as a way to ignore her guilt. Because how could Padmé have contractions for a week without Sabé noticing? Without anyone noticing?

“We’re nearly home,” Sabé said, putting all the comfort and reassurance she could into her voice. “When we arrive, we’ll call for a healer. No arguments,” she warned Padmé.

Silently, Padmé nodded, then reached out and gripped Sabé’s hand. “Sabé--please call Anakin. I want--no, I need him here.”

“Then we’ll get him here,” Sabé said gently. “Just breathe, Padmé.”

Padmé nodded again, then let out a soft groan and squeezed Sabé’s hand tightly.

“Faster,” Sabé called out to the driver, gently stroking Padmé’s hair.

XXX

It wasn’t the first time the chiming of his comm had awoken him in the middle of the night. It wasn’t even the first time tonight, due to Admiral Yularen notifying him of a course change. But his sleep had been so deep, coming after too many nights with too little sleep, that it was hard to respond to another interruption.

But Obi-Wan simply called on the Force to clear away some of his exhaustion as he picked up his comm.

“Kenobi.”

“Sorry to wake you up, General, but I’m getting a comm for you and the person on the other end won’t take no for an answer,” one of the communication officers said briskly.

Sitting up, Obi-wan rubbed his eyes. “Who is it?”

“No name, but they said when you met, you knew them as someone else?”

Obi-Wan frowned. That wasn’t exactly clear, and his sleep-addled mind wasn’t helping him figure this out. He reached out to the Force, seeking guidance, and felt a small flicker. A nudge, urging him to listen to the unknown person.

“Put it through,” Obi-Wan said, running a hand through his hair and tugging his tunic into place.

His mouth dropped open in confusion and surprise when he saw the person displayed on the holo. For a moment, he thought it was Senator Amidala, but, no, it wasn’t her--it was–

“Sabé?” he asked, surprised and confused. The former handmaiden still bore a strong resemblance to Padmé, but it was now easier to spot the differences between the two women and make the proper identification. But that didn’t help him understand why Sabé was contacting him.

“Master Kenobi, I’m sorry for this interruption,” she said after a graceful nod. Her face was smooth and blank, her voice even, but there was something in her presence that made Obi-Wan feel on edge. Because deep down, Sabé was very worried.

“Not at all. Although I am surprised to hear from you, I admit,” Obi-Wan replied.

Sabé took a deep breath. “Yes, of course. But–but it is urgent I speak with Master Skywalker, and unfortunately, the communication officers on his ship were less willing to assist me.”

It appeared that Rex had followed Obi-Wan’s orders to the letter. He couldn’t regret the order, not with how tired Anakin had looked. Even if he was now put in the position of playing middleman between Anakin and Sabé. Who, Obi-Wan noted, had carefully avoided telling him why she needed to speak to Anakin.

“I didn’t know you were in communication with Anakin,” he prodded. He blamed having just been woken up for the not-so-graceful approach he took.

She seemed to blink. “I’m not,” she said, hesitating for a moment. “I assumed that wherever you were, Master Skywalker would not be far away. Or that you would be able to contact him when I could not.”

“That is true . . .” Obi-Wan said, pondering her words and investigating her presence, even though it was difficult to do so via a holo connection. The fact that Sabé was not a stranger to him helped a little, although given the way Padmé and her handmaidens switched places, Obi-Wan still wasn’t sure if he knew any of her assistants that well.

And he knew, from his conversations with Padmé over the years, that she considered Sabé her closest friend. Which made him wonder if Sabé was reaching out to Anakin on someone else’s behalf.

When he considered everything, Obi-Wan knew what he should do.

“How can I help, Sabé?” Obi-Wan asked, ready to assist in any way he could.

“All I require is to be connected with Master Skywalker,” Sabé said evenly.

Of course, she wanted something he wasn’t sure he should help with. Especially not when he reached out to the Resolute for Anakin’s presence and felt the still calm radiating off him. If he wasn't asleep, he was definitely resting, which made Obi-Wan feel relieved. At least something was going to plan tonight.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid that’s not possible right now,” he told Sabé, trying to make his voice gentle. “But I would be happy to pass along a message--”

“It’s an emergency,” Sabé interrupted. Her placid mask cracked, alerting him to the truth in her words. “Please, Master Kenobi.”

“Perhaps if you told me more about this emergency, I would be able to assist you,” Obi-Wan said, not willing to disturb Anakin for anything less than the fall of the Republic.

A flicker of emotion showed on Sabé’s face and in her presence, a spike of anger and annoyance and--fear? He could tell she was gathering herself before she spoke, and Obi-Wan wondered what she was going to say.

And after he heard her words, Obi-Wan almost found himself wishing the Republic was falling.

“Senator Amidala has gone into premature labor, and she wants the father of her child to be there.”

End, Chapter 1

#anidala #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #padme amidala #sabe #star wars #obi-wan finds out

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royaiweek · 5 years

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Come Forth From Iron

Author: Nice_Valkyrie

Rating: Explicit

Tags:Royai. Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Fingering, Menstruation

Words: ~2400

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19220929

Summary: A superior officer is, after all, responsible for the well-being of his subordinates. [Written for Royai Week 2019, prompt: “revival.”]

For three months, Roy had continuously rediscovered that he was damnably inept at paperwork. The common forms seemed simple enough, but after several angry memos he’d learned to send everything past Riza first. The end result was fewer attempts returned to their office—and a harried, exhausted lieutenant.

There was a part of Roy, cold and calculating, that was aware overworking Riza in view of other officers could shift his reputation in potentially advantageous directions. But the truth was he’d been taxing her without even trying. They were frequently in the office past expected hours, trying to make up ground. Last night, they had been stuck until well after dark, fixing what Roy had belatedly realized was a very long personnel report done entirely in outdated, invalid formatting.

Today, Riza was rather sullen.

Roy knew what was between them, the promises they had made. But on days like this, when Riza barely looked at him and her few responses were clipped, he began to wonder if some resentment was only to be expected. After all, Riza was supporting him and shouldering the burden of all his mistakes alone.

He snuck a glance at her desk across from his, watching her scowl deepen as she worked on some report or other she’d deemed unacceptable. Something had to be done. He sighed internally and steeled himself.

“Is there anything bothering you, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir.”

Roy waited as she shuffled papers and found the next sheet.

“My hot water bottle failed catastrophically last night,” she finally said. “I’m beginning to think Colonel Cooper had a point about those rubber manufacturing regulations. Anyway, the pain makes it difficult to concentrate. Not impossible, of course, sir.”

Relief made Roy’s shoulders relax. “Is that all? Tell me what’s ailing you.”

Her smile was tight-lipped. “You aren’t familiar with it, sir.”

As he frowned at her, Riza’s expression twisted into a grimace. She bent forward slightly, hunching over her midsection, and suddenly Roy understood.

“Ah…” It wasn’t that he was entirely ignorant of womanly woes. His sisters had certainly referred to the subject often enough within his hearing, with varying degrees of coyness. But the details were foreign enough that he felt he had set foot in something cold, fraught, and well out of his depth.

“Please don’t let yourself be concerned,” said Riza, finding her place in the papers again.

Shame crept up Roy’s throat. Riza so rarely asked for anything that he had grown used to offering nothing. He hadn’t ever considered, for example, that she could be at the mercy of her own body’s workings this way. It seemed a vulnerability for women who were not her. “Your health is my business, too,” he said urgently. “How can I help?”

Riza frowned. “It’s not. And it’s nothing, sir.”

“That didn’t look like nothing.”

“I assure you I’m fine.”

“Isn’t there anything I can do?”

“Well, sir,” said Riza tersely, “an orgasm usually helps, but I don’t think you would approve of me doing that in the office.”

A deafening silence followed this proclamation.

Roy swallowed. Riza’s stare was fierce, but she was looking across the room, unwilling or unable to meet his gaze. He recalled, with agonizing clarity, the shame of being a child ordered not to open a door, and then intruding upon a sibling naked anyway.

A few long, uneasy seconds later, Riza whipped her head back to the document on her desk. But she didn’t move to write, and as Roy watched, her lips began to tremble.

“I’m afraid not,” he said, unable to keep his voice from rising awkwardly. “Well—back to work, Lieutenant.”

***

Riza kept her head down. It had been unprofessional—to say the least—to divulge the subject of her discomfort in the first place, let alone suggest such a solution. She’d spoken unthinkingly, out of turn. At least, she thought sourly, they were equally surprised by her brashness.

She was tempted to blame the lapse on the pain. It squirmed in her midsection, a seething knot that intermittently twisted with such fierceness that it stole her full attention. Enough distraction to allow her to be drawn in by the invitation of Roy’s silence.

But awareness lived uncomfortably alongside her sore muscles. Roy had asked so casually, and in that moment Riza had wanted nothing more than to punish him for the transgression. She was more than capable of weathering her menses on her own. When she was younger, she’d had no means for hot water bottles, and made do with wet kitchen rags when privacy allowed. Roy had no right to speak to her that openly. He was concerned for her well-being as both her superior and her friend, but in the office they needed to enforce that boundary strictly.

And as she corrected his attempt at her quarterly behavior report, she finally found herself gnawing on his perception. Roy always read her so easily. If he put as much care into the details of his paperwork, many of their daily frustrations would melt away. Why couldn’t he intuit that conclusion?

The afternoon passed in uncomfortable silence, Roy strolling in and out of the office for meetings without making eye contact. Riza bit her lip and refocused on the sheet in front of her. The pains lingered and throbbed with the pulse of her heartbeat, but she could feign ignorance, too.

At four o’clock, another lieutenant returned the stack of acquisitions forms Roy had submitted a week earlier. When Riza opened it, there was hardly a line on any page that wasn’t sternly marked as needing revision.

“You must be joking,” she said out loud.

“Sorry,” said Roy sheepishly. “Ah, we might have to stay late again today…”

Riza kept her mouth carefully shut, this time because she knew exactly what she would say.

Roy took just over half the pile and settled at his desk across from her. And then they worked.

On another occasion, Riza might have made more extensive changes, polished up the shakier parts of Roy’s appeals. Not today. She edited only what was noted, working swiftly as possible toward her goal. Across the room, Roy was silent, seemingly as resolved as she was. Whenever Riza glanced at him, he was engrossed in the papers, a slight frown on his face. The clock’s hands ticked onward, Riza’s cramps waxed and waned and waxed again, and Roy grew increasingly restless, shuffling his feet and leaving for breaks at a frequency that made Riza clench her jaw.

But an hour after she had expected to walk out the door, neither of them had finished their corrections, though she was somewhat farther along in her stack.

Roy leaned back in his chair, fiddling with his pen. “How are you feeling now?”

“Similarly, sir,” said Riza. Her hope of departing enough to visit the shops, and procuring a new hot water bottle that would enable her to sleep easily, was fading fast.

“I thought as much.” Roy hesitated, then set his pen down. “I’ve decided to assist you with your, your pain.”

Riza raised an eyebrow. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

“You already gave me the answer,” said Roy, getting to his feet. “I just need to…put some effort toward getting there.”

Riza froze as her mind caught up to his words. She looked up at him, a scoff already rising to her lips. But then Roy withdrew a pair of thin rubber gloves from his pocket, and her retort withered in her throat.

“This is an office, sir,” she said weakly.

“Believe it or not, I have noticed that fact. I locked the door.”

“And you’re my commanding officer.”

“There was a rather strapping young man in the medical office when I went to get these. I considered soliciting his services instead, but decided in the end that it was my responsibility.” He stretched them over his hands carefully, flexing his fingers to manage the tight fit. “Because I am your commanding officer. Understand?”

A strong cramp squeezed in Riza’s middle, and as she gritted her teeth against it, the promise of immediate relief was almost too tempting to resist. But she knew it had never been that easy for her. To accept Roy’s offer, throw her discipline to the wind like that, seemed utterly…careless.

But when the immediate pain began to dissipate, and Roy continued to wait calmly for her answer, a different understanding unfurled in her mind. Perhaps this wouldn’t be a lapse of discipline, but an exercise of it. A simple and direct recalibration of her mood.

Did she trust Roy to have the same understanding?

Riza stood.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Wonderful. Now get on the desk.”

Riza unbuckled her belt as she walked to him, and then, before she could hesitate herself out of it, hauled her trousers off. As she pushed them aside with her foot, Roy’s gaze hesitated on the stained padding inside. Well, let him see. Her pulse beat loudly in her head, and the quiet, stale air was suddenly far too hot on her skin. Roy scooped up his papers and set them unceremoniously on the floor, and Riza lay back in the cleared space.

“You’ll need to open your legs.”

She hooked her heels on the edge of the desk. Roy advanced on her, and Riza felt a jolt of something not quite nervousness as his fingers mapped the insides of her thighs. They climbed higher, and the trickle of heat in her midsection swelled and surged to meet them. Arousal. The flesh Roy’s fingers pressed against was as sensitive and sore as the rest of her body. “Gently, sir, please.”

“Of course, Lieutenant.”

He parted her thicket of curls and spread her open. Now there was certainly nervousness. She knew exactly what mess Roy was seeing. In her younger days she had frequently balanced a hand mirror between her legs while menstruating, oddly thrilled by the unmistakable evidence of adulthood. Her blood had been her secret, known by no one else.

And now it was another secret she shared with Roy.

The first finger slid in like nothing. Roy let out a low, approving breath.

“Don’t be flattered, sir.”

“It was an instinctive reaction,” he muttered. He pulled out the finger and showed it to her, streaked red to the second knuckle. “Well, at least you weren’t lying just to get a favor from me.”

“Would you do this if I had lied?”

“Oh, I can’t be sure.” Between Riza’s legs, the finger dipped in again and began a slow slide in and out. “I’m sympathetic to a spontaneous need for orgasm, but without adequate reason, I suppose it ought to be a strictly extracurricular activity.”

His exploration was nearly scientific in its precision, changing in response to the way Riza’s leg jumped or her breath caught. The throbbing in her abdomen remained, but other sensations rose in her body: heat; need; tender, flushed skin begging to be touched. “I’m glad you found my circumstances compelling.”

Roy’s brow furrowed slightly as he pushed another finger inside her, nodding to himself as he worked her open. With his other hand, he slid the hood of her clit back.

“Quite compelling, Lieutenant.”

Riza tried, unsuccessfully, to quiet her gasp as Roy pulled his fingers out and slid them up. His touch was feather-light, flicking over the swollen nub in a way that was more tease than stimulation. Too soon, he dipped back down to penetrate her again, more forcefully.

Another gloved finger returned to her clit, dry this time, the sticky drag of the rubber oddly electric. The friction sent shocks like pricking needles down the nerves of her legs. It was nearly too much—but then the pressure lessened, and Riza groaned as the heat of the just-there just-right touch flared inside her.

“And you thought I wouldn’t be familiar with the area,” Roy chided her.

Riza laughed, but the sound faded into a soft, contented sigh. She usually found bearing a man’s full attention difficult. If she’d been fucking Roy—now that thought brought new warmth to her face—she could have kissed his neck, pulled his hair, let her nails scratch his back as she clung to him and moaned. But this was entirely new: methodical, procedural, even medical. Free of expectations.

“Stay with me, Lieutenant,” Roy murmured.

The hand inside her sped up. The need building higher and hotter subsumed her body’s pains. Aching muscles, cramping insides—they were nothing when he touched her like that. All that mattered was the relentless work of his damnably adept hands, and thethrobbing peak of flesh his finger manipulated with such ease.

Riza panted as the touch on her clit became sterner and faster. Blood didn’t embarrass her, either. Knowing what Roy was seeing and feeling, and seeking so openly—

This time, when Riza’s body began clenching, she never wanted it to end.

***

After the last pulses faded away, and Riza’s body relaxed, Roy withdrew his fingers. “Say ‘thank you,’” he instructed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, sir.”

Grinning, Roy peeled the gloves off. “Hey, you can’t blame me for wanting praise.” After a moment’s consideration, he buried them within the papers of the trash can. Thankfully, the manufacturing standards on that rubber appeared to be perfectly fine. “It felt good to do something right for once.”

Riza sat up and pulled her trousers back on. The movements were brisk and efficient, but her face was thoughtful. “Back to work, sir, I suppose?”

Roy groaned. He had nearly managed to forget the mountain of paperwork, cleared off for Riza’s benefit. It was a shame she was unlikely to accept the proposal of a second orgasm.

The edges of Riza’s lips twitched in the smile she refused to give him. “Think of it as more chances to do something right,” she said dryly, returning to her own desk.

The warm familiarity of her teasing glowed reassuringly in Roy’s heart. Before she could sit, he waved his hand at her, shaking his head. “Go home, Lieutenant. Take care of whatever you need to. I can handle this on my own now.”

“Of course not, sir,” said Riza calmly as she sat. “I would rather stay late than have to come in early.”

Roy grinned ruefully. Riza dropped her focus back to the acquisitions forms, picking up her pen.

“Besides,” she added after a moment, “I can’t imagine what I would do with my time if I didn’t have your work.”

#day 6 2019 #fanfic 2019 #fanfic #submission

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words-and-fangirling-wonder · 7 years

Text

T is for Treatment

I don’t love how this turned out, but if I keep trying to revise it until it’s “right” I’ll go insane, so here it is. Feedback would be greatly appreciated!

Author: fangirlwonder (wordsandwonder on AO3)

Pairing: Kid/Law

Prompt: Parents

Rating: Teen, but only for swearing and stuff, I don’t know I’m bad at rating

Beta’d by: @fitgirlfaith24

Warning: There are a few more mentions of drug and alcohol abuse-ish/kids having to be responsible for their parents in this chapter, continuing the creative liberties I took with Kid’s backstory.

“Why isn’t Law my doctor?”

Even though Kid hadn’t been awake for very long, his patience was already wearing very thin with the doctor standing at the foot of his bed. He knew Law. He trusted Law. He wanted Law to treat him, not this weasel-y faced quack.

“Mr. Kid, it was decided that Dr. Trafalgar is too … close to the situation to be your doctor, and frankly, Dr. Trafalgar is a surgeon, and a pediatric one at that. He does not specialize in cases like yours.”

“Yeah, well he’s still a hell of a lot better than you,” Kid groused. He glared at the man and moved to cross his arms before remembering for about the millionth time in less than 24 hours that he couldn’t; and that realization did nothing to improve his sour mood. “Are we done here?” he asked darkly, staring at the fist clenched in his lap. The single fist.

“We are not, actually. We need to discuss your treatment options. It’s important that we go over the physical therapy you will need, and options you have going forward.”

Kid’s scowl had the man backing away instinctually. “Well I’m not interested in talking about my “options” with you. Just … just get the hell out of the room.”

The doctor nodded and moved quietly toward the door, pausing with his hand poised over the knob. “I know this is frustrating for you, Mr. Kid. It will get better with time.”

If anything had been within his reach, Kid would have hurled it with all his might at the doctor. “Both your arms look pretty fucking real to me, so I’m gonna go ahead and say you don’t know shit, you asshole. Get the fuck outta here.”

Doctor what the fuck ever his name was scurried out of the room with a final sheepish glance, and Kid was left alone. In the three days he’d been awake, he’d realized that he really hated being alone. It had never been an issue for him before the coma, but the blank white of the hospital walls and the steady beep of his heart monitor gave him the creeps and the room just felt so … empty when he was in it by himself.

Luckily, his solitude rarely lasted for long.

“Hey Kid.”

He looked up and gave his sister a halfhearted smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Hey sis.”

Bonney shuffled awkwardly for a moment with one hand hidden behind her back. “We went to your place today.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked dispassionately.

“Yeah. The damage is … well, it’s pretty bad, I’m not gonna lie. Found your car in the parking lot, though, and saw this in the back seat so I broke in and grabbed it to bring to you. I figured maybe Law gave it to you and you might like to have it?” She held out a small stuffed polar bear with one eyebrow raised in question. Admittedly, it wasn’t a very Kid-like object.

“Actually, it’s the other way around,” he said, reaching for it and setting it in his lap. “It was part of his anniversary present. He likes polar bears.”

“Really?” the girl asked incredulously. “I wouldn’t really peg him for a stuffed animal kinda guy. Or a … polar bear kinda guy. Although … what does a polar bear guy look like? I guess maybe, but … nah, I don’t see it.”

Kid made a face at his sister as soon as she finished narrating her thought process for him, and patted the toy affectionately. “Well, he is. He likes polar bears and he likes fuzzy things, and this is both. And it’s not like it was his whole gift anyway. It’s only part of it. Although …” The fond smile that had formed while he talked about the surgeon slipped off his face. “I guess the other part is probably gone now, huh?”

“If it was in the apartment?” she asked somberly. “Then yeah. It’s gone.”

“Shit.”

“Mom and Al are already cleaning out your old room, you know. They’re planning on asking you to move back in with us until you can get on your feet again.”

Though it was a nice gesture, the thought made Kid scowl. “My feet aren’t the fucking problem,” he growled, more harshly than he meant to.

“It’s a figure of speech, bro,” she replied, unfazed by his anger.

“Whatever. It’s nice of them and all, but I’ll figure something out. I’m an adult. I’m too old to go running back to mommy.”

Bonney scoffed. “Kid, I can’t remember a time when you ever ‘went running back to mommy.’ If you ever ran to mom it was for her protection, not yours. But she’s stable now, you know. She can be finally be there for you like you always were for her. So maybe it’s time to let her return the favor.”

Let his mom return the favor, huh? That was certainly an interesting idea. It wasn’t really like he didn’t think that she could; she’d been clean for four years now, and her life was on a good track. She had Al, Bonney, and the twins to keep her straight. But he’d been here before. She’d passed the one-year clean and sober mark and he’d moved out, thinking she’d be okay. And she was … until he hit some hard times and moved back in, and she’d fallen off the wagon again. So even if it would mean a lot to his mom to be able to take care of him for once, Kid couldn’t do it. To himself, or to her.

“It’s a nice thought and all, but I don’t think so, sis,” he said finally.

“Why?”

“I’m 23 years old. You think I wanna share a bathroom with a teenage girl and two obnoxious three-year-olds?”

Bonney smirked at him. “Don’t even. You love the shit out of them.”

“Yeah, well, even so. Don’t wanna share a bathroom with them.”

“What, and you think I do?” she asked with a laugh. There was a slight pause before she continued in a much softer voice. “She’s doing good, Kid. She won’t backslide this time.” The seriousness of her tone made him look up, finally meeting her intense gaze. Once again it seemed she saw right through him. Damn kid was too intuitive for her own good.

“Can’t take that chance. She’s got too much to lose now,” he argued gently. Bonney nodded. She’d been there too, even though she was too young to remember the worst of it (thank goodness); she understood where he was coming from.

“Well, she’ll be disappointed.”

Kid shrugged. “It’s for the best, you know?”

“Yeah.” Silence fell between them and Bonney shifted awkwardly for a moment. “So, uh … they gonna hook you up with one of those … bionic arm thingies?”

A part of Kid wanted to be mad that she was able to be so flippant about his amputation, but at the same time he had to appreciate her bluntness. So instead of chucking the stuffed bear at her, like he would at anyone else, Kid just smiled and explained that he’d have to meet with some people before they decided anything. They talked for a while about the options he had, and she even got him to laugh a little when she admitted that she told the twins he’d be part robot when they saw him again and now they were driving their mom crazy begging to come see him. Bonney gave it a day, maybe two, before their mom caved and brought them to the hospital. Kid imagined his small room filled with his rambunctious, loud, dysfunctional family and even though the thought should probably have him cringing, he couldn’t help but smile. Maybe they were a little (or a lot) crazy, but they were his family, and for the first time since waking up, he felt like he had something to look forward to.

+++

“So,” Law said dryly, leaning against the doorframe. “The doctor tells me you’re refusing to do the therapy.” Though he phrased it like a statement, Kid knew his boyfriend wanted to know why he was being stubborn.

He’d been awake for just over a week, during which they’d started him on a rigorous therapy regimen to get him used to life without his arm, and to prepare him for his prosthetic. And it had not been a good week. Kid was tired. He was sick of working muscles he didn’t previously know he had. He was sick of getting poked and prodded and measured. He was sick of feeling pain in an arm that wasn’t even fucking there anymore. But most of all he was sick and damn tired of being under a microscope all the time with people fussing over how he was doing, both physically and (to his dismay) emotionally. No, he didn’t need another pillow. Yes, his pain was tolerable. No, he wasn’t hungry. Yes, he knew that this was a “safe space.” And no, for the love of God, he did not want to fucking talk about it. And up until now he’d been putting up with it and pushing through it, but now, after yet another fruitless physical therapy session, he was just … tired. Which led him to the decision that he didn’t want to do it anymore. He didn’t want to do anything anymore.

“Yeah,” he replied, not meeting Law’s patiently inquisitive gaze. “Cuz I fucking hate it. It hurts and I can’t get it right, so what’s the fucking point? I’m never gonna get used to the stupid arm, and it’s too expensive to wear as a goddamn accessory so why not just forget the whole thing? Fuck it.” He hadn’t really meant to make a speech, but once he got started he found he was unable to stop. “I hate wasting my time doing something pointless that I fucking hate.”

“I understand that …”

“No, fuck that Trafalgar. You have no fucking idea. I know you mean well or whatever, but everyone needs to shut the fuck up talking to me about how they know how I feel. You don’t know shit! None of you do. And I know you want to understand, but I can’t make you understand, okay? I can’t tell you how it feels to wake up into a goddamn nightmare. I … I lost my fucking arm. A whole piece of me is fucking gone. So don’t tell me you understand.” He paused and unclenched the fist he hadn’t realized he’d formed and winced slightly at how loud the silence seemed in the wake of his outburst. And through it all Law stood there, looking at him, taking the yelling without batting an eye. Just like he had been the entire time Kid had been awake. And it was pissing Kid the hell off. Deep down he felt shitty for being so mad, and knew it was irrational, but seeing Law stay so calm and collected when everything in his life was out of control … Kid couldn’t stand it. He wanted Law to react; yell back, argue, insult him, something. But the doctor remained stoic, unflinchingly strong in the face of Kid’s constant mood swings.

“You should just go, Law. I don’t fucking need you here. There’s nothing you can do or say to make any of this better.” Kid glared at his lap where his only remaining hand was gripping the thin hospital sheets so tightly his knuckles were turning white. “It would’ve been better if I’d just stayed in the fucking coma.”

Well, that got a reaction, but not the one he was expecting. He expected a sarcastic tongue lashing like the one the nurse got when he tried to kick Law out after visiting hours. He expected a glare, or at the very least a “fuck you,” like that kind of self-pitying talk would have gotten him in the past. In Law’s shoes that would have been Kid’s response. But instead he watched his boyfriend’s face go from surprised to crushed in a matter of seconds. The man seemed to shrink as his expression crumbled, and it caught Kid off guard. What the fuck? Why did he look so … devastated? What the fuck gave Law the right to be hurt right now? If the doc was gonna act all hurt Kid would give him a fucking reason to be hurt. Before his rational brain could catch up to the whirlwind of emotion clouding his judgement, Kid hissed, “In fact, maybe it would’ve been better if I’d just fucking died. I wish I had.”

Law stiffened, and Kid expected him to finally, finally retort, but once gain the surgeon surprised him. Because instead of yelling, or arguing, or even trying to console him, Law simply turned on his heel and swept out of the room, leaving Kid with only his regrets for company. Well, that was that then. He really didn’t expect to see the doctor again for a long time, if ever. Law had done nothing to deserve what Kid had said; how ungrateful he’d been. No, not only had he not done anything wrong, he’d actually been Kid’s rock through all of this. He had been supportive and caring, even when Kid was in the coma and no one knew if he’d ever come out. And now Kid really wished he’d told the man how much he appreciated that, because he probably wouldn’t get the chance after the way he’d treated Law.

At least, that’s what he thought before Law stormed back into his room not ten minutes later with a determined look on his face and a weird lump in the front of his shirt. He slammed the door closed behind him and stalked over to Kid’s bed, pulling the hidden object out of his clothing.

A loaf of cheap white bread. What the fuck?

“Where-“

“Shut up, Eustass. It’s my turn to talk.” The surgeon’s aggressive snarl stunned Kid into silence. He’d never heard Law sound like that. “I made a promise to you. It’s pointless, and I’m going to hate it, much like you hate your therapy, but I’m going to do it right now.”

“What are you talking about?” Kid asked, subdued by the intensity coming from his boyfriend.

“The past three weeks have been some of the worst of my fucking life, Eustass. And believe me, I’ve had some really shitty weeks. But the night you woke up I promised you I’d eat a whole loaf of bread if you would just open your eyes. And yes, it was a stupid promise, and I know it’s not why you woke up, and I also know that it won’t make anything worse if I don’t keep it, or better if I do, for that matter. I wish like hell there was something, anything, I could do, Eustass. I wish I could take your pain, or get your arm back, or do the damn therapy for you, and it kills me that I can’t and I’m completely useless while you’re hurting. It kills me that I can’t help you. But I can do this. I can keep a stupid promise that I made because I was so desperate to get you back, for you to not fucking leave me alone. So right here, right now, I’m going to eat this entire fucking loaf of bread. And then if you need to yell at me more, or kick me out, or tell me you never want to see me again; fine. You can. After.” With that, Law plunged his hand into the bag, grabbed the first piece of bread, and took a huge bite.

“Law …”

“I’m pwiddy sure I tole you ta shu da fuck ub,” Law interrupted through a mouthful of bread. How he still managed to look so fierce with his cheeks bulging and bread crumbs flying out of his mouth Kid couldn’t say, but somehow the doctor was intimidating as hell in that moment.

“Okay, doc. You … want some water or something?”

Law simply growled in retort, stuffing more bread into his mouth without breaking eye contact. For a moment it looked like he was going to throw it back up, but he swallowed a few times and reigned it in before grabbing another piece.

“Law, stop. Stop. I can’t watch you do this anymore,” Kid said, his tone sounding closer to a plea than he would like to admit.

“Unh-uh,” Law managed to refuse. “Imna fwinwish it.”

“Please don’t. Jesus Christ, you’re gonna put me off bread if you keep this up.” When the doctor just shook his head, Kid sighed and looked around the room for anything that might help him. It took him a moment to remember the stuffed bear snuggled safely under his pillow. He wasn’t really sure why he’d been hesitant to give it to his boyfriend after Bonney brought it to him, but now seemed like as good a time as any. “If you stop eating that bread, I’ll give you a present,” Kid offered coaxingly.

The doctor’s frown was both curious and suspicious, but he didn’t immediately lift another piece of bread to his lips after swallowing. “When did you have the chance to get me a present? And why?”

“I got it for our anniversary. Bonney found it in my car when she went with my mom and Al to check out the apartment.” Kid scooched over and patted the space on his bed invitingly. “So just put the devil food down and c’mere so I can give it to you, okay?”

Law still didn’t look 100% convinced, but he set the remaining half loaf of bread down on the rolling table Kid ate his meals from, still within reach, and sat next to the redhead. Kid twisted around, thankful for the railing that kept him from falling out of bed, and pulled the bear free, bringing it into view with a smile. Law reached for it immediately, his eyes lighting up.

“It’s a polar bear,” Kid supplied helpfully.

“I see that, Eustass. I love him, thank you.” Law crossed his arms tightly over his chest, trapping the toy close and burying his nose into its furry head. Kid adjusted slightly and draped his arm over the doctor, pulling him into his side.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into Law’s hair.

“No,” the man murmured back. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to lose it like that. Just … just don’t say things like that.”

“I won’t. I promise.” Law snuggled in closer and looked up at Kid, so he placed a gentle kiss on the surgeon’s nose. “I’m not gonna leave you alone, Law. You’re stuck with me.”

Law scoffed, but Kid saw how his lips quirked up in a slight smile. “I suppose there are worse things than being stuck with you,” the man admitted. “For example, I could have to finish that loaf of bread.”

Kid grinned. “Yeah, that was gross. I mean, I love bread, but that was just disgusting. I really thought you were gonna barf.”

“Oh shut up, Eustass.”

Kid leaned back further against his pillows, pulling the doctor along with him and instinctively curling around him slightly. “Yeah, okay, doc,” he replied, his mock contriteness betrayed by the fact that he was still grinning like a fool. “Whatever you say.”

#Eustasskidweek #eustass kid #trafalgar law #jewelry bonney #recovery #kid x law #Kid/Law #one piece fanfic

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