Feeling more beast than man, there was nothing Ace wanted more than to free himself from Law’s hands and the blanket that heavied on him, adding heat he did not need to his ever-burning self. He wanted to get up and walk in circles around the room, hands firm on the sides of his head and stubby nails doing their best attempt to pierce the flesh, like a caged up wild animal would after trying to escape and find all its efforts powerless against the trap.
Law’s fingers and weak, awkward, unnatural warmth felt just like it, a trap Ace had allowed to fall upon him and of which he wanted and needed to flee from. Still, though his body did not suppress a mild shake, he found he couldn’t. Get away from Law, that is. There was something commanding about his hands that ordered Ace’s body to stay. Without much thought he figured, there was one thing he wanted more than walk away and play the animal - and that was to stay close to Law and bask in his little miracle.
And then to bask in his embrace when Law enfolded him one small movement at the time, uncertain and shy until his arms were around Ace’s waist and Ace’s arms around Law’s back, grabbing the muscle, face against his neck.
Ace fought the tears with all his might but still some disobedient ones travelled down his cheek and onto Law’s exposed skin and shirt. He didn’t seem to mind and had little reason to. Surgeons ought to be exposed to nastier fluids and excretions anyway.
Despite his best intentions, Law’s actions were of robotic nature. Rather than an inability to sympathize, Law was simply lost, far out of his depth, blindly stumbling in the dark. He understood to some extent what plagued Ace, but what he lacked was a comforting bedside manner, and the knowledge of how to tackle Ace’s guilt and grief. Was it even the right moment to suggest remedies? When was the right moment?
Law could only be thankful that Ace had neither denied his company nor help, choosing to confide in him over shutting him out. Regardless, with each tear that poured out of Ace and soaked his shirt, stinging his skin like blobs of hot wax, Law’s nerves were fraught with gut-wrenching helplessness that festered within him and triggered his urge to flee from their awkward embrace. Nevertheless, Law reflected on his personal vow. He would never again flee alone while leaving others behind. He had enough of running.
Law tried to relax and concentrate on Ace’s words, but his arms held Ace like cold, stiff, and rusty iron bars. He was afraid, he admitted inwardly. But it was a fear borne out of inexperience and ignorance. Naturally, it wasn’t the end of the world. Conundrums surfaced daily and he had never adopted a defeatist attitude towards them. While it could be considered insensitive to regard Ace’s struggles as a problematic situation, it was easier to acknowledge it as such. For with problems existed resolution—all in good time, of course.
If Ace could look upon himself now from some higher plan, he’d tut-tut and ask company who needn’t be there ‘Who’s that guy?’. His eyes would be prejudiced and go blind for a moment… No, not blind. Cloaked, as it were, resisting the vision before them and, with it, the realisation of his own weakness.
It was a pathetic man he who Law held in his stiff arms; someone Ace did not want to be. But that was him, all right, and so a joke would be cracked as a distraction while the spectre reflected on limitations that would not change even if eyes averted them. There was not where this out-of-body analysis stopped. If Ace was being less than himself, Law was being a bigger man than it might be expected.
Slowly, he brought flexibility to his limbs and moved them around the figure of the anguished man - not without similarity to an angel’s embrace - in a sequence that resembled a step-by-step lesson from the coursebook of human comfort.
It worked, though, if it was ever in Law’s intentions to make Ace feel groundless. For all of his good intentions, the idea of being comforted by Trafalgar Law was a difficult one to process, as most novelties are. His gestures were mechanic and devoid of warmth, even if they were arguably the most human those tattooed arms had ever produced.
Ace did not know what to feel, let alone what emotion to settle on. Should he feel embarrassed, not about the earlier share, but about the way he had not managed to remain fiery cool and straight? Should he express the anger such a feeling gave him? It was unfair to Law but, then again, it was unfair to himself that he should feel such a maelstrom of conflicting emotions instead of the fair relief prompted by Law’s fingertips.
Alas, anger was the emotion Ace was most comfortable with, the same way Law was in his own ‘Lawness’, and it caused him to shake under the other’s never soothing digits. Knowing he’d carve a regret in his memories should he lash out at Law, Ace kept himself silent, eyes squeezing out the resentment in liquid form.
Law was doing his best. No man could ask for more and no man could offer more. The kiss he pressed to his loved one’s forehead was the blow of mercy. Like the stubborn kid he was, conflicted between seeking physical reassurance from a caring grown-up and stepping away from what was considered baby behaviour, Ace released his right hand from the grip and made a kerchief out of its back, wiping tears and snot in a single movement. That was when Law spoke.
To the younger man, the words he heard sounded matter-of-factly as always, though it was noted Law let no superiority - fabricated or not - perspire between them. His practicality truly was for Good, aimed at helping Ace come to terms with the helplessness he felt in regards to his mother and aid him to see how vain this pain was, how he’d carried it for far too long. Not meant to insult his wits.
Comically, Law sounded more like a priest than a doctor. Wonder what he’d make of such a comparison.
Indeed, when the other man made a mention to fair Rouge and hinted at what she would make of her son’s heavy conscience, Ace’s body jerked and something like a growl came deep from his vocal tract, aptly bestial. Again, like a boy, he averted Law’s gaze, which was just as well - the metal in them could very well be the hammer and anvil that would cause sparks to fly off Ace’s hot coals and who’d be burning in that situation if not the peacemaker? One casualty was enough.
Once up, Ace circled the emptiness of the space; Law behind him. Why was it so hard to see reason? He was not completely useless of the brains. He was - dare he say it? - a smart kid. It was not his fault if he wasn’t, at any rate. Hadn’t he exceeded expectations already? And what was Law suggesting? That he could not separate dreams from reality?
“I know dreams ain’t real, Roo! That’s why they’re called dreams.” Eyes still not meeting his lover’s, Ace contracted his fist, only to unclench it. Clench, unclench, clench, unclench. Though he had no stress ball to hold and no patience to use it if he did, the clockwork exercise helped him release some tension and alleviate the drive Ace felt to punch a wall. For once, this was not a time for action but for thought. If Trafalgar Law shows himself willing to listen to your concerns and offer counsel, you take that chance. “The guilt came first. Definitely”
Guilt seemed to be in the air he breathed. However, he’d breathed so many airs ever since he’d left Dadan’s, and even the bandit’s home ‘breathed’ differently than the Baterillan cradle, it was unlikely to be a component of it. Perhaps it was in Ace’s very blood… Law would not see it, unlike plasma, but it might be there… There was not a day Ace remembered as a day where he had not felt guilty for his mother’s death so, naturally, and to answer a question Law could have asked five seconds, minutes or hours ago, guilt must have manifested prior to the nightmares.
“They used to be more recurrent when I was a kid; but then again I didn’t have this sleep thing back then” By ‘sleep thing’ Ace meant his narcolepsy. Lacking formal, unambiguous diagnosis, the word was unknown to him, though its ways weren’t. “Until the day I did. The nightmares never went away, they just… changed”
This was a talk about Rouge. Now was not the time for Sabo’s name to make itself familiar to Law. Other names, might, however, join in the conversation, provided they were kept to the female gender…
Ace pouted, ruffled his hair and sat across from Law, deeming himself relaxed enough to be civil and tackle the issue at hand with thoughts and words. Everything else - chiefly frustration - had failed so far, so who was to say the doctor couldn’t make it better?
“Brave…!” He tutted. “They’re not always bad, you know? Sometimes they’re pleasant enough. At least in them I can see her.” And he huffed, not expecting Law to understand.
Oh… but he did. Ace did expect Law to understand. Now it was he who sought Law’s gaze. Wouldn’t he understand how sinfully blissful it felt like to taste sweetness in what was bitter? Nightmares suck, the fuckers, but they also brought Ace the joy of seeing his mother living her life, even if it was an artificial one. In them, Portgas D. Rouge sang her lullabies, baked her pies, watered her flowers. There was nothing else that could provide Ace with such a vision. If Law was not capable of understanding this, pray tell, who was?
Coming to think of it, the man was bound to have his own coping mechanisms. A man who bore ‘death’ twofold across his fingers and who never spoke of his family or hometown wouldn’t have gotten his ink on a whim… He was bound to ache just as much…
And lo - now Ace couldn’t help feeling a tad guilty for robbing Law of his own ‘me and my issues’ time. If Law considered it brave of Ace to share, then maybe it was time for he, too, to be brave and expose his familial demons to the cleansing light. Maybe, just maybe, the two men could ease each other’s pain. If anything, they would have gained a bit more of the other’s trust at the end of the day.
While it sounded safe to assume Law had no living relatives, it also sounded too big a coincidence if he’d lost his own mother to the same causes that had robbed Ace of Rouge’s mother. Plus, in his speech, while keeping his own mother a secret, there was no word of empathy for a fellow member of the “I lost my mum before I could see her” club.
Ace may not be very thoughtful. He was more of a man of action. Yet, he was bright and sharp, taking note of details others might judge him too obtuse to get, and thus guessed Law had lost his own mother at a later age he had. If that meant both were motherless motherfuckers, it also meant… He’d had a mum.
Naturally, the notion sparked the younger male’s interest.
“Eh, Roo… How’s it like to have a mother?”