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Gray, that’s all he could see. Smoker squinted against the harsh specs of ice that smashed into his face. Freezing slush clung to his coat, sinking into the fabric, his jeans and boots were cold, making his knees ache. Each step was a goddamn trial. Knew they should have taken a different route, he’d had a damn gut feeling, but no.
A spotted dark blob labored in front of him, and Smoker made a face. No, this idiot had complained and argued with him for two fucking hours that they needed to take the fucking mountain pass because it gave them an advantage once they arrived in Hokuba.
Unfortunately, the bastard was probably right. His planning was generally impeccable unless a certain few people were involved. At least they didn’t have to deal with that. The wind kicked up, whipping his hood off his head and splattering ice shards across his skin. Smoker cursed, not able to hear the sound of his own voice over the shrieking of the storm. Scrubbing snow out of his eye, a task made worse because his tear ducts were freezing too, the shape in front of him stumbled and collapsed in the snow.
Wet ice kicked up under Smoker’s boots as he hurried forward. He placed his hand on Law’s shoulder, leaning down to check if he was alright. It concerned him that the smaller man wasn’t climbing back to his feet already, back ramrod straight like snow had ever dared entrap his feet. Law’s breath hardly steamed in the air, whipped away by the wind. A pair of golden eyes, the only color he’d seen in hours, slowly shifted to Smoker’s face.
Smoker frowned. Law was pale, his lips, normally a pretty shade of brown, had taken on an uncomfortable bluish tinge. “We can’t keep going like this, we need to find shelter!” Smoker said, leaning closer, his mouth next to Law’s ear. For once, he didn’t get an argument back. Just an acquiescent nod. Yeah, they needed to find shelter ASAP.
Smoker wrapped his hand around Law’s bicep, pulling him to his feet. Law swayed for a moment then shoved Smoker’s hand off, breathing heavily. Smoker rolled his eyes (and minorly regretted it, the motion stung). With what looked like a great amount of effort on Law’s part, he lifted his arm and pointed away from the barely visible road, into the trees.
Smoker made a face. Getting lost out here would be a death sentence. For one of them anyway. “THERE S-SHOULD B-BE S-S-SHELTER NEARBY!” Law shouted at him, before trudging his way stubbornly off the road. Smoker waited a beat before following after him, bewildered as to why Law would know this.
It was quieter in the trees, though now they had to contend with things hidden beneath the snow. Law slowed considerably over time, each step looking like it was taking all of his energy. Smoker could admire his determination, but after a certain point, he just wanted to stop watching him struggle.
A few years ago, he probably would have ignored it, or hell, even enjoyed watching the smug little pirate bastard struggle a bit. But that was another lifetime ago. Now, they were comrades fighting side by side, though it hadn’t felt like it for quite some time. For a moment, he was somewhere else. Back laying on the floor of the medical tent, his leg aching and nerves fried. And there was Law, sitting next to him, close enough to feel his body heat. Something he could latch onto amid all the groaning and weeping and explosions in the distance.
Smoker shoved his useless thoughts away and stomped up to Law, a branch cracking under his feet below the snow. Like Law weighed nothing at all, Smoker scooped him up, originally planning on carrying him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, but with the tree branches, decided bridal style would be easier.
It alarmed him that instead of hissing or squawking and chopping Smoker into a thousand little pieces, the bastard just went limp. “Which way?” Smoker grunted, trying to mask the concern in his voice. Law nodded weakly forward and on they went.
The storm was getting worse as night settled around them. The trees creaked and groaned, wind blasting between the trunks like a monster from hell. At least on Punk Hazard there hadn’t been any fucking wind. Law occasionally corrected Smoker’s course, and hardly made a sound of complaint when Smoker tripped over a log in the dark. He would have just floated through the stupid moutain forest, but the wind would have blown him off course.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Smoker could just make out a gap in the trees. He emerged, barely able to make out more than a large, roughly rectangular, shape ahead of them. With palpable relief, he approached carefully, shoulders hunched against the wind. He’d learned long ago that barging into unknown locations tended to have disastrous consequences for him (unlike certain fucking morons in straw hats).
As he got closer, he figured out that it was some kind of hunter’s cabin. How Law knew it was out here was something he’d have to ask later, when the two of them weren’t in the process of turning into frozen corpses. Smoker turned his arm to smoke, Law not complaining about being jostled like a ragdoll and unlocked the heavy wooden door from the other side.
He crossed the threshold quickly, slamming the door behind him before much ice and snow could blow in. It was a small space, and cold, but dry and blissfully shut out a good amount of the wind’s howling. He thought Law would climb out of his hold, but he didn’t.
That was probably bad. Smoker shook him gruffly, Law’s eyes opening blearily. Smoker fumbled in his pocket for his lighter, cold fingers struggling to get the ignition to work. As the tiny bright flame burst into life between his fingers, he got a glimpse of the inside of the cabin. A bed in the back corner, a rickety table, and a fireplace with a bunch of dry wood. The hunter who owned this was well stocked. Smoker thanked him quietly and set about placing Law down on the bed while he got a fire going. His eyes were closed, his face covered in frost and a frightening shade of blue. Smoker tried not to think about it as he stacked logs in the hearth.
The comforting smell of burning cedar filled the small space. He stared at the orange and red glow for a moment, hypnotized before shaking his head and returning to the unmoving being on the mattress.
Smoker eyed him, frowning. He wasn’t good at the doctor shit. That was literally Law’s job. He could hear Tashigi reading a survival manual out to him years before on a train ride across some island that Smoker couldn’t recall the name of any longer. His eyes flicked to the door. He and Law were going to be late to the rendezvous. She’d be worried.
Nothing they could do about it now. Radio silence was the safer option. Last thing the goddamn Revs needed was for the whole plan to be blown wide open from a transponder snail. He reached out a hand, jostling Law’s shoulder, warning him that he was there before picking him up again and placing him by the fire. Law made a pained noise, but at least he was awake. Smoker stripped the bed of its blanket, dropping it on Law before dropping down next to him. Law’s eyes were little golden slits, staring at the fire. Smoker’s gaze skated over the scar that marred the corner of his left eye.
Nasty little slice from CP0 at Jarrin Island a year ago. Stupid idiot had been bleeding profusely, his blood dripping onto Smoker’s side while he sewed up a far nastier gash in Smoker’s thigh. The frantic and focused look in Law’s gaze had struck a chord in him then, visiting his dreams. And then Law had changed units without so much as a word, despite being in the same team for two fucking years. Smoker shook the memories away. Now was not the time to indulge sentimentality.
He tucked the blanket tighter around Law.
Law’s gaze moved slowly over to him. “K-keep m-me a-awake S-S-moker-ya,” he muttered, his jaw barely opening with each word. Smoker grimaced. He was not a chatterbox, that was Tashigi’s job. Or Koby’s. Or Mugiwara’s. The words were endless from them. And punching Law awake repeatedly seemed like a recipe for failure. And he didn’t really want to anyway. Not anymore.
“Don’t fall asleep then,” he grunted then cursed and bumped Law, whose eyes had slid shut. Those molten orbs fixed a glare onto him. Good. The fire crackled, a log shifting and splitting. Smoker looked at it again.
“We’re gonna be late to the rendezvous,” he said after a moment, trying to settle on something to keep Law from falling asleep and not piss him off. Law grunted in response. A thought occurred to Smoker. “Oi, how’d you know this cabin was here?” he muttered.
“B-been here b-before,” Law muttered. Curious. This island was kind of no nothing in the North Blue. What would a pirate of Law’s caliber have been doing here?
“Doing what?” Smoker shifted, leaning back on his hands. The feeling was beginning to return properly to his extremities, tingly and uncomfortable. The dampness of his clothes made him frown. This was supposed to be a quick in-out kind of mission. Get to the destination, take out the enemy communication towers, get out. He would remember to pack an extra set of clothes in his pack next time anyway.
“...Growing up,” Law said softly. A strange look crossed his face before disappearing under a violent shiver. The odd tidbit of information about Law’s past was put to the side as the idea of explaining to Kuzan and Dragon how one the best doctors in their ragtag army had died made Smoker cringe.
“...Is there any way to warm you up faster?”
Law looked up at him balefully, another horrible shiver wracking his frame. Smoker raised an eyebrow as instead of answering, he shifted subtly away from Smoker, staring back at the fire. It was like the beginning all fucking over again. All fraught and irritating pauses, though there was less sassy remarks, probably because speaking was difficult for him currently.
Smoker sighed and stared at the fire, hating that instead of focusing on the next move, he was preoccupied with the cold space between them where it had once been...friendly. A rarity for him. He didn’t make friends easily, never had. It still baffled him why Hina had bothered with him at all. Or Tashigi. And Law… well, that one was something he’d never seen coming.
And then it was gone.
And the man huddled near him was once again a complete stranger.
Smoker shifted, a small grunt of discomfort escaping from him as he moved his cold legs. The scar on his thigh ached as it always did now when it was cold. Or when he smelled magma, or when he thought of the way Law used to look at him when he thought Smoker wasn’t looking. He shivered.
“Didn’t think...that you got cold,” Law said suddenly, putting effort to keep his teeth from chattering.
“Snow soaked through my fucking jeans,” he grumbled, poking a damp cigar and wondering if any of them were dry enough to light. A hit of nicotine would do him some good.
“Shouldn’t...s-shouldn’t stay in w-wet clothes, makes hypo-hypothermia more l-likely,” Law muttered, another very harsh shiver quaking his whole frame.
Ah. So that answered Smoker’s previously ignored question. “That go for you too?”
Law went back to being silent and staring moodily at the fire, though the shivering didn’t add much to the whole schtick. Smoker couldn’t believe he preferred the snarky comments. He let out a sigh of annoyance. What the hell had he done to piss Law off? He’d been asking himself that for a damn year and still had no fucking answers.
Another awkward few minutes of silence passed punctuated by the sound of the blanket rustling as Law shifted around under it. He seemed to be slightly more awake now, or at least had enough energy to kick his boots off.
A bit more shuffling and his coat emerged, followed by his jeans. Smoker looked away. That seemed to have taken most of Law’s energy again as he breathed heavily and lay back down, his eyes barely open.
Smoker huffed, his cigars were still too damp to light. Just his luck. He itched for something to do, anything to push the irritation that was wiggling under his skin off to the side. He yanked off his boots, before getting up and shrugging out of his jacket, swooping past Law to grab his damp pile of clothing and spread it all out in front of the fire to dry properly. He added another log, the flames leaping up excitedly and making his shadow flicker wildly on the walls. The wind chose that time to pick up in intensity, the sound a dull roar against the door.
Smoker shivered again, the cold air of the cabin unpleasant on his bare skin. He wished there was more than one blanket but there was nothing he could do about that. Just like he couldn’t make Law tell him what his fucking problem was. If he asked, Law would probably just ignore him.
And yet, he’d asked Smoker to keep him awake. What a pain in the ass. Law was curled in a ball in the blanket, his eyes closed. Dammit.
“Why’d you come on this mission, Law?” Smoker said aloud, his foul mood apparent in the tone of his voice.
Law’s eyes reopened, little catlike slits. He stared at Smoker, blinking a few times. He looked miserable, which made Smoker feel a little bad. “I know the terrain,” Law answered.
“You grew up on this shithole? Aren’t North Blue people supposed to be good with the cold?” Smoker grunted. Law made a noise, though Smoker wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a scoff or...a tiny laugh, like the ones he used to make. He glared at the fire, hating the goosebumps racing up his arms.
“...You know that “better in the cold” thing isn’t true right?” Law murmured. Smoker rolled his eyes. Seems Law was feeling a little better, since he was being pedantic.
“Or maybe you just missed out on it,” Smoker grumbled. Law struggled for a moment but his hand emerged from the blanket to give him the finger. Smoker felt a tinge of concern from the color of his skin.
They faded into silence again. “Stay awake Law,” Smoker glared. Law didn’t answer. Smoker turned to look at him fully. His eyes had slipped closed. He called his name again, but Law’s eyes didn’t open.
He moved closer, jostling his shoulder. He was skinnier than Smoker remembered. The war probably taking its toll. The idiot barely ate enough when they were in the same unit. Tashigi used to shove food at him, had made it her silly little pet project. Keep everyone healthy. He hoped she wouldn’t worry too much.
Still, Law didn’t respond. Smoker frowned, patting his face. After a moment, Law painstakingly opened his eyes. They stared at one another. Maybe Smoker imagined it but Law leaned just a little bit into Smoker’s palm.
“What the hell did I do, Law?” Smoker whispered. Law’s eyes were unfocused but he continued to gaze at Smoker before he shifted, pulling away. Smoker glared at him. He wasn’t good at this shit. Never had been. Probably never would be. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks or some stupid bullshit people tried to excuse themselves with.
He sighed and turned away from Law, away from the fire.
“Do you know why I tattooed death on my hands?” came Law’s voice. Smoker startled slightly, not expecting Law to speak. Or to ask something like that.
He turned back to Law, and mumbled a low “No.” Law was looking at the fire, curled tightly into a ball.
“It’s a reminder.”
“A reminder?” Smoker furrowed his eyebrows.
“...That everything I touch, everything I get close to...dies,” Law finished slowly. The wind blew against the walls of the cabin, a log popped in the fireplace. Smoker breathed out a long, long breath.
“Sounds like bullshit to me,” Smoker finally responded. Law twitched and turned to look at him. “If it were true, I wouldn’t be here,” he finished. His heart was beating hard. Bringing up the elephant in the room shouldn’t be this difficult. But Law was like a cat, push too much and he runs.
Or maybe it was because Smoker was afraid that he was wrong.
Law froze. “It could still happen,” he breathed.
“That’s the risk we take, otherwise there’s no point,” Smoker responded, not able to meet Law’s gaze. Ugh, he sounded like stupid Mugiwara. Stupid little hat wearing right bastard. He was gonna punch him when they got back to base.
Law was staring down at the rough floorboards, the color of his eyes like fire before he took a small breath. “Hey… Are you still cold Smoker-ya?” he asked gently. Smoker glanced at him. Law carefully raised the blanket up.
“You need that more than I do.”
“No, I meant-! Ugh. I meant… we can share,” Law mumbled, looking away. Perhaps if he wasn’t so cold, there would be a blush against his cheeks. Smoker stared, something twinging inside him that took him a long moment to recognize.
Joy. Like delivering a good punch. Like smoking an expensive cigar. Like Hina punching him in the shoulder. Like Tashigi beating him in a spar. Like Law smiling at him after a dark joke.
He moved, carefully, no sudden movements, and slipped under the blanket next to Law. Law was freezing, in comparison Smoker may as well have been a furnace. And just as slowly, carefully, Law leaned against him. Bare skin to bare skin.
And together, they moved gently, settling into one another, Smoker’s arm around Law’s waist, Law leaning his head against Smoker’s bicep. Curled in front of the fire.
“We should come here in the summer,” Law whispered.
“As long as you’ll stick around,” Smoker mumbled into his hair.
Law took his hand, their fingers, cold, but together.