Don't look down - well, of course he looks down, it's hard not to. What is it about being told not to look at something that makes his eyes immediately do that very thing? Especially since none of this feels very real, which is probably the result of some very powerful painkillers.
He glances down, then immediately regrets it and closes his eyes, feeling nauseous - though that also might not have anything to do with any of that. He feels nauseous anyway, vaguely, as much as he feels anything right now. He'd probably go pale, too, if he wasn't already suffering from blood loss. How much did he lose, he wonders idly? Dumb thoughts, intrusive, when he can't think straight. He tries to raise his arm and flop it across his face, but it feels like lead, and he gives up pretty much instantly.
He also knows better than to take Law's verbal assault too seriously. Yeah, okay, he could have gotten killed. He knows that. But Law could have gotten killed if he hadn't moved, and isn't that worse for everyone? It's not just about the two of them, it's about the whole crew.
And it's also about the two of them. He'll protect Law no matter what. Always has, or at least, he's always tried. It's practically a reflex. Like breathing.
"'M I gonna make it?" he mumbles, which might just be very very dry humor but he actually isn't sure if he meant it as a joke or not, which probably means both. His head is in a very weird place right now and he's looking forward to having some clarity back once Law has him all fixed up.
Which, he's pretty sure Law won't let there be any alternative, so he'd better make it, he decides. Can't let Law carry saving him all on his own little shoulders, Rosinante will pull through by sheer will and stupid Donquixote stubbornness, and that's final.
The decision is coupled with one more effort to move his arm to reach toward Law. He doesn't quite manage, but the gesture counts for something. Law's busy, anyway.
" - Don't be absurd." The break is almost inaudible, but only almost. Because, well, of course there's no alternative.
But that doesn't stop Law from so fucking clearly remembering blood on snow, and his small, stupid hands gesturing over Cora-san while yelling nonsense magic spells as though that was how devil fruits worked.
But that was then, and this is now, and now, he knows very, very well how his fruit works.
"You're in my medbay. And you're fucking lucky, is what you are." With the Room up, with his fruit, it's much easier, faster, far less (literally) traumatic to pull off skin and rib and muscle and find that little nick in the wall of Rosinante's heart. (While it's theoretically possible to just pull the heart out whole, work on it externally, Law's never liked the idea of doing that operatively - there are so many variables, so many things the heart does and controls and reacts to, that he much prefers to work on it in its environment, where he can see immediately anything that goes wrong. Popping it out uninjured is one thing; this is, emphatically, different.)
"And you should be under full general anaesthesia, probably, but right now I feel like yelling at you." No, it's because there's no time and because he doesn't really want to risk slowing down the organ he's operating on and risk it seizing, but he's going to be an ass about it.
"Lucky me," he echoes with a thin smile, eyes closed. Lucky he's got Law here to fix him, but also very certainly this is sarcasm because he's oh-so-very lucky that Law feels like yelling at him.
Not that he blames him one bit. It's one of Law's many reliable talents, yelling at him for doing dumb things. Been doing that a long time. Sort of makes it a comfort. If Law was quiet or being entirely too kind in his words then he might have to start getting a lot more worried.
"Don't like general anyway. I don't need to sleep through it." Because he's very big and tough and takes bullets like a champion, thanks.
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He glances down, then immediately regrets it and closes his eyes, feeling nauseous - though that also might not have anything to do with any of that. He feels nauseous anyway, vaguely, as much as he feels anything right now. He'd probably go pale, too, if he wasn't already suffering from blood loss. How much did he lose, he wonders idly? Dumb thoughts, intrusive, when he can't think straight. He tries to raise his arm and flop it across his face, but it feels like lead, and he gives up pretty much instantly.
He also knows better than to take Law's verbal assault too seriously. Yeah, okay, he could have gotten killed. He knows that. But Law could have gotten killed if he hadn't moved, and isn't that worse for everyone? It's not just about the two of them, it's about the whole crew.
And it's also about the two of them. He'll protect Law no matter what. Always has, or at least, he's always tried. It's practically a reflex. Like breathing.
"'M I gonna make it?" he mumbles, which might just be very very dry humor but he actually isn't sure if he meant it as a joke or not, which probably means both. His head is in a very weird place right now and he's looking forward to having some clarity back once Law has him all fixed up.
Which, he's pretty sure Law won't let there be any alternative, so he'd better make it, he decides. Can't let Law carry saving him all on his own little shoulders, Rosinante will pull through by sheer will and stupid Donquixote stubbornness, and that's final.
The decision is coupled with one more effort to move his arm to reach toward Law. He doesn't quite manage, but the gesture counts for something. Law's busy, anyway.
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But that doesn't stop Law from so fucking clearly remembering blood on snow, and his small, stupid hands gesturing over Cora-san while yelling nonsense magic spells as though that was how devil fruits worked.
But that was then, and this is now, and now, he knows very, very well how his fruit works.
"You're in my medbay. And you're fucking lucky, is what you are." With the Room up, with his fruit, it's much easier, faster, far less (literally) traumatic to pull off skin and rib and muscle and find that little nick in the wall of Rosinante's heart. (While it's theoretically possible to just pull the heart out whole, work on it externally, Law's never liked the idea of doing that operatively - there are so many variables, so many things the heart does and controls and reacts to, that he much prefers to work on it in its environment, where he can see immediately anything that goes wrong. Popping it out uninjured is one thing; this is, emphatically, different.)
"And you should be under full general anaesthesia, probably, but right now I feel like yelling at you." No, it's because there's no time and because he doesn't really want to risk slowing down the organ he's operating on and risk it seizing, but he's going to be an ass about it.
no subject
Not that he blames him one bit. It's one of Law's many reliable talents, yelling at him for doing dumb things. Been doing that a long time. Sort of makes it a comfort. If Law was quiet or being entirely too kind in his words then he might have to start getting a lot more worried.
"Don't like general anyway. I don't need to sleep through it." Because he's very big and tough and takes bullets like a champion, thanks.