Kid and Killer didn't come back until late afternoon the next day. They'd left their numbers with the nurse, and she got them into your phone for you. She filled you in on a bit more information as well since you were more aware the next day.

The man who had rear-ended you had been released from the hospital that morning, but he was in Marine custody currently. There'd probably be someone by tomorrow to talk to you about what happened regarding the accident, and she left some materials with you about your options for prosthetics.

Kid or Killer had made sure your bag had ended up with you in your room, and you were grateful for that. Not only did it have your phone and ID, but your insurance information was in there as well. When you gave it to the Nurse she smiled.

"Your costs have already been taken care of, Miss (Y/N), but I can run everything through your insurance still, if you like."

"Uh, yes please." You were trying to think how the cost of a hospital stay had been preemptively handled, but you didn't quite have the brain cells to sort it out. You were still on some pain meds and even then there was a good bit of soreness to be dealt with.

There was no way that the drunk who had hit you had been forced to pay for your hospital stay, or anything else so soon after the accident. You didn't have any family, in the Grandline Metro or outside of it. Your work certainly wasn't going to pay for anything they didn't have to, and you didn't have anything like a sugar daddy.

The only logical conclusion was that Kid had decided to pick up the tab, and something about that irritated you. You didn't know him well enough for him to be giving you charity like this. Even if he did feel guilty for you losing your hand – which was painfully obvious – this was too much. It was like he thought you weren't capable of swinging a hospital bill just because you'd been driving a beater.

By the time Kid and Killer arrived you had become irritated and snapped at them as soon as they walked in.

"What the hell, Red?" You growl, the smile on Kid's face melting away. "I know you feel responsible for me losing my hand, but that's no reason to pay my hospital bills! I'm not broke just cause my car was a hunk of junk!"

"Eh? Don't go assigning guilt to people like that!" He threw a wrapped box against the far wall, though for a second you were sure he was going to pelt it at you. "Damn bitch." He grumbles, turning on his heel and storming out of the room.

Killer stays behind, watching Kid leave before turning back to you. He put his hands up in front of him like he was surrendering.

"I come in peace?" He offers.

"Tch. Fine. Come in if you want." You grumble, sinking back into your bed. Being angry had already worn you out and you'd barely raised your voice.

Killer walks in, setting down a small bouquet of flowers by your bed before walking around to the other side and picking up the box Kid had thrown.

"We didn't pay your tab, (y/n)." Killer says after a moment.

"Then who did? Certainly not the drunk." You grouch.

"No idea." Killer shrugs, stepping back around to the side of your bed that's by the door. "Kid did try to pay. I can't say if he does, or doesn't feel responsible for your hand. He just had the means, and I think he felt sympathetic toward you."

"I don't need-." Your words caught in your throat, and you groan. Kid had a big prosthetic arm. It was really hard to miss, and you'd seen at least two versions of it – a gnarly kind of metal one you remember from the accident, and a more subdued, almost normal looking one he'd been wearing while visiting you. Of course, he'd have some sympathy for you, losing your hand, given he was down a whole arm. "Aw, fuck, I am a dick."

"Eh. You've been through some shit the last couple days." Killer offers. "Kid just needs to cool off, and he'll be back."

"Are you everyone's voice of reason, or just his?" You question.

His shoulders shake a bit. "You seem to be doing better today at least, you've got more energy."

"Yeah." You breathe in deep and let it out. "I miss my hand, but if some money-fairy has descended and handled my hospital bill then that frees up some options."

"You could commission Kid." Killer offers. "He's made all the prosthetics he has now."

You smile. "I... don't know that I should. I think trying to pay him for something like that would just end in a fight."

"I wouldn't take yer money anyway, Mouse." Kid grumbles from the doorway.

"Ah, hey, look, I'm sorry about... uh, earlier."

"S'fine." He mutters, coming into the room.

"I still don't know what to think about you two." You admit as Kid sits down in the corner chair.

"Whaddya mean?" He still sounds a little testy, but you couldn't blame him. You'd read him the riot act earlier and it was unfounded.

"I appreciate you guys visiting, and, honestly, I can swallow my pride and appreciate you wantin' to help financially too. But," you chuckle a bit and smile sardonically. "This can't be how I make friends for the first time since school."

"You really ain't got any friends, Mouse?"

"Ah, I mean, I have some coworkers I get along with, but aside from that, not really. Most of my hobbies are indoors, and I don't dislike people, but well..." You clear your throat. "Most of my school friends moved out of the Metro, and there's a couple I keep in touch with, but they're miles away. I don't know, once my mom passed away a couple years ago, I've just kind of... worked." You shrug, and then look back to Eustass. "I have to know though, why do you keep calling me mouse?"

Kid turns his hand as he talks. "Your key chain." He sips whatever drink he'd gotten when he went to cool off. "You should put less charms on your key ring, Mouse. The extra weight can wear out the starter."

Admittedly, you had a lot of little knickknacks on your key ring. You'd find cute small charms while walking the malls, or from little gacha machines, and the ones you liked ended up on your key ring. Between the options he had to pick from, maybe Mouse wasn't such a bad nickname. The idea of someone like Eustass Kid calling you "kitten" or "maid" or "dog" just kind of soured in your mind.

"What if I really don't like that nickname?" You questioned.

Kid shrugs. "I'm not trying to be your friend, Mouse, so -."

Killer clears his throat, and Kid grumbles, taking another drink.

"If it really bothered you, I could... try."

"Eh. I imagine there's worse things to be called by walking volcano with a metal arm."

Kid tried to glare, but with his face turning pink it really diminished his intent. Killer nearly choked on his own drink, and was silently shaking in his chair, trying desperately to stifle his laugh.

"You're a real brat, (Y/N)." Kid grumbled and you laughed as much as you could muster between your injuries.

"Somehow I feel like you're the type to get along with a brat better than, say, a princess." You point out.

Kid opened his mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, and then finished off the rest of his drink. He got up and picked up the box he'd tossed across the room, that Killer had set by your bed. He turned it over in his hands, knocking crinkles off the wrapping.

"Do you know when they're releasing you?" He asks.

"Tomorrow, if nothing opens up. I heal pretty fast, not like Devil Fruit fast, but nothing's infected and they can't do anything about a prosthetic until it's completely healed anyway."

"Decided what you're going to get?"

There were several kinds of available prosthetics for people. There were mechanical-movement versions, which mimicked neural movements fairly well, but the control was all in learning how to manipulate the mechanisms. Most didn't have fine movement capabilities, and all of them required re-learning how to move whatever they replaced. Another type was single-join or stationary prosthetics, commonly for legs or people who were only wearing one to make other folks more comfortable. With only one or no moving parts, they were more for show than practical use.

The kind becoming more common over the last couple decades, were neurologically connected prosthetics. It was a painful primary procedure, and it required both money and capacity to upkeep, but they moved and worked like actual limbs. All the way down to producing sensations of touch and pressure.

You shrug. "Part of me wants a fully integrated hand. But I don't know if that's necessarily because I need one, or if I just want one. I mean, I've had two hands for my whole life. I'd like to have two hands for the rest of it."

"That sounds like a strong enough reason to go for it." Kid states, setting the rumpled box back where Killer had put it. "You don't have a car right now, Mouse, you need a ride tomorrow?"

"I could get a taxi, but uh, I guess if you're offering, I can accept." You thought about it for a second, remembering the fact that it was nearly the bumper of Kid's truck that slammed into you. You were not nearly as tall as the two men in your room, and you had logistical concerns. "Can I even get into that monster truck of yours?"

Kid grunts as Killer stood up and they headed out with a simple, "get some rest." And you were on your own again.

Admittedly, you were really tired, and as you dozed off you wondered if either of those muscle-heads had noticed. They seemed like really nice guys, especially for a couple of dudes who look like they'd fight god with hammer, a rusty screw driver, and nary a fuck to give between them.

The next day, just as the nurse had anticipated, you were visited by the Marines. A young officer with dark eyes and bubblegum pink hair asked you questions about the accident. He had a partner with him, but the taller blonde didn't seem to be interested in even being there.

You explained the turn of events as best as you could remember.

"Did you want to press charges?" The marine, who said his name was Coby, questions you.

"If he's willing to pay restitution, then I have no reason to do so." You admit. "I've already lost a few days of work, and will be out for another couple weeks at least, plus the cost of replacing my hand. But if he doesn't want to even try to pay for damages, then yes."

"That's acceptable, Miss (Y/N). Did you want to press charges against the secondary collision? Technically, you'd be at fault for it, but with the-."

"No, not at all." You interrupt. "The guys that were in the truck have been apologetic and have been visiting me regularly. They haven't blamed me for any damages to their truck, and it's not their fault that, uh, did you say his name was Mr. Vander?"

Coby nods. "Vander Decken the ninth." He reads from his notes.

"Yeah, it's not their fault that drunk bastard shoved me into the intersection." You say with an obvious irritated edge to your voice.

You catch a faint smile across the young marine's face, but he quickly composes himself to a more professional expression. "Very well, Miss (Y/N), that's all we need today. As things progress we'll be in touch. You're due to be released today, correct?"

"Yeah, later this afternoon."

"Alright. I'll reach out to you at your home in a couple days as a follow-up."

"Thank you officer Coby, I appreciate that."

Now all that was left to do was wait for Kid and Killer and go through the discharge process.