A/N: This is a continuation of a one-shot - Please go read that before diving into this one!  It is located in my One Piece One Shot book - Closure: Marco X Reader.

The rich scent of coffee percolated through the small apartment kitchen. Preferring to keep the room dark only the tiny light above the stove was left on. The sun had yet to rise and judging by the pattering against the window above the sink it wouldn't matter anyway.

Bringing the hardly sweetened liquid to his lips Law did his best to keep anxious thoughts away. Usually these consisted of work related topics, things he needed to get done when he arrived at the hospital or patients that took priority. This particular morning you were prominent.

He thought back to a night in November. At the time you had been matched for a month and had very recently moved in together. He had been opposed to all of this arranged marriage nonsense from childhood. Forcing people to be together for procreation didn't seem healthy mentally. But the alternative was prison, so most people just went with it.
Then he met you and discovered how similarly you operated so he decided to learn more. You had been pretty forthcoming with your reluctance, almost offensively so. You also felt the need to explain that you had a previous relationship that ended abruptly because of the law and obviously weren't dealing with it in a healthy way.

That week you stayed late at the shop every night working on different orders. When he did see you, you were practically vibrating with nervous energy. So, the nightly ritual of visiting the shop started, at least until that Friday. When he had announced he was coming to the shop you told him you'd meet him at home, which you did arriving at the same time. Even in the chilly humid air he thought he caught the scent of cologne as you passed, chalking it up to the hoodie you must have borrowed from a coworker, as he had never seen it before. After showering you shared the meal he'd brought from the hospital. You didn't say much but somehow seemed at ease especially considering the project you had been working on. Perhaps finishing the cakes provided some sort of closure? No, Law couldn't be that naive. Something definitely happened, something you didn't want to share. However, at the time he wasn't compelled to press you for information. He wasn't sure that even now after nearly four months you'd come clean. It wasn't like you had grown any closer as a couple, and he didn't know if you ever would.

His ears perked hearing your bedroom door softly open and shut behind you. Finally, the smell of coffee had made it to your room inviting you into the kitchen. You rounded the corner in an old purple shirt with the collar cut out, so it hung off your left shoulder, a pair of black leggings and mismatched knee-high socks.

His silver eyes roamed over the dip of your exposed shoulder before swaying up to your yawning face. It amused him that from day one you had no problem looking like a straight up mess in front of him. Perhaps it was because you weren't interested or maybe you just weren't like other girls. No woman he'd ever slept with dared to be seen without makeup.

You wore makeup as well, but it was always tastefully done. Law had surprised himself finding that he preferred you without, he liked the very light olive toned semicircles under your eyes and the natural hue of your lips so much so that on occasion you caught him staring. Being unaware of this preference and very aware of his constant stern expression, you had not thought about the attention being out of attraction.

"Morning." You yawned again running your fingers through your tangled hair.
"F/N-ya." Your fiancé nodded bringing his cup back to his lips.
"Top you off?" you asked pulling your mug from the cupboard not bothering to turn on the lights.
"Big order this week?" Law asked leaning back to hand you his cup.
"No, just couldn't sleep. There isn't much going on today I might just stay here and get some things done." Now that you'd said more he noticed your voice was a bit hoarse.

He hummed turning to let his eyes trail over you, even in the dim yellow light of the stove your skin seemed pale and clammy. Carefully he watched you fix his cup of coffee with shaky hands and move on to your own. The shadows under your eyes had deepened slightly, it was probably nothing, but no one would die if he asked.

"Are you feeling alright?"
"Yes doctor," you smirked handing his cup over, "just a restless night is all."
"Then It's best if you stay home." He affirmed sipping the strong brew.

Somehow it was always better when you made it, though you did it the exact same way he had, yours was something to savor.

"Is it good?" You asked in amusement.
"It's ok. Why?" was his curt reply.
"You hummed," you chuckled, "That means you like it."

Had he? When were you so observant?

"I did no such thing." He glanced away from your smug expression.
"Will you be home for dinner? I was thinking about cooking." The light from your phone caught his attention drawing his gaze back to your face.
"I can probably arrange that." He tried to sound nonchalant, but you caught the intrigue in his tone.
"Anything you'd like? It's been a while since I made something savory, but I can still throw down."
He raised a brow at your enthusiasm, "Whatever you'd like is fine."
"Sandwiches then?" You teased.
He rolled his eyes, "If you can really throw down, how about onigiri, Ms. Chef."
"That will require some research and a trip to the store, but I accept your challenge." You were already searching for recipes on your phone.

After sitting in silence for a few moments and finishing his second cup of coffee Law checked the time and rose from the table to place his mug in the empty sink.

"Seven o'clock." You murmured looking up to meet his stormy gaze.
"I'll do my best. Have a good day F/N-ya." He exited the kitchen, a few seconds later followed by the sound of the door locking from the outside.

After your short trip to the store, you returned home to stock the fridge and pantry. It was shameful how much time you avoided spending there. Only coffee, sugar and creamer sat in the kitchen, and there were still boxes stacked in a corner of the living room waiting to be unpacked. You intended to remedy that.

Moving into the common space you began opening boxes. They'd been there so long you didn't know if they belonged to you or Law. The first was heavy and filled with medical magazines and notebooks. Box two was full of novels, most of them adventure, and the smallest was yours full of framed pictures and photo albums.

You organized the magazines and novels on the empty bookshelf that lined the back wall, leaving Law's notebooks for him to sort. At the bottom of that box you found a small framed picture turned over. Carefully you plucked it from the box curiosity piquing as you flipped the silver frame over. Law hadn't had any pictures of family or friends that you knew of. Making a mental note to ask about that your gaze fell over an old photo of your fiancé. He couldn't have been more than ten, wearing a school uniform with a little yellow backpack hooked over his shoulders. Next to him crouched a tall blond man with shaggy bangs swept across his face and a cigarette pressed between his lips. You were sure he'd always had that attitude and judging from the look on his adolescent face you were correct. The man in the photo must have been his adopted father, whom he didn't talk much about.

You filled your day with little projects and finally got around to making dinner. It wasn't difficult, but it was time-consuming. You felt good about preparing something he had picked specifically. It was your job to make people happy through their appetites, but this for the moment muted the crippling guilt that had been plaguing you.

Seven turned to eight turned to nine o'clock. You covered dinner in plastic and placed it in the fridge before moving back to the living room to binge watch some shows you had missed. It was disappointing that Law hadn't arrived or returned your texts but you supposed that came with being a doctor.

                                                                                          ____________

Law walked in quietly shutting the door behind him, first noticing the pictures lining the hallway. He stopped at the photo of his eleven-year-old self with Corazon on the first day of sixth grade. You must've had a productive day. Feeling incredibly guilty he continued into the apartment greeted by the soft light of the tv, he hadn't even noticed you on the sofa buried in a mess of blankets until you gasped.

"Sor-" Law was cut off as more gasps left the now writhing blanket pile.

Removing his coat, he crouched down pulling the throws away quickly. Your body had curled up into itself as you tried desperately to catch your breath. In the natural motion to ball up you'd smashed yourself into the back of the sofa. His slim tattooed fingers wrapped firmly around your wrists as you clawed at your chest and throat.

"D-don't..." you rasped.

"F/N-ya," he started softly pulling you into him as he sat, "try to calm down."

"Trying." You shuddered grasping his hands trying to fend off your instinct to fight back.

Now your clammy skin and shaky hands that morning made sense to him.

He hummed cradling you while you cried and hiccupped still hooked into a fetal position. Being wrapped in his warmth and hearing his low soft voice helped you focus on your breathing. The dark abyss that had been enveloping you began to fade.

"I'm... I'm sorry." You stammered.