You manage a small thanks when Eustass pulls up to your apartment complex and cut Killer off with a quiet word. You bow and turn toward what feels like a long cold walk to your apartment. You had to give it to Killer, he had packed all your stuff up well enough you could handle it with one hand.
You set your things down and stood in the middle of your apartment for a moment before you just sigh. It had been just a few years since school, and maybe leaving the East Blue to come to the South side of Grandline Metro was a mistake. The city was so large that each area felt like it's own little city-state.
By the time your mom passed away there just wasn't anything holding you to the area. The job offer came in for the Devil Fruit registry processor and so you relocated. Leaving all your friends and typical haunts behind.
You got plenty of correspondence, Nami and Sanji both wrote fairly regularly. Zoro would write from time to time as well, and Luffy would send the weirdest drawings that were only remotely decipherable because of the letters from the others. Your friends had chosen to live within the underside of the city and you couldn't blame them.
There was a certain kind of freedom there that couldn't be found elsewhere. Your mother had spoken against that side of the Metro, as you imagine most parents do, and you had gone into your government job mostly to ease her concerns. Luffy had wanted you to join his group, the gang knew about your capacity for healing, and with training you likely would've made a terrifyingly effective fighter of some variety.
But you were where you were.
And right now where you were sucked. You let yourself cry as the frustration bubbled up again. Everything was piling up around you; the accident, your car, your hand, his car, the pending rehab, the prosthetic, the court date that was as yet to be decided.
You didn't have to worry about your job, at least not immediately. Killer had called on your behalf at some point and they were already processing short term paid leave for you. For a few moments you had really kind people in your life who weren't hundreds of kilometers away, and they stayed just long enough to make your otherwise comfortable isolation feel cold and cruel.
You could probably call any of the Straw Hats and have the whole crew over here before morning. You had no doubt those bonds of friendship were intact. But it wasn't their voices or their eyes you wanted to see. It wasn't their light, and banter, and joy you needed right now.
You tried to tell yourself you had put him on some savior pedestal. That he hadn't been doing anything more than matching your bratty energy to help you get through a seriously stressful situation that he could empathize with. You tried to shrug it all off, but the tone of his voice echoes in your brain. The heat in your cheeks and the desire in your bones wouldn't let you just shrug it off.
After a shower you felt a little better. At the very least you weren't drowning in angst and were coming to terms with however things were going to play out. The mechanics of bathing one-handed had at least given you something to focus on, and the challenge of dressing yourself was a good distraction as well.
You managed. The lack of bleeding from your ability to heal made things less frustrating than you imagine they would've otherwise been, even if the pain was still there. Eventually you'd adjust to this new normal for you and things would get easier and easier.
You sat in the middle of the floor with a small huff, and just looked around listlessly for a moment before your eyes fell on the rumpled box.
A small part of you felt compelled to return it. You were sure if you asked for an address from Killer he'd give you one, but a gift given is one that is meant to be accepted. Returning it unopened would be rude.
Holding it steady with your feet, you pulled at the bow, and then tore the wrapping away. The blue-grey box had a single stretchy gold tie around it that was easy enough to pull off. Lifting the top of the lid, your breath hitched in your throat and tears fell down your cheeks in large hot drops.
You ran your fingers over the soft fluffy material, and your heart twisted as the shiny, abominably cute black eyes of the mouse plushie brought back the sting of your earlier sorrows. Everything around you felt irreversibly empty.
.
.
.
.
.
You had fallen asleep on your couch, mouse plush against your chest, tears drying on your face. You'd nearly cried yourself sick, and blamed your heavy reaction on the cumulative events, and not the final one. At the very least when you woke up you felt better.
Tired, and sore you were reminded of your lack of hand as you rammed the sensitive skin into the couch to push yourself upright. You hiss but move through the action so you wouldn't have to do it again. Your ability to heal was useful, but the pain lingered. Years ago, you had cracked a rib, and for weeks after you would still get a zing of pain if you breathed too hard or twisted wrong. Like your own body hadn't caught up with the news that you were no longer injured.
On the positive side of things, it made it easier to remember that you were supposed to be injured, and that helped you keep your cover for the few larger injuries you'd had in your life. On the negative side of things, having healing that came with the side effect of phantom pains was kind of bullshit.
You started to try to make breakfast and found yourself grumbling. Making eggs was supposed to be easy. Trying to crack an egg one handed wasn't a skill you had mastered, and your right hand had spent most of your life being useless anyway.
Things did not progress well.
Twenty minutes later you thanked the delivery driver for your fast food and enjoyed your trash breakfast. Once you were done eating you needed to practice writing. The court hearing alone was probably going to expect you to sign 100 pages of legalese in triplicate, and you hadn't so much as held a pen in your right hand in all your years of life.
One good thing about the day was that you had decided you were going to get a fully integrated prosthetic. No more waffling on what your choice was going to be, you needed both hands as fully functional as possible. At the very least so you could crack an egg again and make yourself breakfast.
The rest of the day was spent watching videos on ways to do things one-handed. Tutorials on prosthetics and searching through the legal forums to see what you could expect from your situation. Officer Coby hadn't contacted you with good news, so that probably meant he was going to contact you with bad news.
At 4:30pm you got a text from an unknown number.
Unknown: Miss (Y/N), this is officer Coby. Please call me at this number when you have the time, thank you.
No time like the present. You hit the call button on the text and put it on speaker. After a couple of rings, you hear Coby's familiar voice.
"Officer Coby, Grandline Metro PD, South Blue division, how may I assist you?" He says.
"Hi officer Coby, this is (Y/N), I got your text and have some time right now." You say cheerfully. "I feel like you're going to give me some bad news, though."
"Ah, Miss (Y/N), I'm afraid you are correct. Mr. Vander Decken did not agree to your request and is apparently adamant about counter suing you if you try to hold him accountable."
"I... wow. That's uh... that's something."
"He's not going to get out of the drunk driving charge, and since your accident was a result of that, you can allow us to charge him on your behalf. There won't be a need for you to cover court costs or additional legal counsel." Coby explains, and you can hear him shuffling around papers in the background. "I know you have other things you'd probably rather focus on right now, and his threat of counter suing would be negated this way. He could counter sue the Metro, but that would be our problem, not yours."
"I... your recommendation sounds like a good idea." You admit. "I'm assuming I would still need to be available to testify and everything?"
"Yes, and I would like to reach out to the others involved as well. Eustass Kid and, uh, Killer, can testify to Mr. Vander's state during the crash." Coby explains, and you felt a pang in your chest. "They declined contact since they weren't going to press charges on you, I was hoping you could provide my number to them and explain the situation?"
"Uh, yes... of course."
"Is everything okay, Miss (Y/N)?"
"Yeah, everything's fine. It's just a lot all at once officer Coby, so I appreciate you doing what you can to make it a little easier."
"My pleasure, Miss (Y/N). The number is to my cell phone, so they can call whenever works for them. I'll be in touch."
"Alright, thank you."
You hang up the phone and sigh into the air. Technically you could text Killer. You could opt to call him instead as well, the prospect of texting so much information with one hand felt daunting. You probably should call Killer. He was, after all, the voice of reason, and things had ended on a sour note. Kid might bite your head off and hang up on you before you could say anything, assuming he'd even answer.
Even if he did, there was only one voice you wanted to hear.
Steeling yourself against possible rage, you brought up his number in your phone and hit the green button. On the fifth ring it switched over to voicemail. You didn't know whether to be relieved or not.
"You know who you've called, get to the point."
You snorted at the message, and when the beep sounded you spoke.
"Officer Coby needs to talk to you and Killer about the accident. Metro's leading the court hearings for it and wants you two to be involved so Decken von asshat or whatever his name is doesn't get off light. His number is [xxx-xxx-xxxx], give him a call sooner rather than later, Kid, please."
You wanted to say more, but now wasn't the time. Best to handle business first, worry about other things after.
You milled about listlessly for a little bit, dusting things, doing little chores as best you could. You didn't expect to hear back from him, but part of you wanted to be sure you didn't miss anything if he did call back. A small part of you wanted to call his number again just to listen to the voicemail prompt.
5pm came and went, and when the time crowded 6pm you decided you were going to have to sort something out in the way of food. The question was did you try to make something, or did you cave and order again?
Honestly, ordering sounded best. You had luck finding helpful videos, but you were going to need to go shopping for some gadgets to avoid a steep learning curve. You grabbed your phone to bring up a delivery app when it pinged with a new text message.
Red: hungry?
You stared at the text for a moment, your head tilted to one side. You hadn't expected to hear from him unless it was regarding the crash, and even then you expected it to be tense.
You: Yeah?
Red: Then open the damn door.
"...Eh?" You head tilts to the other side.
You set the phone down, brows knit in confusion, and opened the door. Kid and Killer stood outside your door, bags of Chinese takeout in their hands. Kid's prosthetic arm was a mass of pipes and bolts and wires and hydraulics, and somehow suited him better than the more realistic one he'd been wearing to visit you at the hospital.
"Wh-what?" Your brain wasn't catching up with the sight in front of you. You'd been so sure everything had fallen apart.
"The best way to learn how to use your right hand is to try an' eat Chinese with chopsticks." Kid says matter of fact. He looks down at you with a soft grin. "You didn't think I was going to abandoned you, did you, Mouse?"
You feel the tears well up in your eyes, hearing all that, after all your certainty. Maybe you had misunderstood all the silence because you were just worn that thin from everything that had happened.
"B-be more clear in the f-future, you ass." You mutter, wiping away tears before things get messy.
"Eh?"
"Get in here you bastard, before I close the bloody door on you and your delicious offering of food!" You yell at him, stomping your foot.