Law wasn't the best at showing people he cared. He was blunt, stoic, and often scared the people around him with the look on his face alone.

Y'know. Aside from the fact he was aone of the Seven Warlords of the Sea.

That didn't mean he didn't care. Because he did. Especially when it came to his crew.

Which is exactly why he was sat here now, treating your wounds with as much care as he possibly could. You'd gotten injured during a scuffle, and while you kept brushing it off as nothing, he knew better.

He felt his eye twitch as you apologised quietly to him for the umpteenth time for making him waste time on you.

As if tending to his family was a waste of time.

He said nothing, didn't acknowledge your words as he discarded used gauze, switching to fresh ones and soaking it in rubbing alcohol, deftly dabbing it on a wound on your cheek.

You promptly hissed at the sting, before righting yourself and stilling, another apology bubbling in your throat.

"No more apologies." His voice cut through the mechanical hum of the Polar Tang.

"Just shut up and let me treat you."

He couldn't show you how much he cared well.

But he was trying. In his own Trafalgar Law way.