The role-play situation: The ship is a large, multi-level slaver ship. A quick look at google shows that these were typically laid out with supplies in the bottom level, the slave cargo in the middle level, the crew level above that, then the deck- or at least that's the impression I got. That's what we're going with here, anyways.

So, the ship had just left Sabaody when they somehow managed to stumble across (perhaps a little author help there ;P ) Aoi and Timor, making them currently the only cargo on the ship. As the slavers aren't quite sure what sort of cargo they're dealing with at the moment- as both match wanted posters- they've placed them in a cell rather than just leave them on the slave level. The door to the cell is locked, of course, and all weapons have been removed. Oh, and let's not forget those collars that the OP slavers are so fond of. 

Finally, they've been stripped of their shirts so that the tattoo of a slave could be put on their back, as their wanted posters instantly let these guys know what sort of buyer they were going to get for these guys: Celestial Dragons.

Let's see how well our heroes fare, shall we?

P.S. This is directly from the role-play, so it might be slightly disjointed.

His head roared with noise as he floated into consciousness. Pain ricocheted through every bone in his body, eliciting a sharp intake of breath before his eyes had even opened. A swirl of colors - blacks and browns, mostly - swam before his eyes; he blinked, trying to focus on something, anything, but while the cacophony continued inside his mind nothing was right with the world.

Had he been drugged? He'd never felt like this before, not even when he'd been so close to Death's embrace.

Muscles screaming shrill protests, he forced himself into a sitting position, head cocking as he noted the jangle of chains. He looked down, eyes widening slightly at the sight of the bulky collar ringing his neck; he followed the chain attached to it back to the wall he'd previously been lying against.

Slavers.

He'd encountered them numerous times throughout his illustrious career as the World Government's lapdog, but never once had he fallen prey to them. What could have made him slip up so horribly that he--

Timor's eyes settled on the slumped form of a white-haired boy not too far away, and he sighed, knocking his head back against the wall. That settled that.

As could be expected of him, the first thing to escape his lips even before he'd made it past the spinning of his head and the pain echoing through his body, was a curse. Another followed, then another, the words running together as his groggy mind and dry mouth made it difficult for the mumbled words to actually come out as distinct phrases. It wasn't until he'd decided that the ache in his head wasn't going to fade that the boy pried open his eyes to glare daggers at the unfamiliar ceiling above him. At first, he was tempted to believe that he'd overestimated his drinking ability again, but dismissed the idea as the pain in his body and the grogginess in his mind pointed more towards drugs.

"Dammit."

Who'd he manage to piss off this time? Or perhaps it was Kiyomi who'd pissed someone off. Either way, the result was the same. Another curse escaped his lips as Aoi simply focused on deciding whether or not sitting up would make the throbbing in his head worse.

He was cursing. Already. As if that would solve all the world's problems.

Timor listened to Aoi's creative use of various expletives for a few minutes, unwilling to bring reality crashing down on both their shoulders. But soon enough he was tilting his head, blinking to try and bring Aoi into a clearer view.

"Aoi. Shut up."

At the sound of another voice, Aoi's mouth abruptly shut. Scowling, he forced his hands against the rough floor beneath him and shifted as to get a better view of the room. It wasn't until he was attempting to make his eyes focus in on his surroundings that the voice, and the use of his name, finally clicked in his mind.

"... shit."

If he was in this situation as well, that meant that it definitely... well, most likely wasn't the result of his or Kiyomi's usual "adventures" as the girl put it. As this swept through Aoi's thoughts, his ears picked up on the faint sound of chains moving as he did, his gaze flicking to the source. Completely foregoing the fact that the smartest plan was to listen to the instruction he'd just been given, the boy set off into another round of curses.

This was just wonderful.

Well, they were both awake. That counted for something, somewhere, he supposed.

Timor shifted, his hands probing delicately at the collar locked around his neck. The explosives built into the collar would go off if it was removed forcefully, or if he or Aoi managed to detach the chain. One too many times he'd witnessed a panicked slave be reduced to unsightly red globs while an uncaring master looked on, mentally going over the price of a new servant. And Timor had watched, too, because what else was he meant to do? Now...

He glanced at Aoi, who'd yet to quit his foul-mouthed soliloquy.

"Aoi," he said again, checking a wince as the words tore up his throat like sandpaper, "shut up. Now."

Aoi's curses stopped once more as he shot Timor a mutinous expression, as if he was tempted to continue simply because he'd been ordered to be silent. Instead, he studied the male to the best of his abilities- which was admittedly a poor examination given the circumstance. What he could see, however, seemed to point to them having both landed in the same situation. Collared, weaponless if Timor's appearance was any indication, and shirt--

Shirtless?

He frowned, furrowing his brow as he attempted to align this with the conclusion he'd drawn from the collar about their having ended up in the hands of slavers. Why would they...

The instant the reason managed to occur to him, he shifted around, turning his back to Timor. He'd barely noticed the pain among the rest of it.

"We're shirtless," he grumbled as an explanation, as if that was all the reasoning that needed given for what he wanted Timor to check.

"We're branded."

The mark - freshly applied, red and raw around the edges - stood out starkly against the paleness of Aoi's upper back. Unconsciously, he reached a hand over his shoulder, fingers brushing over what he would guess was the top of the brand adorning his back; he gritted his teeth, swallowing back a hiss as pain blossomed beneath his fingertips, the skin of his back still too sensitive to even the gentlest of touches.

Given that Aoi had come to the conclusion they were marked, Timor felt he knew their situation as well as he did. That saved time, if nothing else.

"What do you remember?" Timor asked, his mouth smoothing into a flat line. How long had it been since he'd last spoken for his throat to feel this hoarse?

Aoi, his hands clenching at his sides, forced his thoughts to focus. He didn't bother to turn to face Timor, staying in the position he'd moved into previously. Even he knew how pissed his expression was, which would mean his face would be a rather scarlette shade at the moment.

"... it's all fuzzy," he reluctantly admitted after a moment.

His attempts to focus his thoughts had only resulted in a mixture of frustration and confusion, as the last thing he could completely remember was talking with Kiyomi, arguing with her that an old pervert did not make for a new friend. None of it felt as if it had anything to do with the current situation. Everything after it, however, was rather faded, his mind only being able to produce minor details such as places, sounds or smells. Nothing solid.

"It's either the drugs, or there wasn't a sign," he added on. "At the very most, I can remember talking with Kiyomi."

Timor remembered little of the events that led up to his capture. He closed his eyes a moment, casting back his thoughts in the hopes of gleaning some new information, but he just as soon frowned. Nothing beyond what he'd recalled upon waking up, that prior to this, at some point, he was working a solo job at Marco's insistence. Ace had wanted to tag along on the grounds that months had passed since their last outing together, but Marco had pulled the hotheaded pirate back, as he'd been given another assignment from Whitebead. Something akin to relief sparked in Timor's chest, knowing Ace hadn't been with him.

Still, having Aoi trapped with him wasn't any more comforting.

Moving his hand up from his back, Timor brushed his hand over the back of his skull, closing his eyes again. Dammit. His fingers came away blood-stained. Now he was doubting whether drugs were involved at all in his case. Brute force had never been enough to render him unconscious before, but he supposed there was a first time for everything.

"I was working," he said at last, breaking the silence that had begun to crop up between them. "That's it, everything I remember."

He subtly wiped the blood from his hand on the knee of his pant leg. It was better Aoi's concern was for himself.

Aoi scowled at the floor. Some part of him had thought that perhaps even if he couldn't recall anything, Timor would. The other male had a habit of being able to handle the situations they kept ending up in together. Then again, it shouldn't have been that much of a surprise. They were in the same boat, after all.

"Wonderful."

That said, he rubbed the backs of his still clenched fists against his eyes, as if to clear away the slight fuzziness that still lingered in his vision. Once he'd lowered his hands, he looked around again, focusing his gaze on where their chains touched the walls.

"... how hard do you think it would be to pull those off?"

Timor barely gave the suggestion any substantial thought.

"Don't bother," he said dismissively. "If you made a wrong move, you'd die."

Timor craned his neck back, taking in the rest of their cell. Low ceilings, tightly fitted bars to one side, warped, weather-beaten wooden walls to the other three. A small, insignificant porthole overlooked the sea, but from his vantage point Timor could only make out the gray-blue spray that licked at the porthole's glass, forming tiny droplets that clouded out the rest of the world.

He returned his focus to the chains, ghosting a hand over the rusting metal links, tempted to give them an experimental tug but wary of the consequences.

"...Damn."

"That's not the end that goes boom, you know," he grumbled under his breath, continuing to eye the wall with a narrowed gaze.

His thoughts had been able to grasp onto one, simple line of thought, and that was that if the chains were attached to the wall, they had to be able to come off somehow. It was no use putting a slave on a leash if the leash couldn't be moved. But then again, perhaps Timor was right. Perhaps there was a certain way that it was pulled off, and moving it wrong would set something on their collars off.

"You got any better ideas?" Aoi questioned sourly. "I don't."

That said, he slowly pulled himself to his feet, resting a hand against the cell wall when his spinning head almost sent him back to the floor. A swear escaped his lips as he closed his eyes for a moment, willing the room to calm. The moment it had, he peeled his eyes open again, once more focusing them on the wall. He wasn't going to just sit still and be sold, and that meant they had to do something.

He did not, in fact, have any better ideas. None that Aoi would approve of, anyway. Timor was hardwired to give priority to others' survival over his own, and so the majority of the plans that had sprung to life in his pain-addled brain made use of himself as some sort of voluntary sacrifice, which would give Aoi the chance to escape in a number of different ways. But Aoi had, long ago, made him promise that he would curb his sacrificial tendencies if he could, and right now, their situation wasn't so dire that he would forsake that promise.

Following Aoi's lead, Timor rose to his feet, unsteady but tolerable. He braced a hand against the wall, digging his nails into the wood until he felt blood trickle down the lengths of his fingers. His head throbbed with every minuscule movement and he had to make a conscious effort not to visibly react. If left untreated, he wondered how long he could sustain such a wound; from his examination of it earlier, it was deep, though his skull was still intact, if that was any consolation. He could assume he'd be fine for some time, but after that...

He considered telling Aoi, if only to warn him, but held his tongue. Timor saw no point to adding to Aoi's current burdens.

"Watch for guards," he instructed, eyes flicking to the wall of bars, through which he could see another row of cells opposite their own. He suspected they'd have some sort of guard patrolling this level, perhaps to check if any of their cargo had expired.

"I'm not an idiot," came Aoi's surly response, his current mood keeping little of his natural, rude attitude from reaching his lips.

That said, he kept his hand on the wall as he slowly stepped over to draw even with the chains, his gaze studying where they were hooked onto metal loops on the wall. The closer examination revealed that they were attached through simple clips, metal pieces that moved so that it could be snapped in place. He furrowed his brow, attempting to figure out why it was such a simple, easily to move measure. A second later it occurred to him- few prisoners would be able to get out of the cell even if they got the chains off the wall. Plus, there was the added fact that the chains weren't the only thing that could make the collar go off. He supposed that perhaps the slavers were simply confident there was no need to make the "leash" difficult to move.

After a few more seconds of contemplation- running his fingers over it as to check for any trick- Aoi unclipped his own chain from the wall, pausing to see if there was any visible reaction. When there was none, he pulled the hand that he'd been supporting himself with from the wall and removed Timor's.

"Here," he announced, offering it to the man. "It was simple."

Raising a brow, Timor took hold of the proffered chain, wrapping it once around his waist and then clipping the end onto one of his belt loops. He didn't want the tail of the chain tripping him up later, or giving an enemy something to latch onto if they were forced to fight.

"Thank you," he said, genuine but flat in his delivery.

Unbound now, Timor crossed to the bars, fitting his face between two to find how far down the corridors he could see. Not very far, he concluded, edging back enough that he was free of the bars. His brow furrowed. There had to be something that would help them get past the bars, whether they broke them or lifted a key off a passing slaver. He was confident they could accomplish that much, but it was what would happen after that that was uncertain to him.

Aoi watched Timor cross the cell, his brow slowly furrowing as he began to pick up on the fact that the back of the pink-haired man's head was darker than it should have been. While Timor looked outside, Aoi simply studied the man from behind. If there was something wrong, would Timor tell him?

Doubtful.

A scowl flitted across the boy's lips, his gaze narrowing slightly as an attempt to focus in better on he could assume was an injury. When that was added to the brand- which was enough of an injury in and of itself- he doubted that Timor was in very decent shape.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to cross the room and peer out beside the man. "... do you suppose they kept our weapons somewhere on board?"

If they did- was was reasonable given that his pistols would fetch a decent price themselves- then perhaps he'd be able to do something. His hand-to-hand was horrible, but he could shoot. If he had a gun, he could deal with things even if Timor ended up collapsing. Questioning the man about the injury wouldn't do him any good, so he'd decided without even putting much thought to the matter that his best course of action was to find a way he could get them both off the ship- with or without Timor's help if it came down to it.

"They kept them," he said absently, running through scenarios in his head, tossing out the less feasible ones and focusing in on anything that revolved around them regaining their weapons. But right now, they were weaponless; Aoi was practically defenseless, as Timor didn't put much stock into his scrappy fighting skills. For Aoi to stand a chance, he needed his guns.

Timor could do something about a guard, given the opportunity. That much he knew for sure, no matter how much he loathed the power he would have to use to accomplish such a feat. He said as much to Aoi, under his breath as a precaution against either other, invisible prisoners, or eavesdropping slavers hidden in the shadows.

Aoi considered this for a moment, weighing how much strain it might put on Timor to make him use his devils fruit, as he highly doubted that the man considered that as a problem when offering. Timor was one of the most self-sacrificial people Aoi knew, if he'd learned anything from being thrown into situations with the man, it was that he'd have to take that into consideration when thinking about how things might go down. After a moment he came to the conclusion that either way, it would have to do as they had no other choice.

"So," he muttered quietly under his breath. "Guard comes by, you take care of it, we get the keys and get the hell out of here to find our weapons. Then take over the ship, as escaping in the middle of the ocean isn't exactly plausible, especially given your fruit. Sound like a plan?"

Timor murmured his agreement. He trusted his abilities with his Fruit; the training he underwent with the World Government gave him a natural inclination to make use of the Fruit's godforsaken powers, and it wouldn't strain him as badly as actual, physical movement.

Suddenly, Timor stiffened.

Footsteps, creaking wood - different from the natural groans of the ship itself. A guard was drawing near.

"Get back," Timor ordered shortly, reclaiming his place up against the bars. "Play dead, don't move, don't breathe."

Aoi opened his mouth to argue that if he didn't breathe, he wouldn't be playing dead, but thought better of it and moved to do as he was told. His head spun even worse as he shifted to the ground, making lying prone a much easier job than it might have been otherwise. As it was, the spinning in combination with the rock of the ship made his stomach churn uncomfortable, a nauseous feeling sweeping through him.

Forcing all of this to the back of his mind, he focused his senses on the faint footsteps he could hear. All that was left was to see if their trick worked.

"Yo," Timor croaked out as the guard came into view, adopting a thick, slurred voice that indicated the real level of his pain, somewhat hoping that Aoi would consider it all a part of the act. "This chick's dead. Or whatever she is - she ain't real... developed, if ya know what I mean. Whatever. Point is... she's dead. I don't wanna be stuck in here with 'er - shit's gonna get nasty in a few hours. Lemme out."

The guard paused, turning up his nose at Timor's claim. Timor could see it, his thought process, reflected in his black eyes.

Dead merchandise meant a loss of profits, and sickness (which could very well occur in the otherwise healthy specimen left with the dead body) would bring down Timor's price, as well.

As such, the man moved towards the lock, one hand reaching for the key dangling from his belt, the other hovering just above the gun nestled at his hip. Why he thought bringing a weapon of that caliber down here was an intelligent move escaped Timor, but he hardly cared then. Waiting for the opportune moment, Timor struck out with his hand, curling his fingers into the man's oily hair to keep his grip as the aura surrounding the both of them intensified, and the man's pupils dilated with indescribable terror.

Timor unclenched his hand and the man sank first to knees, then bent to the will of gravity and collapsed onto his side, frothing at the mouth and twitching every so often. He unhooked the keys from the man's belt and quickly undid the lock, quietly swinging open the cell door. Assured the coast was clear, he signalled for Aoi to get up and come with him.

Aoi slowly drug himself to his feet, anger pulsing through his frame and making it easier to ignore the way the world still seemed to be moving every time he shifted his head.

"A girl?" he hissed under his breath, moving to rejoin Timor. "Why the hell did you have to make me a girl? A dead guy works just the same, you know!"

Timor eyed him steadily for a moment, debating something in his head. Eventually, he shrugged.

"They already consider you a girl," was all he said, mentally adding You didn't notice how he didn't question me?

Aoi opened his mouth to unleash what exactly he thought of that, but paused as his eye caught sight of the small light coming from the windows hitting the gun on the guard's belt. Blinking, he muttered something about an idiot under his breath as he stooped down to swipe the item from the man's prone form. Feeling much less pissed, although saying that he wasn't at all would have been the understatement of the century, Aoi gripped the weapon more tightly.

"Screw it. Let's get the hell out of this shit hole," he grumbled, his choice of language rather accurately reflecting his temperament at the moment.

With that, he started out of the cell as he'd initially intended to do, eyes flicking up the dark walkway cautiously. The lighting at this level wasn't the best, there was no telling if there was something up ahead that they were missing.

Timor followed closely behind Aoi, straining his eyes and ears for any sign that their escape had been discovered prematurely. If it came down to a fight, Aoi now had a usable gun (though Timor knew he much preferred his own, sleek pistols), and Timor himself could hold his own. For how long, he didn't know, not for certain. His Devil Fruit would tax him less, but using it on a single person left him vulnerable for however long it took to immobilize his target, and he didn't want to have Aoi watching his back every second. He'd have to rely on hand-to-hand combat, which would drain him at a much more rapid and worrying rate.

That aside...

Timor, much as he tried, couldn't keep his gaze from dropping to the brand that marred Aoi's back. Seeing it there, on previously unmarked flesh, bothered him to tan extent. There was something wrong about it - wrong in a way that took precedence over the general wrongness of their situation. He glanced over his shoulder, just able to make out the right side of his own brand. That was annoying, but not wrong to him. And he couldn't figure out what the difference between his brand and Aoi's was.

Perhaps it was a good thing it took very little to annoy the boy. His anger was doing a good job of holding off the swimming of his head, and the way that despite the fact he was moving around, little had been done to fix it. He was certain at this point that he must have been drugged and that some of it must have still been in his system. How good of a shot would he be in that case? If he couldn't focus his vision completely, what good would his natural ability to judge a shot do him? Shaking his head- an action he instantly regret- Aoi shoved this thought from his mind as something up ahead caught his attention.

He paused, shifting as to press up against a cell. There was no need to see if Timor would follow suit- he was well aware that the man could handle himself. Rather, he focused his attention on the darkness up ahead of them, trying to figure out what exactly it was that had startled him from his thoughts.

There, a footstep, accompanied by the grumblings of an unhappy guard.

What choices laid before them? He could shoot the man- but that would remove any chance of surprise they had, which would make finding their own weapons difficult. He could leave it to Timor, but was that the best choice? How much could Timor handle at this point? Aoi himself could attempt to take the man down quietly, but it demanded an amount of luck that he'd manage to get his arms around someone's neck without them getting out a shout beforehand, as he had no doubt that he'd most likely be a head shorter than any grunt hired to watch slaves.

What was the best choice?

Timor heard the guard half a second after Aoi, but in his case, he didn't waste time deliberating on what to do. His body - honed as it was to be a precise killing machine - moved instinctively, and he shot past Aoi, sure-footed and graceful despite his screaming joints, to where the guard was coming close. Before he'd even fully registered what was happening, Timor shoved his palm against the man's forehead, invoking the same power he had earlier, and once more, a twitching body fell to the ground. Or it would have, if Timor hadn't caught him at the last moment, setting him down with underserved gentleness on the floorboards so as to keep from making unnecessary noise.

Finished, he straightened up, blinking as his eyes began to adjust to the gathered darkness. The guard had had to come from somewhere...

Aoi cursed under his breath, quickly moving to Timor's side. That settled the matter- if he continued to hesitate it would do him little good to try and figure out how to get between Timor and whatever might result from the man overworking himself. The next guard that appeared Aoi would have to take care of. Seeming to pick up on the man's line of thought- something that was surprisingly easily for him, a fact that had been noted by others on several occasions- Aoi cautiously started into the darker part of the hall. He bit back a curse when his foot hit a wall, almost causing him to run into it head on.

Within seconds his hands had located a doorknob and he'd dragged the annoying thing open.

"... another room."

Great. Just wonderful. They couldn't be as lucky as to come across the stairs that quickly. Swearing irritably under his breath, Aoi started into the room, mind quickly picking up on the differences between this one and the last. There was no guard in it currently, but if the table and chairs was any indication, it was a place for those assigned to this level to rest. His eyes almost instantly settled on a lamp sitting in the center of the table, an idea forming in his head. Seizing the thing, he turned around to hold it out for Timor.

"I can't shoot as easily if I'm holding it, but we need to be able to see."

In his head, that fixed the problem. If Timor was holding something, then perhaps Aoi would have a moment to step in. If not, then at least they had a light.

Nodding, Timor took the lamp from Aoi. He was well aware of Aoi's reasoning behind having him man the light source (seeing as their knowledge of each other's motives went both ways) but he saw no reason to fight him on the matter. If a situation arose where he was required to act, he would act, Aoi's will be damned. Simple as that.

Timor lifted the lamp high as they located the next door and Aoi pried it open, peering into the adjoining room. A muffled curse slipped past his lips.

"Dead end?" Timor questioned, squinting to see past the glare of the lamp.

"A storage room," Aoi responded, his own way of confirming the matter.

Instantly, he spun on his heel and made his way back the way they'd come. Why did it have to be so difficult to find a staircase? Just as he'd almost reached the opposing door, a figure appeared in it's entrance. The two simply stared at each other for a moment, Aoi's thoughts still not as fast as they might have been, and the guard simply shocked to see two slaves walking around the break room.

Then, Aoi did the first thing that came to mind. The guard was bigger than him, and aware of his presence. He had a gun in his hand, so he couldn't just strike out as he might have done. So, Aoi lifted one foot and kicked the man in a rather personal place. Following the yelp of pain and doubling over that came with the action, Aoi dropped his gun and clamped both hands over the man's ears at the same time. The action sent the man to the floor, dazed.

Apparently, luck was just barely on their side. Just barely, because the man's yelp of pain could have been heard by anyone.

"Move," Timor ordered, shoving Aoi forward, ignoring the boy's indignant protests. Keeping the lamp up (though he was considering extinguishing it, just so they'd have one less thing that drew attention to themselves), Timor steered Aoi back the way they'd come, taking the path opposite the one they'd chosen.

More footsteps.

Internally sighing, Timor grabbed hold of Aoi's wrist, dragging him into the shadowed hollow between two support beams, squeezing in beside him just as two guards rounded the corner. Timor held his breath, and he could tell Aoi did the same, as his face was pressed into Timor's chest (which he felt he'd probably get an earful about later) and there was a distinct absence of warmth prickling his bare skin.

Despite the situation- which was rather concerning and attention demanding itself- Aoi's cheeks flushed a deep red. Whether from anger or embarrassment, he wasn't certain, although he would have claimed the first given the chance. After all, what other reason could there be to flush at being forced into a situation where he was in a small space with another guy- shirtless and chest-to-head nonetheless?

As the footsteps passed them, he forced himself to focus his attention on that. Not on the fact that he could actually hear Timor's heartbeat because of how close they are.

Dammit.

This was a day that when over, he was rather certain he was never going to bring up again. No one was going to know about any of this.

They're gone.

Timor leaned out from their hiding spot, just barely, enough to glance in either direction to confirm they were alone again. He slipped out first, inspecting the lamp in the half-light. On instinct, he'd blown the flame out just as he'd joined Aoi in the hollow, not wanting to risk detection from its amber glow. That left them stumbling around in the dark again. Timor didn't mind, per se - he'd adjust again. And he knew from experience that Aoi was used to the dark, at least to an extent, from having grown up with the Eternal practically next door. The dark would only hinder them if they were foolish enough not to take advantage of it.

He waved a hand, inviting Aoi to follow as he started down the corridor once more. He cast the flameless lamp aside, deciding once and for all it wasn't of any real use to them. Unable to help himself, he raked a hand through his hair, cradling the back of his head; warm, viscous blood pulsated against his palm.

He stifled a curse.

Aoi glowered at the man's back as he followed him, the expression dying on his face the moment he saw Timor run his fingers through his hair. Instead, a furrowed brow expression took its place, about as close as Aoi's face ever got to concern. Timor had ditched the lamp, something that in Aoi's head had been a good deterrent from Timor taking the lead in an attack. Muttering under his breath, he picked up his pace as to draw even with the man, turning his head to the side just enough to keep his hair- which had long since begun to fall out of it's tie- between them. After all, just a few seconds wasn't enough to kill the heat in his cheeks.

"Don't be stupid."

As if that line needed no more explanation, he turned his gaze to the hall before them, eyes narrowed in focus. If they were going to get out before something happened to Timor, they needed the staircase now.

Timor had to wonder if Fate hated him.

Perhaps he'd offended her in a past life, perhaps she had a thing against soulless bastards. Whatever the reason, she suspected she had it in for him - and, unfortunately, anyone close to him by extension. In this case, that meant Aoi.

His vision had begun to swim, blurring shapes and colors into a milky mess. He blinked to clear it away, pleased it worked for the time being. He couldn't afford to lose himself, not now, not yet. Once he got Aoi to safety - then he could lose it. Aoi wouldn't have approved of his thinking, but at the very least Aoi didn't know. He could guess, likely already had his suspicions, but he couldn't know everything for certain. And Timor would use that to his advantage for as long as possible.

Timor signalled for Aoi to pause as he checked what lurked behind the next corner; surprise colored his features for a heartbeat, and he turned back to Aoi with a furrowed brow.

"Check that," he said, more of question than a command. He wasn't wholly positive his fractured mind wasn't playing tricks on him, because that really did look like a staircase at the end of the next hall.

Aoi frowned, but stepped past Timor to glance down the next hall. It took a moment, his annoyance growing due to how hard it was to focus his gaze to pick up on something far away, but he was pleased to see exactly what he'd been hoping to.

"Perhaps Lady Luck doesn't hate us," he muttered in response.

For a moment, he carefully eyed the hall, not wanting to run into someone as they'd done before. When he saw no one, he started around the corner, picking up his pace as to put him ahead of Timor. Despite his awareness that if something happened, distance would do little to keep Timor from stepping in, it made him feel better to be going first.

At the same time, there was that uneasy feeling pricking the back of his neck at not being able to see the man. What if he collapsed and Aoi didn't hear him? Cursing under his breath, he slowed his pace as to be even with Timor once more.

It was annoying- worrying about someone.

He was convinced - if he'd been by himself, things would have been much less difficult.

But he wasn't by himself and instead had Aoi distracting him. It wasn't Aoi's fault; he probably wasn't aware how much of Timor's attention was taken up by the snow-haired boy's well-being. That didn't change the fact that Timor wasn't at all focused on keeping himself alive in Aoi's stead, though, and that, that made things difficult.

They reached the staircase, with Aoi insisting that he go first. Timor, hardly in the mood to argue, let him do as he wished, falling back to survey the hall they'd come from, wary of approaching guards. He heard, rather than saw, Aoi climb the stairs, shoving against the trapdoor they both hoped led up to the main deck; there was a groan (whether it came from Aoi or the door, he couldn't be sure), then Aoi tugged on his shoulder, with less force than he would have thought, too.

Lady Luck or Lady Fate.

Timor wondered who would win as he followed Aoi up the steps.

Aoi peered around them as they emerged from the trap door, rather pleased to note that the lighting in this part of the ship wasn't as horrible as the floor beneath it. It annoyed him that he had to be grateful for that- as typically he would have been able to see around the level with no problem. When he heard nothing coming from outside the small room they'd emerged into, Aoi frowned.

It all seemed too easy.

What slave ship could run on just a handful of guards?

Shaking off his uneasiness, he cast one look over his shoulder at Timor, as if to check to make sure the man was still standing, before starting through the door. Without a hint of hesitation, he shut it a second after opening it, placing his back against the door and scowling in Timor's direction.

"... there are five people in that hallway."

Perhaps he'd cursed them with his thoughts.

Five. Now that was problematic. Problematic, but not impossible.

"Wait here," Timor commanded, actually grabbing Aoi around the waist and pulling him down from the steps, though the action nearly sent him reeling. He was careful to hide the reaction, but he thought it probably didn't escape Aoi's notice. He narrowed his eyes. "Don't fight me on this, Aoi. Together we'll make too much noise, alone you won't be able to do it."

Aoi's face blazed.

"Like hell," he hissed under his breath, even pissed knowing better than to alert the guards in the hall. "You go down there, you won't make it to the next set of stairs and you damn well know it, you idiot."

Timor lifted a brow, already starting up the steps.

"Your point?" he called down softly.

Aoi, seeing no other real option, seized Timor's belt to stop him.

"My point," he snapped. "Is you're not leaving me behind!"

"Yes," Timor said, twisting around so that he and Aoi were face to face, "I am."

His vision swam; two Aoi's floated before him. Shaking off the grip on his belt, he grabbed one Aoi (presumably the right one) by the shoulders, forcing him back down to ground level. Leaning down, their faces only inches apart, Timor looked at Aoi with a mixture of confusion and finality.

"I promised you I wouldn't sacrifice myself if I could help it," he reminded him. "I can't help it."

It was one of them, or none. Timor understood that perfectly. He could take three or so people at once, he'd proven that before. Five caused problems. But Aoi would make it to the next staircase, and to Timor, that's all that really mattered. His life was forfeit for someone who'd save his life before - Aoi basically owned him, whether he acknowledged that or not. If he accomplished nothing else before he died, he would repay this one debt, this debt he owed to Aoi.

If anger hadn't already stained his cheeks red, Timor's words would have. He didn't back down, nor did he visibly do anymore than tense. Rather, as he responded his words were as firm and as full of his stubborn nature as they'd ever been.

"And I promised you that I wouldn't let you sacrifice yourself."

Timor was seriously contemplating simply throwing Aoi in the right direction while he went for the guards when he heard a noise from above, causing him to jerk his head up, breaking eye contact with Aoi.

"They're moving..." he murmured, his eyes tracking the guards - all five of them - as they drew closer to the staircase where he and Aoi currently stood at a standstill. Damn.

Timor looped an arm around Aoi and dove beneath the stairs just as the trapdoor was flung open, and faint lighting flooded down into the lower level. Forcibly holding Aoi against his chest to keep him from squirming, Timor watched with narrowed eyes as the five men trampled down the steps, heading away from them.

"Lady Luck, huh..."

Aoi glowered at Timor, furiously scrambling to push the man away the moment that the guards had moved far enough that he was certain that his movements wouldn't catch their attention.

"Get off!"

The man was too close for comfort.

Timor was about to slacken his grip, allowing Aoi to go free, when he glanced down.

The boy was blushing. Furiously, at that.

All this time they'd been together, Timor had seen him blush countless times. Mostly due to anger, mostly over a comment Timor himself had made. But he looked different now.

Curious, Timor tilted his head - though he instantly regretted the movement, as it felt as though all the thoughts in his head slammed into one side of his skull with the force of a ramming battleship. He closed his eyes, releasing Aoi as he rose to his feet, having to brace himself against a support beam to steady himself.

They had to get moving, but he wasn't confident he'd make it off the ship at this point.

For the second time that day- something that had to have been some sort of record- the anger and embarrassment drained from Aoi's face as he furrowed his brow at the sight of Timor's state.

How were they going to continue like this? Leaving Timor behind wasn't an option- not in any situation was that an answer. At the same time, There was no chance that Aoi could actually carry the man. Dragging him along- if he was careful with Timor's chain, collar, and head, he realized was the only real option he had. But then there was the brand- would that cause needless pain?

Swearing under his breath, he moved as to grab Timor's arm and hook it over his shoulder, before steering both of them towards the stairs once more.

"You really are an idiot."

"What does that make you?"

The comment slipped out before he could stop it, rolling off his tongue with such ease that he had to wonder if he hadn't always wanted to ask that question. If Timor was an idiot as Aoi claimed, if Timor was a bastard, if Timor was a monster - what did that make Aoi, who refused to leave him, time and time again? It didn't make sense. Aoi hated troublesome things, troublesome people being at the top of the list. His friendship with Timor did not, in any way, align with that trait.

Timor looked at Aoi, a strange sort of expectancy in his passive blue eyes.

"What does that make you?" he repeated, softer this time, conveying just how bewildering he found Aoi's presence in his life.

Aoi almost paused, the sincerity in that question throwing him for a loop. Forcing himself to continue moving the two of them up the stairs, he hesitated, face turning red as he found it difficult to instantly look away from Timor's.

"...it..." he began, trailing off as he lost the words that had been on the tip of his tongue. Cheeks burning even brighter, he stubbornly tore his gaze away and shoved a shoulder against the trapdoor to force it up.

"... an idiot's idiot," he grumbled. "That's what."

Something akin to a smile flitted over Timor's lips. An idiot's idiot. That seemed fitting for their relationship. Stowing the rest of his intruding thoughts for another time, Timor helped Aoi as best he could as they moved up to the next level.

He didn't immediately see - or sense - anyone else. Just empty space. He wasn't sure whether to take as a good omen or a bad one, but he assumed it wouldn't matter when everything went to hell. Whatever happened would happen regardless of his own will. He just hoped that, perhaps, he'd be able to have some sort of impact on how everything went down in the end.

When nothing instantly went wrong upon their arrival on the next floor, Aoi could only feel relieved. That was followed by the realization as he started out into the hall that the floor they were on was most likely a living area if all of the doorways meant anything. A living area meant that there had to be clothing somewhere. Clothing meant cloth. Pausing abruptly in the middle of the hall, he eyed the doorways critically before pulling Timor's arm off of his shoulder.

"Wait here."

Without waiting to see if the man listened, he pressed his ear to one door and upon hearing nothing, ducked inside.

Timor listened, if only because the room was spinning and he realized that he would useless in any sort of fight until he settled down. As such, he crouched down right where Aoi had left him, cradling his head in his hands. He cursed under his breath. He was really going to let this injury get the best of him at such a crucial time.

Pathetic.

Aoi tore through the dresser in the room, pulling each drawer open, ripping the items from inside, then moving on until he managed to find a pocket knife stowed in the bottom of one. He'd expected as much, it'd be strange if men that lived for money as these did, didn't keep an extra something nearby just in case another got too greedy. Satisfied, he instantly sliced through the clothing and tied some of the scraps together until he was satisfied and slipped back out into the hall.

"Don't move."

Once again not waiting for a response, he set about doing his best to use his makeshift bandages to lessen the flow of blood from Timor's skull. He'd be damned if he was going to let the man bleed out right in front of him.

Timor blinked, tugging at the dangling cloth that fell of his shoulder. Aoi was being too considerate. He really was dying, then. That was unfortunate.

"Let's get going," he said, though the words were uneven, slightly slurred. His act was slipping at the worst possible time. Ignoring the look he suspected Aoi was giving him, he staggered to his feet, plucking the knife from where he could see it poking out of Aoi's pocket. It wasn't an ideal weapon, but for him, it beat using his Devil Fruit any day.

He scowled, studying Timor, then deciding that no objection on his part was going to do any good. Besides, if they were going to get anywhere before Timor passed out, it would have to be soon. Preferably, they made it up the next set of stairs before then because he wasn't sure that he'd be able to get them both up.

"You can have that," he grumbled, referring to the knife as he moved to Timor's opposite side as to help the man walk, not looking for approval or acceptance on the matter as he started down the hallway. "But it's not like you're going to fight. I'm shooting the next bastard I see, no question."

If it'd come to this, hiding wasn't going to work anymore. He could hardly shift both him and Timor into a good spot if someone came along.

"Aoi... if I collapse..."

Timor bit the inside of his cheek, hard; blood flooded his mouth, coppery and sharp, and his senses reawakened, if only just.

"Leave me. No objections."

"If you collapse, there's no way for you to argue when I refuse to," Aoi instantly retorted. "What other answer did you expect, idiot?"

Perhaps he'd been calling him an idiot a lot in this situation- but there wasn't another word that came to Aoi's mind at the moment. In his head, it was obvious that he wasn't going to just leave Timor behind- that had been obvious to him the moment that he'd gone through that damn fear trial at the amusement park. If he'd been willing to go to those lengths to find the man, than obviously Timor had made it to that special list of people that up until had only held his grandmother, Kiyomi, and even Irie. He'd made it to the list of annoying people that Aoi- frustratingly- couldn't abandon.

Timor was an idiot for thinking Aoi would let him disappear. It was that simple.

"What's... the point of us both dying?" Timor demanded, and in his groggy state, he sounded almost... angry. Angry at Aoi, for being so foolish as to think Timor's life meant anything, angry at himself for getting them into this situation without a way out, angry... angry because this was the first time in four years he'd actually felt anger of any kind.

Even when he'd been abandoned by the World Government, left to die in the wreckage of a failed assassination, there was only a cold, desolate emptiness. Not anger, not loathing. Because Timor was a machine - that's what they'd made him. Unfeeling, precise and successful.

So why - really, why - was he so damn pissed at Aoi right now?

"I won't be left alone."

The words slipped out before the thought had even crossed his mind. For a moment, his thoughts went blank in reaction. Those words fueled almost all of his actions. If he spoke harshly, no one got close. If they didn't get close, he wouldn't be alone when they left, not really. Not if he'd never felt comfortable with them there. Timor had made it there, so he wasn't allowed to leave.

It was that simple of a point in his head- but he'd never though the words would actually leave his lips. Perhaps it was the strange, astonished feeling that had flittled through him at the realization that the emotion in Timor's voice was real. It was something that despite all they'd done together, he hadn't heard before.

Either way, he simply tore his gaze to the hallway ahead of them, eyes stubbornly refusing to settle on Timor. He wasn't about to show how much those words had actually meant. He wouldn't dare.

Timor wouldn't stand for this. Not now, when this damnable anger refused to leave his system without a fight.

He spun Aoi around, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Listen to me," he said slowly, enunciating each word with care because he was slipping. He knew it. He wanted Aoi to understand because it might very well be the last thing he would ever talk to Aoi about. "I'm worthless. You have people, Aoi - family. The people you think would miss me have other people who are more important to them. Raya has Ace, Zoro - Ace has his brother. Whitebeard has a whole fleet. I'm a ghost passing through - I can disappear without a trace, Aoi. Do you want to know why? Because I'm nothing to everyone I meet, and for the most part, they're nothing to me."

He paused, faintly aware that he hadn't spoken this much, or with this much intensity, in a very, very long time.

"If I lost Ace, or Whitebeard, I don't know what I'd do, because as much I don't understand it, my connection to them refuses to break. But... Aoi. It's just you... just you I absolutely will not lose."

For a moment, Aoi simply stared at him. Slowly, the heat filled his cheeks once more and he glowered at Timor. For all the things he could have said, all the lengthy speeches he could have given in response, only one thing crossed his mind.

"You really are an idiot. You say that you're nothing. You say you can't stand to lose me. Did you ever pause to think that perhaps it goes both ways?"

He clamped his mouth shut, his entire face turning hotter than he thought it could. He instantly moved to pull away from Timor's grip.

"We have to get moving. I won't be able to carry you up the stairs. Let's go."

All of this- it couldn't continue. The words leaving his lips weren't supposed to happen.

"I'd hoped."

He said it without thinking - again. He was just realizing it - again.

As Timor followed Aoi, keeping just behind him, he repeated it..

"I'd hoped... that it went both ways."

Aoi had never felt so grateful that someone couldn't see his face. He wasn't quite sure what expression he was wearing, but he was aware it was one that showed every emotion flicking through him. He'd never been great at that- not really. Irie had always been better, ever since they were kids. Hiding his thoughts in moments like this happened to be impossible if someone was looking at him.

"... well... now you know."

His ears burned, his entire face, nothing was helping to calm down the heat. His eyes desperately searched the hallway, looking for an indication that they'd located the final set of stairs. They had to be almost there. If they weren't, he wasn't sure what was going to happen.

He knew. Was that enough? Probably. Timor - even as Echo - had never asked for more than someone who cared about him. He'd squashed the desire for four years, had it beaten out of him, really. Machines didn't need affection or care - they ran on fuel and executed orders in a timely manner.

When, exactly, did he stop being that machine?

"Aoi... thank you."

With that, he drew alongside Aoi and - without warning - kissed the top of the boy's head, before he slumped against the nearest wall, eyes fluttering closed.

He froze.

For a full moment, he couldn't think. If he was completely honest with himself, he didn't breathe in that moment, either. Timor had thanked him for caring, kissed his head, then collapsed. That's all he could comprehend.

Then it clicked. Timor collapsed.

Cursing, he dropped down next to the man, tapping his cheek and letting out a rather impressive line of cursing.

"Dammit, you. Open your eyes. You can't just do that. It's not... dammit."

Timor didn't move. His chest rose and fell with each breath that passed through his nose, but he didn't move.

Fear actually surged through him. Fear for someone else. Damn, him. That was the only thing that Aoi could think that moment. Damn him.

"That's not fair."

For a moment, Aoi could only stare at him. What to do, how to proceed, it was lost to him in that moment. Timor wasn't allowed to collapse like that. It didn't work that way. Aoi was the one always getting rescued, then getting childed for acting like a child. Timor didn't collapse. Timor didn't thank him then collapse.

Timor didn't kiss him, head or not, then collapse.

"I care, dammit, so you're not allowed to..."

The words trailed off, lost to him as his thoughts finally spurred to life once more. Shifting Timor around so he could get him in the right position, he pulled his arms and body over his back the best he could, then started forward, well aware that he was moving as slow as a snail. Timor's body was far too large for him to carry properly, the man's feet dragging the ground. It was better than nothing. They were moving.

Aoi wasn't leaving him behind.

It took some time, some curses, and many comments about how unfair all of this was- about how Timor was going to have to apologize, dammit, for all of this, how he was going to be fine because otherwise he couldn't apologize, how he just had to be fine because nothing would be otherwise- but Aoi made it to the stairwell. Once there, he simply stared up it blankly.

How the hell was he supposed to handle that?

"Yo, Timor! The calvary has arrived!"

The trapdoor flew open, and down came a head of flaming red hair, followed by a cheeky smile.

"You're an ass, ya know, making us come all the way out here for you like this. I have better things to do, and Honoo's been..."

Raya trailed off, taking in the scene below her. Timor, awkwardly situated atop Aoi's back. Aoi. Dracule Aoi.

Dammit. Nothing could ever be easy in her life, could it?

"What the actual, living hell happened to the giant?!"

Raya swung down from the trapdoor, flipping upright and skidding over to Aoi, instantly checking Timor's pulse. Satisfied that big ol' heart of his was still pumping out blood, she leveled a glare at Aoi.

"You're gonna have a helluva lot of explaining to do, Shrimp 2.0, but for now... "Hey, Kay, Adriel! Get your asses down here and help a bastard out!"

Two heads - one white, one black - peered down into the next floor much like Raya had, their eyes wideneing as they noticed the state Timor was in. Without another word, Adriel slipped down, catching Katana as she leaped after him and setting her down before they both helped Timor off Aoi's back - okay, no, they practically fought the boy, promising they would help Timor, and it took much convincing and reassurance (and one threat from Adriel that if he didn't let Timor go, he really was going to die) to get Timor laid out on his back so that Katana and Adriel could attend to him with their limited supplies.

Raya, watching all this with gleaming eyes, finally tore her gaze away to address Aoi.

"What," she growled, fists clenching at her sides, "happened?"

Aoi- his gaze having been settled on Timor until that single moment- whipped around to face her with narrowed eyes. All of the frustration at being able to do nothing about the situation surged to the surface, twisting into anger with only one person to throw it, as the person that caused it was in no shape to take it.

"You make it sound like it's my fault," he snapped. "It's not, dammit! I fucking told him to stop! I told him I'd take care of things, dammit. He didn't listen. So don't. Even. Start."

Raya would have very much liked to throw back at Aoi every last ounce of fury he shot at her, but a condemning look from Katana (and Adriel, much to her shock) stopped her cold. She paused, reevaluating the situation, paying particular attention to Aoi's words.

She furrowed her brow, glancing between the fuming, red-faced Aoi, and Timor, pale and sweating and stained red in all the wrong places. And the anger fell away, just like that.

"I get it," she murmured, dropping down to a crouch, her legs having given out. "I fucking get it, okay. Timor... Goddammit, I'd do the exact same thing if Zoro and I were in this situation." She cocked her head, tears welling up in her eyes, a broken smile pulling at her lips. "Aoi, people do crazy, shitty things for the people they love. So don't be too mad at the guy, okay? Love is blind and deaf and, at times, unfeeling. Nothing you could have said would have made any fucking difference for this guy. Timor's a martyr - it's in his nature, and I think he was like that even before the World Government got their filthy hands on him. If you care about him - and I know you do - you're going to have to accept that part of him."

That said, she stood, shakily, and started up the steps.

"Maddox and Indigo are up there, I'll tell them what happened. Just... get him stable, Kay, Adriel."

All the protests that had come to his lips at Raya's words died at her request to the others, his gaze instantly flicking to them as if to check and see how doable they considered it to be. Instantly, he shook himself as if to remind him that there was still something to address, and scowled at Raya's back.

"Don't just go saying whatever you want," he snapped. "That's... you can't just assume things."

Satisfied, if just a little, that he'd managed to retort to her use of the word "love" he hovered as closely as he could to where Timor laid, watching each action of the two working on him with close scrutiny. There was little in him that cared to focus on anything else at that moment.

Raya paused, just before she disappeared through the trapdoor. She didn't turn around.

"He loves ya, Aoi. That ain't an assumption, it's a fact. You're just dense, man, 'cause you can see it in the way he looks at you. And you know what? You've got the same look sometimes."

Without further ado, she leaped up to the top deck and went off to find her other crew mates, leaving Adriel and Katana looking at each questioningly. Rolling their eyes, they returned to patching up Timor.

Raya, as always, liked to have the last word.

Aoi, for what had to be one of the first times in his life, didn't have a retort ready. He simply scowled, settling down on his heels and watching Adriel and Katana.

Love him?

That wasn't possible. Timor didn't love him. Aoi wasn't the sort of person that people loved. It didn't work like that.

Him love Timor?

His face flushed despite himself.

Impossible. No instant reason came to his mind for why, but that was what it was. Impossible.

Right?

Katana, pausing in her work rewrapping Timor's head wound, blinked. His hand moved. Didn't it? She tapped Adriel on the shoulder and he paused as well, just as it happened again.

Timor's hand moved, brushing Aoi's.

And Katana smiled.

"She may be an imbecile," she said soothingly, referring to Raya and all her grand theatrics, "but when it comes to matters of the heart, I trust no one more than her."

Aoi scowled, staring down at their brushing hands. Why couldn't Timor be awake to tell them how idiotic all this was? His expression died away, however, his his gaze flickered to Timor's face. Refusing to respond to Katana at first, he simply shifted his hand so to clasp Timor's, as if to let him know that Aoi really was there.

"... think whatever you guys want," he grumbled under his breath. "It's not like I can stop you."

And that was a close as he would get to admitting aloud the fact that all of it was feeling far, far too true in his head. Saying it was impossible, that didn't sit right. He knew it was a lie and that lie wasn't one he could tell to himself, no matter how hard he continued to try.