Love's Treasure Map (Buggy Fanfiction) [One Piece]

Echoes of Payback

Buggy forces himself to knock on the door, the sound echoing in the narrow corridor like a hollow drumbeat. His heart pounds in his chest, anxiety coursing through him as he awaits any sign of life from within.

Finally, a faint, strained voice emanates from the other side of the door, "Who's there?" Claire's words are barely audible, carrying the weight of distress.

"It's me," Buggy responds, his voice a mixture of relief and apprehension. "Are you okay, Claire?"

The door remains closed, the unsettling red smears on the handle a stark reminder of the turmoil that just occurred. Claire hesitates, her mind grappling with a maelstrom of emotions. "Buggy?" Her voice wavers, caught between fear and recognition.

"Yeah, it's me," he replies, "Open up, let me in. I want to make sure you're okay," he tells her, genuine concern lacing his words.

A flicker of recognition crosses Claire's face, but the trauma of the recent event holds her in its grip. "I-I can't," she stammers, her voice shaky. "Just go away, please."

Buggy senses her unease but refuses to go. "Claire, I can't leave you like this. Something's clearly wrong. Let me in, so we can figure out what happened."

The door remains steadfastly shut, and Claire's reluctance hangs heavily in the air. "Please, Claire," Buggy pleads, his voice softer now, a compassionate undertone cutting through the urgency. "I just want to help. Open the door, and we can talk about it."

The silence stretches between them, the weight of Claire's trauma palpable. Buggy takes a step back, trying to give her space while maintaining a reassuring presence. "Claire, I'm not going anywhere until I know you're safe. Open the door, please." His words echo in the corridor, a solemn plea in the face of the unknown.

After a pregnant pause, the door creaks open, revealing Claire's disheveled appearance.

Buggy's eyes widen with horror as he takes in the devastating toll of Claire's recent ordeal. The evidence of the brutal attack is etched across her fragile features. Blue and purple bruises bloom like morbid flowers around her neck, a chilling reminder of the merciless grip that had sought to silence her.

As his gaze shifts downward, he notices her knuckles, a stark contrast against her skin. Bruises and cuts, tell the story of her fierce resistance, each wound a testament to the strength she summoned to fight back against her assailant.

Buggy's eyes then fixate on her lips, where a vivid cut mars the delicate curve. The injury suggests a moment when she bit down to stifle cries or screams. Even splatters of blood adorn her cheek.

"Claire," Buggy breathes, his voice a mix of sympathy and concern. The gravity of her injuries weighs heavily on the atmosphere, and he struggles to find words that could offer solace. He instinctively closes the distance between them, aching to offer some comfort in the face of such brutality.

However, as his gentle hands make contact with her battered face, Claire recoils instinctively. The traumatic events still echo in her every nerve, and the well-intentioned gesture triggers a reflexive withdrawal. Her eyes, haunted by recent horrors, meet Buggy's with a mix of gratitude and fear.

Buggy, realizing the impact of his touch, approaches her with more caution now. "I just... I want to help," he murmurs softly, gauging her comfort level. Tentatively, he extends his hand again, waiting to see if she'll allow him to touch her face.

After a moment, she nods, granting him permission.

With a gentleness that belies the anger simmering within him, Buggy brushes a few strands of hair off her face. He can feel the dampness, the strands sticking to her skin with a mixture of sweat and blood. The intimate act of tending to her disheveled appearance carries a silent promise of solidarity.