Disclaimer: One Piece © Oda Eiichiro

Chapter one: Burning Bridges

I want you to burn my bridges down

Set me on fire.

xxxx

It was rare but it was still a pattern of Sengoku's habit. He picked up rats from the street trash and brought them over to the HQ every now and then. That was how she had come there. Like all the other problem children who did the odd jobs and ran errands for the commissioned officers.

When Donquixote Rosinante was first brought in, she was mopping the floor. And he had walked right all over it with his muddy shoes, wailing like a bastard.

"Watch where yer walkin'," she growled. "Kuso gaki."

His response was to stop and blink innocently at her for a second and then continue to cry at an even higher pitch. Her expression was dark, she understood kids got scared. She was the quarantined rat nobody wanted anything to do with. Not that this eight-year-old bundle of snot and tears was any better. She raised her mop to whack him over the head.

"Hey now, you brat," Sengoku intercepted her mop attack midway, glaring at her disapprovingly. She could have squeaked. Despite the fact that she was rather openly disrespectful to him at all times, she was fairly scared of him.

"Tell the skank ta stop bawling his damned throat out," she said, scowling. "Hurts my goddamned ears."

"Language, young lady," he said.

She scowled in response. Nobody told her how to do the talking.

"Day duty again?" He asked, softening.

"Somebody gotta mop yer goddamned floors fer ya lot all day so yeah," she grumbled.

"Report back to the office when you're done," he said to her sternly, then turned to the bawling brat, and smiling gently, whisked him away.

Despite all the filth, the kid still looked like some goddamned prince born with a silver spoon in his mouth as he toddled away behind Sengoku. She spat. She hated it all. She hated it all to hell.

She let out her frustration as she mopped the corridors clean all the way. Finally, when it was done and she felt exhausted, she made her way to Sengoku's office slowly, loitering around. The clean air of his shiny room really made her nauseous. If she could help, she'd never go. But all things considered, she wasn't much in a position to ignore his orders. When she knocked on the door and slipped inside to stand in an invisible corner, Sengoku was still munching on his okaki as per usual and the snotty brat was placed pompously on an easy chair, nibbling on what looked like something sweet and nice.

"Gokuro," Sengoku said, gesturing for her to come forward to his table.

She stayed glued to her spot near the door for an obstinate moment.

"Come here," he said, his expression soft.

She shuffled to the front of the table. The little brat was looking pleased and even grinned at her for a moment.

"Sacha, this is Rosinante," he said, gesturing at the brat who smiled even wider. "Rosinante, this is Sacha. She is going to give you a tour around the wing."

"Ha?" She said, crass. "Why shud I do that? Ask someone 'lse ta take the rat around."

"If I remember, you're still on probation after you beat those kids black and blue." Sengoku, firm but smiling coldly at her.

"Tch," she scowled, looking at the expectant little guy. "Fine. I'll let ya trail after me. Dun get lost tho. I wun't be responsible fer that."

"Sacca," he said, innocently extending his hand to her. "Pleased to meet you."

She looked at his hand in disgust. "It's Sacha. Not Sacca. Idiot." She said, slapping his hand away.

"Sacchan?" He said, a little frown on his face, still extending the hand.

"Dun gimme weird nicknames, teme," she said, taking his hand and pulling him down from his high chair. "It's Sacha."

With that, she turned on her heel and started walking away, the dweeb dawdling behind her. At the door, she looked square at Sengoku and yelled. "Ye'd better be grateful about this, old man."

Unbeknownst to her, Sengoku softened into a smile just as the door shut behind the two kids.

"Sacchan is so tall," the kid jogged behind her to catch up as she stomped her way. "How old are you?"

"Ten." She said. "Dun talk ta me. And dun call me Sacchan."

"Eh?" He said, ignoring her glare completely. "You're ten? I'm just eight. I'll be as tall as you when I'm ten then."

"I'll be twelve then, you idiot," she said. "Still taller."

"Sacchan, where did you come from?" He asked, innocent of the stab that just dealt.

"Like I said, don't call me that," she snapped, grabbing him by the collar.

The brat had hardly been smiling for a few minutes—not that it hadn't annoyed her—but as if her rough handling was some sort of trigger, he burst out into tears again. God he was loud.

"H-hey look," she said, nervous. Sengoku would kill her. "L-look here, you, Rosi… whatever-kun," she dug into her pockets and produced a crumpled little candy. "I'll give you this so stop crying please."

He stopped at once, staring at the prize wide-eyed. "But it is Sacchan's." He sniffled.

"It's fine." She said, shoving it in his hands even though she had really coveted it. "Don't tell Sengoku, okay."

"Sacchan," he said, stuffing the candy in his mouth. "Your language changed."

"Ha?" She blinked at him. Wasn't the brat sharp! She faltered.

He just smiled and moved on, letting her trail behind.

The cursed candy became the contract she wasn't looking to sign. He attached himself to her like a constant ache in the side. He would follow her around everywhere, asking questions she didn't have answers to, questions she didn't want to answer. Above all, he was a constant obstruction to the odd jobs. If she were mopping the floor, he'd insist on helping but only end up falling clumsily all over the place and make it a long drawn job. If she went to fetch eggs, they'd end up bringing back only two or three out of a dozen eggs intact. And he couldn't be left alone because his clumsiness was near fatal.

In a short while, everybody—even the bully kids of the HQ she had beat up a few times—had become friends with the clumsy little rat. He didn't make a secret out of his past life. He'd tell everyone rather openly about his Tenryuubito days, his ailing mother, his kind father, and with a volley of sobs, he'd choke out the end of it all. He got sad when he talked about his brother. He cried too easily. But when he smiled, it was the most brilliant thing one could see in the little HQ dorm for scrawny, street kids. Secretly, she thought that was how the sun shone. No wonder Sengoku fawned over him. The scaryass Marine became like a doting father in front of him and when she went to complain about Rosinante being a bother, he would always insist on her letting him tag along—of course, slipping a candy or two to appease her sometimes—which she only ended up handing over to the idiot blondie every time he cried. Sometimes, she did it to distract him.

If there was one question she studiously avoided and he constantly kept on asking, it was about her past. She'd told him she was picked up from the streets by Sengoku after a brutal turf war broke out between the bandits of her town. That she had been involved as a proxy even at the age of nine and was initially meant to be put in prison. That was only half the truth though. And despite all his idiocy, the brat was sharp when it came to her tactful glossing over details. He had a knack for prying into other people's business. That was her constant point of frustration. A thorn she carried inside her everywhere.

One of those clear moonless nights, way past their curfew time, when kids snored obliviously, she sneaked out to find her moment of respite. That was the first and the only time she had found Rosinante grieving silently in the stone cold lifeless gallery. He looked like a ghost, unreachable, unresponsive and impassive. He wasn't crying. He wasn't smiling. He did not even see her for a long time when she came and stood next to him.

"Do you miss your parents, Sacchan?" He asked, fixing his vacant eyes on her.

She shivered in the breeze. The eight-year -old annoying kid was suddenly a distant, aloof boy. He scared her.

"I killed my father," she said coldly. Finally.

She waited for the words to sink in. The wind howled. She shuddered. The fallen angel's eyes fixed on her.

"That bastard never even believed I was his daughter anyway." She heaved a long sigh.

"But… Sacchan," he said, eyes starting to come alive. She saw horror in them. A little bit of aversion. Disbelief.

"He beat the crap out of me every day," she said, her voice bordered on breaking. "What would you do if someone had a dagger to your throat and you could only pull the trigger to save yourself?"

She gave his horrified expression a long, hard look. Gods she felt terrible. They were all twisted children of broken homes. And they had no redemption. No matter somebody kind as Sengoku had picked them up from the trash and placed them under care. Essentially, she was still a monster. With all kind of crimes and blood on her hands at a mere age of ten. But Rosinante was different. He hadn't given himself over to his demons. He was still so pure. Even a broken home and death at his feet hadn't pushed him over to the abyss of the dark. He was a gem. One that deserved so much better. One who could still find redemption.

Of course, she knew, she didn't belong there. She had long exceeded her legitimate stay. She had to move away. There was no place for her to belong. Except the streets and trash. That was where scum like her came from and that was where they'd eventually go back to. She got up, heaving a long sigh. She wanted to tell him it was nice knowing him and that she would never probably forget him. But she just zipped her mouth and started to walk away. She hoped she'd see him again someday. But he would still be the prince and she would still be the pauper. That was when she felt his arms wind around her from behind. He barely reached her shoulders but he was still trying so hard to constrain her, standing on his tiptoes, almost leaning into her from behind.

He was warm.

"But Sacchan," he said, his voice sounded of tears. "You're suffering."

She trembled, standing there in the breeze with a brat clinging to her from behind. She felt the storm coming. It broke the dams and bridges she had built over the years. And the saltwater ran down her face—eyes, nose all blocked. She cried for the first time, in a long time, for a long time. That was the first time she had let anyone see her tears. Rosinante had broken her where the whole world of brutality had failed.

A/N: Happy New Year, folks!

The story will come up as a loose collection of oneshots so I don't have to care about the continuity of the plot. Chapters will go up and down the timeline. Not in sequence—because, random is fun. If there is at all a sequence, it'll be revealed only in the end.

Also, since this was the intro chapter, it got a little dragged out. The coming ones will be shorter and more focused on Rosinante. In the sense that his kindness made miracles.

Reviews will be a huge help. Really.

Thank you for reading.