Disclaimer: Just borrowing the world and characters, which I will return unharmed. (With exception of twins supplies' case.)
In the passing
From the towers of masts to every round of deadly, soulless canon, the lines cross and interweave, running through the yellowish pages. Rows of names line up the margin, ink fading at the earliest entries. Just like the memory of those burdened with blueprints, heavy with dust and a passage of time.
Just as it should be.
But there are things that should not be forgotten – not just yet - and that's how Iceburg finds himself seated in the dead of the night under the glow of his desk lamp. The curtains are closed as he keeps tracing carefully over every accursed line, engraving where faded with an unshaking hand. He restores every disappearing contour, except for the signatures, granted relief amidst the passing centuries.
It isn't hope he's looking at this time. Rather, he feels ominous foreboding. The knowledge is nothing new, only reinstated by revoked amnesty and unstoppable train.
It's been so long.
It's been almost four years.
oOo
The lamp light is sharp and it takes Iceburg one glance to see all the changes, all the efforts put to revive the place he once called home. The ghosts of his life are sprawled all over the place, including the one just in front of him, although in a form of -ironically- un-wraithlike, indignant, self-righteous… jerk.
Guilt and resentment don't fade like an ink – it's not memory, but feelings that stay. That's alright. That's something Iceburg may have use of. But try as he might, the truth is out.
Four years is a long time.
oOo
"Mr President?"
Iceburg's head snaps up, awake, as he sits up with his eyes wide open. The sense of guilt washes over him with the scent of coffee. It must be afternoon already. The sun glinting over the set of porcelain is the giveaway, moving towards him to a click of heels. Iceburg gets up and takes the tray gently, trying not to notice relieved frown of his secretary.
"Thank you." It's a dull day, even he has to admit – another one in a recent streak of gray mornings and hazy afternoons. The scent of rain wafts into the office as he opens the window.
"We have confirmed sighting of Thousand Sunny anchoring at the Northern Cape. Would you like to cancel your appointments to receive the crew?"
The surprise of the ship's name is still fresh to Iceburg. He didn't expect it, not with Franky on board. Oh well.
"Nma… Don't. I'm sure there is a lot of people they will see on their way here." And recently resocialised Franky Family is a proof of that. If Zambai and Franky cross their paths today, the twin's bar will be running on extended hours and emergency supplies in no time.
He smiles, eyeing the outline of this part of the city he believes Straw Hats anchored and letting the breeze to chase away the remnants of sleep.
The towers of masts and rows of cannons…
Yes, four years was definitely a long time.
The end
A/N: Based on the householding implications of blueprint safekeeping -that is, what are the chances that four years of conservation the old document gave Iceburg at least partial memory of the design.
That would be fun...
My first experiment with a present tense. Feedback is welcome.