Chapter 6

December 23rd 1940

South London, England

Whether it was desperation or kindness that had caused the base-operator to give the pilots a day off, nobody knew. But that didn't mean that they wouldn't take full advantage of it, by going into town, some even got to see their families. Perhaps it was the Christmas-spirit that did it? But did something as innocent as that exist in times of war? Doflamingo had declined everyone's invitations, and he hadn't really been polite. He wasn't in the mood for spending time with recruits or other 'experienced' pilots. To him, they were unimportant. Or perhaps it was because he knew they would all die?

Over a month had passed since Rocinante had cut his mouth. Doflamingo was used to looking at his face by now, and he was in the process of trying to forgive himself. He had played the scene over and over in his head. Rocinante had said that he had seen him upset. When had he showed his emotions? When had he pushed his brother over the edge? He knew the answer, but wouldn't admit it. Things he didn't understand were easier to deal with. The problem was just that Doflamingo understood most things. His brother understood everything too, but at the same time, he understood nothing. His naive little brother, who deserved heaven and had received hell. A part of Doflamingo wondered if earth was good enough for Rocinante. But he had stopped believing in heaven and in God. So, after this life, there was nothing.

This was something he believed to both comfort and scare himself. If there was nothing left after death, he wouldn't have to be afraid of dying. But at the same time, the knowledge that he would become one with nothingness when his heart stopped beating was terrifying.

The two brothers walked side by side on the dusty street. A kind breeze was pushing them gently in the back, but it was cold as ice. Well, everybody knew that England wasn't known for its warm winters. Doflamingo watched as his brother's ears turned more and more pink, and knew his own ears probably looked the same, though at least he was wearing a hat.

Doflamingo thought the city looked... Wrong. That was the only way to describe it. The signs of a country in war, mixed with desperate attempts to hold onto the holiday of Christmas was a bad mix. It ended up looking like nobody cared about Christmas, and nobody took the war seriously. Or, perhaps he just couldn't see the disgusting beauty of it? But was that really so strange?

Was it strange that a man like him couldn't understand what was beautiful, and what wasn't?

Over 20 000 civilians had lost their lives due to the Blitz. Recently, there had been massive attacks on both Liverpool and Manchester, and hundreds of thousands didn't even have a home anymore. Also, there were the more than 40 000 British soldiers who had been taken captive.

As they walked past the dark houses, Doflamingo thought back to their childhood.

The memory was far, far away, but he could still see his mother's face reflected on the cold glass of the windows. A child, about five years old ran past him. It was Rocinante from another time, laughing and holding a new toy. It was a plane. Another boy ran after him, and Doflamingo could hear the distant sound of a seven year old attempting to make a plane-engine sound. The two boys ran away from the older versions of themselves, and disappeared in the distance. The laugher remained for an eternity, though Doflamingo only walked a few steps to pass it.

Most shops were closed, and they passed dozens of signs saying 'out of business' in different ways, some more creative than others. Doflamingo almost snorted at one that said 'to hell with this'.

Rocinante lit a cigarette, and for the next minutes they were walking with the smoke. Rocinante's hands were pink from the cold, just like his ears. Doflamingo wondered just how cold they were. Like ice, maybe? Or even colder?

The younger stopped in front of a window, which had a big crack in it. Doflamingo looked inside, to see an abandoned bakery, or something of the sort. The exhibition window was empty, but he imagined it to once have been filled with delicious cakes. Rocinante leaned against the window, like he was admiring the cakes that should've been there. He breathed on the glass, and used his index finger to wipe away the condensation. Oh, he was writing something?

"What" the letters faded slowly. Doflamingo moved closer. Rocinante shifted his head to the side, and breathed again "Do" was the next word. He repeated the procedure. "You" and then "Want" He took a step to the side, in need of more space. "Want" What he wanted? That was a really good question, one he couldn't answer, not even to himself. "For" Rocinante wrote, and then the final word. "Christmas". Doflamingo could only see the first four letters, but he knew the word.

What do you want for Christmas?

That was the question. His brother looked at him, and his scars formed a smile that shouldn't look that peaceful. It shouldn't look that gentle and kind, but it did. And Doflamingo loved it. He despised himself for that, but couldn't help it. Rocinante's face wA just the most beautiful thing in the world right now, yes, probably, it had always been. Doflamingo just hadn't known.

A snowflake landed on the shorter man's nose, melting almost immediately, but not as quickly as it should. The next one got caught on his eyelash and stayed longer. Soon, small balls of white fluff fell around them like candy from a scenery none of them would ever live to see.

The distant sound of an ambulance echoed, but didn't reach them, for they were trapped in each other's eyes again. A summer day meeting the winter, except, something was different this time. No, that wasn't it. It wasn't different. Doflamingo just thought of it that way, because it was ages since he had seen that look in his brother's eyes. A lifetime had passed, but now he could fall into that blue sky, and pretend that it filled the hole in his chest. Oh, how he loved pretending.

What do I want for Christmas?

He had asked him a question after all, it was only fair that he'd answer. But what? What did anyone wish for these days? For the war to stop? For England to win? For peace and a long life? For loved ones to be safe?

The sound of the ambulance reached him, and he knew what he wanted.

"Silence." He said. The word got stuck in the air, and hung there. He let it fade. The snow kept falling.

He expected Rocinante to look confused. Who could understand what he meant? "I just want it all to go quiet." He mumbled. The words fell to the ground, but Rocinante picked them up, and nodded. Why did he do that?

Why did he nod when he couldn't possibly understand?

They continued on their way, though they didn't have a destination. Despite that, Doflamingo was glad they hadn't stayed at the base. Walking with his brother like this, in silence was almost just like their old lives. Rocinante had never talked in public anyway, so his mutism didn't even count right now.

They came to a bar, which, judging from the sounds, was full of soldiers having a merry time. Rocinante grabbed a hold of Doflamingo's sleeve, and pointed at the door.

"You want to go inside?" The mute nodded. "I don't really feel like hanging out with-" Rocinante pulled him inside, totally ignoring the loud protests.

Alcohol in wartime was expensive, just like everything else a person could buy to spoil themselves. But soon, Doflamingo found himself by a table, with a beer in his hand and lively soldiers laughing and joking all around him. Why were they so cheerful? Didn't they know what was going on? Didn't they realize which way this war was heading? Surely, Doflamingo couldn't be the only one who doubted the Empire would prevail? Was he the only one who thought the German army was too much for them to take on?

Maybe they all knew. Maybe that was the very reason why they laughed louder than they should. Maybe that was why all the jokes were twice as funny. And maybe that was why Doflamingo's own laughter soon joined in.

"You're one lucky son of a bitch. Those injuries look like enough to break any man, and you're still flying?" Someone asked Rocinante, who nodded eagerly.

"Here's to the brave RAF pilots! The pride of England!" A soldier raised his glass, and soon, everybody followed. A look of pride and a slight blush was on Rocinante's face, and he was smiling.

"And a toast to the very best among them, the Bird!" A man pointed at Doflamingo, and everyone cheered and lifted their glasses again.

More jokes were told, more stories shared. More toasts to brave men and future victories. Everything had an ironic tone to it, and nothing was taken seriously. Time flew by like it didn't even exist, and even though they mostly talked about the war, it was almost as if that wasn't real either. They were talking about a movie that they just happened to be a part of.

Doflamingo couldn't remember his mood being this good since the summer before the war. He had made so many new friends, who he would probably never see again, but he would remember them. This had been exactly what he needed.

It wasn't snowing anymore, and the sky was clear, which was fortunate. The streets of London were dark, but the moonlight guided their steps. Well, Doflamingo's steps at least. Rocinante fell and tripped at least four times before they were safely back at the base. It had been a long walk, and Doflamingo was tired. But not the exhausted kind of tired that he usually was. No, this time he was just content. This had been a good day, and the only one who could take credit for that was Rocinante.

They stopped outside in the December night, and looked up at the sky, because that was where they both belonged. None of them wondered when they would fly again, or when the next attack would be. They only admired the star filled roof above them. Each light shone with a special promise of a good memory soon to be made.

Silence. Not around him, but inside his head and heart. He took a deep breath, like the air would seal the feeling forever. It was just a dream, and tomorrow was one too. Doflamingo had never been a dreamer, unlike his brother, but if he could keep on feeling like this, then he wouldn't mind trying. The world was cold, but he was not. Not when a freezing hand took his, and starlight met his eyes to welcome him back to his summer day.

It wasn't even dawn when Doflamingo was pulled from his sleep by a poke to his cheek. Whatever it was that had poked him did it again, and again, until he had to open his eyes. His internal clock yelled that it was way too early. The smiling face of his brother met him, and he groaned.

"Roci, it's too early. I don't get up this early, unless for the alarm." He mumbled, trying to sound more sleepy than he was. And then he turned, facing the wall. A complete rejection, at least he thought so. But Rocinante wouldn't be put off that easily. The younger brother slipped a cold hand underneath the sheets, tickling Doflamingo's sides. He couldn't help but laugh and try to retreat further away, but the bed wasn't very big, and Rocinante easily followed. "Alright! Alright!" If the hands hadn't been so damned cold... He wasn't actually that ticklish. He turned back to look at his brother, who had a very satisfied, and stupid-looking grin on his face. He really was childish, wasn't he?

"What do you want this early? Damn it..." His voice was completely stripped of anger, it actually sounded pretty curious. Because what reason did Rocinante have to wake him up like this? The mute put his hands together, forming what in a shadow-show would look like a butterfly, and flapped its wings. The meaning was clear enough. "You want to fly?" He didn't see the point of waking up early just for that. It wasn't like they would get the day off just because it was Christmas day. He doubted the germans would give them room to breathe.

Rocinante nodded, and attempted to drag his brother out of bed. It ended with them both falling on the floor, loud protest and a few curses coming from the older one.

However, a few minutes later, Doflamingo was dressed in his uniform, and they were heading out.

The walk took an unexpected turn, when Rocinante grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the half-ruined hangar. It still hadn't been fixed since the bombing in October. Their spitfires weren't kept in the hangar, so why would they go there? Doflamingo's confusion was obvious, but the mute couldn't really answer him.

"Where are we going?" He asked all the same.

The morning air was sharp and refreshing, though his ears were cold. He put on his helmet to save them. Rocinante lead him to the training planes, and soon they stood in front of a Hawker Hart. This was the only Hawker-plane they had on the base. It was a two-seater biplane, and a light bomber, though it was only used for training. Doflamingo knew it hadn't been up in the air in months. Rocinante pointed at it.

It took a few moments before he realized what he was asking.

"You want to fly it?" The other nodded, and pointed at Doflamingo, and then at himself. "With me? You want us to fly it together?" Another nod, eager and that perfect smile.

"Roci, we can't. We don't even know if it has fuel..." The younger nodded again, his smile never leaving his scarred lips.

Fuck it.

Why not? A quick flight. It couldn't hurt, surely?

"Let's do it." He said. Rocinante looked a little surprised, like he hadn't expected him to agree, but most of all, he looked overjoyed. His mouth opened slightly, as if to make a sound or maybe a word. But he was a mute, so nothing came out.

They both quickly put on overalls, goggles and fastened their helmets, before they climbed aboard the plane. It was nothing like his kite, but he knew how to fly it. It was a plane after all, and he was a very good pilot. It didn't take long before they were on the runway, and then they left the ground while the sun was still under the horizon.

The sky was painted in pink and yellow and gold, and they headed straight towards where the sun would soon rise from. Doflamingo took them higher.

And this was the moment. The moment when the sun slipped past the earth to welcome them to a new day. This was the time when time wasn't there. The engine went quiet. He couldn't hear the sound of the wind passing them in a speed of 200 km/h.

This wasn't just a moment, this was a memory, just like the stars had promised not twelve hours ago. And he remembered. This was what it felt like to fly. This was what it had always felt like. This was why he loved the air. This was why he was a bird. He spread his wings as he carried them higher and higher.

How could he have forgotten this feeling? This feeling of total freedom. The feeling of time disappearing, and yet passing so slow. It wasn't a movie, and it wasn't a play. It wasn't a story read by his bed, no. It was the truth and he knew that.

This was flying.

He couldn't see his brother's face, but he knew he was smiling. Whatever piece he was missing inside of him didn't matter, because he was a bird, and he was free.

So this was silence.

So this was Rocinante's Christmas present to him.