Last time:

A revolutionary in the navy tips off Dragon about the upcoming confrontation at Enies Lobbt. The Revolutionary leader sends Sabo to rescue the Ohara survivor. In the middle of the biggest carnage in modern history, Sabo remembers his brother.

In the present, Sabo is stumped trying to locate Marco the Phoenix at Luffy's request. Despite being hot on his trail, Marco's capture at the hands of the government via now-Warlord Blackbeard is published on the paper before Sabo or his contacts can interfere can interfere.

Chopper finds his friends by following the bodies left behind, an occurrence he would've never pictured in his short 17 years.

He squeaks when he hears a moan come from one of the many downed shapes. They're strewn about carelessly as if the whole building had been shaken and the marine soldiers are a casualty in a higher being's playtime. There are indents of people and blood on the walls. Chopper doesn't want to recognize the clean grooves of seamless cuts along the halls or the familiar atmosphere of ozone in the air, but he does.

Chopper, I know it's hard to believe with Luffy around, but... we are not nice people.

Chopper muffles his crying in his arm, ignoring once again another wracking cough that spells for death. He wants to do nothing more than kneel and try to help, but if he stops now...

(He knows who put these men down, and he clings with desperate need to the notion that there is some justification to this slaughter.)

How did they end up here? Doing this?

Chopper had wanted to be a pirate, and he knew pirates are criminals just like they are now, but... He thought it was different. Dr. Hiriluk spoke so highly of pirates; Chopper figured criminals couldn't be that bad. Wapol had been horrible, and he'd been royalty. If pirates fought against such governments... didn't that make pirates good?

(A part of him cannot believe he ever thought the world could be that simple, the other part wishes desperately to go back.)

The doctor still remembers the day Luffy landed on Drum. He'd been wildly underdressed, teeth chattering a mile a minute. Chopper found him wandering the forest, a little surprised to how the Lapanh left him to his own devices, the pack seemingly vanishing from the area as they noticed the unknown teen's aimless approach. The young man had been strolling through the snow, whistling happily, stopping every few steps whenever a particularly chilly breezed reminded him that it was freezing, and he was in flip flops. Every instinct Chopper had told him to stay away, but Chopper is a doctor, and that teen was acting against his health.

He's still not sure what truly prompted him out of his hiding spot, but before he knew it, he was frozen directly in the teen's line of sight.

"Oi asshole, do you want to freeze to death? This is a winter island!"

The black-haired boy's eyes shone.

"MEAT!"

Chopper ran for his life. Literally. Right up to Dr. Kureha's door.

Luffy had been looking for Wapol, as he would accidentally inform Chopper against every single mission regulation. Ostensibly investigating him as a suspect in colluding to incite civil unrest in Alabasta as part of the Baroque Works case then occupying CP9. When the monarch and Luffy met, though, things dissolved from diplomatic to violent in moments. Chopper, somewhat taken with Luffy's charm and unshakeable ideals, had panicked for the safety of his friend. Wapol was supposed to be robust and invincible. Forever he'd been untouchable. Now, he was a speck in the distance.

You'll get in trouble! Chopper had squeaked.

If they wanted to resolve this peacefully, they wouldn't have sent me. Shishishishi!

Chopper passes by another marine a sobering finality to his stillness. He wishes harder than he's ever hoped for anything that this too is something like that. He follows the trail and cries.

The buzzing of a dozen inmates gossiping reaches Marco's ears in the pocket of existence in between being awake but wanting not to be. The first mate is not comfortable by any definition, with agony in his breastbone, and wetness on his face. The inside of his mouth tastes salty and tangy, and for all his inexperience, he can safely assume it's blood. There's panic hidden in every stuttered breath he takes, but his body fails to respond to the adrenaline in his veins, much too exhausted for anything coherent. He cracks his eyes open, letting his gaze sweep over the cold stone floor, the thick bars and the panorama of cage after cage filled with the worst piracy has to offer. The small gesture of throwing his head back to rest against stone sends nausea climbing up his throat, accelerating the pounding in his brain.

Bad idea that, he thinks, biting down on the reflexive cry that threatens to escape. No reason to call attention to himself. Besides, Marco's long learned to ignore pain. Admittedly, this lasting effect, the thrumming of suffering underneath his skin, is not as familiar. For a moment, as Marco tries to sit up further, it makes the edges of his vision go black when he swears something in his breast bone moves. Something, he thinks warily, is definitely broken.

His body pales in comparison to what's running through Marco's mind.

It's been a long time since Marco's felt like a kid, predominantly because Marco's a grown-ass man. A wanted pirate at that, one that is key to the continuing health and prosperity of the most dangerous crew in the world. But, as he wakes up in Impel Down, he feels like the angry 12-year-old Whitebeard first took in. Marco had been so furious at everything and everyone. An amalgamation of rage and hatred threaded in one betrayal at a time as Marco was sold over and over, occasionally, by people who promised to help him. He'd thought Edward Newgate was just one more such person. As Marco traveled, using the captain and his peculiar crew to enjoy freedom while it lasted, he kept wondering when it was going to happen. When would they decide to trade Marco for gold?

(Marco's not sure when exactly he stopped waiting.)

And now?

Trapped and shackled and burdening everyone he loves, Marco feels like the same pre-teen that tried to gut Whitebeard because men like him didn't exist. Marco was worth a lot, sure, a lot of money, comfort, riches, prestige... That didn't make him worthy of love or respect or dignity... and he'd learned such things long ago. He wasn't going to forget it, and he wouldn't let a pirate play him.

He knows better now, hasn't felt reduced to a number or a title or an insult in many years. (Marco feels like trash anyway.) There's something hauntingly familiar in the cages of Impel Down, and Marco closes his eyes to keep the memories away. It wouldn't do to panic now. He's not the same. He isn't. Marco's not here for the same reason. According to the law, he's earned his captivity this time. Perhaps, not quite an imprisonment on his terms, but something close to that.

Marco bites his lip. His body is battered, and he feels vaguely nauseous. His ego trampled. Ignoring his collapse on Luffy's boat months ago, Marco doesn't remember the last time someone took him down. For the first time in decades, Marco feels cold wear at his bones. It's faint, but he's shaking. Marco's cheek throbs, and he can see scuffs of blood around him on the floor. Nothing feels fatal, but the phoenix's frame of reference isn't necessarily great, he's much too used to meaningless pain.

(The feeling of glass shards inside of him, of his body numb with pain, isn't going anywhere any time soon.)

Marco has never considered himself arrogant, but it has been a very long time since he'd lost in a fight. (Maybe, too long.) His injuries aren't all from the duel, at least the pirate doesn't think so. Marco figures there are at least several hours -maybe a day- in between being swallowed by the darkness and waking up here. Unconsciousness and injury are foreign existences to him, and yet, here they coexist.

Marco hasn't been pushed like this in at least a decade. He credits his loss to going into that fight fully underestimating Teach. The man had always been a prominent fighter, just... never enough to be a commander. Marco had mistakenly assumed that that's the man he'd fight, but there were no claw grips in hand. He wonders if they were always more of a handicap than a prop. Marco had dismissed his former sibling as someone who was just too greedy for his own good, but he was starting to realize that Teach was a lot more dangerous than that, that the game he was playing had been in the making long ago.

The more they had fought, and the more that bastard talked, the more Marco realized that he knew nothing about Marshall D. Teach. Luffy's words were echoing in his mind the entire time.

I think someone here is a traitor.

Now, here lays Marco. He tries to think he's not back at square one, but it's a hard thing.

(His success is questionable at best.)

A shiver crawls its wat down his spine, and Marco tenses, abruptly aborting a shiver to minimize the pang of pain that hits him a moment later. He's out of breath, and his eyes unfocus, but he stays conscious.

"It's cold," he whispers to himself.

Marco doesn't really sleep. He just passes out a couple of hours at a time. The pirate tries to avoid it anyway, wanting to keep his eyes sharp and aware whenever he's conscious. Hopefully, he'll gather some useful information. The overwhelming pulse from what he assumes is a broken collarbone and the raw skin around his wrist cause any twitch natural to sleep to wake Marco up with blood rushing through his ears. He's been feeling warm for a couple of days, his temperature rising with the hours. Not a single guard has passed by his cell. There has been no food and no water. The other prisoners are getting fed, he's been able to tell, but Marco hasn't been awake for it.

He's feeling woozy, and the pirate thinks he's not quite awake. He's just aware enough that when the atmosphere changes, he notices. It's the hushing silence that cues the entrance, after days of being surrounded by deprave conversation, bored mumblings, and echoing screams. The unnatural silence shoots enough panic through him to pull Marco out of limbo. (Something's coming.) There's not even the sound of breathing, and then, the sound of metal on metal, and chains.

Marco first sees Doflamingo's looming shape, and he's unsure as to why the Warlord would merit such a reception. He cannot catch any prisoner's expression from his vantage point, but the ones he does see are tense. Marco has to blink through the haze of the sea stone, not that the veteran pirate is going to let it show, and his eyes take a minute to focus and be sure. Doflamingo looks beaten up, appearance scruffy and ragged. His signature coat and sunglasses are missing, but he has the exact same shit-eating grin that Marco has seen him wield since they first crossed paths at sea. It's been years since they've seen each other, but inexplicably, Marco doesn't think the Warlord has done a lot of growing up.

The real surprise comes after. When Doflamingo is guided into the cell, he ducks down, revealing a hint of yellow that is unmistakable. Something inside Marco freezes up, bile rising in the back of his throat. Escorting the chained Warlord, in full Marine regalia, stands Luffy.

"What are you doing here?" The demand escapes him unbidden, and Marco wants to hit himself. The last time he'd seen Luffy, there'd been harsh words and harsher accusation, heated possessiveness, and blood on his floor. Marco almost thinks he's not really awake if it didn't make such sense that Luffy was.

"Happy to see me, Phoenix?" Doflamingo replies, amused, and Marco scoffs on reflex. He doesn't miss the calculated look that crosses the man's face. For all his eccentric behaviors, Doflamingo is not stupid by any means. Like a shark, he'll be quick to smell blood in the water.

"As if." Even as he answers, Marco's eyes do not flicker away from Luffy's form. The younger raven is dressed entirely in white, his pants are still short for regulation but longer than his usual pair, and the shirt he wears has golden accents and buttons and pads. (Beautiful.) The long officer coat, with the accented red sleeves, brings Marco back to the moaning mess he'd reduced him to back in the Sunny, breathless from how humbling it was to have a man like Luffy beg. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Luffy tilts his head, the movements careless, curious. And he looks at Marco up and down, and he frowns, displeased. (At Marco? At his state? At his choices?)

Then, he smiles somewhat sheepishly.

"Ehhhh? Do I know you?" He cocks his head the other way, like a beast eyeing prey. His gaze travels fleetingly in between inmates, taking a careful look at Marco and Doflamingo as if he could answer himself with his gaze alone. "Are you a friend of Mingo's?" Doflamingo twitches in annoyance as a cuff locks itself to the wall. Luffy's quick in securing the rest of him as well.

Marco cannot put into words the way his heart speeds up inside of him, he had never understood the expression of beating itself out of his chest, but the pain in his breastbone is real. Marco clenches down on his jaw, hard enough to crack.

"Guess not."

"Shishishishi," Luffy smiles as if he wasn't talking to a dead man. Is this payback for Marco not listening to him? A front? The beginning of a rescue plan? Marco feels off-balance. He'd understood, intellectually, that Luffy had served in CP9 for a while, that he was high in the ranks of the marines, high enough to serve as a revolutionary spy… But Luffy has always been impossibly honest and direct first and foremost. So much so that he and Marco had argued about Luffy's blunt nature -if in a slightly roundabout way. Now, he stands here, exuding the same innocence as always. Laughing at Marco as if he didn't… "You're weird."

"Oi, Luffy!"

Luffy turns around at the sound of his name. For a moment in between, Marco glimpses the absolute misery and frustration, edging each line of his face. It wrenches his heart, but it also lets him take his first breath ever since Luffy showed up. Zoro is the officer calling him, and he's just as fearsome as when Marco last saw him. He, too, shows no recollection of them ever meeting. His hardened gaze sweeps right through Marco, settling instead on conveying something to Luffy.

Marco cannot see the Rear-Admiral's face, but he can picture the stubborn pout well enough. Minutely, something in Luffy's shoulders forcefully relaxes. The revolutionary doesn't turn back to spare the pirates a glance, leaving Doflamingo shackled on the other side of the cell. He steps right out back again, never close enough for Marco to catch his warmth, and heads to leave without another word. The farther he goes, the louder the whispers pick right back up.

Marco doesn't miss more than one prisoner cursing Luffy's name and curves the desire to do the same. Nothing about this is Luffy's fault. This one is on Marco and the marine or revolutionary or whatever cannot possibly throw away his entire operation just to get Marco out of jail. If Marco had listened, he wouldn't be in this situation in the first place, and there's something like regret stuck like grease in the back of his mouth. Paper-thin and disgusting. It'd be foolish to believe no one will try to free him, despite Marco's wavering faith, but he wishes mightily that no one gets hurt trying to fix his mistakes. Marco would rather die.

"So, what's your history with Straw Hat?" Marco, now more centered and less surprised, doesn't say anything at first, barely sparing the now-former Warlord a glance as he tucks away his thoughts. His siblings will do as they please, and there's nothing Marco can do to stop them. If a part of him tightens at Luffy's blank face, then he refuses to acknowledge it.

This exact moment is the reason Marco knew they couldn't work out, Luffy is as true to his conviction as Marco is to his own.

"No idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, please, I hardly doubt I managed to pick your curiosity. Besides, Marco's never been this quiet since I've known him. That fucking brat doesn't shut the fuck." Luffy's left quite an impression on the surly Warlord if the utter disdain in his tone is anything to go by. "So, spill, Phoenix, what did you do?"

"How about you? How come he's jailing a Warlord?" Marco deflects. It's not on purpose, really, but Marco's very please at the genuine irritation shown in Doflamingo's face, his brows pulling tightly over his eyes. It's beautiful. Doflamingo, though, recovers quickly, erasing any displeasure from his face to be replaced by a bloodthirsty grin.

"How about a quid pro quo?" the man proposes.

Marco mulls it over; he can undoubtedly edit his own part of the deal enough that it's not suspicious, and he's interested as to what happened in the last couple of days. Luffy didn't look surprised to see him, so news of Marco's arrest must be public by now. He measures Doflamingo. If anything, blind as the other is to Marco and Luffy's relationship, he has no reason to lie. Besides, after days of only silence and humming chatter, Marco can use a little conversation. He grits his teeth as he sits up, biting right through at the burning that flares up but feeling a lot less vulnerable now that he has Doflamingo at eye level. He offers him a lazy gaze as if he couldn't care less and prompts:

"You can go first."

Whew, I had no idea how to go about this next part and then inspiration struck. Next time we'll see Doflamingo's Warlord Assesment!

much love,

Dee