caelum et mare - "the sky and the sea"

"Consider the sky and the sea," Senor Pink had said, two and a half years ago, reclined on the quarterdeck of a clear spring day. The gulls glided with the currents and water sliced beneath the stern. Baby, Buffalo and Law sat around him, feet dangling through the balustrade.

"Both huge and deep," he said, as they watched the figure below further out at the railing. Rosinante sat on the bench, leaning towards the spray. He was smoking, something of anger and hurt in his eyes.

"Sad as hell," Senor Pink said, "twice as strange…"

xxx

(Cora-san made them rice balls that night. Fifteen pounds of grain and cod roe and umeboshi. Sesame oil and chili paste. Red bean for a sweeter variety. They were huge and puffy white like snowballs. Baby ate so many she thought she might burst. Buffalo had three in his mouth at a time. Even Law, who never felt like eating anything, put away several in the end.

Cora-san sat before the fire pit with a cigarette between his teeth. He stirred the embers, closing the lid of the small iron pot and didn't take any for himself. Baby's face fell slightly. Now that she thought about it, Cora-san hadn't been eating much recently in general. His profile seemed a bit leaner than before.

Maybe Law was thinking the same, since he reached out to smack Buffalo's hands away from the last handful of rice balls.

"Ow!" Buffalo yelped, glowering at him, "What was that for?"

"You're full," Law replied coldly.

Baby nudged Buffalo's arm before he could start to steam. "He's right, Buffalo. You gotta stop. We have to save some for Cora-san."

Buffalo blinked at her, surprised, like the thought had sailed over his head. But soon it passed and then he looked sorry. He was giving a downtrodden nod, when a voice floated from across the room.

"It's fine, kids, you can have them."

Cora-san had turned in his chair, elbow on the chair's arm rest, temple propped with a hand. His hair was like spun gold against his knuckles. He looked faintly bemused.

"But Cora-san..." she started, and he waved his hand.

"I'm okay."

"Yeah, right," Law said, crossing his arms, "You haven't been doing anything but smoking and reading papers for weeks."

"I'm not actually hungry anymore," Buffalo added, sounding very guilty now. But Cora-san still looked reluctant. He made no move to rise and so Baby picked up the remaining tray of rice balls with a determined look and trotted over to him.

"You're gonna get sick," she chided, lifting the tray towards him as high as she could reach, "Please eat something, Cora-san. You should take care of yourself." She thought a moment, searching for some further reason to convince him and added, "The Young Master would be worried."

Cora-san froze. He looked at her and then the rice balls. There was something in his eyes she could not understand. For a second, Baby almost wondered if he believed her.

But why wouldn't he? It was the truth. Baby Five remembered after all, back when they first arrived at Spider Miles for Senor Pink, when the Young Master kept asking her to check for him. How much more relaxed he'd been when Law simply started making those daily reports.

To this day, she wasn't sure what had started that weird, horrible fight between them. She'd never seen the Young Master drink so much in her life and it made Baby's heart ache to remember.

Gladius and Lao G had grumbled that Cora-san must've been doing it out of spite, that he'd been trying to hurt the Young Master for whatever reason. Baby Five didn't believe them. Cora-san would've never tried to hurt the Young Master. Not then. Not now. Not in a thousand and one years.

How could they even think such a thing?

Cora-san let out a small breath. "Alright," he said at last and took the tray from her, just in time as her arms had begun to tire.

"And you gotta eat all of them," Law said, chin jutted, shooting a glare at Buffalo when he murmured he'd be fine taking whatever leftovers Cora-san couldn't finish.

Baby Five's heart swelled. She hopped onto the chair's armrest and beamed at Cora-san, who tried to smile a little back. He'd since washed off the cake of paint over his face and was more handsome now than ever. Beautiful honestly. Like the waves.

Like Young Master, when he'd taught her the shifting of the winds, up high on the crow's nest against the clouds. Just like him. It was amazing.

Baby wondered if even mirrors could've gotten them confused then. It was so very odd to her sometimes, how different they could be.)

xxx

He let them sleep in the next morning. He shouldn't have, time was of the essence, but he did.

Rosinante watched the sunrise and gleaming soft light soak into the roots of the earth. Birds trilled in the copses and there was an even vaster stream of human babel rising like a tide from the kingdom that rested in the valley.

At this hour, he knew Gladius would have already dragged the kids out of their bunks, putting them to work with their chores, combating their whines with the mere fact that the sooner they finished, the more free time there'd be. They had loved watching Machvise and Lao G spar at Spider Miles, and helping Jora paint the ship's banisters every month, because she'd let them choose a new color each time.

Rosinante ran a hand through his hair. He was sure Baby and Buffalo would miss the Family. The blood and carnage of it hadn't phased them, didn't matter in their eyes. There were only certain things in the end after all which mattered to children. And maybe the Family had provided a bit of that, in whatever malformed shell it'd been in. Maybe Rosinante realized this too.

But the fact was plain: it shouldn't be all they'd ever get and it wasn't what they deserved.

Doffy just couldn't give them what they craved. Not ever. Couldn't bring himself to, couldn't understand how, whatever the reason. They were weapons being honed, as his brother had said all that time ago. Rosinante did not doubt that even their small, simple needs were an impossible request for the world to Doffy.

It was just the person he was. Born wrong. Rosinante recognized this now.

Tendrils of smoke escaped his lips as he sighed, spreading and vanishing into the valley. Rosinante ground out the stub of a cigarette on the peeling sill. He hadn't the desire to think about his brother. So tired of him occupying his thoughts day in and out. What had fixating over him achieved in the end? Fucking nothing.

He'd lost Doffy probably a thousand years ago, if he'd ever had him at all. It was over. He'd failed.

And this wasn't about them anymore.

Rosinante stood.

xxx

(Cora-san took them into town. Said he was sorry for having spent so much time shut off and wanted to make it up to them. Baby squealed with delight, latching onto his leg, as Buffalo pumped his fists in the air and cheered.

"We might be a while," Cora-san said to Law, who wasn't feeling too good again, but had still demanded they go without him. Baby was a little disappointed, even moreso confused when Cora-san agreed so easily. Excitement kept her from paying any complete mind though. She supposed they'd just have to bring something cool back for Law instead. Buffalo looked like he would've thrown a fit if they'd cancelled the plans anyway.

"Can we go see the square?" she asked, skipping beside Cora-san on the mountain trail down into Vale. Buffalo had run ahead, crowing back at them about the pie shops and cafes he swore he could already smell.

"Sure, kid," Cora-san said softly, hands in his pockets. "Whatever you'd like."

Baby grinned, fingers reaching out to curl around the edge of Cora-san's pant leg, bunching the fabric in her hand. He was really the best. So kind and nice. Not like Trebol-san, Diamante-san or Pica-san at all, and Baby Five could see very clearly then, even more clearly than before, why the Young Master loved him so much.

"Let's play a game, Cora-san."

His eyes flicked down towards her. "What kind of game?"

"Riddle me this."

He made a gentle, slightly amused noise. "You guys really enjoy that one, don't you?"

"It's fun! At least if you don't play with Senor. His are too hard and he never tells us the answers if we don't get it right," she pouted a bit at the memory, before giving him a solemn look, "But I'd never do that to you, Cora-san."

He laughed this time. It was a wonderful sound. Baby did wish he laughed more often.

"Alright," he said, teeth flashing, "Go ahead and try me, kid. I'm no slouch."

And he really wasn't. Baby had to admit that halfway through she'd broken her promise not to give him super hard riddles and started thinking up the most creative ones possible. And when Cora-san guessed all those correct too, she might've completely cheated and borrowed one from Senor as well. The first one that came to mind.

"What's between," she said, "the sky and the sea?"

He tilted his head, pondering for a moment. "The horizon?"

"Nope!" Baby giggled at his surprised look, hiding her mouth behind her hands.

"Really? What then?"

She grinned, mouth opening, before stopping suddenly and realizing she didn't know. It was Senor's favorite riddle and he'd given her the answer a long time ago, though all she could draw now was a blank.

"Uh, I'm not sure," Baby said, tapping her chin. Cora-san chuckled. "Guess you'll have to leave me in suspense."

"Oh, I'll think of it," she reassured hurriedly, "Maybe it was—"

"BABY! CORA-SAN! LOOK, LOOK!" Buffalo had made it to the crest of the hill and was stabbing a finger at the kingdom below. "I think the fair's in town!"

Baby's eyes popped. Within an instant, she had released Cora-san to go tearing down the path towards Buffalo and skidding to a halt beside him. From up high, Vale was a patchwork of colors and Baby Five gaped at the tiny clumps of people she could just make out, the tents, something like music.

Buffalo was already scrambling down the bumpier terrain winding into the valley. Baby Five dogged at his heels.

"Hurry, Cora-san!" she called over her shoulder and Senor Pink's riddle was shoved back then, left and forgotten somewhere in the drawers of her mind.

That was where it would stay too, until the years had gone by and by. Until it was later, in every sense of the term, and the answer no longer meant a thing.)

xxx

("Did you find any?" Gladius muttered, hurrying into the lounge. He'd been shoveling through crate after crate of tributes in the vault, and mint gold tumbled from his hair like fallen leaves. Jora and Lao G were already there, similarly out of breath and reeking of damp wood and mildew from the separate cargo hold.

"No, the casket he has now really must be the last of it."

"Are you certain? Did you check everywhere?"

"Hmph, of course we did, rude boy. Watch your tone around your elders."

Machvise stood next to Doflamingo's empty chair, giving it occasional glances and rocking from foot to foot, tail thumping nervously against the floor. "Do you think little Law dumped it all overboard in the end? Like he kept saying he would?"

They paused, wincing in unison at the thought. "You gave him ideas again, woman," Lao G muttered at Jora, who threw up her hands.

"It was just a passing thought! How was I to know the child would take it to heart?" Then in a lowered voice, she added, "Better for it though, right? He'd tear through his stomach lining at the rate he's downing those concoctions."

Not to mention the smell. None of them said it, but it wasn't an unpopular opinion. They couldn't really describe the overpowering stench of the wine that had since begun permeating again from the captain's quarters. Caustic and chemical, bearing vague resemblance to ethanol despite its bright pink hue. It was seeping through the wood grains and draining out into the corridors.

The men swore it was detectable even in the bunkrooms, even on deck where the winds failed to sweep it away. And it was apparent too, the Young Master loathed the taste. His real penchant was for the vintage brands, they were all aware. Why he binged by the liters that strange, unpleasant brew was beyond them.

"Maybe it is better for it," Gladius said, crossing his arms, "He eased up by himself before, right? Four years ago."

"No," Machvise mumbled, "It wasn't by himself then. It was Corazón."

The name felt taboo somehow, spoken aloud, eliciting a bout of stiff silence.

Corazón.

"Well," Lao G said at last, splitting into the tension, "Who ought to go tell him?"

They exchanged glances. Expectant ones. Nobody spoke, until another voice was heard from the entrance.

"I'll go."

Senor Pink strolled in, hands in his pockets, binky dangling on a string around his neck. He smelled almost permanently of beer and chicken these days, and his flesh was gaining the faintest of folds. He was dissolving, a spirit beyond the brink of collapse, and they pitied him in their own half-mad ways.

"Not looking to die, are you, Pink?" Lao G asked after a moment.

"Because we don't need you riling the Young Master further," Gladius added.

"And there are far less painful ways," Jora said, "to die."

Senor Pink scoffed. He reached for the pacifier, wedging it at the corner of his mouth. "That's not my speed," he said shortly. "Never right anyway, to kick a man when he's down."

They blinked.

"Why do you think he did it, Pink?" Machvise said into the bemused pause, "Just feels like this all came out of nowhere. I'm not even sure why they were fighting at the start."

Senor Pink's grunt was noncommittal. "Can't ask the sky to try and meet the sea."

"What?"

There was no explanation. Senor Pink's hands slipped into his pockets.

"Doesn't really matter in the end, does it? What we think. Pin's been pulled. He ran. Leave it to the captain to decide what's next."

"What do you mean decide?" Gladius said, "He broke the one rule. Nothing left to decide as far as I can see."

Pink shrugged.

"Then you," he said, "haven't really been looking.")

xxx

Back in his cabin, Doflamingo flexed his fingers, white glinting thread slipping from the seams of his palm. They crossed over each other in a messy lattice. He relaxed his hand and the threads broke free and rose, lifting in the enclosed space like tendrils. They spread out into arches overhead. Doflamingo watched them rotate above him, spinning like the languid blades of a fan. Their shadows danced across his face.

Then gingerly, he turned his wrist. The threads ceased moving, poised, hanging still in the air like debris in dead space. In the next instant, they speared downwards and there was a loud 'crack' and 'crunch' as the strings knifed into the floor and hooked tight. They thickened in breadth, donning the metallic sheen of bars.

Doflamingo drew his legs up from where they were stretched on the bed, crossing them as his gaze shifted to the porthole. Tsuru's ship still sat in the distance. It had advanced out of the fog with due promptness, inserting itself between them and Vale and had yet to move since. No attacks. No first moves. A warning shot from the long nines when they tried to go past, but that was all.

She didn't call again, whether for fresh threats or another deal. She left him alone.

And Doflamingo could not figure out for the life of him what she was aiming at. Had given up trying halfway through. Tsuru was an enigma to him. Always had been. Supremely annoying or otherwise.

So fine. Joke was on her. He didn't need to get any closer to Vale than this. By now, Vergo had likely made landfall. If Rosi was on that island, then Vergo would find him. The kids as well.

And then he'd get his explanation.

That was what Doflamingo had decided. There was…an explanation. A reason. A mistake. Two of the three. One. All of the above combined, it didn't matter.

Rosi wouldn't do this to him. They were brothers. The only blood left of each other. He wouldn't…wouldn't hurt him like this.

Wouldn't I?

Doflamingo blinked slowly, going very still as the shade drifted out from its corner.

You didn't know me then, Doffy. It said, rocking on its heels. And you still don't know me now.

He snatched the last wine bottle from where it rolled on the floor. Drained it drier than bone.

Then he watched Rosi fizzle and vanish. Dissolving, as if he never were.

xxx

It was not so much a fair, as they found out, but a market day. Rosinante supposed it was a matter of semantics with the number of people milling about. A band had set up near the entrance and the roads filled with the strum of fiddles, the smooth glissando of piano keys. Occasional winds lifted over the crowds, brought with it the earthen sweetness of the mountain.

Buffalo had eyes immediately for the food carts, while Baby marveled at a group of dancers in the square. Rosinante gave them each a handful in weight of beris and let them wander as they pleased. He wanted a cigarette again, but it didn't seem particularly wise with all the families around.

To drive out the urge, he strolled through the market, glancing at the wares on occasion. There were tapestries that smelled of a millennium and antiques older than dust. Soft-fleshed fruit and balm leaves from Baterilla. A caged paradise bird like the ones they'd seen on the New World sea. Its head cocked as he passed. Silent.

You and me, right, little brother? an old, dead voice whispered, You and me.

He kept walking.

xxx

It was twenty minutes later when Doflamingo wandered out. They watched him stop behind Rosinante, stand affixed for an entire minute a good distance from his brother, staring at the back of his head.

And then some unknown force seemed to spur him forward, made him settle against the railing, a few steps apart.

Rosinante didn't acknowledge him. He didn't move away either.

And after a while, Doflamingo spoke softly, said something that made Rosinante pause and glance over at last.

xxx

Several hours passed, before he came across the final stall. Oil paintings hung on its posts, breath-taking landscapes of Elbaf and Amazon Lily, of Raftel waiting somewhere still in the unchartered sea.

Rosinante's body stopped on its own.

He couldn't stem the past then—those stories told in the dark, whispers between chattered teeth trying to distract him from the cold.

Imagine a warmer place. Imagine…flying off into the sky somewhere far. Somewhere near the sun. See? It's not so bad. You're alright. Stop crying, Rosi.

We're gonna get out of here.

Rosi, we're gonna be free.

I'll think of something, don't you worry.

Rosinante's eyes narrowed at the ground. He ushered the memory quietly back through its small, weathered gate.

"Anything catch your eye, young master?" The merchant leaned over the stall, pinning a waggish grin on him when Rosinante looked up in surprise. He gestured at his other bins, random baubles, odds and ends. Three giant bundles of white roses wrapped in damp parcels of newspaper.

"Imported straight from Dressrosa," he said, "Best of the breed. Cut you a deal and make 'em forty beris-worth. What do you say? Strapping lad like yourself, quite a lady's killer I'll bet."

Rosinante blinked at them. And then flashed again to something shriveled and dead in the moonlight, clutched in a cruel fist. He dipped his head. "Excuse me."

"How's about thirty beris then?" the merchant called after he turned, "Or I've got loads of other products too. You oughta take a look, young master. Something here you'll want, I bet. Even need."

Rosinante nearly burst out laughing. The pieces of his chest shifted, dragging down his soul, spilling all over his heart. He glanced back.

"You," he rasped, "don't have what I want. You don't have what I need."

It's already gone.

I left it behind. I ran away.

I let it die in the dark, it's because of me…

Rosinante walked from the stall without waiting for any response. He passed through the market place entirely, back to the square where he could see Baby Five and Buffalo sitting against the wishing fountain. The sun had slipped past noon.

And it was almost time.

xxx

("Cora-san!" Baby Five waved when she saw him walk up, jumping to her feet to hug his leg. He ruffled her hair, arching a brow at the litter of pie tins and pizza boxes around Buffalo.

"Had fun?" he said. Buffalo patted his round belly drowsily while Baby nodded with a huge smile. She really did feel bad that Law hadn't been able to come now. There were so many amazing things to see and do in a real kingdom, and she doubted they'd be able to visit this easily again once they returned. The Young Master was wanted throughout the Grand Line and in all four seas. It would probably be impossible.

But Baby didn't want to think about that yet, of how much she'd miss this when it was over. "Did you see the dancers, Cora-san?" she asked instead, pointing to the open plaza, where she'd watched them spin and twirl and clap. The women in their bright plumes of ruffling colors and the men in suits of dapper gray or black. Some of them were still there, swaying against each other, even though the ballads had long died away.

"It was a wedding," she added, when she saw the bride and groom among them. The breeze was lifting her veil, almost gave it a mind of its own as it flurried around the pair like a white-winged bird.

Baby Five sighed in awe. "Do you think I'll get married someday too, Cora-san?"

He sat down on the lip of the fountain beside her, glanced at the sun a moment before regarding the couple with his glittering eyes

"Of course, kid. If that's what you wanted."

She smiled, kicking her legs. In truth though, deep down, she was not sure how to want something in that way—softly and from the heart. The Young Master had never taught her. Not truly. A tiny part of her wondered sometimes if it was because he didn't know how himself.

But that couldn't be. Her Young Master knew everything, everything. He was bigger than the sky, warmer than any sun or flame. She was his.

And she realized also, in the moment of that thought, that she missed him. The Family and the ship too. They were what she knew and the only home she could remember. The only one that had wanted her, or kept her, or believed her necessary. She missed them. Bit by bit. A little more each day. This wasn't where she belonged.

So it was with fiddling hands and a chewed lip, at the rim of that fountain, that Baby turned to Cora-san and asked, "When are we going home?"

He did not reply.

The shadows of his bangs curtained his eyes when she peered up.

"We've been gone for a month now, Cora-san. The Young Master's gonna get worried, right? Or grumpy. Shouldn't we go back soon? Shouldn't we—"

She cut herself off mid-word, when Cora-san abruptly turned to her. His large hands enveloped her shoulders, held her still and she blinked owlishly up and up into his eyes.

"Baby," he said, apropos to nothing, "You know it's okay to just live for yourself. Find your own way. To want more than you're given."

"Huh? Wha—"

He squeezed and Baby Five froze. It hurt just a tad, but she didn't really feel it. Cora-san's eyes were sad. So very sad, god, she'd never forget the way they looked then.

"Learn to be happy," he said, "Know how to say goodbye. Now, while you still can and just…please remember that, okay? Just that, if nothing else. Please?"

Baby nodded quickly, startled, almost frightened. She wasn't sure why, but her chest had begun to ache and she reached for his hands, not able to bear those eyes. "I'll remember, Cora-san. I'll remember, I promise. What's wrong?"

But he released her then and stood. Suddenly enough that Buffalo was surprised out of his half-doze, metal tins clattering against the stones.

"Cora-san?"

"Good," he said, "That's good. I'm sorry, kid, for scaring you. And putting you both through all of this." He smiled, but it was literally the fakest thing Baby had ever seen. Hollower even than the Young Master's could be. Buffalo stood too, repeating Baby's own question, asking what was going on with quizzical eyes.

Cora-san only looked at the sun again.

"It's alright," he whispered, "Come with me.")

xxx

(This was how it happened.

They followed him down to the empty beach-side, far away from the kingdom's bustle.

"Cora-san?" Baby Five said again, the air so still she could only speak in a hush. He didn't answer. A trace of unease wavered across her face. The waves were loud and dark, a hard crimson in the setting sun. Buffalo pressed closer to her and she could feel his discomfort as well.

"What are we doing here?"

But Cora-san would not answer. He kept walking, feathers and gold and giant footprints in the sand. Where was he going? She bit her lip and stopped in her tracks, Buffalo almost bumping into her back.

"Cora-san, tell us where we're going." She tried to sound firm. It came out afraid.

But he stopped. Stood there for a long moment actually, before turning around. Shadows cloaked his eyes.

"It's alright, Baby," he said again, softly.

And then

behind him came

the Marines.)

xxx

(They screamed and fought. Buffalo tried to punch several of the Marines that came near them, clipped a few good before the sea stone chains emerged and wrapped around them thrice.

Then Baby started to cry, barely able to form words, her sobbing breaths catching short and unproductive in her chest. She begged for his brother, his title a stuttering shriek upon her lips, sent again and again into unobliging stars.

"Cora-san," she gasped, hysterical tears spilling down her chin, "C-Cora-san, I-I wanna go home. I just wanna go h-home. I wanna see the Y-Young Master. Please, Cora-san, we won't tell, please, please, please…"

"That wasn't your home," Rosinante heard himself say at a distance, "And he isn't your master. You can't be with him anymore."

Baby's pupils shrank. She shook her head again and again and again. "No, no, no…"

The ensign in charge, a man of late-thirties with graying hair, shook his head in pity and horror. He was here in lieu of Tsuru, who was out in the open waters beyond Vale. Caught in a deadlock, the ensign had explained in a whisper, and keeping monsters at bay.

"The Donquixotes. Made their way here. Must've come looking for their moppets. Christ, right?"

Rosinante's heart near smashed through his ribs.

Doffy had found him. He was here.

Shit, he was here.

He needed to get back to Law.

"We'll see them to the vice admiral, sir," the ensign promised, before holding up a clipboard, "Ah, before you're off though, you mind filling out a status report? Standard protocol at Vale. Just a brief phrase and your code is fine."

Rosinante would've normally argued. He didn't think the man properly grasped the meaning of complete confidentiality. But he was paling and turning to ice and his brother was here and fuck not yet, he had one more, just one more, not yet…

"Fine," he said and grabbed the clipboard, scribbling quickly. When he looked up again, he made the mistake of meeting the children's eyes.

"Traitor," Buffalo spat, glare sizzling with hatred, "Young Master's gonna find you. And then you're gonna be dead."

Baby Five's wide, tear-streaked gaze bore into him, black and lightless as coal. As if he were something repulsive and perplexing that she suddenly couldn't recognize.

"I hate you," she hissed, "I hate you. I hope the Young Master kills you."

Rosinante said nothing. He handed the clipboard back to the ensign, who took it with a sympathetic look.

"They're only kids now," the man tried to reassure, "But someday, they'll understand why."

Rosinante didn't need them to understand. Didn't even need them to forgive him.

Perhaps they'd never forgive him actually. Perhaps this was all they'd remember him as—the man who'd torn them from their home and taken away the only family they knew.

He would find a way to live with it. If they managed to grow up free and never follow his brother into the dark, then Rosinante didn't mind. They could hate him forever. He would not be sorry.

"Please get them out of here," he whispered, and disappeared off the beach.)

xxx

Doflamingo closed his fist. The bars dragged against the floor, splintering through wooden slats. They drew towards the bed, slicing any fallen paper into ribbons.

He opened his fist just before the desk was reached and halted their advance. A serrated edge still managed to nick off a corner.

The entire thing glowed in the night-engulfed room. Doflamingo stared through the cage, the bars reflecting in his blood-red lens. There was a mere scrap of the sky outside, a handful of stars blinking awake.

No moon tonight.

xxx

(The children had broken someone's thumbs down at the docks.

The ensign of Vale let out a hard breath and ordered them separated to different boats. Again, he wondered how the agent had managed to coax these violent little waifs away from the Family. He didn't buy the story of happenstance the Vice Admiral had given him. He wasn't a fool.

He knew something was personal when he saw it and nothing had been more personal than that agent handing those children over. Hours later and with the sun almost gone, the memory of him continued to linger. Who on earth was he?

The ensign tapped his hand on the folder of reports. The neat slanted scrawl still fresh with ink on the top page.

Marine Code 01746.

It was breaching protocol, he knew it was, but…

The ensign reached for the transponder snail and dialed the Saobody Archives.)

xxx

Law was asleep when he'd reached the old house again. Just the last rays of the dying sun remained.

For a moment, Rosinante could only stand there, staring at him. Then he managed to shake himself out of his daze and approached the couch, scooping up the small, boneless form.

Law stirred. Sleep-disheveled eyes opened and peered up at Rosinante. "…wha…Cora-sa—?"

"Shh," he said, tucking the boy against one arm, slipping off the couch's afghan with his free hand. He bundled Law hurriedly, and as securely as he could. The cold would be murder tonight on the mist-filled ocean. He'd likely need to hold the child himself, without the other kids around to share body heat. "We have to go, Law."

The boy blinked. His bleary amber gaze slid to the left, around Rosinante's arm and towards the empty doorway.

"…where's Baby and Buffalo?"

In near exhaustion, Rosinante groped for an excuse. He couldn't think of anything. His mind was buzzing. His brother was here.

"They're safe," he ended up saying, "Just you and me now, okay?"

Law looked at him. Something seemed to turn in his young face.

But then he pressed his cheek against Rosinante's chest. A tiny white-spotted hand clutched his shirt, right over the rapid thrum of his heart.

"Okay," Law slurred and went back to sleep.

xxx

A yellowed photo slipped from Doflamingo's sleeve. A couple with blonde hair and gentle eyes. It'd been ripped in half with violence, before being carefully taped back together. Doflamingo offered it to his brother, something like hope flickering in his expression. Rosinante stared a moment at him, at the photo.

And then they saw his face soften. Then they saw him sigh. Rosinante took the photo.

Doflamingo grinned a thousand watts. He reached over without pause to mess up his brother's hair. Rosinante jabbed him with an elbow for his trouble, mouth a half-scowl of annoyance.

But he made room on the bench.

And he smiled back perhaps, just slightly.

Baby Five giggled, while Buffalo cocked his head. Law watched in a thoughtful silence. And Senor Pink blew a smoke ring, letting it dissolve in the lazy mid-day.

xxx

Doflamingo stood at the prow. The loose threads of his strings dangled like snakes from his coat and the coarse tips of his fingers.

He could just make out Vale in the fog, all festivity and lights and making merry. Like Dressrosa.

What sweet, secure dreams it must dream. How lovely.

He'd fucking burn it all. Tear it open, crack it wide, give me back my brother…

"I don't believe you," he said, when the ghost reappeared, cross-legged on that bench. "You're not Rosi. You're not mine. He had a reason. And he's going to explain."

Mere silence responded.

And it seemed to say everything anyway.

The wind carded through his hair. Doflamingo felt nothing.

"I don't believe you," he said again, face cold and white.

xxx

"You know what's between," Senor had asked, "the sky and the sea?"

xxx

The wind seemed to drag on them. It had taken several tries for Rosinante to catch a gust, pulling the boat out of Vale's quay and making distance into the open waters. Now it was lagging again and Rosinante cursed under his breath.

He cradled Law close while battling the ocean for control of the boat, trying to shield him from the splash. The boy's head was tilted against his shoulder limply, small breaths even and dead to the world.

Rosinante clenched his teeth and grabbed the steering wheel. An old photo fell from his coat then—a smiling couple with gentle eyes, taped together with precision and delicacy. It fluttered overboard and was swallowed by the waves.

He didn't notice, steering as if possessed into the fog.

xxx

"All the damn stars…"

xxx

And that was how they passed each other. One looking forward. One looking back.

Fifty meters apart in the New World sea.

xxx

"…and a world too many."