ex corde - "from the heart"

(He dreamed about Rubeck once. A day prior to their arrival while leaned against the stern, an armful of sleeping boy drooling on his shirt.

Desiccated and withered, with the bunker looming behind. Rusted pipes shrieked as they quivered and rattled. Doffy hummed, holding his hands beneath the faucet as the deluge was forced out. He was a child again. Water slapped against stone.

"Isn't it such a funny thing, Rosi?" he said, "Who knew you'd find your way back to Rubeck."

Rosinante was quiet. His brother scrubbed his nails.

"We had a good time here. It never was like that again. Hurts my feelings you don't want to remember."

"As if anything could hurt you."

Doffy smiled, the lips a small, knife-sharp curl. "My, you are disappointed in me," he said, "Even though it really was your own fault." He glanced over his shoulder, just as Rosinante flinched hard, as if struck.

"Had you been stronger and smarter. Braver. Had you stayed and waited for me, like I asked you to. Then maybe they'd never have convinced me to go with them. Maybe I wouldn't be this now."

"You were this from the very beginning."

"And that's your fault too." Doffy turned back around. "You had a job, Rosi."

Rosinante's eyes widened. His mouth pursed into a white line.

"Stop making it about us."

A scoff. "Oh, little brother, how can you be this naive?" Red dripped on the ground.

"It's always been about us.")

xxx

The search was proving unsatisfactory.

Vergo bridged his hands, elbows on armrests as he re-assessed the situation. He had swept through the headquarters from top to bottom—the databases, the archives, every snippet and crumb of information his clearance availed him. In a practical sense, he had looked at everything.

Records, intel, commentaries, notes, call logs, file after file after file. The minimum enlisting age was fourteen, so Vergo had begun there as a starting point. Then he'd eventually scaled it back another six years, since Rosinante had disappeared when Doffy was ten. Still nothing.

It didn't make sense. Vergo was almost ninety-eight percent positive some trace or indication would exist here. The lack of success was aggravating.

Faintly, it did occur to him too that he might've been wrong. That perhaps Rosinante really wasn't a marine rat after all, set upon destroying the Family. Vergo let the thought drift for but a moment though, before tossing it aside.

There must have been a motive for Rosinante's return. Something underhanded. Something mutinous and sly. He'd abandoned his brother of his own volition. Why else would he bother coming back? No reason Vergo could see, besides the one.

Rosinante Donquixote was a marine. He was trying to take Doffy down. Ruin him, end him and lock him up to rot in Impel Down.

In the past four years, Trebol had provided plenty of descriptions of Rosinante in combat—the prowess and skill underlying all his would-be buffoonery. Maybe the obscene strength Vergo could've attested to bloodline, but that noted discipline and the perfectly measured way he went about disposing of things—that spoke to Vergo of far more militant training. The same kind he observed here at headquarters almost daily.

And the fact that Doffy had never let this give him pause, that he wouldn't just turn around and look was astonishing. So completely unlike him. He'd even said that it didn't matter why Rosinante returned or where he'd gone in the first place.

How could that possibly not matter?

Vergo's brow ticked. He stood sharply and the chair careened away from him, banging against his desk like a gunshot. It ricocheted off the office walls as Vergo pulled on his gloves again.

There was evidence here. Somewhere. He couldn't be convinced otherwise.

Maybe what was needed actually, was a different approach to the problem.

Maybe instead of focusing so intently and solely on Rosinante, he should be aiming at a different target altogether.

Vergo gave it some cool thought as he curled fingers around the door handle. It was an idea with merit.

He'd always been a bit curious anyway, of what Doffy's file looked like these days.

xxx

A lie.

That was what Rosinante had thought at the time. Well-intentioned maybe, but a lie nonetheless. He had his own eyes after all. And Rubeck had been dead. Crumbled earth, choked weeds, mummified croft houses and naked, shriveled black stumps.

How was this real? The question echoed in Rosinante's skull as they departed the beach, walking further inland. He took in and barely processed the dewy grass, the mossy stones. The whole of the island akin to a forest unfurling out of the ground, struggling up like a rose through concrete. The air was sweet and clean. It brimmed with life.

How was this real?

"They're huge," Law said, walking beside him, craned back to look at the archway and pillars over their heads. They were a pearly gray now, smelling of rainwater and embossed with silvery-green vines. There'd been carvings upon them too apparently, now that they were visible—sea kings chiseled into the forms of elemental gods. No longer the ruddy textures Rosinante remembered, all rouge-stained with mud and dust.

"I can't believe you said this place was dead, Cora-san," Law murmured, examining the etchings with a cocked head. From behind the pillar, a butterfly slipped free, sweeping out into the open on blue wings.

It flitted past Rosinante's ear, quieter than a puff of breath. He followed it with his eyes.

"It was."

"Then what happened?"

"I don't know."

There was no underground spring set to replenish after all, nothing due to grow back in time.

Rosinante had thought then that he was only trying to make him feel better, spinning out some happy ending as had been his habit when they were boys. It was touching somehow, that Doffy hadn't changed in that respect, even with all their years apart. The slightly relieved way he smiled, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

It was unfathomable sometimes how an expression like that could've been empty.

But it must've been right? It must've been. Doffy had lied.

He'd lied.

…right?

Law coughed again. The harsh noise struck out like a hammer, shattering the mirror-maze of Rosinante's thoughts and he spun around.

The boy was leaning against the pillar, trying to steady himself. Rosinante hurried to him in two alarmed strides. What was he doing, thinking about his brother now of all times?

"C'mon," he said, bending slightly, "the base is just further ahead."

He moved to pick the child up, but Law recoiled, shaking his head. "No, I want to walk."

"You've been walking for almost an hour. You should take a break."

"No." Law shook his head again, mouth pursed as his gaze fixed upon the shadowy tunnel of trees overhanging the path. "I want to walk."

He straightened, steadying himself with pronounced resolution. Rosinante sighed. Maybe it was more apparent with all the time they'd spent together, but Law had definitely developed an incorrigible, stubborn streak over the years. Another trait he must've picked up from Doffy, if that wasn't just great…

And now he was thinking about him again. Rosinante dug his nails into his palms.

Later, he decided. He'd deal with all this ruminating later. After he got the child settled and managed a decent survey of the rendezvous spot.

And whatever "dealing with it" was supposed to entail, Rosinante would think about that later too. He had this all arranged rather determinedly.

"Alright," he said, "take it easy."

xxx

("Rather awful of you to drag the brats into this nonsense. Baby must have cried for ages, my poor little girl. We won't ever see them again, will we, Rosi? And now Law's worried about you when he's the one dying—"

"You were going to have him die anyway." Rosinante's hands clenched. "And they were just your tools. All of them."

"Hm, the boy volunteered. And I didn't hear any complaints."

"They're kids, Doffy. You saved them. They wanted to please you." His brow furrowed. "And if you could've given them what they needed, I'd never have taken them at all."

Movement behind the glasses, a narrowing of eyes. "There you go again, talking about what I didn't give," he said, "They ate every day. They weren't beaten for existing. They didn't have to be afraid. They were happier in those two years than you and I ever were. What else exactly did they need?"

"You," Rosinante said simply, "not to be this."

Doffy sighed. "…Don't be unfair."

The faucet turned off, the last droplets of water falling. The stone block and drain beneath were soaked—stained a congealed red. His brother stood, turning around. Half of his palms were still caked in blood.

"'s not possible, Rosi," he said, "to wash off who you are.")

xxx

For nearly the entire trek, Cora-san looked a million miles away, staring at trees and rocks and idle butterflies as if they were manifested illusions. As if he'd been transported to some other world and couldn't recognize them. He tripped twice and nearly crushed Law the second time, but still barely watched where he was going.

Eventually, Law caught a corner of the black feathered coat, dragging it down in his hand. "Cora-san, what's wrong with you?"

No response. Law tugged harder. "Cora-san!"

"Hm?" The man shifted, pulling his gaze from a worn trail he'd been staring at for some time, faint and flattened, barely visible. "Shit, kid, sorry. What's wrong? Are you getting tired?"

Law scowled and shook his head. He looked around them, not sure what the problem was, before back up again.

"…why are you being weird?" he asked, "So this place has changed for the better. Is that really so hard to believe?"

Cora-san's jaw tightened. Instead of answering, his gaze wandered off again, back towards that same jutting trail. Law waited for several seconds, before finally turning to peer down it himself.

Just through the trees, he could make out an open bluff, a bare and exposed stretch extending out into the night. The sloping hills beyond were the vivid green of a fairytale. And he could see to the east a foamy coastline, where there was the hard glint of the sky and the echoing eyes of the sea. He could see the moon, round and silver as a coin.

Beautiful, and in a way Law already knew not many things were. Cora-san stared out for a long time, something unreadable in his eyes.

"Let's go, Law," he said eventually. Softly.

xxx

Of course "later" hadn't panned out.

Rosinante burned holes into the path ahead of him, the bluff pulling further away in his wake.

xxx

There were herbal flowers clustered at the base of trees. Prudent, wild little things bowing and dancing with the breeze.

Law crouched to examine them. Valerian, he could identify from the spiraled leaves and blush-pink petals. Meadow-sweets too with their thin, purplish stalks. They leaned into Law's hand, cool and velvety, and the boy's forehead creased.

It was weird that all of this could've happened within four years on its own, especially when Rubeck had been the wasteland Cora-san had described. Almost impossible. Doflamingo had mapped it out for him once, the tens of millions of coincidences that had to happen for even a feather to fall from the sky, every event strung across in a perfect line, all segments in a chain.

And let me tell you something else, Law. There's no such thing as a true coincidence in the first place. Only terms which people use to hide behind, a simple way to explain all the horrible things that crop up in a vile, flawed little world. There was nothing coincidental of those tens of millions of occurrences which could lead to a feather falling or Flevance burning, or you to us one day sporting those eyes.

Everything comes from a choice. Yours, mine, theirs, Fate's.

He peered over his shoulder, at the vast shadow flooding the moonlit ground. Cora-san was smoking, staring at water striders skittering across a puddle.

Law thought for another moment.

"Do you think someone may have…planted all of this on purpose? Or got it started somehow at least?" He tilted his hand, let the flower heads slide off his palm. Cora-san didn't reply.

"It's strange, right? For it to have grown naturally this way in only four years. Wouldn't it make more sense, maybe even around when you were here last, if someone decided—"

He startled when Cora-san suddenly lifted him without warning, his words severed mid-sentence. He began to walk at a brisk pace, heavy footsteps snapping fallen twigs, new grass rustling the cuffs of his trousers. Law shifted, confused eyes peering up from beneath the fur hat.

"Cora-san?"

The wall of a chest beneath him was pounding like a drum. Reverberating clashes as if thunder striking ground. Cora-san's voice was distant and low.

"We should keep going."

xxx

("You're just going to run from now on?" Doffy asked, bloody hands limp at his sides. "Is that it then, you and me?" Something unreadable flickered over his face. An unnoticed bruise was purpling on his cheek. "We'll vanish out of each other's lives forever. I don't even deserve a goodbye."

"I can't let you hurt the boy."

Doffy's brows pinched. He looked up at Rosinante, voice fainter now. "Don't you love me anymore?")

xxx

Although his color looked terrible, Law wasn't particularly tired when they arrived at the base. He wandered through the different rooms, scowled at the Family's mess and wrinkled his nose at the dusty thrones. Rosinante pried open the windows to air out the space, then had to lean against the wall a moment and rub fatigue out of his eyes.

"Are you hungry, Law?" he asked. The cache had been stocked pretty full last he recalled…

"No." Law had walked back to him. "You should sleep, Cora-san."

"I don't mind making you something first."

"I'm fine." Small hands pushed at his legs, nudging him into the bunkroom. "You only know how to make rice balls anyway."

Rosinante blinked. "Is there something else you want?"

A frustrated glare was shot at him.

"I want you to sleep," Law said, and slammed the door shut.

xxx

In contrast to the untold hours he'd spent searching for any trace of Rosinante in the marine records, Vergo located Doffy's file within minutes.

The official folder had been in a locked cabinet deep within the archives—one reserved for the most notorious pirates sailing the four Blues. Several sections explicated on different Family members, while Doffy's own report was as thick as an actual tome—copies of which were dog-eared and highlighted, as if they'd been studied in class or exchanged hands a thousand times. Vice Admiral Tsuru had authored the profile, delivering an intricate and dispassionate overview of Doffy's criminal exploits and psychological history.

Bottomless anger. Rampant sadism. A pronounced and clinical lack of empathy. It was every flick of heat they had ever raked onto the coals of his potential, spun around as if they were denouncements. In the scattered pieces of Tsuru's commentary, she noted that Doffy was miserable and empty, that he searched for completion in fire and fury, that she wondered if he could truly love anything.

Vergo's eyes narrowed at the disrespect. What did this crone know about Doffy.

He shut the folder, before he could get too distracted. There was still no mention of Rosinante anywhere. Perhaps this had not been the correct place to search after all.

He was just about to slide the documents back into the cabinet, utterly frustrated, when something else caught his eye. A small note, barely the size of an index card, left there by the archivist.

Vergo's brow arched faintly as he slid it free. On the front was a short sequence of numbers labelled simply as 01746, with no additional description or words. It sounded familiar somehow, and though he spent a minute ruminating, Vergo could not pinpoint in what respect.

He flipped the card, mouth pursing into a cold line as he read the reverse side. It was a brief message, succinctly typed.

Addenda sent to the Fleet Admiral's office.

A vein pulsed in Vergo's temple. This was going to require more thought.

xxx

("Of course I love you."

Doffy's lips parted, but Rosinante didn't let him speak.

"But you murdered an entire island over a pointless grudge. Made it all into some sick joke."

"Rosi—"

"And you're going to groom Law back into that cold, dead-eyed thing he was on arrival. Have him die for your own sake."

"I—"

"You killed our father," Rosinante whispered, and the sound echoed everywhere, everywhere, "He made a foolish decision, yes, and it was a horrible mistake. But all he wanted was for us to live with some meaning and decency and you…y-you shoot him dead and cut off his head and try to bargain your way back into Mariejois with it. That was our father, Doffy. How could you ever…how can you expect me to come back to you after that?"

His brother's smile was long gone, features twisting, a troubled light.)

xxx

For the next few nights, Cora-san left for long stretches of time again. Law would watch him go, the broad black-feathered silhouette liquefying into the woods.

"I'll be back soon," he'd finally said on the seventh night, a pointed nod at the cots, "Get some rest, you don't have to wait for me."

But Law waited, chin rested on folded arms, afghan wrapped around his shoulders.

Ancient smells lingered through the Donquixote base, branching out to different rooms like rivers from the sea—Jora's perfume, Senor's stale cigarettes, that unpleasant sweat stench Trebol had. Nothing really of Cora-san, as if he'd evaporated from this place entirely. And it was only one particular sill in the main room that carried any trace of Doflamingo—his scent of wine and lightning, an obscure sweetness that was fading away.

But it was him and so Law sat there on most of the nights alone, cheek pressed against the rough wooden surface.

It'd been a comforting smell then—for Law, who could not quite remember anymore Flevance with the summer light cascading down. Even though Doflamingo could be weird and hard to please and get unapproachable for hours sometimes.

There was a whole part of Law that missed him anyway—the crazy lessons and games, the books he brought back from ports, how he let them negotiate their way out of the occasional chore.

He was the biggest and tallest person Law had ever seen, ever known, and over three-quarters of his memories of Doflamingo were of that grin. Edged like a knife. Dancing-bright as fire. Unafraid of anything.

It's surreal that Law's final look of him had been through a crack of light in the doorway, after a good night, you little shit and a momentary hand on his head. It would be the distressed and fallen slope of his shoulders, the weary slice of his face, as he stared at Cora-san's door for what was probably the ten-thousandth time, before departing without a word.

That had been…kind of hard to watch. Painful actually.

He thought about it a lot and often wondered if he should've tried articulating what he'd seen then to Cora-san. If it might've helped something somehow.

Law frowned, resting his chin against white-spotted knees. Shadows crawled down the glass, over the wood grain.

And that was when the birds flew by—a small flock taking a quick, playful twirl in the air before diving into the thickets.

Startled, Law leaned out to squint into the distance after them. They were chirping, the pattering flutter of their wings audible, while fractured strands of melody ghosted through the leaves. Faint curiosity tugged at Law's mind, an insistent pulse. He sat there for only another minute, before sliding from the window and stepping out of the bunker.

Then down the shimmering, carpeted trail, the boy followed the birds.

xxx

("Rosi," his brother said, "You know I don't mean to hurt you."

Rosinante stared at him, at his own tired reflection in the pitch-dark shades.)

xxx

Something was wrong in the New World sea. In the darkened hallway, Vergo leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. A few feet away, he could hear Sengoku in his office, muttering to Tsuru over the line again.

For nearly seven days he had racked his brain for some method of entry into the geezer's office—all ideas either futile or posing too much risk. He was beginning to wonder if there would need to be some…egregious accident or other to draw Sengoku out of the room, when movement occurred out of the blue on its own.

The Vale ensign, it seemed, still hadn't been located. The kingdom was in such disarray that Tsuru would be trapped there for another week until replacements could be assigned.

They were trawling the reefs, an investigation pending. Foul play suspected. Vergo thought it all a bit comical. They would never find the man. He'd made certain there were no more mistakes that night.

Doffy would certainly get a laugh out of the whole circus once everything was through. He'd not been laughing much recently at all and Vergo found it quite unacceptable.

"That's fine," Sengoku said, "I'm departing for North Blue now. Nineteen-hundred hours. You head to Rubeck when you can. Shorter distance to cover on your end. We'll probably meet."

"…LaCroix's been informed about Skiff One. Should be arriving tomorrow morning. He'll handle it. Any word on Two?"

A pause as he listened. Then a frustrated sigh. "I see. Well, don't get too worried yet, old gal. They were almost out of New World from the last call-in. Anything happening now would have to be an ungodly coincidence." A chair groaned as Sengoku stood, his boots thudding against the floor. His tone softened then to an odd degree.

"…have you spoken with him again by the way? I sent a message to warn him out of there, but who knows if he's received it yet."

Vergo retracted further into the shadows as the office door slid open. Sengoku emerged in the hallway, holding the Den Den Mushi as close as possible, his voice a low murmur.

"He's not answering my calls, he's not thinking clearly, I just thought it was the truth, I never…it's too dangerous. I can't have him there. Has he spoken with you?"

Tsuru's response made his eyes harden. Vergo thought he saw his knuckles pale.

"Where the hell is my son?"

It did not sound like it was directed at Tsuru. Or even really anyone. Sengoku slid his office door shut and hurried down the hall.

Several minutes passed before Vergo stepped out into the open, waiting until Sengoku's footsteps had long disappeared. It was curious. He'd not been aware the man had had any children.

Vergo pondered a moment the idea of investigating, before deciding it wasn't worth it. Based on the way of that conversation, it didn't seem like Sengoku would be a father much longer anyway.

Turning to the door, Vergo tested the latch carefully. It slid open with invariable and disgraceful ease.

His lips turned. Half a smile.

Now we're in business, aren't we, Doffy?

xxx

The rendezvous spot was on a bumpy, salt-drenched plain, just elevated enough to avoid the incoming tide. Over the course of the week, Rosinante had taken a long and careful scope of the location.

A little oddly, it was at a deliberate angle and led in a straight line from Rubeck to Minion, which he could still only barely make out in the dark. An escape route perhaps, should the deal with the marines go south. His brother often had several of them available during hits or raids, leading back to various hideouts for later regrouping. It wouldn't have been shocking if Barrels was using Minion for much the same purpose.

Not that Rosinante was planning confirmation either way. Once the fruit was brought to Rubeck, the only place it'd be going was down the kid's throat.

With a final drag of his dying cigarette, he crushed the stub in his fist, before jamming it into his pocket. Didn't seem right to just flick it into the sea here or grind it into the dirt.

Especially if Law was right and…someone had come across this place—was moved to help it for some reason or other…maybe after they'd already left…

Rosinante sighed, ran a hand down his face and sent the thought away. He was too exhausted for it right now.

Straightening, he brushed off his clothes and pondered a little aimlessly of what to do with Law tomorrow. He supposed he could fish out the dusty chess tarp or a pack of cards, something fun to keep up spirits since the kid's condition hadn't been too good lately.

Rosinante stood.

"Cora-san."

And fell right back down again. The sand dulled the impact though, made only his frame vibrate from the force. Rosinante shot to his feet again within seconds, incredulous gaze shifting and growing wide.

"What the…?"

He half-scrambled to the wobbling child, lifting him hastily and dragging a corner of his coat around the small, gaunt body. "What are you doing here, Law?" he said, already exasperated, "I told you I'd be back, didn't I? It's freezing out, how'd you even find me?"

Law coughed, sinking half his fever-flushed face into the feathers for warmth. His expression was strange and almost perturbed. A white hand reached for a fistful of Rosinante's shirt.

"Cora-san, I think I need to show you something."

He blinked.

"Show me something?"

"There." The boy turned and pointed. "Down the path, through the glade."

"Can't this wait—"

"No. C'mon, go."

"But—"

"Hurry up, Cora-san."

Rosinante hurried.

xxx

It took some effort and struggle to push through the glade, moreso because Cora-san was taller than some of the trees and had to crouch to struggle past the branches. He was also fretting about Law's stupid fever, getting his coat snagged on thorns and tripping over every apparent root in the vicinity.

"At least tell me where I'm going, Law," Cora-san said, finally staggering clear, covered head to toe in leaves and twigs.

Law had to take a minute to respond, head fallen against Cora-san's shoulder, waiting out another intense bout of nausea. "Law?" Cora-san said again, more urgently, and a broad, cool hand rested over his forehead. Something sharp, like a muffled swear hissed between Cora-san's teeth. "You're burning the hell up, kid. We need to go back."

"I'm okay," Law said, raising his head as the world stabilized. "We're almost there."

Cora-san gaped at him, incredulous.

"And where is 'there'?"

Law ignored the question. "I think someone actually did help Rubeck grow back," he said instead, "Don't you, Cora-san?"

The arms around him stiffened. Cora-san's gaze slid over and their eyes met, gleaming brick-dust against amber. Then he looked away.

"It's a nice thought, I suppose…" he said, tiredly, and stepped through the last of the thickets.

xxx

("I know you don't mean to," Rosinante said, "But the truth is you do. And you did. And it's not enough whether you meant to or not." He turned, gazing into the arid field beyond.

"I do love you, okay? You're my brother, I'll always love you." He sucked in a breath. "But you have never…you've never loved me. Never cared what I want. Never placed anyone above yourself. She was wrong and it took me twenty-six years to figure that out and I can't fucking live with it anymore."

Silence. Bottomless and ugly.

Doffy's expression was pale with distress, like he was searching for something to say. But there was nothing to say and so all that came out in the end was, "You need to stay, Rosi. We're supposed to be together."

Rosinante shook his head, jaw clenched. His eyes were hot. Rubeck was melding into one dry, shriveled blur.

"There's nothing to stay for," he whispered, "You're already gone.")

xxx

Strangely, the first thing Rosinante managed to register were the birds. The little white-gray ones he'd seen somewhere before, hopping from branch to branch. A handful burst through the copse with wings spread, climbing for the moon.

The tree itself came into focus a second behind.

White willow, Law would tell him later, with a trunk that was gnarled and coal-dark, with thick boughs and ash-colored leaves. It creaked with the wind. The long cords of its leaves swayed. It had partially fallen at some point, and the roots were still topside, easing their way back slowly into the sunken earth.

There was really no support for the weight of it, the whole of it, in truth except…

Rosinante walked forward mindlessly.

They were spindle-thin, metallic sheen, barely visible against the bark, but he saw them. Recognized them anywhere.

He reached out his hand and touched the strings.

The texture was worn with age, the knots neat and precise, bracing the willow's branches, bringing it up against the sky. The surrounding trees too. Tender shoots that were strained under gravity, crooked stalks growing the wrong way. Half the glade really, when he stumbled through it again to look and wondered how he'd missed it.

Doffy had made them gentle to the touch, maybe so they'd be safe to untie later, when the trees no longer needed them—these strings that Rosinante knew could cleft a building, that could suffocate the world.

And the moment it did click for him happened quite simply. Devoid of ceremony. Without stunning revelation.

It was yellowed, that memory of his brother four years ago on Rubeck. Their shadows intertwined. Standing in the late eve and smelling of leaves.

Doffy holding his hands beneath the faucet.

A happy ending…

Smiling at him.

…Rosi.

Washing the dirt clean.

xxx

Cora-san walked back to the bunker in a haze. Law watched him quietly. They said nothing to each other as the man pushed open the door, as he put Law down on the cot and settled beside him, so he could have the extra body heat. The mattress dipped as Cora-san stretched out his legs, the left one bent at the knee.

"You need to rest, kid," he murmured, staring blankly at the wall.

But Law had a million questions then he would've rather asked instead. Was he here with you? Were those really his strings? Are we never going back? Why did we leave?

"Cora-san," he said in the end, "You're still fighting with him, aren't you? You're still angry. He has no idea where we are, does he?"

Silence.

Law pressed his face against Cora-san's waist, the belt loop mashing into his cheek.

"Doflamingo can be a selfish prick, so I'm sure whatever happened is essentially his own fault, but…he was seriously upset, you know. Like drunk-off-his-ass daily upset, and that not-eating thing you both seem to love doing a whole lot."

More silence. Law glanced up towards Cora-san's face, only able to make out the gold of his hair.

"And I think, even though he hurt you, that he hurt himself pretty badly too."

Cora-san exhaled, legs crossing at the ankle.

Then he asked suddenly, for the first time, without inflection.

"…do you miss him, Law?"

The question sounded very important somehow. Law stared at one of the hearts on Cora-san's shirt. He didn't know what had happened or why they were running, merely that they were.

And that there'd be no more of the three of them sitting together at the prow of the ship. No more watching the ocean roll, or the cresting fins of sea kings. No more stupid things like listening to Cora-san and Doflamingo squabble about whether he needed a haircut.

No more feeling, strangely, like he was home.

And no more home too.

There were tears. What the hell. Law bunched a corner of the shirt in his hand, forcing them away before Cora-san could see them.

"I wanna stay with you," he said, because that was an irrefutable truth, "But…yeah, a lil' bit. And I wouldn't…I wouldn't mind going back. Don't you miss him too?"

He wasn't expecting an answer. And for a long while, Cora-san didn't reply. Just readjusted his position and left a hand on Law's head, the lulling, familiar weight of it making him drowsy near instantly.

It was on the teetering edge of oblivion when he thought he heard him again, quietly in the dark.

"Story of my life, kid."

xxx

At some point, though he didn't think it possible, Rosinante fell asleep. The dream was somewhere very soft and still, a milky sea of clouds. He couldn't touch or taste anything. A smell was in the air, coppery and saccharine.

"Rosi."

His head lifted, standing quickly as his brother stepped into view. Doffy's hands were behind his back. His forehead was cut in a long-crooked line and bleeding sluggishly, the dark trail wrapping down the curve of his cheek. Rosinante hurried over. Knelt to make them eye-level.

"Brother?"

"Did you like my surprise?"

"Where'd you go?" Rosinante touched his sleeve. "Doffy, you're bleeding."

"It's fine."

Rosinante didn't think so. It looked grisly. Doffy had always been so good at ignoring pain.

"Did you like it?" he was asking again, "Rosi?"

He nodded, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I did."

Doffy grinned from ear to ear, ecstatic in the only way a child could be. Blood dripped from his chin. It webbed out like smoke, evaporating into the mist.

"Then, are you coming back?"

Rosinante stared at the swirling white beneath their feet. There was a long beat, before he brushed a thumb over the bony, starving angle of his brother's shoulder. He lowered his hand, looking upon his brother's face.

"I don't know."

And then added, before Doffy's expression could wilt, "But…I'd like to check on you. Make sure you're okay and everything. After the Ope Ope."

Doffy touched his face with dry, warm hands. "Really?"

"Yeah."

His brother smiled. He pushed the hair out of Rosinante's eyes.

And after a while, Rosinante took one of his hands and held it for a moment too.

xxx

You know, Rosi…

xxx

When Law woke later that dawn, the cot was empty and Cora-san was gone. He'd find him down the trail again later, through the glade.

Sitting in the willow, with his long limbs hanging off the boughs. He was tracing the loops of string again, around and around with a fingernail. And when Law came close, he leaned down to scoop him into his arms.

"What do the leaves do?" Cora-san asked, skin cool from the early morning. Law kicked his legs, the sun was dripping all around them.

"If you crush them up and serve it as tea, they'll reduce fever. Soothe different kinds of inflamed joints."

"Sounds like I should make some."

"Hm, yeah."

"Oho, that was easy. Thought you weren't gonna let me do it.

Law gave him a reproachful look. "It's only boiling water, Cora-san. Are saying you need help?"

A deep laugh, deep as the sea, rumbled beneath his spine. "Point taken." Cora-san was smiling and for once, it didn't seem on reflex alone.

"'s all I have to my name, huh? Boiled water and rice balls."

Law uncrossed his arms.

"It's your own fault," he said, "You burn everything else."

Then he hugged Cora-san without explanation and Cora-san, without really startling, hugged him back.

xxx

We're actually…a happy ending. You and me.

xxx

The addenda were found in Sengoku's desk drawer.

xxx

Ultimately.

xxx

Marine Code 01746.

xxx

Right?