negotium – "the job" or "the difficulty"
(At the lip of the triangle, a marine tankard sliced through the water. The sails bore the full blast of the ocean winds, propelling her forward, while men lined the banks of the oars whenever they stalled. She was as close to flying as any ship could be and it wasn't enough. Not remotely.
"This is as fast as our warships get?" Sengoku swung a hand towards the helm. "This is all you can do?"
The crew shrunk and stammered apologies. They protested that their ETA had been shaved by a quarter. Tried to reassure him with it even, as though those fifty minutes weren't already a blinding eternity. A death sentence. Rosinante didn't have fifty minutes for all he knew.
He warned him, he warned him, he warned him, why hadn't he listened?
How could there be a tonight?
Sengoku stared across the endless ocean, knuckles white.)
xxx
His brother's footsteps had long disappeared, before Rosinante was able to move again. Wheezing, he dragged himself to the ledge by his elbows, the message tube clutched in his blue-nailed hand. On his last vestige of strength, he threw it into the waves below and disposed of Dressrosa's secrets for good.
Doffy would never return to those shores again, this Rosinante knew in his bones. It was something of a victory.
His chest burned. Desperate to relieve the pressure, he flipped onto his back with immense effort. Maybe it proved to be a bad idea, since the next thing he knew he was back in the misty sea. Rosinante stared up at the sky. Shadows danced over the clouds as though they were thin as fusuma paper—forms appearing and disappearing through the white veil. Waiting for him.
Rosinante looked away, faintly clammy.
He wondered if Law's boat had made it to Swallow yet. If the kid was awake now. Rosinante didn't know if he'd managed to say the right things to him. He had never been the best at expressing himself. It was a problem that ran in the family.
Where would he go? The kid had nothing. No food, no money, no map, no one left to turn to...
Nothing you can do now.
The space rippled around him.
The mist lifted like an unfurling sheet and suddenly the world was blended full of color. Vivid greens, rouge vines, dappled shadows that danced over his body. He smelled the white willow before it actually took shape, pungent and earthy. The sun filtered through its weeping canopy and stared into his face.
Rubeck.
Rosinante's eyes flitted over. Tender shoots sifted beneath his ear.
The boy was leaned against the trunk. The strings encircling the boughs seemed to list toward him, as though recognizing their master.
They were silent for an age, before Rosinante slowly reached out his hand. A far smaller one touched it, flesh scar-riddled and rough, as clever and spidery and self-mutilated as the real thing.
"Do you think he'll live?"
Oh, yes.
Rosinante smiled a little. The distressed crease between his brow persisted however.
"...What if he hates me one day?"
The child crossed his legs. Law? Hate you? He shook his head, simple and wry, like he thought it a foolish question. How could Doffy know though? The things that kid would have to endure now, because of them. And after Flevance. Resentment would be the least of their dues. Baby and Buffalo too.
Buffalo will grow up eventually, his brother said, And Baby...she doesn't have it in her to honestly hate anyone, let alone you.
Rosinante sighed and nodded. He had no blame for them and no expectations either, but he did hope so.
"I should've let you see them one last time," he said dully, "At least her. You were so fond."
Doffy shrugged. His expression was anything but callous though. Warm black liquid dripped off his chin. He squeezed Rosinante's hand. Just once and carefully, as though it was porcelain, before he turned toward the cloudless sky.
Don't worry about it anymore.
xxx
Baby Five flung herself at him.
A small, cold bundle, hair dazzling full of ice crystals. Doflamingo felt the thwump against his shoulder blankly, wet snow flecking his skin, mind swirling a feet above their heads.
It took a few seconds, before he reached up to hold her back. The little fleece jacket was coarse beneath his fingers. Slightly damp. He'd given it to her for her tenth birthday, he recognized randomly. It was meant for autumns.
Baby was on Minion.
"Where'd you come from?" he said and blood bubbled past his chin.
Her hands flew to a bullet hole in his stomach and clamped down. Red dripped through, crept up her elbows and pittered onto the sand. Doflamingo gave it slow regard. That rifle had been huge. It must've been loaded with something nasty.
His gaze returned to the corpse. The tide had flushed over it twice, back and forth, receding in a foam of pink. It was even less recognizable without a head. Couldn't have been anyone but a member of Barrels's crew though.
So he had missed one of them.
Doflamingo exhaled.
Then he laughed.
The sound had simply leapt from him, half-choked. Certainly he hadn't intended to startle the girl, but he couldn't stop. Doflamingo leaned forward onto his elbows. Strands of blood drizzled between his teeth.
"Fuck," he whispered into the sand.
Baby whimpered. She tried to brace him and made a confused noise when he nudged her off. Cried out when he shifted flat instead.
"It's alright, Baby girl," Doflamingo said, chuckling still, head flopped backwards against a dune, "It's fine. Get out of here."
Baby Five jammed her hands beneath his shoulders and heaved. She tried pointlessly for several seconds, before a high-pitched whine echoed above them. The beach juddered. Baby froze, gaze shooting upwards.
One of the bars had sagged, its weight leaning precariously into its neighbor's. Doflamingo released a quiet breath. None of the cage could be disassembled safely now. All that meticulous energy required leaking its slow, red way out of him. The whole thing would soon collapse.
"It will fall. Go to the boat before you get crushed."
The girl didn't move. Her eyes, black jewels in a papery face, stared at him until the cage lurched again and made her jump. Her gaze scavenged the beachside and darted across the coast. She looked down again. Then up. Once and twice more, before she bit her lip hard and released him.
The tide washed out the path of her footprints.
Doflamingo rolled his gaze away.
You can't stay here.
Silken fronds of hair wavered in front of his eyes. Doflamingo blinked slowly. His bloodied mouth tilted. "You wrote me letters?"
Get up.
"Hehe, you were such a staunch defender of mine. I read them all, I hope you don't mind."
Doffy.
"I wish you'd just forgotten me."
Silence.
The ghost watched him, that little face of an old memory, until Doflamingo's vision grew so hot and blurred again that the world shimmered through varnish.
"Rosi," he said, "I wanted...very much to be the brother she asked me to be. And I'm sorry I failed in every way there was. You should've ran even harder. Even further." His grin was a crumpled line. "It'd have been good if you'd never looked back again."
The ghost knelt down.
Please get up, brother.
Doflamingo turned back to the sky, blood curving down his chin.
xxx
(Was the island shaking?
Dory trudged onto the beach, a panting wreck unable to tell. Sprinting through snowdrifts was no honest-to-god joke. He'd barely regained his breath, let alone registered his surroundings, before the girl barreled straight into him again.
"Hrrk!" Reflexive scales sprouted across his biceps, nails lengthening. He windmilled out of a fall on his ass "Hey! What the—"
The girl clutched his hands. Frantic noises spilled from her mouth. She nodded towards the coastline.
Dory's brow rose. He cast a dumb, harried glance in the same direction. "What? Something's over the dunes? Also you're a devil fruit user?"
He hadn't really expected an answer and wasn't disappointed. She pulled him along, mouth taut. Yanked him when his pace was reluctant and Dory half-stumbled again. She was stronger than she looked. For the tenth time, he wondered who she was.
"Okay, okay," Dory said, getting his feet under him, "Easy, geez, I'm coming.")
xxx
The stars were strikingly bright from here. They hung along the top with languishing ease, clustered like curious insects upon a dome.
Did you hear me, Doffy? The ghost frowned, leaning forward on its knees. You have to get up.
He didn't answer.
The ghost wrung its hands on the torn hem of its shirt. What about your crew? After all the trouble you've caused Mariejois, can't you imagine what will be done to them?
His fingers twitched, before stilling again.
Clouds were rolling in. Swollen tufts of navy blue cotton.
Brother, it said, this is no way for you to die.
It would snow soon.
Doffy, I said get up!
He started and looked back over. The ghost was glaring at him, hands bunched in the raggedy hem of its shirt.
Get up, it said, voice shuddering and a giant crack split down the center of its chest.
That got his attention.
"...Rosi?"
The ghost shook its head. The crack spiraled out into roots. A segment of Rosi's little finger disintegrated, collapsing like a column of cigarette ash.
What do you think you're doing here? he said, features wrinkled, This is how you believe it should end? You can't even say sorry to my face?
Doflamingo's jaw tightened.
"Rosi…I can't—"
Come back. Tears winded down its crumbling cheeks. I'm scared, Doffy, please come back, please, how can you let me die up there alone?
It vanished again, before he could speak.
Doflamingo stared at the spot it had stood. Slowly, he struggled to look behind him at the hills again.
They seemed to rise upon sight. Their hulking shadows engulfed him, swallowed the blood-stained puddle growing around his frame. It was impossible, some detached part of him thought. The distance was too far. Too much. He'd been shot seven times. He couldn't be expected to go anywhere. He'd bleed to death just trying.
Try anyway.
Doflamingo's fists squeezed tight. Strings sprang out of his skin and laced the bullet wounds, stitching through damaged organs and muscle. It was shoddy work, even messier and more uneven than before, but it slowed the bleeding and would suffice. He breathed, rough and deep, clawing at life, shoving it back into his body.
He turned on his side.
That's the only job you've ever had, darling.
Doflamingo braced his palm against the sand.
A hand touched his sleeve.
xxx
(In hindsight, Dory didn't even know why he'd walked as close as he had. He wasn't foolish. And the pink coat wasn't exactly small or inconspicuous. He should've bolted at the first hint of a glimpse and yet he kept following her. Steps almost mechanical, leashed by a morbid sense of disbelief.
He followed until there was no mistaking it anymore. Until he was standing twenty meters away from Doflamingo Donquixote, who laid still and gray in an enormous blood pool against the dunes. Glasses half-broken. Expression vacant. Large rifle shells strewn all around.
So remarkably, deeply dead until he wasn't.
Strings burst from Doflamingo's body. They delve through the torn layers of fabric and skin, stitching together whatever damage they could. Like frenzied snakes searching for burrows, Dory thought and would still remember so many years on.
Doflamingo inhaled sharply and turned on his side, planting his hand in the sand.
The girl dropped his wrist and raced to him. Pink feathers whirled in her wake. That gem clicked for Dory too then and sent ice shooting across his gut. How had he not recognized them earlier?
He watched relief flood her face as she knelt down and touched Doflamingo's sleeve. Watched Doflamingo glance up in surprise, before it faded into amusement and resignation. He sat up fully, one leg bent, and patted her head. The girl reached up for his hand. Dory did not remotely understand what he was seeing.
He should've run then. The problem was he couldn't remember how. Maybe his heart had plunged straight through his belly to hang around his knees and tied him to the spot.
They both glanced at him a second later.
"Baby, you've made a friend?"
She called to him, a wordless, shapeless sound that somehow managed to convey urgency. Her look was demanding and impatient. Dory gawked at her. What did she want him to do? Help Doflamingo walk?
Holy shit, he thought hysterically, before Doflamingo cocked his head, brows rising as his lips curled.
"That scar on your chin," he said, "Could you be young Diez Drake?"
It was a questioning tone that brooked no questions. Dory's eyes widened.
"...you know my name?"
Doflamingo chuckled. "I know my enemies." He leaned forward and coughed slightly. The girl, Baby, steadied him. "Or the biggest threats specifically...Though it does appear some of your father's band had more stones than expected."
Dory's eyes flicked to the body. Saw it was Isaac's cousin. Registered he was headless. His throat twinged hard. He looked at Doflamingo, who grinned.
"I can't take any credit," he said and tipped Baby's chin. The girl's concerned expression broke a moment and she giggled, happy as a puppy. Dory kept silent.
"My guess is he'd gone back to your base and seen that I'd visited. As have you by this point I'm sure."
"I don't want revenge," he said and surprised himself more than anyone with how instantly the words came to him. Doflamingo just looked amused. He nodded, wordless. Continued to stare at him. Dory didn't know what he was thinking, that milky eye hanging and vacant, but the cogs were visibly turning.
"You know I also discovered you were eighteen. Are you honestly? Such a tiny boy."
His grin was very wide for such an inane comment. Elated really. Even Baby looked at him now, quizzical.
Hairs prickled Dory's nape. Move, he urged his legs, Move already.
Doflamingo opened his right hand and strings climbed from his sleeve.
"Fufufu, how truly fortuitous that you survived," he said, as they formed into a ball, dark and solid with armament haki, "The Family and I thank you, Diez Drake."
And Dory's legs remembered how to work again. He whipped around and caught the marine boat in his eye, rocking empty near the shallows of the coastline.
It was the last thing he saw too, that boat, before a sharp pain erupted at the back of his head and his vision faded.
He'd wake up on a frigate twice its size, penlight shining into his face, a quarter of the way to Saobody.)
xxx
"You didn't believe me."
The boy looked over.
"Nothing that I said. I could see it in your face as you left." Rosinante sighed. "I guess I deserve that."
The boy did not answer. He propped his chin on a scraped knee and regarded him thoughtfully.
You could've lived so much longer, Rosi. If you'd just kept away from here. You could've been so much happier.
Wind swooped low and swished through the bushes. A butterfly landed on a string.
"Lived longer maybe," Rosinante said.
But happier…
If he had never come back, they would never have been brothers again. He wouldn't have met the kids. Met Law. He'd have spent the rest of his life unable to forgive himself.
"I wouldn't say happier, no."
Aren't you scared?
Slivers of bark peeled from the white willow. The braided leaves curled, devoured by embers. Rosinante swallowed. He tried to ignore the string-pluck rhythm of his pulse.
It's okay. The boy shifted and covered him again with his shadow, blocked the darkness with his frame. I'm here.
Rosinante shook his head.
"You're not."
xxx
Doflamingo plucked up little Diez Drake's body.
He looked towards the boat.
xxx
(Baby Five scowled.
"He was about to run," the Young Master said, limping beside her, "And we need him right now."
The scruff of Dory's jacket hung from the Young Master's glove. His limbs swung like noodles. Baby crossed her arms.
Honestly, she'd only gone for Dory's help because she thought they'd be able to drag the Young Master across the beach together. Who knew he was going to get bullied like this instead. She felt horrible now. He'd even said she was helpful and useful too. Poor Dory!
The Young Master snorted. "Baby, Baby, we must have standards. A runt like this should never qualify."
She squeaked, outrage coloring her pink. Glared harder when all he did was snicker again. She could've hit him if he wasn't already hurt so badly. In fact, she refused to look at him when they reached the water's edge, not even when strings wound around her waist and lifted her to him.
All the way up until he coughed out another glob of blood and wobbled, almost dropping her and Dory both. Then Baby quickly steadied his chest, eyes wide and mindful of the sutures. They were done so sloppily. Nothing like the beautiful stitches she'd seen him complete before.
The Young Master huffed out a laugh. His smile was small and taut.
"Don't be angry with me, doll," he said and stepped into the sky.)
xxx
(There was a boat engine beneath Vergo's ear. Three feet below, vibrating against his cartilage through the sheet of metal plating. The water pumps, the carburetor and spark plugs. A purring cloud of white noise that was running idle now, but still smooth with lubricant and oil. Naturally of course, he had changed it himself, hadn't he? Along with the fuel tanks. Just earlier, he remembered. For a special reason. What it was though had escaped him.
He was lying on his stomach, arm half-twisted. It was an enormously painful position that he couldn't ascertain how he'd ended up in either. He must've fallen though. The sharp ache lacing across his head indicated it had been violent. There were two small steps between the two main decks, with a dab of blood over the ledge. He assumed he'd hit one of them wrong.
His eyes were heavy and the lashes were glued together at the corners. A few feet away, the boat's railing gleamed at him. Beyond it the dark water and beyond that a snowy beach.
Something stood there. A shadow that he thought perhaps was a bird. It glided over the waves and towards him like one, wings spread and flowing behind it like one too.
It was a man though by the time it landed on the deck. Immensely tall. Blonde. He held two children, a girl that jumped down and gasped at Vergo, hands over her mouth. The other a boy who was propped on a bench, limp as a toy. The man did not look at Vergo. Walked right by him. His steps echoed through the decking.
Oh yes, Vergo remembered suddenly.
Doffy.
He grayed out for a while.
When he resurfaced, Baby Five was peering into his face on all fours. It was clear she thought he was dead. Vergo ignored her.
Doffy was in the cabin. At Vergo's angle, he saw him pen two messages and tie them up with string. He checked the maps, pulled out the drawer of eternal poses and selected one. (Where are you going?) The control panel buzzed as coordinates were entered. The beep of autopilot as it was switched on.
Doffy re-emerged. The girl, who had hopped onto the bench next to the other child, was peering out to sea. She pointed excitedly at something in the distance and Doffy ruffled her hair as he passed. Vergo assumed he would be passed again too.
He was surprised when the shadow cast over him and he was shifted upright instead. It was not gentle. Pain tore through Vergo's skull like a heated blade. Unrelenting and gouging deeper. Vergo could not even move to scream. He would have been wholly consumed by it if not for the hand that cupped his face.
Doffy was horrifically pale up close even through Vergo's shades. Skin the color of slate and mouth leeched and bloodless along the seam of his lips. A jagged scar through a blind eye.
A thumb brushed across his cheek. Stroked it twice brusquely, smoothing the grooved imprints out of his jaw, before the hand fell.
"You disappointing fool." Uneven nails cut into his bone. "Have you forgotten who you serve?" The pensive expression warped. Enraged. Betrayed.
Dying, Vergo realized blankly. Dying too.
"I have only one rule. Recall it and find Trebol."
He was released. It was no good. He could not stay awake any longer.
Doffy was dying.
Vergo tunneled down down down, past the metal plates and through the boat engine. He spiraled into the core of the world. Blacker than it'd ever been before.)
xxx
(The Young Master knelt in front of Vergo-san for a long time. Baby Five kept her head turned away and tried to plug her ears when she heard him speaking. She'd only met Vergo-san this evening, but Jora had said he'd been one of the Family's oldest officers. No one had been more loyal, more devoted. The Young Master must've been so sad.
The cage groaned. Her shoulders bunched up, but she forced herself not to interrupt him. They were leaving this island soon. She'd never been so relieved.
Eventually, the Young Master stood.
"Baby," he called softly and she pattered over. He eased himself down on the opposite bench and the starlight drenched his face, illuminating his rainwater pallor and white lips. Webbed veins spread beneath his skin. The lens over his right eye had begun to crack as well, but she could not even bring herself to marvel at the glimpse of color underneath.
He looked bad. Really, really bad. Awful even. Baby Five chewed her lip and settled her hands on one of his knees, trying not to be too obvious with her concern.
"The others were caught by marines," he said, without preamble and she nodded, only momentarily alarmed. She was sure the Young Master already knew what to do. He would take care of them, as he always had
From his inner pocket, he produced two scrolls. One tied with a knot shaped like a butterfly, the other one like a rose. He held them out to her in a slightly trembling hand.
"I have a very important request for you.")
xxx
When Doflamingo landed on Minion's shore that last time, he opened another hole in the cage. It took considerably longer, was considerably smaller and summoned iridescent swirls to the corners of his eye. Wasn't wise of him. He'd surely hastened the cage's collapse too.
But his strings obeyed and the boat slipped through and on its way.
A little silhouette stood at the bow, scrolls tucked underneath her armpit. She waved at him.
He chuckled and waved back. She would be in for some exciting times ahead, his Baby, with the world teetering on the new era's cusp. All those unwritten pages he'd never get to see. A pity.
Doflamingo waited until the boat was a dot on the horizon, before swaying to the trail. It winded up and up, but his eyes fixed upon the hills. Through the hills and to the cliff on the other side. He slipped off his glasses, splintered beyond repair and dropped them at his feet.
The year was ending. Gold Roger was the dust of eleven years buried. Doflamingo was twenty-eight.
One of two souls left on Minion alive.
"Wait for me this time," he said, "I'm coming."
Beside him, the ghost beamed, eyes joyfully bright, grin too big for its child face. It belled into smoke, voice echoing and Doflamingo knew then that he would never see it again.
I know.