-Part 1-

The Lack Thereof

Or,

Possible Repression

-Now-

Two months. It startled Doflamingo that sixty days could pass by so quickly, especially since he spent each day reminding himself how valuable time was, after all he only had so much time left to spare, but somehow so many days went by, and so many days were wasted.

"Have you found someone to sell long term?" Vergo asked, resting his arms on the stained table. The club was dark. It reeked of sweat and human filth. Women rubbed their cheap bodies against walls and poles, teasing money out of drunk, lonesome men. But it was loud, and it busy, and it was close enough to the marine base, and Doflamingo didn't mind too much.

"Violet says she knows some older boys at school who might fit the bill," Doflamingo said with a yawn. He was an insomniac during the night, trying to speed up the process of his eventual takeover in the underground world, but the effects were beginning to take its toll on him. The lighting didn't help either. He kept a smile on his face, refusing to rest, to consume caffeine, or anything that might deter him from his broken schedule.

"How much older?" Vergo asked.

"I think a year or two," he answered. "From what I've been told, they're a group of punks who have no real future ahead of them…"

"Is that what you want selling our product?" Vergo asked with some concern.

"For the time being," Doflamingo admitted. "If we want to make more money we'll have to expand our territory, including to the more dangerous neighborhoods." The room emptying out. It was less claustrophobic. "You're busy now, and I'd rather not get the girls in trouble, so I'll hire these shmucks and see what happens."

"You sure you can trust Violet not to get you into trouble?"

A girl in a tight, pink, glittering dress walked down the platform and, spotting Vergo's uniform, produced a hungry smirk. Both men watched in mild disgust as she got on all fours and dragged herself in a sloppy, animal manner, towards the direction of their table. The sunglasses and dark scenery made it impossible for the women to take a hint.

"She's still young," Doflamingo answered, eyeing the oil stricken body that slowly made her way upon him and Vergo. "I can fool her into believing whatever I need to her to believe, so long as she obeys my orders."

"Do you know the names of these kids?" Vergo asked.

"One of them goes by the name of Bellamy. I think Violet mentioned the name of his girlfriend, but I couldn't be bothered to care…not until I see them for myself."

"I wish you didn't have to resort to hiring children," the older man admitted, with a soft sigh. "They're incredibly unreliable."

"Nobody will miss them should something happen," Doflamingo said. He took a sip of his drink and smiled at Vergo. "My heart would break should anything befall you."

Vergo sighed again. He took a chip and dipped it in ketchup, pushing the over-fried treat deeper until it was completely submerged. He looked distraught.

"What?" Doflamingo asked.

"Progress is slow."

Doflamingo felt his mouth ache. Suddenly the smile felt forced. "It could be worse," he said, trying his best to sound enthusiastic. "You're doing a spectacular job."

"It will be a long while before I'll have the freedom I once did."

The lights in the strip club turned into a deep red, making it all the more difficult to see. Doflamingo yanked his sunglasses off and stuffed them into his coat pocket.

"I wonder how long that would take…" Doflamingo turned and stared at another woman, donning a maid's outfit, walking out of the dressing room. She was younger than the rest. She could be his age. Nice legs.

"How does one speed through the promotion process?" Doflamingo said aloud.

"Hard work and outperforming the rest of the competition," Vergo answered.

"Yes, but there must be other ways as well," the blonde said, burying his face into his palms. "Like, there has to be a way for you to get in with the higher-ups. Maybe you could earn your way through other means?"

"Are you suggesting I sell the product to my high-ups?" Vergo asked.

"Oh noooo," Doflamingo answered, "Don't sell yourself. These men will expect an honorable man to earn his way."

"How do you suggest I do that, Sir?" he asked.

"Well…" Doflamingo freed his hands and stretched his arms out, thinking to himself of possible means to get Vergo up in ranks, and having him back in his own.

"Uh…well, I guess socializing with them would be a start," he said. "And no kiss-assing."

Vergo raised a brow. "Would you ever suspect me of doing such a thing?"

Doflamingo smirked. "Describe these men to me."

"Most of them are white."

"Can't do anything about that," Doflamingo said, leaning back into his seat. He turned his head and watched the girl in the maid's outfit chat it up with a middle aged man dressed in a suit. His face was sweaty and red and he held no money in his hand. She wasn't giving him a lap dance, nor was she teasing him. No, they were just talking…strange. Why was she talking to him? Why waste her time when she could be making money, her living? Why were so many people content with wasting time?

"They're significantly older," he heard Vergo add.

"Next," Doflamingo said, still staring out in the dark.

"They're all family men, most likely Republican as well," Vergo remarked.

"Family…you don't have a real family, do you, Vergo?"

Vergo gave a short, quick nod. Doflamingo grabbed his drink, now warm, and took a small sip from it.

"You think these guys are well off?" Doflamingo asked.

"If I was to guess, I might say they were well off," Vergo replied.

"Rich white people like to socialize with other rich, white people," Doflamingo said. "Even better, they love to invite rich, non-white people, and socialize with them."

Vergo's jaw dropped a little. "And you know this…"

"I had an awkward childhood going to such events," Doflamingo said with a crooked smirk. "It's always a rule to have one, non-white family on your side." He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his coat and opened it up, pulling a stick and playing with it before placing it between his lips. "Once in a while there would be a poor family…but they never stayed long."

Vergo nod his head. "So we ask Monet–"

"–Monet is way too young," Doflamingo interrupted. "And if you want to gain sympathy, you'll need more than just a cute wife…you'll need an actual family."

He watched Vergo frown, slowly shaking his head in complete disagreement.

"Not to sound weak, but I don't think I'm ready for that sort of commitment," Vergo said.

"Well of course not," Doflamingo said. "You're still young! Can't expect you to throw your life away by adding brats to the mix…" He lit his cigarette and took a deep breath. "No, we'll have to take a slightly different approach."

"Can I get you boys another drink?"

Both men looked up at the young, scantily dressed woman standing at their table. Doflamingo recognized her as the maid he had observed moments before. Vergo crossed his arms, not the least bit interested in her offer. Doflamingo peered at his warm Cuban, wondering if wasting another five dollars on a barely cool mixture of rum and coke was a good idea, and looked up at the young stripper, who, up close, looked even younger than he had previously guessed.

She was fresh, young, and new. Her genuine smile made him think she hadn't yet been here a week. A newbie. Fresh meat. Innocence.

He smiled. "What's your name, dear?"

Despite wearing sunglasses, somehow Doflamingo could tell that Vergo was rolling his eyes.

"They call me Baby," the girl answered perkily.

"Baby?" Doflamingo said in mild surprise. "I thought this place already had a Baby?" He pointed at Vergo. "You remember, right?" he asked. "Strawberry blonde hair, with freckles?"

"I thought Baby was the Asian one," Vergo answered.

"It depends on the day of the week," the girl replied. "The boss really likes it, so a few of us get called the name…" She stared at Doflamingo and managed to produce a blush that, even under the lighting, he could see.

"Dare I ask what Baby you are?" he asked the girl. He exhaled the rest of the air in his lungs in the direction of the dark haired beauty, letting some smoke hit her chest.

"I'm the fifth one," she answered, looking away with some embarrassment. "Saturday and Sunday nights."

"Wow," Doflamingo muttered. "Right, well, Baby, neither of us are thirsty right now, but maybe if you come back in ten minutes or so, I'll be willing to dehumanize you for say, a twenty?"

Vergo chuckled. Baby's mouth dropped a bit from his remark. He expected her to walk away, though he was also hoping, seeing that she was the latest Baby to join, to possibly break down and cry from his lack of shame. Instead she looked around the dark, hot room, her lips curling inward as she tried to think of something to say. Doflamingo would have laughed, but then she looked down at him and gave a short nod, followed by a, "Ok, Sir. I'll see to it shortly."

Doflamingo wasn't expecting an answer from a simple girl like her. She was new to these things, but though her voice was shaky, there was something oddly assured about it, as though it were more than her job to take money from her. She sounded as though it were a duty.

He pulled out his sunglasses and covered his heated face. Women.

"Baby…" he muttered, curling in his finger in an inviting gesture.

"Hmm?" The girl leaned in close as he turned his head, leaning it against his shoulder and smirking so wide his cigarette risked falling.

"Five," he answered.

"What?" she asked.

"That's what I'll call you," he answered. "That's what you are. A number. A commodity. Goods. Baby number 5. Baby the fifth. Baby 5."

"Oh," Baby said, pulling away with some disappointment. "Uhm…ok."

"Now leave," he said. Doflamingo played with his cigarette, staring mildly at Vergo as he recanted further into his chair, finding his boss' words to a random stripper unusually cruel.

Once she had walked off Doflamingo turned to Vergo, disappointed that he had not broken her.

"So, that marriage idea of yours?" Vergo asked.

Doflamingo rubbed his head and tried to think about what he had planned to say, but his frustration seemed to overflow every corner of his mind.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Can't really remember what I was going to say." He sneered over at the girl.

"She'll probably get upset once she comes back…if she comes back."

"I doubt it," the blonde muttered, picking up his cup and finishing off of drink. "We won't be here."

"You're not going to try toying with her?"

"I'm not going to throw away a twenty to some girl trying to pay her way through some silly dream," Doflamingo said, frowning as he watched her disappear though the curtains that led upstage. "She's a waste of time, and us sitting here without a real plan is a bigger waste."

"She's obedient." The word got to Doflamingo. Vergo's choice to have picked that one quality that Baby 5 possessed, rather than her physical beauty, was not surprising to Doflamingo. The man had a way of finding the most useful of traits when picking out possible subordinates. A stripper's job was to feign obedience. Vergo called her obedient. Vergo cannot be tricked.

Doflamingo raised a brow at Vergo. "Do you think she's worth the time though?"


-Then-

Like every disappointment that came into Doflamingo's life, after a good whine and some days spent on hating the entire world, he would eventually get over it. The first Friday sucked since Doflamingo admittedly had very little to do. He was an unlikable brat, and any other boys his age that claimed to be his friend were merely saying this because of his status. His parents had one of the bigger homes, they drove the better cars, and they (or at least they tried to appear) had the better life. All his friends were sad little pawns of their parents trying to get close with the name Donquixote, and Doflamingo wanted very little to do with these disposable pieces outside of the occasional game of tag or handball.

He made his complaint to Crocodile the following Saturday, only to find that the boy was definitely not in the mood, snapping at Doflamingo and sending him away to get food while he stabbed new drawings in his notebook. The rest of the day was spent with a heavy silence as Doflamingo tried to think of what sort of secret the boy was hiding on Friday that made him so tense, and all Fridays to come.

How long would this change last? When would things turn back to normal?

Things were just bad the second Friday as Doflamingo was forced to bear with the fact that his parents had forgotten to send someone pick him up. Again. After nearly an hour of sitting and waiting and pondering over Crocodile and the things the boy had said about punishment, Doflamingo walked all the way back home, and, perhaps in an overly sick manner, chose one of his father's favorite watches and placed it in the bag of his mother's favorite maid. He then went through his mother's drawers and nabbed a pair of her decorative undergarments and, though he didn't do it immediately, hid them in amongst the properties of his father's serviceman.

It was an interesting Friday night. Georgina cried and bewailed upon being fired. It was a hilarious Wednesday afternoon. Alonso was forced to register as a sex offender.

Both his parents would never trust their workers again.

The best part, he had something interesting to talk about on Saturday. Even better, Crocodile was in a good mood both those times, and enjoyed every bit of it all. He snickered. He laughed. Doflamingo imprinted it all into the bank of his memory.

Saturdays became the new highlight of Doflamingo's weekend, not because of it being the start of his two-day excursions with Crocodile, but because of the changes that would be spotted during the excursions. There was now a five-day break before he would see Crocodile again. The boy was eleven going on twelve. Changes were going to be noticeable, or, at least, they were supposed to be.


Six weeks left until Crocodile's birthday. Doflamingo did the math. It would rest on a Sunday.

He arrived early. It was a surprisingly cloudy day. The humidity was high. Instead the bike, he chose to ride the bus, knowing full well rain was to be expected at some point. He knew Crocodile wasn't a fan of the weather. He came early to get as many hours in as possible, and leave before the rain came, before the older boy could demand him to leave.

He walked over to the back of the park, letting his umbrella swing along his side. The sandbox appeared clumpy and dark because of the gathering moisture. Doflamingo wondered if the swing seats would be dry enough for him to rest and later play on. As he walked through the few grassy patches that had survived the summer, he could make out the sounds of distant yelling taking place. He was no stranger to bitter arguments; Doflamingo knew there was a fight going on, between one man and one woman.

He stared at his umbrella, thinking of his mother, partly because it was her pink umbrella he had taken, partly because she was the source of all arguments that took place between his parents. Whatever they were arguing about, he was sure the woman had started it.

Doflamingo walked over to the lone swing set, letting his backpack and umbrella rest against the peeling painted foundation as he walked over to the worn, rubber seat and wiped the tiny droplets that were collected on it. He heard a few choice words being screamed from the woman's side as he thrust his legs forward, waiting to see if Crocodile, wherever he was hidden, would spot him and come running over to play. The iron chains creaked as he began to sway. He pulled his legs in and smiled as he gained speed and high, kicking his legs out and staring up at the cloudy sky. It wasn't often he had time to himself, even less when park was empty enough for him to enjoy it.

He heard the man this time. He wished he knew what they were saying. His mind instinctively searched for the worst words, translating what it could hear into something familiar for Doflamingo. Listen.

Something, something, bad mother. Something, something, go to hell. Something, fuck you, something, cocksucker. Something, no. Something, leave.

Doflamingo wondered if his parents should get a divorce.

Something, something, my child too!

They had argued quite a bit two weeks ago.

Something, you don't understand, something, our child, something.

And they had fought over something small and pitiful the previous week.

Something, this is sick. Something, something, my daughter, something, wrong.

Really, they hardly ever got along. His mother was only nineteen when she had married his at the time thirty-four year old father. There was little denying what had brought the two together. He was a man of status and power. She had always lived a pampered life and wasn't willing to adapt to anything less. Doflamingo was a part of the marriage contract stating that an heir to the family had to be produced if she wanted to be entitled to anything.

Something, doctors. Something, help. Something, leave. Something, something, something, something, something, something. Why didn't you listen?

Imagine if they had loved each other! Ha. He might have been stuck with a little brother or sister. Wouldn't that be bothersome! It would have never leave him alone. He… It would always want to hang out with him and Crocodile. That would have sucked!

Something, something, get out! Get out, now! Don't ever come back!

Years later, in a strip club, he would take a drag from a cigarette and, while trying to bridge together the perfect plan, would briefly fantasize about creating the perfect family. It would involve exploiting a trusted worker of his, but the results would have been fantastic. There would be the mother, the father, and the little br-the child!

Ah, but that was years away. So many things would happen before that strange night where he hired a stripper to play hit woman in his strange game.

Doflamingo heard the sound of burning rubber and an angry engine, so loud and furious that he was startled out of his seat. Luckily he had stopped swinging ages ago. He barely had time to wipe away the tears from his face when he saw the car speed by him, leaving a trail of smoke behind. You should have listened.

He grabbed his backpack but left the pink umbrella to fall into the damp sand, and walked over to the park bench located further inward. He threw his backpack on the ground and sat down on the moist bench, resting his head in the nest of his arms. He wasn't teary eyed anymore, but there was an innate fear inside him that warned him that he needed to hide this all away if he wanted to stay safe for the rest of the day. He didn't know why he felt this way. Maybe it was because he didn't want to be seen as weak in front of Crocodile. Maybe it was because ever since Fridays were taken away, Doflamingo wanted nothing more than to be seen as someone that Crocodile could trust himself to be open with.

Doflamingo felt a hand rest on his head, both gentle and firm. He blinked; staring at the dark textures of old, chipped wood and remained situated in his same, protective position. He gave into desires and sniffed.

"Are you alright?"

Doflamingo's arms tucked in further to his head. "No," he embarrassingly admitted.

"What's wrong?"

There was something terribly cruel in Crocodile asking him this. How could he ask him such a personal question, when he himself denied Doflamingo the answer whenever the boy tried to raise it out of concern?

"I don't know," Doflamingo muttered. He lifted his head, hot and red from emotional frustration, rubbed his eyes to give his surprised pupils a chance to adjust. "Don't call me any names," he muttered.

"I wasn't going to," Crocodile replied. It sounded like the truth.

Doflamingo did his best to sit upright. Crocodile staring at him with a mildly concerned expression was odd, and it made him feel rather exposed. He wished for the bored expression. He missed the stoic expression. Hell, he longed for the angry one, so long as it wasn't this.

"I have a question." Doflamingo turned and looked at Crocodile with some desperation.

Crocodile frowned, knowing that this was going to be a question that he didn't want anything to do with. The despised personal question.

"Crocodile," Doflamingo whined. He moved in closer to the boy. "Can we run away tomorrow?

The boy was surprised by this one. No, he was expecting something rather different. But, being smart, Crocodile could detect that there was something hidden beneath this sudden question.

"Why?" he asked.

Doflamingo could feel a rush of emotions hit him. "I hate my family," he said. The emotions traveled up his throat. "But…I love my family." The act of swallowing was becoming difficult. His lungs felt like something was pressed against them. "Its very strange. I don't know what it is. But I want to leave them."

"That's not too strange," Crocodile replied. The response made Doflamingo feel loads better. It's coming.

"Do your parents love each other?"

Crocodile scoffed. "No." This made Doflamingo feel normal. "I don't even think they ever really liked each other."

"Then why did they get married?" Doflamingo asked with much curiosity.

Crocodile looked down and away from Doflamingo. He could see the boys face, not entirely hidden with falling strands of hair, and saw something develop in the eyes.

"They were never married."

Doflamingo was taken aback. "How did they have you then?"

Crocodile looked at Doflamingo with an almost pitiful expression. "Really," he asked. He produced a slow, sarcastic laugh that sent a chill down Doflamingo's spine. Once he stopped and looked at Doflamingo, only to see the boy's still confused expression, did he realize just how serious Doflamingo was when he had asked. Crocodile was aware that the world Doflamingo was forced to spend his time in was severely safeguarded, but had no idea just how censored things were.

"Holy crap, you're serious," he said. He sighed through his nose, yanking Doflamingo closer as he went ahead and provided the answer.

"They. Had. Sex." The word "sex" being emphasized in such a way that he would know (More importantly, when that time came for him and Crocodile) just how unwell the boy's view was on the subject.

"Sex?" Doflamingo said aloud. Almost there.

"Yeah," Crocodile answered, his voice trembling with some disgust. "That's what they did. He stuck it in her…."

"Stuck it?" Stuck what where?

"And she decided she would keep me," Crocodile finished, looking paler after having said it.

It was so vague Doflamingo wasn't entirely sure what it all meant, and judging by the look on Crocodile's face, he wasn't about to get anymore. Whatever sex was, it probably wasn't very good.

"And they never married, even after they had you?" Doflamingo wasn't sure what to make of it. He supposed his situation was better than Crocodile's, but he didn't feel any better about it.

"No," Crocodile answered.

"Is that why I can't come over?" The question somehow slipped through Doflamingo's mind and out the lips. He expected the boy to get upset and angry over bringing up the topic of seeing where he lived, but Crocodile remained rather calm.

"No," he answered. "That's not the reason."

Doflamingo sighed. He let his legs swing underneath the bench while resting his head on a hand as he stared outward at the rest of the park.

"Am I ever going to visit?" he asked. He had already crossed the forbidden zone of subject not to be brought up, and seeing that Crocodile was in a caring mood and willing to provide, though they were cryptic as ever, answers, he figured he had little to lose.

Crocodile brought his left hand to his mouth, biting on his thumb knuckle as he followed Doflamingo's suite and began to kick up his legs.

He finally answered. "Maybe."

Doflamingo looked at Crocodile, finding the answer almost disingenuous, even though Crocodile's expression said otherwise.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yeah," Crocodile said. So close.

"When?" Doflamingo asked. He could see that Crocodile had detected the sudden rise of energy in his voice, causing him to once again, turn away from the blonde. But Doflamingo had been given a promising answer, and he wasn't about to let Crocodile wander or change topics on him. He reached out and grabbed Crocodile's left hand, making sure to remind the boy that he was still there, still waiting on an answer.

Crocodile looked back at him, confused, perhaps more confused than Doflamingo had been when he had mentioned sex, so much so that Doflamingo regretted taking Crocodile's hand in the first place. But instead of letting go, he let his other hand also take hold of the doomed hand, one of his finger rubbing against the blemish of what once was a scar. His eyes were lowered as he panicked from this strange reaction, wishing he understood why he chose to keep touching Crocodile, instead of letting him go, and his eyes rested on the left hand, which seemed to relax more as it was held by Doflamingo's shaking ones, and from this he could see the old, thin line going across the palm in a diagonal direction.

Finally his brain began to work properly, and Doflamingo let the hand go, and was a little happy to see that Crocodile didn't immediately yank it away. The two stared, Crocodile still looking confused, but not as confused as before, and Doflamingo wishing he understood why he acted so strange.

"Uhm," Doflamingo pointed at Crocodile's hand, deciding there was no choice but to change the subject. "That scar…does it hurt?" It was a stupid question. It was all he could think about.

Crocodile stared at the scar. "No," he answered. He rubbed at old mark, his mouth trembling as he did. "But, Doflamingo." Here it comes.

"What?" Doflamingo asked.

"My house," Crocodile almost said in a stammer. "It's…if….you do come over…"

Doflamingo's eyes went wide. It was actually happening. He didn't think anything would ever come of this, but Crocodile was actually going to tell him.

He trusted him. Doflamingo felt the edges of his mouth tug into an eager smile.

"It's…" Crocodile grabbed his left hand, frantically rubbing the palm, and forced a smile on his face. "Ku. Ha. Ha. I mean… you're going to think it's pretty strange…but…you see…I…"

He watched in horror as tears began to run down the boy's face. "I…have…I'm…"

He had seen Crocodile tear up from pain. He had seen Crocodile overcome with emotion that he was close to breaking. But he had never seen the boy's face stained with running tears. In those three years Crocodile had done his part by being the one who was strong enough to not break.

And now he was crying. He was forcing himself to laugh while desperately trying to hide how overwhelming this all was, and he was failing miserably.

"Crocodile?" Doflamingo felt his body begin to tremble with fear. "Why are you–"

He looked into the boy's eyes, filling and dropping tears with every slight movement. He remembered seeing them many weeks prior and feeling terrible when he had seen the eyes filled to the brim with something he couldn't quite understand. And now, he was seeing it again, but this time there was something else. And Crocodile, who had been so unwilling to talk about what caused all this pain to show in his pupils, was about to confess something to him.

Can you believe it? He was so close. We were so close. Things could have been so different. You might have seen the house before he moved. You would have seen it. And you certainly wouldn't be wasting your time here, right now.

Why did you have to ruin it?

Doflamingo grabbed the boy and pulled him into a tight embrace, burying his frightened face into Crocodile's jacket.

"No!" he yelled into the clothes, "no, no, no, nooo!" Doflamingo could feel his own eyes begin to water, but held in his breath to stop any tears from falling. He couldn't think straight, nothing beyond wanting Crocodile to stop crying. This was all so very wrong. It was too much.

Doflamingo kept his arms wrapped tightly around the boy's thing frame, his heaving chest eventually matching Crocodile's, until he heard the beating heart begin to slow down to a more even tempo. He lifted his head up, his face still rubbing against the worn out clothing, and stared up at the pale face above.

"Don't say it," Doflamingo muttered into Crocodile's chest. "Don't cry."

Crocodile stared wide eyed, his reddened eyes still soaking, and his already torn look appearing all the more defeated once Doflamingo made his request. Coward.

Doflamingo let Crocodile go once he felt he had give Crocodile ample time to calm down and wipe his face clean. The younger boy still avoided looking at Crocodile, unwilling to stare as long as Crocodile appeared this way. Why couldn't you just let him cry it out? It had been hard enough when he had seen those eyes looking so empty. There had been so many changes the last time. Doflamingo wasn't sure he could handle any more.

Doflamingo turned himself around, no longer facing the bench, and giving the other boy the time needed as he slumped in disappointment at his own actions. He wished he had never brought the conversation about the house up. He wished he hadn't made Crocodile cry. He was going to tell you!

He stared at his two hands and could remember the feel of the old scar on Crocodile's hand. It was a peculiar mark. He had never thought much about it, but there really was something odd about it. How did one acquire such a mark? Crocodile would have had to grab the knife on the bladed side pretty hard…that would have been rather stupid of him.

It had felt so nice to touch it. It must have felt good for Crocodile too. He never pulled away.

"Crocodile," Doflamingo called.

"…what?" he didn't sound well. Doflamingo looked over at saw the boy staring out the opposite way; his shoulder's resting on the bench, and his mouth covered behind his clasped hands.

"How did you get the scar?" he asked.

There was no hesitation in his answer.

"That's none of your business," he said, loud enough so that Doflamingo could hear him through his covered mouth.

It began to rain.

He trusted you.


-Now-

Two days. It startled Doflamingo that forty-eight hours could go by so quickly, especially since he had spent most of it with just one other person. Time has a tendency of slowing when you're spending it with another person, particularly a stranger. Time was as precious as always, luckily Doflamingo had not completely wasted it.

"Am I getting better?" She must have yelled at the top of her lungs since Doflamingo could hear her through the noise cancelling headphones.

He leaned against the white countertop and stared at the giant target sheet.

Really, Baby 5 had no real purpose being a part of this. She was obedient, which meant she could keep some secrets. She also seemed to have issues with saying "no," since, in his cruel way of jokingly asking her to take part in his sick games, she went along agreeing under the impression that she was in some way needed, which meant she would probably, stupidly, sacrifice her wellbeing for his cause.

But she was a high school dropout who somehow knew nothing of the real world. She barely had a grasp of her own world; she was that bad of taking control of her own destiny it made Doflamingo feel somewhat bad for her.

"Damn," he muttered through a growing smile.

"Well?"

"You got most of the major parts," he said, eyeing the white sheet.

She did, however, have quite the eye.

Really, it was a joke. After withholding the money he promised after her terrible lap dance he made a very obvious false offer of asking to her become his hit woman. He did it to get back at Vergo, who had thought she might be of use. He expected her to walk off, mortified and pissed.

But she took the offer. So he took her, still dressed in her inappropriate attire, to the local shooting range, wondering how she'd react when viewed by the eyes of hungry men while she handled a gun for the first time in her pathetic life.

She outperformed.

"Well," Baby 5 said as she placed her still loading gun on the counter. Doflamingo grabbed it and turned on the safety, shaking his head at how strange things had turned out. "Should I put in my two weeks notice?" She was blushing again.

"Serious question," Doflamingo said, lowering his shades so she could see the bewilderment in his eyes. "When I told you I was going to pay you, and didn't, and then said I'd hire you–a stripper mind you–then made you pay for the rental, the bullets, and the McDonalds, what exactly was going through your mind?"

She cupped her cheeks. "Oh, well, you said you would reimburse me once I was hired…and you said you really thought I'd make a wonderful assassin, since I'm loyal and hardworking."

Doflamingo covered his eyes and felt his mouth go dry. This was unreal.

He created a small gap between two fingers and stared out of it, still amazed as her having existed this long. "And you believed every word of it?"

"O-of course!" Baby said, her face turning all the more red. "And trust me, I'll work very hard to be the best hit-woman you've ever had, sir!"

"Of course you will," Doflamingo smirked.


As I continue to throw little things here and there for you all to wonder and piece together, I would like to remind you all this story was built around a silly theory, and though it is just a theory, I will be bringing up more serious issues, particularly gender based ones, more often now since the characters are going to increase with age and there will be more of them. If there are some questions you'd like to ask, feel free to PM me. I'll try not to spoil it too much unless you want me to be straightforward. Thanks for waiting, and please review.