AN- I know. I'm late. Blame Alpha Sapphire.

Also, this chapter contains graphic material.


-Part 2-

Some Piece of Mind

-Now-

And of course there was a basement.

Doflamingo flared his nostrils, inhaling dry air mixed with the heavy scent of something coppery. He figured it had to be blood. Doflamingo blinked, staring frustratingly into dark cloth, exhaling deeply when he reminded himself that, even with the adjustments to the pupils, little would be seen in the first place. And what did his current setting matter anyways? There was only one real way out of a basement, and that was through the stairs.

It was the smell of blood that made him a little nervous. Doflamingo told himself that the blindfold was doing him a favor; fear of the unknown would be saving him from the knowledge that something horrible might lay just a few feet away. The imagination taunted him, but knowing how he might actually die could be far worse. Not that he would die. The fact that he was sitting in a chair instead of splattered all over the kitchen floor was a sign that there was some hope for him. Even better were the sounds coming from upstairs. That girl was still moving around, no doubt trying to clean up the mess he had made time ago. How much longer till his friends arrived? No, the girl was still moving around, still trying to clean up the broken glass, make up a story for the costly repairs so that her boss might now wreak havoc upon her.

He lowered his head, desperate to stretch his stiffening neck. Being bound was simply ridiculous. How was anyone supposed to pass out in these uncomfortable conditions, or was that the point? Doflamingo had not seen enough crime movies to know. His nose flared again and this time he was sure he could smell something sour. Not his nausea, but it smelled something like stomach insides. Doflamingo gave up on comfort and rested the back of his head against the chair frame, too tried to care as he listened to the sounds of movement upstairs.

He wondered when Vergo would call. The man was probably already on his way to meet Kaido. Would Pica call Diamante and Trebol to let them know things had gone sour on his side? Yes, they would most certainly do that…but when would they risk calling Vergo? Doflamingo would have loved to hear his phone ring, for Vergo to be on the other line, for him to speak and try to talk with that woman and make some kind of miracle trade for his life. Vergo was his best subordinate. The man would know what to do.

Doflamingo blinked again, feeling unusually calm. Maybe his body had depleted the day's stores of adrenaline. Either way the smell wasn't making him so anxious anymore. The chair he sat in was still stiff and uncomfortable as hell, but at least he no longer wanted to vomit. Mouth was still dry.

…Ah, but they had hardly any savings left now? Doflamingo huffed, letting some air escape through his dry mouth. All of that money he was hoping to use to start up his body business, to launch his career nice and deep into the black market; all of it was gone now. One little fuckup and suddenly all his hard work had been snatched away from him. So much money! Doflamingo closed his eyes tight, fighting the growing anger burning deep in his chest. But it was so hard to not yell and scream. He was trapped in a basement, bound and blindfolded, most of earnings used just so Vergo could travel halfway across the world in order to save him and some idiot lackeys from screwing up the first big trade. And now things had fucked up again, and this time it didn't look like he had anything to offer up.

It was quiet upstairs. Doflamingo looked upwards at the ceiling, seeing nothing beyond darkness, only detecting that the sounds above had drastically decreased. He stared into his blindfold. He waited for those three to make some sounds. He needed to know they were still in panic.

What…what if he didn't come out of this alive? Doflamingo had been contemplating the thought since Caesar had screwed them all over. Once again that thought was rearing its ugly head. He could very well be executed in this room. His friends could end up dead as a result of his misgivings.

He'd never get to sell off all those beautiful men and women. It was a thought that brought intense pain to Doflamingo. He so desperately wanted to watch the privileged hearts around him suffer in agony, their humanity in constant torment as he made it his goal to achieve perfect dehumanization.

He frowned. And there would never be a reunion with Crocodile. Doflamingo had doubted the man's existence for a while. It had been more than fives years now since he had last seen the man, and that had not been a fond memory in itself. All he had were the drunken slurred words of Mihawk, words growing stale after more than two years. Even if he had managed to find his place within the body market, even if his name spread across the globe, there was a good chance it would never reach Crocodile's ears, assuming he wasn't a dead man. You can't capture a dead man.

And now his leg was itching. God-fucking-dammit. He was probably going to die, and he couldn't even scratch the back of his leg.

The longer time past, the more likely Crocodile wasn't merely hiding in the shadows.

The longer time past, the more likely that silence upstairs would result in his demise.

Doflamingo blinked. He realized that he was beginning to sweat. And the smell of the air was certainly becoming thicker with something putrid, and his blindfold was collecting it all, irritating his eyes and moist skin.

What would happen if Kaido rejected Vergo's offering? It wouldn't really matter at this point, with things already so far downhill; hell would have to be the next stop.

He let out a nervous, almost hysterical chuckle. What would happen if, by some miracle–not related to Vergo simply buying Doflamingo out of this situation–things went better than expected, and he left all of this unscathed, not counting the bruised balls and a bullet to the hand? How funny would it be to one day tell all of this to Crocodile? Because in this scenario all things go better than expected, so finding the man and buying his way back into the man's life would be reasonable. What a funny story this would have been. And he could already envision his reaction to it all; scolding him for his overconfidence, pointing out every mistake he had made since deciding to branch out his business.

What a terrible adult you make, Doflamingo thought to himself as the story played out in his mind, his chest aching as bad as his legs and stiff back. How could you not keep a tighter leash on your cook? How could you let word get around to powerful pirates? And why on earth would you send two lackeys down to Mexico? That's Whitebeard territory, you fool. You should have known better than to send two newbies into drug dealing territory, and now you're probably going to piss off another powerful warlord. And why don't you ever check your stupid phone? How can you be so inefficient as to not check your own goddamn signal?

"Fufufu," Doflamingo bitterly laughed. "I'm such a rookie. Making those stupid mistakes."

Rookie mistakes lead to big consequences. And the thought was spoken with his own voice. Doflamingo's head sank as he guessed out the length of silence that had been stretching since his miniscule breakdown. There was that smell again. And why was it so uncomfortably warm down here? When would Vergo call, if at all? Doflamingo watched all the thoughts swarm in front of him, his blindfold a canvas for the words to turn white and taunt him. He was starting to feel a little sick.

He should have kept an eye on Caesar. He should have been the one to go down and make the deal with Kaido. He should have known better than to make such mistakes, after all those years of mourning and blaming himself for the last!


-Then-

Inside of a decrepit Tower Records, Crocodile stared frustratingly at the newly contained rows of brand new CDs. Everything was covered in something. Pleasure was becoming more of a privilege, and the young man was having a very hard time trying to figure a way take the CDs and free them from their difficult, plastic confinements without getting caught.

"You saw Hancock, right?"

Crocodile ignored the snide voice from behind him as he walked away from the aisle of new releases, deciding to try his luck for an area that might contain fewer onlookers. He could hear the blond follow him, still chatting away, always obviously to the issues that bothered him.

"When the fuck did she get double-dees?" Doflamingo complained. Crocodile picked up a CD, one lacking the added annoying concealment with the blasted red or yellow tag. He eyed it carefully, not too willing to make it his own, letting his mind picture the thing trapped behind another layer plastic. He wanted something nice before he left. All the CDs that were covered in tags were cheap or not flavorful to the young man's ears. He wanted something nice.

"Don't you think she's hot?" He heard Doflamingo asked.

Crocodile raised his head up, staring out into the vast scenery of colorful aisles filled with CDs, record, and the older, less occasional tapes.

Well, of course he thought Hancock was hot. Everyone thought she was hot. The girl was fifteen but had the body that fulfilled so many of his young, wild fantasies. Even Mihawk had been making comments about her, going as far as to flirt with her when he could. But she had so many admirers, not that it mattered to Crocodile. He was in no position to make passes at her, or any girl for that matter. He frowned. This wasn't a question that was really worth asking. No, it was more of a kind of instigation.

He looked over and spotted the boy playing with his goggles, rubbing the scratched lenses with the top of his school uniform. The boy was still attending school, for now. Crocodile had asked that Doflamingo remain in school, promising that he'd make it worth his while later. He had originally told the boy that he wasn't about to babysit Doflamingo all day long, but it had failed to deter him from trying to quit. No, the promise of a brighter future was the only way to keep Doflamingo from making yet another stupid mistake. Doflamingo was old enough to bear the consequences of dropping out at sixteen, and Crocodile was sure that getting back in at the boy's age wouldn't be too difficult, though he'd certainly would have to apply at a public school, but even Crocodile wasn't that cruel. He cared enough to threaten the boy to stay, to promise him slightly more attention than what he was already getting.

Doflamingo leaned against the opposing aisle, placing the goggles back on his head. He watched the boy turn and look at him, a curious smile spreading across his face. It was hard to see what the boy might be thinking. Crocodile was still not accustomed to the new sunglasses. "How would you feel if I tried to fuck her?" he asked.

Ah, so it had been instigating. And what was Crocodile to make of it? Doflamingo probably thought he would get some kind of reaction, but Crocodile had been sixteen once. He understood what was going on, and it wasn't going to work against him. So he shrugged at Doflamingo, and watched as a small frown appeared, almost matching his own. "That's up to you," Crocodile replied. He went back staring at the aisle of music, but then grew bored, and made his way over to the front doors.

Doflamingo stomped behind him, rushing up close so he could whisper into the young man's ear. "You're supposed to get upset at me," he hissed.

"I figured as much," Crocodile said. He opened the door just enough for him to slip through, leaving Doflamingo behind to open it and bark at him some more.

He quickly caught up to his pace. "Tell me you don't want me to fuck her," Doflamingo said, grabbing Crocodile by the shoulder.

Crocodile continued to make his way across the parking lot, his eyes now looking out into the rows of identical, boring vehicles. Monotony was making him desperate. "Why, when you're obviously not going to do it?" He stopped to get his keys out from within his pockets. He could see Doflamingo crossing his arms as he waited.

"You're supposed to want me all for yourself," he heard the boy mutter under his breath.

The boy was a hopeless romantic. He wanted nothing more than to feel completely desirable, and while the older of the two was flattered that Doflamingo cared that much, he still couldn't help but find it strange. Sure, it was nice to be desired. He liked that the boy desired him. And Crocodile supposed he ought to consider the boy's feelings more and return the favor. But then Crocodile remembered that he would be leaving soon. There was no point in trying to give Doflamingo everything when he would soon be out of his world. And Doflamingo, no matter how kind and loving he was and could be, had to grow up and understand that not relationships would work the way he wanted.

"Grow up, Doffy," Crocodile said, opened and unlocking the passenger door.

And you loved him.


Crocodile kicked up his leg, hitting the lock of the backseat car, and accidentally sending off the locks for the rest of the car. A series of loud clicks were announced all around. He raised his head up, just enough to see what he had done, but was pulled back in with Doflamingo's thin, lanky arms; so greedy and demanding of his full attention.

"Nobody's here," the boy whispered underneath him, grabbing his face and pulling it closer to his. Crocodile let his eyelids sink as he pressed his lips against Doflamingo's, feeling that brief sense of worry disappearing with newfound desire, his mouth opening to bear sharp teeth against thin, tanning lips.

With every shiver and stuttered exhale, Crocodile felt that need inside him grow and burn. Doflamingo always went so weak underneath him. He felt those arms cling on to him, one shaking itself loose and sliding down his back, while legs bent themselves just enough for them to not completely destroy the interior of the car.

"Move up a bit," Crocodile ordered. Cars were not practical places for engaging in sexual behavior. Although the highway was empty enough, and most people didn't care enough to stop for a vehicle with it's emergency lights on, there was always that hint of anxiety from partaking in such pleasure out in the open. Doflamingo inched his way up, his head resting against the door, making a face as he tried to make the best of it while Crocodile continued to mark his neck with hickies, feeling amazing each time he was welcomed with the sight of bright red spots on skin. He held the boy's body down with his own strength. His fingers clung to the boy's wrinkled uniform, feeling so powerful and fantasizing over how small and helpless Doflamingo was to stop whatever pain he decided to unleash.

Doflamingo sighed, resting and arm behind his head. "Suck my cock for me," he asked.

Crocodile raised his head, staring at wet, molested skin and pondered over his lessening discomfort. He was wondering how long it would take for the demand to become less of a chore. And they were in a car, limiting his ability to make the most of what he could get from such a task.

Still, it wasn't as though Crocodile hated the act. So he lifted himself off of the boy, turning around again, this time to survey the space they had, and concluded that Doflamingo would have to be in a sitting position in order for this to work out comfortably enough. He wiped his face of any stray saliva from his face and looked out the windows, making sure they were still alone.

"Sit up," he ordered. The boy quickly complied. Crocodile could already feel that discomfort building inside of him. It was becoming more frequent. The more sexually engaged he was with Doflamingo, the more it ached and left Crocodile wanting for an unnatural kind of attention.

Crocodile undid the button holding the pants together, fiddling with the zipper for less than a second before working his way through the boy's undergarments. He was getting good at this, and he wasn't sure if it was worth celebrating over or becoming absolutely ashamed about. Doflamingo slipped down the seat, not willing for the back of his head to be spotted from a distance, as well as making it easier for the older of the two of pry his way and free the blond's penis. His left hand pressed against the clothes, pushing it down while his right guided the organ into his mouth. His eyes closed as he rested it inside of his mouth, feeling it come alive against his stiffened tongue. He began sucking right away; bobbing his head up and down a few inches before his throat relaxed enough for him to add the rest. Each and every time he moved he heard Doflamingo breath heavily against him, legs spread further, hoping to somehow get more.

He liked the sounds, enough for the gag reflex to completely dissipate and for him to start enjoying the action. But then he felt Doflamingo's hand against his cheek. "Look at me," were the haunting words that came from the boy's mouth. Crocodile's eyes opened, staring down at clothes and the base of a reddened cock. He stopped.

"Come on," the boy said, "I wanna see your pretty eyes."

Crocodile exhaled so heavily through his nose that a few blond hairs prodding through the fly shook. He looked up, staring at Doflamingo with his glare, watching his smile widen as he took it all as some kind of joke.

"Yup, that's it," Doflamingo said. "I love that precious look of yours." Well, of course. What could Crocodile possibly do now, other than finish? He felt his body shake a little as he kept his eyes up on Doflamingo, watching the face change and the smile grow open and bare teeth, only to fade as lips pulled inward, eyes nearly shutting as Crocodile sucked and swallowed the penis down to the fly.

The sounds had been pleasing enough, but being forced to watch the boy's expression change made it hard for him to keep steady. Crocodile's mouth was salivating more than he wished, and his ache was burrowing further between his legs. He stared into those weakened blue pupils, feeling something pleasurable that never had happened before without any kind of direct stimulation. He tasted precum running and pooling in his mouth, and with that image in his mind, felt something warm begin to collect and pool right between that god awful slit.

His eyes went wide when he felt it exit. Wet and warm and how was that even possible? He had been told just the opposite would occur.

He was afraid to be caught. Crocodile continued to give head, his mind screaming as he lifted his left hand away from the boy's inner leg, shaking as he slowly made his way down to his pants, telling himself over and over that it was only his mind playing tricks on him. It wasn't the first time the mind got the better of him. That was supposed to be impossible. They told him so!

"I think I'm gonna come," he heard Doflamingo struggle to say. Crocodile blinked, feeling the edges of his eyes burn. This was embarrassing. He aborted the mission and hurried himself back to Doflamingo, now so eager for it to all end, letting the boy's cock touch the back of his throat and take advantage of his ability to swallow under pressure. The boy's hands gripped his shirt, and he heard Doflamingo whimper out his name, adding more to that already unbearable situation.

Doflamingo finished, his cock squirting out that undesirable, hard to describe salty taste. It was enough to help bring down his mood, but didn't change the fact that the day was already ruined. Crocodile swallowed. He didn't want do, and nearly gagged doing so, but the trip to the window would mean an unnecessary amount of movement that he couldn't risk.

Crocodile lifted himself back up; closing the gap between his legs as inconspicuously as he could while Doflamingo wiped himself clean. He stared down, feeling that nasty wetness press against his cloths. His eyes began to water. He wiped it face, making sure to have his arm rest over his mouth and hide his true intentions. Doflamingo grabbed his hand.

"Want me to suck you off?" he asked.

Finger's tickled his palm. Crocodile felt his stomach sink at the offer. It was disgusting. He could feel it still there, all wet and a mild heated simmer still wanting for something to reach deep inside and fill it up.

Yes. "No," Crocodile answered.

Doflamingo buttoned his pants. "You sure?" he asked. "I saw you reaching down for a few seconds." The boy fixed his sunglasses back into place. "Unless…you don't think there's enough space for this?"

It was throbbing. Crocodile stared at the boy who, just hour's prior, had downed an entire bottle of Powerade, only after bitching over the lack of his favorite flavor, to prove some ridiculous point. He had thrown some of it up, whined some more, complained all the way to a music store, talked about breasts and women, trying to get Crocodile to feel jealous for him, to feel more valued in their strange relationship. That boy, who couldn't choose a book for himself, and nearly got caught on his way out. Who talked about taking apart humanity, but whined and begged not to see any decent horror films. Who tugged at his arm and poked his shoulder for attention. Who laughed at him when he worked so hard to detail his artwork. Who wore sunglasses and goggles, at the same time! Who never gave him any goddamn space and always grabbed him in bed. Who never gave him a moment of peace, not since he was eight years old.

Why did it hurt so much for him? Of all the humans on the planet, of all the people he could have begged to offer himself to, why was he thinking about it with Doflamingo?

"I was trying to get myself in the mood," Crocodile said. He fell into his usual bored stare, letting his eyes sink down, but away from himself. "It's Saturday. I'm…low."

Doflamingo wrinkled his nose. "I can still give it a try."

Yes. "No," Crocodile stressed. "We have things to do anyways…"

"You sure?"

No. "Yes," Crocodile answered, looking off and away from Doflamingo. "We'll worry about it next week. I really need to get stuff done. Y'know, moving shit."

He watched Doflamingo shrug, believing every word of it. It was getting cold down there. "Kay," the boy quietly replied. He stretched his arms out before grabbing the door and swinging it open, making his way to the passenger's side while Crocodile lowered his gaze back down, face paler than ever before.

Something about the way Doflamingo had said the word had hurt him. Crocodile was in pain as it was. But Doflamingo's quiet reply had left him feeling somewhat guilty.

And the mood was finally killed.


-Now-

A gun was pressed against his head. Doflamingo remained stiffly in place as he felt the woman press the weapon further against his temple, the barrel rubbing against his sweaty skin. Without a means to tell time, Doflamingo could only assume that he had been trapped in the basement for decades, and with the gun aimed for his skull, the young man couldn't help but find himself going further into deep thought, this time letting several years of his life pass by through his covered eyes.

"You and your friends have caused quite the mess," he heard the woman proclaim. Something about her voice worried Doflamingo. She was nervous. This would normally be a good thing, but considering she was a woman with a gun, the last thing he needed was for her to overreact and put a bullet into his brains.

Deep thought. He was watching the first five years of his life pass by, freezing right at the moment he first ran away from home.

"Would you be willing to tell me who you work for?" he heard her ask, this time her voice slowly lowering, almost sounding like a smooth, empty demand, rather than a nervous, final attempt to get some answers. Doflamingo could tell there was something desperate about her, but he couldn't quite figure it out.

"Will you still splatter my brains all over your pretty skirt if I do?" Doflamingo sarcastically asked in return. He felt a hot hand swipe against his face, leaving a painful sting all over his cheek. Doflamingo flinch, wincing at some of pain spreading across his exhausted body, but held in the reaction he was sure the woman was hoping for.

"You're in no position to ask questions," the woman muttered.

"You sound nervous," Doflamingo replied, coughing up the last few words as he tried to readjust himself in his seat. The pain from his cheek was beginning to diminish when he felt the barrel of the gun hit the back of his head. He hissed, closing his burning eyes as he lurched forward, nearly losing balancing. He felt the chair's back legs lift. The woman grabbed the top of the chair, barely holding on to his weight as Doflamingo opened his eyes, staring into darkness and feeling himself increasingly nauseous from the lack of balance.

She was nervous. She might even be afraid. Doflamingo couldn't piece it together. This woman had been described as so confident by Baby 5 and Gladius, how else could she have gone out of her way to calmly steal his cargo? What had changed since his capture?

"Where are they?" he asked.

"What?" he heard the woman reply.

A smirk appeared on his weary face. "You know," he said, swallowing what little saliva he had left in his throat, "the girls?"

The chair was slowly moved back into position. The weight that had multiplied inside of his stomach was eased as Doflamingo was situated back into his original, stiff position. He heard her whisper, "are you telling me you've yet to detect the smell of decay?"

Doflamingo had noticed it right away, and it seemed over time the smell had begun to devour what little fresh air was entering the cracks of the door leading into the basement. But when someone was busy letting their mind wander, trying to think up ways out of death's grasp, thinking up alternate universes where nothing went wrong, or of potential tortures to come, the smell of spilled stomach acid, blood, and possible gore often disappeared into the background.

Doflamingo's lips slowly parted, and with his new awareness of the girl's situation, he could suddenly taste that strong, coppery smell wafting in the air. "What exactly did you do with their bodies?" he asked, still staring out into the darkness. It was a question brought on by reflex, stupid morbid curiosity. Doflamingo really hadn't meant it, especially since he was still clinging on to the hope of rescue.

She chuckled. "Thanks to your visit, we had to postpone moving the remains."

But he had heard some moving taking place, which meant, much to his dismay, that his drugs may be long gone. Doflamingo sucked in a deep breath of air through his nostrils, feeling how dry his insides were as he held in his breath, feeling a sinking sensation take hold of him. He wanted to ask her where it had gone to. He was afraid to know. This was Whitebeard territory. He couldn't risk gaining any knowledge that would leave him in any worse state than what he currently was. Oh, but he had nothing to give to Kaido! He was essentially screwed.

"Would you like to see what your foolishness has lead to?" she asked coldly. Doflamingo actually shook his head. He had already experienced enough guilt and pain the past god knows how many minutes or hours he had been trapped in this musty, hot basement. He didn't need another reminder. He screwed up. He was screwed.

He felt her hand grab his blindfold. Doflamingo knew there would be little point in closing his eyes. He couldn't keep them closed for long, so he tried his best to mentally prepare himself for the images he was about to witness.

But nothing really prepares a person from such vicious acts. Doflamingo had done some pretty despicable things. He had hurt people. He had robbed them, had people addicted to his product. In a sense, he had killed quite a bit of people, and he had hoped that he would one day ruin the lives of thousands. He was a sick human being bent on causing havoc and chaos wherever he went, all in the hopes of one day obtaining the power and infamy he so desired. But all of his deeds, starting from the moment he met that strange little boy across the street, up until this very moment, sped through his mind and washed away as his vision began to readjust in the dimly lit basement, only to focus on the grim scene that took place on the other side of the room.

He blinked, feeling his eyes burn as he was hit with the stench that he had not detected until now. Seeing the ripped stomachs and intestines torn apart, messily vacated with water, resulting in what was now a long, dried trail of brown and yellow that stretched from one side of the room all the way down to the center, where it had pooled and drained just a few inches from where Doflamingo sat. The young man lowered his gaze down at the drain, lifting it back up to the table situated against the wall, at the bodies that still had clothes on, makeup, and surprised looks on their faces. This woman knew exactly what to do, and did it without a given warning. She murdered the girls without a second thought, and with the help of her male companion, vacated the insides in a quickly, disgustingly messy matter. Worst of all, he couldn't find any bullet holes on them.

His eyes darted to the left and spotted a hose that had yet to be soiled back into place. His eyes moved to the right, noticing that the floor did in fact dip towards the center, and then could make out the boxes filled with all sorts of tool necessary for prying fleshy things open.

"Impressive," Doflamingo murmured. It truly was a work of art. Whomever designed this hell chamber knew exactly what they were doing, and for why. This person knew this was Whitebeard territory, cartel territory, newbie and entrepreneur territory, and they themselves, a fellow entrepreneur, created a business in capturing and reselling other people's hard work as his own. A risky, incredible, and admirable business. Doflamingo would have been jealous were it not for the fact that he had all his hope shattered by the site of it. People who tore apart young women's insides without a given thought usually were not the kind of people who let their hostages live.

"…You're smiling," he heard her say.

Doflamingo turned his head as far as he could without straining himself, catching a glimpse of the woman's stoic expression t. He licked his dry lips, noticing how much harder it was to breath when the animal part of the brain had decided that it was all over.

"I can't help it," he replied, making sure to sound as cheery as he could, despite feeling utterly hopeless. "I've never quite seen a room like this. It sickens me. Congratulations, you and your friends should be proud."

A small smile appeared on her face. He watched her crossed arms give way, the gun lowering and resting on her curvy form. "Do you feel inspired to inform me how you got here? And with whom you work for?"

Doflamingo broke into desperate hysterics. "Why on earth would I do that now?" He watched her smile quickly fade, her body go erect with confusion, the gun raising itself back up, pointed at him…as though it would have some kind of effect. Ha, but the game was already over. Doflamingo stuck out his tongue, earning a sharp scowl from the young woman. "Go ahead, Miss All-Sunday, shoot me!" he yelled. "Shoot my fucking brains out, it'll be so much quicker, and it'll save us the time!"

His heart was beating so hard against his chest it hurt. Doflamingo watched her walk in front of him and place the gun on the floor, only to walk past him, disappearing from his sight. His chest ached. Doflamingo knew he ought not to have said such reckless things. He had practically given her permission to torment the answers from him, but he couldn't begin to regret it, not when he was so filled with anger and fear.

With heavy breathing and panic, Doflamingo did not hear what was occurring behind him. He didn't know until he felt something thin and long shove it's way between his back and the frame of the chair. A pole? Stick. Doflamingo couldn't tell. But he felt it roughly rub against his sore flesh, causing him to back away from it.

"You want a quick death?" he heard her ask. Doflamingo exhaled heavily through his nose, feeling each drop of sweat run down his shaking form. He stared at the table covered in blood and gore, at torn muscles dripping colorful liquids. "I can give you a quick death," she said, lifting herself up and leaving the pole situated between Doflamingo and the chair. He felt her tied something around the chair, then the pole, tying a quick knot so that it would remain in place. Doflamingo scowled, his arched back growing weary of the new position he was forced in.

She walked in front of him; standing just inches away, with a long pale sheet in her hands. Doflamingo stared at it, knowing exactly what he was going to do with it.

"I can call a few of my subordinates down here," she said, walking up close and lifting her arms up, "and they'll do all sorts of things. We know how to leave a person alive for weeks. We have our ways." She held on to the sheet with both hands, showing off its length to Doflamingo before pressing it against his forehead. He struggled, trying to keep himself from being found any further, but found his attempts to be useless. He let her have her way with him, and now Doflamingo was forced into position, his vision limited to the rotting corpses resting in front of him.

"Think really heard about what you want," she said from behind. Doflamingo pulled in his lips, staring out, keeping his silence as he heard her heels slowly click away from him. "That gun in front of you, or the tools my subordinates choose to use on you."

What could Doflamingo say? He really had nothing to offer her. She assumed he was something he was not. He want a real cook. He couldn't recreate what Caesar had made. That was the only thing that had kept him alive from this point, up until now.

And now Doflamingo was sure he was going to die. The only question left was how? He could be direct and honest, and maybe she would mercy kill him. Or torture him for wasting her time. Either way, Doflamingo knew honesty was probably not the best course of action. He could lie to her, make up some extravagant story about how he worked for Whitebeard, maybe even tie himself with Kaido, and he might be allowed a few days of life before the truth was discovered. Would that be worth it though? Surely his friend would try to rescue him before then?

Doflamingo frowned. But what about his friends? He was going against a group of people that were way ahead of him in cruelty. His gang was still growing. Would they really stand a chance?

He knew what he had to do. He had to be honest. He had to tell the truth, because anything less would be so unjust to Vergo, Monet, his closest friends, and everyone else who stuck their heads out to further his goals. He needed to let them know what was going on. He would have to somehow inform them that they not continue heading south. They would finish what business they ad made with Kaido, and then they would quit. If he was lucky enough he might be able to save Vergo the responsibility of dealing with the warlord.

It was time for his final act.

"…Ah," Doflamingo muttered, forcing his smile back on his face, "but I suppose giving out information would result in the gruesome death of my compatriots?"

"Consider your options carefully," he heard her say in a low, almost seductive whisper.

"…I already have," he replied, voice so easily filled with remorse. He heard her footsteps stop at the stairs. He gave her no time to ask questions, letting himself play the role of desperate hostage, a role that was turning more natural with each word he spoke. "I can have my boss tell you everything you need to know."

A heel pressed itself against the hard floor. "And how do you plan on doing that?" she asked. Her voice was filled with suspicion.

"You have my phone," Doflamingo answered. "I can have you call them. I'll tell him I'm in need of his rescue…he'll spill everything."

"Hmm…and you expect me to believe that he offer information in exchange for your life?"

Doflamingo weakly laughed. "My boss…he's an idiot. The fool sent me out here without thinking about all the problems this country is filled with." He sniffed. "He's a young romantic, an idealist who acts before he thinks…you'd be shocked to know the man's on his way trying to strike a deal with Kaido."

He heard her heels on the concrete floor again. He felt her hands grip the chair. She whispered into his ear. "And why should I trust you?"

Doflamingo stared at the contents of the table. "Because you know how incredibly desperate I am," he answered, making sure to not break his stare away from the table. He was truly desperate, but even then he had to make sure she knew. She needed to see every bit of it, to feel it, to be compelled to play into his hands one last time. "I'm not a fighter. I'm a cook. And you said it yourself, I've made a foolish mistake."

She lifted her hands from the chair. "I see…" he heard her say before the sounds of her walking away from him once again filled the room. Doflamingo's entire body ached from the horrible position he was in, but it didn't stop him from trying to look over his shoulder and see where she was going, if she had truly taken what he said into consideration.

She walked up the stairs and left the door open.

Doflamingo stared at the corpses on the table, rethinking the possibilities for an escape one final time before calmly telling himself that it was time for him to be an adult and give up on such impossible things.

Impossible things…it made him so sick to think this was how it was going to end. Of course he didn't want to die! He was so much more deserving of life. There were so many things he had not accomplished. But perhaps that was what being an adult meant…sacrifice. Doflamingo remembered hearing those words before. He remembered being scolded for his immature behavior so many times before this. Only now was he starting to get it. He couldn't twist those words anymore, use them against those who had upset them, use those words to hurt those he had once cared so deeply for. He had friends who were going to try to retaliate against this unknown force, and the only way for them to possibly survive was for him to warn them.

For the second time Doflamingo watched his life play in his head, but this time he noticed certain parts slow down, somehow playing in real-time. Precious memories that he had distorted to earn his favor, that he might have repressed, that he loathed more than anything else. Everything shown in front of him, uncensored and clearer than anything else, ruining him and reminding him that he was in this position only because a man had drunkingly mentioned that the person he had hurt was still out there.

Doflamingo blinked, surprised that he had managed not to break into tears when he realized that there was one question that he had never had answered. He really would never find out if Crocodile was still alive or not. He'd never know if his words had truly broken the man. He'd never find out if half of his dreams had any real end to them.

And that hurt more than anything else.

He heard her walk down the stairs, and with every step she took Doflamingo could feel himself growing number. By the time she grabbed herself a chair, and had dragged it right next to his, Doflamingo couldn't a feel a thing other than a mild pain in his heart.

She placed the cellphone on his lap. "So far no one has called."

Doflamingo replied stoically. "Thankfully they know better than to waste my batteries."

She didn't seem to care for his reply. She crossed her legs, leaning forward, picking up the phone once more and lifting it up to Doflamingo's face.

"I can safely assume he'll be listed as one of your close contacts, correct?" she asked. Doflamingo tried to nod his head as best as he could. The bondage trying his head to the pole made it hard. She seemed to understand though, providing him a cold smile before pulling up his contacts.

Don't do it. Doflamingo could hear the quiet voice in the back of his head warn him over and over again as he stared at the glowing screen on his phone. He was so close to getting things done the way they ought to have been, and yet he couldn't stop himself from letting the worst idea pop up in his mind, that last desperate call for him to answer the unanswered question. Who knew how much time he had left before it was over. He kept warning himself not to do it, not to ruin the last good thing he could provide for everyone, and yet it was just too much to let pass by.

"Go to the D selection," he quietly answered. He was so disappointed in himself. "It will be the third name, initials actually, right at the bottom."

She pulled the phone back to her chest, staring suspiciously at the screen. Doflamingo listened in torment as she loudly pressed the buttons on the phone, his eyes beginning to twitch as he waited for her to make the call and put it on speaker.

The phone began its call, and she placed it back on his lap. Doflamingo sucked in a deep breath as the first, long tone echoed in the small room. Miss All-Sunday walked over to the gun and grabbed it, swinging it in her arm as she made her way back to her seat. Doflamingo continued to pray the idiot on the other side would answer his phone.

What time was it right now? What time was it in New York?

Finally, the waiting ended, and both listened to the sounds of the call being answered, followed by the sounds of something being ruffled. Bed sheets maybe? Was it early in the morning over there, or incredibly late at night?

"…Hello?" That monotonous tone never sounded so welcoming. Even underneath the ground, in a basement that left it crackling, Doflamingo felt so grateful to hear the man's voice.

Doflamingo silently apologized to Vergo and everyone for failing them as he opened his mouth, trying to relax in his seat as he replied back. "Guess who?" he said in a singsong voice. The woman sat in her seat, silent as ever, waiting for the discussion to take place.

A groan. "Doflamingo?" He more movement taking place, or perhaps it was just a collection of static buildup from the terrible reception. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Doflamingo privately thanked Mihawk for being vague enough not to mention his current location. He chuckled. "Yes…I apologize deeply." He sighed; letting his legs stretch out as he stared out into the basement. "Look…things...I need you to listen to me very carefully."

"Doflamingo…"

"No, no, let me finish," Doflamingo nervously interrupted. This call could not go sour. He couldn't let her know this early. "I'm…in really big trouble right now." There was silence on the other side of the line.

"I fucked up real good," Doflamingo added. He wished he could shrug, turn his head to the side and laugh at how pathetic this conversation was. "I'm probably…well…"

"Where are you?" The voice was so frantic that Doflamingo almost didn't believe it was Mihawk's. He supposed it had something to do with his own voice. He couldn't really hear right now. He couldn't smell the rotting, couldn't hear his own shaking voice, or feel his back and neck being sprained with pain. But he was glad that Mihawk was upset. It helped so much.

He caught the glimpse of the gun being raised. He had to hurry. Doflamingo sighed through his nose as he decided he would just finish and get his answer. "It doesn't matter right now," Doflamingo said aloud. He heard more movement taking place, maybe the sounds of the older man getting out from his bed. "Look, I just need you to do me one favor, for my own piece of mind, ok?

"Do you need money?" he heard Mihawk ask on the line. "I can wire you something…just give me the account number."

"No," he answered. "I just need one final thing from you."

"Doflamingo…"

"For the last few years, I've been working towards a goal," Doflamingo said. "I've been spending almost every waking hour, desperate to fulfill this goal, all because you were so drunk one night, you let it slip–"

He felt a gun pressed against his head. At some point Miss All–Sunday had grown bored of the conversation and had made her move to speed the conversation up. It was upsetting, because Doflamingo relay want to express how much time he had spent, how far he had gone, all because of this one very small chance that there may be a chance to give himself some retribution.

She removed the gun. "I'll use these on your knees," she whispered into his ear.

He shut his eyes tight. "Mihawk," he said.

There was a deep inhale. Not from him, but from the woman standing next to him.

She leaned back to him. "How do you know–"

He didn't catch those words on time, saying his own before realizing it. "Is Crocodile–"

The chair was pushed to the ground. Doflamingo yelped, jerking in the chair that he was bound to, spitting out a swear as the left side of his face hit the concrete floor.

He shut his left eye, feeling something warm and pool across the side of his face. The pain was unbelievable. "Fuck!"

"Doflamingo?" Mihawk's voice yelled through the line. The woman ran over to the phone and smashed it with her heels. Doflamingo winced, staring through his lidded right eye. His mouth tasted coppery. The binding around his head was loosening, but was also soaking in something wet and warm.

She turned and stared down at him, her blue eyes wide as she pointed a gun at him.

"Mihawk…Dracule?" she hissed out the words. Doflamingo slowly let both of his eyes opened, not the least bit fazed that the left side was blurry and covered with a thin veil of red.

"How do you know him?" she barked. Doflamingo coughed. "How do you…so you know "Red Hair" then? Are you working for him?"

He hadn't the slightest idea what she was talking about. But she had used Mihawk's last name. She knew Mihawk. She knew him better than he did. And whatever the fuck Mihawk was up to, whatever the hell she knew about him, completely ruined his chances of getting an answer.

"Goddamnit, Mihawk," he groaned.

"…Who are you?" she asked him.

"Doflamingo Donquxiote," he answered. "A fucking retard. And yes, I know the bastard." Feeling the cloth around his head slip with the weight of his blood, he turned his head and looked up at her. "But I don't work for him. I had no fucking idea he was special. No, the man's always gotta be full of secrets." He coughed, letting some of the pool collecting from his nose spill from his mouth. "So…are you going to kill me now?"

He watched her take a step back from him. "No," she answered. "I'm not." Doflamingo frowned. "Instead," she started, "I'm going to leave you here. I'm going to let you rot here, alone, in the dark."

"…"

He watched with his good eye, her swaying legs walking past him, leaving him stuck on the floor, head aching and bleed through what could be multiple cracks across the skull. Doflamingo didn't protest as he heard her walk up the stairs, his vision going blurry on one side, his mouth filling with the bitter aftertaste of blood and defeat.

She turned off the lights. The door slammed shut.

He'd have cried, but the pain made it impossible to do so.


-Then-

Yes, Doflamingo was a stupid kid, but one day he'd stop being one.

Crocodile stared at the house he had spent several years of his life in. Even after being given the oppur–the permission to transition and become an adult, it had never felt like home. The relationship he had with his parents, with several members of his family, had been completely shattered. He was the outcast, the subject that nobody was allowed to talk about. His mother, despite finalizing the process, was distant. She had been so happy to be told that she was going to have a girl. His existence in the house was a constant irritation to her, salt against the festering wound. And he couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for her, not after her spending so many years telling him that he was in the wrong. He even thought about killing her. He had not seen his father since she brought him to see the therapists, the endocrinologist, and the judge. The man might as well be dead.

He made his way inside, not stopping until he was back inside his almost empty room. Everything was in boxes now, save for what he needed till he decided to leave. But with nearly everything finalized, it wouldn't be too long before he could finally escape this place.

Crocodile sat on his bed, avoiding the writing desk and sparing himself the distraction of writing or drawing whatever was eating his mind. No, he knew exactly what was bothering him.

Sex. Crocodile could feel his entire body shiver at the word. He wanted real sex. He wanted more than what he was willing to offer up though. He wanted to fuck, not get fucked. He didn't want to have to…

His body shook. He was getting frustrated. Crocodile stared down at the floor, at the vast space of his nearly empty room. He slumped over, letting his elbows rest against his legs as he tried to make sense of what he was feeling.

He could come up with a million excuses and means to keep Doflamingo away, but it didn't change the fact that him moving away was beginning to affect him just as much as it to Doflamingo. The boy was doing what he could to make himself a candidate for the move. He wanted to swept away and taken to see the real world. A stupid, precious romantic dream of his. The dreams of a child who had once been promised such. Just the thought had Crocodile shaking his head in disbelief.

And yet. Crocodile stood up from the bed, feeling a surge of wild energy hit his legs. He felt jittery. He wanted to pace around the room until it dwelled, but he knew it wouldn't.

He knew there was a growing part of him that wanted to take the boy along. He could feel that part of his brain rationalize a list of excuses. The boy was getting older. They would be low on funds, and Doflamingo would be hit with a wall of reality. Doflamingo would have no choice but to grow up and become more practical. He'd grow up, and the two of them could work things out, or he'd break and beg for his family to take him home. Either way, Crocodile would be left with some satisfaction in moving their relationship to another level. At the very least, if Doflamingo followed him then that meant that the boy was willing to go through some level of commitment. Crocodile needed that.

He had known his secret for two years now. Two years, and there was still so many things he was keeping. But the boy listened. Doflamingo joked, but never forced that kind of intrusion. He knew better. Doflamingo understood how frail masculinity could become, especially when it wasn't something guaranteed. That commitment, going beyond the two years and stretching beyond ten, might just be enough for him to supply Doflamingo with another, far more taboo secret.

Crocodile fell on top of the bed and stared up at the ceiling, counting the few weeks he had left before he could leave. His head turned and he looked into the dark, messy sheets, grabbing some of the covers towards himself, burying his face as his other hand stopped against his stomach, trembling rather close to the brim of his pants.

Love is a sick, fickle thing. Crocodile's eyes lazily came to a close as he pressed himself against the cool covers, breathing in the smells of the past several days, two beings fondling one another, the satisfaction never quite enough, while undoing his pants.

"..."


Rawr. Please let me know what you think in the form of a review or pm. Thanks for reading.