Three months after the events of the campaign

"Hemlock!" Called a familiar voice.

She looked up from her desk and put down her quill. Standing up, she cracked her neck and let out a labored sigh. She walked around her massive desk and exited her office. She yawned as she walked, exhausted. Being the new head of the Candles was already tough. Now that they were taking in orphans to give them better lives rather than just assassination jobs, it had gotten even more complicated, and her hours had been steadily multiplying as more and more jobs were placed squarely on her shoulders. She had hoped Tempest would be good administrative support, but that woman didn't approach what didn't interest her.

"Hey, Hemlock!" William said as he saw her in the hall.

"William, darling, is it done?" She said while she stretched her elbow behind her shoulder.

"Yup. Five contracts were executed, and I was even able to collect bounties on three of them through my brother."

"William, you are an angel."

The Candles weren't exclusively an assassination agency anymore. They wanted to sow good into the world. The outside world didn't know that, though. Hemlock would never in her life send another indoctrinated child to sully their soul, but they could still execute some hit jobs themselves. They were more selective now, and Hemlock liked to tell herself that they were only taking out people who deserved it. William threw an arm around her shoulder playfully.

"Any time, Hemlock." William said joyfully, "I know you got your hands full at the moment."

"Yes, and you got nothing but time on your hands."

"Ouch, you know I'm somewhat of a father now."

"Yes, charming girl. Seems like she's a little intimidated by me, though."

"Wonder why?"

"Do tell, William."

"The snakes, the position, the poison. You're a full package, Hemlock."

Hemlock pondered his words and decided to take them as compliments. As they walked, they mindlessly droned on about some people they both knew that William had seen on his travels. They made their way to a little bar they had on the base; the bartender saw them walk in and placed a bottle of red wine and scotch on the bar before leaving. They sat on the stool and pulled out glasses from under the bar.

"Oh William, what luck? You have a child who jumped straight to her adolescence," Hemlock laughed.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue as he downed the first drink of scotch in one gulp.

"Where is she now?"

"I know she's killed plenty of people already, but I wanted to keep her hands as clean as possible," he said as he looked at the bottom of his glass, "She's with boss, robbing a museum in the Grand Line. I told him no killing. We will rendezvous tomorrow night here.

"You're a good man, William," Hemlock said. She knew it probably wasn't true, but deep down, she did believe so; after all, she wasn't a good woman either. He scoffed at her remark, poured some wine into her glass, and gave himself more scotch. They drank silently for a second as her words lingered in the air.

"So, how are things, you know, in the organization?" William asked awkwardly. "Must suck to only have three operatives."

"I can pick up the blade and do a job too, you know," Hemlock answered, sounding more defensive than she had intended. "Desk life hasn't made me that rusty."

"Yeah, but who would run the place while you were gone? Tempest? Scourge? Olaf?"

"God, no, don't make me laugh. Olaf? The place would crumble." There was a long pause again before Hemlock spoke.

"The offer still stands by the way."

"I dunno, Hemlock, it doesn't feel right."

"You're technically the eighth candle anyway. You don't have to be the 3rd candle. I'm sure Tempest isn't arrogant enough to believe she could defeat you in combat."

"I really like what you're doing here," William said as he sipped his drink. Don't think I'm turning you down because of what the candles used to be."

"Then why are you turning me down?"

"I don't know. My crew is split up, and I'm only responsible for Doxie and me now." He started and stopped a few times, looking for a way to explain himself. "I used to live for no one but myself, then I met my crew and started to live for them, and now here I am. No one calls me captain anymore, and I don't know what to do. Going back to how I was before doesn't feel right."

"You could live for Doxie and your father," Hemlock said, filling his glass.

"We should cut it out; you're still on the clock." He said, staring at the newly filled glass. "I've seen a lot over my travels. I respect the good you're doing, but I can't commit myself to it—not yet anyway."

Hemlock nodded somberly. She turned her glass over and let the wine spill over the bar.

"Wine's gone," She said. William did the same.

"Scotch, too."

They walked out of the bar, slightly buzzed but functional. William was telling a story about the target he took out. He was an infamous pirate known for burning down every other house in a town. Hemlock insisted it was compulsive, but William was positive it was a masterful gimmick. He had collected a pretty 75 million Berri for that guy's bounty in addition to the contract. Trevor was skeptical but agreed to process the bounty payment under an alias. Perhaps in that rage-fueled head of his, he believed that William was bettering the world in his way. The talk of fire shifted the conversation in a different direction.

"How's Blake?" He asked. It was so abrupt that Hemlock turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm not going to lie to you; he's not looking good," Hemlock said. "Humphrey is reading all he can about withdrawal and rehab. So far, it hasn't been successful at all."

"Is he getting older?" William asked.

"He almost looks older than me now. He thrashes violently in the night, screaming and calling for blue blood. His hand trembles when he holds it out. His veins are still bulging from his face in vibrant blue. At least once a day, he'll unleash a furious fire that destroys his cell."

"How about his head? Is he all there?"

"No. I don't think he'll ever be all there. He still goes on about not being strong enough. He cries loudly and then starts screaming and slamming his fists into the wall. A few times, he started to slam his head against the wall. We had to restrain him in seastone."

"Nah, that's not so bad. I'm sure he will come out of it," William said more to himself than anyone else. A silence followed that statement.

"Can I speak to him?" William asked.

"I don't think that will be productive, darling," Hemlock responded gently.

"Is he still mad at me?"

"He's furious with you. Not too pleased with me either."

"What did you do?"

Hemlock spun around abruptly and looked William in the eyes. Her face looked angry, her yellow eyes glowing with annoyance, and her usual dangerous smirk was gone.

"That's not funny, William. You know exactly why. Don't play dumb. I feel bad enough as it is."

"I really don't"

Hemlock looked even angrier as she grabbed his wrists and stomped in the opposite direction. William didn't protest; he was used to being confused but felt like he was being chewed out for something he didn't do. They had to walk the length of the hallway. Everyone moved out of their way immediately. Hemlock rarely showed this much emotion, and the anger emanating from her was palpable. Finally, they reached the door. It was very large and made of steel. Large rivets adorned the borders, and there was a thin box on the front with a little candle replica. Hemlock undid the candle she kept around her wrist and touched the flame to the one on the door. It lit up, and slowly, the door creaked open.

Inside, the room was well-lit. Candles adorned the walls. Inside were two large portraits on the wall. To the left of those portraits was an empty frame and a stand in front of it. William, free of her grip, walked toward the two shrines. The first one was for a girl. The picture was of a girl who looked 16 or 17 years old. She had a yellow sundress on and was playing with a yellow cat. Her hair was flowing and dynamic, half yellow and half black. She had a giant beaming smile on her face. A little stand was in front of the painting with various things on it. Yellow flowers sat in vases; among them were more pictures of the girl. Some of her as young as nine and others of her looking 19. A little collar with a heart tag that read "Patty" was front and center. The other portrait was of a young boy. He was much younger than the girl. He had brown hair tied up, so it stuck out from the top of his head. He was wearing a white button-up shirt with a blue vest over it. His pants looked expensive, and his shoes looked tailor-made. He also wore a bright smile, his blue eyes sparkling. The stand in front of him didn't have flowers, but a mountain of orange flowers, and front and center was a wooden spoon. William shifted uncomfortably as he realized that these were memorials to Cleo and Little Timmy. He tugged at his shirt collar as he could feel Hemlock's eye burn a hole into his head.

"This is why he's mad," she said, her voice low and strained.

"This is, umm, very nice," William said, trying to hide his disdain for one of the people in particular. "Who's the empty spot for? Bullet?"

"No," She hissed, "Of course not, you dumbass! If he saw that, he would strangle me to death! It's for Blake."

William's face swung around to look at her. His face was full of horror and disbelief.

"Not Blake!" he exclaimed, "What's going to happen to him?"

"I don't know, but I can feel it. I know you would too if you lived here. We've seen too much death; its stench is so familiar that we can smell it coming."

William refused to answer.

"Maybe the addiction will take him in his sleep. Maybe he'll commit suicide. Maybe he'll escape and get killed by your brother. Maybe he'll slip off the side of the deck and drown. What's the difference?!"

"If my brother hurt Blake, I would topple the world government the same day!" William responded.

"It was an example, for fuck's sake."

"Why are you saying this?" William shot back.

"You don't have to see him! You don't have to hear him scream at night! You don't see how he refuses to eat his meals. How he yells that he'll kill me and everyone on the boat!"

"We can help-"

"No, we can't! Blake is gone! He's an angry spirit living in the corpse of a power-obsessed knight." William had never seen Hemlock so mad. She was yelling, her face was red, and she was breathing heavily. Her tangled hair was messy from her hectic movements. He wanted to scream back but decided to take a breath. Seeing him do this, Hemlock almost snapped back into place, fixing her hair and composing herself.

"It feels weird to have an empty frame waiting for a creepy painting," William finally said quietly.

"I don't appreciate that comment. I worked hard on these paintings."

"Why am I not surprised?" he said, eying Cleo's image. Distaste plastered on his face.

"I bet you'd like his painting; after all, he's not annoying," Hemlock said. Her tone was accusatory, and her eyes were bloodshot, giving them an orange hue.

"I'll never apologize for what happened to Cleo; she had it coming." That was all he said. He knew it was the wrong thing to say, but it was the truth, and if nothing else, William was an honest man when it was convenient.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. No need to lie, though. That's not why you wanted her dead." Hemlock wasn't looking at William; she hadn't even finished putting herself together, and it was apparent she wasn't going to.

"She killed Florence!" William shot back at her.

"Don't you fucking dare! Don't you fucking dare! I don't want to hear that from you. You wouldn't even remember his name if it weren't for Verona's little fucking toy bird!"

"She took gravy! She almost killed Louis! We didn't want to fight! We tried to talk to you, and she attacked us!"

"I know!"

Hemlock yelled back. She looked for words but couldn't find them.

"Look. I know you cared for her a lot, but she wasn't this dazzling angel who came to a tragic end."

"Don't you dare say that to me! Are you saying if Pearl died, you wouldn't be allowed to feel sad about it because of her crimes?"

"I never said that-"

"Neither of us are clean. Will no one mourn us!?"

"Of course, people will. I know that my crew will cry when I die. I know that the orphans you are helping will cry when you die." William said, keeping himself much more together than Hemlock, "But they don't get to paint us these perfect people and present it to the world."

"What does it even matter anymore?" Hemlock asked. Her voice was lower and sad, and she leaned back against the wall next to Cleo's portrait.

"You can mourn, Cleo. I'm not saying you can't. But you're not going to turn to me and act as though I killed her."

"You're right." She slid down the wall and said, "I'm just a hypocrite. I'm the one who has no right to speak about this…It's all my fault."

"What did you do?" William asked as softly as he could. She was about to burst open. Even William could see that.

"I was supposed to take care of her. Of them. All of them." As Hemlock spoke, the tears fell down her face. William had never seen her cry before. She raised her hand and stabbed at the painting with her finger, "they were so young. Blake was twelve, Cleo wasn't even ten. She called me Auntie. What a fucking joke! I didn't help her at all. She just went on killing and killing with that demented smile of hers. I let her soul die right in front of me before she even took that bullet."

After saying that, Hemlock pulled her knees up and hugged them as she cried as quietly as she could. William stood frozen in place. He didn't know what to do or what to say. He was not on the defensive anymore and slowly approached her. Before he could say anything, she spoke again.

"You ask why Blake hates me?" She said quietly. William didn't respond. "Isn't it obvious? I was the head of candles. I was the leader. I was the one making the decisions, and yet I let her in."

"Who?" William said quietly.

"Bullet. I was so used to how we did things. I didn't even think about it when she became the third candle. I could have canceled that stupid rule, but I kept it. After she blew off Cleo's head, I let her into my ranks. I gave her a position. I let her talk with Blake as if she hadn't just slaughtered the most important person in the world to him before me! What kind of a person even am I!?"

Hemlock's quiet crying had morphed into loud sobs, heavy with self-hatred and bitterness.

"I'm no better than V. I set them up for a life of suffering and come out clean at the other end. I shouldn't have grouped us, William. Truth is the one who doesn't get to say anything about anyone is me."

William only stood there, not saying anything. He cautiously walked to the side and kneeled next to her. She was crying loudly. He placed an arm on her shoulder, and Hemlock flinched.

"This is the extent of what I can do," Hemlock sputtered, "And I k-know it doesn't fix anything, but I want to pretend. I want to pretend that the girl in the painting is real, that she didn't spend her life killing and didn't die on the floor of some hideous building full of nothing but painful memories. I didn't do anything to make that happen when she was alive. I guess I don't deserve to wish for it now."

She felt a warmth envelope her. She looked to her side and saw William. He was on his knees, hugging her curled-up body. The sensation was so alien to her that she didn't know how to respond. She undid her hold of her knees and hugged his torso. She locked her arms behind his back and dug her face into his chest.

They held each other for what felt like hours before William talked.

"How old were you when they brought you here?"

Hemlock tensed against his skin and was quiet for a moment before she answered.

"I think I was 11," Hemlock said, though it was muffled because her face was still buried in his chest.

"I'm sorry," William said quietly, "I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sorry that Cleo died like that. I'm sorry we didn't try harder to form a truce sooner."

"That wasn't your fault." She interrupted, "We attacked first."

"I'm still sorry things happened like they did. I'm sorry about how things turned out with Blake, too. You shouldn't have had to do this by yourself."

A long silence followed as William looked for words.

"I'm not that clean of a guy. To be honest, I'm more responsible for Little Timmy's death than you were—both his original execution and when he fell against V. I know that I was an asshole then. I don't have the right to get mad when people die, either. I've killed so many old people. I mean, so many old people. I'm sure many of their families were upset when they heard the news. Like how you were upset when Little Timmy died or how Blake cried when Cleo died or how we reacted when the bacon sandwich alley-"

"What are you going on about, William?" She said, her voice still muffled but no longer crying.

"Look, man, I don't know. I guess that no matter how shitty things turned out for everyone, someone was always there to cry for them when they died."

Hemlock didn't say anything.

"I'm also trying to say that I know that you had no one looking out for you when you were a girl. I asked Gravy what you were like as a kid, and with shame, he told me he didn't know. Said he never approached you, that you were always sick and recovering from poisons. That none of the candles ever helped you."

Hemlock remained quiet.

"And…As much as this hurts to say, Cleo was the ray of sunshine in Blake's life. I bet he was her flame in the dark, too."

Hemlock smiled and shook her head at William trying to give Cleo some acknowledgement.

"Cleo and Blake had each other, and maybe I won't cry for Cleo, but you will. I promise that no matter what happens, I'll cry for you when you die if you promise you'll cry for me."

Perhaps the most eloquent thing William had ever said. It had been close to 30 minutes since they had entered that room.

"That was some cool shit I just said," William said. He immediately let out a little yelp as if he hadn't meant to say it out loud.

"It was," she said, and she also reacted as if she didn't mean to say it out loud.

"I'm not good at this, Hemlock. Comforting people when they're upset, all I know is that you are not V. Cleo and Blake were lucky to have you in their lives, and as creepy and unsettling as I find your art, I'm happy it makes you feel some peace."

"Struggling with the last one there, weren't we?" She said cheekily.

"They are so weird? How are you going to paint Blake? Please don't put him in a lame sweater."

"It'll probably be him in a tuxedo, you know, for his wedding day."

"I think him with a tank top in the gym might look better."

"William, you tool."

"Hey, I'm doing my best."

"I know, thank you. I feel a little better."

"Let's go to bed; the place won't collapse if you call it a day a little early for once."

"Carry me," She said in a shy way that William had never heard from her.

"What are you? Five?"

Hemlock said nothing; she just refused to let go of his shirt. They were still in a makeshift crouch hug position. William sighed loudly. He moved one of his arms under her bent knees and held her back with the other. As he strained to stand up, Hemlock moved her arms around his neck and placed her cheek on his shoulder. He got to his feet with some difficulty. He swayed, but he had a good grip on her.

"Damn, Hemlock, you're so heavy," He said through labored breaths.

"As tactless as ever."

They exited the room and went back to the hallway. Luckily, Hemlock's room was only a few doors down, and the hallways were empty. Maybe they had heard the crying and stayed clear, or perhaps they had been intimidated when she dragged William to the room. As they walked, Hemlock spoke.

"I think I'll be all cried out for the next hundred years." She said softly.

"Hm?" William grunted as he walked.

"So you better not die until then."

William looked down at her and gave her a small smile.

They reached her door, which luckily was already slightly ajar. Inside, her room didn't look as one would expect. There weren't trees and plants everywhere. Instead, it looked like an ordinary room. There was a large king-size bed against the wall. To the right was a bathroom, and to the left was a closet. Right in view from the doorway was a large piece of furniture. Half of it was a small table with a candle and quills. The other half was a large glass herbarium full of snakes. William always felt uneasy in her room, always positive that a snake was just waiting to bite him. In front of the bed, there was a dresser with a mirror.

William made his way to the edge of the bed and started to place Hemlock on it. She undid her grip around his neck and let him flop her on the bed. She bounced a few times before looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He smiled back at her; he was going to turn to leave when her hand grabbed his arm. He didn't have time to react as he was yanked onto the bed. He flew over Hemlock and landed on his back right next to her. In a flash, she curled up next to him. She placed her leg over his and moved his arm around her soldier, resting her head on his breast.

"Uhm, Hemlock?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Don't you think this is a bit much for two friends?"

"Probably"

It must have been an hour before the reality of where he was and what was happening sunk in. William's face was beat red. Hugging Hemlock hadn't felt like anything a bit ago because he was comforting a hurt friend. Her eyes had been puffy, her nose had been running, and her face was flushed. Now, though, she was just Hemlock. Eyes yellow, pale skin, devious smile, messy hair, and ears red from slight embarrassment. His hand lay on her side. He rubbed it mindlessly. Hemlock hummed to herself as she lay there.

"William?"

"Yeah"

"Thank you for all you did today. I don't have anyone I can talk to about these types of things."

"What about Tempest?"

"I'm her boss. I can't show them such weakness. They'd lose respect for me."

"I don't think so."

"It's hard to say, but the current candles aren't exactly as close as your crew was."

William only nodded to this.

"It is not good to keep emotions like this bottled up, so thank you for being there for me."

"You know me, Hemlock. I'm a fuck up, but I'll always have your back." He moved his hand to her back and patted her jokingly. Hemlock smiled and pushed her body up so her face was right beside his. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and pushed the top of her head against his jawline.

"It's customary for the gentleman in these situations to make the next move."

"Good thing I don't believe in gender roles," William answered flatly. Hemlock let out a quick laugh.

"It's ok, William. We don't have to do anything. I understand you don't want to commit to anything or do something you'll regret in the morning."

William didn't respond. Instead, he abruptly sat up and tightened his grip around her waist to lift her with him. He turned to her slightly perplexed face and pressed his lips to hers. Her eyes widened as he drew his head back. He smiled and laid back down, pulling her down so they were back in the position they were before.

"William!" Hemlock exclaimed, mouth open.

"Yeah?"

"Aren't you going to say something?"

"Yeah, I bet you're glad you're not my boss now."

The two had fallen asleep shortly after that. They laughed and talked for a few minutes before letting their exhaustion take them. They had fallen asleep a little past four in the afternoon. Hemlock woke up first. It wasn't even 11 PM. She looked at his sleeping face. He was so peaceful, Hemlock was still exhausted, and if she hadn't been so mesmerized by his sleeping form, she would have immediately fallen back asleep. She smiled and played with his hair. This continued for a few minutes before he suddenly woke up and sat up abruptly. He looked around, confused for a second before he looked down and saw Hemlock looking at him. He stared for a second before grabbing her suddenly and pulling her in for a kiss again as he had done last night. Their lips connected briefly, and he flopped back down on the bed.

"You should brush your teeth," he says.

Hemlock's mouth broke from its shocked position and spread into a smile. She giggled at his comment. She sat up and swiftly pushed him off the bed, William flailed as he fell.

"Your breath isn't exactly minty fresh either." She responded with laughter as she hopped out of the bed. William quickly stood up and followed her. They stepped into the bathroom quickly. Hemlock threw him a new toothbrush she hadn't used yet, and both vigorously brushed in silence. Occasionally William tried to make Hemlock choke up the toothpaste by poking her in the sides or making her laugh.

When they finished, both walked out of the bathroom, and the air was heavy. Hemlock placed her hands behind her back and looked around. William coughed dryly.

"Well, the night is young. I guess we should go and do something, " he said awkwardly.

"Do we have to? I haven't slept that long in days, and I'm still pretty tired." She said with her eyes closed, though she was peeking at him to gauge his reaction. " You must have worked throughout the night to clear those bounties as fast as you did."

"Nah, not really."

Hemlock's face dropped. William saw this and was confused. Then, as the neurons in his brain started firing, he quickly spoke,

"I say that, but I bet that warm bed wouldn't let me go."

Not willing to wait for William to convince himself she wasn't inviting him, Hemlock quickly laid down and patted the spot next to her. William gave a small smile and crawled in next to her. Like earlier, they wrapped themselves up in each other and were still, their body heat channeling into one another. Unlike last time, there was a hot feeling. They could feel each other's heartbeat; both were fast and showed no signs of slowing. William made the first move. It wasn't much. He just leaned down and kissed the top of her head. Hemlock looked up at him after he did it. Her face screamed, "That's it?" but William either didn't notice that or pretended not to. Hemlock sighed quietly and decided to make her move.

She broke free from his grip and pushed her whole body with her arm to flop on top of him. Her breasts pressed against his collarbone. It was William's turn to make his eyes wide. She gave him a smug smile and leaned forward to give him another kiss. This time, it was much longer than any they had previously. Their eyes were closed, and William moved his hands to her lower back and head. He dug his fingers into her messes of green hair. Their mouths parted as they gasped for air. Both breathed heavily. Hemlock's hand flew to his shirt, undoing the buttons with tremendous dexterity. William yanked the laces from her top from behind her neck. As it came undone, both stopped and stared at each other—the reality of what was happening set in at the same time.

"William, um, well, haha, I didn't think this was where things would go."

"D-Do you want to stop?" He answered. Hemlock shook her head furiously.

"If we do this, things might get really bad between us in the future." She said solemnly.

"It could also end very well," he countered.

"I suppose," She said as she tilted her head to think. Her body was fidgeting on top of him. "What do you think the chances are for one or the other?"

"I kind of gave up on the idea of a conventional romance years ago." He answered. Hemlock nodded as she heard this.

"I've been with people before, but never as a real partner," she replied. She could feel his body heat up from under her. His hands were still holding her tightly.

"In the worst-case scenario, we become bitter friends who share a bed on occasion; in the best-case scenario, we become lovers exclusively, " she said.

"I don't think those are the only two outcomes…"

"Well, we can think of it as a gamble," she said. With that, William flipped Hemlock around so that she was lying on the bed and he was above her. His thighs pressed against hers, his body parallel to her own. He leaned down and said:

"Hemlock, that's all you had to say." He gave her a quick kiss on the lips, "You know me, I always bet on green."

Hemlock gasped and slapped him playfully.

"William, that is terrible." She said, trying to hold back a laugh as she saw his pride in what he had just said. They both put their hand on that roulette wheel and spun it for that night and the future.