Chicago night was riveting. Outside, laughter, yelling in the streets, cars whooshing along slick rainy roads. Roaring. City buildings hundreds of feet high, echoing noise and neon into the AM. Much like his own engine, stammering at every acceleration.
The foreign boy must've been overwhelmed by this. These vivid colors and sounds-all new to him. It had to be the thing preventing the brat from answering him.
"Are you hungry?" the blond man called, slowing at the light, the engine now almost silent.
Nothing was said—again. The boy was purposefully, indignantly, ignoring him. Ever since the airport, the brat had done nothing but avoid the man's eyes, nearly losing him through the rushing crowds. Now, after minutes of silent driving, the only indication of his humanity was the boy resting his cheek against the window, shutting his tired eyes.
Kaido had planned to stump him all along.
Sending him a non-English speaking boy, a deaf boy, a mute boy, or whatever useless faux-prodigy doctor Trebol had vouched for.
"You want to run a city, Doflamingo? You're going to need more than any dumb-brained soldier. Kaido's men can fight, but they ain't built for the typa scheming you Americans are."
He remembered Trebol, his contact with Kaido, that cold stare, and how it morphed into a grotesque grin. Doflamingo saw a wolf under those dim lights-those fangs, that snarl, gleaming eyes and all.
"We got somebody who needs out. He's a little too smart for these knuckleheads. I think he's just what you need—a slithering little brat who has more power than he knows what to do with."
He had Doflamingo's attention.
"He's still a doctor, correct? The only way I'm getting a Japanese soldier into this militia is if he can work a few miracles."
The man laughed, clutching his large stomach.
"The boy is a miracle himself."
The senator wasn't angry...for now. Just frustrated, in disbelief, as he caught another glimpse of the dark-haired boy lying sleepily in his backseat.
The boy wasn't.. actively resisting... a rather crude way to put it, Donquixote thought, but it meant he'd had at least agreed to come to America. Whether or not he had agreed to be an American soldier and medic... that certainly did not seem to be the case.
The light finally turned, and just as it did a chime from his phone let out.
His lackey, Baby 5, calling him now. He picked up to listen to her ramble about concerns she had about working alone at the bar tonight. Donquixote dreaded having the conversation, but it was something to listen to, and after that was resolved, or, perhaps, ignored, he felt compelled to speak about his day as well.
"...I don't doubt Caesar would try to stiff me. But, in what way, I need to know. The boy hasn't said a word, for Christ's sake."
"Wow. Well, 'guess you'll have to teach him English. Or.. maybe learn Japanese."
The man snarled, "Yeah, right. Or he's deaf, and I'm out a considerable amount of money."
"What does he look like? Does he look deaf?"
Doflamingo paused, perhaps to shut away the ignorant, brainless comment.
But it crept up again as he looked back at the boy through the mirror. If there was such a thing... No, he didn't look deaf... he was rather attractive, with a strong tanned face, cheekbones, and pouty lips that Doflamingo wished to God would make some kind of sound.
"...He's not bad-looking."
Baby 5 babbled on, for seconds, but none of that mattered, as time slowed and Donquixote went from glaring into the mirror to swinging around to the backseat.
The boy had straightened up when he heard Doflamingo acknowledge his looks.
He heard.
He understood.
"I was mistaken."
He could see the boy tremble, that tormenting gaze angered, but still, something burning, something alive,verydifferent to the young doctor who first got in his car.
"The boy speaks English. I'll see you soon, sweetheart," the Senator said, turning his back to him. Through the mirror, he noticed the boy now looking away.
"You must not get complimented often," the Senator jabbed.
"Not from conniving Americans."
A low, vibrato voice with a rumbling bite to it. Not at all like he'd thought it'd be. The Japanese accent was subtle.
As the senator pulled into the hotel parking lot, Trebol's words echoed in his head.
"He's a little mouthy. I'm sure you've dealt with worse. One of Kaido's boys made sure he'd watch his tongue around you. Whether that continues depends on how you handle him."
"Well. It seems we're off to a great start."
He watched the boy's emotionless glare through the mirror, glued to the glowing sign of the hotel as they pulled in.
"Arabian Nights"-A familiar getaway to Doflamingo, morphed into a temporary home, almost ten miles from the militia he worked at. It had a homey, yet tacky design and a building as likely to crumble as any other Chicagoan structure. At least the view was nice, a towering structure surrounded by skyscrapers all adorned with neon lighting.
Conniving..Doflamingo thought some more as he parked.
A big word. The boy's smart... but not smart enough to keep quiet. Perhaps he had an ego problem.
The door burst open, and the doctor blinked, surprised as Donquixote ripped his suitcase from its seat, along with his own from the trunk, and spared little time waiting for him to follow.
Into the hotel they went. It was a cheap place with brick walls that were too scuffed and run down for the modern-styled furniture. Still, it had a nice smell and a certain charm that quieted and somewhat relaxed the dark-haired boy as he stared at the front desk and the plush gingerbread man that sat next to some flowers.
"Happy to see you back, Senator," the receptionist said. She had a cheerful, but forced smile, and long black hair that was bone straight down her back.
"You haven't brought a friend in a while. Did you want to upgrade your suite?"
"No."
Doflamingo noticed the boy frowned.
"If there's any extra fees because of him, do let me know. You have my card on file. Thank you, sweetheart."
The brown-skinned woman blushed, clearly swayed by the blond's charm, and perhaps that expensive watch on Donquixote's wrist, but the few glimpses Law noticed could've been a coincidence.
Or maybe Americans were that shallow.
Donquixote certainly walked too quickly for the boy's liking, and he struggled to keep up, panicking when the man jetted to an elevator. In seconds Law went from a controlled jog to jumping through the doors. Thankfully, the man slowed once on the third floor but still didn't spare him a glance, or a word, scanning his keycard, opening the door, and entering.
"Go ahead and shower, watch TV, or something," he said, throwing his keycard on the dresser. Next was his coat.
"I'm in the process of getting you into the militia, so use these next few days to relax. Elene should have someone bring us some food in a bit."
Law only blinked, likely still debating whether Donquixote was worth talking to.
"I don't mind you being quiet."
He watched the man take off his sunglasses, but he turned around too quickly for Law to see his eyes. As he opened the bathroom door and turned the shower on, Law heard him speak up again.
"Perhaps that's what is needed. A break from the chaos of my subordinates."
The door shut, but his last remark was loud and clear.
"But you will do your job."
And in the next fews days of silence, that he did. The militia was equipped to do everything-measurements, x-rays, even dental exams, by the prodigy himself, until it got to blood work and Donquixote felt the room stop and suddenly had enough of being examined.
"No. I've had bloodwork done recently. Let's call it a day."
Those blue eyes dug into him, and the boy's mouth parted to speak, but he remained quiet instead, tucking his notepad into the desk drawer and logging off the computer.
"I didn't catch your name, by the way," Doflamingo muttered, rather randomly.
The boy raised an eyebrow, accidentally letting the disbelief show on his face.
Donquixote grinned.
"No?"
"No," Doflamingo shot back, slowly licking his lips.
Law shrugged the lab coat off his shoulders, placing it onto the metal hook on the door. It irritated him that Doflamingo watched him so intently, sitting so pleased, with his dubious grin, but somehow couldn't manage to remember his god damned name.
Silently, they left the militia and strolled back to the car, Law trailing behind the senator cautiously, ever wary of his surroundings. As he settled into the backseat, he curled up against the window, his eyes fluttering shut, allowing the rhythm of the engine to lull him for a moment. Yet, the harsh drawl of the blond senator cut through the stillness.
"Yes... I understand. I'll be there shortly."
The tension in his tone hinted at something important, piquing Law's curiosity. He straightened up just as the engine roared to life, the comforting purr now replaced by a harsh rumble as Doflamingo tore out of the parking lot, focused on the road ahead.
With his foot pressed firmly on the gas, the blond man zoomed through the slick streets, teeth clenched, while Law grasped the headrest in front of him, bracing against every sharp turn.
Then it began. Doflamingo weaved from lane to lane, swerving dangerously close to other vehicles again and again. Once cars began catching on, a honking started, a song-like melody that continued until Donquixote grew tired and drifted onto the less crowded oncoming traffic lane.
Law shut his eyes in preparation for the impending impact.
"Oh, lighten up. I've barely touched a hundred."
Law ignored him, keeping his eyes shut until he felt the car screech and brake. He looked up to a glowing sign reading "Pink Sweets." The bar had some cheap, outdoor shrubs and seating, but Law had little time to map his surroundings, as Doflamingo had opened and slammed the door within seconds of parking.
Whether he wanted to be followed or not, the doctor was unsure, but he did anyway, rushing into the glass doors. Doflamingo flicked on the lights, and just before he could take in the absolute destruction of the place, a crunching of glass under his foot sent the message for him.
For a moment, there was a man in a black mask on a table, dancing, a bottle in his grasp illuminated by the pink lights. Then, Law blinked, and the man was retching, screaming, dragged down and choked with the pull of Donquixote's finger.
It was as horrifying as it was fascinating. Law watched the senator pull him, suffocating the man, raking him against the glass on the floor. A trail of blood followed him.
"Who sent you?" A chilling but controlled remark from Donquixote.
The two heard shuffling from nearby and shifted, Law gripping the pistol he had tucked.
"Doflamingo!"
Before Law could react, Doflamingo silenced the injured man with a single, fluid motion of the hand, snapping his head from his body. Law froze in place, realizing exactly who the man before him was.
Adrenaline surged through Law's veins as he sprinted towards the source of the scream. The dark backroom loomed before him, promising more danger. Just as he prepared to dive in, two gunshots whizzed past, missing him by inches.
"Doffy! Help!" he heard a girl cry out.
"Shut it!"
Just as he had armed himself and prepared to peak around the corner, Law's wrist was clutched tight and the gun ripped from his clutches.
"Nice try," the senator breathed, pushing Law behind him.
He inched into the archway, firing off two shots until he heard a gruff yell, satisfied, and then motioned Law to come. In the backroom was a spinning disco ball, illuminating the room where a tied girl wept, and a husky man lay dead on the floor.
What a waste, Law thought, noticing the familiar initials of the gang that ran his home country on the man's jacket. Doflamingo snapped the rope to pieces as they entered, and the girl cried as she leaped into his arms.
"Doffy!"
The black-haired girl trembled, clinging to Donquixote's sleeves. Law averted his gaze as the senator uncharacteristically consoled her, shushed her, and even caressed her black hair gently.
"Calm down, Baby Five. I'm here."
His tone, though comforting, carried an undercurrent of rage – not just at the looting, but at the girl's dramatic display-her inability to defend or compose herself.
"He took everything!" she cried, stomping, "All the money! Even my precious little piggy bank!"
A vein throbbed on Donquixote's forehead. He looked down the hall to the front room, the empty spot where her piggy bank; the "DIY", glittered, grotesque, but now grievable treasure was gone.
Along with an almost five thousand dollar deposit, and maybe a hundred thousand dollars in damage, destruction, and vandalism.
Another realization hit him, and his heart skipped a beat.
"Did they take Monet?"
Baby Five's demeanor shifted, her tears drying suspiciously fast. "What? No. She would've stopped them. I told you, she never showed up."
Her eyes flicked to Donquixote's stony expression before she dramatically clutched her bloodstained, ribbon-adorned dress. "My dress is ruined!"
Killer was a sucker for secret reunions on cold winter nights.
The snow falling in his blond hair as he swerved through the streets on his motorbike. The sharp inhale of cold air stinging his nostrils. The city lights neon rainbows and buildings caked in snow—it was all dream-like.
It was sneaking back into the WARRIOR militia dorms that was the less fun part.
The scowling officer seemed to judge him as he scanned his keycard, then waved him past to be let in the inner doors. The grey-haired cop hadn't changed from years prior, that uncanny glower, his tight-lipped attitude, and most annoyingly, his horrible habit of leaving the lobby drenched in cigar smoke.
Another two floors and two more scans to complete. The high-tech facility felt foreign to him, with its elevators, checkpoints, and metal detectors. He felt sketchy bringing so much as a chain necklace when he came back home.
Home... a strange term for this place. He pressed his ID to the last screen for the night, and it glowed a neon green as the hulking metal doors clicked open.
He expected to hear his roommate snoring, and that he did, but also behind that cracked door he heard a phone buzzing. He gently opened the door and dug under the covers for the device.
"Hey, Kid," he urged, nudging him awake.
Kid sat up right away, eyes blank. Red hair spiked in all directions. A little drool on his lips and a lot on the pillow.
"What?" he said.
"Hina's calling you."
Kid furrowed his brows, snatching the phone from Killer and sending her straight to voicemail.
"What the fuck, Killer? It's three in the morning," he grumbled, throwing the covers back over himself.
"Your hearing's in the morning. It could be important. I'm calling her back."
Kid turned to him, alarm flashing in his eyes — but it was too late. Killer had already hit dial, the ringing resonating in the cramped room.
"What? Why?"
Killer sent him a glare, and soon after a voice could be heard.
"I hope I didn't wake you," the woman purred.
Kid stared into Killer's soul as he sighed, rising to sit on the bed.
"It's whatever. What do you want?"
The way the redhead could snap at such a good-looking woman puzzled Killer. A woman invested in helping him, at that.
"I want you to meet at my place. There's something concerning your case that I need to discuss with you."
"You can't tell me over the phone?"
He felt a jab in the side from the blond.
"I'm afraid I can't. I assume you're being tightly monitored at this time."
"Fucking hell."
"Dress nicely. I'll take you to the hearing in a few hours."
"Oh, perfect. Now I don't have to drive."
"Eustass, if you're caught driving-"
"It's a joke, christ. Lighten up. I'll be over in a bit."
He clicked, throwing the phone across the king bed and sinking back into the covers.
"Give me ten minutes. Then we'll head out."
Black Cage Hina.
A tall woman with sharp eyes and silky pink hair. Often seen barking harsh comments in defense of her mostly successful clients. Or, in glimpses, sitting cross-legged in courtrooms, in a short skirt and heels, taking note of everything being discussed.
A picture-perfect celebrity lawyer. Designer outfitted, from her glasses to her suit to her heels.
Someone far too important to be helping Kid out of kindness alone. But a wad of cash from Aokiji and an owed favor did the job. The man didn't want to lose one of his most important soldiers.
Her house was just as upscale as she, but more subtly, with minimalist paintings and furniture, plush fur carpets and throwovers. Tan walls and marble floors which reminded Kid of a desert, a mountainside, or somewhere nature-esque. All he knew was it was somewhereworldsaway from Chicago.
"Did you bring anything with you?"
Right to the point. Kid frowned, raising a hairless eyebrow.
"You expecting me to?"
She frowned in return, a subtle sign of disapproval as she adjusted her glasses with a single finger, crossing her legs again. Kid's eyes flickered from the the glowing screen of her laptop to those long legs.
"Your husband know about this?"
At that, she blinked, surprised.
"Aboutwhat?"
Pursed lips and the slight confusion in her eyes under her glasses. She wasn't fooling anyone, though.
"You know what, Hina."
"That's Mrs. Debonnaire to you."
"Oh? What happened to 'sharing surnames'?" he chided, a small grin across his lips.
She froze, locking eyes with Kid, a flash of vulnerability crossing her sharp features.Sharing surnames.A meaningless detail she'd mentioned among glasses of wine with the delinquent—not something she thought he'd ever remember.
"Watch yourself, Eustass," she said, dissatisfied when his smirk didn't drop.
"Now answer the question," she added, quieter, tapping her foot impatiently. Kid held his gaze steady, crossing his arms. Hina eventually looked away, letting out an exasperated sigh.
"I'll grab the coffee. Help yourself to the pizza."
And that he did. When Hina returned to the table with two mugs in hand, Kid started shuffling for what she'd requested from him. He threw the baggie onto the table, and Hina made a hum of approval.
"I'm assuming this is the last of it?"
"I'd rather not discuss that sorta thing with my lawyer. You want it, take it. Nothing I can do with it."
Eustass Kid was the definition of stubborn. At every meeting, Hina cycled through stages of rapport, denying, aggression, and then finally-acquiescence. He would eventually open up-but not without digging his claws into you first.
She thought it over some more as she sipped her coffee, reflecting on the scant militia files she had seen on Kid. Abandoned by his mother as a teen and picked up by government agents, he'd been forced into defending America. Said to be dangerous and rash-every file was marked with a red warning sign like the document was poisoned. She knew he was part of Crocodile's Baroque Works, and likely had a murderous history. But how deeply he was involved she couldn't imagine — nor did she care to know.
She began breaking down the substance onto a glass mirror used for makeup. She tossed the card back and forth, only letting her eyes up as Kid threw his feet up onto the chair next to them, sighing.
"Hm?"
"This what you wanted me over at three in the morning for? Someone to relax and get high with?"
Hina smiled, red lips curling.
"Unfortunately not. There's been some remarkable new evidence found at the scene of Ash's death."
Kid's eyes flickered to that glass mirror.
"So what? They having you review it again?"
"I already have the files. We're going in at a disadvantage tomorrow, Kid. You must stick to everything I told you to do."
"And act remorseful for something I didn't even do?"
"Yes, Eustass. Or the prosecutors will make a damned movie out of you. Failed WARRIOR-reformate-turned-killer massacres old woman and her family. It's over."
She very un-gracefully snorted a thin line of powder, holding her nose with one hand, cringing at the apparent burn that followed.
"Jesus women," Kid grumbled, taking the bill being handed to him without realizing,
"It shouldn't burn."
Hina only looked at him, and then down again onto her phone.
Kid sighed.
Seems like I shouldn't feel so bad about indulging her. She's clearly on a bender.
A classy bender. One where socialites and important people acted fairly normal, but may have one hair out of place, one slightly slurred sentence, sniffly nose, or, at the time, all of the above, including a loose bra strap falling ever so slightly lower down one's shoulder, making Kid's eyes gloss over.
It didn't help that she was relaxed now, doing away with her suit coat and glasses, lounging in a silky white collared shirt that was definitely at least slightly see-through under the lamp on the table. Pulling on a fruity-smelling cigarette that had more red at the mouth than she did now.
Kid finished two average-sized lines and handed the mirror back to her, deciding that the bad habit would be of more help than harm, as he had five whole hours before the trial began.
"I don't think I've ever actually seen you do any."
Kid frowned, looking down into his coffee.
"You never answered my question. Whether your husband knows."
"Does he know that I sometimes share drinks with my clients? Yes, Eustass. Does he know what exactly goes on during those meetings? No, but I doubt telling him my vices will help our fragile relationship. For fuck's sake."
She sighed, kicking one of her long legs over another. Kid was silent until she lit a cigarette.
"Chill out. You know I don't give a fuck."
She pulled the cigarette out of her mouth instantly, "Then why the hell—"
"Because it pisses you off. You're lying to yourself. There's a difference between meeting over drinks and meeting at your house to do dr—"
"Enough."
Kid rolled his eyes. There it was-Hina's courtroom tone.
"We have less than six hours. Let's go over your defense."
The clean-up was quick.
Too quick. The crew was in and out within an hour, scrubbing blood and hoisting bodies over their shoulders like it was just another Tuesday.
Now it was barren. Quiet. Doflamingo leaned against the bar, halfway through one of few intact bottles he could find tucked behind vintage glasses. The tacky disco ball was still going, blues and pinks adorning the room. Bleach and amonia stung his lungs. A grim reminder of hours prior.
"Aren't we a little old to be brooding?"
Doflamingo stilled. Dust filtered in through the rising sun in the window.
"...Yes."
One moment alone. That was all he wanted. Instead, here came an old friend and he certainly wasn't bearing good news. He stared into the bottle more, nursing the liquid, before tossing it back and taking a swig.
"Mannerless to drink from a bottle," the man growled, voice like iron striking gravel.
"Not if you intend to finish it."
The man growled, taking the seat at the bar next to him and snatching the drink. Meeting greyish eyes, Doflamingo felt a familiar spite rise within him. The man took a hearty swig, despite his earlier chiding.
"You don't look too upbeat yourself, Crocodile," Doflamingo remarked, curiosity piquing. It was rare for this old bat to reach out, especially to come to his bar willingly—this meant something. Whether it was good or bad news was the lingering question.
"Your friends in office offered me money to kill you."
Doflamingo sat completely still, his brow twitching slightly. He'd been a senator for a matter of days, and already there were seeds of discontent sprouting.
"I see."
The man took another swig, ashing his hulky cigar effortlessly. His new appearance was striking; deep-set eyes loomed beneath dark brows, and a scar ran across his cheek. His sunken face was slightly less than than a year prior. His stomach was protruding from his black fitted suit.
"A pathetic amount," Crocodile added.
What had become of this man after their militia burned down? America was ravaged by Kaido, and every powerful man in the city felt it. What was Crocodile doing in the meantime? A year had passed and Doflamingo saw nothing of note, only whispers that the man had grown too old to stay in the game. That he'd quieted his businesses and rescinded shares. Pulled his men out of deals and angered suppliers. Unspoken questions seared Doflamingo's tongue but he bit it. Certain things could be saved for lighter circumstances.
Crocodile swept a tuft of raven bangs behind his head, but the strands resisted, falling right back into place, wispy against his face. The many rings on his finger shimmered as he moved. Broken bar lights flickered and the disco ball circled mixes of blues and pinks on the men.
"Is that so," Doflamingo muttered between clenched teeth.
"Another thing. Your health. Mihawk told all of us."
Of course.
Doflamingo grabbed the bottle from the table, taking his largest swig yet. The liquor sloshed around until it settled, now filling less than half the bottle.
"A doctor from Wano. You think that boy has any clue what's going on with you?"
"I've heard the stories. You've shuffled from specialist to specialist. Some called it cancer. Others jumped at the chance to diagnose you with something rare. It seems their peer reviews mattered more than their integrity."
"And your point?"
Crocodile sneered.
"You're dying."
The sign on the wall flickered again, casting shadows that danced ominously around them.
"Accept it," he said, his tone final, the weight of his words heavy in the room's stillness.
In that moment, the enormity of his existence pressed down on Doflamingo like a lead weight. Thirty-nine years filled with turmoil and tragedy flashed through his mind—every calculated move, every betrayal, every fleeting moment of triumph now felt futile. He had sworn to make an impact with his family's name, to become its savior, the very insignia the world would recognize when they uttered the name "Donquixote." But now, the world had crumbled, burned, and turned against him.
His last hope rested with that doctor, the brash young man whose name slipped from Doflamingo's mind, infuriating him to no end. Would the boy even grasp the weight of the legacy he was tasked to save? Was he too all part of a ploy to end him? Was this just another wasted effort in a long line of impossible dreams?
{A/N}
Oh my God. How long has it been? Definitely too long. I could sit and ramble about the absurdness of the hundreds of rough drafts of this first chapter but I'd rather not before my brain explodes.
Some notes*
-information in this story is subject to change. This is a rough pilot chapter (in my eyes), and I'm still unsure if I introduced too many characters and settings or not enough.
-feedback is needed.I haven't posted anything inalmost ten years!
-inspired HEAVILY by stories like "dinner and diatribes", "conversations among the ruins", and "Apartment Above The Auto Shop", all on AO3. PLEASE read these masterpieces, this story will probably not be updated consistently and is subject to changes.