Chapter Text
Nothing good happens after midnight.
Crocodile learned that advice the hard way from his time in the marines, back when he was the Wani, the faceless mercenary. Long had he abandoned that life and minded his own business, but it was true then and it is true now: Nothing good happens after midnight.
“You know, I would appreciate it if my host could at least look into my eyes while I’m talking.”
He looks up wearily from the rich red of the table fabric, bored grayish blue irises meeting the void red tint of sunglasses.
“Aren't you glad I'm here?” his guest proceeded to sing-song, in the middle of his mindless yapping that he had long tuned out. “You know what, there’s something called privacy that I want your dog Daz to know-"
The curtains to their booth suddenly open, and the waiter returns with their dinner, something easily forgiven because finally something interrupted the pink-feathered psychopath’s litany. Crocodile released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Oh, would you look at that? A reason for him to shut up. Finally.
“To-tonight’s specials, balsam and soy marinated steak with charred peppers, and steak frites with black garlic b-butter…”
Alas, they did not miss how the young waiter quivered, standing on shaking knees as if afraid to even stain the carpet of their V.V.I.P booth— the only one with the space, grandeur, and view of the moonlit desert. Above their heads, even the ceiling was intricate; hand painted with a map of Alabasta and the nearby islands. He paid his dear artist seven digits for that ceiling alone.
“E-Enjoy.”
Crocodile looks back down at the waiter. At that, he couldn't help but stare. Who the hell is this child? The new hire from last week?
He ticked his tongue in discontent—something that immediately got the poor kid shaking. While he truly understood where all the trembling came from, he is not about to embarrass Rain Dinner’s fine dining service in front of Donquixote Doflamingo of all fucking people. Either stand straight or not show up to wait at all.
He was about to tell the waiter off when-
“No, no.” The pink psychopath suddenly called, snapping his fingers with his menacing grin, capturing both Crocodile and the poor waiter's attention. “You. Why does it have to be black garlic and not white?”
Now what? Crocodile frowned. This little shit-stirrer.
“Uh, uhm, I-”
“Don’t answer him.” Crocodile took the cigar off his lips, staring in disbelief at such cheap stunt. For the first time that night, he spoke, glaring at the waiter. “What a load of bullcrap. Go. Disappear.”
The waiter no time to bow shakily and scramble faster than a kitten would hide. When the door closed and finally enveloped their booth in secrecy again, Doflamingo—evil incarnate Doflamingo—leans forward in utmost interest.
“Oh,” he smirked, picking up a lonely wine glass. “What was that, Croco? You take being a a good employer seriously?”
Asshole.
“You waste my time, you harass my staff, and you're asking me?”
It was painfully obvious this man was only fucking around, trying to impose dominance on the poor waiter. Obviously he does not give a fuck about garlic.
“Alright, touché, chill, chill! Where was I?” At that, Doflamingo happily hummed, tracing the rim of the glass—pretending to think.
Crocodile had to bite his tongue to swallow down the urge to go right up that door and leave.
“Ah. Right…” he croaked eventually. “It’s not about your lapdog—that, I very much understand—but rather about how you told him that this was a private meeting and yet he stood beyond that door like I wouldn’t know.”
Suddenly, a snort. Doflamingo blinked in surprise when the usally stoic warlord suddenly smiled.
“You have a bizarre sense of humor, Joker.” Crocodile laughed sardonically, emphasizing the nickname. “You know Daz is just doing his job.”
Outside the door, Daz’s shadow moved ever so slightly.
“Really? Ah, nevermind that. Actually-” Doflamingo clicked his tongue, already reaching for the wine bottle. “I didn’t know you had such a nice laugh, Mr. Zero.”
Crocodile inhaled sharply. So it is what it is, then.
THUNK.
His golden hook embeds itself in the cork, nearly missing Doflamingo’s hand on the wine bottle by only a few inches. At this, the taller warlord quirks an even more interested eyebrow. Instead of giving in, he held the bottle even tighter.
Nobody moved for a quick second.
Then the next moment, they both let go and laughed.
The sounds of joy was so lively that the click of two guns almost blended perfectly. Then their smiles fell.
(For good measure, Crocodile cocked his gun again. Just to have the last laugh, so to speak.)
“So,” he started first. “Why don’t you stop downing the wine and just get down to it?”
A bright ear-to-ear grin. Doflamingo cocked his gun as well.
“You truly do interest me, Crocodile. Do you know that?”
“I do,” he says smugly. “You’ve been saying that for a while.”
On his wrist, the watch ticked ten minutes past midnight. Just from the time itself, one would know they’re never here to simply eat dinner. The poor chefs and waiters had to work overtime. Daz too. This sudden rendezvous had been nothing but a huge bother—it’s about time the Warlord of Pink Fluff gets down to what this meeting is actually for.
“Here I thought you’re being friendly and welcoming.”
“I am being welcoming.”
Sadly for Doflamingo though, he had no desire to wine and dine. He kept his gun pointed, and Doflamingo kept himself unbothered. A battle between a rock and a hard place.
Thinking back, he had no obligation to accept the dinner invitation despite it being labeled urgent (and the footnote that Doflamingo apparently traveled days just to reach Alabasta). Because a candlelit dinner? In a private booth he booked in Crocodile’s own establishment?
Usually, Crocodile would ignore such farce. Robin would’ve had them burned with the rest of his spam and death threats by the evening they came in—but that one came from Donquixote Doflamingo. Nobody can blame Crocodile for being curious, reading it, and showing up. After all, what could a man of that caliber possibly want by showing up in Alabasta?
The sender was one thing that convinced him to open the letter, but what truly made him bite the invite itself was the small drawing at the end. For any other eye, it might just be a mindless doodle—but it is not. Again, it was Donquixote Doflamingo who sent it. If he did not snatch the paper from Nico Robin’s hands himself, he wouldn’t even have caught it. Honestly, now he wished he didn’t.
The doodle was too similar to the Wani’s logo, after all.
Donquixote Doflamingo practically doodled Crocodile’s signature from when he was serving the World Government as a top-secret mercenary. Normal people asking colleagues out on dinner do not do shit like that. This is blackmail. In its shallower definitions. Overshadowed by steaming steaks and nicely aged wine.
So then, while Doflamingo simply intrigued him as an eccentric individual, he also accepted the invite out of unease. That symbol—and the fact Doflamingo knew about it—can’t be good.
“Speak,” Crocodile said again, now showing his true frustrations. “We don’t have all night.”
“Actually! You do.” Doflamingo grins and points at him with a finger gun. “I asked your secretary and I believe she freed your entire day. You have no escape. I just told you that, didn’t I?”
Crocodile unamusedly moved his finger to the trigger and Doflamingo laughed. Apparently that was funny.
“Alright, I will talk! So so so impatient,” he said, handsomely licking his teeth like a predator to a prey. “I was just under the assumption we’d at least eat together first. You know, because we both just haaaad a long day.”
“Then do it,” he said, using the tip of his metal hook to tap his plate menacingly. “Eat.”
As expected, Doflamingo only stared at him smirking, one hand still holding the gun under the table while the other supporting his chin.
“Eh…”
He’s being cautious and Crocodile won’t blame him. Any other place and he’ll actually try poisoning him for good.
“You’re no fun. At least eat with me.”
An even narrower glare. “Eat the goddamn food you’re served.”
When Doflamingo did not say or do anything, Crocodile eventually sat back and looked out to the dark desert in deep contemplation. Goddamn, this is fucking hopeless.
“What now? You can’t shoot me?”
He brings his gaze back to those annoying red lenses and scowled. He definitely would love to, but realistically: of course not. It’s not like he can just walk out of here; the bastard was unfortunately right. He’s testing him to bits. At this rate, they’d be here all night long. It’s a battle of patience and he’s fucking losing.
There’s also another thing that unsettled him since the pink-clad warlord arrived.
The fact he showed up dressed to the nines.
It was a mild shocker to see Doflamingo in a deep red suit, almost maroon, double breasted. While he hated him to his core, even he could admit it fits him quite attractively. He also knew how this man usually dresses himself (that is—atrociously) and this is definitely not his definition of casual.
He must have something important to say else he’d not give a damn wearing such…thing.
(So, if he cared about either of their time, then why can’t he just spell it out?! He’s deliberately torturing him, he knew it.) God, he’s losing his mind.
This is also the first time they met outside warlord meetings—funnily, to discuss something that doesn’t concern that at all. This is most definitely a proposal. Plans outside warlordship or something. It is certain now that Doflamingo went here not as a warlord but as the Joker—but what about him?
Who is he in this table? Crocodile? Mr. Zero? Or the Wani?
And there was only one plausible answer. That mindless doodle at the end of the letter—a symbol he had never used in years and planned to never use again.
God damn it. Doflamingo seriously isn’t about to ask him to be an assassin again, is he?
“Eyes here, stitchface.”
Doflamingo tapped his own gun up against the wood, shaking him out of his daze.
“Yoohoo? Remember? You were having a staredown with me. Were you getting lost in my eyes just now?”
A shiver immediately goes up his spine. “…Excuse me?”
“Ha!” Doflamingo laughed as if he caught him redhanded somehow. Crocodile just then noticed that his eyes somehow trailed off to the man’s suit, which hugged his enormous chest under his large feather coat. Wait, he he think he was checking him out?
“You’ve been staring at my tits.” Doflamingo interrupts him, purposefully laying back and showing off said chest. “Didn’t know you’re that into me, Crocodile—or should I say, Wani?”
Ah.
There it is.
Fucking finally.
When Crocodile did not respond, Doflamingo raised both hands above the table first, revealing a revolver with all slots loaded. Honestly? He was about to smile.
But to his surprise, the blonde warlord suddenly clicked it all out and expertly unloaded all six bullets in front of him, with Crocodile watching them pile down on his large palms and into the inside pockets of his blazer. He then placed the gun itself down next to the steaks, and then grabbed the wine. He knew Crocodile won’t stop him from downing it now.
“There. Can the Wani come to the phone now and talk? Please?” he grins, quite terrifyingly. He raises his now empty gun. “I come in peace.”
But alas—it was just a show.
Suddenly, slivery strings appeared and gashed Crocodile’s cheek, even cutting his perfectly decent cigar in half. Across from him, Doflamingo only grinned wider.
Guns unloaded but he wounds him anyway. Wastes a cigar while he’s at it too.
Fine. He can talk.
“State your business or get off my island,” Crocodile commanded through clenched teeth, hearing the cigar pieces fall in small thuds. “Joker.”
“Woah, it worked- Hi, Wani! Nice to finally meet you!” Doflamingo suddenly answered, popping off the poked wine cork and pouring Crocodile’s glass first out of courtesy. Now what is he playing at? “I just want to say that I’m a huge fan. No assassin I know could kill and clean so seamlessly as you do.”
That’s the fucking point. Is he stupid?
“What do you want?”
As Doflamingo sipped the wine, Crocodile followed his example and tucked his gun back to the holsters hidden in his coat. He then patted his breast pockets for another quick cigar. One more minute without a decent smoke between his teeth and he might actually spontaneously combust.
“Eh. Not playing along?” the other man frowned, façade cracking. “Have fun a ‘lil bit with me here. You killed one or thirty of my underlings as the Wani, you know.”
“I did? I’m glad.” Regardless of who those dipshits were, he doubted either of them would even remember. There, he just quietly cuts the end of his cigar and proceeds to pat his left pocket for the light with muscle memory—
Only to feel nothing.
A snicker sounds from the other side of the table and he whips his head up fast in alarm.
“Why? Need a light?”
There, a lighter clicks at the other end of the table.
His lighter.
“What-…” Crocodile stared at him in both surprise. When the actual fuck did he- “Give it back, asshole.”
“Eh? No, no.” Doflamingo immediately shook his head, flicking the gold head of the lighter open and closed as if to taunt him. The purple flame appeared and disappeared as he played with it, and Crocodile stared back with more and more anger boiling from within. “Why don’t you come lean over here and light it yourself?”
And to punctuate that sentiment, the pink evil incartnate proceeds to click open a stable flame but only right in front of his face, elbow even relaxed on the table not raising one more inch closer. Just to add further insult, Doflamingo then used one finger beckoning Crocodile to adjust and light it all the way over there. AS IF-
“YOU LITTLE-” He slams the table and shoots up only to get stopped by a grin widening, as if duly satisfied.
“Heyyy. Don’t be scared, Wani,” he offered even more annoyingly with a heavily fake affectionate tone. “I’m not going to try anything. Just do it. It’s important to me you do it. Come on. Just light your precious cigar and let’s continue talking.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck- Fuck this motherfucker.
There, he twitches before leaning forward across the table unwillingly, hook slamming on the surface of the mahogany and landing on one of the plates and breaking through the porcelain—not that he cared.
“Yo, easy, easy, sexy,” Doflamingo hummed at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Hesitantly, Crocodile all but climbed over the table and Doflamingo generously kept the lighter open and flaming for him. In no time, the fresh indigo purple of its flame held up steadily in the distance between their faces—and for the first time, Crocodile met his eyes past his shades.
It was not clear thanks to the pink and purples, but he was pretty sure he saw red.
Red irises studied him as the smile on Doflamingo’s lips melted onto a natural hum, mesmerized.
The two kept their eyes on each other even as Crocodile’s cigar finally toasted up. Doflamingo held it up for a few more seconds before flicking it closed, eyes not wavering as he reached for Crocodile’s shirt pocket and returned the lighter back to its rightful place in his chest pocket. Then, he pats Crocodile’s chest flat with the lighter now in it, secure.
“See?” Doflamingo whispered safely, breath kissing Crocodile’s face and waking him to reality—that he’s one knee up the table, leaning all the way to Doflamingo’s side. “I told you I could be trustworthy. Now where were we?”
Instead of straightening however…
“Ah, you sure have you ways of persuation.” He remained leaning over the table, eyes still on that face as he raised a hand to take his first drag. Smoke then surrounds them as he made it a poimt to keep Doflamingo’s gaze before exhaling right at his face. And his smile only ever widened at that. The freak.
And him? Trustworthy? Who is he kidding, God?
As an answer, Crocodile exhales smoke right at his smug face again, making sure it was near the nose and throat this time.
“Yeah, yeah. Now stop it,” he warns this time, finally turning his head from the cigar smoke. “Can we go back now?”
That, Crocodile agreed. “Good. Now talk.”
He sits back and unconsciously pats the lighter on his chest, safe and secure. He couldn’t deny that having it where it should be—and having a good cigar between his teeth—did ease his nerves. It was almost terrifying how much he depended on these sticks for emotional support, but hey, at least he copes normally unlike a certain someone, who goes around visiting random warlords and asking them out on dinners just to feel something.
“So, you know the Wani Do you think you can threaten me now?” Crocodile returned right where they left. No more games. “Am I supposed to bargain for my own secrets now? Do I look that easy?”
“Oh but I haven’t told you what secrets you’re going to bargain for yet.”
Then fucking say it, he fought the urge to scream. He gives his cigar a long drag instead.
“But before that, you told me to eat! So first, I shall.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!”
Pettily like an angry prepubescent boy, Doflamingo finally touched a fork. And he did it slowly. Crocodile watched as he poked a piece of the steak that laid on the one broken plate specifically, only shaking it slightly and then ate it.
Crocodile then watches as he pulls the fork off his mouth, humming savoringly, only to stab a curious-looking piece of paper onto the table with a loud thud. Now, he ruined both his night, his tablecloths, and his mahogany. Amazing.
“That will reflect on your bill, fucking bum ass bird.”
“Consider it done!” Doflamingo smirked, gesturing to the paper. “Open it, s’il vous plait.”
“Motherfucker.” Now what could this be? Crocodile angrily snatches the fork off the wood. Unfolding it, he stared at the paper in increasing confusion until it began to sink. It was a bounty poster of…
“Monkey D. Luffy.”
In front of Doflamingo, Crocodile’s breath seemed to stop in his throat. Doflamingo chewed and chewed, before swallowing with a grin.
“Familiar, I believe?”
It took Crocodile a while before he could move, refolding the paper and throwing it as carelessly as he could back on the table. Doflamingo’s words suddenly replayed in his mind:
Oh but I haven’t told you what secrets you’re going to bargain for yet.
He froze. No fucking way. This entire time, does he know about-
“Mugiwara,” he said, feigning a calm resolve and seeing the paper land on one of the uneaten steaks. “I am familiar, yes.”
Doflamingo does not fucking know anything beyond Operation Utopia, does he? As unreligious as he is now, Crocodile was quick to start praying inside his head, sweating under his shirt, that the other warlord does not, in fact, know.
“What do you want? You know I was the Wani. Now you show me a bounty poster.”
The good ol’ art of misdirection. Plan B: Pretend to be concerned about the assassin job.
“Do you think you can hire me, you piece of shit? I don’t do that shit anymore.”
Doflamingo was halfway on the steaks now, slicing and chewing and smiling. “Oh, no, no, Wani! Not at all. I doubt you would even accept the job anyway. It just somehow came to my attention that you had been oddly protective of that boy. So so so much that even I noticed.”
What the fuck, what the fuck-
“What, you stalking me?” Crocodile took a nervous drag of his cigar. Inside, however, everything is starting to crumble.
Mugiwara. Monkey D. Luffy. A past he was a hundred percent sure nobody could be able to trace to him. And yet-
“Why, am I not allowed?” Doflamingo grins. “You are a man of many things, Crocodile. I couldn’t help it.”
He swallows his anxiety and lays back casually in his seat, two fingers tapping the cigar on the ashtray. “I see. Did you like what you found out?”
“Actually, I really, really do,” the taller warlord explains, slicing his next piece of steak ever so casually. What air possessed him to be so annoying had started to leave him now, and now he’s starting to look like a paragon of the All Seeing Eye: someone who came here knowing exactly what he wanted—and with Crocodile now playing the cornered prey. “In fact, I had known you were complicated the very moment you stepped foot in front of us as the newbie. I’ve been wanting to know more about you for so long.”
He raised a curious brow. Crocodile assumed ‘us’ must be the other warlords. He was the newest one out of the seven, after all.
“See, Crocodile, what we all have in common are stuff like secrets, ulterior motives, personal desires… Mihawk, Moria, Kuma, everyone. We are Warlords for a reason. There are things we want to keep doing, places we want to secure, plans we want to push through. I respect that. There is only one thing you were missing though that the rest of us have.”
He points right at Crocodile with his fork, making sure to chew first—raise the tension—before continuing.
“You, Croco darling, do not have a past.”
“So you investigated?” Crocodile finally pieced it together, anxiety still boiling in his chest. Fuck. Fuck, fuck- “You had men stalk me and then you hold this over my head in my own restaurant?”
“Correct, except maaaybe I did everything myself. You’re welcome, actually, for me letting you keep your privacy. It was a one man adventure! Everything I found out, I kept to myself. That’s how much you—this—matters to me.”
At this point, Crocodile no longer knew how to feel. He sat there, hiding his grimace behind a fat flaming cigar, listening intently. Does he fucking know about Mugiwara or not?!
“So!” Doflamingo continued, slicing his next bite aggressively that the knife scraped against the porcelain. Crocodile bites back the complaints behind his tongue and aching teeth. “As I found out, Sir Crocodile is a warlord, a businessman, and a former pirate. But those are things everyone already knew, I was so sad, so I had to dig deeper.”
Shit.
“Now guess what I found out.”
Shit.
“Sir Crocodile, my latest co-warlord,” Doflamingo mused as he sliced and stabbed the steaks and finally explodes in a beaming smile: “was also a former world-class assassin who served the five most powerful men in the world!”
The Gorosei. Crocodile kept his stance frozen, flinching for the drop-
“…And?”
“And all of that seemed just like you! I found that out when I was snooping around the Mary Geoise and I was like, Yeah, that’s exactly like him—except I then hear about this too.” Doflamingo spooned the crumpled Mugiwara bounty poster and tossed it off his steak.
Crocodile is not taking any chances now. He asked, “What do you mean?”
“I have access to your snailponder calls with the…numbers…running around Whisky Peak. I heard you had several chances of killing the Strawhats. Especially the captain, which you seemed to hate so much, but also for some reason, liked sparing.” Doflamingo then laughs, shaking his head. “Wow. Just- you impress me, you know? I never knew you’re willing to stoop so low to involve kids!”
Wait, what?
“Involve kids,” he repeated, just to make sure he heard right. Involve kids in what?
“So, Wani, the reason I am here is because just like me, you are an evil evil man who involve children in your nefarious plans. We are more alike than we look. Even more reason we should be friends, I say. Not that I personally had anything against child labor.” Doflamingo then snickered, as if it was an inside joke. “It’s just that I would have killed the kid immediately if I were you. Even I had that much humanity in me.”
“What the actual fuck are you talking about?” Crocodile finally cuts him off now, taking the cigar off his lips in utter confusion. He had lost him ever since he mentioned ‘involving kids’.
“Oh, you know: making a child be your villain and take your fall.” The blonde warlord shrugged, then slams the utensils down harshly. It only made Crocodile even more confused. Make a child his what?
“Now. Back to my pure intentions,” he says, only then the smile falling from his face ever so slightly into a natural sincere curve. “Crocodile, I want you to work with me from now on.”
Crocodile stared.
Then blinked.
Seems like a mediocre request. He had heard that from men twice Doflamingo’s calibre many times before.
“And why the fuck would I do that?”
“Oh, you pain me, really,” Doflamingo taunted. “Look. I know your plans for Alubarna. I know your plans with the Straw Hat and him being your precious princess’ deliveryman. You want him and the princess alive no matter what? Involve him in your staged civil war just so you could keep your hands clean? Be the town hero? Fine. Works for me. Now work for me.”
“Oh, really?” Crocodile challenged, nodding and letting Doflamingo dig his grave himself. He still had no idea what he’s talking about, but something—a certain something—in that offer so far just stood out to him and called out to him. Curiously, just for the sake of it, “How? What do you think my plans are?”
“Simple. Straw Hat’s your fall guy. You’ll need one to be a hero, right? In real politics, Wani, the most efficient way to gain power is if you convince the people you saved their princess from a cruel villain, only for her to die so you’ll gain the people’s sympathy. You can say she asked you to rule Alabasta as her last words, and if you took advantage of the emotional turmoil, you’d easily be King once Cobra dies. Tell me I’m wrong.”
He’s wrong.
Crocodile sighed a breath of relief deep inside, trying his best to keep his expression as stoic as he could and to stop the laughter he truly cannot let escape his lips.
This man does not fucking know anything at all.
“I’m right, aren’t I? Hmmm?”
“And what do you suppose I do about it?” Crocodile spat, now faking his anxiety, his surrender, and his cold sweat. Inside, however, he rejoiced. This pink fucker had no idea what’s going on!
At this, Doflamingo raised a few fingers and tilted his head—and Crocodile could not mistake it. He immediately snaps his head to look outside. In the dark, well hidden in the buildings, were multiple snipers—he counted at least three—with all their guns pointed presumably at his forehead.
Oooh. So that’s why Doflamingo booked V.V.I.P. He took his cigar off his lips in pure disappointment.
“Really? Snipers? In my own pyramid?”
“Let me talk, shh, shh.” Oh, wow. “I have a similar team ready to shoot through Straw Hat’s brain right now, just so you know. By now, I assume their ship is now anchored on the east…no, south coast…”
A bead of sweat rolled down Crocodile’s temple to his chin. Now he can’t rest easy again:
This idiot can’t possibly know Mugiwara’s location, can he?
A few weeks ago, he did send Bon Clay and his men to follow the Going Merry and send him updates on the crew’s whereabouts ever since. If this bastard’s bluff turned out to be accurate to Bon’s reports, he won’t know what to do next. He is running out of cards to play and they both knew it.
Doflamingo grabbed a previously ignored bread knife, and promptly—suddenly—threw it to the ceiling.
“…There.”
The knife embeds easily on the wood but through the art, slicing right in the south of Jaya.
Exactly where Bon Clay told him the Straw Hats were going to anchor for the night.
There, Crocodile felt his heart truly sink. He could just stare, not even realizing he did until Doflamingo pointed at him and laughed maniacally.
“AHA! You should see your face right now!”
“That ceiling…” He glared at him, patience reaching its all-time limit. “…is worth a fucking million Berries, asshole.”
“What the hell! Fine. Put it on the bill! For someone so rich, you’re such a slut for money.” Doflamingo snaps his fingers to him as if he helped him remember, and Crocodile could only fight the urge to skewer the fucker’s brain with his hook right then and there.
Then, suddenly, Doflamingo grabbed his hand.
“As I was saying. Wani, make a deal with me.”
For a second, he did not know what to do. Doflamingo’s hands were warm, rough, unfamiliar and…wrong. He pulls away in disgust and concern.
“What is the deal?”
The remaining gun on the table was grabbed again and this time, cocked right to the base of Crocodile’s head. Now that’s a more familiar feeling. Doflamingo then grabs his face with his other hand, while kept holding the gun under his chin.
But by simply feeling the cold metal and its weight, and remembering how Doflamingo unloaded all six bullets, Crocodile immediately frowned in disappointment. The gun is unloaded. He almost thought they’d actually have some fun.
“Here’s the deal.”
Doflamingo pins him down to his seat with his mere presence alone, and then leans so close he could almost breathe in Crocodile’s skin.
“I’ll help you keep Straw Hat and the princess alive and I’ll keep all your secrets safe.”
He uses the cold metal of the gun to trace the curves of Crocodile’s jawline, and he couldn’t help the shivers as it starts to tickle.
“In return, you will help me conquer Dressrosa. Easy peasy.”
“Be. Specific.” The gun remains by his jaw, something he liked the coldness of. A different grin spreads across Doflamingo’s face, one filled with excitement and giddiness-
“Return as the Wani and serve under me.” Suddenly, he grabs Crocodile’s face harshly for emphasis before smiling darkly. “Sound good?”
“You mean be your underling?”
“Yes. More than fair, if you ask me.”
“You should be the one begging to work with me.”
That was an insult, a bite, something he fully expects to be slapped for—
But shockingly, the other did not find that as offensive as he thought he world.
“I am,” Doflamingo deadpans. He did not slap him, he did not choke him, he didn’t do anything about the gun. “This is a plea.”
He’s serious.
This is big.
Crocodile found the change of attitude unsettling. “But why exactly would I need you to keep Mugiwara alive?”
“Hm.” Doflamingo straightened, now spinning his revolver by the trigger. He sounds like he anticipated that one. “Simple. Teach and Newgate.”
What now?
He scowls. “What the fuck does Newgate has anything to do with this-?”
“And that stupid clown and- and Alvida, and the Marines,” Doflamingo enumerated, raising four fingers. “Your little hat-wearing fall boy has attracted a lot of dangerous eyes, Wani. Including mine. Now, since you can’t step in the ring yourself and get your hands dirty, you’re definitely going to need a player from the outside.” Me, he implies, pointing at himself proudly and smiling.
As if.
“Fuck you-”
Slap! Crocodile soothes his sore face as he glared again, only to be slapped across his face again.
There it is.
Holy shit.
“Wrong answer! Try again.”
Crocodile’s cigar fell to the ground, he could not figure out when, and he could only groan in the most frustration he had ever felt his entire life. Choking back a cough, he clenched his teeth and only collapsed completely on his seat in the booth.
That’s what he’s talking about. He suddenly felt hot, and he didn’t really know why, but his cheeks felt hot and stingy and it felt good.
“Is that a yes? Be quick, because the guns will go off in three, two-”
Shit. Mugiwara.
Crocodile quickly turns his arm into sand and grabs the man by the hair, and only now, the other warlord happily clicks a button somewhere in his pockets. He grabbed Doflamingo by the hair and whispered to his now exposed neck.
“I accept the deal. Happy?”
Doflamingo helplessly grunted with the largest grin all over his face, and Crocodile shoves him away double the force as Doflamingo shoved him. With that, he immediately felt heavy as the tension dispersed, a headache creeping up as he relaxed.
Above him, his eyes spied the knife that was still stuck on the ceiling. Doflamingo noticed this, so he reaches up and retrieves it.
“Why, thank you. You’d never know how much this means to me,” Doflamingo said, twirling the knife. “I look forward to working with you.”
He will never know, but the disappointment frown on his face was not because he submitted easily.
It was because he acted on impulse again.
An impulse he should not have any longer, for he gave up all the rights.
But turns out, he…saved Mugiwara again, huh.
(He was supposed to kill the kid. But every single damn time, he kept calling back and betraying himself. He just…he can’t get rid of him.)
“You still here?” Doflamingo reaches down and traces his face. He noticed him raise one knee between his legs and part them, but Crocodile had already been sitting there silent for who knows how long. The clock finally ticks 1:00am and all the lights in the floor promptly turns off, leaving a haze of only orange candlelight illuminating the room and their faces.
It revealed the true beauty of their candlelit dinner, orange against the darkness. It was such a pretty sight, and he honestly wouldn’t mind eating in the dark, if only it was with any other person in any other time.
“Ah. Here you go.” Doflamingo proceeds to pick up the man’s cigar from the floor as well and gently places it on Crocodile’s parted lips like he was a doll.
And Crocodile, deep into his daze, would never say it but he appreciated the sentiment. He may think he bought him back to the corner but instead he just made him face a new truth within himself—that no matter what he does, no matter what he tells himself, he could still never point the gun at his son.
In the stark darkness of the booth, with only the little candle light, he started to notice dents and peels in the paint that he hadn’t noticed before. Above them, the map of the Grand Line made it seem like a giant globe was their ceiling instead, save for the noticeable cut right under Jaya.
Crocodile took a long inhale and sighed through his teeth.
“…You knew I was going to accept, didn’t you?”
A snicker.
“Yes.” Doflamingo admits. “You don’t mind, right?”
He could only sigh. At this point, he wished the snipers just shot him in the head.
“Right,” he jokes, flashing him the meanest glare he could muster. “Now can you get the seastone off my chest pocket, you nasty fuck.”
Doflamingo laughs, standing up and preparing his leave, reaching into his own pocket and tossing his not-actually-returned lighter in the air.
“I would, Wani—but where’s the fun in that?”