Tensions were still present on the Numancia Flamingo several days after departing from Minion semi-victorious. The guilt Rocinante feels outweighs the pain he is in, having failed to keep Law away from his brother’s presence. The loose plans he had held to save and protect him fell apart all to quickly on the island, a streak of bad luck resulting in his critical injuries. It had been all he had left to reach the place had had hidden Law and feed him the Ope Ope before he’d collapsed and lost consciousness. At that point, the only thing that mattered was that Law had the chance to live and decide his own future. Rocinante did not care what happened to himself beyond that. Waking up at all had been a miracle.
Breathing shallowly and soft, his calloused fingers brush the crimson macrame that now encircled his neck. A move equal in its distrust, vengeance and possession, Doflamingo’s strings decorated his brother’s wrists and throat, all three a potential punishment should Law act out of hand. Law and he both were the other’s ransom and reassurance. Law’s cooperation for Corazon’s life, Rocinante’s submission for Law’s.
“Why did you make me do this?” His brother’s furious, agonized words echo through his mind, fingertips intimately stroking the band he’d woven.
“Why did you?” he throws the question back softly and fatigued, the charade given up, “You’ve been hurting too many people, destroying too many lives. It’s not what they wanted. You make what we went through pointless, their deaths pointless.”
“It was always pointless. All of it. It wasn’t until I killed him that Father did anything of use.”
“He did everything he could-”
“After damning all of us! He stole our birthright for a moronic daydream.”
“He didn’t know-”
“Then he shouldn’t have dragged us with him.”
In circles they talked and argued again and again until Rocinate would succumb to fatigue or his brother declared he was done with him for the moment. More than once both of their angers had flared to the point of violence, and pain was used to punish him, wounds pressed and other vindictive acts committed. Their meetings were silent to the rest of the ship, seastone cuff removed so that the traitor could set up his privacy barrier. All other times he had his abilities suppressed. Whenever Law was permitted visitation, their communication restricted to speech, Doflamingo himself supervising and studying their interaction.
The door to his room opens, the footsteps foretelling the visitors.
“Law,” His eyes brighten, grinning wide and weight in his chest lifting when sight confirms them. Hope flickers that the boy has succeeded in the formerly impossible task assigned to him: cure himself of amber lead. “Have you figured it out?”