Work Text:
In a perfect world, Jotaro supposes he’d be off on a secluded island surveying tropical marine life with not a care in the world. He’d sit by the beach every day, hand in hand, with the woman he loves while they watch their daughter play in the waves.
He supposes he would have gotten married on the shore, surrounded by the friends he had so quickly made—and so quickly lost. The marriage would have been an actual celebration, not just a swift affair at the local courthouse just to put a label on what they were.
He supposes he would have actually enjoyed his marriage and fatherhood and he would have spent more afternoons at home, helping with science fair projects or trying to cook dinner, instead of drifting on a boat on some distant ocean, listening to tired voicemails and sneaking glimpses of his growing daughter through photos his wife had attached with each email sent—the time between each one growing with his absence until they finally stopped coming at all. The notion initially leaving him wondering whether the lessening communication is due to some harm befalling her or is made by choice. On the few times he returns home, Jotaro comes to the conclusion that it was definitely the latter.
He supposes his daughter would have had a childhood built on love and trust and would have never had to expose herself to the filth of society. His daughter would have—should have never had to experience the inside of a jail cell. She would have continued on with her childhood dream to follow in his footsteps or followed whatever else her heart desired—and had a father to support her each step of the way.
But the world he lives in isn’t perfect. It’s flawed and filthy and just like him.
The water he’s in is as warm as the one in his perfect world but instead of relaxing in it, he’s sinking.
He’s sinking and he supposes he’s dying.
His eyesight is slowly fading, the vision in his right already completely gone.
But as he’s dying, a poetic thought crosses his mind that the warmth of the water is also washing away the flaws and filth that coats him.
His wedding ring slips from his finger and falls
Down
Down
Down
Into the depths.
But he’s too tired to make a desperate grab for it.
His daughter is also drifting in the water with him.
But he realizes that, despite his sacrifice, she’s dying too.
His hand weakly seeks hers out as his eyes finally close and they sink together in the now cold depths. As much as he despises Pucci, he thinks, just for a moment, that it would be nice if his family got the chance to be happy in a perfect world.
--
He opens his eyes to meet large green eyes looking up at him eagerly as small hands hold up a starfish towards him. He blinks and looks up, his eyes meeting the rolling tide, an orange glow spreading through the space as the sun sets on the horizon. He looks back down at the little girl who’s grin falters at his lack of attention but only for a moment. It returns full force once he gives her a gentle smile. With trembling fingers, he reaches out and holds her hands and the starfish she so proudly shows off.
“That’s a nice one, Irene,” he says. The name is odd rolling from his tongue but at the same time, it feels right. His wife—yes, his wife he supposes—calls out to them from the distance and tells them dinner’s ready. Tenderly, he helps Irene return the starfish into the water then clasps her much smaller hand in his own. His wife approaches and the smile she sends his way is breathtaking and dwarfs the beauty of the sun setting behind him. Her hand takes his slightly clammy one in her own and the inexplicable weight he carries in his chest suddenly vanishes.
He takes a deep breath, savoring the salty scent carried by the lazy breeze, as the warm ocean water laps at his bare feet, and hand in hand with his family, they make their way back home.