Work Text:
Rosinante propped his injured leg against the edge of the low table. It was pulsing with a dull ache after the brief limp from his bedroom.
The cushion beside him sank as Baby 5 set a glass jar of cookies onto the seat and struggled to climb onto the high couch.
Rosinante reached out, holding her under her arms to hoist her up.
“Cora-san.” Baby 5 offered the jar of cookies, pushing it towards him with both hands.
Rosinante opened his mouth to decline, but the earnest look on her face stopped him. With a soft sigh, he pulled out a cookie.
“Thank you, Baby 5.”
Loud footsteps thudded down the corridor moments before Buffalo rounded the corner.
He pulled to a halt the instant he caught sight of Rosinante, mouth turned to a scowl as his arms folded across his chest.
“Nice one, Corazon. Because of you, Doffy—”
Click.
Baby 5’s arm transformed into a handheld cannon, aimed straight at Buffalo’s chest.
"Buffalo, stop it," she warned, shaking her head.
Buffalo stared down the length of the barrel, then met her eyes. Raising his hands in surrender, he took a step back.
"Forget it," he spat out, turning on his heel and retreating down the hall.
Rosinante took a slow bite of his cookie. "Did something happen?"
Baby 5’s hand returned to normal, and she grabbed a cookie from the jar.
"Nothing much, Cora-san." She took a bite. "Doffy was just mad that nobody told him about the intruder."
Rosinante stopped chewing. “How mad?”
"It wasn’t too bad," she replied casually. "He punched the meeting room table in half and scolded me for not reporting it to him."
A sharp pang of guilt twisted in Rosinante's chest. He rested his hand gently over her shoulder.
"I'm sorry."
Baby 5 blinked up at him. "It's fine, nobody got hurt. He didn’t hit us."
Her eyes drifted to his face, stopping at his cheek.
"You got it worse than me, Cora-san." She pointed at the handprint.
Rosinante shook his head. "I'm fine."
Doflamingo hadn't known. And the reason Doflamingo hadn't known was because Rosinante had deliberately hidden it from him.
He deserved the slap.
He gave Baby 5's head a reassuring pat.
Mila went to the table, carrying a silver tray with two tall glasses of freshly squeezed juice. She set the tray down on the table with a small smile and a polite bow before withdrawing.
Rosinante picked up the glasses and handed one to Baby 5.
She took a long sip, letting out a satisfied sigh as the refreshing juice went down her throat.
Resting the glass on her lap, she leaned back against the cushions and turned to him.
"Cora-san, do you know why Laffitte came to the palace? Doffy didn’t mention anything."
Rosinante lifted the glass, breathing in the cold air rising from the drink.
"Yes, I know why he came," he said, taking a small sip. "He was the original broker behind Umit's weapons trade. I overheard them discussing it at a party and passed the word to Doffy so he could undercut the deal."
Baby 5 tilted her head. "You stole his contract?"
“Yes," Rosinante muttered under his breath. "Thankfully, he targeted me.”
He stared at his glass, watching the beads of water streaking down.
"Luckily, nobody else had to pay for my mistake."
He spoke the words, knowing full well it was a lie.
Rosinante smelled him before he saw him. The thick stench of whiskey was still clinging to his skin.
Rosinante's hands moved from his lap to the cushion to steady himself. He lifted his leg off the table to stand.
"Wait," Doflamingo rasped, crossing over to the opposite side of the low table.
Rosinante froze, sinking slowly back into the seat.
Baby 5 stirred at Doflamingo's voice, having drifted into a light nap in the afternoon warmth. She blinked sleepily, rubbing at one eye before looking up.
The moment she saw Doflamingo standing over them, she straightened.
Her eyes darted to Rosinante, then back to Doflamingo. She looked at Rosinante again, as if waiting for him to explain why Doflamingo was just standing there.
Rosinante didn’t turn to face her.
Baby 5 shifted awkwardly before quietly slipping off the couch and leaving the room.
"Tegata told me."
Rosinante’s face stayed blank.
Doflamingo's hands clenched into fists inside his pockets.
"He told me about the pill."
Rosinante's breath hitched. A sudden, burning heat prickled behind his eyes and he quickly blinked it away.
"I don't want to talk about it," he snapped.
Doflamingo stood there silently, searching for the correct thing to say. His alcohol-clouded mind grasped for the first thing that came to him.
“Laffitte is dead.”
Rosinante's fingers dug into the cushions.
"I broke every bone in his body. I made him strangle himself with his own hands," Doflamingo said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "I made sure he knew exactly what he took from us—"
“That doesn’t make me feel better, Doflamingo.” Rosinante swallowed down the bitterness in his throat. “It doesn’t bring our child back.”
Rosinante planted a hand against the cushion and began to push himself up.
Doflamingo moved quickly, dropping into the seat beside him to keep him from walking away.
Rosinante flinched, his eyes widening as he searched Doflamingo's face.
A cold ache twisted in Doflamingo’s chest at Rosinante's reaction.
At being looked at like a violent threat to be feared by his own brother.
He reached into his coat pocket with shaky fingers, pulling out the necklace and holding it out in his open palm.
“Rosinante, take this back.”
Rosinante looked down at the necklace.
Slowly, his fingers came forward, hovering above.
Then they lowered, closing around Doflamingo's hand.
Folding Doflamingo's own fingers back over the silver pendant before pulling his hand away.
Doflamingo sat there, his fist clamped tight around the necklace, feeling his heart split wide open.
The rest of the Family had arrived back in Dressrosa late in the evening, held back by worsening weather. Diamante, Trebol, Pica, and the other officers assembled in the meeting room.
They knew to keep silent as their eyes lingered on the brand new mahogany table.
Doflamingo sat at the head of the table, elbows planted on the wood, fingertips steepled before his face.
His expression was impossible to read behind his glasses.
He didn't ask anything about Vespa. He didn't ask for reports regarding Dressrosa.
He issued a single command.
Find out everything about Laffitte. Trace every contact linked to him in the Underworld.
The Family nodded without asking why. Word had already gotten around about the intrusion and the attack on Rosinante.
When the meeting concluded, the Family left quickly, their footsteps fading down the hallway until Doflamingo was left alone in the silence of the meeting room.
Then his feet were moving.
The door creaked open just as Mila was stepping out. She was carrying a food tray, the plate on it still full. The soup had gone completely cold, a thin skin forming across the surface.
Doflamingo stopped in his tracks, staring down at the untouched food.
"Young Master," Mila greeted, bowing her head.
"He's not eating?"
Mila hesitated, her eyes darting to the floor as she searched for a safe answer.
Before she could open her mouth, Doflamingo reached out and took the tray from her hands.
He walked down to the kitchens.
The moment he entered, the entire kitchen staff froze and the clatter of pans died instantly.
"Young Master," they greeted, immediately dropping their heads into low bows.
The head cook stepped to the front, pale and trembling. He hadn’t seen his King in person for months.
"Remake this," Doflamingo said, setting the tray on the counter.
The head cook looked at the untouched food and nodded, quickly turning to the stoves to start over.
Doflamingo stepped back into the corridor, leaning his shoulder against the cool stone wall. He stared up at the high ceiling, listening to the muffled sizzle of the kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later, the fresh tray was handed back to him.
He carried it back up the stairs, knocked once, and pushed the door open.
Rosinante was sitting on the floor. Rosalia was between his legs, leaning against him, happily babbling as Rosinante replied in soft murmurs.
Doflamingo set the tray down on the desk.
Rosinante didn't look up. He merely picked up the board book from beside him and turned a page, pointing at the colourful insects for Rosalia.
"Rosinante. Eat."
Rosalia looked up at the sound of Doflamingo's voice and stretched her arms out towards him, her tiny fingers opening and closing in the air.
Doflamingo walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress.
Rosalia scrambled off Rosinante's lap and crawled to him, grabbing the fabric of his trousers as she tried to pull herself up on her wobbly legs. Doflamingo leaned down, lifted her with both hands, and settled her onto his knee.
"Rosinante, eat. Even just a few bites."
Rosinante's fingers tightened around the thick page.
"Please."
Slowly, Rosinante pushed himself up from the floor and limped to the desk. He stood at the side, staring at the plate before picking up the spoon.
Two mouthfuls of soup. Three bites of fish.
Then he set the spoon down and picked up the cup of tea, taking a quick sip before returning the cup to the saucer.
Rosinante limped back to the mat and sat down. He picked up the cat toy and held it out to Rosalia, who had already slid down from Doflamingo's knee to crawl back to him.
Doflamingo remained on the edge of the mattress, looking at the untouched porridge still steaming in the bowl.
A few bites. That was all Rosinante was willing to give him.
Doflamingo knew it was only to make him stop asking.
He hated how little it was, but he swallowed his pride and took what he could get.
He stood up, walked into the bathroom, and stripped off his clothes. He let the water run into the tub while he stood in front of the mirror, staring at himself.
His face looked unfamiliar. Bloodshot eyes. Messy hair falling across his forehead. His skin was dull and sallow.
What could he do?
What could he possibly do to make Rosinante forgive him?
To make him look at Doflamingo again?
There had always been an answer. Money. Power. Violence. If one failed, there was always another.
But staring into his own blurry eyes, Doflamingo realised he had nothing he could offer to Rosinante.
He stepped into the tub and let the hot water envelop him. He hadn't been able to have a proper bath for weeks.
Leaning his head back against the edge, he closed his eyes.
The last of the alcohol had worn off.
There was nothing left to dull his thoughts now.
The last time he'd been in this tub, it was after the party at Giberson's.
Rosinante had been inside with him.
They had made love in the tub.
Doflamingo remembered watching the water run down Rosinante's flat stomach, remembered pressing his palms against it.
He couldn’t wait for his stomach to start rounding, for Rosinante to be visibly carrying his heir.
Even then, he'd known he would be leaving. And still, he'd said nothing.
He'd waited until the last possible moment because he hadn't known how to tell Rosinante without upsetting him.
As if there had ever been a way to do it without hurting him.
If only he'd never invited Rosinante to Giberson’s party, he wouldn't have gotten the intel—
No.
He wouldn't let himself put any of that on Rosinante.
If only he'd rejected Tesoro's demand and refused to go to Vespa—
Yes.
The fault was his.
He'd known Rosinante was pregnant with his child. He'd known the pregnancy was high risk, and he'd still chosen to go.
His mind felt numb.
There was no point chasing the ifs now.
He lay there until the water turned cold.
When Doflamingo stepped back into the room, it was dark except for a small lamp Rosinante had left burning.
Rosalia was in her cot, stirring slightly. She must have just been placed there.
Rosinante was lying on his side of the bed, on the far edge of the mattress, his back to Doflamingo.
Doflamingo lowered himself onto his side and stared at the back of Rosinante’s head.
"Rosinante."
Nothing.
He knew Rosinante was awake. His posture was too tense, his breathing too controlled.
“Talk to me,” Doflamingo pleaded.
Nothing.
Doflamingo couldn't take the silence. Couldn't take being treated like a shadow in his own palace.
He reached out to grip Rosinante's shoulder and pulled hard.
He let go immediately when he felt Rosinante’s body offering zero resistance.
Rosinante had let himself be pulled onto his back, completely pliant like a limp doll.
Doflamingo felt a surge of burning frustration erupt inside him.
He straddled him, his knees bracketing Rosinante's hips. He cupped Rosinante's face in his palms.
“Rosinante, please. Talk to me. Scream at me. Hit me.”
Rosinante didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink, eyes fixed on the middle space between them.
Doflamingo let go of his face and grabbed his wrists, pressing them against his own chest. Desperate for skin contact, desperate to feel his brother touch him, scratch him.
Anything to prove there was still a spark of life left inside him.
His skin was cold. His wrists were heavy, lifeless anchors in Doflamingo’s grip.
"Tell me I killed our child!" Doflamingo’s voice cracked. “Say it!”
Finally, Rosinante’s focus shifted. His gaze locked onto Doflamingo’s and his brows creased slightly.
"Why would I say that?" he whispered. "I was the one who stole the deal from Laffitte."
His eyes turned glassy again.
"I brought him here. That's why our child is dead."
Doflamingo dropped his wrists.
Why was the one person who had suffered through all the blood, pain, and loss taking the burden of Doflamingo’s own greedy, arrogant choices?
Doflamingo couldn't look at him anymore.
A crushing wave of grief tore through him and he could feel his face contorting.
With a sudden push, Doflamingo shoved himself off the bed and retreated towards the doorway.
"I don't think you want me around," Doflamingo choked out, his back turned to the room. “I’ll leave if it means you can rest properly.”
He didn't wait for a reply that he knew wouldn't come. He stepped out into the dark hallway, shutting the door behind him.
Doflamingo clenched his fist and slammed it into the stone wall.
CRACK.
The impact vibrated up his forearm, stone splintering beneath his knuckles.
He leaned his forehead against the wall, chest still heaving heavily.
He needs support, Your Majesty.
It is best not to leave him alone.
Dr. Tegata’s warning echoed sharply in his head, and yet Doflamingo fled like a coward the moment he faced the raw reality of Rosinante’s brokenness.
Swiping at his wet cheeks with the back of his bruised hand, Doflamingo stormed down the corridor, shoving open the doors of his office.
He pulled out his chair and sat down. He dragged a flickering lamp closer and pulled the top file off the stack.
He knew sleep wasn't coming, despite the fact that he hadn't slept in days.
Closing his eyes meant seeing Rosinante’s glassy gaze in the dark.
He looked down at the paperwork.
The Family’s business still needed running. Dressrosa still needed running. He had weeks of reports from Vespa to review.
The world wasn't stopping. The Underworld didn't care.
Nobody was going to wait for him to grieve his lost child.
Doflamingo took a deep breath and forced his eyes onto the first line.
The next few days settled into a suffocating routine.
Doflamingo kept his distance from Rosinante.
He couldn't bring himself to walk through that door again only to be met with the same empty silence, but he couldn't stay away either.
So he began tracking Rosinante's schedule instead.
He memorised when Mila would bring back the food tray from Rosinante’s room to the kitchen.
He would wait in the corridor until she emerged, then walk over immediately, his eyes going straight to the tray in her hands.
Rosinante ate something each time.
A few bites here and there.
Almost as though he was making sure Doflamingo wouldn't have to come inside and ask him to eat again.
Sometimes, before Mila pulled the door shut behind her, Doflamingo would manage to catch a glimpse of him through the narrow opening.
Rosinante sitting by the window with Rosalia.
Rosinante on the edge of the bed, facing the balcony.
Rosinante having a nap.
Then the door would close, and Doflamingo would return to his office.
In the evenings, Mila would knock on his office door.
"Young Master, Cora-san has gone to the library. He'll be back in an hour."
Those sixty minutes were the only time Doflamingo allowed himself to properly breathe.
He would pick Rosalia up from her mat or her cot, and hold her small body against his chest.
She would rest her head on his shoulder while he read to her.
When he grew tired of the board books, he talked to her instead.
He told her about the day's meetings, new contracts that he had signed, some idiot in the Underworld who had managed to complicate a simple negotiation.
He told her about how much he missed her when he was in Vespa. How proud he was of her for growing so quickly.
Rosalia occasionally answered with a string of babbled sounds that made Doflamingo pretend she had understood every word.
"Your father is upset with me," he told her one evening, watching her tiny fingers pluck the pink feathers of his coat.
Rosalia looked up at him with wide, curious eyes.
"What should I do," he murmured, brushing the pad of his thumb against her cheek. "How do I mend what I've done?"
She reached out and wrapped her small fingers around his thumb.
Doflamingo looked down at her hand, then at her face.
There were moments when he couldn't look at her without thinking of the child they'd lost.
She should have had a sibling by the end of the year.
On many occasions, he found himself staring at the desk drawer, thinking about what was inside.
The hollow book with the letters.
He could open it. He could finally find out what Rosinante had been thinking.
The temptation gnawed at him every time he was alone in the room with Rosalia.
He never did.
He couldn't afford another argument.
Some nights, those brief glimpses from the hallway left him aching for more.
Doflamingo would find himself staring aimlessly at the papers in front of him, waiting for the palace to settle into silence.
Waiting until the dead of the night, when Rosinante would be asleep.
Doflamingo pushed back from his desk and opened the windows.
He stepped out into the darkness and let his strings carry him.
He landed on Rosinante's balcony without a sound.
The dim glow of the lamp would illuminate Rosinante's sleeping face.
Lying on his side, one arm tucked beneath his pillow, his face turned towards the windows. The sheets had slipped down around his waist, leaving his shoulders exposed to the cool night air.
His mouth was turned into a frown. He didn't look peaceful, even in his sleep.
Doflamingo would stand there, leaning against the railing, letting his eyes trace his brother's face.
His fingers twitched at his sides.
He wanted to touch Rosinante. Pull the sheet higher over his shoulders. Brush the hair falling into his face. Feel the warmth of his skin under his. Anything.
After all, the lamp was lit.
This must mean that Rosinante was waiting for him, right?
Doflamingo took a step closer to the balcony doors.
Rosinante's face moved against the pillow, his brow drawing together.
Doflamingo immediately stepped back.
He stayed another few minutes before leaving the way he'd come.
By the time he landed back in his office, he would miss Rosinante again.
Six weeks in Vespa, then another week with a brother who wouldn't look at him.
It wasn't enough anymore. He needed more.
Doflamingo began finding reasons to go inside.
He would knock, step through the door, and head straight for the desk as though he'd forgotten something vital.
He would fumble at the desk despite knowing exactly where the documents were, taking the opportunity to peek at Rosinante.
It was ridiculous and humiliating. Thankfully, Rosinante never called him out on it.
A few days later, Doflamingo entered under the pretence of retrieving a logistics report.
Rosinante was lying against a pile of pillows, humming softly to Rosalia who was asleep against his chest.
Doflamingo let the scene sink in for a second before walking to the desk.
He pretended to search for the file in the bookshelves when he felt it.
Rosinante's eyes on him.
Finally.
Doflamingo's breath quickened and he whipped his head around.
Rosinante wasn't looking at him. His gaze was fixed on the shelves where Doflamingo was standing.
Doflamingo followed it.
The pregnancy books.
Doflamingo quickly looked away.
He took the file nearest to his hands, tucking it beneath his arm and left the room without saying a word.
That night, Dr. Tegata came for Rosinante's checkup.
Doflamingo was waiting outside the bedroom when he arrived.
“Your Majesty,” he greeted.
His brows were drawn together, his mouth set in a thin line as he looked Doflamingo over.
He knocked before opening the door and stepping inside, Doflamingo trailing behind him.
Rosinante was sitting against the headboard, his injured leg stretched across the mattress.
Dr. Tegata carefully unwrapped the bandages to inspect the wound, checking the stitches and the swelling before he replaced the dressing.
"It's healing well," he said. "Mila's been doing a good job."
Doflamingo’s jaw clenched tight as a bitter sting flared in his chest.
Mila.
He hadn't known she had been changing Rosinante's bandages every day.
He frowned but said nothing.
Dr. Tegata updated his notes, then left fresh bottles of ointment and a roll of gauze on the bed before packing his things and leaving.
The door closed behind him, leaving the room in total silence.
Doflamingo remained exactly where he was at the foot of the bed.
Every instinct screamed at him to leave, to spare Rosinante his presence.
But he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t even stop looking at Rosinante.
Rosinante looked at him and his mouth opened.
No words came out.
He looked down before meeting Doflamingo’s stare again, as though forcing himself to speak.
“When was the last time you slept?” Rosinante asked, his gaze lingering on the dark shadows beneath Doflamingo’s eyes.
"I don't remember."
Rosinante’s lips parted, then pressed together again, whatever he had been about to say left unspoken.
He pushed himself upright and carefully lowered his legs onto the floor.
His hand moved towards the medical supplies.
Doflamingo reached them first.
"How long has Mila been changing your bandages?"
"A few days."
"You could have asked me." He paused, then added quietly, “I could have changed them for you.”
Rosinante said nothing and stared at his hands in his lap.
Doflamingo drew a ragged breath before walking towards the cabinet.
His fingers stilled on the knobs when he saw what was inside.
The pregnancy books. Every single one of them.
Tucked away in the higher shelves.
Doflamingo turned to face Rosinante.
Rosinante was staring at the empty space on the bookshelf beside the desk when he spoke.
"Doflamingo."
Something in the way Rosinante said his name made Doflamingo's stomach drop.
"I'm leaving."
Acid rose into Doflamingo’s throat.
"I've spoken to Sengoku. I'm going to—"
Doflamingo lunged across the room and dropped to his knees before Rosinante could even finish his sentence.
He buried his face against Rosinante’s stomach, both hands clenching his shirt.
"Please, Rosinante."
His voice broke, a shaky, pathetic sob tearing out of his throat.
"Don't leave me."
His brother had been taken from him once, and he had survived it then.
But now he knew, with a terrifying certainty, that there would be no surviving it a second time.
Doflamingo pressed his face harder against him, tears soaking into the fabric.
"Rosinante, please. Don't take my family away from me."