Chapter Text
Crocodile’s grand office, perched on the top floor of the building, commanded immediate respect. The tinted windows kept prying eyes from looking in, but they did nothing to muffle the commotion spilling out. From the hallway, one could hear sharp voices, shrill laughter, and hurried whispers. Inside, the air was thick with cigar smoke and woody cologne. The leather of the massive chair creaked with every movement of its master.
Crocodile, reclining behind his imposing mahogany desk, drew slowly on his cigar, the ember glowing in the dimness and releasing a harsh scent that mingled with the staleness of smoke ingrained in the walls. His eyes glimmered with a mocking light as he watched Doflamingo pace the room like a caged beast, his heavy steps echoing on the polished parquet floor.
— I can’t believe you sent me flowers… with a damn card saying, “Sorry, it’s over.” Too much of a coward to tell me to my face! For what reason, huh?!
His voice roared through the room. His glasses flashed under the muted lamps as his hands flailed like the wings of a furious bird.
Crocodile pressed his cigar into a crystal ashtray with deliberate calm, the sharp crack sounding like a full stop. His lips curved into a sardonic smile as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossing with calculated slowness.
— What a surprise… I never thought you cared that much about our relationship.
— Of course I care! I took you to the finest restaurants, I gave you everything you wanted, you even met my family! And now you throw me away like an old rag?!
Doflamingo grew even more agitated, his steps striking harder, his shoulders trembling with rage.
Crocodile remained impassive, chin resting on his hand, eyes half-closed.
— It’s not my fault if the only way you ever caught my attention was with expensive gifts. That’s all you know how to do.
A heavy silence followed, broken only by the ticking of a wall clock and the steady hum of the ventilation system.
— You’ll have to deal with my lawyer! You won’t leave Donquixote Doflamingo just because you feel like it!
The threat rumbled a deep laugh out of Crocodile’s chest. He leaned forward, the light catching the scars on his face.
— And what could your lawyer possibly do, hm? You don’t have enough evidence to drag me into court.
Doflamingo clenched his teeth.
— We’ll see about that!
When he stormed out, the door slammed so hard the windows rattled. Silence returned, heavy, broken only by Crocodile’s exhale as he let out a deep sigh. Leaning back against the leather chair, he rubbed his forehead with his fingertips and muttered, exasperated:
— What an idiot…
---
In the neighboring break room, the smell of scalding coffee mingled with stale tobacco. Shanks, Mihawk, and Smoker sat around a small round table. The harsh neon lights cast tired shadows across their faces.
Shanks sipped his coffee absentmindedly, his fingers drumming against the cup. Mihawk, impassive, slowly swirled the black liquid in his paper cup, while Smoker let long gray spirals of smoke curl upward from his cigarette. All three could hear the shouting coming from the office next door.
“Hm,” Mihawk grunted. “Not exactly surprising.”
“Terrifying, yeah—every time Doflamingo came around… I thought I was gonna die more than once,” confessed Buggy, who sat a little farther away with his tea, trembling slightly. “But they broke up… again!”
Shanks rolled his eyes and downed a bitter mouthful of coffee. Smoker blew smoke through his nostrils as if to vent his annoyance. The three exchanged a knowing look—it was already surprising Crocodile had tolerated such a long relationship with Doflamingo.
“Even someone like Crocodile has his limits,” Shanks concluded with a small laugh.
Buggy, eyes glistening, clutched his burning cup between his hands.
“I swear… it’s the same thing every damn day. Switch shifts with me, I’m begging you…”
The three men exchanged looks. Mihawk allowed himself a discreet smirk behind his cup, Smoker let out a chuckle, and Shanks burst into open laughter.
“And why would I do that? You really think you’d last two days under Crocodile?” Shanks shot back.
Buggy sat up straight, outraged.
“I’ve been here two years! Two years of hell! I’ve seen things, heard things! That crocodile’s a monster! He terrifies me!”
Their laughter rang out in the small room, blending with the clink of cups against wood.
“Then why stay?” Shanks asked, leaning toward him, still amused.
Buggy looked away, embarrassed.
“I already tried to hand in my resignation… He scared me so bad I ended up saying I was joking.”
Silence fell for a moment. Even Shanks stopped smiling, surprised. Mihawk and Smoker exchanged a glance, more serious now.
Buggy, nervous, went on:
“He told me he’d make sure I’d never find work again. That he’d sic his lawyers on me—or worse… that he’d corner me in a dark alley.”
Shanks frowned, but Mihawk and Smoker didn’t look shocked. Crocodile was notorious for his brutal methods. But that fragile Buggy was the one caught in his claws… that still amused them in a twisted way.
“Looks like you picked the wrong boss,” Smoker sneered.
“And the worst part!” Buggy added indignantly. “He says it’s for my own good, because he likes the way I work! Even though I dress like a tramp!”
Shanks and Smoker burst out laughing while Mihawk rolled his eyes skyward.
“How long has it been, again?” Mihawk asked flatly.
“Two years—two fucking years…”
Smoker shook his head, amused.
“If you’ve lasted that long, it’s because he finds you useful.”
Buggy sighed theatrically.
“And now that he’s broken up with Doflamingo… I’m the one who’s gonna pay the price.”
A heavy silence followed, broken only by the crackle of Smoker’s cigarette. Then Shanks chuckled softly, Mihawk arched a brow, and Smoker exhaled:
“Yeah, we can see that.”
Buggy suddenly jumped to his feet, cup still steaming in his hand.
“You’ll see! He’s already harassing me! A jab here, a jab there! And you guys laugh at me. Well, just wait—you’ll get dragged into it too!”
The three laughed again—Shanks nearly spilling his coffee, Mihawk letting out a rare, amused huff, and Smoker shaking his head with a smirk.
“Just shut your mouth and deal with it,” Smoker concluded.
Buggy opened his mouth to retort, but his den-den mushi buzzed in his pocket. He paled when he read the caller’s name.
“Oh God… He’s already calling me. I’ve only been on break fifteen minutes, no more…”
The three, in unison:
“Good luck, man.”
---
As expected, Crocodile was seated behind his monumental desk, an imposing slab of dark wood still smelling faintly of polish. Around him, the air was heavy, thick with the smoke of his cigar, the ember glowing intermittently and casting brief flashes of red in the dim light muted by heavy curtains. Papers were scattered across the desk—some wrinkled, others marked with forgotten ash.
Buggy rushed in, his boots clattering against the polished floor. The cigar smoke stung his nose, and he cleared his throat nervously.
“Uh—I’m here… what do you need, boss?”
Crocodile didn’t immediately lift his gaze. He exhaled a deep sigh, lowering his forehead against his gloved hand, fingers massaging the bridge of his nose. The crumple of paper under his elbow punctuated the weary gesture.
“I need you to send someone to deliver this.”
He motioned lazily toward the pile of documents, his golden hook brushing the edge of the folders.
“R-right, of course! I’ll handle it right away!”
Buggy snatched the papers awkwardly and bolted from the office, relieved to escape the oppressive atmosphere. Crocodile leaned back in his chair, jaw tight. A low groan rumbled in his throat as he pinched the bridge of his nose—the headache was already setting in.
---
A little later, Crocodile’s deep voice suddenly cut through the silence.
“Sit down.”
Buggy startled as he stepped in, nearly dropping the folders in his arms. Crocodile was watching him coldly from behind his desk, his narrowed eyes half-lost in the haze of smoke.
“Come here. I’ve got something to tell you.”
Buggy swallowed hard, spine rigid as a post.
“Yes, boss?”
Crocodile placed his cigar in the crystal ashtray, then laced his gloved fingers together on the desk. His voice fell like a blade.
“Sit.”
The leather chair squeaked as Buggy dropped into it, stiff, his eyes darting anywhere but Crocodile’s. The silence was broken only by the slow ticking of the wall clock.
“A while ago,” Crocodile continued in a low, measured tone, “you told me you wanted to quit. Didn’t you?”
A cold sweat trickled down Buggy’s back.
“Huh? Y-yeah…”
A sardonic smile tugged at Crocodile’s lips, the shadow of his scar accentuating the cruelty of it.
“And do you remember what I told you… about people who walk away without my permission?”
Buggy’s stomach knotted. Shit. Doflamingo had put Crocodile in a foul mood, and now he was paying the price.
“Uh… yes, but that’s not the case anymore! I love working for you, boss—really, I do!”
Crocodile clicked his tongue with disdain. His golden eyes pinned Buggy like prey caught in a snare.
“That’s what you say. So, you’ve got two options…”
Buggy held his breath, fingers gripping the armrests.
“Either you stay where you are and keep whining like a child… or…”
He let the silence stretch, broken only by the faint crackle of the cigar still burning in the ashtray. Then he leaned forward, resting his arm on the desk, chin propped in his hand. His eyes, cold and slitted, gleamed with a predator’s glint.
“…or you can prove to me that you really want to stay. In a way that’s… satisfying.”
Buggy’s eyes went wide, his throat dry.
“I—I want… to satisfy.”
A thin smile curled Crocodile’s lips.
“Oh? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”
Buggy panicked, blurting the first thing that came to mind.
“I can replace Doflamingo! Be your secretary—day and night!”
A low, amused grunt escaped Crocodile. Smoke curled lazily around his face.
“You think you could replace Doflamingo? You?”
“I’m full of surprises!” Buggy shot back, trembling with forced bravado.
Crocodile chuckled darkly, shaking his head.
“Surprises, yes… or pure madness. Maybe just stupidity.”
Buggy shot up from his seat, pointing an accusing finger.
“Don’t you know who I am?! I’m the great Buggy, the stupid clown! And from now on—you’re going out with me, got it?!”
The silence that followed was ice-cold. Crocodile’s gaze sharpened like a blade. His jaw clenched, his breathing grew heavier.
“What… did you just say?”
Buggy’s knees trembled, but he pressed on, too far in to back down.
“Yeah! I said you’re going out with me! You think your pathetic little proposition scares me?! You owe me, bastard!”
The wood of the desk cracked under Crocodile’s fist. His predator’s glare locked on Buggy.
“I don’t owe you a damn thing, idiot. You’re breathing only because I allow it.”
Buggy, desperate, blurted a clumsy jab:
“Hey… at least I’m not Doflamingo!”
Crocodile’s eyes narrowed further, the room seeming to grow colder. His voice dropped into a guttural growl.
“What? What did you just say about Doflamingo?”
Buggy scrambled, stammering:
“I—I’ve been your secretary for two years. I know things…”
Crocodile rose slowly, his shadow falling over Buggy like a predator about to strike.
“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
Buggy babbled, grasping at straws:
“Let’s just say… if you and Doflamingo ever got… noisy… during work hours… in broad daylight… it’d be pretty messy if someone found out, huh?”
A deathly silence followed. Crocodile’s brows furrowed.
“Wait… what?”
Buggy bolted upright, snatching his coat.
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow! My day’s over!”
He fled in a rush, nearly slamming the door behind him. Inside, Crocodile stood frozen for a few seconds, then slammed his fist against the desk, making the inkwell jump.
“Tch… that little bastard…”
The cigar smoke rose in angry spirals through the suffocating office air, as heavy as the boss’s foul mood.
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