Children of the Sea

by OneEyedRaven

Summary:

When it comes to Ace, Marco can't help but think of the old saying:
Love is a hurricane.

 

(Time-traveling Ace, told from Marco's POV.)

Notes:

Trust me, I have a vision ... kinda.

I know Marco is twice Ace's age, buuut they are fictional characters so I'll just have fun writing this, not thinking too hard about it, yoi!

Chapter 1: Ocean Eyes

Marco stepped onto the dock, wood creaking under his sandals as he continued the momentum toward the harbor area filled with stalls selling fish and exotic trinkets from the bottom of the sea. He closed his eyes minutely, enjoying the unique earthy smell of Fishman Island.

Man, it had been ages.

These days, he rarely left the Moby Dick unless there was a good cause. You could say he'd turned into a bit of a homebody; adventures were still fun, but he preferred staying close to his family.

This was one of the first trips he had made on his own this year – accompanied by some brothers and sisters, yes, but that was unavoidable.

The small group of Whitebeards made natural waves in the crowd as they walked toward the busy streets of Coral Hill.

“Ah, can you smell that?” Thatch said, spinning around, sniffing the air.

“Minerals? Salt?” Marco guessed, knowing fully well that wasn’t what Thatch meant.

“Perfume!” Thatch corrected, Marco made an “aha” noise to be polite. “Geez, where’s your sense of romance?”

“Buried in Davy Jones’s locker, yoi,” he said, chuckling as Thatch leveled him with an unimpressed look. They could joke about it, but both knew there would be no dalliances on an island under their protection; the locals were a no-go and aside from them there were rookies, which none of them found interesting.

Tate, one of the nurses who had tagged along, excused herself to go secure them rooms at one of the inns, while two other crewmembers excused themselves to go drinking at one of the first and best pubs they walked past.

Marco, having a specific destination in mind, continued down a route he had walked a few times before when he was far younger. It had always been in the company of Whitey Bay, when she’d still been on Pops' ship.

He had walked for a few minutes when he stopped and turned around, confronting Thatch. All the others had disappeared to do their own shopping or to enjoy some much-deserved downtime, but the head chef who was supposed to look for ingredients from oh, perhaps the famous fish market they just passed? He was still here.

“Oi,” Marco said, annoyed.

“What?” Thatch asked, grinning good-natured. “Can’t a fellow tag along on his friend's adventure?”

“No.”

Thatch’s smile dimmed and he sighed. “It’s for Pops, right?”

As the chef of the Moby Dick, Thatch saw as much to Pops’ care as even Marco and the nurses. Sometimes even more.

Pops was old.

Everyone knew that.

To marines, civilians, and common pirates he was a living legend or a has-been. To them, the Whitebeards, he was the glue that kept their weird family together. A cheapskate and frustratingly stubborn man, but most importantly; a loving father.

To Marco he was everything, and while Marco rarely dwelled on the future, preferring to live in the here and now, unbothered by the weight of the unknown, he was not so naïve to believe that the happy haze of the Whitebeards could last forever.

He would prolong the inevitable for as long as possible, though.

Marco had wanted to go alone – had thought he needed to go alone – but if he’d really, really wanted to go alone, he wouldn’t have allowed Thatch to come with him to Fishman Island in the first place.

“Fine,” he said, earning a friendly slap on his back.

They walked through streets twisting around colorful coral homes and shops with shell roofs, the glory of Fishman Island shining with its unique beauty. Their trip ended outside a small square house that had a sign over its door:

"Medicus".

Marco smiled faintly at the familiar sign and opened the door.

The apothecary called Medicus was filled with plants and rows upon rows of glass tanks and bottles containing oddities even Marco hadn’t seen before. An old mermaid, easily mistaken for any kind of old lady, tended to the plants and algae alongside one of the walls.

Light from Eve, the sunlight tree, shone through the roof window, hit the glass inside the store, and scattered beams of rainbow light across the walls and floor of the otherwise rather dim room.

“Excuse us,” Thatch said to the old mermaid who Marco knew as Rosemary. She turned at the sound and tried to squint at them through her long bangs. When it didn’t work, she sighed and lifted the hair out of the way.

“Ah,” she said with an unimpressed air about her, looking ready to insult them. “Handsome men.”

Marco smirked and Thatch burst out laughing. Within two seconds he got on swell with the old mermaid, chatting amiably with her while Marco browsed all the herbs, mushrooms, algae, and types of moss she cultivated.

After making his rounds through the shop, he returned to his brother and Rosemary, having to stretch to be able to spot them on the other side of a small forest of plants. Thatch was squatting in front of her, flexing an arm so the mermaid could feel up his muscles.

“Hn, not bad,” she said in a tone indicating the opposite, causing Thatch to laugh heartily. Marco rolled his eyes fondly. Thatch always had a weak spot for oddballs.

“Rosemary –”

“Yes, yes,” she said, shoving her bangs to the sides, peering up at Marco. “What do you want, birdboy?”

He chuckled - ah, it had been a while since someone addressed him thus - and said; “Anything of interest.”

He ended up buying far more than anticipated, and as punishment for distracting the old mermaid, prolonging their shopping trip unnecessarily, Thatch got to play mule for Marco when they left. They spent a whole hour in the store, Rosemary pointing out different plants, explaining their medical values and how to best serve them to the patients.

When they left, she squinted at them one last time, asking; “How’s Newgate doing?”

“Good,” Marco said with a smile, but a tone that brooked no further discussion.

“Hn, send him my regards,” she muttered, shuffling back to her plants.

They dropped off all the packages at the inn where Tate had secured them rooms, and because Thatch was Thatch, he managed to cajole Marco into accompanying him for some drinks, although Marco wanted nothing more than to take a closer look at what he had gotten his hands on.

While the others were spread out over the island, Marco and Thatch got a beer at a pub by the dock, preferring the sound of the sea over busy streets – and the opportunity to keep an eye out for trouble, not that they should face any here. The few humans they had seen had practically run off with their tails between their legs the moment they saw the two commanders.

The bartender and owner, a shark-fishman named Bigeye Sixgill – simply known as Gill – was on friendly terms with all Whitebeards who happened to stop by his pub.

“First round on me,” Gill said, refusing to take their coin as he seated them by the counter. Thatch stood for most of the talking, asking how everything was going around here and if the rookies caused too much trouble.

“Not more than we can handle,” Gill could tell them. “But say, you’re returning to the New World after this, right?”

“Right,” Thatch confirmed.

Gill leaned on the counter, thoughtful.

“There were some issues a week ago,” he admitted. “A pirate ship arrived, and the crew caused trouble with the mermaids at the mermaid cafe. We were about to break up the situation when one of the guys – who we though were a part of the crew – beat up the whole crew. Turns out he caught a ride on their ship and was supposed to travel with them to the New World, but you could say the relationship turned sour. The pirates left, and the guy is still stuck here. He hasn’t had much luck catching a new ride, mostly because he gets into fistfights with a lot of the rookies … he’s a sweet kid, I swear, but short-tempered with pirates, I guess.”

“And you want us to take him away from here?” Thatch asked. “Sounds like you got yourself a perfectly good guard dog.”

“Well, for all that I dislike humans and pirates, their gold is good and Ace – that’s the kid – is bad for business.”

Thatch laughed out loud. “A man’s gotta eat!”

“A fishman’s gotta eat,” Gill agreed. Marco chuckled softly into his beer.

Ace … didn’t ring a bell. By the sound of it, he was traveling alone to the New World. A fool’s errand unless one were exceptionally skilled and strong.

“He a rookie, yoi?” Marco asked.

“Don’t know,” Gill said, looking towards a clock hanging over the counter. “He usually stops by around now for dinner, unless –”

Just then they heard what sounded like a bomb going off somewhere outside.

“Good grief,” Gill said, messaging his temples.

“It’s Ace again!” One of the patrons in the bar complained, grabbing his beer before it could dance off the table as a new explosion shook the whole pub.

Marco and Thatch exchanged a hasty glance before they ran outside to find the cause of the commotion. They didn’t have to look far; just down the street, they saw several singed bodies strewn around as a young man, dressed in only cargo shorts, a red pearl necklace, and a gaudy orange hat, stepped over them. He grabbed one of the pirates trying to crawl away. Ace – his identity proclaimed by the tattoo down his arm – lifted the pirate by his lapels, glaring daggers down in the cowering face.

“Take your shitty crew and leave,” Ace demanded.

“Y- Yes!” The pirate agreed readily, running off the second Ace let him go. The few of his comrades still able to stand followed suit.

Ace glared after them, before turning towards a few fishmen standing around. Marco readied himself to intervene, but all anger left the young man and he bowed politely, catching both Marco and Thatch off guard.

“Sorry for the trouble,” Ace apologized sincerely, causing the fishmen and women around to blush and tell him it was no trouble at all. A bunch of small children came running out from seemingly nowhere to gape at Ace.

“Oy, you kids alright? They didn’t scare you too bad?” Ace asked, squatting down to get at eye level with them. The children looked unsure how to react, but then, all as one, started grinning wildly, looking at the young man with stars in their eyes.

“Waaah, big bro, that was so cool!”

“What was that? Did you turn into fire?”

“Show us, show us!”

“Yes, one more time! Please!”

Ace laughed, pushing the brim of his hat up with a flaming finger.

“Ok, ok, hold on,” he told the kids, stretched out his hand, and turned it into fire. The children marveled at it like it was the greatest party trick they had ever seen and not a very dangerous Devil Fruit power.

“A sweet kid, huh?” Thatch commented gleefully, basically breathing down Marco’s neck.

“Shut up,” Marco barked, feeling a headache forming, knowing exactly what Thatch was hinting at.

So, this was Ace … a strong Logia user with a penchant for getting in trouble, getting this far down the Grand Line, alone, without a bounty? Unheard of.

“Seems he protected the kids,” Thatch said. Marco grunted in response, hands on his hips as he observed the situation.

“And he’s indulging them,” Thatch added. “Must mean he’s a kind soul, don’t you think?”

“Thatch …”

“He might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, looks like he misspelled his own name, but with muscles like that you don’t need –”

Marco tuned his brother out as he allowed his eyes to track long expanses of sun-kissed skin, lean muscles flexing as the Logia user switched weight from one foot to the other, trying to not be toppled by the kids prodding and poking him, his boyishly handsome face, dusted with freckles, beaming as he opened his mouth and laughed out loud, the sound boisterous and happy –

Marco turned around and walked back to the bar.

“Oy!” Thatch followed, perturbed by the sudden departure.

“Aren’t you curious about the kid?”

“Sure, but according to Gill he’ll come to the pub for dinner,” Marco said, as he walked into the pub again and slid onto the same stool he had occupied before, by the counter. Gill, who heard the last bit, nodded.

“Like clockwork,” the fishman said. “Unless he finds himself in trouble, which he often does.”

“He’s an impossible one, that human,” a fishman commented, everyone in the pub grunting in agreement. Marco noted it was not said with the usual disdain most fishmen had for humans.

They didn’t have to wait long before the door was practically kicked open and the cocksure man of the hour sauntered in, grinning, a cheerful greeting halfway across his tongue before he spotted Marco and Thatch and. Stopped. The grin turned into something stiff and forced and for a moment Marco got the impression the guy would run, but then he seemed to double down on his cheerfulness and ran up to the bar, slamming a hand down on the counter with enough force to crack the wood.

“Oy, Gill, dinner!”

It wasn’t lost on Marco that the kid was partly turned away from him and Thatch, as if he didn’t want to acknowledge that they were there.

“Learn some damn manners, brat!” Gill shouted. “And stop beating up all my potential customers!”

“Sorry,” Ace said easily, not sorry at all. Gill grumbled but called on a young fishman from the kitchen. The fishman delivered a huge tray with several dishes, including a few whole fishes, and placed it in front of Ace. Marco arched an eyebrow, and a second one followed suit as he saw the kid dig into the meal with gusto, tucking away more food than maybe even Teach.

“Slow down, or you’ll strangle on a fishbone again!” Gill snapped.

“Nah, fishbone can’t kill m –” Ace started to say, mouth full of food, when his head suddenly snapped back. For a second one could easily believe him dead, but then the sound of snoring filled the air.

“What …” Thatch commented faintly.

“Stop falling asleep!” Gill and the patrons screamed. Ace sat up, mid-snore, and continued tucking in food, as if nothing had happened. The sudden sleep attack was reminiscent of Roger, who famously had fallen asleep in the middle of a fight against Pops. And Pops, who was too fair by far, had waited until he woke up before they continued.

Marco met Gill’s frustrated glance and shrugged, as if to say "sure, we’ll bite".

“Listen, Ace,” Gill addressed the kid seriously. “You’re looking for a ride up to the surface, right?”

“Yah,” Ace answered, chewing more slowly now.

“Well, Thatch and Marco here happen to –”

“I’m good.” It was short and straightforward. Completely dismissive.

Marco … Marco liked mysteries.

There was something about the guy’s whole reaction to them, how he obviously had recognized them when he entered, how he refused to be scared off, but wouldn’t even entertain traveling with them, although a pirate ship would be his only way away from here that just screamed … mystery.

Interesting.

“A bit hard to catch a ride if you beat up all your potential rides, yoi,” Marco drawled, resting his chin in his hand, leaning on the counter to get a better look at the kid. “Might as well come with us.”

Stormy grey eyes flickered towards him, for a second overwhelming in their intense emotions –

Deep pools of desolation.

Dark, like the bottom of the sea.

– before the kid hid behind a semi-convincing grin, as if he hadn’t just pierced Marco’s very soul with the most haunting eyes he had ever seen.

“No thanks, old man,” Ace said in an overly polite tone. Thatch’s poorly contained snorts of laughter annoyed Marco more than being called an old man. To Ace, perhaps he was. The kid looked to be … twenty-ish? But his eyes – his eyes – were ancient.

“Ah, you’ll have to excuse us, we can’t help but worry when we see a youngster like you all on their own, yoi,” Marco said, his tone even more polite than Ace’s.

“Ah, I see. Well, I appreciate it, but not to worry, old man, I can take care of myself.”

“Ah, that is good to hear, but really, it would be no problem at all for us to give you a ride.”

Instead of answering right away, continuing the game of murder-by-politeness, wry amusement spread across Ace’s face.

Marco wondered what – oh.

Alright.

A sharp stab of pleasure shot through his gut as he understood what direction Ace’s thought had gone. Unconsciously, he turned his body more directly towards the kid, his legs spreading just a tad bit wider, lips pulling into a smirk.

The air felt charged; Ace smirked back, pupils blown, cheeks flushed.

“Ace – can I call you Ace? -, Gill said you’re going to the New World alone,” Thatch cut into their conversation, seemingly ignorant to the change in mood.

Ace blinked, looked over to Thatch, and the moment was ruined.

“What of it?” Ace said, dropping any pretense at politeness, eying them warily. He had eaten the whole tray of food clean and was now leaning on the counter in a similar fashion to Marco. The lax pose did nothing, though, to hide the tension that had seized him the moment he saw them.

“Well, for one, it’s dangerous,” Thatch said. The glare Ace leveled him with had "no shit, idiot" written all over it.

“These guys are Whitebeard pirates,” Gill said gruffly. “They’re as good as you’ll get, regarding company of your own kind in this area.”

The kid peeked at Gill from beneath his hat and sighed as if in defeat.

“I can’t waste away here forever, that’s true, but I’d rather not go with them. Thanks for the meal, Gill. See ya.”

And with that, he took his leave.

Gill looked after him, frustrated, but also … worried.

“That was weird,” the fishman muttered to himself.

“Wasn’t it,” Marco agreed, eyes glued to the door where Ace had just left. The whole encounter had left him feeling off-kilter – it excited him in a way few things had lately.

Marco slept poorly that night, opting to study the ceiling and listening to Thatch’s snoring from the bed across the room. He usually had trouble sleeping without the sway of the sea, but tonight it felt even more impossible.

They would leave come morning, but he knew with absolute conviction that there would be no rest in his soul until he unraveled at least a tiny bit of the mystery that was Ace.

He lay several plans for how they could convince the kid to come with them, even entertaining the idea of insisting on it, for safety. He couldn’t insist on Ace’s safety, but the safety of the island? It was under their protection. It was their right.

… but it seemed poor repayment as the kid had apparently done nothing but protect the locals. He had even earned Gill’s affection; the bartender's worry for Ace was not quite unlike that of a father.

Pops would’ve liked Ace …

While he flushed with heat thinking about their charged moment and all the potential that had been there for what would no doubt have been a good lay, he soon cooled, replaying another moment in his head, again and again.

Haunted eyes; sea in storm.

He saw.

For a second.

Saw the kid’s soul, it felt like, and for some reason it made Marco want to weep with a grief not his own.

*

The next morning Marco had enough.

He trusted Thatch with gathering everyone and readying the ship while he himself walked down to Gill’s bar, itching for answers. Unfortunately, it was closed, so Marco settled for asking one of the fishmen selling trinkets from a stall nearby, gambling on the kid’s notoriety.

“Do you know where Ace stays?”

“Sure,” the fishman said, hesitating a few seconds before he gave the address. Marco appreciated the hesitation. It told him that despite this island being under Whitebeard's protection, Ace had carved out some loyalty for himself. For some reason that made Marco proud.

The inn Ace stayed at was shabby at best, placed in an alleyway away from the more crowded streets of Coral Hill. The innkeeper did not hesitate, telling him the room number the moment he mentioned "Ace".

Room 11.

Marco was polite enough to knock instead of kicking down the door.

Grumbling from inside signaled that the room's occupant was awake, seconds before the door was torn open, revealing a sleepy yet glaring Ace, his shorts obviously dragged on in a hurry; they dangled dangerously low on his hips, the fly not fully zipped.

“What?” The kid asked, before his eyes widened, realizing who was at his door.

“Morning!” Marco greeted with a pleasant smile, ramming a foot in the door when Ace tried to slam it shut. “We’re leaving in about an hour. Get dressed, yoi.”

“Shut up, I’m not going anywhere with you!” Ace hissed.

“The trip to the surface takes less than a full day, surely you can stand our company for a few measly hours?” Marco said.

“And you’ll just let me go the moment we reach the surface?” Ace asked, giving up on shutting the door, opting to glare at Marco instead.

“Of course, yoi. Why, have we kidnapped someone you know?”

“Aha, so you do admit you are kidnappers!” Ace said in triumph, pointing at Marco. The whole exchange was a stark contrast to the day before when Ace had – for the most part – seemed to do his best to put distance between them. Now he acted … almost familiar?

Marco felt like he was missing pieces of important context.

“I guess,” he settled on saying. Ace laughed, then caught himself and went back to glaring. Having seen how he looked at the pirates yesterday Marco knew there was no real heat there. For all that Ace acted uncomfortable around Marco and Thatch, he didn’t seem to hate them, which was interesting.

“You can leave whenever you want to,” Marco promised.

“Just like I can stay here if I want to?” Ace countered. Marco pursed his lips.

“No. Not that, yoi.”

“Hypocrite!”

“Give me a good reason.” Marco said, removing his foot, waiting to see if Ace would retreat, but he didn’t. “Why not us, if you’re willing to go with other pirates? You have something against the Whitebeards?”

“No,” Ace denied immediately, a complex emotion crossing his face. “I … Just to the surface?”

“Just to the surface,” Marco agreed. He would have to keep that promise now, although he didn’t feel like it. He wanted to bring Ace back to Pops. He wanted time to study this complex spitfire of a mystery, but he’d just have to make the most of the hours they’d get to spend together.

“Although wouldn’t it be better if we took you to the nearest island?” Marco couldn’t help but ask.

“Nah,” Ace said, leaning on the doorframe, the cockiness from yesterday shining through. “I’ve got Striker.”

Striker turned out to be a small raft that looked like a mix between a surfboard and a canoe, with two paddling wheels on the side and an engine in the back.

Thatch spoke for all of them when he screeched; “How the hell are you planning on traversing the New World in that!? You’re a hammer!”

“None of your business,” Ace said, carrying the raft onboard the Whitebeards boat – tiny compared to the Moby, but sizable for a regular pirate ship.

“Wait! You traveled the Grand Line with that thing?” Thatch asked, aghast.

“What of it,” Ace scoffed, placing Striker down by the railings.

Thatch looked at Marco, gesturing wildly to Ace, too frustrated to form words. Marco shrugged. It wasn’t their business, and for all that he wanted to make it their business, he’d made a promise.

Their departure was, aside from Ace’s presence, uneventful. The kid climbed on top of the figurehead – a whale – and sat there watching the sea swallow them as they exited the bubble around Fishman Island, not seeming to have a care in the world that he was showing his back to strangers.

Was the guy really that trusting, or was his ego regarding his own strength just that inflated?

Marco wanted to talk to him, but the first hour kept them busy until they found a stream they could follow up to the surface. Thatch chose that moment to emerge from the kitchen with lunch for everyone, laying it all out like a picnic on the deck.

“Oy, Ace, food!” Thatch hollered to gain the kid's attention. “Based on how much you ate at Gill’s yesterday, I think I’ve made enough!”

Ace glanced over his shoulder, looking like he wouldn’t join them, but after a few minutes, he reluctantly climbed down from the figurehead and came over. He looked at all the food with a pinched expression, before murmuring, softly; “thanks.”

Thatch had to bite into the fabric of his apron to not cry aloud. “Here, eat,” the chef sobbed, shoving a whole steak at Ace while blubbering about Ace being “too cute”.

Tate and the rest of the crew, who up to this point had been indifferent to Ace’s presence, all looked on in fascination as Ace first ate slowly, then with as much gusto as he had the day before. Like Thatch, their reaction was that of finding a younger brother cute; they took to feeding Ace without him noticing, treating it as a game, seeing who would get busted first.

It was apparent on all their faces; an itch to adopt this strange kid.

Good to know Marco wasn’t the only one, although Marco’s attraction to Ace wasn’t anywhere near brotherly.

Thatch had seen it right away, and Marco couldn’t deny it; the chaotic energy Ace emitted, his eccentrics but also his gentleness, wrapped inside one of the hottest packages Marco had laid eyes on in forever? Yeah, that was exactly Marco’s type.

Thatch kept insisting he was drawn to unhinged people.

Marco would very much like to correct that; he was attracted to interesting people. People who felt like a plunge from a great, unknown height.

He wasn’t on an emperor’s ship for nothing; a healthy dose of excitement in your daily life was the key to a worthwhile life, albeit not necessarily a long one.

But if attraction had been all there was to it, Marco would have searched Ace out during the night and made another offer, instead of staring holes into the ceiling, waiting until morning.

Ace, he’d concluded in the early hours of the morning, had this feeling about him that was like the world’s bathed breath – just before the heavens above unfurled, releasing a torrent of rain and lightning toward the unassuming earth beneath.

Marco couldn’t pinpoint why Ace had caught his attention as fully as he had, and so Marco threaded lightly, showing the bare minimum of caution.

He ate his lunch, contemplating how he could get Ace to talk – allowing Marco to learn more about him – without scaring him off. As usual, he was probably overthinking things, because Thatch had no reservations nor wish to be tactful.

“Where are you from, Ace?” The chef asked.

“East – Eh, South,” Ace answered readily. “Born in South Blue, grew up in East Blue.”

“East? That’s a pretty weak ocean,” Thatch commented. Ace shrugged. “I’m from North Blue! This thing you’re eating, it’s a delicacy from an Island I visited there!”

“Oh? It’s tasty,” Ace praised in a straightforward manner.

“What’s your favorite dish from home?” Thatch asked eagerly.

“Hmm …” Ace thought long and hard, before answering; “Crocodile. We had lots of them down by the river, and when we couldn’t bother hunting bears or tigers, we’d just grab one of them. They’re good with rice.”

The loaded silence that followed was a natural reaction to the implication that Ace just, what, grabbed crocodiles? From the river? For a quick dinner? Because bears and tigers were more work, but not an improbable dinner?

The silence was broken by Thatch’s laughter. “I bet you ate a whole crocodile on your own!”

“Pretty much,” Ace said, snorting with laughter. “By the time I was fourteen, I could eat two!”

“I can believe that!” Thatch said, rubbing his chin. “So, you hunt, huh? You know, we have this Island that we hunt on from time to time, you should –”

“I’m only staying until we reach the surface,” Ace said, the tension that had abated during the safe topic of food slamming back into him, his shoulders rising marginally as if readying for a fight.

“That’s fine,” Thatch said easily. “If you ever want to go hunting, though, give us a call.”

The conversation died there. Ace finished his meal and climbed back up on the figurehead, Marco’s eyes never leaving him.

“He’s a troubled kid,” Thatch mused quietly as he gathered all the empty plates after their picnic. He nudged Marco in the ribs. “You’re staring.”

“Mhm,” Marco confirmed.

“It’s not just because he’s hot, is it?”

That earned Thatch a punch to the top of his head.

“Don’t be stupid, yoi!” Marco hissed. “He’s …”

“Confusing?” Thatch guessed, not even slightly deterred in the face of violence. “Captivating? Caged yet carefree? Crazy and cute? Crazy cute? Compelling –”

“Complicated, yoi,” Marco said. Thatch snickered, but the two of them ended up staring at the kid in muted silence, sensing the storm inside Ace. Complicated indeed. One minute happy, the next …

Thatch gathered the last plates and baskets and carried them back to the kitchen.

Marco remained, knowing he only had hours before the mystery would slip away, maybe forever.

“Ace,” he greeted the kid, as he joined him by the figurehead, staring out into the almost pitch-black ocean, the light from the boat periodically gracing gigantic fish ten times as big as the ship, lazily swimming past them.

The kid peered down at him; mouth set in a hard line. “Marco,” he eventually said. Marco would take that as a win.

“It’s quiet down here,” Marco commented lightly, trying to find a safe subject rather than asking what he wanted to know.

Who are you?

Why do you captivate me?

What burdens you so?

“Yeah,” Ace said absentmindedly, eyes piercing the darkness, seeming lost in something beyond. “Feels like dying.”

The last part was said so softly, Marco was sure he wasn’t supposed to hear it. An overwhelming sense of foreboding filled him, making him look sharply toward the younger man.

Ace was startled at Marco’s head whipping towards him, and, realizing he must’ve heard, got an annoyed expression.

“What?” He asked, challenging Marco to comment on it. Ah, this kid … the brightest people really did cast the deepest shadows.

“Why are you here?» Marco asked. Ace understood it as he meant it; not this ship, but the New World.

“There’s something that needs to be done.”

And why did that sound so final?

Marco gritted his teeth, knowing it wasn’t his place to tell Ace, a stranger, how to live his life, but …

“When you’re done, you should visit us,” he ended up saying. “We have the best parties. Thatch would love to cook for you, yoi, and Pops would love an excuse for drinking without being told off by the nurses.”

Ace snorted and said; “As if he –” before snapping his mouth shut.

As if he … what?

“Thanks,” Ace said, distracting Marco momentarily from musing on the slip. What had Ace been about to say? “But we won’t see each other again, so don’t get attached.”

Ah, Marco had been read.

“You’re an interesting guy. Can you blame me?” Marco asked, leaning on the railing, feeling frustrated. His fixation on Ace was as annoying as it was insistent; annoying, because he couldn’t pursue his curiosity to the fullest.

They would part ways soon.

Ace fidgeted. Glanced down on Marco, then away, then back again.

“You wanted to give me a ride?”

That … was not what Marco expected. He burst out laughing.

“Yeah,” he answered honestly, having nothing to lose in this situation. He met Ace’s gaze, grey eyes covering nervousness in a thin veil of stubbornness.

“We have a few hours,” Ace said. “If you … want … a tumble ...”

Ace’s face turned tomato red as he spoke through gritted teeth, obviously embarrassed, but he refused to look away.

Heart pounding, Marco nodded. For all that he was conflicted about what to make of Ace and what to do about Ace, he was seized by an urgent need to hold him in his arms, even if it was just this one time.

He didn’t think it would make a difference; Ace seemed set on a solidary path, but Ace had asked, and Marco would be loath to deny the kid any request.

“We have a captain’s cabin that’s empty,” Marco said, a bit more breathless than he’d care to admit.

On their way there, Marco was able to give a subtle signal that he would be busy to Thatch, who looked both unimpressed and amused as he watched them walk away together.

Marco also made a short trip by the infirmary, not meeting Tate’s questioning glance as he subtly pocketed a bottle of oil under the guise of gathering paperwork, joining a waiting Ace out in the hallway before he led him to the captain’s quarters.

Their walk together was shared in comfortable silence, Ace’s embarrassment gone now that Marco had accepted.

The captain’s quarter was sizable, with a king-sized bed placed by the windows. There was a desk, where Marco put down the paperwork he didn’t need and lit enough candles to fill the room with an orange glow. When he turned around, expecting to find Ace standing by the door, where he had left him, he instead saw the kid by the bed, undressing.

Marco pursed his lips, appreciating the view as Ace unceremoniously shrugged out of his shoes and shorts – no underwear – his hat placed down gently on top of the heap of clothes. He sat down on the bed, completely naked except for the red pearl necklace, a log pose, and a bracelet. He grinned at Marco while brushing black curls out of his face.

Damn it all, but he was stupidly attractive.

Marco shrugged off his own shirt as he walked over to the bed, placing a knee on the edge, right next to Ace’s hip, and crowded his space until Ace was forced to lie down, Marco crouching over him.

The younger man wasn’t the least bit intimidated. He made a satisfied sound and rubbed his hands up Marco’s still-clothed thighs, stopping when he felt something in Marco’s right pocket. Without asking he stuck a hand into the pocket, fishing out the small bottle of oil. First then did he look embarrassed and a tiny bit intimidated, but when their eyes met, his mouth slid out into an easy grin.

Marco huffed a laugh.

This guy was going to be the death of him.

He stole the bottle of oil back and placed it on the bed, away from them for now. He grabbed Ace’s rough hands and placed them back on his thighs, encouraging the other to touch him as he leaned down, stopping shy of a kiss.

Ace lifted his head enough to place a small peck on Marco’s lips. That was all the invitation he needed before claiming those lush lips with his own. Warm hands touched his hips, squeezed his ass, wandered up his arms, and rested on the nape of his neck as their mouths met again and again, hungrier after each taste.

Marco let his own hands wander; brushing sensitive nipples, running down hard muscles and rough skin, fingers ghosting along Ace’s sides, earning a choked chuckle.

There was no hurry in any of Ace’s actions. They kissed for ages, moving further up on the bed so Marco could pin Ace’s body under his own, taking things molasses slow while cloying heat built inside the pit of Marco’s stomach.

Their pace was suitable for lovers, not a romp in the sheets between strangers.

It filled Marco with unease, his instincts screaming something at him, but he didn’t want to listen. He wanted to kiss every inch of tan skin, competing against the sun’s claim to Ace’s body, and memorize every freckle, every mole, every scar.

After a particularly steamy kiss Ace rolled them around, so he was on top, hands flying to Marco’s pants. Marco helped - pants and boxers kicked off the bed in no time. Ace hummed, pleased.

As bold as he had been with everything else, he grabbed Marco with no preamble, giving a few experimental tugs. Marco grunted and placed his hands over Ace’s, stopping him. Ace laughed, grabbed his face instead, and kissed him eagerly.

Marco welcomed it.

He didn’t want this to end yet.

Stay.

Every kiss and bite marred Ace’s skin with Marco’s wish.

I don’t know you, but I want you to stay. I want to know you.

Marco placed open-mouthed kisses along Ace’s throat, nipped at his ear and jaw, and scratched nails over his broad back, the skin under his fingers burning. Not feverish, although Marco was starting to feel like it, trapped as he was under a human heater.

There was something about Ace that Marco desperately wanted to catch – the beauty of a shooting star, the fickleness of fire … the bathed breath the world held before lightning struck. He wanted to jar it and keep it forever.

Ace had an uncanny hold on him, and this … lovemaking … wasn’t doing Marco any favors.

How was he supposed to let go after this?

As he brushed a finger over Ace’s jaw and lips, tracing the path he’d just kissed, he was struck by how Ace stared at him like he wanted him. Not in the fleeting way of simple physical attraction. No, he looked like he was staring into Marco's very soul and wanted to consume it.

It was unnerving.

Thrilling.

“Want to ride you,” Ace whispered hotly around Marcos’s fingers before sitting up, straddling him, hands splayed out on Marco’s chest. Keeping eye contact, Ace smiled sweetly, a devious glint in his eyes, and moved.

Slowly.

Teasingly.

Agonizingly.

Tortuously.

Marco fumbled for the oil.

The only thought crossing his mind as Ace balanced over him, lining them up, was of how beautiful Ace looked; tousled and properly kissed, embraced by the gentle hue of candlelight. He brushed his thumbs over Ace’s hips in small circles, fingers still wet from the oil, intending to soothe him through the process, but Ace’s patience must have been dangling in a thin thread, because he – sweet Mother, the Sea – seated himself fully with no hesitation, not giving either of them time to adjust.

A rush of intense want and concern surged through Marco, as Ace moaned breathlessly, the furrow between his eyebrows from concentration, not pain, thankfully.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” Ace breathed, perspiration gathering on his brow. Marco's grip on his hips tightened, unsure if he was trying to support Ace or stop him from moving too fast, too soon. Ace exhaled. Deep breaths; in and out, in and –

And –

Marco scrambled to keep a hold of his sanity as Ace made good on his promise.

The room was scorching, the bed protesting beneath them, but all Marco could concentrate on was Ace.

Ace lost in pleasure; cheeks dusted with red.

Ace moaning loudly and cursing quietly as he bounced up and down.

Ace biting his lips as he hit a good spot.

Marco grabbed one of the hands resting on his chest, needing to touch, to cement this moment somehow. Ace carded their fingers together and held on for dear life as Marco bent his knees just enough to plant the sole of his feet on the bed, thrusting up to meet Ace halfway.

“Motherfucker!” Ace laughed, free and happy, looking like he was enjoying himself to the fullest, unashamed in own pleasure.

Marco wanted him so badly.

He already knew this would not be enough. Anything less than eternity with Ace laughing like this was a lesser life lived.

Stay.

Their pace became erratic.

Ace partially collapsed over Marco, thighs trembling with exertion, muttering something. It took Marco a few seconds to figure out what.

“Hands and knees,” Ace tried to communicate. Oh. Marco slipped out and both scrambled on the bed, trying to reach the new position as fast as possible, except Marco tossed Ace onto his back last second. He wanted to see his face. Marco slid back into that inviting heat, draping himself over Ace.

Ace grabbed Marco’s head with both hands, pressing their foreheads together, his legs wrapping around Marco’s hips, locking him in place as if daring Marco to allow even an inch of them to be apart.

Marco rested one hand on the bed to keep his balance and snuck his other hand in between them, jerking Ace off in tandem with his thrusts.

It didn’t take long.

Ace shuddered, making a sound as if someone had punched the air out of him, and wetness coated Marco’s hand. He gave a few more shallow tugs, until Ace trashed weakly beneath him, overstimulated. Marco slowed down, intending to pull out, but Ace’s legs kept him in place.

“Come on,” Ace urged, voice wrecked. “Come on.”

Marco kissed him – wet and open mothed -, before resuming his pace, allowing himself to chase his own release.

When it came, Marco’s orgasm crashed through him like a tsunami, purging away any cohesive thoughts.

When Marco could comprehend anything again, he had collapsed on the bed, partially draped over Ace, barely avoiding crushing him.

Heavy breathing filled the room as both came down from their high.

Fuck.

He was fucked.

“Ah, that was nice,” Ace sighed, content, scratching his stomach lazily.

Marco couldn’t speak.

He knew sex. Had enjoyed his fair share of it, but this had been … anything but sex. They had shared a profound, intimate connection – a merging of souls more than just physical pleasure.

He was so, so fucked.

Because Ace would leave.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” Ace said, on cue, about to sit up, but Marco stopped him without thinking, placing a hand on his chest to keep him still.

“You can sleep here,” Marco said, forcing himself to sound casual. “There’s still a few hours.”

Ace hesitated, but in the end, he shrugged, lied down, and linked his feet with Marco’s in a gesture too intimate to bear.

Marco needed to alleviate the pang of hurt in his chest, but as a true masochist, he leaned in for a kiss.

He felt emotionally raw as they kissed unhurriedly, bodies humming with postcoital bliss, felt skinned alive as Ace held around him and stroked his back with the gentleness of a long-time lover.

He told himself he wouldn’t fall asleep, as he watched Ace doze off, but he must have because the next thing he knew he woke up to a dark room and the rustling of clothes. The bed next to him was empty, the darkness outside that of the night sky, not the ocean.

They had reached the surface.

Through half-lidded eyes he saw the silhouette of Ace getting dressed, and without looking back, walk to the door. Only there did he pause, whispering something before leaving.

Not once did he look back.

Marco replayed the word he heard Ace whisper in his head several times.

“Sorry.”

Sorry for leaving without a proper goodbye? Yeah, Marco was sorry as well.

Now, alone, he allowed himself to sit up, dread churning inside him. The feeling grew, ushering him out of bed.

Marco dragged his pants on and ran out on deck, where he was just in time to see Ace disappear over the ocean on Striker. The light from his fire, which seemed to drive the engines, soon disappeared amidst tall waves.

A part of Marco wanted to follow in pursuit, but he couldn’t. He had no reason to, aside from a gut reaction.

”Sorry.”

Why did he get the uneasy feeling that the apology had nothing to do with him leaving?

Chapter 2: Ocean Breathes Salty

Summary:

Thank you for your support on the first chapter! Always fun to read comments ❤️

I struggled way more with this chapter than the first one, but it is what it is. Hope it's enjoyable all the same!

Almost two months passed since their trip to Fishman Island.

Thatch, in a rare show of compassion, had not told any of the other commanders about Ace, sensing that Marco had zero wishes to discuss the matter and wouldn’t take kindly to teasing.

Tate and some of the others who traveled with them probably knew, but thankfully said nothing.

With each passing day, he felt more and more like an idiot for allowing such a tenuous encounter to affect him as strongly as it did, but there was no getting around it. Ace had hooked him in, and Marco was equally hung up on the complexity of Ace as a person, as the surprisingly intimate sex they’d had.

The whole meeting had left him dumbfounded and no small amount of wistful, but also troubled. The dichotomy of Ace was no doubt what made it impossible for Marco to let go too easily.

He usually liked mysteries, but usually, he was able to solve them.

Marco, in an attempt to distract himself, dedicated all his energy toward exploring everything he bought at Fishman Island. Days and nights dedicated to making salves, balms, tinctures, and healing tea intended to alleviate fever, upset stomachs, minor infections, and other minor problems.

Some of the algae would be good as a supplement to avoid scurvy, although they had plenty of fresh fruit.

Nothing turned out to be useful when it came to Pops, but that was to be expected. Didn’t make it less disappointing, though.

No medicine could stop old age.

He knew that.

He did.

Thatch found him alone in his office a late evening, rubbing sleepiness out of his eyes, glasses momentarily resting on top of his papers, recounting his recent findings.

“There’s a party today,” Thatch informed him, strolling in to lean over Marco’s shoulder and study what he had written.

“Mhm,” Marco put his glasses back on. “I’ll make an appearance.”

“You don’t sound very excited to go,” a familiar voice commented from the doorway. Jozu and Izou stood there, both with their arms crossed. Thatch only looked slightly guilty for having brought them along.

“You’ve been a recluse lately,” Izou commented, sharp eyes peeling off every protective layer Marco tried to keep around himself, piece by piece. “Since your little trip to Fishman Island.”

“It’s nothing bad, yoi,” Marco promised. “Just …” He let out a sigh, resting his hands on his knees. There was no avoiding this, was there? “I suppose I … got caught up in someone.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before he was pulled into a hug by his three brothers.

“Marco, you idiot!” Izou hissed. “You have a broken heart?”

“My idiot brother,” Jozu scolded affectionately. “You don’t have to act so manly about it!”

“I’m sorry Marco, I didn’t want to push you to say anything, but I didn’t know what to do! You looked so distracted all the time!” Thatch cried. Marco dragged himself away from them, trying to save his poor glasses – and ribs – from being crushed.

“You don’t have to tell us everything,” Jozu said, “but we are willing to fight them for you.”

“It’s nothing like that! I’m fine! I’ve been busy working is all, yoi. Looking into new medical components and –”

And that wasn’t really why he had sought solitude more evenings than not lately, often finding himself staring out into the dark night, the sound of waves washing over him, contemplating the ephemerality of love.

He never claimed to be immune to sentimentality.

Marco was a pirate, after all; his head was in the clouds, his feet in the sea and in between was a poet’s heart.

But most of the time he wondered if it even was love. At the very least it was a strong fascination, an attraction – an urge to continue what had barely been started. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, no matter how many times he told himself it was useless.

He’d probably never meet Ace again.

“There’s a party?” He said instead.

Marco wasn’t looking to get drunk, not in the mood for it, but he enjoyed the atmosphere all the same. Everyone was cheerful; laughing and singing, and while Marco made his rounds through the party he chatted with his siblings, caught up with people who had been away, resolved fights, reassured Thatch that he was fine and swore Jozu and Izou into secrecy.

As planned from the start, he ended up next to Pops, perched on the armrest of his chair, the two of them watching their family together.

“You’ve worked hard lately,” Edward Newgate commented, drinking sake from a great cup which the nurses on deck glared openly at, but even they were off duty and having fun, and no one dared scold Pops at times like these.

“Yeah,” Marco acknowledged.

“Thatch has been worried for you.”

Marco smiled faintly. “Thatch is an idiot, yoi. It’s nothing to worry about, it’s just that … I got a bit caught up in someone. At Fishman Island.”

Pops deserved to know.

“Oh? That’s unusual.”

Marco couldn’t deny it. He wasn’t one to love deeply, although he loved easily. This predicament was a first, the entire situation ridiculous when one thought about just how briefly their paths had crossed.

“You would have liked him,” Marco said, thinking of a wide grin and a freckled face.

“Gurarara, why didn’t you bring him then?” Pops asked.

“He didn’t want to stay,” Marco confessed, still feeling the sting of abandonment, although Ace had owned him nothing.

“A shame,” Pops said, and that was both the acknowledgment and comfort Marco realized he needed.

“A shame, yoi,” he agreed. They sat in silence after that, basking in the warm familiarity of the party.

When it got really late – or early, depending on how one wanted to view it – Marco found himself helping a drunk Izou back to the bunkbeds, Thatch stumbling along, humming some song from some island they had visited in the past.

“We didn’t get to talk about it,” Izou complained.

“Nothing to talk about,” Marco insisted.

They walked past Teach who had been absent from the party. The big man was on his way to the galley.

“Oi, Teach, you heading out?” They asked him.

Teach laughed at the sight of them. “Aye, we’re paying a small Marine base a visit. They messed up some of Rush’s people.”

“Give them hell, then,” Marco said with a smirk. No one messed with their family, be it the main crew of the affiliated captains. That was the iron rule of these seas.

“I’ll make you cherry pies when you return!” Thatch promised, earning a one-armed hug from Teach and the two brothers danced happily together.

“Cherry pie is the best!” Teach sang happily.

“People enjoying my food is the best,” Thatch sang in reply, the two slapping each other’s back, laughing and bonding over both's favorite subject; food. The only person Marco had met that could even hope to rival Teach in an eating competition would have been …

“Why are you tensing up?” Izou whispered in his ear, sounding soberer than he had any right to be, seeing how he couldn’t walk on his own. “Is something amiss?”

“No …” Marco dragged him along, not wanting anyone else to hear. “It’s just that … the guy I … met … he ate a lot.”

Izou scrambled to stand on his own two legs, but kept his arm around Marco’s shoulders, using it to force Marco to face him.

“Are you telling me … the guy you like ate a lot, so when you thought about Teach eating a lot it reminded you of this guy? And you got, what, sad?”

“Shut up.”

“That is so, so pathetic,” Izou said, smirking. “I like it. Reminds me of Thatch, whenever he’s rejected.”

Marco snorted. “I’m wounded. You think I’m as bad as him? Do you even remember when he couldn’t look at the color green without weeping –”

“Because of that green-haired girl from Paradise? Hah!” Izou grinned, before turning a bit green himself. Marco rushed them to the railing, holding Izou’s hair – which had unraveled during the party – as his brother emptied the content of his stomach out into the sea.

“Food for the fishes,” Marco said gently, patting his back.

Izou spat into the sea and rested his head on the railing. “Ugh, food for the fishes.”

“Come, you need water and I have some painkillers with your name on it,” Marco said, helping Izou along. The samurai hummed, content.

“That’s why you’re my favorite brother.”

“We all know it’s Vista, because he trains swords with you, but thanks.”

*

Marco felt better.

Apparently, what he told everyone else, to talk about their feelings, indeed worked. It was as infuriating to learn as it was a relief.

His confession to Pops eased the burden somehow.

That was, of course, why everything had to go to hell.

The group led by Teach returned, a day later than expected, many of them hurt, the boat heavily damaged and no Teach in sight. Those who weren’t instantly brought to the infirmary gathered in front of Pops to give a report.

Tate pushed Marco towards Pops, siting that she didn’t need his help with the patients. While Marco itched to help, he also needed to know what had happened.

Fury burned inside him, cool as his blue flames.

Someone had hurt his family, and Teach … was he captured? Killed?

They all gathered around Pops and the returning crew up on deck, waiting to hear an explanation. The mood was somber as Rush, the captain of the crew they had been sent out to avenge in the first place, was chosen to recount the happenings of their mission.

It started normal; they left the Moby and arrived on the island with the marine base in question without problem, but that’s where things went awry straight away.

“Out of nowhere, this fire-kid ran down Teach,” Rush explained.

Fire … kid …?

Thatch grabbed Marco’s arm, stopping him in his tracks, about to step forward. To do what, he wasn’t sure.

Fire kid.

It couldn’t be –

“He had an orange hat,” Rush said. “And a tattoo. Ace, misspelled, with a crossed-out S. Monstrously strong, but I’ve never heard about him before.”

“Pops,” Marco barely recognized his own voice. Pops glanced at him, inclining his head in understanding. Rush paused at the exchange between the captain and first commander.

“Continue,” Pops said.

“He only went after Teach,” Rush said. “Seemed personal. They fought for a few minutes before … sorry Pops.”

The whole returning crew wept, their faces filled with shame.

A quiet murmur filled the deck. Teach was dead. Killed.

Marco’s body trembled with suppressed feelings – he was angry, but also upset in a way he couldn’t quite decipher, because Ace was the one to kill him. He needed to fix this, somehow. He needed to put this right. It felt like it was his fault; guilt rose like bile, choking him.

He’d slept with the man who killed his brother. He had –

Thatch squeezed his arm reassuringly.

“Marco, relax,” he whispered.

“How can I?” Marco hissed, glaring at his brother, regretting his reaction instantly. Thatch had tears in his eyes, mourning the loss of a fellow brother, one who had been among them since he was twelve, while Marco burned with rage, feeling scorned. He looked away, shamefaced.

His outrage toward Ace should not be stronger than his sadness for his lost brother, but it was.

“So, this kid killed Teach …” Pops said at length. “And then?”

Marco looked at Rush and the rest of the crew who’d been there, took in their state of distress, the wounds they carried – singed and burned – and calculated how many they had sent to the infirmary, the state of the boat …

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to hear the rest of it.

“He …” Rush looked lost for words. “He saved us.”

What?

Marco wasn’t the only one confused, so Rush quickly explained:

“The marines at the base weren’t noteworthy, but we had bad luck. Akainu was there. The fight between Teach and the kid – Ace – alerted the marines and suddenly we had an admiral breathing down our necks. Ace had just killed Teach when Akainu surprised us. We and the ship took heavy damage, but before it could get uglier than it already had … that kid jumped Akainu. We ran, and the last we saw of the island, the whole place was ablaze.”

Rush shook his head.

“I don’t get it, Pops.”

The deck was silent after that, everyone unsure how to process the news.

“What became of Teach’s body?” Pops asked. Rush winced.

“Gone,” he said, licking his lips nervously. “The kid burned him down to ash.”

There’s something that needs to be done.

Marco couldn’t breathe. Ace had known, hadn’t he? When he traveled with them. When he slept with Marco. When he left.

Loving caresses and hungry kisses.

Sorry.

A dead brother.

He was left confused and angry, the anger barely masking his brittle hurt.

And how had he known where Teach would be?

Had Marco somehow, unbeknownst to him, aided Ace in getting a hold of Teach? Had Ace kept an eye on the Moby Dick? The Whitebeards? Had it even been a coincidence that they met? Ace had seemed reluctant to travel with them, but had it all been a ploy to make himself seem more interesting? To endear them to him?

How calculated had the whole encounter been?

“You said he saved you, yoi,” Marco found himself saying, voice cold and hollow. “To me, it sounds like he went from one battle to the next, with no conscious effort to save you.”

“He took an attack meant for our boat, saving it from sinking,” Rush said. “He told us to run, to let him handle the fight.”

“He saved me,” one of the crewmen volunteered after a few seconds of silence. “Cussed me out for not running fast enough, but he saved me.”

“He killed one of ours,” Rush said helplessly, “but we wouldn’t have survived Akainu without him intervening.”

Pops rose from his seat and walked over to Rush and his people. They all winced, but all Pops did was sit down on one knee and scoop them all into a hug.

“I’m glad you’re all ok,” the emperor said. “My children.”

Everyone started crying, Rush sobbing the loudest of all.

“Pops!”

Marco lowered his gaze, unable to bear the sight.

What … what was he supposed to do with this information?

His anger was unmoored, without purpose, and rapidly losing against queasiness. He felt sick. Not only had he slept with Ace, but he had fancied himself strongly attracted to – liar, you thought of love – the person who most likely consciously hunted down one of his oldest brothers, intending to not only kill him but completely obliterate him … but then Ace had saved the rest of the second division and Rush’s crew. Shielded them from attacks, saved their means of escape, and faced an admiral to let them escape.

Although he had to be strong to take out Teach, there was no guarantee he was strong enough to take down Akainu.

Marco lifted his gaze when he heard Pops getting up. Whitebeard stood mighty as he addressed his crew.

“If the boy’s alive, I want him brought here. Alive.”

There were many loud protests at that.

“Shut it, yoi, Pops is still talking!” Marco barked, shutting everyone up. Pops looked at him at that, and stared into his eyes, searching for something. Marco had no idea what he saw; if he saw his first commander, strong and ready to do his duty, or a hurt child begging for his father’s understanding.

“The situation is too complex to act hasty. I want to know why this boy killed Teach. We always protect our own fiercely – revenge is needed, so my lost sons and daughters’ souls can find eternal rest, but in this case … I need answers first.”

Pops sat down in his chair again.

“Commanders, Rush, stay. The rest of you, see to your siblings and the boat. Gather what information you can find on this kid, and talk to our contacts. I want to know if he escaped, died, or if the marines brought him in.”

A chorus of “yes, Pops” filled the deck before everyone left.

Marco waited, knowing what was to come.

“Thatch,” he whispered, receiving a gentle nudge in return.

“I’ve got this,” Thatch said. When only the commanders and Rush were left, Thatch stepped forward, standing in front of Pops.

“We met the kid Rush described at Fishman Island, almost two months ago,” Thatch said, earning surprised looks from everyone but Jozu and Izou who instantly looked toward Marco. He couldn’t meet their glances, couldn’t speak, guilt very much choking him still.

Thatch told an abridged version of events, not mentioning Marco’s more … personal encounter with Ace. He was thankful. It was bad enough that three people present; Jozu, Izou, and Pops, could easily guess that Ace was the one he had mooned over.

“I see,” was all Pops said. “Same orders for you lot; track the brat.”

They all nodded and left, but Marco remained, not having to be told. He stood in front of his father and captain, feeling anxious in a way he never had before.

“What was your impression of him?” Pops asked.

“My impression was wrong,” Marco said.

A haunted look at a pub, a sorrow so vast it rivaled the sea. A solitary silhouette at the figurehead, dwarfed by the surrounding darkness. A bright smile, a boisterous laugh, gentle words for children – gentle hands stroking Marco’s back.

He shut his eyes with a tired sigh, but that didn’t stop him from remembering.

“He was … sad, for all that he smiled and laughed. Said he couldn’t go with us because there was something that needed to be done. He apologized when he left, and it felt wrong. It didn’t feel like he was apologizing for leaving – I thought about going after him, but I didn’t. I understood something was wrong, and if I’d just stopped him then … If I hadn’t let him leave …”

A big hand landed on his shoulder, the touch grounding.

“You couldn’t have known,” Pops said. When Marco dared to look at him there was no blame to be seen. “He made a good impression on you and Thatch. You’re not bad judges of character, but there’s the fact he killed my son.”

The kid burned him down to ash.

“Let me go after him,” Marco requested. He didn’t want to, but he had to. Pops must have sensed this because he simply nodded, granting Marco his wish.

Marco walked off, his fingers flickering with blue flames unconsciously.

*

“The marines have him!”

Two days.

They searched everywhere for two days before Haruta found the whereabouts of Ace; a marine ship heading for Impel Down. It was still in the New World, a week away from the Red Line, and heavily guarded although – as far as they could tell – Akainu was not with the ship.

Instead, there were G5 marines, as well as vice-admiral Doberman and commander Yarisugi, who were all troublesome in their own right, but not too much for the Whitebeards to handle.

“What’s your call, yoi?” Marco asked Pops when they shared their findings with him.

“This is our business, not the marines,” Pops said. “Proceed.”

Marco, Thatch, and Izou would lead the operation. Rush insisted on going with them, as well as some of his crew and the guys from the second division. All in all, they left on one of the smaller ships with a group of twelve strong.

The mission was simple. Quick in, quick out; retrieve Ace so they could settle their own score.

Marco itched to get going, and even when they were underway, with a strong wind in the sails, he felt like they couldn’t move fast enough. He dreaded meeting Ace again, but he couldn’t stand this suspense, running circles in the unknown.

Izou joined Marco at the bow. The ocean was deceptively calm and blue. It never stayed so long, in the New World.

“He’s the one?” Izou asked casually. They hadn’t had time to talk about it, and honestly, Marco would rather not, but it would be impossible to avoid it with the ones who knew.

“Afraid so,” Marco said, gaze fixed on the horizon.

“He made a real impact on you.”

“Sure did.”

Izou leveled him with a searching look.

“Marco. What will you do?”

“There’s only one thing to do. Find him and bring him to Pops. Then Pops will decide.”

“Is that it?” Izou challenged. Marco looked properly at him, his loyal yet rebellious younger brother who, despite cussing Pops out at the beginning, had chosen to remain when Oden went with Roger.

“What do you want me to do, yoi?” Marco asked.

“Whatever makes you less miserable,” Izou answered honestly. “I’m devastated over our loss, but I’d hate to lose you more than I’d hate to lose our chance at revenge.”

“I wouldn’t …” Marco tried to say, horrified of what Izou implied. “We met once, two months ago. We knew each other for barely more than twenty-four hours. Ace isn’t worth my family.”

“We’re pirates. While we have our own honor we’re also selfish,” Izou stated. “I know you won’t, but this feels weird, doesn’t it? That’s why Rush wanted to tag along. Why the men who were saved insisted on tagging along. The whole situation feels … wrong.”

It did.

Ace saved and protected their men after committing a heinous crime toward the Whitebeards… it didn’t make sense. Even another emperor would have hesitated greatly at killing someone from their crew – everyone knew what it meant. What the consequences were.

Ace must have known.

Yet he’d stayed behind, risking himself to … what? Pay them back for what he took? He wasn’t sure if that changed anything.

“We’re sticking to the plan.” Marco said. Izou shrugged, got up, and walked to the galley. Seconds later Thatch announced lunch. Marco allowed himself one last look out at the sea before he joined the others.

He wouldn’t let Ace go. Not again. Even if it meant that bright flame being extinguished by Pops. Anything else, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

At least that was what he told himself.

*

They tracked the marine ship with ease, reaching it days before it would have stopped by the G5 base, and then continued to the Red Line and later Impel Down.

Going for the element of surprise, they snuck up alongside the warship with their smaller boat when night fell. Nature was on their side as clouds hid the stars and moon, shrouding the world in blinding darkness.

Marco, Thatch, Izou, and four men, including Rush, climbed onboard, leaving five others to protect the ship.

They moved soundlessly, Izou giving Marco and Rush the ok-signal as he, Thatch and the others emerged from the shadows, bringing forth chaos and destruction, serving as a distraction.

Marco and Rush moved silently along the edges of the loud conflict between their brothers and the marines, slipping inside a door before it could fully close, after half-asleep marines came running out of it, joining the fray.

Once inside, Marco marched unflinchingly down the corridors, the layout memorized from the papers Haruta got a hold of. Rush jogged after him, staying alert for anyone trying to attack them from behind.

Every marine they encountered took one look at Marco’s determined face and ran, but they couldn’t have them announcing their presence inside the ship too soon, so they knocked them out, leaving a trail of unconscious bodies.

The commotion on deck echoed into the hulls of the ship, following them as they walked through hallways, climbed down a ladder, walked around a corner, and –

Yarisugi and a horde of men awaited them.

“Marco the Phoenix!” Yarisugi shouted, pointing a sword at him. “In the name of Justice, halt!”

“Not happening,” Marco informed him, gesturing for Rush to get behind him as they got barraged by bullets, the marines trigger-happy with their weapons. Marco took the hits, his body spitting out bullets and healing so fast he barely felt it.

When the marines finally stopped firing, they stared at his unharmed body in horror.

“How …”

Marco transformed, not about to waste any more time. He wasn’t here for fun. Mercilessly, he dove down the hallway, his fiery wings scraping along the metal walls as he hit the marine commander with a talon kick that knocked him out instantly. The remaining men got knocked over by his wings and tail, some throwing themselves down on the floor to crawl away; their paygrade not high enough to deal with an angry mythical Zoan.

Marco transformed back into himself and continued down the corridor. Rush caught up to him, holding a massive ring of keys he had nipped from Yarisugi.

They found the holding cells in no time. The seastone-bars raised Marco’s hackle, but he walked past them, looking inside each cell, seeing many pirates, but not the one he was looking for.

But in the very last cell, furthest inside the holding area, chained to a wall, they found Ace.

Battered and bruised, the at times happy young man from Fishman Island was nowhere to be seen. Mattered black hair framed a pale face caked in dirt and blood. Those grey stormy eyes stared blankly at them.

“Come to kill me?” His voice was hoarse and monotone.

“Rush, get him out,” Marco commanded. Rush hurriedly tested the keys he nabbed, finding the correct one on the nineteenth attempt. Ace stared dully at them the whole time while Marco found himself glaring cooly, arms crossed – more to hold himself together than anything else.

Ace was obviously heavily injured after his fight with Akainu, but more than that, for all that Ace had said that there was something that needed to be done, it seemed the deed had not brought any relief to the burden he had carried when they met.

If anything, he looked worse for wear.

Far worse.

The haunted look Marco had seen for barely a second inside those grey eyes was now coating Ace’s outsides, leaving his shoulders slumped, his head hanging – that, more than his injuries, made him appear defeated.

Rush walked inside the cell and looked for the right key to free the chains from the wall.

“You don’t need to free me to kill me,” Ace commented.

Rush frowned. “You … why did you save us?”

“You guys had nothing to do with it.” Ace hit the back of his head against the wall with a sharp thud, dead eyes seeking out Marco’s. “Don’t waste time on this shit. Get it over with.”

“No,” Marco said, surprised to find his voice as steady as it was. “You’re coming with us to the Moby. Pops’ orders.”

That caused a reaction.

Panic.

“Why?” Ace demanded, dead eyes morphing into something wilder, more frantic.

“We need answers.”

Ace grit his teeth and the second Rush managed to unlock the chains from the wall the kid moved. Marco moved as well, but Ace didn’t go for Rush as he feared.

Ace threw himself into the corner of his cell, far away from them.

“Just sink this goddamn ship and let me drown with it,” Ace snarled. “I’m not going to the Moby!”

Marco and Rush exchanged a look, both grim-faced. This was not what they had expected, but honestly, he didn’t know what they had expected. He just knew that in all the scenarios he had played out in his head, none of them had included Ace telling them to kill him.

Oh, he’d imagined anger. Gloating. Regret. Sorrow. Misunderstandings or obvious manipulation.

Not … this.

“You have no choice, yoi,” Marco said, signaling for Rush to grab the chains attached to Ace’s seastone-cuffs. He walked out of the cell, Rush trying to drag Ace along, but the damn kid wouldn’t have it; he yanked the chains, hard, ripping them out of Rush’s grasp and kicked the captain out of the cell, slammed the door shut to lock himself inside again, and just to be exceptionally ornery he wrapped the chains around the bars of the door and cell, making it impossible to rip the door open.

“I bet you can’t waste too much time here,” Ace said with a defiant grimace. “If you won’t kill me, you might as well let the marines have me.”

Marco snarled, surging forward but stopping shy of the seastone, glaring into Ace’s stubborn eyes.

“You killed one of ours,” Marco spat, fury sweeping through him. “You’re ours to deal with, not the marines.”

“Then kill me,” Ace spat back. “I knew what it meant, to kill Teach. An eye for an eye.”

The words felt like a slap to the face; the easy admission of the crime, unfortunately, abetting his fury, rather than stoking it. Marco studied the younger man, feeling more confused than anything.

“You knew. When you traveled with us.”

When you kissed me like you cared.

Ace had the gall to look ashamed.

“Yeah,” he said, averting his eyes, voice soft. “Sorry.”

It was the same sorry he gave in lieu of goodbye.

Marco wanted nothing more than to reach through the bars, grab him and shake him, demanding answers. But they didn’t have the time, so he made a gamble.

“The longer we waste time here, the more dangerous it gets for the ones up on deck.” Marco said, searching Ace’s face; his words had the desired effect, although he had no idea why. He was simply gambling on the same urge inside Ace that had driven him to protect Rush and the others.

“Thatch is here, yoi. Do you remember –?”

With an almost feral snarl, Ace undid the chains. Rush opened the door again and hesitantly grabbed the chain, but Ace was already storming off, heading for the door as Marco and Rush scrambled to follow suit.

“Should we get him out of the cuffs?” Rush asked.

“On the boat,” Marco said, eyes trained on the back of Ace’s head. The kid made no sense, and there was no pleasure in discovering that he could use their own safety as leverage against him.

Why did Ace care so much about the Whitebeards?

What was the connection?

Why kill Teach?

Marines came running down the hallway. Before Marco could intervene, Ace ran at them, kicking and body slamming the group, easily taking down fifteen or something marines without breaking a sweat. All the while chained up in seastone.

Marco told himself he wasn’t impressed but that was a lie.

Although Ace had been able to handle things on his own, Marco squeezed past him, to lead the entourage of three out, taking down the marines they met while Rush protected the rear.

They were almost out when Thatch came running down another hallway, carrying a familiar-looking orange hat.

“What are you doing in here?” Marco asked, instantly worried for the others outside with one less commander to protect them.

“Got punch through a few walls!” Thatch said, smiling, his stupid hair still perfectly kept together. “Found this lying in the room I landed in! We also found the boat – Striker, right? – outside.”

“I won’t need it,” Ace said with a frown. Thatch’s smile faltered, his eyes meeting Marco’s. Marco shook his head minutely. Later.

They finally made their way outside, where Izou stood over a beaten vice admiral, heaving for breath.

“Took you long enough!” He told them. “Everyone, let’s go!”

The escape away from the marine ship was swift, the aftermath of their raid one that surely would have repercussions, but they got what they came for, and that was what mattered.

Dawn had given way to morning by the time they finally allowed themselves to relax just a tiny bit.

Marco looked over the crew, seeing to his relief that no one was badly hurt.

Thatch had amidst the chaos brought Ace’s belongings along, Striker resting by the railing, similar to how they’d brought the small boat along from Fishman Island.

Rush babysat Ace, who had sat down next to Striker and kept quiet while everyone was busy hoisting sails and maneuvering away – first from the marines, then a surprise tornado, which one was bound to meet on these seas.

When everything was calming down to a mere strong wind, Ace sighed and stretched his legs out after having sat with his knees up, resting his arms and chin on them for most of the duration of their trip. Before Marco – who was observing him – could react, Ace stood up and jumped overboard.

Rush, who hadn’t bothered to hold onto the chains now that they were onboard, blinked, not fully comprehending what had happened before Marco hit the railing at full speed, screeching to a halt, pale as death as he stared into the frothing waves beneath.

“Fuck!” Rush whispered in horror and jumped overboard, following the hammer. Thatch and the others shouted in panic, scrambling to turn the boat around. Izou jumped after Rush and Marco stood there helplessly, unable to aid because he’d sink too.

He stared at the sea with rapt attention, flooding with relief when three heads emerged to the surface.

“Starboard!” He told the others. They threw down ropes and Izou climbed up with Ace thrown over his shoulder, Rush following suit. Thatch came running with towels, stopping to watch with bathed breath as Izou performed compressions on Ace, the kid lying there lifeless until he suddenly wasn’t. Coughing, Ace threw himself to the side to retch up seawater.

Izou slapped him angrily on the back.

“What the hell was that for, you crazy kid?” The samurai demanded to know.

Ace collapsed; cheek pressed into the grainy wood as he tried to catch his breath.

“Had to make an attempt,” he rasped.

“At what, dying?” Izou asked, incomprehensive. He, and the others, hadn’t been there when Ace demanded Marco and Rush let him die. Despite going through that conversation before this incident, Marco didn’t feel any less shocked.

Thatch stepped forward, throwing towels over Rush and Izou before he knelt by Ace, reaching out to pat him down with a fluffy towel, but the kid recoiled, sitting up to get away. He looked like a scared animal.

“Chain him to the mast,” Marco ordered, not trusting his own sanity to withstand a second attempt. He had wanted to take the chains off, semi-secure in the knowledge that Ace wasn’t a threat to them, and that the ocean would be its own natural prison, but that was not an option anymore.

“You should have let me drown,” Ace said as they fastened the chains to the mast, not too tightly, allowing him room to move his arms relatively freely.

Izou looked to Marco, as if to say “what’s this kid’s problem?” to which … Marco had no answer. Thatch gently tossed the towel over to Ace and sat down with the others, all of them forming a half circle around the mast and their prisoner.

No one knew how to break the tense silence.

Ace was the one to break it, after several tense minutes.

“Listen, taking me with you could be dangerous,” he said as if any danger in the world could truly sway a Whitebeard's hand if they truly wanted something.

It didn’t go unnoticed by them all that Ace wasn’t threatening them, but rather warning them.

“Yeah, we don’t really care,” Izou said.

“I’m not exaggerating,” Ace said, frustration evident.

“Ace.” It was Thatch, who while unable to hide the worry he felt for the younger man, was serious and somber. “We’re taking you back to Pops, and you’ll have to answer his questions, but we’re two or so days away … we want to know why you killed Teach.”

Ace studied them, charged emotions crossing his face before he got it under control. He leaned back against the mast, casual as you please, and Marco knew that the next thing coming from him would be nothing but pure venom.

“What does it matter? Have the Whitebeards turned craven all of a sudden? Why won’t you avenge your brother?”

The others tensed, the words hitting them where it hurt the most, but Marco studied Ace with a sharp gaze, seeing how his underlip wobbled slightly when he called them craven; how his clenched fists, resting in his lap, were white-knuckled.

“What will you tell him in the next life?” Ace hedged on. “That you let me live, to stay around for a pleasant chat? Some poor excuse for family, you are.”

“You can’t provoke us into killing you, yoi,” Marco said. Ace smiled. It was a dejected, ugly thing.

“And you can’t make me tell you shit.”

They left Ace alone, for the moment, after that. The kid didn’t touch the towel he had been given, only kicked it away, and refused to eat when Thatch brought food.

Marco observed from a distance. Rush sat with him, as the others stood for the sailing.

“He’s a mess,” Rush said, lighting a cigarette. He rarely smoked, and never in front of Marco, but right now Marco didn’t have the heart to tell him off. “I can’t really stay mad at him, even though I was there. You should have seen him. The way he looked at Teach, that’s the purest hatred I’ve seen in anyone’s eyes. He was scary. Now … that’s a lost kid if I’ve ever seen one. Pops got a bleeding heart. I’m not so sure we will see him executed.”

“Even if he doesn’t answer?” Marco found himself asking, hating that he felt slightly hopeful. He should view Ace as an enemy.

He should, but he couldn’t.

Rush looked Marco over, taking a drag. “I heard a rumor…”

“Spit it out.”

“You had a fling with him, at Fishman Island?”

Marco felt bone tired.

“Yes. I convinced him to travel with us to the surface,” Marco confessed. “Thatch and I found him fascinating and fun.”

“Huh. Can’t imagine him being fun but fascinating? Sure. He’s an odd one. He seems to care for us.”

“I know, yoi.” Rush had hit the nail on the head, hadn’t he? Ace cared. About them specifically. Marco already knew he would get into fights on behalf of strangers if he felt it was warranted, but that was one thing. Allowing himself to be taken when he was so set against it, he’d rather die, just to … what? Not put Thatch, and the others who had been on deck, in danger? That was insane. They were strangers. Right?

Marco got up. “Time to do my job,” he said.

“Good luck,” Rush said.

Marco went by the small infirmary, gathered what he needed, and walked out on deck, where Ace sat alone, an untouched bowl of soup right next to him.

Marco was vaguely aware that Ace was probably strong enough to snap the mast if he truly wanted to free himself, but snapping the mast would cause trouble for the Whitebeards and their chances of a safe travel home, so he wouldn’t.

Damn him.

Marco sat down with his medical equipment, startling Ace out of a restless slumber it seemed. Marco wasn’t as gentle as Thatch, nor in the mood for patience. He grabbed Ace’s hand without preamble to see to the burns there.

Burns matching the ones his siblings carried after their encounter with Akainu.

The minute or so when he had thought those wounds to be caused by Ace …

Despair didn’t even begin to cover it.

“What are you doing” Ace asked, ripping his hand out of Marco’s grip. Marco grabbed the hand and tugged it back, tightening his grip when Ace kept struggling, sharing blue flames to quicken the healing process.

“Stop it!” Ace demanded. “I don’t deserve your help!”

His choice of words was enough for Marco to lose his grip.

Ace scurried back and away, as far as he could, looking to be in pain. As if Marco healing him hurt more than any of his wounds.

But how had he known?

No one outside of the crew knew that Marco could use his flames to heal, to help. Marco hadn’t told him, just grabbed his hand, and infused it with flames. Most would have assumed the worst.

Either Ace knew something he couldn’t know, or he genuinely believed Marco to be too good a person to harm him.

Both scenarios left Marco with too many questions.

“Don’t help me,” Ace begged. “Just … don’t.”

Marco stared at the younger man, at the dirt and blood still marring his skin despite his dip into the sea, at the burns and wounds he’d earned from the marines when he protected Marco’s family, at the wrists that were chafed red, and lastly at the boyish face made for smiles, not this …

Panic.

Fear.

Of a simple kindness.

It could be argued it wasn’t even kind, just a practical thing to do, so the kid wouldn’t keel over in front of Pops.

“You’re hurt, yoi,” Marco said, not moving away, but not trying to grab him again either. “I’m a doctor.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ace said, still leaning away, the chains straining at the cuffs around his arms; arms he kept close to his chest as if to protect them from Marco.

“Eat,” Marco settled on saying, moving away, but pushing the soup towards Ace. “If you eat, I won’t bother you.”

Ace glanced from the soup to Marco before snapping the bowl up and chugging its content at an impressive speed. He pushed the empty bowl back.

“Leave,” Ace begged. Marco had to admit defeat, for now. He gathered his medical equipment and the empty bowl and walked inside the galley, where most of the others were gathered.

One from the crew walked out without having to be asked, to keep an eye on Ace.

“He ate!” Thatch said, happy as he collected the bowl from Marco.

“In exchange for me not seeing to his wounds,” Marco bit out, souring the mood.

Their journey back to the Moby was a tense and unhappy one, but for other reasons than they had anticipated when they first set out.

Chapter 3: What the Water Gave Me

Summary:

A long overdue update - sorry about the delay!

They reached the Moby during midday, the second day after they left the marine ship. The weather had been on their side, but no one seemed especially eager to return, as returning meant bringing Ace to Pops.

The kid had eaten the bare minimum to appease them, said close to nothing, and done his best to pretend he was alone on deck. He didn’t look guilt-ridden, but anxious; eyes always scanning the horizon, as if expecting attacks.

Marco had observed a few sleeping spells, by now figuring out it was narcolepsy, but there was no point insisting on treatment. Pops had to make a decision and Marco had to bury all his feelings and doubts.

The Moby towered above them as they unlocked Ace from the chains and guarded him closely to avoid another near-drowning incident.

Filled with trepidation, they boarded the flagship.

Most of the crew and commanders were there, milling along the edges of the deck, leaving a wide, open space in front of Pops.

Hostile and curious glances followed them as they herded Ace through the crowd – no one raised their voices above angry murmurs, and no one did anything except step away, but Marco was still stressed. He had never really hesitated in his duty before; Pops had never given him a reason to, but right now? His duty had never been so heavy.

Ace walked on his own, head raised, shoulders tense, face set in a stubborn expression that bore no hint of arrogance. He was dirty, and battered, but not as broken as when they first retrieved him. No, he looked calm now that they had reached the Moby.

Marco felt a stab of shame for presenting him in this sorry state, but Ace had denied them any chance to heal or wash him.

He also felt a stab of anxiety at Ace’s calmness.

It didn’t bode well.

A hushed silence filled the deck when they reached the empty space in front of Pops. Every eye in the crowd was glued to either Ace or Whitebeard, anxiously awaiting something to happen.

Ace looked unflinchingly up at the strongest man alive, showing no anger or hate. Whatever reasons he had for his deed, the issue had been with Teach himself, not the Whitebeards and, it would seem, not with Whitebeard.

What had Teach done for Ace to hate him so?

Not that he would ever blame a brother for their own death but … Ace must have had a reason. He was a hothead, yes, but not a killer. That much was easy to tell, even after a short meeting with the boy. The whole incident with Teach bothered Marco for multiple reasons, but perhaps he'd have the answers he needed soon, and with them the ease of a well-informed decision. Uncertainty was the killer, and Marco was nothing but uncertain in this case.

Most would flinch upon standing in front of one of the four emperors, but Ace remained relaxed. If possible, the tension in his shoulders eased further as he drew a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily, the silence on deck becoming deafening, everyone sensing something was about to happen.

Ace opened his eyes, serene as still water, and slowly lowered himself to his knees before bowing deeply before Pops.

“I’m sorry,” he shouted, forehead and hands pressed to the floor, remaining there for several seconds before he sat up, eyes blank with unshed tears. At the sight of Ace’s broken expression, it felt like someone had grabbed Marco’s heart and squeezed. Fuck. Why did Ace have to be so … so Ace!

Thatch made a whimpering sound next to Marco.

“You’re sorry?” Pops said at length.

“For causing you and your crew trouble,” Ace explained, reeling his emotions in, that stubborn mask swallowing his face again, his eyes burning with determination at his next words. “But I can’t regret killing Teach, and I’m not sorry I did.”

Murmuring rose from the crowd like a swarm of angry locusts. Pops held up his hand, silencing everyone.

“Why did you?” He asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ace answered. “It’s done.”

Pops looked to Marco, Thatch, and Izou for an answer.

“We don’t know, he wouldn’t talk,” Izou said. “But he kept insisting we should kill him, and he jumped overboard, despite being a hammer.”

Ace flinched slightly.

“Said it was dangerous to bring him here,” Izou added.

“Did he,” Pops mused, a glint of interest in his eyes, although there was also the stone-cold anger of a father bereft of a son.

“Brat, you better explain yourself,” he addressed Ace.

“There’s nothing worth saying on the matter of Teach,” Ace insisted. “Like I told the others; they should have killed me instead of wasting time on this. I’m not going to give you an answer, and I’m not going to fight my punishment. I knew what it meant when I went against you.”

Whitebeard sneered. “Brats like you shouldn’t rush headfirst into death.”

“It’s my life,” Ace said, voice sharp and hard. He met Pops gaze head-on and held it, first angry – like a son challenging their dad, Marco couldn’t help but think-, then he suddenly looked almost content. “It’s my life, I’ve used it as I pleased, and I can part from it with no regrets. You’re rumored to be a man of your word. I killed your son – a life for a life, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Pops said, scrutinizing the youth in front of him. “Yes … you cost me a son. It’s only fair you pay me back by replacing him.”

Marco’s heart was beating out of his goddamn chest. Based on their short exchange Pops had chosen to keep Ace. There would be no execution, although it was not a simple matter of Pops forgiving and forgetting. The situation was as complex as ever, and Marco saw a lot of hurt and confusion making its rounds among the crew. Although he knew he wouldn’t be able to stomach seeing Ace executed, he also knew he couldn’t stomach anyone feeling betrayed by Pops’ decision, nor what such a betrayal could fester among their ranks.

Maybe Izou had been right.

Maybe they should have "lost" Ace at sea, but that surely would have ended in Ace’s death one way or another.

Ace looked stunned at Pops’ decision. Lost for words. Then dread settled in, his eyes widening in horror.

“What?” He croaked, staring at Pops for a few seconds before dread gave way to desperation. He jumped to his feet. “No! You can’t –”

“I’m an emperor of the sea!” Pops snapped. “Who are you to tell me what I can or can’t do, brat?”

Ace looked like a caged animal. Marco saw the wheels turning inside his head, frantically searching for a way to get out of this. To get himself killed probably, although Marco couldn’t for the life of him understand why Ace insisted on it so adamantly.

“I was born on Baterilla eighteen years ago,” Ace suddenly said, every word spoken like it caused him physical pain. “My mother was Portgas D. Rogue. With the help of Haki she carried me for twenty months before giving birth! The government mercilessly slaughtered hundreds of babies there the year I should have been born, just to remove any hint of remains on this earth from the man that sired me! Gol D. Roger!”

Oh.

… Oh.

The world was quiet, time stood still, and Ace was the focal point; the eye of a roaring storm.

“The marines, the government, they’ll go to war with even an emperor, if need be, in order to kill me! If you love your family and want to protect them, you can’t -! My very existence is a threat to everyone around me!”

The Moby sloshed gently from side to side, groaning as all boats did, unaware of the bathed breath of its entire crew.

“…I’ve sailed these seas since long before you were, son. I’m aware of the dangers, but there’s no point being Whitebeard if I can’t do what I want,” Pops said, unyielding. “I don’t care who your old man is. Here, we’re all children of the sea.”

Ace didn’t crumble in defeat as much as he was brought to his knees in complete despair.

“Thatch, feed your new brother. Marco, look to his wounds.”

“Aye, Pops.”

The two commanders exchanged a look, silently agreeing that Marco should bring their newest brother to the infirmary, then Thatch would meet them there with food.

Ace was shaking with shock when Marco managed to get him up from the floor. He quickly but gently whisked him away to the infirmary, bringing him to his own office. Ace, despite his crimes, should be allowed privacy when he was so obviously distressed.

Pops hadn’t dismissed the others. There was probably a discussion happening up on deck. Marco would hear about it later.

There was … a lot to discuss.

Sweet Mother Sea.

Roger’s son.

He placed Ace in the only chair in the office and walked over to his cabinets to fetch healing balms, only to startle when Ace suddenly cussed violently.

“Fuck!” Ace hunched over, pulling at his hair. “Fuck! Fucking - agh!”

Marco observed him, torn between two options.

Do the bare minimum and keep a distance.

Help as he wanted, get too close, and probably get burned.

“We’re pirates,” Marco found himself saying. “We don’t care about the Marines or the government. We’re sailing these seas to be free, unburdened by their rules. We don’t care who your fath –”

“Not. My. Father.” Ace spat; the glare he sent Marco was filled with feral rage. “I wouldn’t have mentioned that damn man if I hadn’t hoped …”

“That it would make Pops kill you?” Marco was wholly unimpressed. “Don’t be stupid, yoi. As if he’d be swayed by such things. It’s just blood.”

“Tell the government that,” Ace said, eyes turning hollow. He dragged trembling fingers through his mattered black hair, alerting Marco to another issue. He sorely needed a bath.

“I don’t know what you’ve gone through,” Marco said, squatting in front of Ace and gently taking hold of a hand. Ace didn’t fight it this time, allowing Marco to disinfect the wounds. “I don’t know what you’ve had to endure due to … blood, but no one knows what the future –”

A bitter snort of a laugh escaped Ace.

“I know.” Ace insisted. “I know exactly what the government is willing to do.”

Marco met his gaze; Ace spoke with such compelling conviction it was hard to refute. Better not engage in what was clearly an already lost argument.

“You don’t trust us to protect you?”

“I don’t trust myself to protect you,” Ace whispered, gaze dipping to Marcos's hands, shying away from Marco's scrutiny. “I always get people killed.”

Oh dear.

“We’re not babies and civilians,” Marco said. “We can defend ourselves just fine.”

“Could you defend the whole fleet from a buster call?” Ace asked. “Could all of you face admirals if need be? Sengoku? … Garp? The whole Marine?”

They both knew the answer to that.

“There’s always a risk,” Marco said. “You said it yourself; it’s your life. Following that logic, it’s our life. Ours to do with as we please, and if we want you here, if Pops want to adopt you, why shouldn’t you stay?”

“Maybe because I don’t want to?” Ace asked bitterly.

“That’s a lie, yoi,” Marco could easily tell.

“I’m not worth it,” Ace insisted, and that was not a lie. That was something Ace truly believed. Marco felt a stab of anger – not at Ace, but at the situation. At the world. At whatever or whoever convinced Ace of such a horrible untruth.

“That’s for us to decide, isn't it?”

Ace refused to say anything after that, looking like he might cry, sitting still as Marco saw to his wounds. He was almost done when Thatch knocked on the door, bringing a tray filled to the brim with delicious pies, meat and fish. Ace grit his teeth.

“Not hungry,” he hissed.

“I know you can eat a whole crocodile on your own, and you’ve barely eaten anything since we picked you up,” Thatch said, setting the food down on Marco’s desk. “Please eat.”

“I’m not …” Ace started to say, but suddenly choked on tears, looking beyond frustrated. “I will bring you nothing but misery. You shouldn’t have brought me here. I killed Teach. I was happy to do it! What part of that –”

“We know.” Thatch said, quietly. “Since you won’t tell us, we don’t know why, but we can tell that you’re not a bad kid at heart, Ace.”

“Fuck off,” Ace whispered, rubbing his hand over his face. “You don’t know … fuck you.”

Marco was sure he had never seen anyone more disconsolate, Ace oozing misery and distress. They would have to put someone to guard him. He didn’t trust that Ace wouldn’t do something stupid to himself.

“Eat,” he ordered, not able to be as gentle as Thatch. “We’ll be outside.”

He dragged his brother out, giving Ace some privacy. There were equipment and medicines he’d rather not have Ace anywhere near, but call it instinct, he felt it was safe to leave him alone in there.

Thatch collapsed down on one of the chairs out in the infirmary, his helpless gaze seeking out Marco’s.

“Marco, he …”

“I’ll figure something out, yoi” Marco said, keeping his voice low. “We all need to wash up, so we should suggest that, and then …”

“He can’t sleep alone, but we can’t throw him into the bunks with the others, given him being like that, and the situation at large … the crew needs time to digest this whole turn of events.”

“Mhm. Pops talked to them?”

“Yeah. Izou and Rush told everyone everything from our mission. Rush is all for keeping Ace, which convinced some, and Pops has called in Squard, to tell him in person.”

That meant Pops was serious about this. Not that he wouldn’t have made the offer if he wasn’t, but …

“Ok,” Marco said. “We have a few spare rooms, they’re small but –”

“That would leave him alone.”

“It’s that or bunking with me, since I have a room of my own, but I want to give him the option.”

Thatch raised an eyebrow.

“Not like that,” Marco hissed. The very last thing he could think of now, looking at Ace being so miserable, was sex. Marco would only feel like he was taking advantage, and he’d rather not.

Ace emerged from the office some twenty minutes later, carrying the tray with empty plates and bowls. He handed it over to Thatch with a polite bow.

“Thanks for the food,” he mumbled. He still looked miserable, but more collected. Thatch grinned happily, and never mind, Ace took one look at that smile and looked away with a gutted expression, his composure tenuous at best.

Marco weighed the options; let Ace go to sleep, or force him to wash?

“Come,” Marco said. “We’re washing up.”

If only so they didn’t have to change sheets come morning.

Ace grimaced, but he followed Marco to the bath designed for Devil Fruit users. It was way smaller than the public bath at the Moby, but since both of them were users and the bath was usually empty, Marco chose it.

When Marco stopped, Ace took a few more steps before he stopped, glancing at Marco with a tired but confused expression.

“Didn’t you say-?”

“The bath is here,” Marco said, frowning slightly. Down the hallway was the common bath, but Ace couldn’t know that.

“Oh.” Ace said in a monotone voice, expression unreadable. “Ok. Yeah.”

The exchange nagged at Marco, but he got distracted by noting that Ace’s shorts needed a good wash as well, when they undressed.

They washed efficiently, Marco taking care of Ace’s back and hair, which the younger man didn’t protest to, but it was obvious it was out of exhaustion and not out of acceptance.

“You can bunk with the men or sleep alone in one of the quarters, but under supervision from one of the commanders,” Marco said as he lathered Ace’s hair with soap for a second rinse, to get out all the dirt. “Those are your two options, yoi.”

“… whatever.” Ace said.

“I’ll decide on your behalf then.”

That got no response.

Fine.

He rinsed them both and lent Ace a pair of loose pants, which looked weird on him, and wrote a short letter to Pops. He sent the letter along with one of the cabin boys and dropped their clothes off at the laundry before he brought Ace to his own room. The space was cramped, filled with a narrow bed, a bookshelf, a chest holding his saved loot, and a chair to read in by a window facing out towards the sea. It was small but home to Marco.

“I can’t take your bed,” Ace said, although he slumped down on it, sitting on the edge.

“… Who said it was my bed?” Marco asked.

Ace sighed. “I hate this,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Marco wanted to ask – he had so many questions, but now was not the time for them.

“You should sleep, yoi.”

“What about you?” Ace asked.

“I’m a phoenix. I don’t need sleep.”

Ace snorted – a tired, yet amused sound. “Bullshit.” He laid down and patted the space next to him. It was a slim bed, not really meant for more than one. Being a commander didn’t mean he got everything bigger and better than anyone else, and Marco was content with that. He had never needed those kinds of luxuries – aside from his family, his bookshelf and medical cabinet were his treasure and the main thing he splurged on with his earnings.

“I promise not to jump you,” Ace said, his attempt at humor coming off as pained rather than casual.

“Not really what I was worried about,” Marco said. He opened his mouth to say something else, to ask, but in the end, he closed his mouth, opting to lie down next to Ace without questioning it. Space was limited, so they ended up crowding each other, Ace’s tired eyes meeting Marcos’s inquiring ones.

“You get one question,” Ace said. “I’m too exhausted for more than that.”

One question was more than Marco had expected.

He weighed his questions wisely before deciding to ask selfishly. Ace was on the Moby now, it was, when all was said and done, Pops’ responsibility to figure out what to make of Ace regarding the justice owed.

“Why did you sleep with me?”

Ace sighed.

“You couldn’t have picked a simpler question?” He asked, half-jokingly, eyes shifting away. A faint blush colored his freckled cheeks. Marco tried to see if there was anything of Roger there, but Ace must have gotten most of his looks from his mom. There was, however, something around the eyes and something about his chin that echoed a man long dead.

Ace’s vehemence against Roger was perhaps not surprising but still felt unwarranted. Marco had never minded the man. Fighting his crew had always been a lot of fun, but Marco got the impression that reminiscing about Ace’s old man would earn him a solid punch in the face, no matter how bone-tired Ace was.

“I wanted to because I thought I’d die?” Ace said eventually, not sounding sure. “I wanted a last nice thing to remember?”

“I see,” Marco said at length, not seeing it at all. Ace sent him a guilty look.

“It’s not like I didn’t think about how it would affect you, if you were to later learn that I … but – fuck, I don’t know Marco. This is all so fucked. You have no idea. I wish I could tell you, but you’re not … you. But you’re … you. And I wanted you. I wasn’t going to, when we met, but you kept staring at me and you’re so … and I needed … I dunno. Like a last memento? Because I never got to say goodbye before. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to feel used. I hoped I could make it good for you and I hoped you would never learn the truth, but that didn’t pan out … I think I’m pretty shit at planning. None of my plans ever pan out.”

His rambling made no sense, but Marco had asked his question and thus kept his mouth shut, observing the warring feelings openly displayed on Ace’s face. Guilt, regret, grief, confusion, but also …

I wanted you.

A stranger had no right to say that with so much feeling, as if Marco was an oasis in a desert.

Ace hadn’t wanted whoever.

He had wanted Marco specifically.

It really made no sense. He would have to ask Ace to elaborate later. Maybe he could get a question answered each night, like that guy who got a story each night for a thousand and one nights or whatever Jozu had told him once.

Patience usually paid off in the end.

They had time now, and whatever may become of the initial bond they had formed, Marco’s goal was always the wellbeing of the crew. Ace was a part of the crew now, and Marco wanted to see him smile again. To see him carefree and laughing. He’d blend so well in with them all, Marco could tell, if he accepted his place among them and if the crew was able to accept him back.

But they needed a foundation of trust.

Ace would, at some point, have to be honest about Teach for them all to be able to move on.

And the Whitebeards … maybe they could help heal those scars on Ace’s soul until they became bearable. Maybe they could make Ace realize he was worth it; their friendships, their care …

All of it.

*

Marco snuck out of his room a few hours later; it was close to night. Ace slept soundly, and Thatch was waiting outside. His brother stayed to keep an eye on Ace while Marco went to have an overdue talk with Whitebeard.

He found his old man in the captain's quarters, drinking.

“Pops,” Marco scolded. The old man grimaced.

“Really?” He asked. “You’ll deny me this, tonight?”

“… you better share,” Marco grumbled, and thankfully received a cup of his own. They sat in silence, drinking and staring out into nothingness.

“You spared him,” Marco settled on saying.

“No point in killing someone who wants to die,” Pops grunted.

“Ace is …” Marco exhaled. “Ace is so … confusing.”

“He’s an interesting kid, that’s for sure.” Pops topped off Marco’s cup again. While he had to work very hard to get even slightly tipsy, the burn of alcohol was a feeling he craved tonight.

“Where to start,” Marco mused. “He kept insisting he would cause us trouble. That he wasn’t worth it. Seemed afraid our whole fleet would have to face a buster call because of him. His view on what the Marines are willing to do is much lower than even our view of them.”

Pops grumbled something under his breath, not meant for Marco’s ears it seemed, as the emperor didn’t repeat himself when he sent him a questioning look.

“He hates Roger,” Marco added instead. “Said he only mentioned it because he hoped it could sway you to kill him.”

Pops scoffed.

“He reminds me of that fiend when he was young before he got the mustache,” Pops said. “Just as bull-headed as well … he appealed to me by begging me to protect my family.”

“Most don’t know how much family means to us,” Marco agreed. Most thought it was a title; Pops. An empty word. But there was nothing empty about it to the Whitebeards. A bunch of outcasts, given a home, a family, when they had none. “Ace has a high opinion of us all. I asked if he was scared we couldn’t protect him, and he answered he couldn’t protect us. He … apologized. But he won’t say why he killed Teach.”

Pops hummed, lost in thoughts.

They drank some more and talked some more, but there was no easy solution to the problem at hand.

When Marco was about to leave, Pops stopped him to add; “I’ll be strict with him, can’t be anything but, but you should follow your gut. Do as you feel is best.”

“Sure Pops,” Marco said, feeling the crushing weight of that freedom. It was difficult to deal with such a muddled situation; the good of the crew weighted against what Marco wanted, which again was weighed against what was best for Ace.

The three did not seem to align.

Yet.

*

When Ace woke Marco sat in his chair, reading. Ace rolled over in bed, hugging the pillow, smiled softly, and gazed at Marco with a warm, content look that didn’t match his distress from the day before.

“Reading without glasses, old man? You’ll go blind like that, ya know.”

… how did Ace know that he used glasses to read? Was it a guess?

“How are you feeling?” Marco asked. Ace frowned, confused for a second before his expression smoothed out to a blank stare. Marco could actually see – physically see on Ace’s face – the events of the last days catch up with him, memories slotting into place. Saw that soft light die, replaced by that desolate sadness he merely had glimpsed when they first met.

Maybe he should have teased back after all.

“Shit,” Ace whispered and hid his face in the pillow. “Oh no,” he moaned in despair. “Did I – fuck, I told all of you …”

“About Baterilla?”

“Why didn’t you let me drown?” Ace moaned, and maybe it was wishful thinking, but he didn’t appear to be a hundred percent serious about his statement. “I don’t want to live in a world where everyone knows!”

“Then you shouldn’t have told.”

Marco put down his book, studying Ace’s slumped form.

“I told you, we don’t care about blood,” Marco said. Ace lay silently on the bed for a few more seconds before sitting up, giving Marco a sullen glare.

“And I told you it will cause you problems. If it hasn’t already. The Marines will be pissed over that stunt of yours, and Akainu … he really, really didn’t like me. Not that I give a shit, but he’ll take my dissapearence personally. Fucking magma-bastard. I’d punch a hole through him if I could.” The last bit was muttered under Ace’s breath, but Marco heard it all the same and felt the urge to study Ace to see if he had any holes, even though he knew he didn’t.

“That’s our risk,” Marco insisted.

Ace dragged a hand through his hair, gritting his teeth, but then he shrugged it off.

“What now?” He asked seriously. “What’s P- uhm, Whitebeard’s orders?”

This time Marco at least understood what Ace had been about to say, even though there had been other instances where Ace cut himself off and Marco had been left wondering what Ace could possibly have been about to say.

“You can call him Pops if you want,” Marco said.

Ace shook his head. “He’s not … Pops. And I’m not a Whitebeard.”

For some reason, that sounded like the biggest lie Ace had told so far.

Notes:

No one gave Ace the 101 on time travel

Chapter 4: The Ocean is Between the Walls

Summary:

Long time no see, haha! Ha, ha .... sorry ...

The most complicated part of introducing Ace to the Moby was not, as Marco might have feared, the rest of the crew. Despite the circumstances that brought their new brother to the boat, and despite his best attempt at convincing everyone that he was a danger to them, that he was someone they would be better off without, the crew took to Ace rather quickly.

Even Squard, after talking things through with Pops and seeing Ace for himself, couldn’t seem to find it in himself to hate Ace. Squard wanted nothing to do with him, of course, but that was the best outcome they’d hoped for.

No … the problem was all Ace.

Weeks went by, with no improvement in Ace’s mood.

Marco and Thatch tried, they really did, but aside from Ace telling them he could help with navigation – to earn his keep -, the kid did his best to not show interest in being there or getting to know anyone. His "best attempts" made him seem schizophrenic: He sometimes forgot himself; he'd joke with crew members and act like he’d always been a part of the crew, only to suddenly remember his fears, shut down, and isolate himself. Ace's fear for their safety was constant and insistent, and there was nothing anyone could say that would convince Ace that they were fine and would be fine.

Charming and outgoing some of the time, a morose husk of a human most of the time, and just plain odd all the time. No one knew what to make of Ace, which probably was why no one could find it in them to truly dislike him.

And perhaps it would have remained that way for a long time, had they not had a run-in with the Marines. Not the Moby Dick itself – the Marines would never dare – but they got a distress call from the Little Pirates who were under heavy attack. The Moby promptly changed course to come to their aid.

Little Oars Jr., the captain, was a giant, feared by most Marines, but the bootlickers had been unnaturally aggressive this last week, due to the Whitebeard's attack on one of their ships.

Haruta had shown the commanders a wanted poster of Ace, two days prior. A hundred million Beli for Fire Fist Ace. Not bad for a first bounty, but then again, he had faced Akainu.

From the little they had gleaned from the few things Ace told them – after being asked repeatedly – was that he’d hurt Akainu; not badly enough for the man to be completely out of commission, but badly enough to piss the man off royally. The remaining Marines had managed to put Ace into seastone-cuffs when the battle died down and Akainu was taken off to a medic. Akainu’s last order had been for Ace to rot in Impel Down.

And then the Whitebeards thwarted that punishment.

Right now, Marco walked up to the map room, looking for Ace. As a young boy he’d loved navigation himself, and while he still liked it, his passion for medicine took precedence over every other subject he could have pursued. Yet, there was a part of him that missed it. There was something so calming about entering the navigation room. All the maps and instruments, and crinkling of paper and ticking of clocks.

Ace sat by one of the windows, keeping one eye on the eternal log poses and another on a piece of vivre card inside a jar- belonging to Little Oars Jr. -, as well as studying a map of the New World. The others in the map room bussed around, one of them talking to the Little Pirates' navigator through a den-den mushi, to stay updated on their movements and circumstances.

“They’re still holding their own,” Marco was informed when he entered.

“Good.”

He walked over to Ace. While miserable, the kid didn’t look as fragile as he had when they brought him back. He was healed, he ate his food and tried to sleep at night. Marco couldn’t help but notice that he often woke from nightmares. A bit hard to miss when they shared a bed each night ... Ace would also often wake up, clutching his chest as if in pain, but after the first time Marco insisted on checking if there was a medical issue and Ace had pushed him away, Marco had kept his mouth shut. Sometimes, at night, he couldn’t help but listen. Ace mumbled in his sleep, always distressed and desperate, expression pinched. Sometimes there were tears. The mumbling was just gibberish, but Marco thought he heard names sometimes.

One in particular:

Luffy.

When the mumbling turned into cries, he’d shake Ace gently until he woke. Ace would mumble thanks and fall asleep again, usually snuggling closer to Marco with no second thought, as if Marco’s presence was a comfort to him.

Ace hadn’t asked for other accommodations, and Marco was selfish enough to want to keep an eye on him, feeling that the kid was his responsibility.

“Steady going?” Marco asked, sitting down on the edge of the table. Ace gave him a flat stare.

“As if you can’t tell.”

And that was another thing about Ace. He would sometimes do or say things that… he just seemed to know things he had no way of knowing. Things about Marco, about Thatch, about random crew members – he seemed to have most of their names down, somehow – and he had yet to get lost on the ship.

If it hadn’t been impossible, Marco would have said Ace had been a member for years, living on the ship, breathing the same salty sea as them.

“I’m pants at navigations, yoi,” Marco pressed gently, playing it off as banter.

“Yeah, and my hat is blue,” Ace muttered under his breath. The orange hat in question lay on the edge of the table, living precariously; always close to being bumped off the table by Ace’s elbow. He had received the hat back from Thatch, although they had not returned Striker to him, unsure if he would run away to drown himself if they did.

Marco traced that soft freckled face with his eyes, appreciating how it was devoid of worry for now as Ace was preoccupied with leaning over the map, checking some small detail.

“What will you do when we join the fray?” Marco asked.

“Beat some Marine ass, I guess,” Ace said absentmindedly, frowning at the map. “There's a coral reef missing. Here. It’s too shallow for any bigger ship to cross. We need to update this, or someone will run aground.”

And for someone who just entered the New World, allegedly for the first time, Ace was scarily knowledgeable.

“I’ll ask one of the other ships to map it, yoi,” Marco said, pursing his lips, thoughts drifting to the conversation they had in his office the day they brought Ace aboard. Ace’s snort when Marco said no one could know the future. He thought about the anxiety Ace had for their wellbeing, his insistence that his presence would cause them trouble, and … he didn’t know anything for sure, but he wasn’t stupid, nor unobservant, and strange things were wont to happen on strange seas.

No matter.

Even if something fantastic and impossible had happened, he couldn’t find it in himself to care about the future.

Marco was a pirate. He was selfish, and he was happy Ace was here with them, at the same time as he wanted Ace to be happy. Which he wasn’t, and that was the root of Marco's current problems.

He just wanted Ace to be happy, to shine as brightly as he was supposed to.

Marco considered making a jab, to say that if Ace were to fight with them, he might as well take the mark – the Marines thought he was in leagues with them either way, but he also knew it was a sore spot. He left all the coaxing to Pops, who had spoken to Ace a few times since he arrived. Ace always seemed torn between being happy, shameful, and sad around Pops, especially whenever he repeated that he couldn’t take the mark.

It was obvious he admired Pops. Loved him, even.

Many things about Ace were confusing, even with the glaringly possible yet impossible answer.

Putting the pieces together was like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle with no corners and no reference photo. But for all that it was confusing, the only piece Marco couldn’t make any sense of whatsoever was Teach.

“Little pirates in sight!” One of the navigators suddenly informed them. Marco jumped down from the table. With Ace in tow, he walked out on deck, joining the others.

Their allies were pressed between the shores of an abandoned island and four Marine battlecruisers, bombarding them relentlessly. Marco spotted Little Oars Jr. in the water, standing in front of his ship, protecting it and his crew with his gigantic sword, reflecting cannonballs, although he was not able to reach the enemy ships that kept a cowardly distance.

Shouts could be heard from the Marines; they had spotted the Moby. Having encountered enough situations like this before, the Whitebeards knew the Marines would try to do as much damage as possible before running away last minute, comfortable with attacking the Whitebeard's allies but fearing the Moby Dick itself.

“Don’t let them escape,” Pops said, standing at the front of the bow. Nothing could dissuade Edward Newgate from protecting his family, not even age and sickness.

“Marco,” Ace said by his elbow, catching his attention. “If I have Striker I can take those ships down, easy.”

Marco hesitated, not doubting Ace’s strength, but rather his dedication to staying if they gave him a means of escape. But if they wanted Ace to join them, they had to trust him.

“I won’t run away,” Ace said, reading Marco’s mind.

“I know,” Marco said although he didn’t. He turned towards Thatch, who stood a few meters away and whistled to catch his attention. “We need Striker.”

“Really?” Thatch asked, giving Ace an unsure glance, but at Marco’s nod, he went to retrieve the small boat, designed specifically for Ace’s logia power. A small happy grin ghosted over Ace’s mouth when he received it, and he ran up to Pops. That was the first real smile Marco had seen on his face since Fishman Island – not a smile because he forgot himself, but a smile that forced its way to the surface despite him remembering.

“Old man, I’m not joining you, but permission to pay you back for feeding me!”

Pops mulled it over, before laughing and nodding.

“Fine, show us what you got, brat.”

Ace jumped overboard, Striker in his hands. Everyone watched as he landed on the water, standing on his small boat, firing up the engine.

“Marco,” Pops said. He didn't need to ask twice. Marco transformed into his phoenix form and followed Ace as the kid cruised over the waves, reaching the battlecruisers in no time. Ace jumped up from Striker, the small boat continuing to run past the Marine ships as Ace somersaulted over them, lashing out with great punches sending fire columns crashing down into the ships, causing them to explode. It was quick and efficient. The Marines stood no chance.

Ace landed on Striker, his jump perfectly timed with his boat. This wasn’t the first time he'd done such a stunt, then, yet he hadn’t been on the Marine’s radar until he fought Akainu.

Marco followed suit when Ace maneuvered Striker to join Little Oars Jr.

“Oy, are you ok!” He shouted to the gigantic giant. Marco landed on one of Little Oars’ horns, surprised, although he probably shouldn’t have been, that Ace was acting friendly towards the giant.

“Fine,” Oars said, able to relax now that no canons were bombarding him. “Who are you?”

“I’m Ace! I’m just helping out!”

“New brother,” Marco supplied from where he perched. Oars grunted something non-committed and started wading to shore. The Little Pirates stood on the deck of their ship, crying out of happiness.

“Captain!” They wailed. “Thank you for protecting us!”

“S’fine,” Oars said, blushing. Despite being so huge, he was a true softie.

Ace landed on the beach before any of them, dragging Striker with him and using the boat as a bench, high enough up on the beach that he escaped the waves created by Oars as the giant got up on land.

“You’re big!” Ace commented.

“And you’re small,” Oars said, sitting down with a force that shook the entire island. Ace laughed and Marco felt something ease inside of him. That was the sound he heard on Fishman Island, the sound that came so naturally to Ace. The sound that had been absent until now.

“Man, it’s hot,” Oars complained, wiping his brow, almost accidentally smacking Marco away, so Marco flew down to land next to Ace, just to be safe. Without looking at him, Ace reached out and scratched Marco’s neck, something that felt surprisingly good. He hadn’t known; no one had scratched or petted him before when he was in this form, but Ace did so absentmindedly.

“You should get a hat,” Ace told Oars. “To protect you from the sun!”

“They don’t make them for someone as big as me.”

“If I can get a hold of enough straw, I could probably weave you a straw-hat! It might take a while though; I’m made of fire, and I tend to burn very flammable things by accident!”

Oars peered down at Ace, confused.

“You’d do that?”

“Yeah, of course!” Ace easily promised.

Marco noted to himself that they had to get a hold of a lot of straw and that there was no way they could let Ace do that on the Moby, not without risking the ship.

Oars looked towards the shore, where the Moby finally joined them. The moment the giant looked away, Ace’s cheer faded, and he looked up at the giant with profound sadness. It was there and gone in a second, by the time Oars faced Ace and Marco again, an easy grin decorating the kid's face.

Marco turned back into himself. Ace removed his hand without seeming to know he had touched Marco in the first place.

The others reached the beach, Thatch throwing together a feast for everyone to enjoy. A good chunk of the crew stopped by Ace and Marco to applaud Ace’s stunt. Ace looked uncomfortable with the attention and ended up hiding on Oars when it became too much, the giant letting him as the two of them got on like a house on fire.

Pops noticed and beckoned Marco over.

“Ace wants to make Oars a hat,” Marco said as a greeting.

“A … hat?”

“A straw-hat, yoi. Said he could weave one when Oars complained about the heat.”

“Like those from Wano?” Izou, who was close by, asked. Marco shrugged. Izou directed a sharp glance toward Ace and walked over, probably to interrogate him.

“He seems taken with our Little Oars,” Pops said, seeing this side of Ace for the first time. The seemingly carefree kid who goofed around and showed emotions besides sadness. The crew jeered at him, screaming compliments, while Ace turned redder and redder and climbed higher and higher up on Oars.

“There’s straw on this island,” Marco noted. “Perhaps Ace could make a hat here ... Oars could deliver him back to the Moby when the hat's done.”

Pops hummed. “You’d stay with him, then?”

“If you allow it,” Marco said.

“As if you’d need my blessing,” Pops said, chuckling. “Ace is a good kid, for all that he is a troubled soul.”

“We still don’t know –”

“I know enough,” Pops said. “And what I don’t know, I can guess.”

Marco wished he was able to have the same finality regarding the matter as Pops, but the guilt of holding affection for a man who killed one of their own wouldn’t leave him completely, nor the feeling of betrayal when he first learned about the murder. If Ace loved them all so much, why ... what had Teach done? Again, Marco didn't want to blame a brother for his own death, but Ace ... he wouldn't have killed someone without reason. Without good reason.

“Stay,” Pops said. “Oars will be happy.”

So, they stayed.

Ace was surprised, but happy at the news, and foraged straw immediately, humming to himself as he started weaving, his project sometimes catching fire, but he took it all in stride and worked eagerly while Oars and the Little Pirates kept them company after the Moby left.

Maybe it was the fresh air or being away from the Moby, but Ace was as relaxed as Marco had ever seen him. He laughed at the Little Pirate’s antics and impressed them all by hunting game in the forest, easily wrestling bears with his bare hands.

It wasn’t that Marco couldn’t, it was just that Ace was a natural at it, moving through the forest with the ease of someone growing up in one, demolishing gigantic animals like it was an everyday occurrence.

And maybe, due to the relaxed mood, Marco’s heart decided to remind him of dormant feelings. The young man he saw in Fisherman Island, the young man he saw here, was the brightest of flames, and phoenixes couldn’t help but be drawn to fire.

This kind of easy-going happiness was all Marco wanted for Ace.

Maybe … maybe he never could be happy on the Moby. What would Marco do then? The Moby and its crew were Marco’s whole life. He wasn’t naïve, he knew it couldn’t last forever, and he knew that after this perfect haze evaporated, he wanted a maybe-forever with Ace. But he also wanted to make the most of it, as long as the Whitebeards lasted.

He wasn’t sure what Ace thought about all of this, but he did notice that Ace’s glances gained a depth of warmth and want the longer they stayed on the island. While Ace had found comfort in Marco on the Moby, there’d been a wall of what Marco could only describe as grief between them. Ace hadn’t shown interest in anything beyond cuddling, and Marco, seeing Ace so miserable, hadn’t felt anything but compassion for the kid and frustration at his own inability to comfort Ace.

Although they had not had sex since Fishman Island, and Marco was unsure if that would be advisable to do so again anytime soon, that spark that led them together in the first place had ignited between them again on this island. Whenever he buried his face in the crook of Ace's neck, smelt the sun-kissed skin which smelt of grass and sand and sea, and Ace cuddled up to Marco at night, hugging him just a bit tighter than usual, it wasn’t difficult to imagine what they could have been hadn’t Ace killed Marco’s brother, and hadn’t Ace been haunted by a past that might be a future, but might also just remain a past.

Their last night on the island found Ace and Marco cuddling on the beach a few meters away from the campfire where the Little Pirates danced and sang to amuse themselves. Ace chuckled in his embrace, observing the party, but making no move to join tonight, as he had other nights.

“They love him,” Ace said. Marco followed his glance, seeing Oars, who sported a fancy new straw-hat, indeed in the style of Wano. Izou had asked how Ace knew how to make one, and Ace had apparently answered a young girl he met taught him.

There was no way Ace could have visited Wano in the short time since he entered the New World, but perhaps this was another case of Ace knowing things he wasn’t supposed to know.

“He’s a good captain, yoi,” Marco said. Ace hummed, brushing his fingers over Marco’s hand which rested on his stomach. Marco buried his face into Ace’s neck, knowing it was beyond inadvisable to act as if this happy bubble wouldn’t burst.

Ace hadn’t accepted yet.

Ace was unhappy on the Moby.

Marco couldn’t …

“Thank you.” Ace said out of the blue. “I needed this.”

“Of course,” Marco said, lifting his head to peer down on the younger man. His face was illuminated by the campfire, the glow of it washing over him in pleasant orange hues. He looked devastatingly kissable. “We’re not trapped on the Moby, although …”

Although Ace owed Pops a price. A life for a life.

“Yeah,” Ace said, some of that soul-deep tension and sadness returning to him. Marco hated it, yet he couldn't bring himself to be too gentle with Ace. They couldn't avoid every topic Ace might find upsetting, and trying to would have done neither of them a favor. “I … I wouldn’t have minded if I didn’t know –”

“Ace,” Marco gently cupped his jaw to make him meet his eyes. “Whatever you think you know, forget it. You're here and now, with us, and no one knows what the future might bring. Stay. Please.”

Stay with me.

Ace caressed Marco's cheek lovingly, yet his eyes were filled with regret.

“I can’t forget.”

It felt like taking one step forward and one step backward.

*

Back on the Moby Ace returned to his subdued self, although there was perhaps a bit more color in his cheeks now.

Marco wasn’t without hope.

Notes:

Point out any big mistakes and I'll change them when I have the time and energy,

Sincerely,
A tired person who still needs to write fics like other people need to breathe