Chapter Text
Ace was tired, to say the least. After an absurd amount of grueling questions, statements, and a light so bright it should probably be considered a human rights violation shining directly in his face, it was safe to say anyone would be tired.
Ace had walked into that station at exactly 1:00 PM. It was now 5:30. And every ounce of willpower he possessed had officially left his body somewhere around hour three.
He trudged out of the station, wrists sore after having been cuffed for most of the experience.
His shoulders ached from sitting in the same uncomfortable chair for what felt like an eternity, and his head throbbed with the kind of headache that made him want to crawl into bed and not come back out until the next century.
He'd been asked the same questions over and over.
“Where were you before midnight?”
“What were you doing?”
“Why were you walking there?”
“Did you know the victim?”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Why did you get into an altercation with her a week ago?”
“Have you ever spoken to her outside the bar?”
“Did you have a reason to hurt her?”
“Have you ever hurt anyone before?”
And every time Ace had given them the same answers.
“Deuces.”
“Walking home.”
“Took the long way home.”
“Only from the bar.”
“At the bar, a week ago.”
“She was getting handsy with a customer.
“No.”
“Absolutely fucking not.”
And yet they kept asking. Because apparently if you asked someone the same question enough times, eventually they would get tired enough to accidentally confess to a murder they didn't commit. At least, that seemed to be the strategy.
Ace sighs as he walks down the steps, rubbing his sore wrists. He had survived. Barely. But he had survived. And true to Marco's words, the doctor was still waiting there.
The freckled man huffs a small laugh as he approaches the parked car. He stops for a moment. Marco's head is leaned against the window, mouth slightly agape, breathing shallow and fast.
Fast asleep.
Ace stares. For someone who looked so intimidating and stoic when he was awake, Marco looked almost ridiculously peaceful asleep.
His usually neat blond hair had fallen slightly over his forehead. His shoulders had slumped against the driver's seat, and there was something about the whole picture that made Ace's chest feel strangely warm.
The man had waited for him. For four and a half hours. Ace knew Marco had probably expected to wait a while. He'd known the questioning could take hours. Still. He'd waited.
Ace's mouth twitches upward. Now, you might judge him for what he does next. But honestly, he'd already sniffed the man's pillow full force. It couldn't get weirder. At least he hoped it couldn't.
He pulls his phone from his pocket. Then looks around.
Nobody seems to be watching. Perfect.
Ace quickly snaps a picture of the sleeping blond. He looks at it. Then, without a shred of shame, adds it to his favourites.
Okay. Maybe it could get weirder.
He stares at the picture for another second before locking his phone. There was something almost ridiculous about how happy that stupid picture made him.
Marco was just — Marco. Kind. Patient. Calm. And for the last several days, somehow always there.
Ace had never really thought of himself as someone who needed people. He had his brothers. He had Deuce. He had Dadan and Makino and the rest of the people at the bar. He had a family. But Marco was different.
Marco had appeared at the worst possible moment and somehow managed to make everything feel a little less horrible. Even when Ace was convinced the entire world was closing in around him, Marco had been there.
A steady presence. A calm in the storm that had become Ace's life.
Ace decides to let the doctor enjoy his nap for a little bit longer. He leans against the side of the car and scrolls through his phone.
Deuce was probably still at his house helping Sabo take care of the monstrosity that was a hungover Luffy.
Ace cringes as he clicks the phone icon on his best friend's profile. It rings for what has to be only a second before he gets an answer.
“Is everything alright?” Deuce's panicked voice echoes through the speaker.
Ace sighs, rubbing at his forehead. He should have known Deuce would have been waiting for the news.
Sure, the cops hadn't had enough to convict him yet. Just one tiny bar disagreement, the fact that he'd found the body so fresh, and the unfortunate fact that he'd been close enough to the crime scene to become their favourite suspect. Otherwise, they had nothing.
Ace hadn't touched the body, so there wasn't any DNA. And thankfully, a camera had caught a blurry image of him on a completely different street around the estimated time of the girl's death.
So realistically? They had nothing.
But Ace wasn't stupid enough to rely solely on that. One way or another, the cops would come up with some bullshit theory about how he'd pulled it off.
Why? Because this was their first break. A case that had given them nothing for weeks.
And if throwing his name around like he was the killer, putting him under suspicion, and letting the public know they had someone they could point at helped soothe everyone's worries? Then that was precisely what they were going to do.
“I’m fine, Deuce. They just let me out,” Ace explains half heartedly. He really didn't want to relive the entire experience right now.
There was a faint click behind him. The soft close of a car door. And out of the corner of his eye, he sees the figure approaching. It isn't until that familiar voice reaches him that he knows who it is for sure.
“Who are you calling, yoi?” Marco's words are gravelly with sleep. Deep. Rough. And doing something to Ace that he is absolutely unwilling to acknowledge.
Ace turns to face him. “Just Deuce.” He finally manages it as he smiles up at the blond doctor.
Marco rubs gently at his eyes before offering a sleepy smile in return. Ace can hear Deuce saying something through the phone. He has no idea what.
“Ace?”
Nothing.
“Ace, are you listening to me?”
Ace looks at Marco. Marco looks back. Something about the sleepy smile on the doctor's face makes the following decision very easy.
“Nope.”
He hangs up.
Marco stares at him. Wide eyed. Then a shocked smile slowly grows across the taller man's face. A chuckle escapes him. “You do know he's gonna be pissed when you get back, right?”
“Yep.” Ace smiles slyly, eyes filled with that same chaos they always seemed to hold. “That’s why we’re not going back.” He winks. Then he walks past Marco toward the car.
His shoulders shake as he tries to contain his laughter at the notion that he'd actually managed to shock Marco into silence. Footsteps follow after him, though, joining his side easily.
Ace reaches for the passenger side handle. Before he can grab it, another hand catches the door. Marco opens it for him.
The younger pauses. He looks at the open door. Then at Marco. The doctor offers him a completely innocent smile. Ace's brain, meanwhile, promptly stops functioning.
Marco had opened the door for him. Like some sort of gentleman. Like some sort of prince. Ace's prince. His cheeks warm. He really needs to stop thinking like that.
“Why, thank you.” Ace laughs softly as he hops into the passenger seat. Marco offers a mock bow before rounding the car and getting back into the driver's seat.
The door closes. The engine starts. For the first time in hours, Ace doesn't feel trapped. He feels like he can breathe.
Marco glances at him as he pulls away from the station. “So, if we aren't going back, where exactly are we going?”
Ace hums. He looks out the window for a moment before turning back toward Marco. “Well, I've still gotta beat your Pops in at least one game.”
Marco huffs a laugh. “You're still trying?”
“I refuse to die without accomplishing something meaningful.”
“Beating Pops at a game is meaningful?”
“To me.”
Marco shakes his head, smiling. “Fair enough, yoi.”
And somehow, just like that, the horrible day doesn't feel quite so horrible anymore.
——————————————————————————————————————————
The moment they step through the front door, Ace is greeted by a familiar booming laugh.
“Back to lose another game, Ace?” The old man laughs loudly, eyes crinkling as he takes in the figure of his first son and the freckled bartender.
Ace grins. “You wish.” He grabs Marco's hand. The other blinks. Ace doesn't notice. Or maybe he does and simply doesn't care. He tugs the doctor down the hall. “Come on.”
Marco lets himself be dragged along. “Where are we going?”
“To inevitable defeat.”
“Mine?”
“Pops' defeat.”
Marco laughs. “Good luck with that.”
——————————————————————————————————————————
The games ensue. And, like always, Ace is left to deal with the unfortunate reality that there is absolutely no way he can beat the old man at anything. Anything.
Hell, Ace had even broken out Monopoly in a last ditch attempt to win. He'd cheated, too. And still the old man had won.
Ace had accused him of cheating. Edward had simply laughed. Ace had threatened to flip the board. Edward had laughed harder.
Now they were back to chess. A game Ace now swore vengeance upon as every second passed.
He groaned as he slid down on the couch cushion. Edward hums as he moves his piece. Ace stares at the board. He looks at Edward. He looks at the board again. He squints.
He has no idea what is happening. He had never really been good at thinking games. He was a roll the dice and hope for the best kind of guy. And when that didn't work? He usually cheated in some way or another to get what he wanted.
Planning ahead had never been his strongest skill. Thinking six moves into the future? Absolutely not. Running directly into a problem and figuring it out once he got there? Much more his speed.
Ace drags a hand down his face as he looks at the board. He's not particularly losing. They had just started the game, after all. But he still has absolutely no clue what to do.
He looks at the pieces like they might suddenly explain themselves. They don't.
He can feel movement beside him. Someone sits down. A fresh plate of fruit is placed on the table.
Marco had returned from his snack retrieving adventure. And considering the quiet chuckle that follows after the blond sits down, Marco is quite amused by Ace's current predicament.
“How's it going, Ace?” The man teases.
Black eyes meet blue with an annoyed glance. “Terrible.”
Marco's smirk only grows. “That's dramatic, yoi.”
“You're not the one losing.”
“You've barely started.”
“I've already lost spiritually.”
Marco laughs. He leans forward to look at the board. Ace watches him from the corner of his eye. The blond reaches out. He moves one of the pieces. Ace watches with mild intrigue. Edward immediately frowns.
“You can't help him.” Marco looks up at his father. Edward folds his arms in disapproval. “It's not nice to team up on your father.”
“Oh, you've beaten him a hundred times over.” Marco smiles. “Let him have the help.”
Edward grumbles something beneath his breath. Ace, meanwhile, has apparently decided that the fruit is more important than the argument. He reaches for a strawberry. Then another. Then another. Marco looks over. Ace is somehow shoving a fifth strawberry into his mouth.
The doctor raises an eyebrow. Ace freezes. His cheeks are full. Marco's eyebrow rises higher.
The younger flusters. He tries to swallow everything at once. It doesn't work.
Marco's smile widens. Ace points accusingly at him. “Shut up.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“Yeah well you were gonna.”
“I was only thinking you might want to slow down.”
Ace swallows. “I was hungry.”
“I can see that, yoi.”
“Don't judge me.”
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
Marco laughs quietly. Ace grabs another strawberry out of spite.
Edward watches the exchange silently. Something about the way his son is looking at Ace makes the old man's expression change slightly. But neither man notices. Not yet.
Ace finally manages to swallow. “What? You aren't gonna keep helping?”
“I’m not gonna play every move for you.” Marco leans back. “How would you learn if I did that?” He raises a questioning eyebrow. Something about that look makes butterflies flutter within the freckled man's stomach.
Ace gulps. He looks back at the board.
Right. Chess. Focus.
He moves. Wrong. Edward takes his pawn.
Ace stares. “You did that on purpose.”
Edward raises an eyebrow. “That's generally how chess works.”
The younger glares. Marco covers his mouth to hide another laugh.
Ace moves again. Wrong. Another piece disappears.
He stares at the board. He looks toward Marco. The doctor simply smiles. No help. Ace narrows his eyes. Traitor.
He makes another move. Wrong again. He is now fully losing and he doesn't know how he got here. He looks toward Marco again. Still nothing.
“Marco.”
“Hm?”
“Help.”
“You said you wanted to beat Pops.”
“I do.”
“Then think, yoi.
“I am thinking.”
“Think harder.”
Ace looks personally offended. “I don't like your tone.”
Marco laughs. Ace turns back toward the board. He studies it. He genuinely tries. For about ten seconds. Then he gives up.
He slowly turns toward Marco. Fully this time. He clasps his hands together. His eyes widen. He makes his expression as pitiful as physically possible.
Marco's smile disappears. Ace watches. The doctor actually flinches slightly at the sudden closeness. There it is. That little flicker of surprise in Marco's eyes. Ace finds it addictive. He leans closer.
“Please, Marco.” The doctor's eyes widen slightly. Ace smiles sweetly. “I'm a visual learner.”
Marco stares at him. Ace pouts. It is completely intentional. He knows exactly what he's doing. At least, he thinks he does.
Because whatever confidence Marco had possessed a second ago seems to evaporate almost instantly. Blue eyes widen. But there is something else there. Something Ace can't quite place.
Something hungry. Something dark. Something that makes the butterflies in his stomach turn into an entire hurricane. And Ace likes it. Maybe more than he should.
Marco swallows. His gaze flickers down toward Ace's lips for half a second before returning to his eyes. His heart stutters. Eventually, the shock is replaced by the oh so familiar calm that usually lingers on the doctor's face. “Fine, yoi.”
Ace smiles cheekily. He turns back toward the board. “Thank you.”
Marco moves his chair a little closer. “Now, look.” He points toward the board. “You don't want to move this piece.”
“Why?”
“Because Pops will take it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know Pops.”
Edward snorts. “You're making it sound like I'm predictable.”
“You are.”
“Watch yourself, Marco.”
The blond son laughs.
Ace looks between them. Then back at the board. “Okay. So what do I do?”
Marco points. “Move this one, yoi.”
Ace follows his finger. “This?”
“That one.”
Ace moves the piece. Edward studies the board. His eyes narrow.
“Hm.”
Ace grins. “Did I do something good?”
“You did.”
Ace looks toward Marco. The doctor smiles. And Ace can't stop himself from smiling back.
For a moment, the game doesn't matter. The murder investigation doesn't matter. The police don't matter. Nothing does.
It's just the two of them sitting beside each other. And somehow, Ace feels safe.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Edward has seen many of Marco's faces.
He'd seen the loyal look of a loving son. The determined look of a doctor. The exhausted look of a man who had spent too many nights working. He'd seen the deathly determination Marco wore when someone threatened one of his brothers.
He'd seen the monster beneath the man. He'd seen that side of Marco long before anyone else had. But he had never seen this. Not quite.
Marco had dated in his younger years. He'd brought home the odd partner for the family.
Edward had met them. He'd welcomed them. He'd fed them. He'd watched his son attempt to build something resembling a normal relationship.
But those looks had always seemed dull. Not false, exactly. Marco had cared about those people. But there had always been something missing. A distance. A wall. Something that prevented Marco from truly letting anyone close enough to see everything underneath.
Edward had never pushed. He would love his son no matter what. That would always be true. He loved all his sons.
Even knowing what their family was truly like. Even knowing about the parts of themselves that society would deem unlovable. The violent parts. The strange parts. The obsessive parts. The pieces of them that didn't fit neatly into the world.
Edward had never seen those things as reasons to love them less. If anything, those pieces were what made them his. Each one of his sons had that hunger. That dark and twisted part of themselves that Edward had noticed long before it ever started showing signs.
He'd seen it in Marco when he'd first adopted the boy. The habits. The oddities. The intensity. The way Marco attached himself to things he cared about. The way his loyalty could become something frightening if pushed far enough.
Edward had noticed it before any psychologist could have put a name to it. And he'd loved him anyway. He still did.
But now, as he sat across from his son, from the boy he'd raised into the man sitting beside Ace, he found himself looking at a new face. And yet — not new at all. Just a combination of everything he'd already seen.
The loyalty. The determination. The love. Even the monster.
Edward watches as Marco leans closer to Ace, patiently explaining another move. Ace listens. Actually listens. His eyes are focused on the board, but every few seconds they flick toward Marco. And every time they do, Marco smiles.
Not his polite smile. Not his doctor smile. Not the one he gave strangers.
Something softer. Something warmer. Something Edward had almost forgotten his son was capable of.
Ace moves another piece. Edward takes it. Ace groans dramatically. Marco laughs.
Ace drops his head against the back of the couch. “This game is rigged.”
“Chess isn't rigged, yoi.”
“It is when he's playing it.”
Edward laughs. Marco reaches for another strawberry. Ace immediately steals it from his hand. Marco looks at him. Ace eats it.
“Mine.” The freckled man teases.
Marco blinks. Then laughs.
Edward watches. There is something almost painfully obvious about the way Marco looks at Ace. The doctor doesn't even seem aware of it. Or perhaps he is. Perhaps he's simply stopped caring whether anyone sees.
Edward's gaze shifts toward the freckled bartender. Ace is strange. Not in a bad way. Edward likes him. He'd liked him from the first few times the boy had come around.
Ace was loud. Chaotic. Stubborn. He had a temper. He was impulsive. He cheated at board games. He ate fruit like someone was going to take it away from him. He had a tendency to run headfirst into situations without thinking. And yet — he was kind.
Edward had seen it. Not the loud kind of kindness. Not the kind that demanded recognition. The quiet kind.
The kind that had Ace walking home late at night and stopping when he saw something wrong. The kind that had him immediately calling the police even though he was terrified. The kind that had him caring for an old man because he needed someone to help.
The kind that had him sitting at this table playing chess because he wanted to spend time with Marco.
Ace hadn't known what kind of family he was stepping into. He still didn't. And Edward suspects that if he did, perhaps he would run. Most people would.
But Marco? Marco had already made his choice. Edward could see it. It was written across his son's face.
Marco was infatuated. Completely.
And perhaps that was what made Edward's realization settle so easily.
Ace wasn't just someone Marco liked. He wasn't simply another partner. He wasn't a passing interest. He wasn't another person Marco would eventually grow tired of.
Edward had seen Marco interested before. This wasn't interest. This was need. A powerful, almost frightening need. The kind that could consume someone. He had seen that hunger before. He'd seen it in Marco. He'd seen it in all of his sons.
And now he could see it reflected in the way Marco watched Ace.
His attention turns back toward the freckled bartender. And Edward realizes something.
Ace already fits. Maybe he doesn't know it yet. Maybe Marco doesn't even realize just how far this has gone. But he fits.
He fits with the chaos. He fits with the stubbornness. He fits with the strange little family Edward had built.
And if Ace was what Marco wanted — then Ace was what Marco would get.
Because Edward had never, truly never, seen a need so powerful from his first son. Not like this. Not ever.
And if Marco wanted Ace? Well. Edward Newgate had never been particularly good at denying his sons what they wanted. Especially when they looked at someone like Marco was looking at Ace now.