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Having the time to write, alone and without distraction, was a blessing that Deuce intended to take full advantage of.
Peace was not an option for the Spade Pirates – they had a certain reputation to thank for that – and all of it meant that finding reprieve in times of distress was a luxury. Deuce wouldn’t question what stars aligned for them to come across this island just as they found a few areas in need of repair, most singed with the fingerprints of their short-sighted captain, but he would accept it, nonetheless.
The afternoon had given him calm weather and a clear sky, the perfect recipe for an equally clear mind and he was able to sneak off to a nearby hill to stay in eyeline should anyone need his help. It was in this train of thought that he scribbled underneath the hibiscus tree at the top, taking in the shade and soaking in the perfect conditions.
“Deu!”
Nearly perfect, he thought.
While keeping his captain’s company was both a privilege and an honor for Deuce, he wouldn’t deny that the particular mood of this session would have been one of little distractions, even ones as sunny and appreciated as Ace. He kept his face inside of the journal as footsteps approached, the momentum of a good descriptor keeping his pen to the page while he tried to ignore the black boots on his margins.
“You’re already tired of us? I like to think I’m better company than an overgrown bush.” Ace commented, his hair poking onto Deuce’s line of sight as he bent down to obstruct as much as he could without putting his face directly into fresh ink. The words on the page had become less clear by the second as Deuce wrote quickly to finish his sentence, a desperate attempt to complete something before Ace was already waving a hand across the page.
Defeat was handed to Ace in both his enemies and his friends, this Deuce knew too well.
“It’s not an overgrown bush,” Deuce looked around at the ground, hoping to find something to emphasize his point before he found a loose flower by his hand, “it’s a hibiscus tree, and yes, I would find it better company than you. Quieter at least.”
Deuce couldn’t hold back the tinge of irritation at his hubris, to think he could have a free moment to himself, and how that seeped into his pointed observation with little regard to how it affected Ace who simply took the flower without a word.
“Hibiscus?” Ace questioned, sudden interest climbing, and Deuce would feel the indifference all but collapse at his feet once he saw the smile disappear from Ace’s face.
“Is something wrong?”
Ace shook his head quickly, aware of the change in his demeanor with the question and he crawled to Deuce’s side in an attempt to reorient himself.
“I’ve never seen one of these up close, that’s all.” Ace murmured, his eyes not meeting Deuce’s as he looked back down the hill.
If there was anything Deuce had learned, it was that Ace wore his heart so openly on his sleeve that his tattoo in both meaning and position was as on the nose as it came. In his stare sat an emotion somewhere between intense focus and longing, one that Deuce had seen on him many times before, and one he had to tread carefully in prying open to find its meaning.
“A hibiscus flower? I had a tree in my backyard growing up, they’re quite beautiful.” Deuce glanced over at Ace who sighed while keeping his gaze forward, another symptom of woes left to rot, and he continued hoping something would stir interest in the bait. “They have a lot of meanings, you know. One is the fleeting beauty of fame and personal glory… seems right up your alley, doesn’t it?”
He could see the twitch in Ace’s eyebrow, the bob in the water as he nibbled at the hook, and he finally returned the sideways glance to engage properly. There was a smirk playing on his lips, gone as quickly as it came before Ace leaned back onto his palms to stare at the newly significant plant.
“I guess I really am my mother’s son.”
Deuce was thankful that Ace hadn’t seen the way he gaped at the sentiment, blinking rapidly as the title hardly spoken between them cropped up in the oddest of ways. The first and last they spoke of family, it was to build a bond over spurring a legacy they didn’t need or ask for due to their fathers, and not once had Ace given him insight into his mother outside of his lack of one.
His curiosity renewed in their conversation, an urge that he would find it in himself to regret later, Deuce couldn’t help but gawk at Ace who was idly (and purposefully, Deuce was sure of it) ignoring his demand for an explanation.
“Ace…”
“They just make me think of her, that’s all.” Ace said curtly, shutting down any further talk of conversation much to Deuce’s dismay. It was a well understood facet of their relationship, the discussion of their lives as painful as they were guarded, and those pieces were always left to be given with a closed fist and a hope that the other would accept them in the end.
To respect that boundary was as important as their seafaring bond, and Deuce would begrudgingly accept it in the return to his writing.
The sounds of the crew working below them filled the void now left in their talk and Deuce was rewarded bitterly with the quiet afternoon he’d wanted all along, a reality that held his resolve to tamp down the inquisitive itch with writing. He could hear shuffling next to him as Ace changed positions, shifting restlessly in his spot before standing, and Deuce maintained his ignorance even as a pile of red and pink appeared next to him.
“Rouge.”
“What?” Deuce asks and his attention is redirected immediately to the loose ring of flowers Ace places on him, eyebrow cocked in a show of thought before returning to the project in his lap.
“She’s where I got my last name – Portgas.” Ace continues, ignoring the call for clarification as nimble fingers work through and around each flower stem. It’s an involved task, and Deuce watches him with such curiosity that he’s nearly thrown by how Ace maintains his concentration through it all.
“Also had a D name,” he adds, and it’s only in seeing the task at hand that Deuce understands that it’s a compromise. Ace is shy to speak, selective in the doors he opens for others and when, and Deuce is aware of this – barging through one in mere minutes upon their meeting on Sixis with such surprising fervor for a starving man.
“And she carried me for like, 20 months which, depending on who you ask, means I might be older than you.”
Ace paused, for effect at the presumptive “elder” title or to simply gauge his reaction, Deuce couldn’t tell, and was back to tying knots before glancing at Deuce who inhaled sharply as he caught his cue.
“Oh – Oh! Right. Well, that’s definitely a long time given 10 months is standard. Wow. Erm,” Deuce stammered, left to process a medley of information that hit him harder than any exam could. “I think that there’s something to be said about the human body. I barely understand it as it is but, wow, quite the feat.”
Deuce wasn’t sure if his own reaction held up to the expectations Ace had for him, but another check of his measurements seemed to qualify him all the same.
The corners of Ace’s mouth pulled into a smile, soft and admirable as he tilted his head to imagine the crown finished in all of its glory and leaving Deuce to wonder just what thoughts had come to mind when he saw the collision of his two worlds like this.
“Nice.” Ace murmured, blissfully unaware Deuce could hear his wayward praise, and he went right back to his journal to escape the burning of his cheeks.
“So, Rouge –”
“Gone, just like I told you the first time we met. I know what she looked like, pale hair – a lot like yours, actually. Always wearing a hibiscus flower, had freckles just like mine.” Ace began, going right back for the crown like a talking stick as he pulled it gently from Deuce’s hair. “But I think about her a lot.”
Ace squinted as he worked on a particularly small braid, the complexity of it giving him the space to sit in comfortable silence with Deuce as he worked up the courage to continue.
“I used to imagine, even after my brothers showed up, what a difference a hug or an ‘I love you’ from her could’ve made… you know?”
Oh, and Deuce did, so much that it hurt to think his own assumptions about Ace’s life – the anger and jealousy that still found new life in the midst of delirium – were so misplaced that he continued writing to not face it.
“Grandpa told me she was kind, that he hadn’t met her much but I’m sure he’s full of it. Always has been.” Ace sneered, hands moving faster now with whatever wound up anger that came with those thoughts. It was obvious he had a way to adapt to it, fingers shaking with dexterity intact, and Deuce simply let himself be a sounding board for the pent up frustrations.
“Roger was a demon, some asshole who only left enemies wherever he went but…” Ace trailed off, his attention split between the two tasks, and he chose the path of least resistance with a sharp inhale, “Just. I know what I got from him, this hair and I don’t know, eyes maybe.”
Deuce tapped his pen against the paper, stuck on the perfect description of the reddish pink hue of the hibiscus flower, the echoes of petals rustling a noted absence and he looked over to see Ace’s fists tucked tight around the fragile stems as he continued.
“Still, I’ve got some good,” Ace said in a harsh whisper, as if attempting to convince himself of the very notion, “It’s there, and every time I’m able to make someone smile, I know that’s her.”
Leaves crowded around Ace’s feet as his lips twisted into a frown, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed down on the lump before hissing a curse at the way the petals wrinkled in his hands.
And Deuce felt his own throat tighten at the show, how quickly the frustration seemed to melt away as Ace's expression softened, smiling with all the warm disbelief of a person finding a lucky star in their orbit.
“…what could she, a person who could tame monsters like my grandpa and my dad into helping me exist, have been like?”
Deuce curled his fingers around the pen, frozen at the spectacle while heat washed over him in waves, clashing with the ache of helplessness that grew with each layer he peeled away. To say he was unprepared was an understatement, and even the reality of Ace’s parentage paled in comparison to the vulnerability of seeing the dream of an unknown love unfold.
“She must have been a remarkable person.” Deuce said softly, thoughts racing as he realized the very thing he said was just a reflection of his feelings for his captain, and still he seemed to hit the mark when Ace’s eyes widened before he nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, I’m sure she was.” Ace’s admiration was palpable, a seemingly constant feeling when it came to his mother, “I’ve had this idea, for as long as I can remember now, of how we would’ve celebrated my birthday together if she was here.”
The crown had started to truly take shape, all of his meticulous crafting up to this point a buoy to keep his head above water and now, he was gently being pulled back to shore.
“My birthday is right at the beginning of the year, so usually there was always drinking right up until the clocks turned, but everyone was always too partied out to wish me a happy birthday by that time.” Ace said, a faint excitement bubbling under the surface that had Deuce looking back at him, “And well, if she was anything like me, she probably thought that was a really important time for someone, right? So, we would eat cake, right as it hit midnight and she’d be the first to say it.”
Ace gave an amused huff, still finding the thought delightful even in the hundredth time it would come to him and only endearing Deuce more to this fantasy.
“Oh! And she’d take me into town, to go eat at the one restaurant that never fell for the disguise we would put on to get free food, and I would tell every single person we met what day it was – just so they’d smile at me.”
The more he talked, the less Deuce could reign in his reactions. Between every description was a truth by omission, the very lack of substance in his upbringing fed by the story. How simple it was, to just want the thoughtfulness that came with being a part of something, to feel seen on the day one was introduced to the world.
And yet, how harrowing it was for Deuce to recognize himself in that little boy who wanted nothing more than a day devoted all to him.
Tears stung at his eyes as he thought of the parallels in his own wishes, the desire to be shown kindness for mere hours so strong that one would invent a storyline to hold it for just a moment. It was enough to leave him copying down the things Ace was saying to him, to keep track of all of the details of that perfect day so that he might find some way to give them life in the future.
“Done!” Ace cheered as Deuce sat engrossed in his journal, so motivated by the emotional story that he hadn’t even noticed Ace closing in on him and he gave a startled yelp once it touched his head.
They exchanged glances before Deuce’s hands went straight to the crown, causing him to grimace sheepishly as he realized how far gone he was. He cradled the petals between his fingertips, taking in the craftsmanship as the rest of the world fell into static and he scrambled to regain his composure.
“I’m surprised a man who couldn’t build a boat could put this together.” Deuce teased, an attempt to lighten his own lingering desires to hug the man sitting at his side.
“I used to make these for Dadan, the woman who raised me,”
And there’s a noteworthy absence of ‘mom’, another casual door opened for Deuce to walk through as he learns of how many people could spare love for someone still left to imagine,
“And they were mostly made of vines, cause the mountains sucked but,” Ace shrugged, an indifferent gesture, “well, flowers are nice, huh?”
Ace’s bright grin had come back to them, shining through even the veil of light under the tree, and piercing right through Deuce who could only nod as his ribs rattled in his chest.
“Here Deu, your hair is sticking out all over this, let me –” Ace said with a casual arm wave, gesturing wildly to the way pale strands fought against the new introduction, while sliding behind Deuce to muse about what he could do to fix it.
There was a passing silence, a few hems and haws that had Deuce rethinking whatever he was going to let Ace do and it had him sighing with relief as the crown was placed back into the grass. Still, the sudden awareness of Ace at his back was another log on the fire, and Deuce tried to find a suitable distraction in the shore up ahead.
“And what about your mom? You don’t talk about her nearly as much as the bastard doc duo.”
When Ace had the time to come up with a shorthand for his father and brother, Deuce hadn’t the slightest idea, but it was not one he could argue with. Warm hands found their way into his hair, twisting the strands on what he assumed was not unlike that of the flower crown braid, Ace keeping himself occupied as he probed.
“My mother… Well, she was,”
A spectator, watching from the sidelines as Deuce endured years of abuse through his father or life itself. She was someone who didn’t cross his mind nearly as much when it came to his goal of filling the cracks with gold, trying his best to make something of a broken portrait.
She had neither kindness or venom to offer him, and it was, if he truly thought of it, more damaging than if she had been outright about her feelings.
At the very least, with each demand that he excel from his father came an understanding of where they were, albeit a painful one. No such closure was granted even when he dawned the mask, and Deuce would find that faceless guardian return often to give him little peace.
Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to include her in his hateful thoughts, granting her the same ambivalence in spirit as she did in his upbringing.
“…Unavailable. My father did most of the work, I suppose.” Deuce concluded, hearing a huff from Ace who had finished one braid and was working on a second.
“Figures. No wonder you guys just did whatever he wanted.” Ace grumbled, wearing such annoyance on Deuce’s behalf that he had to stifle a surprised laugh at the reaction.
How Ace had the space to speak fondly of his own mother and hold indignant anger for Deuce’s own was a talent. It was one he would be in awe if the first mate wasn’t already familiar with the heart of his captain – big enough to grow heavy with all sorts of emotions and left to beat fiercely because of it.
“Who better to raise a doctor than a doctor, right?” Deuce leaned into Ace’s hands to undoubtedly make his hairdressing more difficult, “You and your little brother were raised in the woods, and you became pirates, so it tracks.”
“We would’ve become bandits if that was the case.” Ace corrected with a grin, tilting Deuce’s head further back, forgetting his own goal of a neat hairstyle as their eyes met.
“And what is a pirate but a well-traveled bandit, hm?” Deuce hummed quizzically, feigning innocence as he looked away from the gray eyes that narrowed from his clever response.
The sky was doing its job as the expansive middleman, a beautiful support for the weight of their conversation and Deuce let himself soak in the sight as Ace sat behind him. A lull of the breeze carried with it the heady scent of smoke and salt, one carried on the lingering burn of Ace’s fruit, and tangled in it the faint taste of sweet nectar that felt right at home with the sunlight on his face.
Deuce couldn’t help but think of it as he felt the sway of petals against his forehead – the relationship of the sun and the plants, a distant parent nourishing its child to grow.
It was hardly different now, wasn’t it?
For Ace was the sun, and in his warmth blossomed every hibiscus, a faraway devotion nurtured so quietly yet sustained in its beauty.
“So, what were you writing about this time?” Ace asked, pulling Deuce closer to him as he leaned over to gape at the pages in his lap and leaving Deuce scrambling to covet his writings as both an author and an admirer.
“Ah, nothing! You of all people should know I can’t show you,” Deuce had pulled the book close to his chest, silently cursing what ink he’d smudged on his haste and his reaction that only piqued Ace’s curiosities further.
“No spoilers, not even for the deuteragonist himself.” He said with a firm nod, earning him a furrowed eyebrow from Ace who did little to hide which word had fallen short.
“The…” Ace trailed off with an uptick in his voice, questions lingering as he stared at Deuce to explain.
“It’s the ‘Deuce’ equivalent of a protagonist, since this is my story after all.”
“I see, I see,” Ace nodded, seemingly satisfied with the notion that only in fiction could he not come out on top, and before Deuce could hyper analyze that reaction further the other man was already on his feet.
“Well, I should grab one or two more of these since I used up the rest on your coronation.”
And with that, Ace was back to idly picking through the branches, just as he had before their conversation started but with far more relaxation in his expression. It was a noticeable shift that took away some of the guilt and regret Deuce had for opening that door, and instead he allowed himself the gratification of simply standing in the room.
Watching Ace had taken all of his attention, so much so that Deuce didn’t notice the skull-masked man now standing in their midst until he cleared his throat to make himself known.
“Oh, Skull –”
“Hey, funny lookin’ hat you got there, Master Deu.” Skull commented before tilting his head up and down, taking a full once over of Deuce’s body. “But it fits, you know, with your skirt and mask…look.”
“Y-You’re one to talk!” Deuce sputtered, unclear which part of that hastily added ‘compliment’ was meant to soften the blow. The peace of their afternoon had quickly dissolved into chaos as Deuce spoke of the merits of his outfit, defending them from a man so decked out in skulls it became his namesake as Ace doubled over howling in laughter.
“Ah, yeah, he just looks like he should be named Deuce, huh? That’s why I came up with it, added the ‘Masked’ so he’s extra flashy.” Ace sighed with a pat on Deuce’s shoulder, so proud of himself that the first mate almost considered ratting out the self-centered ignorance that the nickname truly came from.
Instead, he merely took his licks as they came, making a mental note to rewrite this scene later once he could find a complimentary way to insult his captain.
“Well, we’re all done getting the Spadille together so I’ve gotta get you two back,” Skull pointed back towards the shore where their ship sat against the reflected sunlight, the scenery giving it more prestige than it had earned. “Can’t forget you guys, er, again.”
Ace hummed and closed his eyes, nodding knowingly as he thought of how their crew returned to them trying to shoot down a bird with Ace’s fire pistols, and nearly leaving them all stranded as his aim narrowly avoided the mast of their ship.
“We’ll be down in a second,” Ace said while Skull turned heel towards the ship, leaning against Deuce as he watched him leave and returning his attention to the first mate once their “info dealer” got a comfortable distance away.
“Hey,” Ace gave a squeeze of his hand, one so full of meaning that Deuce had a hard time landing on which suited that touch best,
“I traded a lot of lumps on my head for that information, so keep it to yourself, okay?”
Ace pressed a finger over his lip in a plea for secrecy before he ran after Skull to continue their conversation – likely at Deuce’s expense, leaving him to watch as the silhouettes on the hill shrunk against the grass. Lost in his thoughts, his staring would be interrupted as he saw a bit of pink cross his line of sight, another loose hibiscus flower slipping underneath his boot, and he picked it up to place it onto the secret pages of his journal.
A bookmark.
A reminder of the piece he was given to carry with Ace and one he intended to do so with all he had. Pressed between a promise to provide what the flower could not –
a memory full of something just as tangible as a love built out of yearning, and just as fulfilling or it.