Chapter Text
Ace grit his teeth as he watched Whitebeard drink and laugh loudly, surrounded by his family .
His blood boiled at the word.
Silently, dark brown eyes trailed over the massive man’s body. It was covered with flowers, his skin a map of dark lines. Unlike most, they were a simple black and white but he overflowed with them, a white page dripping with black ink. Other than a stripe of blank skin that ran right down the middle, his entire torso blossomed.
More flowers clustered on his shoulders and made their way down his arms. Every single one was the same type: a gardenia. He had refused to look the meaning up. Ace told himself that he didn't care, even if some hidden part of himself was jealous and bitter all the same. Flower meanings mattered .
Most called Whitebeard 'The Strongest Man in the World’, but others knew him as 'The Man with a Thousand Flowers’. No one had ever had so many. Ace could admit that it enraged him—his flimsy two flowers couldn't compare to this mammoth.
Ace was already defective enough not being able to grow any for his own nakama; to see Whitebeard looking like a goddamn flower field made his insides squirm with resentment. Although his claim to kill Whitebeard because he was Roger's former rival was true, there was another reason.
Now, after coming face to face with the depth of their differences and the visual immensity of Whitebeard's love for his crew, it made him feel small and inadequate.
Why should he have so many when Ace had so few?
He had a dark blue chrysanthemum on his inner wrist that curved around to the back of his hand along with a bright orange tulip that ran up the inside of his forearm. They at least showed that he was capable of loving someone, but sometimes they didn't feel like...enough
Flowers didn’t always stay the same, meanings shifted with the emotions that someone felt for the other. Chrysanthemums had so many meanings, but for Sabo's he had accepted friendship , loyalty , and devotion . The fact that they frequently stood for death meant nothing until Sabo had up and died. Murdered by a Celestial Dragon for daring to dream of freedom.
The Forget-Me-Nots that now dotted around the chrysanthemum were so tiny that most people didn't notice them. Not that it helped when Ace covered Sabo's flowers with his log pose and bracelet. Seeing them just hurt too much. Forget-Me-Nots to represent remembrance and undying love along with death were all well and good but flowers had always been a touchy subject for Ace; he was never able to grow them as easily or readily as others.
Not like Luffy, covered with them as he was. Ace had no doubts that the next time he ran into Luffy his little brother would give Whitebeard a run for his money despite the size difference.
When Deuce had gotten a flower for Ace, it may have been one of the worst days of his life—not counting Sabo’s death. Seeing the flower bloom on Deuce’s skin had caused icy fear to crawl down his spine. When he was unable to grow one back for Deuce that fear was only confirmed. He was a horrible person, broken and undeserving of love.
Ace cared ; he cared for family, for his nakama. Why couldn’t his skin show that? Maybe it was the monster inside, devouring his flowers before they could sprout. No one should love a monster, after all. And monsters weren't capable of love.
Sabo dying with the same number of flowers as Ace was of little comfort. He knew that if Sabo had lived, he would have gotten more and more flowers. Unlike Ace.
The tang of failure that so frequently overcame him when he saw others' flowers was the reason he got his own tattoo for Sabo. A reminder of his beloved brother on his own terms not because of some stupid flower. Show the world (in his own subtle way) that he chose to remember Sabo, and carry on that dream of freedom for the both of them. Ace would do his brother proud, no matter what—flowers or not.
Still, as he turned away and thumbed at the orange tulip that represented Luffy’s energy and passion along with his deep and undying love , he couldn’t help feeling inadequate on this crew who bore so many flowers for each other. Their bright adoration was displayed so vividly on its members, along with their jolly roger. It hurt him, more than he thought it would.
Why bother getting the jolly roger tattooed at all if they would get flowers anyway?
Ace left the crowd behind, fighting to keep from hunching into himself as he retreated. He had already been thrown in the ocean today and was thoroughly soaked, his shoes squeaking as he walked away. It was close to sunset and the crew had already started drinking. Their nights generally started with merrymaking, like almost every night there was a party. They always tried to rope him in and he kept refusing.
He'd never join. Ace was focused on one thing and one thing only—killing Whitebeard. His temple throbbed with the beginnings of a headache as his emotions swirled.
A distant thought of maybe I'm not good enough, not strong enough was thoroughly beat down.
He would , he had to. There was no other choice.
Ace found an empty stretch of railing and leaned his back against it, slowly sliding down to sit on the deck. Bringing his knees up, he wrapped his arms around them before burrowing his head in to block out the light. Ace could feel the water evaporating on his skin, steam rising as his devil fruit powers worked to dry him off. He almost wished it wouldn’t, that it would allow the saltwater to sit against his skin and give him an excuse to feel this weak. Something that wasn’t…his stupid feelings or whatever.
The smell of food wafted over him, and his stomach growled. A nearby click of porcelain against wood made Ace dig his nails into his palms. Looking up just enough to glare, he saw Marco already turning to walk away. A quick glance showed a steaming bowl of soup. Brown eyes turned to watch the first division commander’s back for a moment and his mouth opened before he could stop himself.
“Why do you call him Pops?” As soon as the words were out, he snapped his mouth shut. Why did he ask that? He didn’t care! he raged privately. Marco shifted back towards him, hands casually in his pockets, and met Ace’s glare impassively.
“Because he calls us his sons. It makes us happy, yoi,” Marco answered simply. Ace scowled.
“Do you even know which of his flowers are yours ?” Ace asked with no small amount of accusation in his tone.
He hadn't meant to ask the question. His cheeks burned with the realization and his ears felt like they were seconds away from bursting into flame. Yet he held Marco's steady gaze, determined to make it look purposeful. It wasn't reactionary, not at all. It certainly hadn't come from a place of bitterness.
Marco stepped closer before he kneeled in front of Ace.
“I do…” Marco said slowly. Ace scoffed. Marco smiled back, just the slightest crook of his lips upwards. “But only because I was the first. Pops saved me when I was very young, back before he had his own pirate crew. Took me in. I had nothing before that.”
Marco’s eyes stared over Ace’s shoulder, lost in thought before they snapped back to meet Ace’s gaze. The sudden intensity surprised Ace and he flinched slightly.
“My flower was the first, sure, but it also took the longest. Every flower after mine was instant. Anytime Pops gets a son, he gets a flower. It used to bother me. Now I understand, yoi.”
“What’s there to understand?” Ace questioned bitterly. Seemed pretty messed up to him, that everyone else’s didn’t take any time at all.
“That to Pops, we’re all the same. We’re all loved equally, without judgment or expectations. He doesn’t need time to get to know you, once he’s decided that you're his son all you have to do is either accept that or move on. The reason mine took so long was because he wasn’t sure if I wanted to be his son. Once I decided, that was the day we became a crew and a family.” Marco got to his feet. “You need to decide what you want Ace, you can’t keep doing this. You can either leave or take his mark. Which will you choose?”
"What do his flowers mean?" Ace blurted impulsively before Marco could leave. He may as well, he was asking so many questions already.
This time, Marco's smile broke across his face, the happiness evident. "The meanings he holds true are hope , trust , protection . And family of course, yoi."
After Marco left, Ace stared at the far wall before the rumbling in his stomach forced him to pick up his forgotten bowl of soup. He reheated it carefully with his palms against the sides before gulping it down. Once finished, he set it aside and let his head fall back to the wood behind him with a loud thunk.
A family huh…
They wouldn’t want him if they ever knew who he really was…but could he be just a little selfish? He couldn’t get flowers for anyone else but maybe—would the mark be enough? Would Whitebeard’s flower for Ace, and Ace’s jolly roger for him, be enough for the both of them?
Ace rubbed his wrist, wondering what Sabo would do. What Luffy would do. He'd always dreamt of being a captain in his own right, dreamed of freedom. But being a part of such a large family, being loved and accepted all while keeping his freedom was tempting. Flames slowly licked up Ace's hand and he watched them flicker idly, mind turning over every possibility.
Sitting in his normal chair at the center of his ship watching over his many children, Edward sighed. Those who were on deck looked lost—a buoy without a moor. They drifted aimlessly, not looking at each other or talking. It was deathly quiet.
The betrayal of Teach and the subsequent death of Thatch were still fresh on everyone's mind. Although he had given permission to Ace to go after him, his heart still felt burdened.
It nagged at him—a gut feeling that Teach was up to something and Whitebeard always trusted his gut. But what could he do? Ace was a forest fire, once he got started he burned and burned until he went out. Even if Edward had told him no Ace still would have left, orders be damned.
Rules were rules, even if pirates disregarded most; openly disobeying a captain's orders would have meant expulsion from the Whitebeard Pirates along with a death sentence. Edward couldn't bear to do that to Ace, a son who loved him, that he loved just as dearly. A boy who only wanted the best for the crew who saw injustice and wanted to correct it. Still, Whitebeard’s trepidation lingered, heavy on his mind and apparently, on his children’s.
Marco came up to his side and Whitebeard saw his flinch when he caught sight of his chest. What used to be a field of black and white flowers now housed a bleeding red dahlia beneath one collarbone. It shone out from his sea of black, the red drawing the eye and causing all other flowers to fade from view.
Betrayal and dishonesty . Whitebeard's heart ached with it and all it meant.
"Hey, Pops," Marco greeted dully, eyes downcast. So unlike his son. Edward had to step hard on the anger that followed the observation. How dare Teach do this to his family, to their family.
"Son," he rumbled out instead, "c'mere."
Wordlessly, Marco transformed his arms and flew up onto his shoulder. Opposite of where Teach's flower sat, Whitebeard noted. He didn't mention it.
"How are you feeling son?"
"The same as everyone else, Pops," Marco bit out angrily, waving a hand at the crew scattered throughout the deck. A rare bit of petulance from his normally unflappable son. A stage Marco had long since grown out of.
Edward hummed. Marco took a deep breath, then held it. Whitebeard stayed silent, waiting as he patted Marco's legs.
Finally, Marco released it in one long sigh. "Sorry, Pops. It's just been hard on everyone. We're barely holding it together it feels like. I've had to break up a lot of fights and finger-pointing. Everyone is looking for the next traitor, jumping at shadows, yoi."
He grunted. The news didn't surprise him, but it was saddening to hear all the same. "Take care of them the best you can son. We need to rally together, now more than ever. Let everyone know to come to me if they need."
"I know, Pops. I will."
The silence stretched. There was something else on Marco's mind, Edward knew, familiar with the different types of Marco's silences by now.
Gently, he took one of Marco's sandaled feet between his thumb and index finger. A light tug was all it took before Marco broke.
"Do you think we should have let him go?"
Whitebeard didn't have to ask who 'he' was. "What else would you have had me do?"
Marco pulled at his hair with frustration, a snarl on his face. "I don't know, that's why I was asking you, yoi."
"Ace is a good son. Just like you. He would burn the world down for his family, boil the very sea into a barren wasteland of salt if it came to that. If I tried to stop him, he would have left anyway. Would you have me kill a son for disobeying a direct order? I can't show such a weakness to our family. We have one rule here Marco, you know that."
"I know," Marco agreed, tone heavy with defeat. "Just can't shake the feeling that we're letting Ace die regardless."
Edward took a chug of saké, the taste of it like ash clogging its way down his throat. Marco had voiced the thought he had been trying to lock away.
"Nothing to do now son, except hope for the best. We've trained him well. Teach was never very good with combat."
"If that wasn't a lie too, yoi," Marco commented bitterly.
Agreement swirled in his chest, the weight of it like a sea stone brand around his heart.
"Plus," his son continued, "we didn't get to teach Ace everything. His armament haki is still weak. I'm worried about what devil fruit power was so important to kill for."
Before Whitebeard could answer, a yell across the deck caught his attention and they both glanced up, breaking the bubble of self-made privacy their conversation had given them.
"POPS! Pops, the news just came, it's—it's Ace!"
Marco moved before Edward could even think to, hopping down onto the deck and rushing to meet the shipmate halfway. He took another swig of his drink as his eyes stayed glued on Marco's back, watching for his son's reaction.
The tension Marco had been carrying since Ace left didn't ease but that didn't surprise him. So when Marco turned on his heel to hand the newspaper over without a word, he was expecting the worst.
Seeing the headline of 'FIRE FIST ACE: CAPTURED' only confirmed it. He didn't bother reading the rest, just flicked his eyes over the top to meet Marco's stare.
"Assemble the commanders."
Marco nodded before hurrying away. His sons that had been out on deck slowly started to gather as he took his time to read the article. It didn't tell him anything he hadn't already assumed based on the headline. Still, the fact that Teach was somehow able to overpower Ace and turned him over to the Marines rankled.
Once the commanders had been amassed and the rest of the crew lingered nearby, Whitebeard stood. Looking over the heads of his family, seeing them wait for his command, there was only one thing to do.
"We're going after Ace. We will get our family back." The answering cheers were loud, the loudest the crew had been for days. As the commanders started swarming, discussing battle tactics—the twist of a frown on Marco's face didn't change, even as the rest of his brothers around him seemed enthusiastic.
Whitebeard ignored it. He knew what Marco's concern was; it echoed his own. All of this felt...inescapable, unchangeable. Whatever decision he made at this moment, would it really change the outcome?
The answer made him uneasy but he would never voice it, would never bring his sons down like that. Fate had already dug claws into his shoulders and there was nothing to do now but march forward.
He didn't believe in destiny. Edward hadn't set out to be anything else other than he was: a Father. A pirate, sure, but more than that a protector of his family.
And that would never change. Whatever happened now—whether it was set in stone or if he would reshape it into something new with his own two hands—that was unforeseeable. All he knew was what he'd known all his life: he would die for his family. Lay down his own life to protect them. So he would go, they would all go, in order to get Ace back to where he belonged—
Home.