Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sunday night. 

“Hold on,” Marco navigated over the maze of suitcases and half folded clothes on the floor of his apartment, “You’re not charging him rent? Who even is this kid?”

“I knew his father, years ago.” In the incredibly rare circumstance that Whitebeard had to lie to Marco, he would do so, effortlessly. “An old friend of mine. The kids’ had a hard life, he’s raising a twelve year old on his own— ”

“Sorry, there’s two of them?”

Marco had to hold his cellphone an inch off his ear while Whitebeard laughed, “The little ones’ in school, the older one works hard enough to earn their rent! Relax, Marco. Ace is a sweetheart.”

“This is the one you let steal food out of your fridge for half the summer?”

“That’s the one!” Whitebeard replied, “He doesn’t do that anymore.”

Edward Newgate had a terrible habit of hiring fatherless, trouble-making punks in need of direction to work at his auto parts garage. He’d been teaching scrappy kids how to keep their heads down and put their hands to work for the better part of the last twenty years. Now, he’s accumulated a crew of mechanics that he considers family. 

Marco was one of the first front desk employees Whitebeard hired and his most talked about success story. As of the end of this school year, Marco had officially earned his medical degree. He was a doctor. A very proud one at that. 

“When should we be expecting you for dinner?”

“We?” 

“Sure.” Newgate’s voice filled with warmth, “I’ve been teaching Ace how to cook. He’s pretty decent, now, I can actually keep it down!” Again, Marco kept his phone off his ear for the laughter that followed. “We eat at—”

“Six and not a minute later. I remember.” Marco attempted to rub the feeling of burnout from under his eyes. A home cooked meal sounded nice if it weren’t for the addition of a twelve year old and his fresh-out-of-prison older brother. “I’ve got an entire apartment to unpack so, I’ll have to see you Tuesday.”

“Everyone’s excited to have you back.”

Marco smirked at the campus outside his window, a view he was more than ready to say goodbye to. “I’m pretty excited myself.” 

“Drive safely, alright? And, don’t keep us waiting too long.”

Marco had a week before orientation. One week to unpack, re acclimate, and check on the shop before his entire life was signed away to the emergency room.

 His home was in a densely populated, urban oasis just outside a much larger city. Nothing like the wide empty fields and quant college town his medical school was at the center of. It’d take him four hours of driving to get back to the chaos of pissed drivers and electric bikes zipping through tight lanes of traffic.

No place like home. 

Tuesday Afternoon.

Whitebeard’s Auto Parts and Mechanic was printed in beautiful white penmanship across the top of an old brick building. It stood proudly on a corner off the city's main boulevard. 

Just as Marco remembered, the two, truck sized garage doors were wide open, giving the mechanics plenty of room and fresh air. 

Marco walked through the garage like he’d never left and was more than pleased to see how little things had changed. It could only be Thatch’s playlist blasting that music. Izou’s artwork, while updated was unmistakably his, decorating the brick walls. And, Teetch’s old chevy in the same damn parking spot outside. 

“No… fucking… way.” A voice came out  from under the hood of a truck. The man had a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and red hair gelled back out of his face. “Is that Marco?!” Thatch got to him first. Which was a little terrifying, considering the man was about six feet too big to be hugging someone with a tackle. “Marco!!”

The blond scrambled to stay on his feet, “Okay! Alright—Hi Thatchy— ” 

“Marco’s home, you guys! Holy shit, I can’t believe it! Look at you!” 

The mechanics under cars and occupied in the adjacent office all came to have a look. The prodigal son had returned and Whitebeard’s shop erupted in celebration. Marco had to abandon his backpack on the floor, there were just too many hugs that needed to be given. Izou came sauntering out of the front office, looking beautifully overdressed as always. His gold and silver bracelets rang as he wrapped his arms around Marco’s shoulders. 

“Thatch, do you even realize you’re talking to a medical professional now?” Izou smiled widely, “Congratulations, Doctor.”

“Thanks, Izou.”

“I saw your graduation pictures. Pops has them hung up in his office, you’ll have to take a look.” 

“He’s blushing!” Thatch delivered a solid punch into Marco’s arm. “How cute. Yes, we’re all very very proud. You’re gonna hook me up with a medical marijuana card, right?”

“Thatch, you gotta stop telling people that.” 

“Right, right—” His best friend smiled, “I missed you, man!”

“I missed you too.” 

“Where the hell is Marco?!” Whitebeard’s gravely deep voice could shake the walls. The old man emerged from his office and while his question sounded hostile enough to make a normal person run for their damn lives, it overwhelmed Marco with nostalgia and a sense of home. “Lets see him— What the hell is wrong with you, boy? Moving so far away from me?!”

Marco smilied, “I came back! That doesn’t count for something?”

“Yeah it’s the only thing keeping my foot out of yer ass!” Newgate hugged him. His mentor smelled like cigarettes, booze and motor oil. While age had been shrinking him for years now, Newgate was still built like one hell of a beast; he made most grown men feel short. 

“Hi Pops.”

“Hi yourself!” Newgate dropped a heavy hand against his back. “Have you eaten yet? We’re having lunch. Thatch, get over here, it’s time for your damn break.”

Thatch grabbed onto Marco’s arm and pulled him towards the back door with all the enthusiasm of a little kid. “I’ll make us something. Pops! Did Ace pick up groceries for you yesterday?”

“Yeah.” Newgate retrieved Marco’s forgotten backpack and gestured for Izou to follow them. “Have a look in the kitchen, Thatch, it’s stocked up.”

There was plenty his mechanics liked to do for the old man but grocery shopping wasn’t one of them last Marco remembered. 

Whitebeard lived by himself, out of a small home directly behind the auto parts garage. As they crossed from one location to another, Whitebeard's uneven, slow gate seemed so much more severe than how it had been a few months back. As the four of them filed into the kitchen, Marco couldn’t help his curiosity. “The boys have been taking good care of you, then?”

“Oh spare me.” Newgate retrieved a fist full of beers from the fridge and set them on the counter, “Like I need to be taken care of.”

“We try.” Izou supplied, “But, you know how he is. It’s nice having someone living in your old apartment again. Ace is usually around if he needs anything.” 

There were old metal steps that lead out of the warehouse of Newgate’s shop. On the second floor there was a dusty little apartment Marco lived out of for nearly ten years before leaving for medical school. “I can’t imagine someone else being in there.”

“Yeah, you definitely decorated better.” Izou got a laugh out of the room. “You haven't met Ace yet, have you? You’ll like him.” 

“What will I like about him most, the ankle monitor?”

Surprisingly, it was Thatch that gave him a quick slap to the shoulder. “Hey, don’t be fucking rude.”

“Alright alright, damn.” Marco cracked open the bottle of beer he was given. Marco knew damn well he had no place to be judgemental. It was Pops he worried about. “So where is this new golden child then?”

“A check-in with his parole officer.” Whitebeard said more seriously, “He’ll probably pick up Luffy from school on his way back this afternoon.”

“Luffy’s the younger brother?”

Thatch, who had gotten to work seasoning chicken breast, sang over his shoulder, “And possibly the cutest little kid in the world~” 

“Next time we’re all together, I’m sure they’d let you look around your old apartment again.” Izou chimed, “If you're dying to go up there and reminisce.”

Marco smirked, “A little. It’s been a long time.” 

Marco would have to wait a bit longer before he met Whitebeard's new pride and joy. He inhaled Thatch’s cooking— which he missed far more than he would ever admit— finished a second beer and a dozen more stories about the hospitals he rotated through. 

Marco left that afternoon with a box of leftovers and the promise that he’d bring his car in for an oil change before the week was over. 

Wednesday morning.

Marco would remember the auto shop’s schedule until the day he died and Tuesday mornings were always dead. One, maybe two mechanics would run the whole place until the afternoon. Considering Pop’s would rather keel over and die before accepting money from him, Marco preferred his car be as little an inconvenience for the shop as possible. 

Marco could feel the heat stick to his skin the second he left his apartment. Considering summer was nearly over, there was no reason for it to be this damn hot outside. 

AC. He needed to ask them to take a look at his AC while he was at it.

Like he’d done for the past 15 years of his life, Marco pulled his 2012 Subaru directly into the empty garage of Pop’s auto shop. He would have made an immediate comment on the pop-punk garbage blasting in the speakers if it weren’t for the loud string of curses he heard coming out of the front office to greet him. 

“What the fuck are you doing?! Hey asshole!” The young man wore a mechanic’s jumpsuit with  the top half of it hanging loose around his hips. Sweat stuck his jet black hair to the sides of his face and neck. “You can’t just roll your car into the garage!” He threw his arms out to gesture to the rest of the shop, “You gotta check in, I need information from you and shit.” 

Marco climbed out of the driver's seat and leaned over the top of his door. “Whitebeard knows I’m dropping off for an oil change.”

“I don’t give a shit. You see all the equipment to run over in your cute little Subaru? Park in the lot next time like everyone else.” He marched around to the front of Marco's car and  propped up the hood. 

It’s not like he was wrong, it was just the sheer hostility that was unexpected. Marco couldn’t help the chuckling that bubbled up in his throat. “Okay. If it helps, I sincerely apologize.” 

In his adult life, Marco considered himself picky who he found attractive. He wasn’t one to leer at little waisted, broad shouldered, young men with freckles and shaggy haircuts. But, here he was leering while he was getting yelled at. 

“When was your last oil change Mr. Subaru Outback?”

“I’m overdue,” Marco admitted, “Sixteen hundred miles ago?”

“Yikes.” He cleaned the dipstick from Marco’s car with a rag that was within reach. “You’re friends with Pops and he let you go this long without an oil change?”

“I’ve been in school.”

“So, you’re a smart guy?” 

“I’d like to think so.”

The raven haired man took a few steps closer to Marco. The half a foot height difference between them didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He tapped the tip of the dipstick against Marco’s chest and challenged him with a smirk. “Five thousand to seven thousand miles would be my recommendation, Smart guy.”

What a Punk. 

“Got it.”

“Are you going to wait around or pick it up?”

Marco couldn’t help himself, “Does it take you so long to change the oil that I should leave?”

The mechanic’s eyes snapped up from the car to Marco. “Twenty minutes, Dick.” 

“Then, I’ll wait.” 

He pulled a clipboard off its hook on the wall. He crossed one ankle over the other, clicked the back of his pen against his hip and began filling in what would eventually be a receipt. While he waited, Marco finally noticed the ankle monitor, blinking a little green light just above Ace’s boot and peeking out from under the right leg of his jumpsuit.

This was Ace? Gorgeous face, insufferable shit starter? Right up Pops’s ally.

Whitebeard’s old truck came rolling into the parking lot behind them. The old man climbed out of it slowly and made his way into the garage holding an ice coffee in each hand. “Marco!”

“Marco!?” Ace echoed, his nose crunched up into a sneer. 

Whitebeard put one of the coffee cups in Ace’s hand, who took it despite the fact that he looked completely stunned. Marco had never seen the wheels in someone’s head turn so visibly. 

“I told you about him, Ace. Don’t look so surprised.” Newgate plucked the clipboard out of his hands and held it at arms length while he read it. “…And you were going to over charge him… If he was paying, which he won’t be. It's sixty eight for an oil and filter change, you wrote eighty six.”

“Sounds like me.”

“Yeah, sounds like you.” Whitebeard smacked his arm with the clipboard. “This is Marco, my first protégé. He’s been upstate for medical school, just moved back this week. He used to live in your apartment.”

“You’re kidding.” Ace said between sips of his coffee. He extended his hand out to Marco and Marco shook it. “Fuckin— my bad man. I thought you were just some asshole.”

“Is it an eighteen dollar surcharge for assholes?”

“Minimum—”

“Wrong.” Whitebeard said as he turned away from them. “I have to make a few calls. Give Marco’s car a thorough once over. Whatever he needs and do not accept a fucking dime from him.”

The kid might have been a lost cause for numbers and customer service but at least he knew what he was doing under a car. Ace kicked over one of the old scooters that had probably been around since before Marco’s time. He laid back on it and rolled beneath the Subaru with the kind of grace only muscle memory could provide. 

Marco watched his boots while he worked. “So, how long have you been here? Considering you don’t know the price of an oil change.”

“Can you say that a little louder? I want Pops to hear you making fun of the dyslexic kid.” Marco heard the flow of old oil as Ace removed the drain plug, “Two years— I don’t know. I worked for Pops for probably…  four—five months. I got put away for six months and he hired me back when I got out. I’ve been here since.” 

“What’d they get you for?”

“Arson. Burned the last shop I worked at to the ground.”  Ace rolled himself out from under the car in time to get a look at Marco’s deeply troubled face. He flashed the tips of his K9s while he smirked. “I’m kidding. It wasn't anything interesting, I promise.” Ace pulled himself to his feet and moved onto addressing the old filter that’d been rotting in Marco’s Subaru for the past seventeen hundred miles. “Since we’re on the subject of asking personal questions, are you responsible for the vomit green paint in my kitchen?”

“Your kitchen?”

“Yeah, and the tiny little couch with bricks for cushions. You graduated medical school and thought that couch was okay? I couldn’t even sell that fucking thing, Marco.”

“The space you’re filling is hardly big enough to be called a living room.” Marco hummed, “It was the only couch that fit.”

No one could match the level of sheer animation in Ace’s repulsed expression, “If I knew my doctor thought it was reasonable to buy that couch, I’d find a new doctor.” 

It was difficult, deciding whether Ace was the most annoying person he’d ever met or a half decent comedian. He’d never seen anyone enjoy bickering so much. “If I keep listening to you complain, you’ll take a look at my AC while you’re over there, right?”

Ace clicked his tongue, “What’s wrong with your AC?”

“You’re the mechanic, you tell me. It doesn’t run cold.”

Ace released a long, mournful sigh, “Poor little Subaru. Falling apart at the seams.”

“It’s not that old.”

“Really? Because, Rush’s greatest hits on CD would suggest otherwise.” Ace chuckled, reading off the open black CD case tossed on the passenger's seat. “Don't get me wrong, I like classic rock. AC/DC, The Beatles, and Queen, are all on this playlist—”

“I fucking hate AC/DC.” 

Ace’s jaw fell open. Clearly, he had a love for theatrics because the way he set down the oil filter looked choreographed for a dramatic stage play. Ace turned his shoulders slowly to face Marco, the very epitome of heartbreak and betrayal warping his expression. Ace swallowed, “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I’m kidding. I just wanted to see how wound up you’d get.” Marco's relaxed demeanor finally cracked. He started laughing the minute Ace became self aware. 

“Oh—you can go fuck yourself!” His pretty bronze skin flushed with warmth. “I’m glad you’re fucking with me becahse I’d never let you leave this garage alive if you ment that. Don’t scare me. Shit!”

“You’re saying you’d kill me if I didn’t like AC/DC?”

“Marco, I don’t make the rules of the garage, I simply abide by them.”

His laughter snapped off the second he heard his name. “Marco.”  Whitbeard’s voice cut through their conversation suddenly enough to make him jump. Newgate had taken to standing in the doorframe off his office, arms folded over his chest. There was a pause before he stated very simply, “C’mere a minute.”

The younger men exchanged glances before Marco excused himself. 

He was let into the office first, then Newgate followed and shut the door behind them. The unmoving, fierce look in the old man’s eyes reminded Marco of the old days at the shop. Whitebeard was infamous for shaking down customers who refused to pay, or thugs who thought it’d be a good idea to steal motorcycle parts from the garage. Marco cocked an eyebrow, “Everything okay?”

“Listen— I’m only going to say this once.” Newgate crossed the office towards his desk with heavy footsteps. He rubbed at the deep elevens between his eyes. “Don’t get involved with Ace.”

“Hm?” Marco’s confusion only grew, “I…beg your pardon?”

“Whatever it is you’re doing...” Newgate waved his hand in the general direction of the garage, “None of that. Don’t flirt with him, don’t distract him, don’t confuse him.”

Marco couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Flirting? He was pretty sure he hadn’t tried to flirt in the past four years of his life. He let out a breathy laugh and looked over his shoulder like Whitebeard had to be talking to someone else. “…You’re not being serious.”

“I’m serious. He’s got too much on his plate right now and frankly, he’s too young for you.”

“Wow.” Marco had to repeat Newgate’s words in his head a few times to fully digest it. He scoffed. Ace was a hyperactive, one volume only, shit starter. The very idea that someone interpreted their conversation as flirtatious had to be a joke. “First of all—” He could feel his face heating up, “It’s shocking to hear the kind of sleazy character you think I am. Secondly, you honestly think my type is the guy with a tattoo of his name spelled wrong?”

Whitebeard leveled Marco with an unamused glare. Clearly, the idea that he may have  misinterpreted things, hadn’t crossed his mind. “Listen, I gave Teach the same lecture.”

“Teach? I’m on the same level as Teach?” Marco clicked his tongue in disgust, “Well, you can rest easy. I promise you— I guarantee you, I have zero interest. Not my type.” Marco propped a hand on his hip, “And truthfully, I’m a little insulted you think you can dictate who I talk to anyway.” 

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me, Marco. I haven't ordered you around in the past ten years. You’re an adult. The people you date should be none of my business.” Whitebeard's reply was very matter of fact. Marco had thought he heard the threat from his tone disappear completely before it all came rushing back. Whitebeard leaned in, his voice fell an octave and Marco swore he saw death themselves behind the old man’s eyes, “Unless it’s my kid you’re talking to. So, I’m telling you right now Marco, knock it off.”

Chapter Text

There were few things that could launch your social status into the stratosphere like your older brother picking you up from school on a motorcycle. 

Luffy had expected the glamor to wear off after a while. Once things became routine, he’d pull on his helmet with the same enthusiasm he tied his sneakers with. Just not today.

Every conversation in the pick up line stopped at the sound of Ace’s motorcycle. The deep roar of Striker’s engine was loud enough to stick to your bones. Nami covered her ears while she followed Luffy off the grass where they’d been sitting, over to the curb. 

Ace owned a Breakout 117 Harley Davidson with a cherry red oil tank that looked orange when the sun hit it just right. There wasn’t a bike in the entire city sporting that same chromatic red because Ace mixed the color himself.   

“How fast does it go?” Nami asked as soon as Ace cut the engine. 

“How fast?” It was a genuine question, it’d always take an extra second before he got the thrumming of the engine out of his ears. Ace flipped up his visor, “Ma’am, this bike can reach a top speed of about a hundred and twenty miles per hour.”

“Next time Luffy comes over, I’m getting a ride, right?”

“Your moms’ already threatened me, Nami.” Ace retrieved Luffy’s helmet from the rack of the bike and traded it for his brother’s backpack. “I prefer to live, thanks.” 

Her pouting was interrupted by Zoro, who’d marched in front of her to get a better look. He knew better than to try and touch the hot chrome this time and fkept his arms crossed tightly across his chest to prove it. “I need Luffy to sleep over my house on Saturday.” He stated. 

“Yeah?”

“Super smash brothers tournament.”  Zoro explained, “He’s the anchor.” 

Luffy was the smallest of his friend group by a pretty significant margin. He had little hands and needed them both to pull his helmet over his head. When he flipped up his visor, his wide round eyes were the only part of his face visible. They were the exact same deep black that Ace’s were and one of the first reasons no one would ever guess they weren’t blood related. A mistake Luffy never minded people making. 

“I’m not just the anchor.” Luffy slapped his helmet with both hands, “I’m the glue. I’m the core. Zoro absolutely cannot win without my silly goofy attitude— it’s crucial to his psyche.”

“That sounds pretty crucial.” Ace secured Luffy’s backpack with a cord wrapped so tightly, you’d think they were about to drive through a hurricane. “This is for Saturday?”

Luffy looked to Zoro for confirmation and Zoro nodded. 

“If you can find your anchor a ride, he’s all yours. I work all day on saturday.”

“I told you he’d say that.” Luffy snapped little finger guns at his best friends, “Don't panic yet, I’ll see what I can do.”

Nami propped a hand up on her hip, “Figure it out, Luffy, we’ve got a month worth of lunch money on this.” 

“Wait, you’re gambling?”

“Oh— what? No, it’s not like that at all.” Nami gave him the sweetest smile she had in her repertoire. “I’m just joking—”

Luffy snapped the visor of his helmet down, “Nami has an underground gambling empire that controls the entire school. It’s pretty awesome, she’s like the mafia or something—“ 

“Luffy!” He was lucky he was wearing that helmet. Nami swung her plastic water bottle against Luffy’s head and it absorbed the shock like he was hit with a pillow. “Cmon!”

Luffy’s chronic honesty when it came to his brother, was something his friends couldn’t wrap their heads around. Ace could have easily made some phone calls and gotten every little Straw Hat grounded for an entire summer with the information he had. What they simply couldn’t appreciate, was the fact that Ace was two decades younger than their more rigid parents. 

“Luffy, if you tell me you’ve been gambling away the lunch money I give you.” Ace grabbed his brothers helmet and flipped his visor back up to drive his point home with menacing eye contact, “I will have a mental break right here in this parking lot.”

“No, no no! Lunch money?” Luffy patted his arms reassuringly, “Lunch is too important to gamble on— you know that about me.” It was a good answer, Ace released him for it. “Nami takes other people’s lunch money.” 

“I’m the debt collector.” Zoro added from the back. 

Luckily for Nami, Ace laughed. “That checks out.” He threw his leg over his bike and held it steady for Luffy to climb up into the passenger seat. “Good luck with your empire, Nami.” 

She sighed, “Thanks.” 

Ace flicked his wrist around the throttle, flooding the parking lot with the sound of thunder. 

There were teachers at Luffy’s school who couldn’t stand the disturbance. They were only made angrier when their phone calls home were answered by the same motorcycle-junkie-twenty year old they wanted to complain about. Others just smiled and gave his older brother twinkley little waves instead. What created such a varied pool of reactions, Luffy did not understand. 

They peeled out of the middle school parking lot and rocketed down the boulevard. The heatwave was at a peak today but unless they were sitting at a red light— which Ace rarely was— the wind pounding on their chests kept them cool. 

Sabo never liked the way Ace drove, it might be the only thing he criticized when it came to Ace’s parenting style— if you could call it that. 

Problem was, Luffy loved the bike just as much as Ace did. He had a list of roads and highways memorized that he knew Ace would consider popping wheelies. So, as they accelerated onto the emptier and wider road that brought them home every day, Ace knew what Luffy wanted when he wildly tapped his arm. Luffy wrapped his arms around Ace’s mid section. Ace snapped back the throttle and the burst of speed sent the bike’s front wheel off the ground. Luffy howled. 

Marco had learned to be cautious of the city's police department ever since he started working for Whitebeard. While the police never found hard evidence that Edward Newgate and his boys got up to some sketchy shit, they were certainly convinced of it. 

Gol D. Rodger’s known rivalry with Newgate didn’t help. Even dead, the infamous drug lord’s reputation kept a steady target on Whitebeard’s back. 

So, when a decorated police captain showed up in his hospital, looking for painkillers, it definitely piqued Marco’s interest. 

“I just can’t understand how it hasn’t healed by now.”

“It was a complicated injury.” 

“You wanna talk about ‘complicated’? I’ve taken shots to the stomach before. That shit was complicated.” 

“Your chart describes your first surgery as a near total reconstruction. It’s impressive you can move your fingers at all.” Marco held the officer’s much larger, calloused hand in his under a lamp. There were scars from both the injury and the many surgeries afterwards that had attempted and failed to return his full range of motion. “How’s physical therapy been?”

“A waist of fucking time, Doc. I sat in that office for weeks squeezing stress balls and look at the state I’m in— I can hardly hold a damn pencil… All the good it did.” He scoffed. 

“Physically therapy is a long, arduous process.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that about a million times.” 

Marco sighed, “I’ll refill your prescription to manage the pain but it’s not going to do anything for you in the long term.” 

“Sure, sure.” The Captain pulled his hand back and stood. He was a staggering height, nearly as tall as Whitebeard, with broad shoulders that looked like they could haul a semi trailer. “Lets just see that prescription, hm?”

Marco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He slid his stool back a few feet to the computer at the counter. His fingers flew across the keyboard to green light his refill. All the while, the officer studied him from below the rim of a police department branded cap. 

“Why do you look familiar?” 

“I was an EMT in pre med.” Marco answered simply, “I used to interact with the police department all the time.”

“That’s not it.” 

Marco’s eyes slid from the computer screen to the officer watching him. The corners of his mouth sharpened into the subtlest smirk. “I used to work for Whitebeard. Is that what you’re looking for?”

The officer’s name was written as Police Captain Sakazuki at the top of his medical chart. His nostrils flared and his eyebrows knitted together into a deep scowl as his memories filled in the blanks. “Oh, yeah. The scrawny blond at the front desk. I remember you.”

“I’m flattered.” Marco snapped a sheet of paper free from his notebook. He scribbled down the frequency the pills should be taken and a number for a physical therapist he knew Sakazuki would ignore. “You should be able to pick up your prescription in a few hours.”

Sakazuki took the note from him but hesitated to leave the small examination room. Marco crossed his ankle over his knee and watched the officer in what was seemingly a stand off. When Sakazuki failed to say something bad about Whitebeard, when he failed to give him any rude remark at all, Marco decided he’d be the one to dismiss him. He smiled and chimed, “Please feel better, Captain.”

The officer thought about it. Then, he left. 

Once his morning shift had ended, Marco drove straight from the hospital to the auto shop. Thatch had promised to lend Marco his pick up truck for furniture shopping. So, while he waited for Thatch’s shift to end, the new resident set up camp in the break room. 

Izou sat with him during his lunch break. After that, Marco transcribed is new work schedule onto paper. The sound of a motorcycle eventually pulled his attention. 

When Marco looked up, he saw a sleek, beautiful Harley roll into the parking lot carrying two passengers. When the driver cut the engine, Marco could hear the smaller one whining about something having to do with a sleepover. 

“Can you relax?” 

It was Ace— of course Ace drove a motorcycle, what else would he drive? The young mechanic pulled the matt black helmet off his head to reveal his sun kissed face and the absolute rats nest the helmet made of his hair. “I’m not saying no, I’m saying you’d need to find a ride there.”

“Why can't you just drop me off? It’ll take two seconds.”

The kid was small. He needed two hands to pull off his helmet and was thrown off balance when it finally popped off. Ace promptly took the helmet from him and hung it on the back seat of his bike. “I’m the only one working past three—”

“Cant you just leave and come back?”

“Uh, no?” Ace nudged the kid hard enough to send him back a half step. “I’m sure you can find someone else to drive you. You ask Thatch?” 

The kid’s arms bounced around wildly as he followed Ace, skipping into the garage. He was either made out of rubber or twelve year olds simply didn’t have control of their limbs yet— Marcos wasn’t sure. 

“Not yet.” he replied, “His car smells so weird though.”

“True.”

“Like, Taco Bell and skunk.” Luffy’s wide eyes locked in on Marco as they rounded the corner into the break room. There was something about eye contact with that kid that made it feel like Marco’s soul was being flipped through like a book. Luffy raised a pointed finger at the blond and announced with a full chest of air, “I don’t know you.”

“Ah!” Ace smilied, “It’s Mr. Subaru Outback.” He dropped his hands on Luffy’s shoulders and Marco could have sworn the little squeeze he gave them was code for ‘be polite’. “He’s friends with Pops and he used to live in our apartment before we did. Marco, this is my kid brother, Luffy.”

“Nice to meet you, Luffy.” Marco’s outreached hand was promptly rejected by the twelve year old, who slipped from his brother’s grasp to study the thick notebook Marco had on the break table. 

“Hi Mr. Subaru Outback.” He said and picked up the sharpest number two pencil he could find out of Marco’s pencil case. “You have pretty handwriting.”

“Thanks.” Marco waved off Ace’s concerned face over the stolen pencil. “You can ride a motorcycle? That’s cool.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. I’ll have my own bike when I’m older though, it’ll be a lot cooler than his.”

“Doubt it.” Ace stood in front of his locker while he pulled his shirt off over his head. Marco caught a glimpse of his beautifully sculpted bronze shoulders before Ace exchanged his old shirt for a clean one with Pop’s skull and crossbones logo printed across the back. “Marco, what are you doing here? Miss me?”

“I’m waiting for Thatch to finish his shift. Then, I’ll be dragging him to Ikea.”

“So it’s unconfirmed if you missed me.”

Marco couldn’t help the corners of his mouth curling into a smirk, “You know what? My alignment feels kinda off. You sure you didn’t rush the job on my car?”

Ace spun on his heels so fast, eyes wide, nose twisted up in disgust. He took a few menacing steps forward, “You’re fucking full of shit you mother fucker— “

“You’re right—“ Marco chuckled, raising his arm up like he was prepared to keep a dog from biting him, “It’s great— my tires are perfect—Oh my god.”

“Yeah, I know they’re perfect.” Ace swiveled his hips around Marco’s arm as he passed him, as if he just spared him from an attack. 

Ace crossed the break room to the kitchenette and pulled little plastic red tubs of deli turkey and cheese out of the fridge. Luffy, with the stolen pencil still in hand, ran to watch Ace assemble a sandwich. Ace covered the insides of the bread with a clearly rehearsed amount of mustard and mayonnaise. He cut the crust off first, then the entire thing into quarters. 

“I could easily believe you both eat your sandwiches like that.” Marco chirped from his place at the table. 

Ace handed the paper plate to Luffy, who bolted with it into the front office. “Fuck the crusts. Why should anyone have to taint their fluffy sandwich bread with crust? Now, give me nice bread— an italian roll, maybe ciabatta and it’s a different conversation we’re having.”

“Right.” Marco nodded towards the door Luffy ran through. “The kids’ cute.”

“I know. He’ll use it against you, be careful.” Ace bit into a slice of cheese and looked over Marco’s shoulder at the open notebook on the table. Marco wrote in a beautiful, small, script with thin, inky black pens. A hand drawn calendar, several lists, and an hourly schedule were composed beautifully across the two pages as if it’d been done on a computer. “Oh, wow.” Ace whispered, “You must be insufferable at work, huh? 

“I’m organized.”

“What are you— a Virgo? You look like a Virgo.”

“I honestly have no idea.” 

“You don’t know?” Ace either didn’t receive Marco’s disinterest in astrology or simply didn't care. The mechanic leaned his hands on the table, “When’s your birthday?”

“October fifth.”

“Libra.” Marco had to raise his pen off the table while Ace drummed against it triumphantly, “I was close. Fucking Libra. That’s so you.” 

“How?” Marco fired back, “This is the second conversation we’ve ever had!”

“Hey, Ace!” Luffy had slapped the door back open. He bounced on the balls of his feet and as he spoke, Marco could hear a loud voice coming from around the corner. “Some old loser is yelling at Izou.”

Marco and Ace exchanged a brief glance before they were both making their way for the door. 

Izou stood behind the front desk, arms crossed and exhaustion weighing down his shoulders. A man with a wiry mustache and sunburn face stood on the other side of the counter, so angry it looked like he’d pop a blood vessel at any second. 

“That’s a load of crap!” The man spat, “Do you realize how much these parts actually cost?! Hm? You’ve got no right to charge me three thousand dollars!”

“You’re not just paying for the part Sir.” Izou repeated with the shred of patience he had left, “You're paying for a professional installation. If you believe you can get this work done for less, you’re free to go somewhere else.”

“That’s the rudest fucking thing I heard all day. Are you kidding me?!” He took another step forward, jutting a short stubby finger in Izou’s face. Marco and Ace filed into the front office just in time for the man to slam a closed fist on the counter top. “Can I speak to someone who knows a damn thing about cars?!” 

There were few things Ace enjoyed more then telling a customer to go fuck themselves. It was a well known and long standing policy at Whitebeard’s shop that no one’s money was good enough to justify treating someone like shit. 

“Perfect timing.” Marco’s stentorian voice demanded the attention of the office. “I’ve got a mechanic for you right here.” He gestured unceremoniously towards Ace while he inserted all six foot seven of himself between the man and the front counter. “What’s the gentleman need so badly that he's lost his composure, Izou?”

“He says it’s his cylinder head.”

“Is that right…” Marco nodded towards Ace who’d marched over to the windowpane to get a look at the car outside. “Ace?”

“Looks vintage.” he scoffed, “If it’s got an iron cylinder head, that’ll fuck him over. Whatever Izou told him, he’s about a thousand short.”

“So, four thousand?” Marco supplied. “How much was your surcharge for assholes, again?”

“Oh, for assholes? It’s steep, add another half a grand on top of that.” Ace leaned his hip against the counter on the other side of the disgruntled man. “I have to disassemble your engine. It’ll take three days— it’s expensive. So get your meaty fucking fist off the counter, take half a step back so Izou doesn’t have to smell your cigar breath, and stop fucking yelling infront of my little brother you crusty, rotting, peice of shit.”

Luffy stood on the couch in the lobby, bouncing on his heels while he watched the little performance. No doubt his goofy grin made the man any less furious. “Oh crap…” Luffy chuckled, “Is his face gonna explode?”

“Is this shop run by children?!” The man snapped his keys off the counter top, “This is no way to treat your clients— this business is a joke! Whitebeard’s hired a bunch of thugs!”

The man scrambled towards the door, throwing every threat he could think of from calling the better business bureau to leaving a nasty google review. Before the door shut behind him, the man shreiked over his shoulder, “Watch me call the fucking police!” And stomped across the parking lot, back to where his vintage car waited for him. 

The bell hanging over the front door rang on his way out. 

“I thought he would never leave.” Izou massaged his fingertips over his eyelids, “Thanks, boys.”

Marco had intended to pick one of Ace’s stupid insults to make fun of. Then, he realized how suddenly quiet the room was. The squeaking of the couch springs had stopped. When he looked over his shoulder, Luffy’s bright, toothy grin was gone and the color had drained from his face. Anxiety made his eyes wide and his voice just barely above a whisper, “…Is he really gonna call the police?”

Ace’s attention snapped to his brother, “No.” He answered immediately, “He’s just an asshole, no one’s calling the police.”

“I shouldn’t have gotten you.” Luffy’s wide eyes watched the glass door without blinking, like he’d charge the cranky old man if he saw him reach for a cellphone. 

“Luffy…”  Izou looked between the two brothers, “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“What would happen if he filed some kind of complaint?”

“He’s not going to.” Ace reached out for Luffy’s wrist and pulled him to step down from the couch, “That’s called a bluff, little brother. Besides, what's anyone gonna do? Look at the size of Marco—“ Ace nodded at the blond leaning on the front desk, “Marcos’ like two of me. No one’s fucking with us in the shop, okay?”

Luffy’s eyes fell to the ground, “Okay.”

It was an interesting angel Ace took to comfort him. Considering Marco assumed it was the legal system Luffy might be afraid of, why would it make a difference who they had to defend them in a fight? But, the perplexed look Marco gave Izou was either missed or ignored. 

“C’mon, come hold a flashlight for me.” Ace steered Luffy by the shoulders in the direction of the garage. His eyes just briefly caught Marco’s before he was gone and the office was quiet again. 

Izou spoke at half volume, “I shouldn’t have put Luffy anywhere near that. Honestly, I shouldn’t put Ace anywhere near bullshit like that either. Luffy’s not even wrong.” He tapped furiously at the keyboard, clearing out the would-be cylinder head replacement order. 

“No, Ace and I had too much fun with that. That’s not on you,”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Izou cracked a smile, “Did you rehearse that with him?”

“Tsh.” Marco shrugged. He waved a hand over his shoulder while he turned back towards the break room, “It was tame if you compare it to how I used to handle things.”

“I’d say you’re pretty equally vicious, Marky.”

“Really?” Marco stopped at the door and looked back at him. Considering Marco worked at the shop through the major aftershocks of Rodger’s death, it was a bold comparison to make. Marco’s early twenties were a blur. 

“Pre-arrest, yes. He’s mellowed out since then.”

“Oh sure, he’s so mellow.” 

It was three o’clock twenty minutes later when Thatch clocked out. Marco met him in the garage with his backpack slung over one shoulder. They both called out quick goodbyes to the garage before heading out to the parking lot. Ace caught Marco’s arm before he could make it. 

“Hey— ” His eyes had the same uncharacteristic seriousness about them as they did when he left the office with Luffy. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Ah— sure.”

“Luffy’s dying to see his friends on Saturday. I’m the only one scheduled during the afternoon, so I can't leave the shop.” His voice fell half a step, “I can't be the reason, he doesn’t see his friends. Can you cover me while I take him?” Marco hesitated for half a second so Ace continued, “I’ll be fifteen minutes— all you’d have to do is watch the phone.” Then he added, “I’ll pay you.”

“You’re not paying me.” Marco fired back. He hadn’t had Ace nail him with eye contact that earnest before and it gave him whiplash to hear such little sarcasm in his voice. “It’s not a big deal, I can watch the shop for fifteen minutes.”

Ace’s expression lit up, “Yeah? Can you be here at six?”

“That’s fine.”

“Marco,” Ace held him there with just his eyes, the deepest shade of black Marco had ever seen. “Thanks. I owe you.” 

And he left. Ace released him and took all the intense energy with him, like a tornado just passing by. 

“That was nice of you.” Thatch said once they’d reached his pickup truck in the parking lot.

“Yeah,” Marco shook his head, “I see where Luffy gets the puppy dog eyes from.” 

Chapter Text

Saturday Morning.

By the fourth day of the heatwave, the early morning was the only time cool enough to stand being outside. The sun hadn’t begun cooking the asphalt yet and the shadows stretched out long across the parking lot. 

Schools were letting out for summer break in exactly one week. That ment everyone and their mothers were bringing their cars in for maintenance before heading out to the shore. Thatch anticipated today’s schedule being brutal but, not like this. He had a hot date and plans to clock out as early as possible today so, the fifty messages in their inbox before seven am felt a little concerning. 

“Excuse me.” A woman with the sides of her head shaved and a neatly ironed plaid shirt  approached the front desk with purpose. Her nerves neatly and carefully filed away behind a stoic expression. “Is Portgas D. Ace working today?” 

The answer was yes but instead Thatch asked, “What can I do for you, Ma’am?” And slid his keyboard back an inch to give her his full attention. 

“I’m actually the mother of one of Luffy’s friends.”

“Oh.” Thatch raised his eyebrows, “Oh— you’re Nami’s mom, aren't you?”

“Have we met?”

“Not directly! I’ve dropped Luffy off at your house about a dozen times.” His chuckling was not returned by the women in the slightest. Her stone cold expression was unmoving. “It ah, takes a village am I right or am I right?” He cleared his throat, “My name is… Thatch.” 

The sound of the hydraulic lift getting stuck rattled the walls of the front office. It was followed by a muffled yet perfectly intelligible “Fuck— this fucking piece of garbage can eat my asshole.” coming from the garage behind them. Unbeknownst to Bell-mère, it was the first of about a dozen times that would probably happen today.

Thatch drummed his fingers against the desk. “You know what? Let me get him for you.” He launched himself from his chair and made a break for the garage in just a few strides. 

“Thatch, this equipment is shit.” Ace held a toothpick between his teeth while he wrestled with a lever jammed in one position. “How does Pops agree to buy Izou a three hundred dollar coffee maker while this fucking thing almost kills me five times a day?”

“Ace, Nami’s mom is here.”

His head popped up from being bent over the machine, “What’d I do?”

“I don’t know but I absolutely blew it on your set up.”

“Thatch.”

“I’m sorry, buddy.” 

The heavy door separating the front office and the garage swung open. Again, she walked with great purpose, making a point to navigate cautiously around the cars and tools scattered across the floor. “Ace? Hi, I just need a second. I’ll be quick.”

“Sure.” He failed completely to mask the concern in his voice. “Thatch, you can ah… figure this out for me, right?”

“Go, go.”

Ace scrambled for a rag to clean his grease stained hands. Bell-Merè followed him just outside the garage where they stood in the blue, early morning shadow casted by the building. 

Ace and Bell-merè had a natural dislike for each other that existed exactly as long as Nami and Luffy had been friends. She was regimented and organized. He was laid back, he let Luffy run wild. He was a high school drop out on parole, she was a retired cop who hated nothing as much as she hated that cherry red motorcycle.

“I was at the police station the other day,” She explained, “I caught up with Lieutenant Garp for the first time in a while.”

How all good stories started. Ace hid his restless hands in the pockets of his jumpsuit, “Sure.” 

“I’m just going to put this bluntly.” She took a deep breath and pressed her hands together, “I’ve never been comfortable with the situation you have with Luffy. I’ve tried my best to mind my own business but that’s not possible anymore. He told me about your father.”

She paused to give Ace a chance to respond but he didn’t. He stared at her. He wanted to hear the whole thing. 

So he continued, “I don’t like my child being unsupervised in an auto parts shop. I don’t like strangers giving Luffy and my child rides without my knowledge. I’m absolutely sick of hearing stories about you speeding around the school’s property with a twelve year old on the back of your motorcycle.” She grimaced, almost apologetically, “And this… Honestly, it horrified me. Gold Rodger was a direct threat to me and my family while he was alive.”

Ace looked as if he was recalibrating in the way he stared at her, trying and failing to bury whatever dark, angry pit lay deep in his stomach. His heart had jumped from zero to a hundred far too quickly and it was difficult to even hear her speaking with all the blood rushing past his ears. “If there’s one thing I can make crystal fucking clear to you, that man is not my father.” He’d been so careful to not make waves, to keep under her radar and he was slipping. “Secondly, I have never left Luffy or anyone else unsurprised in the shop— ”

“I don’t really consider you, supervision. You’re not even Luffy’s legal guardian, Lieutenant Garp is.

Ace cocked his head to the side, “What is this? What do you want me to say?”

“I’m here to tell you, I’m not comfortable with my daughter being friends with Luffy.”

Ace’s expression fell, he felt his stomach drop. Suddenly— instantly, this had become a fight he had no desire to win. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Please don’t do that. The five of them have such a nice group.”

Ace watched a shadow over take his against the asphalt and Bell-merè’s gaze rose far above his head. “Can I weigh in on this?”

She sighed, resigning to her fate that this conversation wouldn’t be as quick and painless as she wanted it to be. “I’d rather you didn’t, Mr. Newgate.”

Wordlessly, Ace side stepped so Whitebeard could take his place facing her. Ace crossed his arms, “You don’t need to rescue me.”

“I’m not rescuing you.” He gestured towards Bell-merè, his anger showing itself in the form of half a laugh, “But, you can’t expect me to stand here and listen to this bullshit. Now, there’s plenty of reasons kids shouldn’t be running around the shop, yeah? It’s fucking dangerous, I can respect that. But, the narrative that it’s happened is something you’ve imagined. Besides Luffy— who’s none of your damn concern by the way— none of the kids have been anywhere but the apartment upstairs. If you’re concerned twenty isn’t old enough to be a responsible adult, I’m seventy two fucking years old. I live less than three hundred feet away from this building. I’m always here.”

“With all do respect, you’re his employer.”

“With all do respect?” Newgate scoffed and when he spoke again, his voice was loud enough to make the other two jump, “That boy is just as much my son as your child is your daughter! With all do respect!? Is that what you just said?!” He threw his hands up and scoffed in the other direction. “Now, you’re telling me you don’t think he’s fit to take care of Luffy? That he’s so irresponsible you can’t trust him to supervise a play date? Well, that insults me.” 

Newgate didn’t expect someone like Bell-merè to be intimidated by him, that wasn’t what he wanted. He had a point to make, that was all. “Rodger’s dead. You cannot persecute the boy for being related to him.”

“The… police department doesn’t see it that way.”

“Oh, I know damn well how they see it. Is he young and irresponsible or a dangerous criminal following in Rodger’s footsteps? Pick one.” Edward Newgate took a long deep breath, “Do you honestly believe your word will be enough to exclude Luffy from their group of friends? You intend to punish your daughter because you dislike my boy?”

Bell-merè didn’t answer and Ace certainly couldn’t read her stoney expression. 

“How about this?” Newgate grunted, “Luffy won’t have Nami over for a little while, how’s that? You hate the bike so damn much? Ace can borrow my truck to drop Luffy off when he’s over. There has to be a compromise you’re willing to consider.”

“I don’t want random mechanics out of the shop driving my daughter around.”

“Done.” Ace said quickly, “It’ll always be me.”

“Fine.” She looked between them, “But give me one reason to think Nami isn’t safe around you and we’ll do more than just revisit this conversation.”

“It won’t happen.” All the conviction in the world would have done very little to impress her. 

Bell-merè nodded, she straightened the cuffs of her shirt and after a curt thanks and goodbye, turned back to her car.

Whitebeard held a tight grip on Ace’s shoulder as they walked back into the garage. “Wait for her to leave.” 

So, he did.

Ace waited for Bell-Merè to turn the engine of her honda civic. He waited for the sound of her car to fade away as she pulled out of the parking lot. 

Ace picked up a tire iron off the ground. He cocked back his upper body and with all his strength, launched it into a tire display on the other side of the garage. The cardboard ripped to the ground and the stack of new tires went tumbling out in every direction. Newgate watched him.

“What a fucking disaster.” Ace hissed as he stormed past the display, stepping over the mess he created and back to the car he was meant to be working on. “I’m such a fuck up.”

“You’re not.”

“There’s a tracking device on my ankle— I am a fuck up! Why would Garp tell her so much!? She could get the two of us in so much fucking trouble—“ He crossed his arms, suddenly aware of how emotional his voice sounded and chewed on the inside of his cheek to quiet himself down. Ace stared up at the lifted car in front of him. “Luffy just needs to survive until Sabo graduates and comes home. Things will be so much easier for him once he has an actual care taker and I stop infecting his fucking life— I’m like a fucking disease.”

“Sure, if Luffy agreed with you, he’d be with him right now, in another time zone.” Whitebeard dropped his hand on the top of Ace’s head as he walked past him, leaving his bangs a mess over his eyes. “You’re not so bad, Ace. Smoke a joint, take a deep breath, figure it out. Thatch says today’s schedule’s gonna be hell. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Okay.”

“And clean up the fucking mess.”

“Okay.” He sighed.

“You’re gonna be alright, kiddo.”

Marco swore Ace put him under some kind of spell when he asked him to watch the auto shop. There was no other logical explanation for why he’d be driving there on a Saturday night. To work without pay for no less. 

As Marco approached the shop, he could see Luffy swinging his legs wildly from a folding chair in the shade of the garage. He had a Nintendo switch in hand and his bright smile competed with the sun. “Mr. Subaru Outback is here!” Luffy launched to his feet, “Let’s GO! I wana GO!”

Ace rolled himself out from under an old chevy that looked far past his natural life span. He snapped up to his feet and patted the legs of his jumpsuit to make sure a set of keys were in his pocket. “Pop’s truck.” Ace pointed to the vintage white pick up in the back of the lot. 

“Why?” Luffy spun on his heels, “What about the bike?”

“We’re taking the truck today.”

Luffy accepted the lack of explanation pretty easily. Either because he could tell his brother was in a bad mood or because it didn’t make all that much of a difference to him. He narrowly avoided Marco on his way, barreling out of the garage. 

Aced followed Luffy at full stride, “Thanks Mr. Subaru.”

“Hey.” Marco gestured to the oil smudge on Ace’s forehead, “You look great, is that a new look?”

“Yeah, you like it?” Ace’s smirk was lukewarm, his eyes had none of the fire Marco had gotten used to seeing. He marched right past him, “I’ll be back in fifteen. Time me.”

Marco waved to Pops on his way into the front office. Then, he proceeded to walk in on Thatch moments away from a mental breath down. He looked overdressed to be at the shop. A crispy black button down and a silver chain around his wrist made him look like some kind of gentleman. His fingers jumped frantically around the keyboard, “Thank fuck. Marco, I’m leaving you in the middle of a shit storm, I’m not even sorry.”

“Why? What the hell happened to this place?”

“Summer rush is deadly this year.” Thatch jumped away from the computer as soon as his email was sent. “It’s been non stop, we’re still scrambling on yesterday’s list.”

“It seems like if you didn’t have to leave so early, I wouldn’t have to be here.”

“True.” Thatch winked his eye and clicked his tongue like the hot shot he knew he was, “But, I’ve got a beautiful date tonight. So, hope you remember how to do all this…” He waved his hand at the computer, “Bullllshit.”

Marco took his place behind the desk and scowled at the disaster of information on their master excel sheet. “Why’s Ace in a bad mood?” He asked as Thatch retrieved his bag from the break room. 

“Shitty fucking morning.” Thatch replied, “Did he say something?”

“No, I just saw the look on his face.”

“What look?”

Marco pried his eyes away from the excel sheet to look at Thatch. He shrugged, “I don’t know, he looked pissed off.”

“Hey, if you can read Ace’s mind, find out if he remembers that he owes me thirty dollars.” Thatch blew Marco a kiss before he slipped out the front door, “Thanks again Marky, you’re my hero.”

The next fifteen minutes were spent rearranging Thatch’s disaster of a schedule to make any sense at all. The old handset between his chin and shoulder made him feel eighteen again. Eight years of schooling and nothing felt quite as natural as filling in a receipt for an oil change. 

Ace kept his word. Marco could see him back in the parking lot with four and half minutes to spare. His voice came from behind the desk, “Hey— you’re good.” He kicked a wedge in the door between the office and garage to keep it open. “Thank you so much, I can take over from here.”

There was something adorable about the wide, expectant eyes he stared up at Marco with. Clearly, unaware how pitifully exhausted he looked. 

“Mhm.” He told the receiver, “That’s what I’m saying. You can't put a cheap tire like that on a Mercedes benz. Yeah—expensive cars need expensive maintenance.” Marco covered his hand over the microphone end of the old phone to regard Ace, “You’ve got three cars to wrap up by the end of the hour. You don’t have time to watch the front desk.”

“You don’t even work here,” Ace argued, “It’s my problem, so get lost.”

Marco nodded as if he understood. Then, returned his attention to whoever it was on the other line, “It’s gonna be around four hundred a tire.”

“Marco.” 

Marco spared another glance at Ace and the boiling frustration on the young mechanic made him smile. While the customer kept talking, Marco mouthed the words, ‘You know my name?’ 

“Knock it off.” 

Ace was told his entire life that being six foot made him tall. It matched the kind of character he liked to advertise himself as; strong, intimidating, someone you might not want to screw with. So, when he reached for the receiver and Marco so easily held it away with his massive fucking wind span, Ace struggled to digest how offended he was. “Fuck you— Are you kidding me?!” 

“We’re all booked for the rest of the weekend but you can drop it off Monday morning. Yeah.” Marco grinned wildly into the phone. “A couple hours. I'd say before eleven. Yes, he works very fast.” Marco covered the end of the receiver again, his eyes sparkling with a competitive edge Ace was only seeing for the first time. “Start with the corvette. Let me know when you’re done.”

Marco watched Ace go through a few different expressions while he processed Marco’s effortless dominance of the situation— all of them different variations of being insulted. Eventually though, he turned on his heels and stormed back out to the garage. 

The customer on the other end of the phone asked Macro if she heard him laughing. “Sorry.” Marco shook his head while he returned to the computer, “It’s nothing. Tomorrow morning worked for you, then?”

It wasn’t an unpleasant break from the emergency room. Prices, time frames, order forms, the information came rushing back like he never left and the best part of it was, no one’s life was on the line. By nine o’clock, Marco, Ace, and Whitebeard had clawed their way out of the red and worked through Saturday's schedule with very little that went wrong. 

Newgate visited him in the office five minutes after closing. “Hey.” He grabbed Marco’s wrist and forced a roll of what felt like cash into his hand. “Thank you for staying. Would have been a real shit show otherwise.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Don’t argue with me, Marco. You’re smarter than that.” Whitebeard left him with the cash and rolled the lock on the front door closed. “The boy can close up on his own. Get the hell out of here. You should have something better to do with your Saturday night.”

“Mhm.” Marco rolled his eyes, shut down the office computer and left the front desk. 

When he finally stepped out of the office, he found Ace with the majority of his upper body hanging into the hood of a truck. Whatever valve he wanted was so deep in the vehicle, one foot had started to rise off the ground for maximum reach. 

Marco shut off the neon light in the door that read ‘open’. Then, the break room lights and the parking lot flood lamp after that. “Cmon.” Marco tapped the side of the car Ace was still hanging into. “Leave it for tomorrow. You’re done.”

“I can’t believe you stayed this late.” The mechanic grumbled from inside the truck. 

“The minute I saw that parking lot, I knew I wasn’t going anywhere.” Marco grabbed the hood and lifted it another few inches. It was the only reason Ace didn’t crack his head on it when he shot up. 

“Come upstairs and eat something before you leave.” 

“Nah.” Marco waved him off, “I couldn’t.”

“C’mon, Thatch and I usually make dinner after this shift.” Ace tapped his arm as he passed him, “Not for nothing, but I didn’t want you here all night anyway. So the least you can fucking do is let me start digging myself out of debt and make you something to eat.”

“You’re not in debt. Why does your brain process favors like that?” 

“Dont— psychoanalyze me, just take the free food.” 

The night couldn’t have been more nostalgic as it was, why not finish things in the old apartment he lived out of for ten years? Whitebeard certainly wasn’t wrong, it’s not like he had anything else occupying his Saturday night. 

That line of thinking brought him back to the humiliating conversation they had with Newgate.

Don’t flirt with him. 

Marco kept hearing that old man’s pissed off, cranky fucking voice in his head as he climbed the metal steps behind Ace. 

Don’t distract him, don’t confuse him.

The absurdity of it all only grew the more Marco thought about it. Who the hell did Newgate think he was? 

The apartment above the auto shop was a tiny one bedroom who’s only redeeming quality was the old fashioned wood paneling that covered the floors and half the walls. The green paint Ace told Marco he hated so much during their first meeting, had been replaced with a deep wine that truthfully— looked much better. 

The place looked comfortably lived in. A hoodie, a few game controllers, an open box of cereal and what was clearly a stack of school work, littered the coffee table. It was disorganized, sure, but it wasn’t the kind of insufferable mess Teach lived in. This was— I live with a twelve year old kind of messy. 

“It’s the end of the year, isn’t it?” Marco tilted his head to read some of the top most worksheets. “They’re giving him linear equations with a week left of school? That’s bullshit.”

“It’s for summer school.” Ace answered from the bedroom, “The amount of work he brings back is fucking rediculous.” 

Marco stopped short of mentioning any kind of tutor. If he’s learned anything about Ace it’s that the guy despised accepting help. So, Marco considered his words carefully, “If Luffy ever needs help, let me know.”

“Yeah? Thanks.”

The other thing Marco had learned; Luffy was and would always be the exception to that rule.

Ace returned to the living room wearing a clean black T-shirt and sweatpants that looked half a size too big for him. Because his bangs were still wet, they stayed back where Ace had combed them out of his face. He walked straight to the half kitchen and pulled a pan out from inside the oven. “Luffy’s not like me, he’s a really smart kid. People hear he’s taking a summer class and assume he’s behind. He can’t focus, that’s all it is.”

“I have absolutely no doubt Luffy’s a smart kid.”

Ace smirked at him over his shoulder while he retrieved something from the fridge; a couple chicken cutlets marinated in a deep brown sauce. “Hey, is this okay?” Ace waved him closer and presented him with the cutlets, a bag of frozen vegetables and an old rice cooker at the end of the counter.

“It’s great.” Marco answered honestly, “How do you have the energy to cook right now?”

“My sleeping schedule is— it’s questionable.” Ace replied, “I’ll crash eventually, just you wait.”

Just like the take down of that prick in the office yesterday and just like the rush in the shop today, they made a good team. Ace combined the thawed vegetables and the chicken, along with a myriad of sweet and savory sauces in one pan. Marco cleaned as they went and by the time the chicken finished cooking, the rice cooker was the only thing they were waiting on. 

“Do you smoke?” Ace asked.

“Cigarettes?”

“Weed.” 

Marco furrowed his eyebrows together like it was a question he didn’t know the answer to. “Ah… Not in a while. Not really.”

Marco seemed to be the kind of man that had an answer for everything. He didn’t have the natural born confidence Ace had. Marco’s confidence was the kind that he earned through experience and the amount of times he did something correctly. This was new. 

Ace seemed unphased by his sudden shyness. “Would you like to?”

“I’m not sure.” 

The indecision between Marco’s eyebrows was met with the ray of sunshine that was Ace’s sympathetic wide eyes. “What didn’t you like about it last time?”

Ace’s question killed whatever excuse Marco had ready on his tongue. He looked around the kitchen while he thought about it. “It burned my throat. Then, I coughed so hard I thought I was gonna throw up.”

Ace nodded. “What’d you smoke out of?”

“Thatch’s filthy fucking bong.”

“Ha!” Marco could see the pointy ends of his ever so slightly crooked K9s as he smiled. “Well that makes sense!” Ace retrieved a black painted wooden box from the bedroom and set it on the coffee table. There was a little four digit combination on the front that Ace unlocked with the pads of his calloused fingers. “Listen, I’m gonna roll myself a joint. I promise I’ll make it a much better experience for you if you decide you’d like to try some.”

Truthfully, Marco didn't need too much encouragement. For the first time in the past four years he didn’t have to worry about a monthly drug test, so what should stop him? 

Thatch had been trying to get him high out of his mind since they’ve known each other. As sweet as he was, Thatch got far too much of a rise out of seeing Marco be the novice in a situation. It was nothing out of the ordinary for his brother. Neither of them pulled their punches with each other, why should Thatch hold back from tormenting Marco over coughing up a lung over one little hit? 

Be that as it may, Marco hadn’t agreed to smoke with him in years.  “Alright, Ace.”  Marco dropped himself beside him on the couch, “But, I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“That’s okay.” Ace’s reply was so simple. “You might not feel much the first time.” He opened the box and set some of it’s contents out on the coffee table, “And, we don’t have to get stoned off our asses unless you’re having fun.” 

Marco must have asked him a dozen questions while Ace prepared and filed a little paper cone. He asked him what the metal grinder was, he asked him how much he was going to use, he asked how long he’d probably feel high. Ace spent several minutes explaining strains before he stopped to ask Marco if he’d been talking too long. Marco assured him, he hadn’t been.

Ace held the filter end of the joint loosely between his lips. Embers crawled onto the end of the joint and glowed a bright, brilliant red. When smoke poured from Ace’s pursed lips it was undoubtedly one of the most gorgeous views Marco ever had. 

“Don't squeeze it too hard, you need airflow.” Ace carefully handed the joint to Marco. “Pull gently.”

“Pull?”

“Suck on the end like a straw— gently.”

Marco watched the cherry at the end of the joint brighten in response to his breath. Heat flooded his throat. 

“Now, a little bit more, suck in.” Ace hummed and relieved Marco of the joint he’d been holding. 

Marco did as he was instructed. He filled his lungs with warm, pungent, earthy smoke. Ace held him still, just like yesterday, with nothing but the deepest black of his eyes. Marco watched his expression for signs of approval, which he received in the form of a tiny crooked smirk. “That’s good.” Ace praised him, “Now, breathe out.”

Thick white smoke billowed from Marco's lips as he exhaled. He felt a hitch in his breath that immediately broke apart into an involuntary cough. It did little to satisfy the itch in his throat so, he coughed again. 

He felt Ace’s hand touching his back. “Don’t hold it down, just cough. Mhm. That’s perfect.”

Ace put the joint back to his own lips and Marco copied the deep breath he took in. Ace tilted his head back, showing off the beautiful curves of his beautiful neck and blew smoke at the ceiling above them. “Any better than last time?”

Marco nodded as he cleared his throat again. “Yeah— what did Thatch even do to me?”

Ace laughed, “I’m a gentleman, that’s the difference.”

“Right.”

While they passed the joint back and forth, Marco decided he loved the sound of Ace’s voice. He had to be the best storyteller Marco had ever met and he swore it wasn't the weed making him think so. Halfway through some ridiculous story about losing a fistfight in high school, Marco caught a split second of doubt in Ace’s face. “Am I—”

Marco swatted his knee. “Holy shit, you’re not talking too much— is that what you were going to ask?”  The body high that was kicking in kept him from holding back a wide smile. “Please keep talking to me.”

Ace felt heat rising up into his face. Then, the little bell on the rice cooker went off. Ace bounced to his feet like some kind of gymnast, joint in hand, and strolled back to the kitchen. 

Marco looked over his shoulder and noticed the way Ace’s sweatpants hung loose around his hips while he collected a couple of plates from the kitchen cabinet. It was at this point Marco realized his entire body felt like jello. He cleared his throat, “Do you need help?”

“No~” He chimed. “Just relax. We’re gonna watch a movie and you’re gonna go nuts over how fucking good this food is.” Marco chuckled as Ace placed plates of their dinner in front of him. “What do you want to drink?”

It smelled incredible. It wasn’t expensive, it wasn’t gourmet, but it was made hot just for him. “Oh my god…” Marco took off his glasses to rub his eyes with his hands. He groaned, “You’re fucking taking care of me.”

“I’m a good host, I know!” Ace’s high smile was adorable, it reached all the way up to the corners of his eyes. “Tell me what you want.”

“Just water.”

“You got it.”

Marco chose a terrible, low-budget comedy off Netflix for them to make fun of. It was both the greatest and worst movie Marco had ever seen. They both lost their shit laughing but more often it was at each other's jokes than the movie itself. 

“Wait—” Marco pointed at Ace while he watched him take another hit from a little glass pipe. “They don’t drug test you on parole?”

“They do,” Ace said with his breath held. He released it before he added, “I have a medical card.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m narcoleptic.” 

Marco picked his head up off the couch to stare at him, “You’re kidding!”

Ace felt his laughter bubbling up to the surface. “I’m not kidding! Indica keeps me asleep, and sativa keeps me up during the day. It got a lot worse this past year though. Is— it possible to get hit in the head so hard, your sleep cycle gets even more fucked than it already was?”

He was chuckling while he asked the question, grinning from ear to ear and seemingly unaware that Marco didn’t at all find that funny. “Yes…?” 

“Really?” Ace watched the ceiling fan make slow lethargic circles above his head. “Go figure.”

Ace hadn’t let them linger on the subject and because Marco was beyond stoned, he allowed it. 

Ace started a second movie right after the first one and he demanded Marco start making predictions for how it would end. They’d never get that far though. Marco realized it was one o’clock in the morning about half way through it. 

“How do you feel?” Ace asked from his end of the couch. 

“Good.” Marco had his head resting in his palm and a relaxed, blissed out expression on his face. “Really good.”

“I’m glad.”

“I’m tired.” Marco hummed, “What’d I need? Coffee or something? I’m still fucking high.”

“Just crash here.” Ace pulled himself off the couch. Marco watched him drag his feet to a nearby blanket, pick it up, and throw it into his lap. “I work in the morning, I’ll wake you up.”

“Hm.” Marco leaned his head back on the headrest of the couch and stared at the ceiling while Ace shut off the living room lights. There was a purple and red neon sign across the street. It’s colors seeped through the blinds and painted them both in watercolors. “Is that okay?”

“Of course.” Ace looked down at him from behind the couch. He touched Marco’s shoulders and the contact sent butterflies rolling down his arms. “You want a pillow? Sweat pants? Are you going to sleep in jeans like a fucking animal?”

“Yep.” 

“Freak.” 

They said their good nights and Marco swore he was out cold before his head hit the couch cushion. It was one of the best night's sleep he had in a long time; in his old apartment on Ace’s over sized, stupid fucking couch. 

Ace might have hit snooze twice, but Marco woke up the first time he heard the mechanic’s alarm. Even through the bedroom wall, Marco couldn’t sleep through the incisive ringing. 

From his stomach and tangled in the blanket that was given to him, Marco reached for his phone and scowled at his screen's blinding light. Six thirty in the morning. That idiot had thirty minutes before the shop opened.

Marco dragged himself off the couch. In a sleepy, coffee-less daze he started cleaning. The food on the coffee table, the unfolded blankets, the pillows scattered across the floor. It was truly the aftermath of a couple of children having a sleepover.

“Ace.” Marco knocked on his bedroom door. “Get the fuck up soon. Okay?”

Marco left for the bathroom after he heard a sound of acknowledgment through the door. He washed his face, he tried and failed to fix the disaster that was supposed to be a mohawk on his head.

When he returned, Ace had gotten up. His back faced the room while he percolated coffee on the stove. Without his shirt, Marco could drink in the view of Ace’s muscular back and how dramatically his waist narrowed.

“Good morning.” 

His voice caught Ace’s attention, the mechanic looked over his shoulder and smirked back at him. “Wow, is that your morning voice? Sexy.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Marco was damn lucky Ace was too oblivious of the rizz he had to notice how red that comment made Marco’s face. He dropped into the creaky little wooden chair at the kitchen table. “You’re a bad influence.”

“I get that all the time.” Ace brought him a hot thermos with some kind of wild west pattern printed along the side. It smelled like the richest, freshest hot coffee Marco ever had the pleasure of smelling. That— or the hospital he worked at had shitty coffee. 

“Thank you.”

“We’re even now, right?”

Marco clicked his tongue. The way he rolled his eyes got a chuckle out of Ace. “Sure, we're even. Or— hear me out— we’re friends that do nice things for each other. Can we do that?”

Ace looked surprised for a minute. His eyebrows jumped up his forehead and he smiled the more he let Marco’s words sink in. “Okay.” The fight in his voice was gone, “We can do that.”

Marco trotted down the steps with Ace’s thermos in hand. The loud aching of the metal steps meant absolutely nothing to Marco in the moment. He’d been ignoring how loud they were for years, it certainly didn’t grab his attention now. 

Until— he reached the floor and looked up to see Edward Newgate staring at him from the middle of the garage. 

Marco blinked. He looked at the thermos in his hand, the clothes he had on yesterday, the bizarre mess that was his hair. Whitebeard’s dead stare was somehow one of the scariest things Marco had ever seen. 

He felt his fight or flight response lighting up— his survival instincts kicking in. Is this what deer felt like before being eaten alive by a bear? 

Whitebeard took a long deep breath. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Marco wasn’t usually the type to smile when nervous but the absurdity of his next sentence warranted it, “It’s not what it looks like.” 

Whitebeard tossed the wrench he’d been holding in the air and caught it with the same hand. He crossed the garage towards Marco fast. He might have been old but Newgate had long fucking legs. “One thing— I ask one thing of you and that’s too much?!”

“Oh— this is ridiculous—” Marco ducked under the stairway railing, narrowly dodging Whitebeard grabbing a fist full of the front of his shirt. “You can’t lose it on me over this— nothing happened!”

“Lose it? The hospital won’t even fucking recognize you when you roll into the emergency room!”

Marco threw his hand up as he back stepped, “We didn’t sleep together!”

“Of course not.”

“We didn’t! Your darling son got me stoned and I crashed on his couch, that is what happened!” Marco released an exasperated laugh, “I swear t’ god. You can ask him.”

“Get the hell out of my shop, boy.” 

Marco laughed again, this time a little louder. He was 29 years old, Newgate hadn’t called him boy in half a decade. He ran a hand through his knotted mohawk as he turned himself out of the garage and towards the parking lot. He held his hands up to the metaphorical gun Whitebeard had trained at the back of his head. “I’ll admit that I like him but not like that, old man.” 

“You’re a fucking moron.”

“Really? Didn’t you say we should all sit down for dinner sometime? Because you were right, he’s a half-decent cook.” 

“Get out, Marco!”

Chapter Text

“You can’t move there, Acey.”

“Why not?”

Marshall D Teach picked up the bishop and slid the wooden piece back to it’s starting position. “It moves diagonally, kid. You’re confusing it with the castle.”

The heat wave had broken enough for the mechanics to sit outside for their lunch break. Teach and Ace took over the front steps with an old wooden chess board they found in the back of the garage. 

“Oh, every piece has its own rules now?”

Teach chuckled. He leaned back and propped his elbow on the step behind him. “Do you want me to explain it again?”

Ace’s eyes found something more interesting behind Teach’s shoulder; Thatch returning from his bodega run with a bag full of sandwiches. Ace popped onto his feet immediately. As Thatch approached the front steps, Ace reached for the bag which in turn, was promptly held away from him. 

“Absolutely not—“ Thatch clicked his tongue, “You don’t deserve this.” 

“I don’t deserve an Italian sub?” Ace frowned. 

“I’ve been begging you for one night out for months, Ace. One. I was just on the phone with Izou, he said you were probably gonna flake on us tonight.”

Ace rolled his eyes. Considering his excuse was always the same, it was a wonder Thatch kept insisting. “Luffy’s home tonight, I don’t like leaving him alone.”

“He’s not a baby!” Thatch groaned, “My god you have single dad syndrome at twenty and it’s disturbing. How do you even date?!”

“I don’t.” Ace made another attempt on the sandwich bag and failed. 

“You don’t!?”

“Wait, wait—” Teach chuckled, “Someone needs t’get this kid laid. It’s no wonder he’s all wound up all the time.”

“No one needs to get laid! I just want to share some appetizers with my friends. Is that too much to ask?!” 

“Thatch, give me my fucking sandwich or this won’t even be a conversation.”

Thatch allowed Ace to dig through the bag. Which he did with all the grace of a hungry rottweiler. He watched Ace rip into the paper and after another moment of thought, asked, “You’ve seriously never been on a date?”

“Ah…” Ace looked up, like he’d find the answer in the clouds. He either couldn’t remember or was too embarrassed to say out loud so he whistled instead. “Define date.” 

Teach chuckled some more.

“This is all the more reason for you to come with us. Ace, I’ll show you a good time.”

“You want to take me on a date?” Ace tilted his head to the side and flashed him a pretty little smirk, “You can’t handle me, Thatch.”

“I’m not sure anyone can, buddy. I’ll try though.” He grinned, “If I can convince Pops to watch Luffy, will you grab a drink with us?”

Ace glanced at the ground while he asked, “Are you going to invite Marco?”

Thatch’s hand shot to his phone like a cowboy drawing a pistol. “Why? Would that make the decision for you?”

“I guess.”

“Excellent.” Thatch began typing away. Most likely, assuring that Marco wasn’t trying to flake himself. He smirked as he wrote out his text. “You know, I kind of thought you had a crush on him for a second.”

“On Marco?” Ace raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you love giving him attitude.”  

“I love giving everyone attitude—“ Ace took a bite of his sandwich, “But you’re definitely onto something. I’m sure Marco lays awake at night fantasizing about a partner with a criminal record and a bad credit score.”

Teach certainly laughed more than Thatch did. He waved his hand dismissively “Yeah a match made in heaven. Now, sit down Acey and finish this damn game.”

Thatch presented Ace with his phone screen before he went back inside. 

Thatch’s most recent text read as follows:

‘You better show up at Ashford tonight. Ace requested you.”

Marco responded:

‘I’ll be there.’

A live band— some kind of Blink 182 knock off, wailed away on their instruments at the back of the bar. Clearly local talent, because the floor was packed shoulder to shoulder. 

Thatch wanted to divide and conquer. He appointed Izou in charge of finding a booth and he took Ace with him to start a tab at the bar. His reason being, you get help much faster with a pretty face. 

Ace had almost forgotten he used to consider himself an extrovert. He loved stupid, loud, places like this. He loved his friends. He loved talking to people. Thatch had instructed him to get the bartender's attention and he did so, effortlessly. Her eyes gravitated to him within seconds of his elbows leaning on the bar. She told him she liked the red beads around his neck, he told her she looked stunning in blue. Ace walked away with their drinks, a shot on the house, and her number. 

“Holy crap.” Thatch ripped the little piece of paper out of his hands. “That’s not fair. I looked away for thirty seconds!”

“She was very nice.”

“She was gorgeous.”

“You should talk to her.”

Thatch gestured at the ceiling like he was questioning a higher power, “If you don’t text that beautiful women, I’ll loose my fucking mind.”

Ace chuckled, walking around Thatch, towards their booth. As he did, he clinked their glasses together. “Oh yeah? Prepare to loose your fucking mind~”

Their group set up camp in the corner booth Izou found. Jozu got his hands on a menu and it wasn’t long before he had five of their friends surrounding him to suggest appetizers. Sliders, dip, fries, chicken tenders, this group knew how to eat. 

“What if I can’t finish the jalapeño poppers?” Izou looked at Ace with deep concern, “I don’t want to order them if I’m the only one going to eat them.”

He held his hand over his heart valiantly, “Anything you can’t finish, you give to me. I’ll handle it.”

Marco could hear the music from the parking lot. Frankly? He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing there. Thatch had completely dismissed his offer to host their friends at his place. No, he specifically wanted the most over packed bar in the entire city

Marco was just too big of a person to fit in a place like this. The Ashford had dark, low hanging entryways Marco had to duck through to reach the main floor. He was easily the tallest person in the entire pit of dancing bodies. It’s how Ace found Marco in the crowd so easily. 

He looked like he freshened up the buzzed sides of his hair that morning. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his stuffy, pissed off expression matched exactly what Ace expected of him in this chaotic of a crowd. 

Ace watched Marco greet Thatch at the far end of the booth. The sheer anticipation in waiting for Marco’s eyes to find him was downright illogical. Teach had to ask Ace twice if he wanted wings— the answer was yes, obviously— but he’d missed the question with how loudly his heart raced in his ears. 

What was wrong with him tonight?

Thatch shook Marco’s arm and Ace strained to hear what they were talking about. Marco asked him something and Thatch pointed at their table. Then, Marco found him. He smiled at Ace and waved him over with a few fingers. 

Ace slinked out from the booth to meet him. 

Marco raised his voice just enough to be heard over the crowd, “Who let you in here?”

“Yeahh, I had to show some leg to get past the bouncer.”

Marco chuckled. He reached forward and lifted the beads around Ace’s neck with his index finger, “I thought you weren’t a jewelry guy.”

Bizzare. It was like the well of stupid jokes in his brain had dried up for the first time in his life. Ace blinked and said— without even a hint of sarcasm, “Uhm —Family friend gave it to me. Years ago,” Ace added, “I wear this all the time, you just only ever see me at work.”

“Ah, okay.” Marco released the necklace. “Do you need a drink?” 

“I have one.” His words fell out of his mouth fast— almost aggressively so. Like, the idea of Marco getting a drink for him was simply too kind of a gesture to accept. 

Marco tilted his head a bit. He had too sharp of an eye to notice the bite Ace was missing from their typical conversations. “You okay?”

“Yes!” Ace’s eyes got wide and he overcompensated in his smile, “I just worked a double and I’m still sober, but I’m great.”

“You know you’re allowed to go out right? Luffy can live a few hours without you.”

“Tshh—“ Ace looked everywhere Marco wasn’t, “I know that. Obviously. He’s fine.”

Thatch yelled something in Marco’s ear after that— something about the dart board becoming suddenly available. “I’m gonna get a drink,” Marco explained while Thatch began dragging him away from their conversation, “If you’re interested in losing money, Thatch and I clean up at darts.”

“Throwing sharp objects? Sure, I’ll catch up with you.”

Ace waited for Marco to be out of his line of sight before he scrambled in the other direction, to Izou. He nearly knocked the guy’s cocktail over in reaching him on the other side of the booth. “Hey— what’s wrong with me?”

“Oh, you wanna open up that conversation?”  Izou smirked at him. “What do you mean, love?”

“I am not being cool right now.” It was the only way he knew how to explain it, “Am I usually an awkward person?”

“Not usually.” Izou giggled, “Something making you nervous?”

Nervous. 

Ace sneered his nose up at the suggestion, “No.”

“Well, this place is overstimulating. Finish your drink and tell me how you feel after that.” He tapped the bottom of Ace’s chin affectionately, “Relax. You’re with your friends, you don’t need to be cool.” He didn’t respond immediately so Izou pressed a little further. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” Much like an athlete conferring with their coach in between plays, Ace gave Izou’s shoulders an affirmative tap before he left. 

Ace only needed one drink to remind himself how to socialize. Waitresses were in a constant back and forth to their booth, carrying plate after plate of greasy bar food. 

Every few minutes, Ace would hear a rise out of the crowd but it wasn’t from the direction of the stage. One specific round of applause was loud enough to get him to look. Ace saw hands up and he realized whoever had gathered an audience was on the same side as the pool table and dart board. Curious. 

Marco had no right in hell to make him nervous— regardless of Thatch’s stupid comment this morning. Nobody but the fucking feds made Portgas D Ace nervous, certainly nobody driving a Subaru Outback. 

So, Ace finished the basket of fries he’d been working on, took one last swing of the melted ice in his glass and went to investigate. 

Ace made his way through the densest part of the crowd, occasionally having to turn his shoulders parallel to make it to the clearing at the center. And there he was— Marco holding a shiny silver dart between his thumb and middle finger. He pulled his arm back and shot the dart from his fingers like a bullet out of a gun. Ace blinked but he heard the thunk of the needle on soft wood. Bullseye. 

Applause and the impressed amusement from the young women watching, radiated throughout the crowd. 

This mother fucker was on his game tonight, huh?

Thatch waved his hands in an attempt to quiet the crowd's encouragement. “Okay okay okay.” He reminded Marco, “Lucky shot.”

Marco was terrible at pretending to be humble, he grinned wildly at the mouth of his beer bottle. “Go ahead Thatch. Your turn, buddy.” 

Then, he saw Ace making his way over to them. Black cargo shorts, a fitted t shirt far too tight for him, and that chunky red piece around his neck. Marco set the beer bottle down and encouraged him closer. The room they had was beyond tight— that’s the city for you. But, Marco was truly a wall of a person. His fingertips ghosted over Ace’s waist as he ushered him into a pocket of space in front of him. 

Thatch threw his dart and while it was an impressive nine points, it wasn't a bullseye. “Agh!” He threw his hands up like it was too much for him to bear. 

Ace smirked, “How bad is it?”

“It depends what Marco gets.” Thatch whined, “If he can get at least nine, it’s his game.”

Ace’s smart ass comment about the unimaginable pressure was cut short when Marco presented him with the last silver dart. “Well, thank god you’re here.”

“No way.” Ace cocked his head to the side, “You’ve got your little fan girls watching, Marco. Finish the game.”

Marco had the most pacifying smile. It was difficult to say no to him with the way those little creases formed at the corner of his mouth. Calm, confident, entirely unbothered. Marco grabbed Ace’s wrist and molded his fingers in a position that held the dart correctly. “C’mon, you’re my celebrity shot.”

“I’ll blow your entire game.”

Marco steered his shoulders to face the bored, “Ace, I don’t give a fuck. Just throw it.”

And oh, would he throw it. 

The entire crowd flinched half a step back when they saw the way Ace cocked his upper body— like a baseball pitcher. He launched the dart at full strength with all the finesse of a barbarian. When it made contact, the board rattled against the wall and rocked on its hook. 

Marco dipped around Ace to get a better look. An abysmal two points, Ace was lucky he didn’t hit the wall. While the crowd was thoroughly unimpressed, Marco couldn’t have looked more pleased. He chuckled as he lifted the dart board off the wall and the chucking became laughter while he presented it to Ace. 

“Dont fucking laugh at me. I’m not sure what you expected.” Ace crossed his arms while he examined his attempt.   

“No, no— Look at what you just did, Firecracker.” Marco ran his finger along a long and straight crack running up the length of the board. Ace had nearly split the wood. Marco’s first attempt to pull the dart out failed miserably when he underestimated just how deep the dart was lodged in there. He split apart laughing. 

So did Thatch and eventually, Ace laughed too.

“I got it— I got it—“ Marco readjusted his grip to rip the dart free and Thatch hurried to return the cracked board back on the wall. 

“He said throw it not break the fucking sound barrier.” Thatch waved his friends back in the direction of their booth, eager to leave before an employee noticed the damage. 

“If you wanted me to throw it gently you should have said so!” Ace noticed this warm sense of pride rise up in his chest as he watched Marco’s pretty little fans look disappointed. They never got the window of attention they were hoping for. Instead, Marco rested one arm around Ace’s shoulder and handed him the dart with the other, in all of its slightly dented glory. 

“I could beat Thatch anytime, wasn’t that more fun?”

“Oh— yeah right, Marco!” Thatch chirped.

Ace smirked at the crooked needle of the dart. He busied his eyes with studying it in hopes that it’d be less obvious how much he enjoyed Marco’s arm around him. The blond smelled like sandalwood and his arm was pleasantly warm behind his neck. 

Marco was awesome— that’s what Ace decided. He was good looking, he was clever, and he was always the smartest guy in the room. Most importantly, there should be absolutely no reason to be nervous around him. 

They sat at the booth and dove into what was probably a third round of food. Ace presented his broken dart to the table and Marco recounted the story of Ace’s incredible monster strength. 

Ace was restless and it was fun as hell to watch. He talked to Izou about an outlet mall they planned to visit, he discussed sports with Thatch, he argued about macros and protein powder with Jozu. And, every time he moved, he’d briefly straddle Marco’s lap to come in and out of the booth. 

Ace might not have been aware he was protecting Marco from constant small talk but he was. Ace would return to his side and report back with whatever stupid story he’d just been told. It was perfect.

Marco monitored Ace’s drink obsessively. He’d wanted to buy him one— surely he owed the kid a drink after last week’s dinner. So, it caught him by surprise when Marshall D Teach placed a full cocktail on the table for Ace without being asked. 

“Hey!” Ace leaned over the table to retrieve it, “Thanks, man.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” It was like Teach knew exactly where to look; Marco’s pissed off face. Teach grinned, “What’s the matter, Marco? C’mon, you want me to buy you somethin’ too?” He swatted his shoulder, “Let’s go for a walk.”

“Wha’d ya want?” Teach shuffled up close to the bar and waved for Marco to stand beside him, “Cmon, let me pick your brain a minute.”

While it was difficult inhaling the cheap cologne Teach covered himself in, it was only fair to give the guy a little of his patience. It’d been years since he’d had a one on one conversation with Teach. As loud and crude as the guy could be, one beer couldn’t hurt to save face. 

“Alright.” Marco leaned an elbow on the bar beside him, “Just one—” 

“That’s my boy!” Teach’s voice was simply the loudest in the entire bar. He clapped a hand on the back of Marco’s shoulder and slammed his fist on the bar top to get the bartender's attention. “Two corona extras— and we want lime, alright?” He laughed. 

“So what the hell is this story I heard about you shacking up at Ace’s place the other night?”

Rumors— they were all in highschool, apparently.

Marco shook his head, “There is no story. We were smoking pot and I crashed on his couch.” 

“I don’t buy that for a second.”

Marco accepted the beer when it was handed to him. He pushed his thumb into the lime wedge at the lip until it popped down into the body of the bottle. “Okay— why is everyone convinced I’m trying to get laid? I’m dying to hear where that narrative comes from.”

Teach threw his head back and cackled. “So you wouldn’t mind if I fucked him, then?”

Teach might as well have dropped a bucket of ice water on his head. Marco’s posture shot up right. Did he hate that because the idea made him unspeakably jealous? Or was it the way Teach said it— the way he laughed with complete and unshakable intention in his toothy grin. 

“Excuse me?”

“Since you’re not interested.”

Marco scoffed, “Like you have a shot.”

Teach licked the lime juice from his finger tip while he thought about it. He chuckled, “I can be very convincing.”

The idea of drinking something Teach had bought him suddenly made his stomach turn. Marco slid the beer away from him and rose out of the bar stool. The height difference between him and Teach was suddenly very apparent. 

Teach’s sloppy grin face faded as Marco spoke, venom dripping from every word. 

“I don’t know what locker room you think we’re in right now, where it’d be socially acceptable to spout that shit to me. Say something creepy like that again and I’ll smash that beer bottle down your throat. Stay the hell away from him.”

Teach was silent for a good forty five seconds while Marco walked away. He was smart enough to know it’d be in his best interest to have some distance between him and the goliath before he split apart laughing. Teach’s hyena laugh was still distinguishable through the crowd of the bar by the time Marco found their booth.

“Marco!” Thatch waved towards him, “Who pissed in your drink? What’s with the face?”

“Someone pissed in your drink?!” Ace shot up from his seat like this emergency needed his attention and his alone. He trotted up to Marco and placed a short glass of hard liquor and ice in his hand, “We can share this one.“

“No one pissed in my drink.”

“Please remember, I might be the funniest person you know.” 

And he was. 

Marco tasted the cocktail and It burnt the very deepest parts of his throat on the way down. He shivered and pressed the glass back into Ace’s hand. 

“Tequila?”

“It’s an upper.”

“You’re a fucking phsycopath.” His eyes suddenly narrowed at Ace. He leered down at him, “What do you take for your narcolepsy? You shouldn’t mix liquor with most of those.”

Ace looked surprised for a second. Then, he smirked wickedly “Aw. You were reading about my sleeping disorder? Is that your love language?” 

The funniest person he knew. So fucking funny. 

Ace laughed in the perfectly musical way that he did. “It’s a single! What’r you, a cop?!” 

In his early twenties, he was always the one to do the math and split the bill. In his late twenties, not much had changed. Marco was sending out his venmo requests while he listened to Thatch conspire about the next bar. 

“It’s called Pet Shop, it’s right around the corner.” 

“I’m game.” Izou hummed as he carefully reapplied his lipstick in a hand mirror. Most of their group replied in kind. 

Except for Ace, who was polishing off the last of their food that the rest of the table had long been too full to touch, “I need to get back, actually. It’s getting late.”

“Late?!” Thatch looked at his phone, “It’s eleven! Don’t be a fuckin’ party pooper.”

Ace’s fork made a snapping sound against the table as he put it down. He leaned back in the booth, brought up his leg and propped his foot up on the table. 

“Ugh—“ Izou quickly moved his cocktail glass out of the way, “Ace!” 

The group was presented with his ankle monitor. His electronic tag as his parole officer called it. 

Marco had never gotten a good look at the thing and neither had anyone else, considering the way everyone leaned in. Plastic, ridged, and unnecessarily tight, the red signal light blinked back at Marco menacingly.

“I have a curfew, asshole.” Ace said, “I can call a ride if you’re not ready to leave.”

Teach finished the last of his drink, “When’s your curfew? Midnight? You have time—“

“Teach.” If Marco could strangle him with a look, he would have. “I’ll drive you home, Ace.”

“What a gentleman.” Ace swung his leg off the table and popped up to his feet.

He most definitely didn’t intend that phrasing to be a slight towards Teach but watching his pissed off face pleased Marco all the same.

“Alright kiddies.” Thatch gave Ace a hug before holding his arms wide open for Marco. “C’mere buddy. Drive safe, okay?” Thatch couldn’t help himself. He gave his best friend a solid few slaps on the back. Before he released him, Thatch lowered his voice and said, “What’s the plan, you gonna shoot your shot or something—“

Marco’s elbow cut his sentence short. “Don't be an asshole.”

Thatch chuckled, “It’s a genuine question!”

Fantastic, more of them were speculating now. 

Marco would plead the fifth. He snapped his car keys off the table, flipped Thatch off and retrieved the bag of leftovers Ace insisted he wanted and promptly forgot. 

Marco caught up with Ace outside the bar and into the heavy, summer night air. They left the vibrating base drum and the roar of a full house behind them. The sudden quiet was a welcome relief. “You like places like that?” He asked. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t have fun.” Ace grinned when he watched the tail lights of Marco’s car wake up. “I finally get to ride in the Subaru Outback. This is a pretty big moment for me.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure your hearts’ a flutter.”

Ace’s eyes seemed to catch something as they climbed into the car. He buckled his seat quickly and while they rolled out of the parking lot, kept an eye on the rear view mirror. 

They drove to classic rock for the first ten minutes, floating from one conversation topic to the next. Mostly, they reviewed their night out. The characters, the food, the music. 

“Has Teach ever…”

“Ever what?”

“Propositioned you?”

Ace threw his head to the side, squinting at Marco like he needed glasses to see him. “Propositioned me, for what?”

“To hook up.”

“Oh, fuck no.” Ace’s nose scrunched up, “He hasn’t.”

“If he says anything obnoxious, let me know.”

Ace’s cautious expression fell from his face. What replaced it was the slow bubbling of a chuckle that built up into full out laughter. Ace fell back into his seat, “Do you realize who you sound like right now?” Ace smirked, “Pops said the same fucking shit to me. You both need to relax, I’m not a child.”

Marco rolled his eyes, “He’s not overprotective because he thinks you’re a child, Ace. He just cares about you, that’s all it is— that’s what fathers do, they worry.”

There was a beat of silence after that. Few people recognized how deeply Ace’s relationship ran with Newgate. The madness they went through with the court system last year, the bail money, the lawyers, the spiraling meltdown after meltdown Ace had with him through bulletproof glass and a crappy hand held phone. Marco knew none of it but he understood all the same. 

Ace settled down in his seat. 

“Wow, did I just shut you up with that?” 

“Yeah, you got me.” Ace propped the side of his head against the window, “I’ve never had a father before, how the hell should I know what he’s thinking? And— If that’s Pops’ excuse for being an overprotective freak, what’s yours?” 

It was an excellent question, Marco really felt himself choking on his own tongue for an answer. Good timing would get him out of it, though. As Ace watched the city pass by his window, he noticed a car behind them. One that was far too close with wide tires and a thick front bumper. 

Ace shot up right, he grabbed Marco’s shoulder. “That's a cop.” 

The sound of panic in his voice made the hair on the back of Marco’s neck stand straight up. “Okay— it’s okay. We haven't done anything.”

“It doesn’t matter— they know I’m with you.”

“What?” Marco glanced between him and the road. “Ace, you’re paranoid. Even if you’re right, they've got no reason to pull us over.”

The siren behind them, wailed.  

The concealed police lights of the car woke up. They reflected off the wet street, their mirrors, everything was dyed with bursts of red and blue. 

Dread carved itself deep into Ace’s eyes. “I’m dead.” He said it with the conviction of a ghost at his own funeral. “You should tell them I’m drunk and you’re just giving me a ride. Tell them you barely know me.”

“Enough with the last will and testament bull shit— you’re not dead.” Marco looked in the rear view mirror. “You honestly think the police are hunting you for sport or something?!”

“I knew I saw a car parked outside the bar... Yes Marco, they've been following us!”

He took a deep breath, gripped the steering wheel with both hands and said, “Alright, fine. Hold on, then.”

Marco hit the gas so hard Ace snapped back into his seat. “Are you fucking crazy?! You’re fucking crazy!!”

Rubber screeched and burned against water and asphalt as Marco blasted down the street. 

This obsession to protect overwhelmed his senses. In that moment, Marco had decided there was simply no possible scenario where he would sit back and allow those corrupt bastards to put their hands on him. 

“You can’t outrun the police in a fucking SUBARU OUTBACK!” 

“I’M NOT TRYING TO.” Marco leaned forward, straining to see the street signs through the rain and flashing police lights. “When I tell you to get down, you get down.” Marco fluttered his break to whip his car into a sharp right turn down a local street. Gravity pulled Ace, crashing into his side. Immediately after that, Marco turned again, down another quiet street lined with little houses tightly packed together. It was the closest his toaster of a car would ever get to a drift. He snapped off his headlights and the world in front of them went pitch black. In the darkness, Marco slid into the nearest empty driveway. “Now get down—“ He slid off his seat and grabbed Ace around the shoulders. On his way down, he dragged him into the cramped footwell of the car. 

A dim light from one of the nearby houses was all they had. Ace could see the faintest rim light that painted the edge Marco’s jawline and his focused blue eyes in the darkness. They both held their breath, staring at each other like looking anywhere else would give themselves away. 

The sound of sirens grew louder. Every time the ear splitting sound repeated, it felt closer to them. Ace was losing control of his breathing. The worst case scenario— the nightmares that kept him awake at night felt like they were unfolding right in front of him. Ace rehearsed in his head what he’d say to the police. He imagined himself with his hands up following orders to lay flat on the ground. What could he say that would scrub Marco of as much responsibility as possible?

Ace moved half an inch and Marco dug an iron grip into his arm, tight enough to leave a bruise. His blue eyes bore into Ace’s with a fierce— almost angry look of understanding. Like he’d gladly break Ace’s wrist before allowing him to give himself up. “Don’t you dare.”

Ace saw red and blue lights reflecting off the houses above them. The sirens wailed no more than ten feet away— then twenty feet… thirty. 

The police sped right down the street, chasing a ghost. After another thirty seconds they could hardly hear the sirens anymore. 

Marco released Ace when he felt it was safe enough. The two of them slowly and cautiously climbed back into their seats. 

Ace was shaking, his entire body was trembling. He kept turning his head to look out the windows and in the mirrors, unbelieving they were really alone. 

“We’re going to sit here for a little while,” Marco explained, “Let them get far the fuck away.”

“I can’t believe it.” Ace’s pupils were blown wide when he looked back at Marco, “I can’t believe you just did that.” As the adrenaline made its way through his system, he started to laugh. Breathless. “Marco— you just saved my life.”

“I didn’t save your life.”

“Yes you did! You’re a badass—When did you become a total fucking badass!?” 

“Shh!” Marco found it difficult not to smile back at him. “What do you have to say about my Subaru outback now”?

“What do I have to say?! Are you fucking kidding me? This is the greatest car in the entire world!” Ace launched forward, threw himself into Marco and hugged him. 

Marco hadn’t seen that coming— he gasped actually. Ace was warm in his arms. Marco touched his back, his shoulders, he felt Ace’s hair against his cheek. 

And then he pulled away. 

Ace held up his hands so Marco could see them trembling, “Look at this.” He said breathlessly, “Pathetic, isn’t it? I can't stop.”

Marco slid his hands across Ace’s and held them. “You’re alright, take a breath.” 

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No really, Marco.” Ace looked down at their hands and the slightest bit of tension found his eyebrow. “Thank you…” 

Marco simply couldn’t read him. He couldn’t tell if Ace was relieved or still sobered by how close the call was. Then, Ace looked up and for half a second, Marco could’ve sworn he was about to kiss him. 

He should kiss him. 

The realization that Marco wanted nothing more than to hold Ace tightly against his body and steal the breath right out of his chest had his head spinning. 

Marco liked him— He adored him. 

Ace’s gaze became unfocused behind his heavy eyelids. Ace furrowed his eyebrows, fighting a sudden slackness in his jaw. “fuck…” His words were slurred and quiet. “…I’m-gonna-pass-out.”

Marco blinked, “You’re gonna what?” 

“Yeah.”

His hands, his head, his chest, it was all too heavy to hold upright. There was simply no keeping his eyes open when a sleep attack had adrenaline and tequila fueling it. 

The last thing Ace remembered was Marco’s hands rushing forward to catch his head from hitting the center console. 

“What did I fucking tell you?!” Marco launched forward to clumsily hold Ace’s upper body in his arms, “What are you on, Xyrem? Nuvigil? Methylphenidate, hm!?” He wasn’t expecting an answer. 

Marco carefully maneuvered Ace to lean back into the passenger seat. He cradled the back of his head and there wouldn’t be a soul around to witness the way Marco admired Ace’s uncharacteristically relaxed expression. 

He imitated Ace’s voice while he buckled his seatbelt. “It’s a single Marco, what are you a cop?” He clicked his tongue, “Dumb ass.” 

Marco took local roads back to the shop. Ace’s unconsciousness didn’t last the entire ride, Marco could see his eyelashes moving behind the red glow of a traffic light. He asked him if he was alright to which Ace replied in a hum. By the next block, his eyes had closed again. 

Edward Newgate used to be an incredibly light sleeper. In his early years, he was so afraid of someone breaking into the shop,  he’d launch out of bed if the wind blew too hard. That was a long time ago. As the years went on and he climbed further up the food chain, there weren’t nearly as many big fish to be scared of. Newgate had almost lost the habit completely. So, he was surprised to hear the knocking on his front door that night. 

He cursed under his breath as he marched to his front door, armed with the hand gun he kept under his bed and a big purple sweater around his shoulders. The last thing he expected to see was Marco, quickly being soaked by the rain, holding Ace in his arms like the goddamn Pieta. 

“You can’t be mad at me for this. It’s not my fault he’s narcoleptic.”

Whitebeard did nothing to change the deep scowl on his face. He released the full breath he had in his chest and begrudgingly stepped aside. “Alright, Marco.” 

“Thin ice, right?”

“Thin fuckin ice.”

Marco carried him inside. Pops had a nice house. Most people wouldn’t expect him to be much of a decorator but he managed pretty well. The couch looked like it out of the 70s but it was clean and fluffier than anything you’d buy in a store today. Unsurprisingly, there were pictures everywhere of everyone from the shop. Even Marco; old ones of him as a teenager and new ones of him holding his medical degree. 

Marco took great care not to stir Luffy, once he entered the guest room. He was curled up deep under the blankets on the far side of the bed. He hardly made a noise as Marco delicately placed his brother next to him. Cast in the orange light from the hallway, Marco pulled Ace’s boots off one at a time. He pulled a throw blanket over Ace and when he turned his back to the room, found Newgate watching him. 

Their voices stayed low, even as Marco shut the bedroom door. 

“I would have brought him to the apartment if I had his keys.” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t keep a copy.”

Marco huffed, “I’m sure if I dug through enough boxes I could find one.”

“You want anything?” 

Newgate ment coffee, tea, something like that. But, Marco had different ideas. He walked towards the kitchen instead and quietly replied. “Yeah, I have a few questions.”

“Concerning?”

“What the hell the police want so badly from Ace.”

“That’s complicated.”

“Really? Because some cop tracked us all the way from Mcloons to Jefferson street. Ace thinks he saw the same patrol car stalking him from the parking lot before we left.” 

Whitebeard's mouth straightens into a tight line. He leaned his hands on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, “They didn’t pull you over?”

“They tried to.” Marco bit back, “Hopefully, I lost them before they tagged my license plate.”

Newgate looked pained. He rubbed his hand across his tired eyes and took a few slow steps around the kitchen. “I don’t want you involved in this, Marco.”

“Of course I’m involved, you don’t think I’m worried about him? I’m involved.” Marco glared down at the tile floor as if it disgusted him. The image of that stupid piece of plastic wrapped around his ankle like a dog tag made his skin crawl. “The whole situation gets more fucked up every time I hear something new about it—“ He felt the momentum of his frustration building as he went on. Marco snapped his fingers in the direction of the guest room. “Here’s another question— He told me his sleepings’ gotten worse after a blow to the head. Do you know what he’s referring to? I’ve spent the past week combing through the hospital's resources on narcolepsy— he shouldn’t be passing out cold like that!”

Newgate had made his way to an old standing wooden chest in the next room over. From it, he retrieved a thick booklet of documents, neatly bound in a large yellow envelope. It was heavier than Marco expected it to be once it was dropped in his hands. 

Marco unbound the chord that kept the envelope closed. He pulled up the first few sheets of paper inside and quickly realized what he was looking at. It was Ace’s case file. 

“Most of that is technically public record if you know where to look.” Newgate sighed, “Ace’s memory is pretty shit if you ask him for details. Luffy’s testimony is the only reason we have a solid idea of what happened.”

Marco frowned at the envelope. “So, why give this to me?”

“Give it a read. See if Ace will sit down and sort through that file with you. He sure as hell won’t do it with me.” 

“I thought you wanted me to keep my distance from Ace.”

Newgate scowled, “Yeah, I fucking did. He needs to keep his head down and work, Marco. One late appointment, one minute after curfew, one violation and the state will have his throat. Luffy will be relocated, Ace won’t get a second chance. I asked you not to be a distraction, and that’s exactly what you are.” Newgate eased himself into the kitchen chair, the exhaustion on his face made the old man look his age. “But, I’m scared as hell, Marco. I’m terrified for that boy. Hearing the police are still following him around… The state doesn’t just want him behind bars, they’d rather him dead. You might have saved his life, by not pulling that car over.”

“How serious are his charges?”

“As serious as they want it to be. This was never about the arrest, it was what they found out after they arrested him.” Newgate dug his thumb tightly into his palm, “Gol Rodgers’ his father. The state looks at Ace and they see a loose end.” 

Chapter Text

At the end of the summer, just before concert season officially came to a close and days before schools opened again, there was a festival downtown. 

It’s held in the nicest part of the neighborhood where streets are lined with beautiful brownstone buildings and string lights. The festival took up more than just the park, it spilled down several blocks. Music, shopping, and food trucks parked on every corner. It was the ultimate farewell to summer. 

Luffy was ten years old. 

“That doesn’t count as a hit!” 

“Ya-huh, it does!” Luffy had found a small clearing between vendors. It was just enough room for a five way battle royal, armed with balloon swords and slingshots. 

Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, and Sanji; they’d become inseparable over the course of one school year. There were no days off, for this friend group, they insisted they saw each other each and every day of the summer. Luffy was the newest among them yet the natural leader. Maybe it was his effortless positivity or the ferocious belief he had in his friends. The fact that he lived under a house with virtually no rules made him the group's wild child. Luffy could stay out late, he knew curse words, he had every colorful box of junk food Bell-Mère would never in her lifetime consider buying. 

Luffy loved the sound of the damp grass beneath his sneakers and the way the warm sticky wind blew through his hair as he leaped away from Zoro’s sword. He hadn’t stopped moving for hours, that lemonade really had too much sugar didn’t it?

Zoro caught him. He drove his sword into Luffy's stomach with such force, it popped in his hands. The noise made everyone jump, even the adults watching them from afar. Then, Luffy laughed. He laughed so hard it felt like his stomach was going to split.

“I’m driving Zoro and Usopp to the baseball game tomorrow.” Bell-Mère told the chaperones beside her. “Did anyone else need a ride?”

Zeff waved his hand, “I found someone to cover the restaurant for a few hours. I’ll drop Sanji off, we might just be late.”

“That’s no problem.”

“Ace, is Luffy going to that too?”

Bell-mère, Zeff, and Yasopp turned to the eighteen year old standing a few feet offset from the group. Ace sucked on the straw of Luffy’s half finished lemonade. His eyes snapped up to look at Nami’s mom like he was just caught spacing out in class. “What— to watch Zoro play? Yeah, he’ll be there.”

“Oh good.”

“Luffy wouldn’t miss that for the world.” 

They smiled at him but the looming feeling he never answered their questions correctly persisted. Ace didn’t know how to be with these people, he didn’t know how to talk to forty somethings and they didn’t know how to talk to him. 

He should be getting into trouble right now. He should be driving around the city with other eighteen year olds, and falling in love or some shit. Not here. Not discussing car pools and after school activities. Zeff was nice enough. Yasopp’s friendship with Shanks was a blessing. Bell-mère masked her dislike for him enough to count. But, when they looked at him, Ace knew what they saw. A kid, a punk, a mess. 

The little crew of five came stumbling back once Bell-mère called out to them. The sun was setting and considering most of them would be walking back, she decided it had gotten dark enough. 

Unlike Sanji, who had to tell Nami goodbye in three different languages, Luffy said his goodbyes very quickly. He crashed into Ace’s legs in a winded, sweaty mess, delirious from laughter. 

“Don’t drink it all!” Luffy reached up wildly. “I said one sip!!” 

Ace returned the lemonade to his brother, “You can’t give this to me, walk away, and expect me not to drink it.” 

“Ace?”

“Hm?”

“I’m cold now.”

Ace rolled his eyes. He pulled his wind breaker off his shoulders and handed it to his little brother. It was dark purple with white sleeves and had Whitebeard’s Auto Shop beautifully embroidered across the shoulders. It reached all the way down to Luffy’s knees and he had to keep adjusting his wrists so the sleeves didn’t swallow his hands completely. 

Adorable. 

Zeff lingered behind while the rest of the parents took their leave. “Come by the restaurant sometime, okay? Sanji’s chasing my ankles most weekends so the kids’ can occupy each other.”

“Sure.” Ace attempted the most genuine tone of voice he had, “That’d be great.”

“Dinner’s on me. Whatever you want, yeah?”

“That’s extremely generous.” He smiled despite the pitty he couldn’t help but feel from the older man. His ego aside, it was difficult to say no to dinner at The Baratie. “Thank you, Sir.”

Zeff’s mustache'd smile was a warm and kind one. He gave Ace’s shoulder a firm pat before leaving, holding Sanji’s hand and heading towards the festival’s exit with the others. 

“We don’t have to leave right now, do we?” Luffy’s puppy dog eyes were simply unmatched. “No school tomorrow.”

Ace looked at the face of his watch on the inside of his wrist. Nine thirty. Could be later. “Yeah, we can hang out a little longer.”

“I still never got ice cream.”

“You definitely need more sugar, too.”

“And I think there’s a food truck with fried oreos.”

“Fried oreos?” Ace’s train of thought was never all that difficult to derail— He fucking loved fried oreos. “We need at least a dozen, right?”

“Two dozen!” Luffy thrust his balloon sword towards the sky. “Three dozen! I wana eat them until I throw up!” 

“Yeah— ” Ace chuckled. He snatched Luffy’s wrist out of the air and began to drag him back into the nearest row of vendors. “I don’t think so, dude. Not that I don’t have faith in your bottomless pit of a stomach, because I do.”

“Well, we can think about it.” Luffy chimed like it was the wisest thing he’d say all night. “If we don’t order a lot, there might not be enough for you.”

“Oh, for me?” Ace raised an eyebrow, “Who’s paying for these oreos, you little twerp?” 

Luffy took off a few paces ahead of him. Typical, when he ran out of smart ass remarks. Ace walked alone beneath the string lights that stretched from one row of tents to another. He watched Luffy skip from vendor to vendor, Ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the hand made crafts and trinkets for sale. He made friends at every booth they visited, showering the artists in compliments and dazzling them with a smile, brighter than then the moon above their heads. 

Another hour crawled by, they were soaking up the last fifteen minutes of the festival before the lights shut off. Some vendors had already started to pack up their tables and pull down their signs. The isles, once packed with people, looked wide and empty. 

Lightning bugs danced in the grass as Luffy crossed from one row of tents to the next. Ace had been distracted by his phone. Some long paragraph from Thatch arguing all the good reasons they should plan a camping trip. That’s when he heard something shatter. 

Luffy stood in a tent surrounded by ceramics. Beautiful vases, sculptures, mugs and plates. He’d dropped the balloon to cover his mouth with both hands. White porcelain shards scattered across the grass at his feet.

The man behind the booth processed the loss of the broken piece slowly. He was shocked at first. Then, his face turned red and the bridge of his nose wrinkled up like an angry dog. “Stupid brat!” 

“I’m sorry!”  Luffy scrambled to pick up the pieces. “Really really sorry…”

“Do you have any idea how much that cost?!”

“I didn’t mean to.” Luffy cupped two handfuls of broken ceramic between his hands. He carefully laid them out on the table as if it were possible to puzzle them back together. 

“You better be able to pay for this.”

“Alright, the world isn’t ending, old man.” Ace inserted himself between Luffy and the vendor. The patience he had maintained so expertly throughout the night had finally begun to expire. “It was an accident, relax. How much?”

“If he’s not mature enough to walk around by himself, you shouldn't have let him. Kids like that need a leash or something.”

Ace bared his fangs in the way that he scoffed. The hand he kept on top of Luffy’s head, steered him another step back. “Oh, go fuck yourself. Does yelling at a ten year old really make you feel better? How much?”

“It was porcelain.” The vender held up a shard of milky white ceramic for Ace to inspect. “Four hundred dollars for that piece.”

“Four hundred?!” Ace blinked slowly. The confidence he had slipped away like the color of his face as he struggled to calculate what was left in his bank account. Dinner tonight… Auto insurance yesterday… rent tomorrow. 

Luffy knew nervous laughter from his brother was never a good sign. Ace clapped his hands together. “How about I give you my number? We can work something out. You don’t need a mechanic, do you?” 

The vendor looked unamused. 

It was Whitebeard’s logo, printed across Luffy’s shoulder’s that originally got Akainu’s attention. Keeping an eye on the festival as it closed was the cushiest assignment the city had tonight. This place had been nothing but families and sober young couples, filing out to their homes for the past few hours. He didn’t give two shits about crowd control let alone a broken porcelain vase. 

What interested him, was the name of a suspected gang leader. One of Whitebeard’s boys was here. 

“Mind if I butt in?” The officer approached the booth with his hands propped up on his belt. He held a lit cigarette between his lips and exhaled a thick ribbon of smoke through his nostrils as he took in the scene. 

The vendor explained in great, passionate, heated detail how Luffy destroyed his work of art. “They owe me money for this!” The man whined, “I demand to be compensated!”

“Give me twenty four hours.” Ace bit back, “You can’t seriously expect me to have four hundred dollars in my pocket. I’ll get you the money, so don’t have a fucking heart attack.”

Police Sergeant (Akainu) Sakazuki shook his head, unsatisfied. “I can file a report.” He grumbled, “It’ll hold the kid responsible. You’ll get your money.”

Luffy watched the exchange from behind Ace’s legs. He was known to be pretty oblivious when it came to most things but he could feel the cold look behind the officers eyes. It drowned him with unease. Luffy looked up at Ace and whispered, “I messed up really bad.”

Ace brushed Luffy’s hair back with the hand that’d been resting over his head. “No.” He said firmly, “Shit happens, okay? It’s not your fault this guys’ being a real asshole about it.” He took Luffy’s hand and faced the officer with an unbothered, sharpness to his eyes. He wasn’t going to let this fuck head intimidate him. Certainly, not in front of Luffy. “So, what’d you want? My information or something?”

Sakazuki studied him. He examined Ace from his head to his boots and found something about that frizzy black head of hair interesting. “Are your parents here?”

“No.” Ace said flatly, “It’s just me.”

“And you are?”

“His older brother.”

The cop’s mouth tightened into something that resembled a lopsided grin, “And how old are you?” 

“Eighteen.”

Sakazuki exchanged an amused look with the vendor. He reached out his hand and made a grabbing motion at the air. “Let me see your license, kiddo.”

Ace dug into his pockets and slapped his ID into the officer’s hands. He dug his teeth into his tongue while he watched Sakazuki chuckle, reading the information on his card. “Ace?” The officer gave the vendor a wave then, turned his back to the tent, “Come with me, Ace. We’ll get you all sorted out.”

Ace squeezed Luffy’s hand while they followed the cop out of the festival. The string lights, the music, and the chatter of people all faded behind them as they walked across a parking lot to a few squad cars parked in somewhat of a triangle. Truthfully, Ace would have considered bolting. He could have waited for the right moment, scooped Luffy up onto his back and took off down the nearest alley. But, this damn pig was holding his drivers license hostage. 

“My name’s Sergeant Sakazuki.” The officer said, “I’m just curious, who’s jacket is that?” He glanced over his shoulder at Luffy. 

“It’s mine.” Ace said, “You know Whitebeard?”

Sakazuki chuckled, “Yeah, probably longer than you’ve been alive.”

Two other officers loitered against the hoods of their squad cars. They greeted Sakazuki and murmured a few back and forth questions while they stole glances at the kids he had in tow. One of them took Ace’s ID and began typing something up in the computer system inside their squad car.

Ace’s heel bounced restlessly while they waited. This was the last fucking thing he needed. Pay rent on time, stay out of trouble. They were the only two things Whitebeard asked of him when he agreed to let him live above the shop. How serious was this? 

Sakazuki had been leaning into the open front door of his buddy’s car, reading along on the computer. He leaned in a little closer to ask a question. He pointed at the screen. His shoulders shook and Ace struggled to decipher if the man was chuckling. 

When Sakazuki turned to face him again, something had changed. 

His eyes looked like they belonged to a corpse. Glazed over, wide, and unfeeling. He looked blown away, he looked floored. “So, bad news.” Sakazuki said slowly, “I’m actually gonna have to sit you down for a few questions. We’ll take the kid to the station in the meantime.”

“Are you kidding?” The air between them was changing faster than Ace could really understand it. “For what reason? A broken vase?”

“No, no no. Not the vase.” Sergeant Sakazuki pulled the cigarette from his lips and flicked the ash off onto the pavement. “Portgas D Rouge? That’s your mother?”

Ace narrowed his eyes, “What’s it matter?”

“The surname was familiar to me. That woman was involved with some very dangerous people, boy. I didn’t realize she had a son.”

Luffy watched the way his brother negotiated his response in his head before he answered.  “Luffy stays with me.” Ace warned him like the words belonged on his headstone, “I’m not leaving my little brother alone with you fucking freaks. I’ll cooperate, I’ll answer whatever questions you’ve got but you’re not separating us.”

“Is that right?” Sakazuki sang, “You’re calling the shots now, is that it?” 

“That’s it.”

It devolved fast. Sakazuki reached forward, he grabbed Luffy’s little wrist in his hand and pulled him. 

Luffy reacted on instinct. This man— this stranger, had total control of his arm and no amount of pulling or struggling changed that. When Sakazuki began to pull him away from Ace, Luffy stumbled behind him like a puppy on a leash. It was scary. So, Luffy screamed as loud as he could. “STOP IT— Get off me!!” 

That noise made Ace’s blood run hot. He didn’t think about what he was doing, his body just started to move. He lunged forward and put his hands on Sakazuki’s arm. He dug his fingers under the officer's grip and pried his hands off of his little brother. “—What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Sakazuki exchanged his grip on Luffy for Ace’s shirt. He ripped him a few feet back, he gave himself room to swing. “You want to put your hands on a police officer and see what happens?!” 

The other officers jumped to attention but they made no move to stop their superior. 

Ace had been in hundreds and hundreds of fist fights. Never, had he understood so quickly that he was out matched from the very first punch. Sakazuki’s massive, heavy fist collided with the side of his face and Ace’s vision rattled. 

Luffy cried out, “ACE!!” His attempt to run to his brother was cut short by another officer grabbing hold of his wrist. 

Ace stumbled back a few feet. There was no time to negotiate a new plan. Sakazuki ran at him, grabbed him around the shoulders and attempted to wrestle him to his knees. 

They thrashed around on the asphalt in a vicious fight for leverage. Sakazuki was determined to subdue the teenager alone. His boot came down like a pendulum into Ace’s stomach and drove his elbow up into his mouth when the kid doubled over. 

Rodger’s son facing him like this was some kind of dog fight, was fitting. It was exactly what Sakazuki wanted. He pulled a nightstick from his belt and held Ace by the shirt collar.  Ace’s eyes tracked each little experimental swipe Sakazuki warmed up his wrist with. “You look just like him.” Sakazuki spat, “It’s like seeing a ghost.”

“Fuck you— Go fuck yourself— I never wanted anything to do with the bastard!”

“Doesn’t change the fact you’re both next of kin.”

Both. 

“How dare you— you piece of shit.” Rage spread out over every nerve in his body. It made his face hot and his throat tight. “You even look at him and I’ll kill you— you fucking pig!!”

“You don’t scare me boy. I’ve spent my entire career trying to disinfect this city of Gold Rodger’s name. I won’t allow the next generation to follow in his footsteps.”

Sakazuki swung the batton but if there was one thing Ace had over him, it was speed. He couldn’t believe this teenager was still going, still swinging at him like there wasn’t a fifty pound difference between them. Ace took a blow to the side but grappled the nightstick against his stomach and ripped it out of Sakazuki’s hands. 

If he could do enough damage and cause enough of a shit storm, maybe they’d get the chance to run. 

Sakazuki put his hand on the hood of the squad car to catch his balance. That’s when Ace brought the nightstick down on it. Like a baseball bat, Ace smashed the shit out of the same hand that had wrapped around Luffy’s wrist just a minute ago. “HOW’S THAT MOTHER FUCKER?!”

Sakazuki screamed while the third cop ran offer support. Ace wouldn’t catch the second nightstick. He felt a deep and sudden pain in the back of his right knee. Ace dropped. His hands would have hit the ground if Sakazuki hadn’t caught his torso. “I’m doing this!!” He barked at the other officer attempting to intervene, “He’s mine— I’M DOING THIS!!”

Sakazuki swung the kid against the nearest squad car. He had no intention of letting Rodger’s son catch his damn breath. Ace slid down the front bumper to his knees. Sakazuki forced the air out of his lungs with a blow to the center of his chest. Ace doubled over, coughing, gasping, his voice didn’t sound like it belonged to him anymore. “Eat shit—” Ace wheezed, “Eat shit and die.”

Ace barely sucked in a breath before he felt a fist gripping his hair tight up against the scalp. Sakazuki reeled back first— Ace caught a glimpse of the moon. Then, his forehead came down hard on the pavement. 

Luffy let out a desperate sob while he watched the impact. The sound of Ace’s forehead on the ground made his stomach turn. “Please— stop it!! STOP!!”

For Ace, a burst of white glowed behind his eyelids, it was like a flashlight waving in his face. Sakazuki let his hair go long enough to see what kind of damage he’d done. The officers watched Ace on his knees, repositioning his hands in a desperate confusion to find his center of balance. He stared at the ground with wide, unfocused eyes.

Far away, he heard Luffy screaming his lungs out. His little voice fractured apart as he tour through his vocal cords.

“Fuck—” Ace coughed. His blood felt warm running down his forehead. “Ahnn— fu-ck.”

He caught a glimpse of Sakazuki’s boots. Then, he felt hands on him again. Ace was twisted onto his back to face his assailant. Sakazuki lifted him. He brought him up close to his chest. Ace tried to grab him. His fingers scrambled to latch onto Sakazuki’s shirt in a desperate attempt to stop himself from being hurled back down, but he failed. 

Ace hit the ground hard and the back of his head bounced against the pavement. 

Black— He lost his vision entirely. 

White noise swallowed up all the sound around him. He couldn’t hear Sakazuki, he couldn't hear Luffy. Vicious ringing reverberated in the deepest part of his ears. Ace didn’t even cry out. 

Luffy wished he had looked away. He wished he flinched. He’d never unsee his brother motionless on his back, eyes wide open, being straddled by a forty something year old man, cocking his fist back to hit him again. 

“PLEASE—“ It sounded as though the words were ripped from his throat, “PLEASE— You're killing him!!” Luffy gasped, “PLEASE STOP!!”

Sakazuki got his fill of free swings before another officer decided the scene had become too disturbing for him to stomach. He grabbed Sakazuki’s shoulders and pulled him back. “That’s enough, Akainu, that’s enough.”

Sakazuki gasped to catch his breath. He clutched his bloody, broken hand against his chest and stood with the assistance of his subordinate. “I can’t move it.” He hissed, “That little demon broke my fucking hand!!”

Luffy knew he was hurting himself in the way he was screaming. “ACE!!” His throat was raw. His stomach felt empty. He wailed. “ACE?!!”

Two officers were needed to move Luffy into the back of the squad car. He kicked and thrashed and bit while Sakazuki read his unconscious brother his rights. 

“Portgas D Ace, you’re being placed under arrest for the assault of a police officer.”

Through the back window, Luffy watched them roll Ace onto his stomach and lock shiny silver handcuffs around his limp wrists. They scraped his brother off the pavement.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

A thin crowd of people who’d still been leaving the festival didn’t know what they were looking at. Some people pointed and whispered,

others took videos with their phones. 

“You   have   the  right  to  an  attorney. If  you   cannot    afford    an         attorney,   one    will      be     provided     for     you.”

Ace was unconscious for almost three minutes in the back of the squad car. He woke up with his cheek against the leather seat and double vision. A cop in the passenger seat seemed to notice him. Her mouth was moving and she was looking right at him but for the life of him, Ace couldn’t understand her. Ace sat up, slowly. Light from the buildings outside flew past his window, blinking and spinning. Every bright green traffic light and white storefront felt like a flash bomb. Ace winced and looked away from the window. The sudden turn of his head triggered an unusual pain deep in the back of his skull. He never felt the nausea coming on, he hardly understood he was throwing up while it happened. He wasn’t dead but his body felt like it was rejecting being alive. His senses were scrambled, his inner voice couldn’t even put a sentence together. Ace had absolutely no recollection of it, but he was recorded to have pleaded for the hospital as they dragged him from the car into the station. 

There was a quick evaluation from someone claiming to be a doctor. Someone independent, someone hired by the state. His picture was taken, his fingerprints recorded, all the while Ace said very little. Even the cops eager to rile up Gold Roger's son were left disappointed. Their comments about the devil child following in his fathers footsteps behind bars weren’t met with so much as eye contact. 

“You said Luffy would be safe with you.”

Ace hadn’t heard him approach. He sat on the shallow metal bench at the back of his holding cell, resting his aching head against the concrete wall. When Ace opened his eyes he saw his grandfather standing on the other side of the bars. 

Garp had been off duty when Commissioner Sengoku called to let him know both his boys were at the police station. His jeans and housecoat made him look deceivingly normal, like he could be anyone’s grandfather. Garp gritted his teeth and chuckled, “What the hell am I supposed to do with either of you?” He dragged his hand through his hair, “What a fucking mess, Ace.”

It took a few tries before he got his voice working again. Ace spoke slowly and calmly, “There’s an emergency plan… In case something happened to me. Newgate will let you into my apartment if you tell him who you are.”

Garp shook his head, “You want me asking Whitebeard for a favor.”

“There’s a planner in the kitchen. Get Luffy’s schedule. He’s supposed to ah… see his friend play baseball tomorrow. Someone’s gotta be around to take him. It’s all written down… you’ll see.” 

Silence. 

Ace opened his eyes again just to make sure Garp was still there. He was; stone faced with his arms crossed over his chest. Ace sighed and the ache of his migraine spread across the back of his head again. It was too much effort for him to sound properly annoyed. “…Are you listening to me, old man?”

“How about you tell me what happened? You’ve just been arrested for assaulting a cop and you wanna talk about Luffy’s weekend plans.”

“Yes.” Ace labored, “I want to talk about Luffy— and where the hell he’s going to live while I can’t get back to him.” He sat up, “You need to call Sabo. We’ve talked about what we’d do if everything went to shit. He’ll take time off school to watch him.” The Ace Garp knew would be chewing at the bars right about now, screaming his head off, giving every soul in this police station hell. But, all he seemed to have left was his dry and exhausted voice, laced with the very last of his anger, “Luffy sure as hell wouldn’t want to live with you.”

Garp chuckled as if this conversation were no more important than small talk at a bar. “Yes, he’s already made that quite apparent.”

“Is he okay?”

“Ah.” Garp shrugged, “You know how he is… He’s fine, just shaken up, I think.” Silence hung heavy in the room between them. “So, what the hell happened?”

“They know about Rodger... They wanted to seperate us… I got pissed off.”

Garp nodded. “Yeah, that anger has always come naturally to you, hasn't it.” He looked around the room first, eyes floating from the tall bars between them to the eighteen year old crumbled against the wall. He found Ace’s eyes, really found them, and said, “I’m so disappointed in you, kiddo.”

It didn’t hurt him right away. Ace had braced himself so well before the words came out, it wouldn't soak in for hours. The rest of what Garp said, Ace heard in dream-like echoes. 

“I have Sabo’s information, I’ll get in touch with him. All you need to worry about right now is getting your shit together, how does that sound?” 

Garp was satisfied with the nod he got. He turned his back to the cell and after the silence made it clear Ace had nothing else to say to him, left down the hallway. 

One hundred tiny LED lights, the kind that’d be installed in the dashboard behind a speedometer. Newgate despised organizing stock that small and delicate but when he was short a mechanic, it had to be done by somebody. 

Newgate didn’t wear a watch but he could tell by the long shadows and orange light, it had to be nearly seven. 

Garp stood in the wide opening of the garage door. His shadow stretched across the length of the floor as he waltzed inside, hands in his pockets. The white and royal blue of his police uniform looked odd with Whitebeard’s jolly roger painted proudly on the brick wall behind him. 

“You know… You’re the last person I wanted to see walk in here.” Newgate didn’t attempt to sound welcoming nor did he get up from his seat at the workbench. “Where are the boys, Garp?” 

“One shift and you know something happened?” It was difficult to tell if his expression was supposed to be impressed or sarcastic. “He’s never played hooky before?”

Now, Newgate looked up. He placed the small tools on the table with care, then rose to his feet. The colors of his voice darkened, “Not once.”

Fascinating. Garp couldn’t help the grin pulling at his cheeks. If Rodger could see how taken Newgate was with his son he’d be rolling in his grave. The Captain removed his hands from his pockets, he gestured in a sign of retreat. “Ace was arrested last night. I’m here picking up some essentials for Luffy. He’s going to be staying with me for a few days.”

“Arrested?” Newgate took half a step back. He examined Garp’s face for any sense of a joke and his heart sank when he realized it wasn’t. “Well, what the fuck for?!” He interrupted Garp from answering his own question. “And that dumbass hasn’t called me?!” 

“I just need you to let me into the apartment, Mr. Newgate.”

Whitebeard turned towards the metal staircase and it rattled beneath his heavy footsteps. His anxious fingers struggled to pull the correct key from the old ring he kept hanging from his belt. “I’ll kill him. All fucking day, I’m sitting here fighting off cardiac arrest because that little brat didn’t think to let me know what was going on? I’ll kill him.”

“They’ve got his phone, I’m pretty sure.” To his credit, Garp thought he was helping by providing that information. The bewildered look from Whitebeard told him otherwise. 

“Who’s got his phone?”

“The police. I told you, he’s been arrested.”

“Last night.” Newgate growled. His voice increased in volume with every word. “You told me he was arrested last night. Now, you’re telling me he’s still at the police station? Huh? You haven't paid his fucking bail?!” 

Garp’s eyebrows had crawled all the way up his forehead. “I’ve tried hard to steer that kid in the right direction. I warned him all his life this is exactly where he’d end up if he didn’t start taking his shit seriously. I’m not rescuing him.”

Edward Newgate hadn’t stayed long enough to hear that last sentence. He found the key he needed, shoved it in Garp’s direction and promptly stormed out of the garage. 

Izou was given quick instructions to keep an eye on Garp and the shop. It was what Newgate yelled over his shoulder as he climbed into his truck. He turned the engine, kicked up dirt, and narrowly avoided Garp’s police car, flying out of the parking lot. 

These footsteps, Ace heard coming. Heavy boot falls were loud against the linoleum floor and closely followed by the clicking of high heels.

“Now— what in the hell is the matter with you, boy?!!” Newgate’s voice shook the atmosphere between them. The volume got Ace to jump but he remained seated. 

Exhausted as he was, anger always did come naturally to him. “I’m a captive fucking audience, is that it? Are you going to give me my second lecture, old man?” Ace screwed his eyes shut while he worked on his next sentence “—Hey, I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t show up to work today.”

“How long were you planning to sit and rot in here, Ace?! Hm? It didn’t cross your mind to contact me?”

“Contact you?!” There it was. That knife Garp drove into his chest around 2am. As Ace pushed his hands off the ground to stagger to his feet, he finally felt it bleeding. 

Newgate could see the damage now. Medical tape hastily covered wounds that had long bled through their gauze. His upper lip was busted wide open, bright red and surrounded by dried crimson smudges from Ace rubbing at it. His hair and his clothes clung to his skin, caked with sweat and dirt. “What the fuck for?!!” Ace’s voice cracked, “Do you have any idea how much my bail costs?! They got me on an aggravated a-assault charge. Why should anyone dip into their life savings to drag my pathetic ass out of a cell they’re going to throw me right back into after I’m found guilty?!”

“You don’t know that! We need to find you a lawyer!”

“We?!” Ace threw his hands up, like the last crumbs of his sanity were just blown away. “Who’s WE?! I am not nor have I ever been your responsibility— I’m the very last person you who’s ass you should be covering!!”

“Why’s that? Insufferable pride?”

“Gol D Rodger’s my father!” He said it loudly, like the police would take mercy and shoot him if he said the bastard's name enough times. His exasperation boiled over into a bit of laughter. “I never even met the fucking guy— you have! That bastard has been dead for twenty years and… and you still have detectives digging through—” He paused, “…Through your garbage trying to catch you on some illegal trade!” Ace gasped to catch his breath, he steadied himself on the wall. “Now that the state knows, the target on my back extends to everyone around me! So— why would you waste your time?! I’ll do you a favor, I quit!!” 

The officer with the loud heels turned a key behind a glass window. An alarm blared through the hallway just before the heavy metal lock of Ace’s cell turned open. 

He stood perfectly still. Ace stared at the door in disbelief as the officer pulled open his cell door. “I’ll give you a few minutes.” She said flatly, “You can pick up his things at the front desk, Mr. Newgate.”

All the hot steam evaporated in an instant. Ace’s hands hung limp at his sides. His mouth attempted and failed to form a few words until he finally whispered, “…Take it back.” Ace said it like his heart had broken, “Please… get your money back.”

Whitebeard approached him. He examined Ace’s beaten face, his bloody knuckles, his wide eyes still firmly locked in survival mode. He grabbed Ace by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug, the kind that buried the kid in his arms. “You dense little moron…” 

Ace fell silent. Ten thousand dollars, that’s how much his bail cost. Ten thousand. 

“You look like a fucking mess.” Newgate’s voice was quiet. “Do you need to go to a hospital? Did anyone here look you over?”

Ace didn’t know where the tears were coming from but they blurred his vision and ran hot down his face. His trembling shoulders were his body’s physical response to the sob he attempted to hold back. He felt the ten year old version of himself completely fall apart at the wheel. “I’m-fine.” Ace felt Newgates hand on the back of his head. He didn’t deserve it; the kindness, the warmth, the rescue. 

Newgate could feel his chest tight with air. “Breath.” 

Ace couldn’t remember the last time he cried like that. He released his breath and with it, came body tremors and sobs. He held his hand over his mouth because he couldn’t stand how broken his voice sounded and how little control he had to stop it. “What about Gold Rodger?” He choked, “I hid it from you… You’re telling me you don’t give shit about— any of it?” 

Whitebeard pulled away from him. He brought his hand up and briefly held the side of Ace’s face and said, “Correct.” 

“But—”

“Son, I wasn’t afraid of Roger when he was alive and I sure as shit ain’t afraid of his ghost. Let me make something crystal fucking clear to you. There’s just nothing you could say that would make me love you any less.” In his deep voice, raspy from years of drinking, smoking and keeping the city in line, Newgate sighed, “Now, are you ready to go home or aren't you?” 

He held Ace around the shoulders as they left the cell block. Newgate addressed the dirty looks they received from the police staff, unbothered, polite and calm. 

They returned Ace’s confiscated belongings in a little plastic bin. His wallet, keys, a lighter and some goofy little keychain Luffy made him hold the night before. 

The sun had melted away into the horizon once they finally stepped outside. Ace winced at the orangey light reflecting off the clouds. He kept his hand shaded over his eyes and followed closely behind Newgate until they reached the truck. Through the persistent ringing in his ears, he listened to Whitebeard’s voice fade in and out as they drove home. 

Chapter Text

It was strange how little Ace remembered of the arrest considering how frequently he dreamt about it. At least, he had the suspicion that’s what his nightmares were about. By the time he woke up; dripping in sweat and desperate to crawl out of his own skin, he’d already forgotten the details. The anxiety would linger for the rest of the day. 

Luffy’s voice wasn’t distinguishable at first, Ace needed to search through the darkness for it. His voice replaced the awful ringing in his ears and the more Ace focused, the closer he felt to the surface. 

Ace didn’t fire out of bed when he woke up from his nightmares. He didn't snap into reality. It was more like a slow, drawn out realization that he was lucky these ugly shadows were the most he could remember.

His glassy eyes opened. Ace’s clumsy, shaky hands propped himself upright. There was a time in his life he could shake off a nightmare in a matter of seconds. Now, the oxygen in the room didn’t feel like enough. Every pathetic gasp of air was half of what he wanted and there were thousands of pounds closing around his throat. 

Ace’s eyes bounced around the room for something familiar; the furniture, the carpet, the paint on the walls. For a moment, he had no idea where the hell he was. 

If it weren’t for Luffy wrapping his arms around his toros and resting his head against his chest, Ace would have sworn he was still dreaming. 

“It was a nightmare.” Luffy’s quiet voice told him, “I’m here.” Luffy listened to his brother’s heart rate pounding like a machine gun. “I’m sorry. You said you'd rather be woken up so…”

Ace ran his fingers through his hair and struggled to grasp onto some kind of composure. “Yeah…” His voice was colorless in its desperation to sound even, “Thanks Lu.”

Ace held onto Luffy like he was an anchor that kept him from floating out to sea. It was a damn good thing Luffy didn’t mind being smothered under his brother's arms because this wasn’t uncommon for them.

Ace watched the hands of Whitebeard's old clock turn for ten minutes before Luffy broke the silence. “I’m scared you’re not okay.” 

“I am okay.” Ace’s hand moved in little circles against his back.

“Like, in general.”

“Luffy, I’m okay.” Ace took a long breath, “Distract me,” He said, “Ask me for somethin.”

Luffy thought about it for a moment. Then, he whispered, “Breakfast.”

Ace huffed through his nose. “What’d you want?”

“Pancakes.” He hummed, “There’s still bacon in the fridge, I think.”

“Do we have eggs?”

“Mhm.”

“Syrup?”

“Whitebeard does.” Luffy mumbled against Ace’s shirt. “I’ve been thinking about pancakes all morning so I checked.” Ace released him and the two brothers sat up. 

Luffy climbed out of bed, ran around to the other side and held Ace’s hands. He backed up and slowly hoisted his older brother onto his feet. “Oh, and that Subaru pineapple guy that likes you is still here.”

“Who?” Ace dragged his hands over his face while he looked into the vanity mirror of Pops’ guest room. The clothes he had on from the night before finally started to make sense again. Right. They’d gotten away from the cop car at the very last second. All that adrenaline rushed to his head and then—  “You’re talking about Marco?” Ace tangled his fingers in his hair as the embarrassment caught up to him. “Oh, holy shit… I passed out in Marco’s car. What’s he still doing here?”

Luffy shrugged while he stuffed his overnight things into his backpack. “I dunno, he’s already awake.”

Ace ducked out of the guest room. The narrow hallway connecting most of the rooms in Whitebeard’s house had big, old windows overhead. They spilled blue, early morning light into the hallway and showed off every swirl of grain in the hardwood floors.

Ace found his father in the kitchen, already dressed, and filling a thermos with hot water. “Hey Pops.” 

As he turned the corner, he also found Marco. Like him, the blond was still wearing his clothes from the night before. His gorgeous long fingers cradled a mug in his hands. He rested his hip against the counter and watched Ace from over the rim of his glasses. “You’re up early.” 

The depth to his morning voice was so smooth Ace had to roll his eyes just to process it. “Yeah, good morning.” He walked around him to pull the fridge open and commandeer the maple syrup inside. “So, we all had a sleepover? That’s cute.”

“Well, Marco had to sit here and talk me off a ledge all night.” Whitebeard grumbled. 

“What ledge?” 

“I don’t want you driving around at night by yourself anymore.” Ace’s shoulders jumped up to respond but Newgate stopped him with the wave of a hand, “If the cops have gotten this bold, it means they’re getting ideas.”

”So, I've got a curfew from my parole officer and now I need a chaperone? This is excellent.”

“Yeah well, Marco saved your ass last night so, explain to me why it’s a bad idea?”

Ace’s eyes bounced back and forth between the men standing in front of him. Marco offered very little help in his defense. He shrugged and gave Ace a soft smile that might have been some gesture of sympathy. 

“I don’t like the two of you working together.” Ace held up the maple syrup so Newgate could see what he was taking. ”I’m making Luffy breakfast, you want anything?”

“Don’t trouble yourself. I’m tryin’ to get out of here early. There’s a manufacturer in the city I need to pick up from.”

“Seriously?” Ace clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Tayor ham or something? I could wrap that shit up in tinfoil for you—”

Newgate stopped him by displacing the middle part Ace had just fixed his hair into. “Walk me out instead.”

Whitebeard said his goodbyes to Marco and left the kitchen without so much of a glance behind him; he knew Ace was following. Newgate crossed through the living room to the front entrance. He gave a little wave to Luffy on his way out. Ace held the door for him and the two lingered outside on the front steps. “You should know, I answered a few questions for Marco concerning your case.”

Not unlike a teenager, Ace hung his head back and suppressed a groan of disdain, “Pops.”

“He can’t be completely in the dark if he’s hiding you from the police, kiddo. Listen to me, You might want to talk to him about the— ah…” Newgate waved his hand while he looked for the right words. 

Ace helped him, “The brain damage?”

“Maybe you’d be more comfortable seeing a doctor you know.”

“Yeah, I doubt it.” Ace had begun backing up towards the door the minute Newgate started. If there was one subject notorious for getting him to bolt, it was this one. 

The cocktail of issues brought on by his Narcolepsy joining forces with a severe concussion weren’t getting any easier to hide. Newgate would do just about anything if it meant convincing Ace to talk to a professional. Even if that meant putting him in a room with Marco who was without a shadow of a doubt falling for the kid. 

“Think about it.” Newgate took the first few steps off the porch before hesitating. He looked over his shoulder and added, “And, I’m just curious…”

“Mhm?”

“Marco’s not trying to take you out, is he?”

“What?” Ace’s eyes couldn’t have gone any wider. He laughed but, behind him his hand scrambled for the door handle. “Of course not! Don’t be fucking hilarious.”

“Alright, because he carried you inside last night.”

The visual hit him so hard, Ace had to bare his teeth cringing. “Carried me?” 

Whitebeard smirked, he may be an old man but that didn’t make him any less of a pot stirrer. “I figured you’d like to know that.”

“You’re funny. You should do stand up with that routine. you’re a catch, really.” 

“I know, I know. Just lock my fucking door when you leave, alight?”

Edward Newgate, climbed into his truck, tapped his horn goodbye, and disappeared on a highway going west. 

Fuck— who else wanted to stress him out today? 

Marco had migrated to the living room by the time Ace came back inside. Despite the rough night, his shirt still looked smooth down his back and crisp around the collar. It’s like he couldn’t look sloppy if he tried. 

Ace didn’t really mean to slam the door. But, he did. While Marco didn’t flinch, he glared daggers at him. “Why would you do that?”

“Did you carry me last night?”  

Marco raised an eyebrow while he tried to catch up. “…From the car to the guest room?”

“Yes.”

“I did, actually.”

“Do I look like a fucking princess to you?” Ace waved his hands around, baffled why this wasn’t obvious. “Why the hell would you do that? Wake me up!”

Genuinely and a bit curious, Marco offered, “I’m sorry. Honestly, I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Ace rolled his eyes, “Shake the shit out of me next time. You didn’t want me disturbed? I’m fucking disturbed. You carrying my unconscious ass around is so fucking embarrassing I wana choke and die just visualizing it.” 

“Embarrassing?” Marco stepped forward, offering out his hands in a silent display of amity. His voice remained nonchalant, “You have a sleeping disorder, that’s not something you can help.”

Ace scoffed, “I’m heavy.”

That comment gave Marco pause. The corners of his mouth pulled up. “You’re not heavy to me.”

Ace processed that like he was translating it from ancient greek. There was a long beat of silence between them while his face grew increasingly red. “Go fuck yourself.”

Marco chuckled. “I promise, I will wake you up next time.”

Ace stormed away from him. He dug for his keys and did a round through the living room and kitchen to shut off lights. The sharp edge in his voice was still very much present when he said, “Come eat with us.” Ace passed the guest room and tapped on the door frame, “Let’s go Lu, we’re leaving.”

Marco watched Luffy stumble out of the guest room, jamming his shoelaces under the tongue of his sneakers. “Let’s go!” 

The brothers would have made an adorable team on kitchen nightmare. It was like their brains were physically connected. Despite Ace’s constant reminders that kept Luffy away from the stove, they agreed on most things without discussing them; The crispness of the bacon, the over abundance of paprika, the sheer volume of food they were cooking for only three people. 

As they worked, Marco caught his thoughts floating back to the night before. The adrenaline, the hiding, the rush of butterflies that assaulted his stomach when Ace hugged him. Honestly, It was driving him mad. 

The kitchen’s tiny windows painted beautiful yellow lines down Ace’s neck and shoulders. He was gorgeous, it’s nothing Marco wasn’t aware of since they’d met but now his mind was lingering in the… self indulgent. 

He’d sooner die than let Whitebeard find out there may have been some truth to his ramblings.

The three of them ate around the small kitchen table that was clearly meant for two. Luffy entertained them with a hundred stories and Marco did his best to keep up with them. Either twelve year olds had a very different dialect these days, or Luffy just spoke very very fast. 

“—Usopp always wants to play stealth or snipe from far away. I rather just rush in, guns blazing, brrraaa brrra.” Luffy rolled his tongue to make a fairly impressive machine gun sound. “Finished the heist in thirty minutes.”

“That’s supposed to impress me?” Ace asked between stabs of his pancakes, “Pretty sure Thatch and I cleared that whole DLC in thirty minutes. You need to wake up, little brother.”

“I’m awake!” Luffy insisted, “You cheat in Mario Kart, I bet you cheat in GTA too.”

“Short cuts aren't cheating. You’re just an amateur.”

“An amateur?!” 

Ace threw up his arm to defend from Luffy’s fork attacks. While he held his brother back, Ace winked at Marco from over his shoulder. “Just to be clear, I’m not a cheater. Don’t let him fill your head with propaganda.”

“I believe you. You’d rather beat a twelve year old with honor.”

“There is no honor!” Luffy exclaimed, “We like, shattered the TV screen one time— ” 

Marco didn’t need to hear the story of Ace launching a Wii-more straight into their television. He dropped his hands on the table abruptly and said, “Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah.” Luffy bounced out of his seat. Before bolting from the kitchen, he threw his arms around Ace’s shoulders from behind him, “I’m gonna shower and then, I’m gonna get dressed and then, I’m gonna brush my teeth.”

Ace patted his hands, sudo hugging him back, “Can you do that in fifteen minutes?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m not you.”

Ace stifled a chuckle, “Then go.”

Luffy disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door, leaving Ace and Marco alone at the tiny kitchen table. 

The moment Luffy was gone, even before the door shut, the energy in Ace’s eyes drained. The half smile he maintained so convincingly the entire morning dropped and Marco briefly considered how likely it’d be that he’d fall asleep at the table. 

Marco stood and began collecting their empty plates. “Thank you for breakfast.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I should probably get out of your way,” Marco said slowly, “Where is Luffy going?”

“I think it’s Sanji’s house this time.” Ace leaned his elbows on the table. One hand kept his head up right and the other drummed his finger's like the stimulation was the only thing keeping him awake. He mulled over his words slowly, “I wanted to ask you… What did Pops say last night?”

Marco knew something was coming the moment Ace stopped looking at him. “He’s worried about what move the police will make next.”

“What else?”

Marco frowned, “He wanted me to look at your medical record from the report.”

“You read my case file?” Ace’s jet black eyes rose from the table and studied him. 

“Yes.”

“Is that it?”

Marco sighed. If Ace could cook someone alive with just a stare, he was certainly feeling warm. “He told me who Gol D Roger is to you.” Ace’s fingers stopped their drumming. “That’s it.”

Ace’s voice dropped low and quiet, “He shouldn’t have told you that.”

“I needed to know what that cop was doing following us.” Marco held Ace’s gaze despite it feeling like daggers at this throat. He pulled a kitchen chair out to sit across from him and his eyes leveled Ace with something deeply serious. “You refuse to see a doctor. Whitebeard wanted to know if I thought there were any signs of malpractice in your medical file. Which, there most certainly are, by the way.” 

There was misery in the way Ace took in his words. “You can’t tell that from one document.”

Marco sighed. He recalled the rushed and nonspecific notes that sorry excuse for a physician took down. “Luffy described you to be unconscious for at least two minutes. Do you think there’s any chance at all, he was exaggerating?”

Ace scowled. “He wouldn’t exaggerate.” Luffy had no reason to make that story sound any worse than it was. Furthermore, the visual of his brother having to watch him lay unconscious for two minutes choked the air out of his chest.

So, Ace stared, letting his frustration build under Marco’s careful, calculating blue eyes. “I don’t really care what your intentions were, that shit is as personal as it gets. You shouldn’t have fucking read it. Now drop the damn subject, Marco.” Ace leaned forward an inch, “If Luffy wasn’t in the room next to us, I’d be ripping you a new one right now.”

This wasn’t the frustration Marco usually felt when someone was too stubborn to listen to a word he was saying —Which happened frequently given his line of work. 

The deep pained exhaustion that clouded Ace’s eyes was viscerally upsetting, Marco decided. Ace was like a star burning away heat on the verge of a supernova, and it overwhelmed him with worry. “The duration of time you were unconscious matters, that’s why I bring it up. Why haven't you seen a doctor?”

“Because I don’t need one.” Ace bit back, “You’re talking about a fight I lost over a year ago now. I’m well aware Pops thinks my head is all fucked up, but I’m fine. I’ve been fine.”

“Lost?” Marco dropped his hand on the table, briefly at a loss for words. “This wasn’t a street fight. They beat you an inch from your life over what— your last name?”

“Can we stop talking about this?”

“As strong as you are— ” Marco didn't blink while he said this, “And, you are strong. There was little you could have done against three armed police officers that made the choice to target you.”

“I’m an angry fucking person.” Ace murmured, “I let Sakazuki scare me and I got angry. The responsibility of what happened is mine”

“So how long are you going to punish yourself?”

Ace didn’t say a word. He didn’t breathe. His posture was wound up so tight, he flinched when Luffy came trotting back into the kitchen. 

“I’m ready!” Luffy’s hair was still damp and his sneakers squeaked on the wooden floor when he stopped short. The tension in the room was more than palpable. “…What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Ace shot up from his chair and gave Luffy a reassuring touch behind his shoulders when his little brother rushed to his side. “I’m good. Where am I driving you again?”

“Sanji’s house.”

“Right.” 

Luffy wasn’t satisfied with Ace’s weak attempt at reassurance, so he pressed on. “What happened?” When Ace hesitated, Luffy whipped his head around to see if Marco had an answer. As sweet and bubbly as Luffy was, it was fascinating to see how much ferocity burned behind his eyes when he looked at him. “Is everything okay?”

Marco raised his eyebrows. That look was no less threatening than a shotgun in his face. He opened his mouth to say something but Ace interrupted. He redirected Luffy’s momentum like a bullfighter, steering him back towards the door. “Absolutely! Can you cool it with the third degree?” That nervous laughter again. “How often do you shake people down for money because I’d empty my pockets if I ran into you.” 

“Ace.” Luffy groaned and reluctantly allowed his brother to usher him out of the apartment. “You know, I don’t have to sleep over there tonight.”

“Holy shit thanks Mom, but I’ll be okay.” Ace filled his chest with air in hopes it’d make his smile a little more convincing. “I told you, I’m good.”

Marco followed them out of the apartment and down the long metal steps. Luffy didn’t take off ahead this time. There was no mad dash to the parking lot. He walked in rhythm with his brother and watched Marco through the corner of his eye. 

Before they parted ways outside the shop, Marco stopped Ace by the shoulder. “Can I give you my number?” He was surprised when Ace complied. The young mechanic dug his cell from his pocket, opened his contacts, and handed it over. With Luffy’s eyes studying his every move, Marco tapped around Ace’s cracked screen, added his contact information, and returned the device. “Do you know why I’m not gonna drop the subject?”

Ace tilted his head, curious how candid Marco would be in front of his brother, “Why?”

Marco smiled at him, “Because I care about you.” 

The attitude Ace prepared died on his tongue. Marco had managed to take him off guard for the third time in the past hour and Ace was sick of it. The soft creases at the corner of his mouth, that look that was the picture of confidence and control, it was all insufferable.

“Shut the hell up.” Ace turned towards the parking lot, ushering Luffy to follow close behind him. He raised a hand up while they walked away and said, “You’re insane, Marco.”

Three days later. 

The last day of school. 

They were known as the Straw Hat Crew, thanks to Luffy’s questionable choices in fashion. and it was well understood that The Straw Hats’ owned the big flat rock on the edge of the playground. It was home base, it was every starting and finish line, and today it was where the five of them sat for lunch. 

Fat white clouds rolled overhead while they made their typical trades. Luffy’s rice crispy treat for Sanji’s slim jim, Nami’s juice box for Usopp’s strawberries, it was as typical as lunchtime got for them. 

Gravel crunched under the shoes of another boy approaching the rock. He went out of his way to avoid the damp grass. Mostly likely in an effort to keep his sneakers as blindingly white as possible. “Hey. My mom wants to know where her twenty dollars went.”

Nami raised an eyebrow at him, “Tell her you lost it. That’s what happened.”

“I didn’t lose it,” He warned, “You guys stole it over Super Smash.”

“Stole it?” Zoro huffed, “We didn’t steal anything. You put it in the pool and you lost. Not our problem.”

The boy took another few steps closer, fuming to himself like an angry little dog. Luffy stood up first. Then Zoro, then Sanji. 

Nami watched the tension swirling to a head and grinned, “Easy boys. I’m sure our friend here is just confused.”

“Oh i’m not confused,” He spat, “If someone doesn’t cough up twenty dollars right now, you’re all gonna regret it.”

“Is that right?” Zoro cocked his head to the side. “You hear this, Luffy?”

“Yeah I’m hearing it.” Luffy picked at something in between his teeth while he approached the kid. The nonchalance in the way Luffy smiled at him only ticked him off more. “Leave us alone. Should have kept your mommies twenty dollars instead of betting on Kirby.”

“What are you gonna do, Luffy? Send your crackhead brother after me?”

Only Zoro caught the way Luffy blinked. 

“Your head would pop under his motorcycle tire.”

“Really?” He gestured at another group of students a few picnic tables away from them, “Because, we found a pretty crazy video that suggests otherwise.”

Luffy furrowed his eyebrows, “…What video?” 

“He looks like he’s on drugs or something.” The kid chided, “Was he? Is that why the cops beat the crap out of him?” 

Land of make believe…

And it don’t believe in me… 

Land of make believe…

(And I don’t care) 

Ace was typically most productive from the hours of eleven in the morning to three in the afternoon. It was that sweet spot before his typical four thirty crash. 

When the shop got too busy he’d blast Green Day’s Greatest Hits into a bluetooth speaker loud enough for the entire block to hear. He mumbled the lyrics under his breath while he worked and occasionally made faces at Thatch when their eyes met from across the garage. 

He was five minutes through the rock opera, right before the bone-chilling transition that led into the fourth movement, and his phone rang. The ballad of power chords was abruptly cut off by a ring. 

“Fuck me.”

“Ace!! That was my favorite part!” Thatch threw his arms up where he sat at his workbench.

“I’m sorry!” Ace scrambled to clean his hands off on the legs of his jumpsuit before he finished his phone out of his pocket. He disconnected from the speaker. “Who’s fucking calling me right now?” 

“Eighty percent of the people you talk to are in this building.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” All that snark wiped from his face when he finally got a look at the caller ID. The name looked foreign on his home screen. 

Marco had never called him before. 

They exchanged numbers on Sunday yet their message history remained completely blank. 

Ace narrowed his eyes on his phone, still chewing on the idea of apologizing for being weird on Sunday. He let it ring one more time before answering. 

“Hey.”

The deep major notes of Marco’s voice were just as pleasant over the phone. “I’m gonna tell you something and I need you not to freak out.”

“That’s—” Ace sighed. “That’s not a great way to start a conversation with me.” Thatch watched Ace step away from the silver Cadillac. He moved a few paces from the noise of the hydrology lift and held his hand over his other ear. “What’s the matter?”

“Luffy’s school sent him and another student to the Hospital after a fist fight.”

Ace nearly dropped his cell. “What?!” Thatch watched him scramble to put his phone back up against his ear, “If this is some kind of joke Marco, I will curb stomp those pretty white teeth all over the fucking sidewalk—“ 

“He’s absolutely fine.” Marco continued like he hadn’t just been threatened. “Not that I’m supposed to tell you this, but the other kid looked a lot worse.”

“No shit. You haven’t seen Luffy throw a fucking punch before…”

It was probably for the best Ace couldn’t see Marco smirk at that. “I wana close up a cut on his forehead with a few stitches. Do I have your permission to do that?”

“Stitches?” Ace hissed, “You said he was okay. He needs stitches now?! Explain to me how that is okay!”

“No broken bones, minimal bruising, and absolutely no sign of a concussion.” Marco replied, “He’s fine. Just a few stitches. Won’t take more than five minutes.”

Marco waited patiently on the other line through a bout of silence. Then, he heard the muffled movement and the chime of keys. “Okay,” Ace sighed, “Give him anything he needs, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” 

Thirty minutes earlier. 

Marco didn’t work in the pediatric emergency unit. It was a complete coincidence he was even there, looking for his attending who’d wandered off in this general direction an hour ago. His white coat snapped around his ankles while he flew down the hallway, dodging nurses, people, and carts of supplies. 

His shift had started at five in the morning and consisted of putting out one fire after another. The lab was backed up with tests, the specialists were feeling more petty than usual, and three code blues in the past thirty minutes ripped him from a lunch he never had the chance to take. 

Now, he just needed the signature that would dismiss him for the afternoon. 

Maybe, fast food on the way home. Then, straight to bed. 

As Marco turned the corner, he listened to a particularly squeaky voice that stuck out from the chaos of the wing. It went on and on without so much of a breath between sentences. 

“Well, that’s bullshit!!” The voice wined, “You can’t make me do anything I don’t wana do!”

Marco would say he’s probably better with remembering names and faces. Still, the sound of that voice froze his feet right where they were. Marco stopped short hard enough to piss off the nurse that’d been walking behind him. 

There was no way…

He had absolutely no right to go bursting into someone‘s room. This wasn’t his patient, this wasn’t even his department. But if he was right, and that was Monkey D. Luffy on the other side of the door, there’s no world where he’d just keep walking. 

Marco pulled the door open. 

Luffy‘s eyebrows jumped up as he recognized Marco and he smiled.  There was a bruise and an angry-looking cut on his forehead. The nurse had swept his bangs back and attempted to clean up the blood with gauze. To her clearly growing frustration, Luffy leaped off the table, “Wow, It’s Mr. Subaru!”

By his side was an older man with perfectly trimmed, graying facial hair and a scar that wrapped down the side of his face. His police uniform was decorated with gold and silver over his shoulders. 

If it was possible, Marco could already feel Ace’s anxiety. 

“Luffy…What the hell happened?”  

“I got into a fight,” Luffy said more quietly. 

Marco ripped a pair of latex gloves from the dispenser over the counter. For someone who claimed to be pretty awkward with children, he sure as shit didn’t waste a second in treating Luffy’s as his patient. He knelt on one knee and tilted Luffy’s head up until he got a good look at the mark. 

The old man shook his head, “You can’t throw a punch every time someone pisses you off, Luffy. You should know better.”

Marco’s blue eyes shot up at the man over the rim of his glasses. “I bet you're Monkey D. Garp.”

“Hell of a guess.” He grumbled, “You know the boy?” 

Marco stood on his feet and was more than pleased to reject Garp’s extended hand. He had gloves on after all. 

Out of all the people involved in Ace’s case file, no one seemed to make Whitebeard as deeply furious as Garp had. He listened to Newgate curse this man to every level of hell just forty-eight hours ago, what were the odds he’d have the pleasure of meeting him now? 

There were so many ways Marco could have introduced himself but he chose to say, “I’m Ace’s friend.”

“Small world.”

“Excuse me.” The nurse strained for Luffy’s attention. Her eyes bounced between him and Marco, wordlessly signaling that she’d had more than enough of this kid. “Sweetheart, you need to sit down.”

“I can’t. My legs wanna stand up.”

Garp huffed out a sound of annoyance. “You’re not a little kid anymore,” He bellowed, “Sit still on the damn table Luffy, no one has time for this.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

In all fairness, the nurse's concern was valid. If Luffy was hit in the head, the last thing he should have been doing was jumping off exam tables. 

But, the moment Garp’s fingers so much as grazed his little wrist, Luffy tore away from him. A calm negotiation was out of the question the moment his boundary was crossed. ”Do not.” he warned, “Don't touch me.” Luffy backed up until he felt Marco’s hands catching his shoulders. 

“I can take over, how does that sound? Marco’s voice juxtaposed the sudden tension in the room. “Would you feel more comfortable with me having a look at that cut on your forehead?”

“I don’t want gramps here.” 

“Deal.” Marco met Garp’s hardened gray eyes with his calm, calculating blue ones. “I’m sure your grandfather wouldn’t mind waiting in the hallway.”

The nurse removed her gloves and presented Marco with the clipboard holding Luffy’s IPS. His eye scanned over the document and was more than relieved to find the physician that processed Luffy already cleared him as a concussion risk. 

These brothers and their head injuries… 

“Luffy, should I make the assumption your brother has no idea you’re here?”

“Yeah.” Luffy twisted his fingers together, “I got scared I’d make someone suspicious so I haven't said anything. My school assumes I live with Gramps.”

Marco frowned. He was too little to be this paranoid. “I’ll call him for you, okay?”

“Okay.”

Marco stepped out into the hallway and the Police Lieutenant followed him. Garp leaned against the wall beside the various colorful murals meant to make this wing of the hospital less imposing. 

Garp’s arms were like tree trunks, folded across his chest. He watched every detail in the way Marco retrieved his phone— this doctor who was apparently such good friends with his grandson. “You’re fully aware, under the eyes of the law, I’m the kids legal guardian. What are you calling him for?”

“What am I calling him for?” Marco raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t one to get angry with people, he was far more likely to start talking to them like they were children. Why that question touched a nerve, Marco couldn’t explain. He simply started before he could stop himself. “You don’t even live with him.” Marco explained, “You don’t pay for his life, his clothes, his dinner, his toys. You don’t have to drive him anywhere, you haven’t had to contort your entire life to be around for him, and you think I trust you? Go ahead, tell my boss I’m giving you a hard time. Or— do what you’ve been doing. Pass the majority of the work off to Ace and cough up your damn insurance card when I ask for it.” 

Garp shook his head. Whether he was amused, floored, insulted, or what, Marco couldn’t be sure. “How about I’m getting my ear yelled off and Ace isn’t even here yet.” The old man heaved a long sigh. “You said you’re— what? His friend? That’s what you said?” 

Marco sighed and began dialing Ace’s number. “Correct.”

“This is saline.” Marco showed Luffy the small squeeze bottle. “I’m gonna rinse your cut with it, okay?”

“Okay.” 

“Now, please tell me you know my name isn’t the model of my car.”

“Your name is Marco.”

“Excellent.” By the heel, he pushed himself a few feet back to reach a drawer with more tools. Forceps, scissors, a sterilized needle and thread. 

“Will it leave a cool scar?” Luffy asked. 

“Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“I’m very good at this.”

Luffy had been coaxed onto the exam table with the promise of getting to watch Marco fill a syringe. His round eyes marveled at the tiny beads of liquid forming at the tip of the needle. “What is that?”

“Local anesthetic.” Marco hummed. “Slight pinch.” Luffy hardly registered the needle. One moment he was getting pricked and the next, he couldn’t feel the burn of his forehead at all. 

Marco moved in a choreographed and precise manner. Every tool he reached for and every stroke of his wrist had perfect rhythm, it was like there was confidence running all the way down to his finger tips. With just three stitches, Marco sutured the cut closed. 

“Your eyes are freakishly blue.” Luffy said. 

Marco sucked on his cheek while he finished off the knot, “Thanks.“ His surgical tools clanged against the tray as they were set down. “Don’t touch it.” He stood to retrieve fresh bandages. 

“When is my brother getting here?”

“A few minutes, I’m sure. He was leaving before we hung up.” 

Luffy seemed satisfied with that answer in the way he nodded. He chewed on the inside of his cheek until he thought of his next question, “What’d you say to Ace the other morning that freaked him out so bad?” 

Marco’s hands momentarily froze over the open drawer of bandages. When he turned to look at Luffy, he was faced with the same fierce daggers for eyes Ace had.

These brothers and their looks. 

Marco’s poker face was better, of course. “Head up.” He said flatly and folded a piece of gauze over his perfect stitches. 

Luffy sat surprisingly still for this. “Do you have a crush on him?”

Well, don’t panic. 

That was the first thing his inner voice thought of. Lying to Whitebeard was one thing, lying to Luffy, who seemed to be able to stare right through his fucking soul, felt like a new feat entirely. “What makes you ask me that?” Marco pressed a little piece of medical tape over the bandage and rolled back a foot to look at his handy work. 

“What’s your favorite thing about him?”

Marco’s mouth flattened into a straight line. He crossed his arms and began some kind of staring contest with this twelve-year-old and his nerves of fucking steal. “Pick a question. I’ll answer one of them.”

The corners of Luffy’s mouth turned up just slightly. His legs, dangling from the table, swung with newfound excitement. He looked up in consideration before finally repeating, “The last one. What’s your favorite thing about him?”

There was no time to psychoanalyze that now but an interesting choice nonetheless.

Under the pressure of Luffy’s expectant eyes, Marco drew a blank at first. His favorite thing about Ace? He was impulsive, hot-headed, disorganized, and chronically exhausted from all of it. Marco shook his head and the softest smile creased the corner of his mouth. ”He's a hard worker.” Marco said. “He’s funny. Underratedly funny in my opinion. He’s got a silver tongue I’m pretty jealous of.”

Luffy smirked, “What does that mean?”

“Ah…” Marco cleared his work surface and snapped off his gloves. “If I was ever in a hostage situation, I’d want the FBI to send in your brother to talk to my captors.” Luffy’s giggling gave him a little confidence, so Marco continued, “I love that I rarely have to guess what he’s thinking. He gets frustrated and defensive pretty easily but he’s so honest. Ace is the most authentic person I've ever met. I think… That’s my favorite thing about him.” Marco popped the plastic lid off a tub of tiny lollipops and offered it to Luffy. The kid jammed his entire fist inside and grabbed no less than ten of them. “Is that answer sufficient?” 

“Totally.”

Marco had texted him instructions on how to enter the hospital quietly. 

The ambulance garage doors were always open in the summer. Considering Ace was dressed like a mechanic, he walked through without so much as a second glance. 

Reading Marco’s instructions off his phone gave him a migraine. He used to think of himself as directionally brilliant. Ace claimed to have had the entire city grid memorized at sixteen. Now, he found himself growing increasingly frustrated at the tightly packed text written on each identical white door. 

Ironically, it was Garp waiting idly in the hallway that confirmed he hadn’t been lost. 

This mother fucker. 

It certainly wasn’t a shock, Luffy’s school pulled this shit a few times a year. Depending on his mood, Garp would decide how difficult he wanted Ace’s life to be that day. Would there be a lecture or would he allow Luffy to use his insurance? Would Garp start making calls on Luffy’s behalf or would we stand quietly with nothing but a disapproving stare. 

Ace’s work boots were loud on the tile floor. Every nerve in his body was cocked back like a gun as he ran past his grandfather. 

He had to catch his hands on the door frame to slow down. His chest heaved, and his eyes frantically scanned the room for a hurt little kid who he could only assume had given every doctor in the building hell for the past hour. “Where is he?”

“Ace!” Luffy jumped off the exam table for him. He ran into his brother, who had knelt on both knees. Luffy crashed against his chest and hugged him. “Hi.”

Ace groaned, “What the fuck did you do!? Luffy, I’m gonna keel over and fucking die when you scare the shit out of me like this.”

“It’s fine, I’m really fine!” Luffy said it as honestly as he knew how. “Marco fixed it.”

“Yeah, thank fucking god.” Ace examined him, the bruises on his knuckles, the grass stains on his shirt, and the little scrapes around his elbow. He held Luffy at arms length and hissed through his teeth while he looked at the bandage on his forehead. “Did it hurt— does it hurt?”

“Not really.”

“I gave him Tylenol.” Maro explained, “You can give him more in five hours.”

“The stitches.” Ace scrambled to his next concern, “He needed stitches?” 

Marco smiled at the onyx daggers Ace gave him. “Three. They will dissolve on their own.”

Luffy wriggled around in Ace’s grasp, “Stop freaking out—I won anyway.”

Ace imitated him, “Yeah— you won anyway? Since when do you start fist fights? You’re the good one!” He leveled his brother with a half serious look, “This kid better have had it coming, Lu.”

Garp watched them from the door. “Ace.” 

“He did!” But as quick as Luffy was to insist, he hesitated to offer any further explanation under his brother's expectant eyes. Both Garp and Marco, who up until this point were also given very little information, waited too. 

“Well?” 

“Can we talk about it later?” 

Ace’s eyebrows shot up. Luffy wasn’t shy about most things. What he kept secret was few and far between. So, Ace petted his hair back and said, “Yeah. Yeah, we can talk about it later.” 

“That’s ridiculous.” Garp shook his head, bewildered. “You treat him like an infant. And you wonder why he’s such a handful.”

If this was a test, it was a dangerous one. Garp’s presence brought about this bizarre, deeply buried panic within him. Anything out of Garp’s mouth might be lethal. Most weren't, but anything could be. in brief meetings like these, if he could stay calm, that’d be enough. 

He forced himself to suck in a cold breath of air, “Really great to see you.” 

“He just beat the snot out of some poor kid and you’re not gonna demand an explanation?” 

“Just let me handle it.”

“Clearly, you know what you’re doing.” Garp cucked, “How old were you the first time you got suspended?”

Thirteen was the answer. Not that Garp would remember or Ace planned to help him. 

Marco crossed in front of him at that moment and it was the first time Ace got a better look at his face. He looked mildly ticked off and unamused with Garp’s little jabs. Marco held his hand out to the Police Lieutenant and said rather bluntly, “Insurance.” 

Ace had never seen Marco at work. Which was funny considering Marco almost exclusively saw Ace in this one jumpsuit. Marco didn’t just look neat, he looked pristine, he looked immaculate. The pressed charcoal slacks and white coat only made his legs look longer than they were.

But what impressed him most was the way the old man handed the little plastic card over without so much as another word. 

“Great. You can follow me, Lieutenant I’ll make sure someone gets this processed for you.” Marco took another few strides before adding, “Ace, I’ll come back with Luffy’s discharge papers and you two will be free to go.” 

Luffy looked pretty happy for a kid in the emergency room. He obsessed over his bandages in the camera of Ace’s phone. “What do you think I should tell people? Bear attack? Maybe the mafia jumped me— I should tell people I’m training to be a boxer.”

Ace smiled when Luffy laughed. “Maybe you had experimental brain surgery so you could read people’s minds.”

“That’s good!” Luffy gasped. “I could run with that for a while before Barto notices.” Whatever idea Luffy had next was interrupted when he realized Ace wasn’t looking at him anymore. 

He’d been keeping the end of the hallway in his peripheral the entire time so he found Marco the moment he came around the corner.

Ace walked into his arms and hugged him. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” Marco’s shirt collar smelled of deep rum and vanilla. His voice was warm, adoring even, “Just don’t pass out on me or anything.”

Ace rolled his eyes as they separated, “Yeah, don’t get your hopes up.”

”Good one.” Marco smirked and handed over a thin folder of paperwork. “Make sure he keeps the area dry for twenty-four hours. Showers are fine after that. Stitches will dissolve in about a week.” Marco’s gaze fell to Luffy who was watching them from a few feet away, “Got it?”

Luffy replied, “Got it.” 

Exhausted as he was, Ace’s little K9 teeth made his smile every bit as bewitching as it usually was. Ace dragged one lazy step at a time back to his brother and the general direction of the parking lot, “You’ve made a habit of having my back lately, it’s really pissing me off.” 

“Yeah?” Marco shrugged, “I like it.” 

“Do you?”

“Very much.” 

Chapter Text

It was five o'clock in the morning and Marco was the only soul in the parking lot. 

He stood under the aluminum overhang that framed one of the hospital’s back doors and watched the rain pound against his car. If it'd been like this twelve hours ago, when his shift started, Marco would have parked underground. But, that’s not what he did, and his punishment would be a walk through the downpour. 

Marco held his white coat somewhat over his head. As much as he hated the rain, he wasn’t the kind of man to scramble. He took more of a stiff, irritated, hurried walk. Marco held his leather bag close to his chest and unlocked the door. Even with the protection of his coat, the moisture in the air seemed to have permeated every layer of his clothes. His sleeves and his slacks clung uncomfortably to his skin. 

He turned his key in the ignition, and to Marco’s utter dismay, his car sputtered like it was out of breath. He tried again. “You’re kidding,” He hissed. The engine clicked like a lighter out of fluid. So close to catching and just coming up short. 

Marco could easily blame it on the ungodly hour of the morning or his hungry stomach. Maybe it was the quiet, empty apartment he knew was waiting for him when he’d get home. But, for a moment– give or take thirty seconds– he felt unreasonably miserable. Marco dropped his head back against the driver's seat. He thought about the boxes that were still untouched and how little he cared to unpack them. He thought about the microwavable rice bowl that’d he’d probably eat and how much freezer burn was too much freezer burn. 

Marco called Thatch first. There were long quiet pauses between each ring that ultimately lead to his best friend’s answering machine. It was five in the morning after all, most of the sane people he knew were sleeping. 

He scowled at Ace’s name sitting at the very top of his contacts. Ace chauffeured enough people around, truthfully, he was the last person Marco wanted to bother right now. Be that as it may, the probability that he was awake was… relatively high. Higher than Thatch for damn sure. 

The line rang once, fully. The second ring was interrupted by a click and some rustling that could have been fabric, maybe a pillow. He heard Ace make some kind of sleepy hum while he held his phone up to his face. “You-okay?”

Not a surprising first question from him, “I’m fine.” Marco said, “I think my battery died.”

“Where?” 

“The hospital.”

There was more rustling followed by a clumsy sounding thud against the wooden floor. Ace cleared his throat in an attempt to get his voice back, “I’m on my way.” 

“Right now?” Marco pushed his finger tips at the tension between his eyes, “Hey, I can wait. I’m sorry I’m the asshole waking you up for this.”

“Oh, relax.” Ace’s chuckling sounded like smoke and honey. “I’m your mechanic. If you’re calling anyone else first, that’d piss me off.”

“We don’t want that.”

“No, we do not.” Marco could hear him smile, “I’ll leave in a few minutes. Don’t move.”

After fifteen minutes, the sky was glowing with what would soon be a sunrise. 

The shop’s tow truck was ancient. Only Whitebeard’s team had the skill and sentimentality to keep it running as smoothly as it had all these years. And, it was a beautiful sight seeing it emerge over the hill and pull into the parking lot. Ace clearly wore what he’d been sleeping in. Sweatpants, T-shit, no jacket; all the most cottony articles of clothing that would without a doubt, soak up rainwater like a sponge. He hopped down from the truck without hesitation. Ace’s work boots (the only appropriate thing on him) charged through the puddles that gathered on the asphalt. “Hey!”

Marco got out of his car too. Unlike Ace, he scowled at the rain that immediately soaked through him. “Good morning.” 

Ace smilied. His jet black hair stuck to his face. “You poor thing, just trying to get home, yeah?” In a matter of thirty seconds, they both looked as if they‘d gone swimming, fully clothed. Ace pulled the Subaru’s door open. He half sat in the driver's seat to hear the same weak clicking of the engine.

Marco had to yell to be heard over the rain, “I just need a jump, don’t you think?”

“Maybe.” Ace looked unsatisfied. He moved to the hood of the car next, and opened it as little as he could to get inside without drenching the engine bay. “Hold this for me.”

Marco held the hood high enough for Ace to dig around. 

“The day we met, I gave you a tune up. Remember that?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there’s just no fuckin’ way I’d leave your battery on the brink of death.” 

“I don't know,” Marco chidded. “You were pretty pissed at me for parking in the garage, you might have overlooked something.”

Ace’s chuckling was lukewarm and half distracted. Marco watched his shoulders twist a little deeper into the engine bay. He reached for something, then promptly slipped out from under the hood. “Well, I’ll tell you your first problem,” He held up two wires, completely severed from the engine in one clean snip. “This is definitely supposed to be attached to something.”

Marco pulled his rain covered glasses down the bridge of his nose to get a better look. “What the hell?”

“Someone broke into your car.”

“There’s no way. I havnt stirred up nearly enough shit to warrant something like this.”

“You’ve made yourself an ally of mine, I think that’s more than enough reason.” Ace looked back at Marco’s dead engine, concern sharpened the look in his eyes. “What if Sakazuki’s people did this?” 

Ace would sooner drop dead before leaving his precious motorcycle outside the garage overnight. Not to mention, he lived with Whitebeard on the property. Marco’s car was an easier target. If this was a trap, Marco might as well have held Ace’s neck down against the chopping block himself. The blond shook his head, “Fuck.”

Ace shut the hood of Marco’s Subaru with a sharp thud. “The police are threatening me through you. You think it’s a warning shot?”

“Probably. We should make sure the security cameras outside the auto shop are still running.” Marco looked over his shoulder just to assure they were still alone. “Worst case scenario, they were waiting for me to call you and that’s exactly what I did. We should leave. How fast can you hook up my car?”

The worry must have been obvious on his face because Ace dropped the frustration from his voice. “Less than five minutes. Be my look-out. I’ll get us out of here.” Then, he pushed the broken wires into Marco’s hands and got himself to work. 

On his knees, Ace reached under the Subaru to attach heavy silver hooks onto it’s frame. Marco’s eyes bounced between Ace and the highway adjacent to the parking lot. “Do you need help?”

“No thanks.” Ace sprung up from the ground and opened the door to a chunky looking control panel built into the side of the truck. “I’ll spare you. Those pants look expensive.” The hydraulics groaned as they pulled Marco’s car onto the flat bed. Then, Ace secured bright yellow nylon straps to each wheel. 

Marco somewhat followed him, hyper aware they were sitting targets, waiting for someone to come and collect. He could hear Whitebeard’s voice now, loud enough to shatter the windows. He should have known better.

Through the sheet of pouring white rain, a black Audi turned into the parking lot with them. The little burst of adrenaline had Marco shooting his arm out towards Ace, roughly grabbing the shoulder of his soaked shirt and pulling him a few inches closer.

Ace stumbled under Marco’s grip, “What?!” 

“There— Right there.” Marco nodded towards the Audi. He considered dragging Ace under the tow truck for cover. His brain went through about a hundred worst case scenarios like it was flipping through a rolodex. All before the car eventually turned away. Harmlessly, pulling up the ramp into a parking garage near the cardiology wing. 

Marco released Ace’s shirt. When he looked at the mechanic, Ace was smirking at him. “Wow,” Ace hummed, “What were you about to do, man-handle me? 

“Shut up.”

“You looked pretty fucking serious there, I got chills.”

“I probably put you in a lot of danger by calling you out here. I’m concerned.” 

“Marco, you could call me drunk from Garp’s pool and I’d still show up.” Ace propped a boot up against the bumper of the truck and dropped back all of his weight to pull the last nylon strap tight. “If the cops wanted to get the drop on us they would have done something the second I got here. Look— I’m done.” He gave the strap one final tug. “—And this is at the top of my list, okay? That stupid fucking block party is tomorrow, I’ll have your car ready before then.”

Marco was right behind him the moment he finished, ushering Ace towards the driver's door by the back of the neck, “Yeah, yeah, you’re real sweet. Can you get in the car, already?”

“What do you think, a sniper is gonna pick me off from the rooftop any second now?”

“You wanna hang around here and find out?” 

They climbed into the old leather front seat of Whitebeard’s tow truck. The roar of rainfall was muffled the moment both doors were shut. The vintage vehicle had no center console that separated the driver and passenger so Marco’s knees bumped up against Ace’s as they dug around for their seatbelts. Ace called the truck’s engine to life with the turn of a key. The stick shift thunked into first gear and Ace peeled out of the parking lot about as fast as the truck could go.

Marco directed Ace to his apartment. It wasn't more than ten minutes down town but the area was unrecognizable from the urban jungle the auto shop was located in. The worn side paneling and rusted metal fences upgraded to sleek modern architecture and perfectly trimmed hedges. The brownstones in particular caught Ace’s attention and he drove slower than he needed to so he could look at them. Marco watched him admire the wide, artfully constructed front steps and brightly painted front doors. “I love this area,” He hummed as they turned off the main boulevard down a quiet side street, “You live down here?”

“You should visit sometime.” Marco said gently.

“Yeah?”

“Of course.”

“The police tampered with your car because you know me and you want me inside your apartment?” Ace’s sarcastic chuckle quickly trailed off and when Marco looked at him, there was no amusement in his expression at all. His shoulders had fallen and his eyes held a kind of broken hearted disappointment. “I can't believe how quickly I’ve dragged you into this.” Outside Marco’s building, Ace pulled the truck into a fireline to idle. The hazard lights blinked on and off at a lazy rhythm.

“This was outside your realm of control.” Marco told him.

“It doesn’t matter. What are they gonna do next? Cut your fucking breaks?” The idea sounded too realistic coming out of his mouth and fear creeped over his expression as he continued, “Holy shit.”

“Don't catastrophize.” 

Ace’s expression had darkened while he took himself down the line of his own anxious thinking. Then, after a beat of silence, he met Marco’s eyes with complete certainty, “I don't think we should talk anymore. I don’t think we should even be friends, Marco. I’m gonna get you fucking killed.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Marco raised an eyebrow, “The police have been giving Whitebeard hell for years, this isn't as new and shocking to me as you think it is.”

“That was before he took in Gold Rodger’s last living relative, the game is different for them now.” Ace met Marco’s eyes with the same kind of adoration he’d been watching the block of houses with. Something he considered unattainably beautiful. “I mean– you’re perfect.” Ace said with a surprising amount of softness in his voice, “The only thing you’re afraid of is Thatch’s disgusting fucking bong.”

“Ace.”

“You’re brilliant at what you do.” He smiled a little bit, “Did you know, Luffy is almost as terrified of hospitals as I am? I’m still floored with how incredible you were with him. You were so calm. It takes Luffy a long fucking time to come around to my friends, so— I dont know what conversation you had with him, but he actually likes you.”

“Does he? The overprotective murder eyes throw me off.”

“That’s just Luffy. He likes you, he told me he does.” Ace explained himself with certainty, “You’ve got this perfect job and this perfect place and probably– I don't know– a 401k or something. You’ve worked so hard for your life. I can’t be the reason the city’s police put you on their shit list.” There was a candidness in Ace’s eyes that wasn’t there before. Up until this point, Marco had sworn Ace had been mostly oblivious to whatever pathetic little crush he’d developed. But, in that moment, in the way Ace grabbed his wrist and poured into him with his sad, beautiful, black eyes, Marco was sure every secret he ever had was being thumbed through like a book. “So, whatever you’re doing with me,” Ace said, “It’s fine, I just don’t want to waste your time or screw you over.”

Marco digested that slowly. Then he asked, “Do you honestly believe you have the ability to talk me into not seeing you anymore?”

Ace’s nervous chuckling was breathless, “I’m trying to.”

Marco touched the softest part of Ace’s shoulder, just before the curve of his neck. Ace’s skin was warm beneath his hand despite the rain. Maybe, if he could wax poetic, it’d be different. His words felt so trivial on his tongue, minuscule compared to the deep longing he felt just to interlock his fingers with Ace’s smaller, calloused hand.

He directed their movement from the hand he had behind Ace’s neck. Marco pulled Ace forward and kissed him. Any normal person probably would have seen it coming but from the stiffness in his shoulders, Marco knew Ace had not. He felt him inhale sharply against his lips and it sent a hurricane of butterflies through Marco’s stomach. It took a moment for Ace to kiss him back. To relax under Marco’s hands and melt into the warmth of his mouth. Marco was patient. He took his time, unwinding Ace with barely audible sighs and the slow, languid, push and pull of their lips. Ace let his head drop at an angle and Marco reveled in the bliss of the new depth he was rewarded with. When Ace slid his hands up Marco’s shoulders, electricity woke up every nerve in his body. The desire to touch him, his waist, his neck, his hips, it was overwhelming. In the quiet darkness of his empty apartment, this was everything Marco imagined it would be; warm, slow, and exploring every angle of his mouth to earn those barely audible sighs from Ace’s lips. 

When they finally parted, the rain had stopped falling. Ace’s face was flushed a deep crimson. Whatever he had going on behind his eyes, Marco couldn't read for the life of him. Ace touched the back of his knuckles against his bottom lip where the tingling from Marco’s tongue lingered.

“I’m sorry.” Marco exhaled, “I didn't know how else to make my point clearer. You can tell me to get lost, Ace but you really have to mean it.”

Ace opened his mouth to say something, then promptly changed his mind. He looked floored as if someone had just offered him an unreasonable amount of money that he simply couldn't accept in good conscience. The silence was long enough to make the average person panic but Marco had more patience than the average person. 

“I don’t date,” Ace said.

Marco looked unfazed. “Let me buy you dinner, it doesn’t have to be a date.” He watched Ace struggle for an answer before he tried again, “Actually— Call it running errands.”

“Errands?”

“What if we drove downtown.” Marco unbuckled his seatbelt. He collected his bag from the floor of the truck and pushed open his door. “I’d pick up some things, probably walk down Washington Street, and at some point, there will be dinner.” Marco caught his mistake before Ace could, so he added a few specifications to his proposition, “We’ll do it on a weeknight. When the shop is dead and Thatch is closing. You’ll find a babysitter and let me know what days are good for you or I’ll ask Whitebeard to watch Luffy myself.”

Ace stared at him like he was some kind of unsolvable puzzle. The more he tried to suppress his growing smirk, the more lopsided it became. “Okay.”

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, you’ve got every excuse I can think of covered at the moment.” Ace had never seen Marco’s eyes light up like that, it actually took him aback and he caught himself grinning wider than he really meant to. “And I’ll see you before then, won’t I? You better stick around tomorrow.”

“Of course, I will.” Marco used the handle above his head to pull himself out of the truck and step down from its bumper. “If you change your mind you can let me down easy then.”

Ace leaned on the open window of the passenger side and watched Marco with his cheek resting in his hand. Between his wet bangs hanging down the sides of his face and the yellow light of the rising sun, he looked like an oil painting. “Fine” Ace hummed, “And if I don’t, you’ll kiss me like that again?”

“That’s—“ Marco’s surprise was brief on his face before he replied, “That’s a realistic expectation, yes.”

“Good to know.”

”I‘ll see you tomorrow then.”

”Sounds like you will.” Ace watched Marco’s back, his broad shoulders and his confident posture walk up the steps to his front door. He was graced with half a wave and one last glimpse of those all knowing blue eyes before Marco disappeared behind the front door of his building. 

The corners of Ace’s mouth pulled back into a grin and he promptly realized how little control he had over his face. It felt bizarre, he couldn’t turn it off. The last time he was this stupid and happy, it was a few shots of tequila. Before that... Well, before that, he must have still been in high school. 

Chapter Text

Over crowded and blisteringly hot. 

Thatch had to circle the block three times and dedicate ten minutes to parallel parking in a spot Marco was fairly confident would get him a ticket.

“What the hell do you know, you barely even live here.” Thatch’s car keys were attached to a carabiner with five too many keychains. They clacked together while he spun it around his finger, “I have a personal relationship with the street cleaner guy—”

“Yeah, I’m sure you do.”

“I do! He knows my whip, trust me.” The clouds were bright white, thick blobs, pinned completely still in the sky. There wasn’t the faintest wind to ease the sun’s beating heat. Marco pulled the top four buttons loose of his shirt while he followed Thatch into densely packed foot traffic. The main boulevard was shut down to cars to make way for food trucks, vendors, and the various activities set up by the locals. Bounce houses, cornhole, slip n’ slides, the neighborhood did not mess around this year. Thatch barely dodged a girl flying down the sidewalk on a scooter, “How is it this crowded already?”

Marco smirked at him, “You were forty five minutes late picking me up. Pops said they started at ten.”

“Oh, yeah...” Thatch’s smile faltered while he caught Marco eyeing a few police officers lingering on a street corner. “Paranoid, huh?”

“You better believe it,” Marco mumbled.

“Sorry about your car.”

“It’s fine,” He waved off Thatch’s sympathetic voice, “First thing I’ll do tomorrow morning is talk with hospital security. I’d find it hard to believe there aren’t cameras in the parking lot.”

“Good thought, Marky. If you get your hands on the footage, give that shit to Pops so he can get it to their lawyer.”

”You don’t know when his actual court hearing is, do you?”

”Nah… Should be on the work calendar, though.” 

The block party was for the local businesses more than anyone else. While there were plenty of houses offering treats and plenty to drink, it was the shops looking to attract business with flashy sales and promotional events that pulled crowds. Whether it was for the extra business or a positive public image, Whitebeard decided to participate this year. He sat all his mechanics down a few months back and after a little brainstorming, it was Thatch who suggested a car show.

Beautiful custom rides filled the auto shop’s parking lot. Hot as it was, the sun lit up the iridescent paint and threw star bursts of light against all the sparkling chrome. Ace had been playing face for the past few days. He was the one with good rapport with the community of drag racers uptown. They brought tuners in every color of the rainbow, customized with massive speakers, absurdly low suspension, and exhaust pipes that change colors depending on what angle you looked at them. 

“Damn.” Yamato, a man with bleached white hair, the fastest car in the city, and a body just to die for, marveled at the brand new rims installed on Ace’s bike. “Where did you get these!?”

Ace crossed his arms over his chest. He was beaming. “Junkyard.” 

“You’re full of shit— You found carbon fiber in a junkyard?”

”Pop’s has a friend in salvage. We’ve got a gated section over there where she sets parts aside for us.”

“And you find straight up gold like this all the time?”

“All the time. Best price in the city.”

Yamato stood up from where he’d been kneeling in front of Striker’s back tire. He dropped a hand on Ace’s shoulder, heavy enough to throw him off balance a step. He laughed, “Can you hook me up with carbon fiber?”

“Easily.”

Whitebeard sat with Izou under the shade of the garage, filling their schedule with appointments and orders. They watched Ace charm three different people in the past hour before sending them to the front to buy something. It’d been non stop since ten and the heat wave clearly wasn't a deterrent for people excited to start their summer.

Newgate waved Ace over to him once Yamato had left. “Come sit a minute and drink some fucking water. It’s gonna hit a hundred out here before noon.”

Ace trotted into the garage and took the water bottle Izou handed him. “It’s not that bad—”

“Not that bad?” Izou’s manicure was loud against the keys of his laptop. “I’m pretty sure we could fry an egg if we left one outside. Not that it isn’t working in our favor, Ace is pulling clients with the glistening shirtless guy routine, so...”

Ace laughed, “Thatch also suggested a yearly calendar and I think we should circle back to that idea.”

“Stop.” Newgate shook his head while he finished the email he’d been working on. “I need everyone to shut the fuck up unless you’re changing the subject.”

Ace would have. He was a breath away from asking about lunch when Newgate’s eyes caught someone in the crowd. “You’re late.” 

”I know, I know, I’m sorry.” Thatch did his best to win his coworkers over with an innocent smile. He was followed by Marco, who was probably the only soul in the entire city not dripping in sweat. He kept his hands in his pockets. Marco’s resting expression was apathetic, too cool for this kind of thing, but the corners of his mouth twitched up the moment his eyes found Ace. “I had to pick up Marco,” Thatch explained, “So— we should really be blaming the city police, don’t you think?”

Marco nodded, “Definitely gonna blame the cops and not the fact that we stopped for coffee.” 

“You got coffee?” No ‘hello’, no ‘how are you’, Ace stared up at Marco with the same playful black eyes the neighborhood cats had while waiting for treats.

Marco called Ace up from where he’d been sitting with a wave and pushed his drink into the young mechanic’s hands to taste.

“And why exactly is Marco here, again?” Izou smirked behind his laptop screen. 

Surely it wasn't the twenty year old, giving Marco his undivided attention, glistening with sweat, and drinking his coffee. Thatch emphasized each word with air quotes, “To pick-up-his-car.” 

“Is that not what’s happening?” Marco scowled. “Because I’d love to have my car back.”

“Ignore them. Yes, your car is ready.” Ace leapt forward to grab Marco’s hand and pulled him into the garage. He was well aware of what Thatch was doing and honestly— as long as Whitebeard wasn’t reaching for a shotgun, he didn’t care. As far as Ace understood, no one at the shop knew shit about their little kiss from the day before. If someone wanted to give them a hard time for being in a good mood, they could go ahead and fucking try him. “You have to see what I did.” Ace beamed, “New wiring. Runs beautifully— I installed a much stronger lock on the hood, too.”

The contact surprised him but Marco looked more than content to let Ace pull him wherever he wanted to go. “Yeah?” 

“You’re gonna love it— Oh fuck, I repurposed some tiny old security cameras I took off a Beamer last week. I installed three of them. It’s awesome. This Subaru is gonna look like the fucking bat mobile by the fall.”

Thatch exchanged an amused look with Newgate and Izou before sauntering after the happy couple. He followed them into the much cooler part of the garage towards the back where Marco’s car was tucked away.

To Ace, this was the only skill he had. This was the only thing he knew how to do right 99.9% of the time. He was hopeless with his words. Ace could never dream of articulating to Marco just how much he appreciated his patience and his kindness, but he could pour out everything he had into this trade. 

Ace rambled when he was nervous. There was a lot to explain; the detail work, the protective polish over the paint, the way he tucked the wires of Marco’s new cameras under the interior so it looked— how Ace put it— crispy. Marco gave him his full attention, his eyes tracked each little hand gesture and animated expression out of the young mechanic. “So, basically,” Ace chimed, “No one is getting to your engine without ripping the entire hood off your car.”

“Wow,” Marco hummed. The blond hardly knew what to say, “I’ve got the best mechanic in the city. Ace, this is brilliant, thank you.” 

He grinned, “Yeah— fuckin’ whatever, you’re welcome.”

“How much do I owe you?”

“This was my fault to begin with. Don’t worry about it.”

Marco’s smile creased at the corners of his mouth, “You wanna tell me how long you spent on this?”

Ace waved his hand dismissively, “An hour.””

“An hour?” Marco tilted his head down to level with him, “So, if I were to ask Luffy how long you were down here last night, he’d say an hour?”

“Sure—” His confidence was fleeting. Ace fluttered his eyelashes like the answer was barely out of reach, “I mean— give or take...”

Thatch examined the heavy-duty lock expertly installed on the inside of Marco’s hood. He was so impressed with it, he used his phone’s flashlight to admire the uniform, straight beading of Ace’s welding job. “Damn. I would have charged you out the ass for this. You’re so lucky I didn’t pick up the phone.”

Tides changed fast with Ace. You could be showered in adoring attention one minute and held at gunpoint the next. He looked back at Marco, “You called Thatch before me?” 

This was something Thatch seemed to enjoy, if his shit eating grin was anything to go by. “Ooh, did he tell you otherwise?”

“It was implied.” Ace said, cocking his head in the blond’s direction.

To Thatch’s absolute delight, Marco stuttered. “Am— I— in trouble for not wanting you to have to haul my car out of the rain at five o’clock in the morning? —Easy with the look.” Marco separated Thatch’s hands from Ace’s shoulders like he was defusing a bomb. “Thank you for that, Thatch. Really appreciate you, bud.” 

“Yeah, of course.” That was all Thatch needed to see. Whitebeard was just going to have to accept the budding romance and Thatch needed to be in the room when Marco broke the news. “I’m gonna see what Pops needs from me.” Thatch sang, “Marky? I’ll come get you later.”

Thatch left them in peace after that.

They could hear him greeting Teach outside— who was apparently setting a new record for tardiness. Their muffled conversation faded into the background as Marco returned his attention to the mechanic in front of him. He leaned against the hood of his car and did his best not to let his eyes drift down to the dewey, sun kissed expanse of skin in front of him. “So I should warn you now, I promised my lunch to Thatch and a few friends of his this afternoon.”

“I’d care about that, why?”

“You’re working. Otherwise, you’d be coming with us.”

Ace’s smile mismatched the threat in his voice, “And what the hell gave you the impression I’d want to go to lunch with you?”

“No one.” Marco answered, “You just seemed so erratically jealous that I called Thatch yesterday morning. So, I’m being transparent—“ 

Ace cut him off at the last vowel by driving his forearm into Marco’s shoulder. “Jealous?” He lowered his voice into a hiss, “You planning to shove your tongue down Thatch’s throat too? Be my fucking guest.” 

Marco’s laughter was constructed of deep major chords. He swatted away Ace’s offensive elbow. “Alright— alright. You want me to bring you something back from the restaurant?”

“Obviously.”

Marco couldn’t do much about the smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. Before Ace, he liked to think of himself as having an incredible poker face. Now, all it took was him standing too close, “And, are you planning to break my heart this morning or are we still on for dinner?”

“We’re still on.” Ace hummed, “If you bring me back a steak sandwich.”

“How do you want it?”

“Still bleeding.” He smirked, “Does Tuesday night sound good to you?”

“I will pick you up at eight.”

The front door to the apartment swung open and Luffy appeared at the top of the steps, dressed in bright blue cargo shorts, equally bright yellow sneakers, and a white shirt that had Whitebeard’s shop logo printed across the back and front. 

“Hold it—” Ace’s voice was sharp enough to stop Luffy from moving another step. “Is that my shirt?”

“Uhm.” Luffy looked down at himself, “Yeah.”

“Nu-uh. Not that shirt—”

“Aaacccceeee.” Luffy hung his head back. He held onto the railing and lost half the  strength in his legs as if this brother being such a pain in the ass physically wounded him. “It’s fiinnneee, you’re crazy.”

“Luffy, don't even. Change the shirt.”

It was about as much discipline Marco had ever heard out of Ace’s voice. While he may have been hissing complaints under his breath and rolling his eyes, Luffy promptly turned around and disappeared back into their apartment. 

“Bossy.” Marco chided. 

“Yeah.” Ace sighed, “Every once in a while.”

When luffy came back, he was wearing something red. “Do you need to approve of this outfit too?” Luffy asked as he flew down the steps, two at a time. “I think this is Gilden, is that okay? You wanna check the tag and see if it’s a cotton blend?”

Ace nudged Luffy’s head like he was trying to push over a bowling pin. “Thank you.”

“Mmhm.” Luffy’s wide black marble eyes found Marco next. 

“Hi Luffy,” He told him.

“Hi Marco.”

“Let me see that scar.” Marco gestured above his eyebrow, “How’s it healing?”

“Good!” Luffy was happy to show him. He pulled his bangs out of his face and held still long enough for Marco to kneel forward and inspect the healing stitches. “Zoro said if I want the scar to look cooler, I need to pack it with dirt and let it heal like that.” He waited for Marco’s expression to falter. The way his eyebrows twitched together— deeply concerned, made the kid laugh, “I’m kidding.” 

“—Right.” Marco exhaled a sort of chuckle. Foolish of him to forget Luffy was Ace’s smaller, hyperactive clone. “One more thing, you don’t recall how long your brother was working last night do you?”

Luffy responded before Ace could even consider covering his tracks, “I dunno, like three am— four am.” 

“Dude.”

Luffy smirked up at Ace, “What?” 

From the drone of the many people outside, they heard a few familiar voices poke out of the crowd. Nami’s voice, then Usopps. “My friends are here!” Luffy announced, uninterested in whatever conflict he just started. He grabbed Ace’s hand who was heavy footed behind him and started to make his way outside.

“Bell-merè’s picking you up, isn’t she? Don’t make me talk to her.”

“She can smell your fear, Ace.” Luffy explained, “Just be normal! It’s okay!”

“Marco, I’ll be back in three minutes!” Ace called over his shoulder, “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Will you need a rescue?”

Ace didn’t get the chance to answer— Luffy was getting strong. He was dragged back into the sun where Bell-merè stood outside. The straw hats ran wild at her ankles, exploring the beautiful cars scattered around the parking lot.

She wore a police academy baseball cap and carried a large tumbler of ice water on a carabiner. Her attention was taken with Zoro chasing Sanji around the hood of a Mazda Miata. “Hey— Easy boys, take it easy.” She warned the kids who hardly paid her half a mind. Then, promptly set aside her annoyance to address the brothers. Her smile was warm for Luffy, “Hi hun.”

A few yards back, Whitebeard watched the exchange from just under the cover of the garage. Marco lingered next to him with his arms folded over his chest and listened while Newgate caught him up on who this woman was.

”Do you want me to do something?”

“Nah.” The faintest smile softened the curves of his face. He nodded towards Luffy, who stood stubbornly at his brother's side, wide eyes jumping back and forth while he monitored the conversation. “I think the kid’s got it under control.” 

They were discussing the fight and Luffy’s stitches. And as much as Ace loathed the subject with her, Bell-merè offered nothing but her condolences. 

“Ace’s friend is a doctor.” Luffy explained. “So I wasn't even scared. Plus, Zoro says pain is just in your head so I basically overcame that with straight will power.”

“Is that right?”

“Or advil.” Ace added.

Behind them, Sanji found a half decent opening to check into Zoro with his shoulder. The kid made the chain link fence rattle as he bounced off it and crumbled to the ground in a fit of laughter and promises of retribution. 

“Ay!” Ace’s voice caught their attention like little mice caught with the lights on. All he really did was shake his head. But, the disapproval from Luffy’s cool, convict, stoner, older brother was more ego shattering then any typical punishment would be. “Knock it off.”

“Sorry.” Sanji dragged Zoro back to his feet by the shirt.

Zoro echoed him under his breath, “Sorry...” 

Bell-merè sort of chuckled. She offered Ace the closest thing to her approval as she could manage and hummed a curt, “Thanks.” She rocked on her heels, “…I’m glad to hear everything’s okay. Luffy, you’ll try to avoid violence like that in the future, right?”

“I don't like bullies, Miss Bell-merè. He had it coming.”

She blinked down at him, “What’s that?”

“Luckily—” Ace was quick to cut in, “Thanks to all the witnesses, Nami especially, Luffy didn’t get in trouble. The principle agreed he’d been provoked, so…” Ace cleared his throat, “That’s something.”

Nami hung off Usopp's shoulders while she called out across the parking lot, “Moomm, leave him alone. Can we go now??”

Bell-merè maintained a polite tight smile. “I’ll drop him off around eight, is that okay?”

“Yeah. Call me if you need anything.” Ace dismissed Luffy with a hand over his head. Fluffing his hair out of place as the twelve year old scampered off to join his group of friends. “Have fun, Lu.”

Ace liked having Marco watching him work. He spent the next hour leaning over a corvette, waxing its sky blue paint while they bickered over how the Beatles discography should be ranked. “That’s something we should do,” Ace muttered, making peace with the fact that Marco didn't appreciate early sixties pop as much as he should. (It’s fine, he could change him.) “Do you like live music?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll find us a concert, then.” 

Us. Even Newgate’s eyebrows shot up at that phrasing from where he’d been eavesdropping. Marco might not have known Ace for that long but everyone else in the garage knew how high on his list you had to be to be spoken to like that.

“Fuck you, Spades.” Teach grumbled as he walked past the corvette, “I’ve been trying to take you to The Paper Box for years.”

“That’s three burrows away.” Ace said, “I’m not going anywhere where I can’t get back here before midnight.” 

It was a half decent excuse that did nothing to ease Teach’s annoyance. Marco was sure he had a passive aggressive comment behind his next breath, but the subject changed when Ace flinched like he’d just been pricked with something sharp. He brought his right foot off the ground and took a sudden step back from the baby blue corvette. “Motherfucker–” He whipped the rag he was holding onto the ground “Fuck!” From his ankle monitor, there was a migraine inducing, metallic beeping. 

“Someone get the kid some fucking ice.” From the look on Newgate’s face, this was a common occurrence in the summer. His eyes flickered between Marco and Teach respectively, like a dog trainer impatiently waiting for a correct response. They both shot to their feet. “There’s another cooler in my kitchen, go stick his foot in there.” 

“But– what’s wrong with him?” Apparently, Marco was just too behind to be filled in in a timely manner. Teach already had Ace by the arm, leaving Marco no choice but to follow them into Whitebeard’s house. 

The AC hit him like a blanket of ice and the sudden quiet from the crowd outside eased the headache Marco hadn't realized he was getting. He was a few paces behind, navigating through the narrow hallways and listening to Ace and Teach’s exchange on his way into the kitchen.

“Does it really get that hot?”

“It’s searing my fucking skin off, you think I’m being dramatic?”

Teach chuckled, “Relax. You want ice? Ask me nicely.”

Ace sat on the table and ripped off his work boot. “Nicely? I hope you fucking value your teeth, because I garentee I could find someone who values them more.” 

Ace hissed impatiently while Teach filled a plastic bag with ice from the freezer. So much so that he jammed his fingers between the ankle monitor and the clearly irritated skin around his ankle for relief. When Teach took a seat in front of him, Ace propped his foot up on his knee.

Still, Teach withheld the ice he’d collected. “Creative– but that’s not even close to please.”

“Please.” Ace growled behind his teeth, “Please, you mother fucker.” 

Marco scowled at the rancid taste in the back of his throat. He hated that– he hated listening to that. He hated the way Ace immediately dropped his back against the table, relieved by the mercy Teach showed him by allowing the ice to make contact with his leg. Within a few minutes, the cursed piece of plastic stopped beeping. 

Marco knelt beside Teach to examine the red skin blistering around Ace’s ankle bone. “It looks too tight for one thing,” He muttered, “Is there someone who can loosen it?”

“The police can.” Ace groaned. “We should totally just walk in there. I’m sure they’d be happy to help me.”

Ace took Marco’s hand to sit up before climbing down from Newgate’s kitchen table. He held out his other hand for the bag of ice which was given to him promptly this time. “C’mon. Let’s go back outside. Someone’s gonna pour a bottle of water over my head. Izou was right, it’s too fucking hot.”

Thatch’s friends were the most stereotypical group of young professionals in the city. They had creative jobs in corporate offices and joked about their tiny studio apartments. Thatch outclassed them all in charisma but being a little boring certainly wasn't a crime. Could be worse, right? 

The floor, the table, the atmosphere, it all smelled of drafts on tap, as if the wood had permanently absorbed the stench of beer. 

By the time they got their food, Marco had no doubt one of the finance guys was hitting on him. The overindulgent eye contact, the unnecessary shoulder touching. His name was Kayne and he laughed at everything out of Marco’s mouth regardless of how lazy his jokes were. A sorta shy, gay guy in his early thirties who lived in a beautiful neighborhood on the east side. He was everything Marco thought he wanted about a year ago. 

“Dogs or Cats?” Kayne had asked him, leaning forward with bright expectant eyes. 

“Hm?”

“Are you a dog person or a cat person?”

Thatch chimed in, “Kayne just adopted a puppy.”

“Ah.” Marco hummed, “How’s that been?”

“Nightmare fuel.” Kayne laughed, “She’s just a baby so she can’t be left alone for very long. She’s already a picky eater, she’s barely potty trained, she barks— like constantly. I mean she’s precious, she’s absolutely the sweetest. I just can’t wait for her to get a little bigger so I can have my life back.”

Marco didn't mean for his face to twitch the way it did and he hoped it didn't look as unimpressed as he felt. “Probably a year?”

“Well, in six months, she’ll probably be able to go more than a couple hours without having to pee.” Kayne chuckled. “Hopefully, I can survive without a social life until then, right?”

“Sure.”

Thatch wrapped things up after he got a phone call from Whitebeard, something about needing to pick up a car for their client downtown. Marco split the bill for the group and after he got a hold of Ace’s takeout— a steak sandwich as rare as the chef would allow it— they all filtered out of the pub.

“You know what’s the funniest thing about Kayne?” Thatch had asked him before they parted ways at the end of the block.

“What’s that?”

“I’ve been telling him I’ve got this doctor friend moving back home since the holidays.” Thatch chuckled at him, knowing it was within his best interest to take half a step back, “I’m sorry he was hitting on you bud. I totally forgot about that whole conversation until the minute we sat down.”

Marco hissed from the back of his throat. “Fucking hell, Thatch. You knew?”

Thatch’s laughter made every word of his, wobbly, “I’m sorry! But— give me a break! If I had introduced you two a few months ago, he would have been perfect.” He climbed into his car. Thatch leaned an elbow out the window as he turned the key to the engine. “Besides you’re—“ He cocked his head to the side, “You are still single, right?”

“Correct.”

“Quite the tree you’re barking up, bud.” 

“Thatch.”

His best friend laughed, “I’ll see ya around, Marky.”  

It was a ten minute walk back to the auto shop. The nostalgia was coming back to him as he passed the dozens of sidewalk cracks and low hanging tree branches he used to have memorized. Not as much changed as Marco thought it would, the same black cat from his EMT days watched him from her usually perch by the window.

He'd been waiting at a congested intersection, nearly shoulder to shoulder with the people around him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and Marco was met face to face with a dark blue uniform the moment he turned around. 

“See, I had this sinking feeling I’d need to remember your face.” Captain Sakazuki stepped challengingly close. To anyone else, his smile looked as if he was greeting an old friend.

“Oh— wow.” Marco processed his shock in real time, it couldn’t have been more clear on his face. “You found me.”

“I did.”

“How’s your hand getting along, Captain?”

“Just fine.” The street signal changed and directed the dense crowd of people across the street. But, Marco stayed. Both him and Sakazuki stood in place and let the rush of foot traffic navigate around them like a river over rocks. “You know— you didn’t mention you knew my favorite little convict last time we spoke.”

“Do you usually keep tabs on your doctors?”

The cop chuckled, “Well, you’d be surprised where an investigation can have you end up.” The hand around the curve of Marco’s shoulder tightened, “I’m so sorry to hear about your car.”

Marco’s eyebrow creased together. Perhaps he should have been expecting something bold like this. Sakazuki loved to hold the power, didn't he? “Oh, don’t be. I’ve got a great mechanic.”

“Yeah.” Sakazuki made the decision that they would start walking. He pulled Marco with a firm hand against his upper back and the two of them crossed the street together. “I’m not gonna keep you Doctor, I just had one thing I wanted to run by you.”

“Sure.”

“It’d be in your vested interest to stay out of my way. As far as I’m concerned, Mr. Portgas is property of the state until that tracker comes off so, anything you might be doing that could interfere with a police investigation into him would be a federal offense.”

“Sounds pretty serious.”

“Now, I’m sure you’ve been having fun. Young love and all that— but if you’re interested in aiding the police with our investigation, it could end up being far more worth your time.”

“Of all the things I expected you to say to me...” Marco took the card from him and turned it over in his hands.

Sakazuki wasn't entirely sure how Whitebeard’s first protege would react to this. The smart one, the successful one, and apparently, the romantic. He hadn't expected the smile. Perhaps it was just shock or maybe, he was humored by all of this. 

“Why would I help you?” Marco asked, with what could only be described as a customer service smile painted across his face “I mean— considering what you’ve assumed my relationship with him is.”

Sakazuki shrugged, “Clear your name off my radar, live a nice uncomplicated life, have your medical school debt cleared by the end of the summer and— well, I guarantee you, you wouldn’t have to worry about your car so much.” He interrupted Marco mid breath, “Think about it, I can wait. Call me anytime, yeah? Day or night.”

Marco received half a salute from the officer. Apparently he’d been dismissed. Their conversation was over. Sakazuki disappeared into the crowd, just a tornado passing through.

The afternoon sun threw thick, dusty, beams of light through the windows of Ace’s apartment.

Teach watched Ace walk through them to the bedroom and retrieve his stash box from one of the bottom drawers of his nightstand. The bed was made albeit a clearly rushed job. It was neither the brother’s favorite thing to share a bedroom but Teach found it amusing how both their personalities showed themselves. The clothes that littered the floor were a combination of Luffy’s rainbow closet with Ace’s overwhelmingly dark wardrobe. The albums hanging on the wall, that was Ace. The sharpie drawing of Mario with a twelve pack, assumedly Luffy’s work. 

“How much did you need?”

“What’ll you give me for twenty dollars?”

Ace shrugged, a half amused smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, “Not much. C’mere.” He had a silver scale he sat on the surface of his night stand. The bed shifted under him while Teach sat down, closely watching over Ace’s shoulder while he picked green buds out of a plastic bag. The pungent smell of flower crept into the space between them and mixed with his musky cologne. 

Ace was incredibly selective with who he allowed in his personal space. Teach sat so close to him, Ace could feel the warmth radiating off of Teach against his bare arm.

“I’ll take whatever you’re willing to sell me,” Teach sighed, “My guy left me on read yesterday, I havent smoked anything in twenty four hours.”

Ace took his time reading the digital numbers on the scale, but he handed Teach his grinder and a little glass pipe. “Help yourself.” 

“Ah.” He grinned widely while he accepted it from him, “You love being the hero, don’cha? What is that, service kink?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Teach dug a filthy looking lighter from his pocket and doused the bowl with it’s fire. He pulled a long deep breath from the mouth of the pipe and while Teach chuckled, thick ribbons of white smoke seeped past his lips. “What, you don’t know what that is?” The silence told him he didn’t, “I’m just teasin’, don’t look so nervous.”

Ace handed him a new plastic bag. A smaller one, with roughly an ounce of weed inside. “I’m not servicing you, mother fucker. You owe me thirty dollars for this.”

“Ouch.” Teach traded the bag for the pipe, then dug through his wallet for two bills. Ace stood up the second he had it in his hands.

They traded the pipe back and forth and Ace dulled his frustration with Teach one hit at a time. “What's your problem with Marco?” Ace asked, breaking the long natural silence between them, “You don't like him or something?”

Teach didn't see the point in asking Ace how he figured such a thing. At this point, he understood the kid to be more observant than he let on. So, he shrugged and waved at Ace until he returned the pipe to his hands, “You only know post-med school Marco. I knew teenager Marco— early twenties Marco.”

“And?”

“He was a jackass. I mean– everyone knew Whitebeard was doing the same shit as Gol. Rodger, we just never got caught. And, your guy Marco was at the top of the food chain right next to the old man.”

Ace narrowed his eyes at him, “You were running with Pops too. That makes you both jackasses, what's your point?”

“If you had a couple hundred dollars and someone you wanted the shit kicked out of, you’d call Marco. He used to run this place with a pistol in his belt.”

Ace raised his eyebrows, “Sexy.”

Teach predictably, did not find that joke as funny as Ace did. He pulled himself off the bed once the weed in Ace’s pipe was nothing but ash and his amused expression fell clean off his face.

Ace felt the weak AC in the apartment starting to get to him. He was half stoned and lunchless. Ace turned to leave the bedroom when Teach started a new subject– something more personally interesting to him.

“By the way… I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this but, there’s a video of your arrest circulating.”

Ace’s glare was meant to be a warning. So, it was confusing when the older mechanic waited for his response with such an eager expression. “Yeah, I heard.” Ace said slowly, “Some asshole in school told Luffy about it.”

“Well—“ Teach released a breathy laugh, “That’s not good. I watched it. A few times, actually. Were you on anything when tha’ happened?”

Ace wasn’t shaking his head as an answer, it was more the fact that he found the question bewildering, “No.”

“Huh.” He chuckled, “Coulda’ sworn you did a line before losing your shit on that pig. You might want to be careful who sees that video, Acey.”

“Well I was fucking sober.” Ace bit back at him. This subject was far too intimate for Teach to be grinning at him like that. He turned on his heel to exit the bedroom and Teach followed close behind.

“I’m only tellin’ you this, because I’m worried about you.”

Ace’s voice had that little bit of grit Teach liked, ”I can’t help you with your morbid curiosity, asshole. I don’t remember shit about what happened anyway.”

“That’s why I’m bringing it up!” Teach reasoned, “I think someone ought to fill in the fuckin’ blanks for you. Whitebeard is doing you a disservice babying you like he does. If your parole board finds this video, you’re screwed.” 

Ace clicked his tongue in frustration, “Screwed how?” 

Unlike Marco, Teach was afraid of Ace. In his opinion— just the right amount of fear. He liked the way the grim reaper showed itself in his eyes when Ace’s back was up against a wall. He liked how defensive he got, he liked how willing the boy was to throw a punch and how sharp his tongue could be. Teach enjoyed every word as it came out of his mouth, “You’re clearly at fault.”

Ace was speechless for a moment. He waited with his eyes trained on Teach like he was expecting him to take it back.

The hesitation, the slipping of his confidence, it all looked gorgeous on Ace’s typically cocky expression, “You punched first,” Teach hummed.

“I did?”

“I did?” Teach mocked the complete uncertainty in his voice. His breath was heavy while he chuckled, “It was like the fucking devil got a hold of ya. You pulled the nightstick off that officer’s belt and smashed his head over the hood of the car, you really fuckin’ maimed him.” He watched Ace’s anxiety kick up a storm behind his eyes while he wracked his brain for memories he didn’t have. Teach dug into the deep pockets of his cargo shorts and retrieved his cell phone. 

Ace knew exactly what he had before Teach turned his screen. 

He could hear it. He recognized Luffy’s crying immediately. But— it wasn't crying, it was wailing, it was screaming, it was the kind of raw throat tearing despair an animal made while it was being killed. 

It’s not like Ace could literally see the memories flashing before his eyes but he could feel them. The cold asphalt, the panic running through every nerve in his body, the splitting, vision blurring headache spreading over the back of his skull. 

He needed it to stop. Very few things made Ace feel like a little kid, very few things made him feel like he wanted to cry. But, the sound of his baby brother screaming like that disturbed him to his very core. The pipe shattered against the floor. Ace sunk his nails into Teach’s wrist and clawed at his fingers to retrieve the phone. “Turn in off—” Venom, the kind that killed on contact dripped from every word, “I’ll break your fucking skull—”

Teach had a longer wingspan than him, so it wasnt difficult to hold the cellphone out of reach. He had begun to apologize. With a sickening amusement behind his eyes, he promised Ace he would stop. “Alright— alright, firecracker. Can’t ya ask me a little more nicely then that?”

Ace uppercut Teach right in the jaw. As big a person as he was, the man had no natural sense of balance. He caught himself with heavy feet and swung his fist back far too wide. Ace dodged him. “Look at you—“ Teach spat, “Doesn't take much for you, huh!?” 

Their shoes creaked over the shards of glass scattered across the floor. Teach would have grabbed his shirt if he’d been wearing one. Ace felt Teach’s thick fingers grapple the red beads around his neck instead. He twisted his fist a hundred and eighty degrees and yanked forward. Ace hissed while he braced his hands on Teach’s chest. He had seen his fair share of brawls– choking was a horrifying choice from someone he considered a friend. Ace looked up to find Teach’s beady black eyes boring into him. Pleasure lacing the sick curve of his grin. 

Then, the necklace snapped. Glossy, bright red beads sounded like rain as they scattered across the floor.

The block party was in its final hour by the time Marco got back to the auto shop. The majority of drivers had taken their cars home, leaving a few local low riders and Ace’s striker which curiously— hadn’t been parked in the garage despite the thick clouds rolling in with dark shadows painted underneath them. 

Izou was folding up one of the tables left in the parking lot. He had started to comment on the incoming storm when he read the concern carved deep into Marco’s face. “You okay, hun?”

“Where’s Newgate?” 

Izou frowned while he pointed behind him. The old man was pulling on a cigarette while he carried various things into the garage; An air pump, tire lifts, bottles of polish and wax. His gray eyes slid across the parking lot to Marco as he approached him. 

If there was one thing Newgate knew for certain about his first apprentice, it was that he didn't scare easily. So, he had at least half braced himself for bad news by the time Marco said, “Sakazuki just threatened me directly.”

“What the fuck do you mean— directly?” Roughly, he turned Marco towards the garage by the shoulder. Newgate’s voice lowered to the kind of serious hum he used to use when he was everything Sakazuki was afraid of. “When did he talk to you— just now?”

“He admitted to tampering with my car– I bet he just wanted to show me how easily he could.” Marco scoffed at the absurdity of it all. “Sakazuki has no idea what game I’m playing so he threw a wide net just to see what’d he’d catch. He called Ace property of the state just to see if I’d fucking hit him in the middle of the intersection.”

“What did he want with you?”

Marco shook his head, “He offered to clear my student debt if I help him find a way to get Ace arrested again. Then, basically threatened to keep me under his heel if I don’t.” Marco knew better than to start yelling, still the frustration in his voice was a climbing staircase. “He implied we were romantically involved, too. Why the hell would he say that to me?”

“He knows you care about him.”

“And what the fuck does that mean to Sakazuki?”

“Whatever he thinks he can use against us, that bastard will try it. You think I haven't gotten threats over the safety of my family?” Newgate squeezed his shoulder. Concern softened the usually hard lines on his face, “Do not let Sakazuki under your skin. If the police are asking you for help, that should tell you just how desperate they are. 

Marco took a breath.

“The meeting with Ace’s parole board is in a few months. I’ve got lawyers building a case. We need to grit our teeth until then. 

“They’re planning something if it’s not already in motion. Tell me you have security cameras around this place.”

“Yeah, I’ve been losing sleep watching them.” Newgate sighed, “There’s the guest room if you don’t feel safe at home.”

”Ha— Just like old times.” Marco mused, “Thanks, but I’d rather it didn't have to come to that.” 

Izou, who’d been quietly listening to their conversation, watched Marco take the little flask of liquor Newgate handed him. A sight he hadn't seen since Marco was twenty five and things were getting real bad in the wake of Rodger’s antics. 

Marco cleared his throat from the burn of whatever horrible spirit Newgate was drinking. “Ace is going to lose his fucking mind when he hears this. He already thinks he’s a curse.”

“Let me tell him.” It was rare Whitebeard felt so generous but something about Marco’s composer slipping did that to him, “I’ve gotten that speech before, I know how to handle it.” 

Marco felt a tiny cold raindrop on his neck. He wouldn’t have normally had the nerve to touch Ace’s bike by himself. Not that he didn't have experience with moving motorcycles to and from a garage– Still, it was Ace’s bike. His baby. Marco lifted the kickstand and carefully rolled the Harley under the protection of the garage. “Where is he anyway? It’s gonna rain and he left his bike outside?”

“Upstairs.” Whitebeard took the stack of clipboards Izou handed him and offered a short nod as thanks. He thumbed through their sales, “I think he was selling weed to Teach.”

“Did I mention, I don’t like Teach?” Marco didn't bother lowering his voice for that comment. 

Whitebeard huffed through his nose, “What did he do?”

“He says inappropriate shit that really rubs me the wrong way.”

Whitebeard let the last couple pages of receipts fall through his fingers while he considered that. He brought his cigarette back to his lips and burnt the rest of it down to the filter in one long inhale. “...And what the hell did he say?” 

“Well—” It’d been a long time since he confided in Whitebeard like this. It was comforting to be on the same page as his mentor again. Besides, Marco was thrilled to tell on Teach— to tattle. He was still recalling his exact words from the bar a few nights back when a new pesky, paranoid thought clawed its way to the surface. “—He left, right?”

“Teach? He left a while ago.”

The corners of Marco’s mouth twitched downwards. “Let’s finish this conversation later, then.” Marco slipped past him, apathetic to the clearly irritated look on Newgate’s face.

“You’re unbelievable. Let him get some fucking rest.”

“I will— I just want to check on him— I have leftovers anyway.” Whatever excuse sounded good, Marco had a few of them. “We will finish this conversation.” He repeated more firmly, then made a beeline for the metal staircase.

Marco was jealous of course. Jealous and rapidly becoming more over protective with every screwed up little story he heard about the shitty hand of card’s Ace was dealt. Ironic considering his namesake, really.

The front door to Ace’s apartment was ajar. And it creaked open half an inch while he knocked on it. There wasn't a sound coming from inside and as Marco pushed the door open, he wondered if Newgate was right and all he was doing was interrupting a nap. 

His first step inside was accompanied by the crunching of glass beneath his shoe and the lazily drawl of something rolling across the floor. Marco looked down and found more than chunks of glass, he found a bright red bead. His eyes followed it past more of them until he found Ace, seated on the ground, with his back against the wall and his hands hung defeated in his lap. His black eyes watched Marco from behind his low hanging lashes. Ace’s voice sounded like a piano that’d begun to fall out of tune over the years; quiet, dull. “Hey. Sorry, there’s a fuckin’ mess… Be careful.”

Marco’s jaw clicked as he pressed the back of his teeth together. The rage, the dozens of questions he had, the overwhelming desire to get in his car and drive to Teach’s place with a crow bar in his hands. “...What the hell happened?” Marco choreographed his footsteps between the broken glass. When he reached Ace, he sat on the floor in front of him. “Are you hurt at all?”

”No, no.” Ace hummed, “I just sat down. I got tired.” 

“On the floor?”

”Yeah, I—” Ace sighed as he considered what he felt like translating from the scattered mess of thoughts in his head to english. But there were no blue eyes, trained on him for a confession when he looked up. Instead, Marco carefully collected the red beads off the floor in his hand, one at a time. 

“Did you ever tell me who gave this to you?” Marco asked quietly.

“No.” He huffed, amused with how utterly pathetic the sadness in his voice sounded over wooden beads with no more value than pocket change. “My foster mother. Years ago, just before Luffy and I moved out. I’m just pissed off that it’s broken. I’m okay.”

“Ah.” Marco held out his hand for one of the beads Ace still held in his fingers. The wood pleasantly tapped against the handful Marco had collected. He set them down in a cluster on the nearby coffee table. “I’ll find you a new chord for it, okay? Easy fix.”

“Thanks.” Ace whispered.

“And the glass?”

“Teach made me drop my fucking pipe.” Ace’s onyx eyes followed Marco as he stood up and as much as he preferred where he was, Ace followed him off the floor. “It was a cheap one anyway. Too narrow to clean right,” Ace explained, “Now, If Teach broke my fucking bong, we’d be having this conversation over his body.”

“Don’t count that possibility out just yet.” Marco clearly had damage control on his mind. Ace could mask whatever misery he was feeling with a thousand stupid little jokes. But, Marco needed him off the floor. He needed the story. He needed to make sure Ace was alright. The broken glass was the least of his concerns right now. Marco walked Ace to the couch— the one far too big for how small this living room was— and pushed on his shoulders until he sat down. He was well aware Ace didn’t like being directed around like this. His hyper independence was a stubborn motherfucker. But the number of people who could get away with it used to be two until Marco came along and that was a deep point of pride for the blonde. Ace’s trust was everything to him.

“Also, I haven’t mentioned it to Pops yet but Teach said he’s gonna quit.”

“At the shop?” Marco sat facing him. 

“Yeah, I’m not sure what's going on in his head right now.” His smile looked awkward, “Another thing— you were totally right about him. He’s got some creepy thing for me. Not that he said it outright but…” Ace studied Marco's eyes a little closer, like he was looking for the appropriate emotion he should be conveying while telling this story. 

Marco’s touch had no fear to it, no hesitation, no uncertainty. Marco slid his hands across Ace’s shoulders and pulled him closer. He wrapped his arms around Ace and adjusted his posture until his head rested against his chest and shoulder. Marco leaned back against the couch and while he took long deep breaths, he felt Ace’s tight muscles slowly start to relax. 

When Ace spoke again, the sarcasm and the cheeky humor was gone and left his voice icey, “I’m okay.” 

“I know.” 

“Do not get mad when I tell you the story.”

“I won’t get mad.” 

“Because, I really can’t fucking deal with someone being pissed off right now.”

“I promise.”

Ace muttered against Marco’s shirt, “I saw the video of my arrest. Bits and pieces.”

Silence hung over their heads while Marco decided between a few different follow up questions, “There’s a video?”

“Teach said he found it on facebook. –Which I knew existed, Luffy said some asshole at school was talking about it. But ah—” Ace sifted through the disaster of words unorganized in his head, “He fuckin… just went ahead and hit play at full fucking volume and showed it to me. Teach said I’m at fault. He said if my parole board finds it, they’ll never let me go.” Marco felt his shoulders rise and fall while he took a labored breath, “I feel like I've been sleepwalking since that night. Hearing that audio– it just brought me right back. I punched Teach. We kind of… I don’t know, it was a fist fight I guess. But it was something else too.” Ace closed his eyes while he worked to remember more, “I smelled something on his breath when he got close. He might have been drunk… I’m really not sure.”

“How did you get him out?”

“If you see him and his face is a little fucked up, that was me.” Ace felt Marco’s long fingers dipping into the waves of his hair, brushing it back in a slow predictable rhythm. Ace had never been all that partial to physical touch, it wasn’t what he typically sought after when he needed to feel loved. But, Marco’s touch erased the ghosts of Teach’s hands with every meditative stroke. 

“Your heart's racing.” Ace observed quietly.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“I said I wouldn’t get angry.” Marco offered him half a simile when Ace pulled himself up enough to look at him. “You can’t ask me not to have feelings for you. It’s out of your control, it’s just how I feel. I’m going to worry about you whether you like it or not. Now— there’s conditions, obviously. You want me to stay calm? I can do that, I’ll stay calm.” He returned his hand to Ace's hair and explored the constellations and the misery in the deepest part of Ace’s eyes. “Are you okay?”

The more time they spent together, the more Marco felt Ace responded to actions over words. Or, it was the desperate need to repair the needless damage Teach had caused to this person he’d fallen for. His motivation felt muddy but the way Ace responded beneath his hands felt exactly right. 

But, it was Ace who kissed him first.  

It was immediately different, Marco noticed. Ace sort of felt like a deer in headlights the first time they kissed. Now, Marco needed to keep up with him. Ace commanded his full attention. He wanted the lead, he wanted control. He decided the way Marco was tilting his head, the placement of his hands and where they settled. He pulled on Marco’s shirt collar and it sent chills rolling down his spine. “–Ace.” Marco hummed against the heat of his lips, “Not that I don’t love this— Slow down. You’re okay?”

“Mhmm.” He purred and god did he sound gorgeous when he purred, “I feel fine. Now stop asking me that.”

Chapter Text

To Ace, the kiss was better than any strain of weed that existed. Marco’s hands sent waves of warmth rolling over his anxious nervous system, keeping the dread in the pit of his stomach far away. Neither of them cared to breath. They settled for short, rushed gasps of air between desperate kisses that came one after another. 

God, Marco couldn't stop. Ace tasted like smoke and the ice coffee he ultimately gave him earlier this morning. He was habit forming. Marco couldn't decide if the circumstances of Ace’s night should stop them from– whatever was rapidly unfolding on his couch or not. Furthermore, it was downright impossible to think clearly with Ace’s tongue in his mouth. But, he chipped away at his self control and Ace could feel him slipping. Marco’s hands were getting less polite, his breathing more labored. Marco dug his fingers into the divots of his hips and pushed until he had Ace on his back. His broad shoulders eclipsed the light of the ceiling fan. The wide eyed and rare speechlessness from Ace was possibly the most intoxicating thing Marco had ever seen in his adult life. So, when he took Ace again in long, self indulgent, languid kisses, he did it fervently with his knee jammed all the way up between Ace’s legs.

Ace broke apart from their kiss to address the warm relentless pressure against his crotch. He felt hot. Physically hot, like his skin was going to ignite if Marco didn’t stop. Suddenly, every ounce of his focus had to be dedicated to keeping his mouth shut. Marco knew what the hell he was doing. He was too experienced, too aware and decisive to be shy. If this was how the night was ending, Marco would be more than comforting. 

His hips twitched restlessly beneath Marco’s weight. Ace’s breath wavered and reluctantly, he hissed through his teeth. It was entirely lost on Ace, how his voice sent chills down Marco’s shoulders. His head was far too busy processing how easily the blond could pull humiliating sounds out of him. “Hey…” Ace mumbled, “Who decided you’d be in charge?”

Marco’s smirk was devious against his lips. “I can be persuaded in just about any direction.” Pushing from his forearms, Marco allowed Ace a few more inches of space. His pupils were blown so wide, only a thin ring of blue was visible in his eyes. Amusement creased in the lines at the corners of Marco’s mouth. “But you’ll have to tell me what you mean by in-charge.” Marco had been admiring the deep shade of red that flushed the tips of Ace’s ears and reached all the way down his neck. And, something caught his eye. It was interesting enough to wipe the amusement from his face entirely.

Ace knew he looked flustered. He rather not imagine how incredibly hot he was against Marco’s leg or how tomato red his face was. He squirmed under Marco’s examining eyes, “What?”

Ace’s neck was red. An oxygen rich, fresh bruise made a perfect ring around his throat. The elevens between Marco’s eyebrows made deep creases while he studied it. “He choked you?” Marco asked slowly, “You said he broke your necklace, you didn't say he choked you with it.”

“What’s the difference?” 

Marco blinked at him, “Ace–” There was no point in scolding. Nothing good would come of it. Ace would always be more cagey then he let on. Getting an honest story out of him was like getting a wild dog to eat out of your hand. “At the very least, you should have ice on that.” He said firmly and sat upright.  

Ace groaned, “Do you usually start your patient care with dry humping or does the ice occasionally come first?”

Funny. But, Marco wouldn't give it to him. “Did you ever get hit?”

“No.”

“No blows to the head?”

“No, Marco.”

“You’d tell me, right?” The question came with extra weight in his voice that Ace hadn’t expected to hear.

“Tell you what? If I ever got hit in the head again?” He smirked in the hopes that it might lessen the gravity of Marco’s eyes. It did not. Ace took his time filling his chest with air. Then, he sighed at the ceiling fan. 

Through the half open window, the sound of a car door caught their attention simultaneously. They both froze. 

“That’s Luffy.” Ace tapped his hand against Marco’s thigh until he climbed off him. He straddled Marco’s legs to reach his work boots and just like that, Ace had changed course to address the glass on his floor. 

He could see the pitch colored sky through the window once he was standing and it dawned on him just how many hours had passed since Teach left. It had been daylight when they had their exchange. How long had he been on the floor? Had a cataplexy episode come and gone without him being fully aware of it?

Ace pulled on a thick black hoodie stuffed away in the closet. The words Red Dead Redemption were printed in bold text on the front and down the sleeve. Marco was a breath away from asking how he could stand wearing something so heavy in the dead, sticky heat of the apartment, when he realized how well the oversized hood covered his neck. 

“How the hell do you plan to hide that from him long term?”

“One problem at a time.”

Ace never left the front door unlocked, that was the first thing Luffy found strange. 

The kid was uncharacteristically exhausted. 

There wasn’t much that could stop him from spending time with his friends, not even with the sun cooking the black top all day. Luffy didn't slow down for anything and somehow, the block party itself unbalanced something in him. He certainly could have slept over Zoro’s if he wanted to. 

Maybe it was the string lights, the food trucks, and the vendors that all felt a little too familiar to the bad dreams he never stopped having. The unease called him back home at the end of the night. Besides, something had been building to a crescendo lately. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but the closer they got to Ace’s court date the more it felt like everyone was holding their breath. Luffy wanted to be home. He wanted to see his brother and he wanted everything to be exactly as it was supposed to be.

So, why was the door unlocked? Luffy wandered into the apartment, peeking around the corner. “Hello?”

Ace held a broom with his back to the door. He spun to point at his brother standing in the threshold, “Watch your step. Marco dropped my pipe.”

Marco rolled his eyes instead of correcting him. 

Luffy tiptoed into the room. There was no demand for food, no carefully rehearsed jokes to be re-told, no immediate onslaught of world vomit describing his misadventures. 

“What's the matter, Lu?”

“I’m tired, I think” 

Ace had two personalities, Marco decided. There was Ace, the emotionally constipated, fire whip that couldn’t decide if he wanted to please everyone or kick their asses. And, there was Luffy’s older brother.

Marco could have walked straight out of the building without Ace noticing. The very concept that the middle schooler might be upset had his complete and undivided attention. Ace held Luffy’s face in his hands. He touched his round cheeks, then his forehead, “You feel warm. Were you outside the whole day?”

“Yeah.”

“You ever get a break from the sun? When did you eat last?”

Luffy shrugged at his shoes, “Not since lunchtime.”

Ace clicked his tongue in disapproval, “Fucking Bell-merè.” He stood at full height and by the hand, walked Luffy to the kitchen. “That’s ridiculous. –What? Did she need someone to drop dead from heat stroke to realize it was almost a’ hundred fucking degrees today?”

Marco pulled his things together while he listened to Ace complain. One of those things included the collection of red beads he planned to restring the next chance he got. Marco finished sweeping the glass that’d been abandoned to address Luffy, which in turn earned him a quiet thank you. By the time Marco was done, Ace sat his brother at the kitchen table with a tall glass of ice water and his steak sandwich. 

“Ace?”

“Hm?”

Marco nodded towards the door, “I’ll get out of your way. Just, walk me out.”

Ace’s hand lingered in Luffy’s hair as he peeled himself away. There wasn't an incredible amount of room at the top of the steps but enough for both of them to stand outside the apartment with the door shut. Ace needed to look straight up. “Sorry,” He started, “I need to find out what’s going on with him–”

“Don’t apologize.” Marco touched his shoulders and very gently, pressed a kiss against Ace’s temple in the soft mess of his black hair. “Please, remember to eat something tonight.”

Ace blinked as if he was surprise nothing snarky came tumbling out of his mouth. “I will.”

Marco sympathized with why he was being– essentially kicked out. He could imagine this is exactly why Ace died by the phrase that he ‘didn't date’. Still, the selfish part of Marco wanted to stay and fall asleep with him in dreamy, cannabis induced comma. He knew Ace would spend the night disassociating from what Teach did. He knew he’d put on a convincing enough show to keep Luffy blissfully in the dark. Marco sighed, “You’re going to want to take an anti-inflammatory for your neck. Advil, tylenol, whatever you have.” He added quietly, “That bruise is going to look and feel worse in the morning.”

Ace sneered. His nose looked crooked when he made that face, like a rabbit. “Okay,” He said, “I'll handle it. You don’t have to look so worried.” Ace kissed him goodbye. A real kiss, that had Marco concerned he was more wrapped around his finger then he realized. “I’ll see you Tuesday?”

“You’ll see me Tuesday.”

Shakky’s or Shakky’s rip-off bar as most locals called it, used to be a hotspot for gang activity back in Rodger’s hay-day. If you needed somewhere to hide or somewhere to make your sale, this used to be the place to do it. Nowadays, it was more of a dusty old pub for dusty old pros like Whitebeard to reminisce.

The old wooden floors creaked beneath his feet and a half rusted bell announced his arrival as Marco pushed the door open. Newgate was already seated. His massive broad shoulders leaned over the bar and his second pint of beer.

“Wow.” Shakky, a smoke-show of an older woman with cropped black hair, smiled warmly towards him, “Eddy, if you don’t just have the most handsome boys.”

In the way Marco rolled his eyes and smiled, anyone would assume she was his adoring aunt, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? How’ve you been?”

“Can’t complain.” She pulled a glass from the fridge behind her and filled it with a dark, nearly black IPA from the tap. Marco noticed the thinnest coating of frost over his glass as he took a seat next to his mentor. Only the best for Whitebeard’s crew. “Congratulations on the degree, Doctor.” 

“Thanks Shakky.”

“You really made it out of the game, huh?” She praised, “So proud of you, sweetheart.”

“Oh, he’s not out yet.” Newgate grumbled, “There’s always something.” 

“I hear that.” Shakky topped off Newgates drink. She offered a sympathetic smile to the old man, though it was hardly returned. The clicking of Shakky’s high heels faded down the length of the bar as she left to busy herself with other patrons. That or, offer them the privacy Newgate was clearly waiting for. 

“Ace asked me if I could watch Luffy tomorrow night.” 

“Yeah?” Marco was still trying to sort out what Newgate wanted with him. He hadn’t gotten a call from the old man demanding they meet for a drink in years. The heaviness in the air was unusual, it’s what had his heel rocking on the foot rest of his bar stool. “What’d you tell him?”

“I said, I’d be happy to.” Newgate stated flatly. “I think some air would be good for the kid.”

“Sure.” 

“Where are you taking him?”

Marco raised an eyebrow as he tasted the IPA a second time. He turned in his stool to face Newgate and leaned his elbow on the table, trying again to read the dark shadows swimming behind the man’s eyes. “Is this why you wanted to talk to me?”

“Just answer the damn question.”

“Minatta’s.” Marco said, “In midtown.”

“Nice place.”

“I thought so too.”

“Given everything that’s been going on…” Whitebeard spoke slowly, methodically, “The police investigation, now Teach assaulting my son, I thought it was a good idea you and I touch base.”

The curiosity dropped from Marco’s expression. “He told you.”

“Teach is dangerous. His concern is that bastard being anywhere near Luffy so, yes. He told me everything.” The same demon that used to own half the streets in this city sat, resurrected in Shakky’s bar and it was lost on no one. Patrons avoided them. Not a soul in the pub dared raise their voice above a whisper. It was as if Newgate’s barely contained rage could bring the ceiling down at any second. “The next time I see Marshal… ” Newgate spoke with the sobriety of a man that had already made peace with his soul never reaching heaven. “I’ll slaughter him.” 

Whitebeard’s right hand man said nothing. He nodded.  

Newgate continued, “He’s got Teach in his head now. He thinks the recording of his arrest is going to show the board how violent he's capable of being. I couldn't convince him otherwise so I had to find the clip myself.”

Marco’s head tilted to the right, pained. If anyone would have a difficult time stomaching that video it would be the victims father. “Was it bad?”

Edward Newgate looked far away while he considered the question. Was it bad? “All this time, I let him avoid seeing a doctor. I didn't push him.” Newgate watched the ribbon of smoke coming off his cigarette swirling into the very still atmosphere of the pub, “The lapses in his memory, the migraines, the trouble reading… He couldn't hide that forever. Apparently, I needed to witness Sakazuki trying to kill my kid before I could fully understand just how bad it was.” 

Marco had been so much younger the last time they spoke like this. These kinds of steaks used to excite him. Dirty cops, illegal investigations, picking which fights were worth the trouble. Something about being a few months shy of thirty changed the way he sat at this bar. “What did his lawyer say?”

“Teach is full of shit. I’m sure you guessed that by now. She’s confident the board will show a little mercy given Ace’s good behavior. These next few weeks, though, Sakazuki is likely to play his hand.”

“I promise, we will keep a low profile tomorrow.”

“I just wanted to protect that boy. Now, I have a fire starting from inside the house thanks to Teach. None of it is your fault Marco, you’re just the unlucky bastard that has to deal with my worn down patience.” Newgate continued with grave certainty, “This little thing going on between you and Ace… I find out this is just a phase for you Marco, that he’s some amusing little game for you…” Newgate’s weathered, gray eyes sunk into him like a knife in flesh. “I love you Marco, but if you break his heart, they will never find your fucking body.”

Marco made no effort to rush his response to a threat like that. There was silence while he stared back at the old man and not the faintest hint of fear in him. “None of this is your fault either.” He noted, “Teach worked with us for years. I thought he was a fucking asshole but that didn't mean he wasn't family.” Marco frowned at his pint glass, “You couldn’t have seen this coming, Pops.” 

Still guarded, Newgate watched him. 

“Concerning the threat you’ve made on my life… What’d you want me to tell you?” Marco half chuckled, “You want a love confession? I think I’d send Ace into some kind of tsundere-induced heart attack if I pulled something like that. So,” Marco huffed, “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

Newgate leaned back and returned his attention to his drink. The old man polished off the rest of his beer in a few, impressive gulps. Then clanked the empty glass against the bar top with an air of finality. “You usually know what I want to hear, Marco. I’m glad that skill wasn't lost on you these past four years.” He dropped a few crispy bills on the table for Shakky. Newgate got more than what he wanted, there was no reason to linger. “Enjoy your date.”

“Technically, Ace won’t let me call it a date.”

“Is that right?”

“And–” Marco smirked, “Just to be clear, the deal only goes one way. I cannot not be held responsible for him breaking my heart.”

The couch in the back of the garage was probably older than most of the mechanics employed at the shop. The leather was worn down and soft. The cushions had such an unreasonable amount of give, they’d swallow the person who sat down whole. 

Thatch had been sharing the couch with Luffy, watching him speedrun through zelda dungeons for the past twenty five minutes. The kid had his legs up over the armrest and held his game high enough for Thatch to comfortably spectate. Every once in a while, he’d ask Luffy a question; why can’t you climb that? Who is that character? What happens when you run out of stamina? Luffy answered him in great detail and without his eyes leaving the screen once. The creaking of the metal steps above their heads was of no interest to him, until Thatch called up towards his brother. “Hey! Why do you look nice?” 

There were only two instances in his life, Ace found himself overthinking his choice in clothing; court appearances and seeing Marco. Otherwise, he was more than happy to work in a profession that allowed him to be shirtless eighty percent of the time. Ace trotted down the steps in black and red. The jeans he wore had just enough room down the leg to hide his ankle monitor. His sleeves were carefully cuffed around his biceps in an attempt to make the cheap fabric look sharp. Yes, he was trying.

Ace was biting the inside of his cheek incessantly by the time he reached Thatch. “I’m going out.”

“You’re going out?” Thatch sat up.

Luffy kicked his feet back and forth while he clarified on Ace’s behalf, “Yeah, with Marco.” He didn't need to look up to see the irritated look his brother was giving him. Luffy smirked at the game in his hands, “It’s a date.”

Thatch slapped his hand over his mouth in such shock, it made a sound.

“It’s not a date.” Ace clarified.

Thatch stood up as if this news was so groundbreaking, he simply couldn't stay seated. He waved his hands around to ease Ace’s clearly paper thin patience, “I can’t believe this is happening. I swear– out of all the things I expected to happen when Marco came back from school, this was the last thing on my bingo card.”

“He’s forcing me to do this, Thatch. Don't get excited–” 

“You’re so full of shit Spades, it actually makes me sick.” He laughed, poking at Ace’s shoulder. He coaxed him to turn so the ensemble Ace wore could be properly inspected and approved of. “Look how nicely you dressed! Are you nervous? Is that why you look like you want to bite my fucking head off? You look great!”

“I think I look like a convict who hasn't bought clothes in over a year.”

Thatch shook his head in affectionate disapproval. He reached behind his shoulders to unclasp his chunky, bright silver chain. “Come here.” Thatch was careful while he brushed the shaggy layers of hair away from Ace’s neck. He chose not to comment on what the younger mechanic had hastily attempted to cover with concealer from Isou’s bag. The ring around his throat had bruised to a corpse purple that Luffy hadn't yet noticed thanks to careful clothing choices and sheer luck. 

The weight of the jewelry felt nice around Ace’s shoulders and the polished silver looked like white gold against his copper skin. Ace scrutinized his reflection in a nearby steel plate. Though, his voice lacked any of the hostility his scowl had, “Thanks, Thatch.”

“Absolutely, bud. And I’m serious, you have nothing to be nervous about. Marco is the easiest person on the planet to get drinks with.”

Thatch was preaching to the choir. If there was one singular thing Ace had to admit impressed him about Marco first, it was how incredibly low maintenance the man was. He didn't get defensive like Ace. He didn't act insecure like Ace. He took people at their word and maintained his composure like nobody else he knew.

Ace couldn't stop thinking about Marco’s heart beat, racing against his ear a few nights prior. Ace didn't take people at their word. Most praise passed right through him. He didn't take compliments unless he felt they were deserved. Flowery words and poetry; they’d never mean a fraction of what it meant when Marco was calm for him despite the angry, adrenaline fueled heartbeat Ace heard.

Marco was unsurprisingly on time. Though, he’d have to wait for Newgate and Ace to take turns lecturing each other for a solid five to eight minutes. Newgate needed affirmation that Ace wouldn't get drunk and stupid on Marco’s credit card. And, Ace needed to remind Newgate of Luffy’s night routine for what was probably the seven thousanth’s time. 

“And keep an eye on the time, please.”

“I know, I know.”

“And Ace,” Newgate sat at his desk, shuffling through bills that needed addressing. He peered up from behind the wire frames of his glasses, “Keep a low profile.” 

“Low profile.” His mechanic repeated back to him, “Who do you think I’m going with? Marco’s like a thousand years old, I don’t anticipate us reliving my drunken rebellious years.” 

Whitebeard’s simile was just soft enough to miss beneath the wire hair of his mustache. “Have fun, kiddo.” 

Marco kept his promise that this was not in fact, a date all the way up until dinner. 

He was just as easy going as Thatch said he would be and fairly platonic in the way he led Ace around the Midtown farmers market. They went in and out of stores and circled about a dozen tables. Ace took shots at the various things Marco bought. Detergent, microwavable dinners, an excessive amount of energy drinks, and protein bars. Things an overworked ER intern would need. 

It was after the errands, after they dropped their bags off in the back of Marco’s Subaru that Ace could feel his stomach winding with nerves and anticipation. 

Ace had fully stopped walking once they arrived at the restaurant of Marco’s choosing. The line going out the door looked like it was going to give him a heart attack.

Marco chuckled, “I made a reservation, relax.” 

Minatta’s was a Japanese Italian fusion joint in the heart of the city. It’s black stone walls and gold chandeliers made it a hot spot for young professionals looking to impress their friends on social media. Strips of dark purple lights back lit their trendy decor. Plastic vines crawled up the ceiling and wound around a massive, low hanging chandelier that threw interesting splotches of color around the dining room. Albeit, Reluctantly, Ace allowed Marco to drag him past the unending line of people, straight through the glass front doors. He completely missed the first half of Marco’s conversation with the hostess, wide eyeing the tightly packed crowd of wealthy young people and the crystal cocktail glasses in their hands.

“Yeah, the hospital near The Heights,” Marco had told the hostess, “Ace works at the shop though.”

“Oh yeah?” She was beautiful. A deep cherry red painted her lips and a mixture of gold and silver decorating her manicured fingers as she extended her hand towards Ace. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She told him with a warm simile, “We’ve got a booth ready in the back of the dining room. Enjoy your meal, gentlemen.” 

Marco could feel Ace’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his head the minute they were led away from the hostess’s table. They followed their waiter in single file, through the maze of tightly packed people and busy staff in crisp black uniforms. Their booth was the only table unoccupied, cinematically lit by a low hanging spot light overhead. As they sat down, Ace stared at their waiter like the man was waving a gun in his face. As if he’d done anything other than rattle on about the selection of wine.

“Can we try the Royal Oporto?” Marco watched Ace’s panic from the corner of his eye but he ordered for the both of them like he hadn't. The waiter was nice– the brown nosing kind of nice and promised he’d return in a few minutes. 

“I can’t tell what that look is,” Marco hummed once they were alone, “You’re either about to slaughter everyone in this restaurant or bolt.”

“I haven't decided yet.”

“Not a wine person?”

“I feel out of place as fuck, Marco. Where the hell are we?”

“You’d be surprised how many friends Whitebeard has out here.” Marco said, “Trust me. You’re not out of place.”

“One cocktail is almost twenty fucking dollars?” Ace groaned under the base shaking the floor, “What the fuck… I need to piss. And when I say piss– I mean I need to rip the shit out of my pen.”

“You better come the fuck back.” 

Ace hesitated on his way out of the booth. Despite his obvious discomfort with Marco’s choice of restaurant, he chuckled, “Yeah– could you imagine? At least put in a fuckin’ appetiser.”

“I will.”

Marco’s eyes followed Ace as he walked away. For as much as he felt he didn't fit in, Ace sure didn't show it from a distance. A young couple lingering by the crowded bar had to side step to avoid him while he crossed the dining room. That couple– even in the dim lighting of the restaurant, Marco recognized. Two of his co-workers, young doctors from the same graduating class and rumored to be sleeping together. Paloma turned her head to watch Ace go. She followed him for an unusual amount of time before looking for wherever he came from. That’s when she found Marco.

“Oh– my god!” Her voice sounded bewildered for a second. Then, she pulled on her date’s sleeve, “Ciro, look who I found!”

The man was probably the most Italian guy Marco had ever met in his life and the only soul who could rival Thatch in just how much hair gel he used. The couple abandoned their cramped place standing by the bar to approach his table. “How the hell did you get this booth?” Ciro hiked his shoulder, chuckling with unmasked jealousy. “We’ve had a reservation since this morning and we’re still waiting.”

“Ah.” Marco rocked his head to the side, “I must have gotten lucky.”

“Who’s that guy you’re with?” Paloma asked with a kind of die-hard eagerness that made it sound like she expected to have to beg him to answer.

She was wrong. Marco replied– incorrectly for the record— “My date.” He couldn't tell if their surprised expressions were over the fact that had a social life or assumed he was straight.

“Oh!” She cooed, “Well that’s–” She fumbled over her words while looking for a follow up question. “That’s great. Where’d you meet?”

“He’s a mechanic. He works for my old boss.”

Plenty of people found Whitebeard's name intimidating. Not people like this. Paloma had no reason to. She knew nothing about the underworld of the city or a shred of gossip circulating The Heights. These were possibly the most suburban, straight edged, people he knew– there was no reason for her to look so bewildered by the way he answered her question.

“I dated a guy in trade school when I was an undergrad.” Paloma explained almost sympathetically, “You know– you can actually make a half decent living if you know what you’re doing.”

So that’s what it was. 

Marco smiled the moment he felt caught up. These pretentious, trust fun baby, fucks. “What do you mean by that?” The couple’s amused giggling became stiff and awkward when Marco didn't join them. 

His line of sight caught his date reapproaching the table. Ace wandered up behind them, looking irritated that there were even more people to navigate around. “Marco–” Ace turned his shoulders parallel in order to walk in between the couple and reach his seat, “I have good news.” He said, “I’m really fucking stoned now so I can be at least eighty five percent more cooperative.” 

Ace was pleased to see Macro find him amusing but taken completely off guard when he responded with, “Ace, These are co workers of mine. They were just saying hello.”

“Oh, fuck me.” Ace said it in earnest with his hand over his heart. “You work with these people? I was kidding about how stoned I am. Hi, nice t’ meet you.”

Marco laughed, Paloma did not. The couple smiled albeit stiffly, told them both they should enjoy their meal and promised Marco they’d see him at work tomorrow. It was a political and rushed exit. 

Ace didn't get the chance to apologize for the abysmal first impression. Marco wouldn't allow the words I’m sorry to come out of his mouth. “I swear– I’m more charismatic than that.”

“You were perfect.” Marco chided, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Funniest person you know, right?”

“By a mile.”

The red wine tasted like cherries and coated his stomach in something pleasantly warm. Ace would never admit he’d warmed up to the restaurant after two appetizers. Though, it had nothing to do with the expensive, sleek decor. Nor their knowledgeable waiter who undoubtedly had every word of the menu memorized. It was Marco. The man looked like he owned the place with his crisply pressed white shirt and thin, red frame glasses. Every time he moved his hands to talk, Ace tracked the heavy looking watch decorating his wrist. As wealthy as he looked and as effortless as he blended in in a place like this, Marco was incredibly unserious. 

By the third glass of wine, they were rivaling the music in volume with their laughter. Marco earned himself a dirty look from the couple next to them for banging his fist on the table. Ace had a particularly well timed punch line that deserved high praise, how was he supposed to act? His uppity coworkers watched them from their place across the dining room and it did nothing to keep Marco’s hands off Ace’s arms or stop the playful stories told in a whisper against his ear. 

“Can I ask you about the other night?” Marco hummed at the bottom of his empty glass of wine.

“Do you have to?”

“Kinda.” Marco smirked at the way Ace avoided his gaze for the chandelier above their heads. “I don't have a lecture for you, just a question.”

Ace leaned his cheek in his palm and somewhat theatrically waved his glass around in his other hand. “Go.”

“While we were on the couch...”

“Mhm.”

“You told me you wanted to be in charge. I’d love to hear you expand on that.”

Ace averted his head to the side, like the question was too offensive to look Marco in the eyes. Marco, who had adored how animated Ace was since the first day they met, started chuckling. “You said you don’t date.”

“I don't.”

“You don’t date or you’ve never dated?” They weren’t the same thing. 

Ace considered his question with the side of his cheek tightly bitten between his teeth, “I had this friend,” Ace mumbled, “I’m not sure you would call whatever we were doing, dating. I didn’t. But I usually initiated whatever we got up to.” If that wasn't a metaphor for his whole damn life– inexperienced as hell, still calling the shots for some reason.

“Ah.” Marco disarmed Ace’s newly concerned expression with a relaxed one. “I shouldn't be surprised.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“We’re both control freaks.” Not in the same way of course, nonetheless, they had this in common and Ace didn't disagree with him. Marco waved his hands with the showmanship of someone several glasses of wine deep, “So, what does being in-charge look like?”

“It’s— a general statement.”

“Can I have an example?”

“You need our waiter to hear about my sexual preferences?”

“You told half the dining room how high you are. I wasn’t sure where the line was.”

“Touché.”

“Do you need to feel like the dominant one?”

“Not even.” Ace leaned forward on the table. It was a strenuous process, pushing past his embarrassment to follow Marco’s line of questioning. The blond would never have gotten this far without the wine, still, Ace’s knee bounced restlessly while he struggled for an answer. Despite all the whining, the subject hadn’t really left the forefront of his mind since it happened. Truthfully, he panicked. “What the hell am I supposed to say? I don’t like being taken care of.”

Marco shrugged. 

So, Ace continued, “If I’m not in control of what my body is doing, I might as well be in a car without breaks.” Marco hummed sympathetically and Ace struggled to read his expression. Gentle at it was, there was something wide awake behind those blue eyes. “What?” Ace grumbled. 

“That was very articulate.”

The corners of Ace’s mouth pulled up just slightly. Those three words released the anxiety from his chest faster than it had come on. Ace’s shoulders relaxed. “Shut the fuck up, Marco.”

Considering the conversation they just had, it wasn’t easy convincing Ace to let him pick up the tab. After ten minutes of back and forth and the promise Ace could get him next time— Marco managed to get his credit card into their waiter's hands. 

As they navigated out the restaurant and Marco said his quick goodbye to the hostess, he felt Ace interlock their fingers. Marco squeezed his hand immediately, it was simply too large of a victory in his eyes to be ignored. Dinner was a success, the wine was buzzing around in the back of his head exactly the way he wanted it to, and Ace seemed to have gotten comfortable.

Marco led them onto the city street. The music from the restaurant was exchanged for the sound of traffic and a couple bickering near the curb. Marco had been reaching for his phone with his free hand, a breath away from asking about Ace’s curfew when he realized the couple arguing was Paloma and Ciro. 

Marco walked Ace slowly past them, “You’re still here?”

Ciro pointed his finger at his temple like a gun. Paloma, looked a few seconds from hurling her cellphone down the sewer grate. “Yeah.” Her exasperated laugh did nothing to make her appear more calm. “I think my car battery died. Stupid piece of junk won’t start.”

Marco blinked. 

Whatever merciful god was keeping an eye on him tonight, he was forever in their debt. “You’ve got to be kidding.” Marco breathed, “You need a mechanic?” 

Sheepishly, Paloma nodded. 

So, Marco started chuckling. Directly at them, actually— he laughed. 

Ace chuckled too, despite not understanding exactly what bizarre social game they were playing. His eyes bounced between Marco and the nervous looking couple. “...Do you need jumper cables? ”

“Ace— absolutely not.” Marco pulled him back the few steps he took forward. He grabbed his shoulders and steered his date away from the confused, distressed couple and back in the direction of the sidewalk. “Yeah, that looks like a real bitch!” Marco called over his shoulder, “Hope you’ve got Triple A. Hey— I’m sure they won’t keep you waiting.”

Paloma sputtered, wide eyed and floored, “I just—”

“Have a good night!” 

Ace’s attempts to look back at the couple were interrupted by the way Marco pulled him down the street. “What the— fuck was that?” Ace snorted, “You hate those people that much?”

“They’re not worth your time.”

“Holy shit.” Ace looked his age when he laughed. “You’re ruthless. I thought between us, I was the asshole.”

“You’re polite with most people.”

“You’re always fucking polite until—“ Ace chuckled some more, “Someone makes your shit list, apparently.” His laughter subsided while they reached the next crosswalk. The fact that it was a week night meant nothing to their nocturnal city. Loud groups of friends hustled past them. Countless bars filled the sidewalks with people waiting to be seated under the lights of the skyscrapers. Sometimes Ace forgot he lived fifteen minutes outside the largest city in the country. It’d been too long since he’d gone anywhere beyond what felt like a safe ten mile radius from the apartment. 

Ace looked up at Marco, “Teach said you used to be some vicious bad ass before medical school. How true is that?”

Marco scoffed, “I can’t imagine that’s what he called me.”

“I’m paraphrasing.” 

“I kept the shop safe, that’s all.” Marco shrugged. He was the embodiment of nonchalant. “If you want to think of me as a vicious bad ass, who am I to stop you?”

“What a boring fucking answer.” Ace clearly took pleasure in challenging him, “You said I was articulate. Where’s your articulation?” 

Marco chuckled, “Truthfully? Whitebeard wasn't the ruthless mob boss people assumed he was. He had access and influence in the black market, sure– But, the majority of his time was spent keeping smaller groups from ripping the city apart. He kept the peace. Badass? Yes. Vicious? Not so much. I helped him where I could. If anyone gave our family a problem, it wouldn't be tolerated.”

“Yeah? I’d like to see you pissed off.” The hand Marco held in Ace’s, was caught behind him when Ace decided to stop walking. Marco turned back. Ace narrowed his eyes at the street sign over their heads, then peered around the corner, down the road that led in the opposite direction of the car. “What time is it?”

Marco turned his wrist. “Nine forty five.”

“Have you ever been to Terminal Ten?” 

“The nightclub?” 

“Arnt’ we nearby?” Ace’s bangs whipped around his face while he spun to get a look at the street sign across the intersection. “That’s …twenty third street.”

Marco smiled at him. “It’s thirty second.”

“Don’t you think it’s too early to go home?” Ace swiped through his cell’s home screen for a map. He loved the way he could get Marco’s typically unbothered expression to crack. Though to be fair, this hadn’t been on purpose. Why Marco’s eyebrows shot up like that was beyond him. 

The blond pulled Ace’s cell phone from his hands, opting to do the typing for him. “We shouldn't keep drinking.” 

“You’re driving. You shouldn't keep drinking.”

“Newgate wants us to keep a low profile–”

“Marco, I’m so unbelievably low profile! I couldn't be more low profile then I am right now.” Ace pulled on his hand, coaxing Marco to start his navigation just a few blocks west to the stomping grounds of Ace’s late teens. “I have a feeling you can’t dance and I want to see it for myself.” 

Chapter Text

Ace’s sparkling eyes took in the rainbow of lights spilling past the doors of the night club. 

Truthfully— Marco hated dancing. Thatch would be laughing his ass off if he could see how easily Ace was able to drag him into the swirling, base thrumming, zoo that was Terminal Ten. Was it pathetic Marco couldn’t say no to him? That he would rather dance in a club with overpriced drinks then let go of Ace’s hand? 

They blew past security. Either the bouncer recognized Ace or he just liked the sound of his voice. 

“Crowded for a Tuesday?” Ace asked while he stepped through a metal detector, hands over his head. 

“DeluxX is playing. She’ll bring a crowd any day of the week.”

“And, how’s your night been?”

The bouncer smiled far too easily. He waved Marco through without sparing him so much as a glance. All his focus was put into drawing a neat little ‘X’ on the back of Ace’s hand with a sharpie. “Ah— Shit never ends. It's gonna be a long night.”

“I hear that.”

Marco was past the days where he needed his ID checked to enter a club. The bouncer gave Ace directions to the bar while he very haphazardly scribbled the same ‘X’ on Marco’s hand. Then, the two were ushered past the black tinted doors. “Enjoy your night, gentlemen.”

Beams of bright fuschia and blue swirled over their heads, painting hundreds of raised hands in color. The base vibrated through Marco’s chest cavity the moment they stepped onto the dance floor. He had to twist and turn his shoulders in order to follow Ace through the crowd and their tightly clasped hands were the only reason they hadn't gotten immediately separated. 

Marco caught glimpses of the colorful characters around them in snapshots. Beautiful women in reflective dresses and drunk friend groups with beer bottles and phones high in the air.

“Do you want a drink?” Ace asked him once they’d wrestled themselves close enough to the bar. He flinched at the spot light that moved across his face and squinted up at Marco, who was tall enough to be silhouetted by the stage lights. “It’s my turn to buy you something.”

“Didn’t you just pay the cover charge?”

“Nu-uh.”

Marco cocked his head to the side, “We weren’t given an entrance fee?” Ace shrugged while he waved for the bartender's attention, wholly unaware it was his pretty face that got them through the doors, free of charge. 

Marco squeezed his shoulders from behind him while they waited. He was twenty nine and experiencing young, drunk, night life for the first time in his life. He’d never had a date so out of his league, they could charm security out of a cover charge. If Marco was nine years younger, he might have felt jealous enough to give that bouncer a dirty look and a snarky comment. Instead, he leaned close enough to see chills rise over the back of Ace’s neck while he spoke to him. “Nothing for me. Get whatever you want, love.”

Ace held his head down while they pushed through the crowd to their next location, like he was navigating through a storm. The spotlights cut through the atmosphere of the dark venue and blew out his vision like an overexposed camera. 

On the far side of the stage, the crowd thinned, just enough to stand comfortably and that’s where Ace brought them. “We don’t have to stay long!” he called over the base.

“Have you been here before?”

“Years ago!” Ace smirked wildly, “I used to have a fake ID in high school.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I think this is the first time I’m in here legally.” 

“I think I'd be scared of you if we went to school together.”

“Nah– you’d be the broody, mysterious, biology professor. You wouldn’t be scared of me.”

Marco laughed, “Is this a fantasy of yours?”

“I’d get you fired so fast.”

A group looking for another round of drinks passed close behind them. In an attempt to avoid being trampled, Marco pulled Ace by the wrist close enough to him that their shoes bumped up against each other. He took their close proximity as an opportunity to tell his date, “I don’t believe you.”

“What’d you mean?!” 

“You’re not as badly behaved as you like to make yourself out to be.”

“You underestimate how many fire alarms I’ve pulled.”

“I was expecting you to be more of a teacher's pet.” Marco's square jawline flexed while he chuckled, “Considering you’re getting me fired.”

Ace wasn’t capable of small reactions. He jumped back from Marco and would have crashed into the group behind them if the latter hadn’t had a sturdy grip on his arm. Under the deafening music, Ace laughed and while it was difficult to hear him, Marco was fairy certain he called him a fucking asshole. 

It was a good time for the base to drop. 

Their DJ had a thick, coily, afro spilling over her headphones. She wore an oversized, designer hoodie with dozens of charms that danced on her sleeves while she moved. 

She brought her music to a crescendo with a wave of her hand. The dance floor erupted. 

Ace hadn’t understood it was the lights bothering him until Marco brought attention to it. 

The deep headache burrowing in the back of his skull came and went with each new song and apparently, he hadn't been masking his discomfort well. 

Marco was unfolding a pair of sunglasses from his shirt pocket before Ace could put together the words to question him. His fingers brushed the longer pieces of Ace’s bangs behind his ears. Then, carefully, he slid the glasses onto his face. “Tell me if that helps.”

While it felt like a crime to cover Ace’s eyes, Marco was equally pleased with the unusually sharp k9s poking out from under his crooked smile. The frames were heavily tinted and a size too big for him but they muddied the skull piercing light of the night club just enough to be bearable.

Ace looked up at Marco in awe. “—Is that a concussion thing!?” 

Marco nodded. At least, it was his best guess that it was. 

“Tsh– Holy fucking shit.” Ace tapped on the sides of Marco’s sunglasses with the tips of his fingers. Marco leaned forward, low enough to have Ace’s voice in his ear. Ace continued, “My brain is fucking soup, isnt it?” It sounded more like a statement than a question.

“Your brain has PCS, it’s not soup.” Marco told him. 

“Yeah, pretty sure the S stands for soup.” Ace had to stand on his toes to properly reach his shoulders. He leaned on him, draped his arms over his neck and brought his lips against the shell of his ear, “This really helps, Marco. Thank you.”

If Ace wasn't half blind under those sunglasses, he might have noticed the deep red running down Marco’s neck or the stupid looking smirk on his face. He took a breath, “You got it.” 

The chorus came and went before Marco added, “I like this.” 

“Yeah?”

“You’re typically so, ah–” He knew he was poking the bear, but the alcohol made him all too eager to see those pretty teeth, “Shy.”

“Shy!?” Ace delivered. 

“You’re not usually this affectionate.” 

Ace was somewhere between an offended outburst and laughter. No point in denying what Ace was self aware enough to recognize as true. He pulled on Marco’s shirt collar until the blond was low enough to kiss him. “If you knew what to do with me on the dance floor, I'd be even more affectionate.”

Marco’s excuses fell on deaf ears. He was born without a sense of rhythm. He was un- teachable. He was perfectly content looking stiff as a board. Ace had no interest in hearing it. He wrapped Marco’s hands around his hips so he could feel the way he rocked his weight back and forth. “Don’t be such an academic about it,” Ace said, “A little fake confidence is all you need.” Ace snapped his head back, throwing his wavy black hair out of his eyes. He’d run his hands up the back of Marco’s neck and arch his spine under Marco’s hands to the rhythm of the pulsing bass. It was a bit theatrical— a bit over the top, so Marco might find his courage. But, truthfully, it was difficult for Ace to look silly dancing with a body like that. 

Marco’s shy attempt at dancing— his awkward shuffling— was praised like he’d done something impressive. Ace whistled at him, “Yeah! See?! Let me see your moves, white boy—“ Which got him a laugh and probably thirty percent more effort. 

“Like this?”

“Like that!!” 

Marco wasn't sure if it was the club culture, already reeking of sex that made Ace feel like he had permission to be so affectionate. Maybe it was the dark lights and blaring music that gave him this curious sense of privacy. Regardless, it was a treat to have his hands all over his chest, his encouragement in Marco’s ear, and his hips twisting beneath his hands. 

The effects of a concussion accumulate after the first one. 

Two impacts within the span of a minute, could have killed Ace the night of the accident. Post Concussion Syndrome, he undoubtedly had. The light sensitivity felt like fairly substantial proof of it. 

Marco’s down time at the hospital was spent reading through neurology books an emergency medicine doctor had no business combing through. It’s why he reacted so fast when the mosh pit in front of them began spiraling out of control.

Someone had a beer bottle raised high over their heads. It was either a pathetic attempt at crowd surfing or the beginnings of a fight breaking out that had someone swinging their arm down. Marco grabbed Ace. His arms came up around the back of his head and the beer bottle and its contents shattered against his arm.

“Holy shit–” Ace could smell the alcohol soaking into Marco’s shirt sleeve. “HEY—” He turned in his arms, chest full of hot air to chew the life out of whatever unfortunate soul just smashed glass all over his date. 

But, it was Teach’s round, dark pupils staring back at him.

He was like an apparition Ace could only see pieces of through the crowd of fast moving bodies. The skin around the bridge of his nose was broken and healing in uneven, purple patches of color. The side of his jaw still looked distorted and swollen. 

He hadn’t been the one to throw the bottle— probably. From the look of the furious twenty something’s around them, Teach seemed more guilty of pushing and shoving. As if he made a b-line for Ace on sight. 

“Oh, that look.” Teach grinned, “You're not still mad at me, are ya?” 

“Who fucked up your face?!” Ace felt Marco’s hand on his chest before he even realized he was stepping forward. “You want me to make it symmetrical because Itd be my pleasure mother fucker—”

Teach didn't react to Ace’s barking. His flighty little pupils snapped up above his eye line– above his head, actually. Whatever Teach had in his system, it wasn't strong enough to prevent him from recognizing the danger stepping out from the shadows. 

Marco hadn’t been holding Ace back to avoid conflict and frankly, he was naive to have assumed that. The way Marco changed their standing position felt like a dance Ace stumbled through. His shoulder peeled back and out of the way. Marco’s right foot slid forward like a pitcher. He cocked his arm and through the dark lenses of his glasses, Ace watched Marco drop Teach to the ground with one swing. 

The crowd scrambled. They created a clearing for Marco in a panic to get the hell away from him. 

He advanced Teach’s crumpled form fast and decisive. Teach groaned. He pulled himself off the venue floor to his forearms. Whatever drinks had taken a fall with him splattered against his skin when Marco’s oxford’s planted on the ground, inches from his face. Whitebeard’s guard dog was above him, grabbing his shirt with one hand and his dominant wrist with the other. A dull, deep pain spread across Teach’s shoulder while Marco forced him onto his feet. Through the music he could hear Marco’s voice distorted from rage and impatience, “You should have started running.”

A girl standing behind Ace asked her friend if the blond was an undercover cop. It was a fair question considering the way he mangled Teach’s upper body to walk in front of him. The crowd and the darkness swallowed them. Within seconds, Ace realized he was alone. 

“Fuck–” Ace held the sunglasses an inch off his face and navigated towards the exit with his head down.

Outside the venu, a couple pointed straight ahead, gawking at the tall, sharply dressed blond, dragging Teach to the street corner.

Marco didn’t get swallowed by his anger easily. He felt safest while he was collected, articulate and calm. He hadn’t been any kind of protector in the last four years. Now, his heart was pounding and his body felt like it had braced itself for a car accident. 

Marco hurled him forward by the shirt collar like a disobedient puppy. He hardly let go for more than a second, just long enough to readjust his grip. Marco ripped a punch across the bastard’s face. “Son of a bitch–” Then, he shook Teach from the daze he just put him in, “Look at me, Teach!”

The traitor groaned. “Get off me–” His sweaty hands scrambled to pull Marco’s grip loose, “You’re choking me, asshole–”

“AM I!?” Marco hit him again and kept Teach standing by his collar alone. The sound of the impact got a collective gasp from the group of smokers watching in the adjacent alley way. “You’re a dumb fucking bastard for lerking around somewhere I might be.” He growled inches from his face, “I don't know who you should have been more afraid of. Whitebeard finding you first—” Marco seethed, “OR ME!”

Ace’s boots beat against the sidewalk as he ran to them. He forced himself in front of Marco. His hands came up against his chest, “What the hell are you doing!?” Ace searched Marco’s face for something he recognized. He walked Marco half a step back, “This is keeping a low profile!? Are you fucking out of your mind!?” 

It almost worked; Ace’s touch, his voice, his surprisingly logical advice. For a trigger happy, hot head it should have surprised Marco to see Ace so eager to avoid a fight. It didn't. Had Teach hurt him or Pops or god forbid Luffy, this would be a horrifically different scene unfolding in front of them. But, Ace had no fierce drive to defend himself. 

Teach caught his breath with wide, open mouth gulps of air. He gestured to his neck, referring to the purple ring around Ace’s throat. “Pretty necklace,” He spat, “Who gave that to you?”

Ace wouldn't be able to save Teach. Those words might as well have been lighter fluid over a campfire. The height and weight Marco had over Ace had never been as apparent as it was when Marco decided Ace was in his way. Marco moved him easily, side stepped, and tore away from Ace’s hands. 

Marco’s fist drove into the gap just below Teach’s ribs, just beneath the sternum. It tore the air out of his lungs and he hardly made a sound when Marco’s second punch hooked against the side of his head. 

Seeing Teach hit the sidewalk, catching his own blood in his hands wasn't good enough. He wanted more, he wasn't done. 

Ace knew they had to get the hell out of there when he realized Marco’s eyes were scanning the sidewalk around their feet.

He was looking for a blunt object.

“You think I’m in favor of keeping Teach around!?” Ace grabbed his shirt, his sleeve, his arm, whatever leverage he could get on Marco to force him to slow down. “He’s not important right now, I can’t get in trouble for a fucking street fight! Now– calm the fuck down! Breath!!” 

“You want me to sit back and listen to this piece of shit talk!?” Blood pounded in his ears. He’d never raised his voice at Ace before. The deep, tight, growling from the back of his throat sounded foreign to the both of them. “I’ve been standing-by for the last few months watching everyone in this fucking city take shots at you. Sakazuki has everyone's throat under his heel right now– I’m not going to let you waste energy watching your back for Teach–” 

Ace’s words hit the pit of his stomach like hard liquor, “I understand.” He said it in the same voice he’s used with Luffy; A synthetic calm but with every bit of his nerve, “I’m not scared of him, Marco– I’m fine— I’m alright. You’ve done more than enough for me. You can’t get in trouble for this when I need you watching my back!” 

Relief cooled the burning heat over Ace’s face when he finally felt Marco comply under his hands. The blond’s eyes remained trained on Teach like a police dog, one command away from tearing the poor bastard to shreds. Still, he allowed Ace to walk him back half a step, then another. 

Ace’s non negotiable grip on Marco’s wrist dragged him through a back alley to 30th west. Marco’s car was waiting for them there. They’d left Teach on the sidewalk. His tongue, too thickly coated with blood for him to say anything distinguishable. 

They kept a pace that was neither running nor walking, just fast enough to make distance without looking terribly suspicious. Ace weaved past the occasional couple or night time dog walker until they reached the residential street Marco parked on. The widely spaced street lamps were their own source of light. Not every part of the city was nocturnal it seemed. Besides the occasional distant car horn and Marco still catching his breath, the air became quiet. 

Marco had both doors unlocked before Ace touched the handle. This was becoming a habit for them recently, flooring it away from a potential disaster in this ugly fucking car. 

The keys in Marco’s hands rattled from the adrenaline still racing through his system. He missed the ignition the first time he reached for it. Ace interrupted his second attempt. 

Carefully, Ace unwound the keys from Marco’s fingers and tossed them aside on the dashboard. “Hold on.” His voice felt like ice water over a burn; dulcet, calm. “We put some distance between him and us. We’re okay. Just take a minute.” Marco felt Ace’s other hand behind the nape of his neck. The inner joint of his thumb massaged up the tight muscles that locked up his shoulders. “Take a minute.” He repeated. 

The anger that blurred the edges of his vision was finally fading. The control he lost over his body and his breathing returned to him with every uneven heave of his chest. Marco hadn't realized how far he'd self indulged until he saw the damage on his knuckles. 

“Are you okay?” Ace asked him.

Marco exhaled loudly from his nose, “Am, I okay? I’m fine, Ace. How pissed off are you at me right now?”

Ace was still looking over his shoulder, listening for sirens, footsteps, voices. “I mean… I like watching Teach’s face get disfigured as much as the next guy.” He smirked at him sympathetically, “Twenty percent pissed. Ten for telling me you weren't vicious when clearly– Teach had every reason to be afraid of you...”

“He shouldn't have been anywhere near this area, let alone near you, saying– insane shit like that.”

“And ten for ditching me in Terminal Ten while I was fucking blind. Fucking dick.”

Marco hummed at the warm pressure that was the heel of Ace’s palm, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. “You found your way out just fine.”

“Mhm, you’re lucky.” Ace settled back into his seat. He let his head fall against the headrest and huffed out enough air to blow his bangs out of his face. “Can you drive? If you’re still seeing red, that can’t be good in the tunnel.”

“Funny.” 

Marco’s car purred to life once he’d gathered enough of himself to start its engine. The street lamps rolled yellow light through the windows while they left the dark, residential block behind.

“Do you fly off the handle often or do you like me that much?”

Marco shook his head. “That’s a loaded question, Ace.”

Marco rolled the Subaru over the familiar, uneven asphalt of the Auto Shop’s parking lot. It was five minutes to midnight and the lights on the property had all gone dark. Marco’s paranoia that Newgate might be up waiting for them seemed to be exactly that; paranoia. Perhaps he earned himself a little trust after their last chat.

“Park in the back.” Ace told him, “Pop’s usually double locks the front door to the shop.”

“Sure.” 

The other side of the parking lot was somewhat of a secondary work space. An overstock of tires was stacked beneath a tarp against the rot iron fence. Moths danced in the light that illuminated the back entrance. A narrow metal door was beside the fire escape Marco used to smoke cigarettes off of years ago. 

Marco clicked the gear shift into park. His eyes looked distracted with the dozens of things he could say that would end their night. This wasn't exactly how he intended for things to go and for that, guilt pulled on his shoulders. 

He leaned back, his arms folded across his chest. As Marco lulled his head to the side to address his passenger, he was met with Ace’s laser focused eyes, sharp with intention. Before Marco could question him, Ace had leaned over the center console to kiss him. 

He still tasted like Terminal Ten’s cheap tequila. It had Marco going back for more, pushing everytime Ace pulled like a rhythmic little game he could play for hours if Ace would let him. “I’m sorry.” Marco broke apart from him, wistfully catching his breath. “I wasn’t thinking. I don’t know what happened.”

“Move your seat back.” 

Marco felt him shift. Ace braced his weight on either side of Marco’s seat and climbed over the center console. Marco sturdied his arms, completely dumbfounded as to what Ace was doing until the latter sat on his knees, on the floor of his car, between his legs. “What the hell are you doing?”

Ace shrugged while his fingers found Marco’s belt— he shrugged. Amusement curled up the corners of his mouth and from below his dark lashes, Ace studied Marco with the endless black of his eyes. Marco’s belt was loud while Ace unbuckled it. “I’m just showing my appreciation.”

“You’re thanking me?” Marco huffed.

“Yeah.” Ace unzipped Marco’s slacks and his curious fingers slid over the twitching mound beneath his boxers. “Sound alright with you?”

Marco blinked. 

He felt his breath catching in his throat while Ace pulled him out of his boxers. “That was a stupid fucking move I made. I honestly— I can’t believe you’re not mad at me.”

Ace’s head tilted a few degrees to the right. Whether he was impressed or intimidated by Marco’s size was unclear. “I probably should be.” He wrapped his hands, both of them, one on top of the other, and squeezed with just enough pressure to massage down his length. “But I really liked seeing that bastard bleed all over the sidewalk.” 

Marco’s back pressed against the seat. His chest tightened, then released as his body scrambled to adjust to the overwhelming waves of pleasure. “You’re—“ Marco sighed, “Inscane.”

“I want to do something nice. Don’t get used to it.”

“This is the last thing I expected from you.”

Ace froze. His gorgeous long fingers stopped around the base of his shaft. “Should I stop?”

Marco pushed hot air past his teeth, “Ace.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t be a brat.”

“Don’t make it so easy.” Meticulously, Ace tucked a few strands of hair behind his ear. His focused, cat-like stair studied Marco’s expression while he slid his mouth over the tip of Marco’s cock.

Marco inhaled, sharply. The tight, warm pressure running down his length made every nerve in his body drunk with pleasure. It’d been a long time since he had something like this, even longer since Marco felt such an intense physical attraction towards the person doing it. Ace’s mouth felt like ecstasy. The small grunts and the glassy eyes showing just a hint of uncertainty while he took an inch too much into his mouth would be Marco’s undoing. 

He knew he was testing death when he put his hand behind Ace’s head. The poison ridden daggers that shot back at him sent a chill running down his spine. Not that he’d push him— Marco wasn’t an idiot. But god, did he want to feel Ace’s lighting silk hair between his fingers while his mouth pumped over his cock again and again. Marco let his head fall back. Ace’s fingers dug into the tightening muscles between his thighs. 

“Fuck—“ Marco screwed his eyes shut when he felt Ace tongue press relentlessly on its way down. “Why are you good at this?” Marco hissed at him, “Fuck—Ah— That’s it…”

Ace tilted his head, wincing while he pushed Marco’s tip against the back of his throat. Marco’s fingers twitched in his hair so Ace did it again, just shy of choking himself and blurring the very edges of his vision with tears. 

Perfect. Just like that. Exactly like that. Everything about Ace between his legs turned him on but the goosebumps rising across Ace’s shoulders at all the praise– that gave his entire body a hot flash. Marco’s fingers combed through the thick mess of Ace’s bangs. What pieces fell in front of his face, Marco brushed back with the utmost care. From the lowest register of his voice, he groaned, “Atta boy.”

Ace’s throat twitched. Marco tightened the grip he had in his hair and the latter gasped. The vibrations of Ace's mouth brought on the vicious surge of his climax. 

Ace flinched at the bitter, hot seed that hit the back of his throat. It was thick, awkward to swallow, and far more than he had expected. He struggled to swallow what was in his mouth. “Fuck—” Ace hissed. Milky beads of semen trailed between his glossy bottom lip and Marco’s cock as he pulled it from his mouth. “—Fucking warn me.”

Marco had his other hand wound up in his own hair. He watched Ace from behind his wrist. Marco’s broad chest heaved to catch his breath and swore he was still seeing stars from the way the orgasm shook every nerve in his body. “You were—” He huffed loudly through his nose, struggling to form an English sentence. “That wasn't on purpose.”

Ace dragged the heel of his palm across his chin. He looked gorgeous, dewey from sweat and debauched with Marco’s cum dripping from his lip. It was one hell of a view. The filthiest baroque painting Marco had ever seen.

Ace pushed on Marco’s thighs while he got up and maneuvered back into the passenger seat. He ran his fingers back through his bangs, shaking loose any locks of hair that had begun to stick to the side of his face. With wide, curious eyes, he watched Marco recover. With an almost comedic level of offhandedness, he asked “Was that good?”

“That was good.” Marco's fingers shook while he tucked himself back into his pants. “That was good. That was… “ He cleared his throat, “You’re gonna have to give me a second.” 

This got a smirk out of the raven haired man. Those wickedly sharp teeth looked gorgeous in his mouth while he hummed, “I’ve got nowhere to be.”

“You gonna let me return the favor?”

Ace replied in earnest, almost musically, “No, that was free of charge.” 

Ace rocked onto one hip to pull something out of his pocket. A green plastic tube that popped open when he squeezed it. “Can I smoke in here?”

Marco rolled his eyes. The permission he granted Ace was in the form of cracking the windows an inch. 

That was the image Marco miraculously captured into his memory. The visual carved itself into his mind. Maybe it was the hormones, the adrenaline flooding every nerve in his body with serotonin. Marco thought Ace looked perfect. Back lit by an orange street light, hair draped like curtains over his eyes, wrapped in a halo of smoke spilling from between his lips.

Marco reached out his hand and Ace looked pleased to place the joint between his fingers.

Chapter Text

(Roughly two years before the events of chapter 1).

22 hours after the arrest. 

Rain hit the asphalt hard. 

Usopp sat in the car with a pyrex dish, filled with lasagna, wrapped with tinfoil, still warm in his lap. He stared at the bizarre amount of cars filling the auto shop’s parking lot. It was a weeknight for one thing, and fifteen minutes shy of his bedtime. He should have been in his pajamas, drawing by flashlight, wrapped up in his comforter. His father had other plans.

It’s not that Usopp didn't want to see Luffy. Like the rest of the straw hats, he was worried. Nobody had been more excited about Zoro making the baseball team than their fearless leader. He hadn't just promised to sit front row in the stands, he promised to scream his head off the entire time. He promised to bring a massive sign with Zoro’s numbers drawn on it. Then, one inning passed after another and Luffy never showed. 

The adults seemed to know. They dodged questions about Luffy with flighty eyes and vague answers. Walking home that afternoon, Nami’s pleading with her mother escalated into a full blown argument. The result of that was the closest thing to an explanation the Straw hats would get.

Ace got into a lot of trouble.

That’s all she said. 

Yasopp pulled the car door open and ushered his son into a parking lot that looked so much less familiar in the dark. Cars blitzed down the highway, close enough to feel the wind rushing off them push against his back. 

“Listen to me, Usopp.” His father’s voice was hushed and controlled, “Don’t bother him with questions right now. Just keep Luffy occupied while the adults talk, alright?” 

“But, what happened? Is he sick or something?” Usopp had started walking towards the auto shop’s entrance– Luffy’s place– when his father corrected him. Yasopp caught the hood of his jacket and steered him towards the old house directly next door instead. 

“What did I just say?”

“...Don’t ask questions?”

Usopp had never gone into the little house next door. The old front steps were made of faded brick. The worn, splintered siding would have looked scarier if it weren't for the neatly manicured plants potted beside the door. 

“I thought you said we were gonna see Luffy.”

Yasopp nodded while he knocked. 

The owner of the house was a beast of a man, so unnaturally huge Usopp had to strain his neck to see his face. Yellow light from the hallway poured over them as they were let inside. Usopp's hands trembled while he offered the giant his father’s lasagna. He would have explained it was for Luffy if his tongue hadn't caught up in knots in his throat. The giant smiled behind his white, wiry, mustache and thanked him for it anyway.

A handful of adults stood like zombies in the living room, holding untouched bottles of beer, filling the kitchen with cigarette smoke.

Peering down the hallway, Usopp recognized a few of his father’s friends. He hadn't seen Shanks in a while. The man wore the long black coat of a mob boss and the sandals of a beach bum. Unsurprisingly, he had the entire kitchen hanging on his every word despite how quietly he spoke. The only phrase Usopp could discern had been, “Now that they know… The kid’s got no chance in hell.” 

Shanks turned slightly, gesturing towards the living room and Usopp caught a glimpse of how fiercely he was scowling. Anger and dread looked strange on Shanks' typically drunk, complacent expression. He looked furious, he looked like he could throw a punch. 

Usopp’s stomach was turning by the time he found Luffy in the living room. His best friend had come zipping around the corner to greet him, and caught his shoulder just in time to prevent them from colliding. “Hey– Usopp! I’m so glad you’re here!”

Usopp’s gaze flickered between the adults down the hall and the foggy look behind Luffy’s usually bright, round eyes. He was a zombie too. Fear wobbled Usopp’s voice, “Luffy, is everything okay?” He swallowed, “Did someone die?” 

“What?” Luffy cocked his head to the side. “Of course not!” He snorted, “C’mon weirdo, I set up my switch on the TV. Everythings fine.”

“But–” Usopp scrambled to follow him, “But who’s house is this?”

“Whitebeard’s.” Luffy replied, “Ace works for him.”

“And you hang out in his house?”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

Luffy’s older brother was usually incredibly friendly. 

He was an adult but he wasn't old and bitter like adults usually were. He was easy to talk to. He had good advice. Any one of the strawhats could and have escaped their bullies by running past the auto shop; Ace would simply flatten who ever needed flattening. 

Most of the Straw hats were not fortunate enough to have an older sibling as overprotective and kind hearted as Ace. Luffy always said they could share him. 

So, it was unnerving to see him so still and so silent that night. Ace was half laid down on the couch, uncaricaristicly excluded from the hushed conversation the adults were having. His face looked unrecognizable in the flickering light of the TV. The bruises, the fresh cuts and the deep shadows in his eyes distorted his face into something out of a lucid dream. He looked like a doppelganger of himself. 

Privately, Usopp would never forget how scared he was of Ace that night. Not because he seemed threatening– it was because he looked like a corpse. 

Ace never spoke a word. He never even glanced at the television while Luffy smoked Usopp in every race of Mario Kart they played together. He kept his head, somewhat propped against Luffy’s arm and fell in and out of sleep.

In the following week, Luffy would miss another weekend baseball game while Garp moved his things from Ace’s apartment to his home in the suburbs. 

He’d miss another handful of days out of his first week of middle school. The last of those being the day of his brother’s sentencing.    

— Current day —

It was an incredibly rare occurrence for Ace to get stumped. 

Were there plenty of problems he’d never encountered before? Of course. He was a twenty year old mechanic, there was plenty to learn. But, to troubleshoot a car from bad to worse and end up more lost than when he started– this was rare. 

Cars weren’t simple things. There would always be a hundred correct answers and a thousand wrong ones. If something was hopelessly broken, you’d call for help. You’d call Ace– their little prodigy problem solver. At least that’s what Thatch had done. 

“So, you’ve made it worse?” Newgate grumbled over his two boys, still agonizing beneath a brand new, mirror black Lexus. 

Ace’s voice whined from under the car, “I don’t know what I did.” 

Their breath and body heat made the air beneath the Lexus damp and suffocating. Thatch tapped out first, pushing his scooter out from under the car and sitting up immediately for something to dry the sweat running down his neck. “This is a nightmare.” 

“The rattling stopped.” 

“Yeah– the rattling stopped but now it doesn’t drive fucking forward.” Thatch dropped his hands over his knees. “That’s just fucking great.” He pulled himself onto his feet and stepped around Ace’s legs to reach their desk of tools. “What would even cause this? I’m fucking lost.”

“It’s…” Ace rolled out from beneath the Lexus as well. He pushed the sticky locks of his hair out of his face, “It’s gotta be something I did to the transmission.”

“Yeah no shit, kid. I am not taking this thing apart again. I’m not.” He announced this despite turning on his heels to send the Lexus back up on the lift. 

However, Newgate caught his shoulder before he could make it there. “Thatch, take a walk. Smoke a cigarette. Come back in an hour.” 

“I need this done tonight, Pops.”

“Let me have a look.” Newgate clicked his tongue like he was sending a dog outside. “You need a break.” 

Even more rare than Ace getting stumped, was Thatch frustrated enough to have a sharp tongue. Four hours and nothing but dead ends will do that to a guy. “Fine.” The taste of nicotine was all he wanted at this point. Thatch marched out of the garage with a bluetooth speaker and a box of marlboros in hand, promptly leaving Newgate with their youngest to troubleshoot.

“Alright, kiddo.” Edward Newgate turned the key to the hydraulic lift and sent the Lexus up to a height Ace could reach. “You’re gonna disassemble the transmission again. This time, I’m gonna watch you.” 

It wasn't quick nor simple taking half the car apart the first time. Ace didn't anticipate round two being anymore enjoyable.

Ace sat across from his father at a work table, carefully unscrewing little car parts like nesting dolls. They were surrounded by steel, carefully organized across the floor of the garage. Some were longer than Ace was tall, others were small enough to be lost between the cracks in the concrete. “I don't understand how I fucked this up so bad.” He grumbled, occasionally shaking his wrists out to get the blood back into his fingers. “I never break shit like this.”

Whitebeard smirked, “You remember who Rayleigh is, right?”

“Shaky’s boyfriend?”

His father chuckled, “Right. Years ago, I fucked up his rear axle. Almost gave that son of a bitch his car back with a steering wheel that didn't turn.”

Ace craned his head back to stare at him in disbelief. A little amusement found his eyes again. “Really?”

“It was an expensive mistake. Had to order new parts.” Newgate adjusted his glasses. “Shit happens. A shop would never run with one mechanic. It takes all of us.”

Ace smirked, “How did Marco handle it when he found out Rayleigh’s car was fucked?” 

“Oh, The Phoenix? He called him.” Newgate chuckled. “Handled that shit for me in a three minute conversation.” 

Ace laughed so hard his voice cracked up an octave, “The what!?”

“It was a stupid nickname.” Newgate smiled, “Couldn't tell you who started it. The aftermath of any shit storm at the shop usually ended with Marco humbling someone over the phone. Marco told him he was gonna have to be fucking patient.” Newgate laughed from his belly, “Ah— I wish I could remember his words exactly. You would have liked him running the front desk.”

Ace smirked. “I like hearing you compliment him.” 

“Oh please.” Newgate scoffed, “I compliment him plenty.” 

The frustration had passed over the past thirty minutes while the two of them fell into a trance of removing sixty eight bolts and tiny screws. 

“I talked to Sabo this morning.” Ace murmured.

“How is he?”

“Good. 4.0-smarty-pants-no-days-off.” 

“Sounds about right.” Newgate glanced at the calendar hanging over the work table “Are you thinking about flying out for his graduation?” 

“Yeah.” Ace answered in earnest but his expression remained fairly blank. “I mean– I considered it. For the most part, we talked about how early he could come home. If he presents his thesis online, he could be back by October.” 

“Why do that?”

Ace responded in earnest while he exchanged one screwdriver for another. “I’m just going off the assumption I’ll be arrested in the next few weeks.”

Newgate sighed. “You don’t know that.”

When Ace looked up at him, he didn't look twenty at all. There was no anxiety twisting up between his eyes, no sadness or frustration at all. He answered Newgate like Marco might have, matter of factly. “Yes I do.”

“Son–”

“It’s okay.” He assured him with a little more spark in his voice, “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. I just want to be prepared– that’s all. You had to deal with everything Pops. My clients, my bills, my bike rotting for two whole years in your garage– That was a fucking disaster and it’s not going to happen again.”

“You’re not going to consider the fact that your parole board might be impressed with your clean record? Ace, for a kid with prison time and an ankle monitor, you’ve done shockingly little that’s illegal.”

To his surprise, Ace chuckled, “I don’t see the point in getting my hopes up. Sakazuki’s a dirty cop. What does my clean record mean to him? It’s more than just the– the fight, if that’s what we wanna call it.” Ace shrugged, “It’s me.” He said this as if it were as true a statement as the sky being blue. Newgate watched Ace’s various facial expressions while he double checked his work. He reorganized a few small gears before raising his hands like a contestant ready for judging. “That is fully disassembled for you.” He said.

Newgate slid his chair forward another inch. He pulled the work lamp closer and drowned the transmission housing in light. 

Ace slid back in his chair and admired the way Newgate studied the pieces like he was flipping through a old photo album. If something was out of place, he’d find it. “I hate asking for more from you.” Ace started quietly, “Really– I can’t stand it. But, I need you to watch Luffy if I’m put away before Sabo gets back. Just until October. I’m so…” He took a breath, “I’m so uncomfortable leaving him alone with Garp.”

“Ace—“

“For my peace of mind.” He negotiated, “Please.”

“You act like you’ve got an execution scheduled.” 

“Ha–” Ace smiled. The old switch of the work lamp snapped off once Ace made the executive decision that Newgate wouldn't spend another second on that transmission until Ace heard the answer he wanted. “Pops, I need you to promise me you’ll look after him.”  The two men had entered a stand off; Newgate’s irritated, narrowed eyes against Ace’s unflinching, expectant ones. “He can’t be torn out of his home again. He can’t live with Garp’s calloused bullshit. I’m not leaving a disaster for Sabo to clean up.” 

Newgate studied what felt like the last bit of fuel burning hot behind his son’s eyes. “Of course, I would take care of him.” It sounded more defeated than he meant it to, “Of course I would.”

The relief was visible in the way Ace allowed his shoulders to relax. He snapped the work lamp back on. “I owe you everything, Pops.”

“Oh that’s enough, boy.” Newgate cleared his throat while he leaned over the open transmission housing.  “Look at this...” He used a screwdriver to prodd around the disassembled parts. It was the way the end of the screw driver hit metal instead of rubber– that’s how Pop’s figured it out. “Should be a seal right ‘ere.” 

Ace nearly knocked over his chair to look into the housing. “What seal!? Where?”

“Inside this barrel.” The old man said it like he found a missing sock– rather than resolving a four hour nightmare. “If it’s not on the floor somewhere, we’ve got plenty of these little fuckers in stock.” 

Sure enough, Newgate was right. The black rubber ring was smaller than the palm of Ace’s hand. He retrieved it off the floor of the garage holding it up to his father like the piece of plastic had hurt him personally. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Newgate laughed from deep in his belly and it was loud enough for Thatch to hear them from outside. The old chair creaked under him as he pulled himself to his feet. Seventy two years old and he still didn't know his own strength. Newgate could have knocked Ace into the workbench with the way he dropped his heavy hand on his head and disheveled his hair. “See?”

“See!?” Ace’s attempts to dodge him were in vain. “See what!?”

“You didn't break anything. You rushed. That’s all.” 

Ace took a long breath through his nose while he examined the little rubber piece. “You’re gracious, Pops…”

“Hey— as long as there's no rattling…” 

“As long as there's no rattling…” Ace had the same sleepy looking, crooked smirk ever since Newgate had known him. It suited his face nicely as he returned the rubber seal to its rightful place. “I think we just fixed Thatch’s car for him.”

Newgate laughed, “Yeah, I think you’re right, boy.”

(A year and a half prior to the events of Chapter 1).

Ace stared through the concrete wall. 

Two people had control over how loud his voice could get.

The corrections officer, watching him from behind a plexiglass window pane. And, Garp, who threatened to hang up if he heard something he didn't like. 

Impel Correctional Facility was a two hour drive from the city. Far upstate, lost between massive lots of dead grass, four tall gray towers marked each corner of the prison. 

Thick, sloppy paint coated the concrete walls with a migraine inducing white. The air tasted like dust and pennies and the pipes above his head mixed the same cold, stale atmosphere through the common room over and over again. They rattled at the same volume every hour of the day and night. Ace wasn't sure he remembered what quiet sounded like.

Ace leaned close to the payphone. His tight shoulders acted like a shield, offering a miniscule amount of privacy from the line standing behind him. 

The patience in his voice sounded like cracks running through glass. “The case worker I talked to said my application was approved. You just… You gotta fill out some fucking paperwork. You can’t sign a few documents?”

“You’re not understanding me, Ace.” The static in the phone mixed with Garp’s gravely, mumbled voice. He sounded just as cold as he always did, just further away. “I don’t think I feel comfortable bringing Luffy there at all.”

The rhythm in Ace’s breathing paused, “Since when?”

“He’s ten years old. You want me to bring a child into a prison? Ace, do you hear yourself?”

“I’m confused.” He ran the dry skin of his knuckles against his bottom lip. “You told me I’d be able to see him.”

Garp clicked his tongue, seemingly growing irritated with Ace’s inability to understand. “I don’t want a corrections facility to become normal for him.” 

Ace rested his forehead against the white concrete wall in front of him and rambled quietly into the receiver, “Okay—I understand that— I understand that. I’ve never been separated from him for this long. I mean–” A few nervous chuckles escaped him. “I haven't heard his voice in a month. I’m worried.”

“Oh spare me– what are you worried about? Luffy is living in a house with a backyard instead of an attic in the shittiest part of the city? That worries you? C’mon, Ace,” Garp reasoned, “You’re the one who wants to see Luffy.”

“But–”

“I think it’s been lost on you how traumatic that environment is. They’d take hours to process us through the gate. Security will have your brother remove his shoes, his jacket– they’ll have him empty his pockets into a bucket and pat him down for illegal substances. For what, Ace, fifteen minutes of conversation?”

His mouth opened and closed a few times while he reeled with that. His voice lacked any bite, he was still negotiating. “You promised me, I’d be able to see him. This whole time– you made me think I’d get to see him.” 

“When Sabo comes back, I’m sure you can arrange something with him. I just can’t bring my grandson into a place like that in good conscience. I’m sorry.” His sigh rattled through the static of the phone.

“Whitebeard’s lawyer’s don't even know if parole is gonna be an option. I might be here for a while. I need to– I mean you’d let me see him eventually, right?”

“I’m sorry, Ace.”

“Grandpa-” 

“Trust me when I tell you it’s better for him this way.” 

Ace had’nt acknowledged Garp as his grandfather in years. He used to be a teenager, occasionally dropping that word as a pathetic attempt to appeal to him. Just to see if the old man might slip enough to show him a little gentleness. When the phone line went dead in his ear, it took him right back to those days. It hadn't worked then and it certainly did not work now. Anger warmed up his tired body. His own words still tasted disgusting in his mouth. 

“You gonna bitch on the phone all day, bud?” The inmate behind him— a man named Don, cocked his head to the side but Ace hardly acknowledged him. 

He’d been running low on oxygen the entire conversation and now that Garp was gone, it was finally dawning on him that he couldn't breath. Don watched the twenty year old’s shoulders rise and fall.

Ace smashed the receiver down– repeatedly, as if breaking it would make him feel better. Four, furious, strikes against the payphone made the old bell inside chime along with the snapping of the plastic. He cursed at nobody in particular, but most people in that room could recognize a voice teetering on the edge of sanity. 

Don took half a step back when he saw Ace’s shoulders contort forward from the effort of his voice. “FUCK–” Ace gasped between his words, “FUCK– YOU MOTHER FUCKER– YOU LYING PIECE OF SHIT!!” 

The corrections officer was on his feet now, “Easy, Gol. Fucking relax!” 

But he couldn't. God, he felt like his blood was rushing so quickly through his veins, he was gonna pass out. Ace left the receiver bouncing from it’s cord. He tore his fingers through his hair while he pushed his way out of the payphone line.

Gol.

He’d given up on correcting them within the second week of his incarceration. It didn't matter what was written on his ID when the guards talk. They sent whispers of who Ace’s father was through the mens’ cell blocks in a matter of days. Rodger changed everything about the underworld and his expansive list of enemies was just another gift he passed onto his son after death.

“Hey!!” The correction officer’s face twisted up into something red and wrinkly when he saw the little dents in the body of the payphone. “Are you kidding me!? I will throw you in restricted housing– You will rot in there!”

Ace whipped around from where he’d been pacing. Anger fueled his voice like a furnace full of coal. “What fucking– difference does it make which room– I ROT IN, MOTHER FUCKER!?”

“I’m just trying to get a sense of your mental state.”

The deep cherry wooden desk between them was a disaster. His case worker had an old computer surrounded by about a hundred little trinkets. She had airport souvenirs on every shelf above her head, a dozen little shot glasses with the names of various cities Ace had never been to. Little ceramic animals surrounded the pen cups closest to him and Ace used them to keep his eyes busy. “My mental state? Never been fucking better.”

She sighed, “I need you to work with me Mr…” Her eyes flickered between her computer screen and Ace. “Now– was it Portgas or Gol? I’m sorry, I keep hearing different things and I wasn't sure if you had a preference–” 

“It’s Portgas.”

“Mr. Portgas. I understand you’re frustrated. But, I need your cooperation if you want a chance in hell of getting out early. A little sincerity is all I ask.”

“I don't think my sincerity is going to do much for you.”

“Try me.”

Ace crossed his ankle over his knee, “My mental state is back to borderline suicidal, is that helpful information?”

The bite and venom in his voice aside, she eagerly began typing. “Is this a recent development or something brought on by the arrest?”

“What do you think?”

The clattering of her old keyboard stopped. Behind the smudge-y lenses of her glasses, she looked back up to the inmate seated across from her, unamused. “There’s been a lot of pushback to approve you for parole. A lot. I’m just trying to understand where you’re coming from. The people above me are convinced you’re a threat to yourself and others. They don’t want to see you walk out of here. I do.”

Ace glared at his hands in his lap. This line of questioning was one of the few Ace wouldn't allow from anyone, not even Newgate. The deep anger he felt towards himself had been a festering wound ever since Garp told him who his father was. And this stranger had the audacity to reach straight for his guts. These were secrets not even Luffy knew about. “It was worse when I was younger.” There was something darker than anger in his voice, something deeply broken in the pit of his chest while he added, “I was doing better.”

“How old were you when things got better?”

Ace shifted uncomfortably in his chair, “I don't know… When Sabo left for college, I thought the world was going to end. Luffy and I were gonna sink or swim without him. I focused on Luffy. I pulled myself together.”

“You werent having suicidal ideations at the time of arrest, then?”

“No. Luffy wouldn't have had anyone else if something happened to me.”

The space bar rattled every time her thumb hit it. “And he’s been your dependent, yes? He relied on you.”

Ace nodded.

“Let’s talk about your most recent employer, now.” She sat up and gently tapped her glasses further up the bridge of her nose, “Edward Newgate has been your primary contact since being incarcerated.”

“That’s right.”

“And you were previously living on his property…” She frowned, “Have you considered any other avenues for work or residency?”

Ace's expression flickered between sincerely confused and somewhat defensive. “What’s wrong with the auto shop?”

“Well, Mr. Newgate has a criminal record.”

Ace scoffed. He locked his arms up, crossed tightly over his chest. “So the fuck do I.”

“Your release should be a new start.” She tried, “A clean slate. Are you absolutely certain the shop is the right place for that? Edward Newgate is…” She hesitated under the weight of Ace’s narrowed, focused eyes, patiently waiting for her to finish that sentence. “...I’d consider him, high risk given his background. If it’s custody of your brother you want, you should consider creating some distance from Edward Newgate. He could be more detrimental than you realize.” 

“Detrimental.” Ace clicked his tongue, amused and irritated all in one breath, “This is not the time for you to talk shit about Pop’s character.” He uncrossed his arms. All his momentum shifted forward, he leaned his elbows on his knees and bore his exhausted, dull eyes right through her. “That man gave me a roof to sleep under and made something useful out of my sorry ass. Show some fucking respect to him.”

The aggression that suddenly filled the space between them caught her off guard. She stuttered,  “Mr. Portgas–” 

“How dare you.” He hissed, “He’s the one trying to get me the hell out of here– he’s sacrificed more than just money trying to cover for me.”

“You’re incredibly young, sweat-heart. It might not be wise to put so much loyalty into this man.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Ace fired back at her.

“Edward Newgate was–”

“And– get his name out of your fucking mouth.”

“-Was once very much on par with criminals of Gold Rodger’s caliber. I beg you to keep that in mind.”

“Hello. You’ve reached the administrative office of Impel Down Correctional Facility. Please state the reason for your call.”

Sabo muttered a string of curses he knew the robot on the other line wouldn't be offended by. Then, as clearly as he could he said, “Wellness. Check.”

“It sounds like you’re calling to inquire about a wellness check. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Please state the full, legal name of the inmate you’re inquiring about.”

“Portgas D. Ace.” It was enough work getting Ace’s account information from Garp. Sabo had been hoping things would be pretty straight forward from there. 

“Please hold.” The robot chirped at him.

Of course, nothing was straight forward. Sabo didn't realize anyone receiving a phone call had to be a pre approved contact. He didn't realize he’d never be able to call Ace himself, and he didn't realize how damn expensive a two minute conversation with his brother would be. They scheduled one call every Wednesday afternoon, just as Sabo’s lecture ended. So, by the time the sun had fully set without his phone ringing, Sabo’s stomach was in knots. He’d been calling different offices in Impel Down all night. Sorry sir, our office hours have ended– was not an acceptable answer. Where the hell was his brother.

He waited on hold for another ten minutes before the low quality waiting room music was interrupted by the tired voice of a staff member. “Health Services Department.”

They went through the same introduction as the last three call attempts. Ace’s name gave the staff member a bit of a pause. There was the sound of typing. Then he said, “Ah, I see the problem now. You’re calling about an inmate currently in lock-down.”

Sabo picked his head up an inch. He’d been given non-answers for so long, he had to clear his throat before he spoke again, “Lock-down? What does that mean?”

“This inmate has been restricted to his holding cell. I’m afraid he doesn't have phone access right now.”

Sabo scoffed. “I’d like to know why.”

The man on the other line sighed, “It could be his cell block. Maintenance or inspections, things like that. Or, he could be locked down for a behavioral problem. I don't have specifics.” 

“You don’t have specifics?” Frustration pricked at his voice, “I’m calling you for specifics– I wanted a wellness check. Someone has to be able to tell me if he’s okay.”

“Yeah– I understand that Sir. I’ll leave a note for the block manager, he’ll give you a call first thing in the morning.”

Ace stared through the concrete wall. “I’m listening– I’m listening.” 

“Are you? You sound half asleep.”

Not that Sabo could see it, but Ace rolled his eyes. “Say what you were going to say.”

Ace listened to the crackling of the shotty phone line while Sabo mulled over his words. There was a long sigh and then he said, rather quietly, “I’m worried about Luffy.” 

The breath Ace had been pulling stopped short exactly where it was.

“It’s difficult for him to understand why this is all happening. We’ve had so many long talks, Ace.” The exhaustion in Sabo’s voice made itself known in the way he sighed his name. “This is all difficult for him to accept– considering most of it involves a blatantly corrupt legal system, I don’t blame him.” 

“What do you need from me?”

“I need you to have your shit together tomorrow.” It was the sharp edged honesty that couldn't come from anyone else. When it came to Luffy, words were not minced.  “Luffy needs to see you’re okay. Ace, if we get there and find out you’re in lock-down for picking a fight with your fucking case worker–”

“I’m sorry– I’m sorry.” The muscles in Ace’s shoulders unwound. His arm relaxed until it slipped from where it’d been propped against the payphone. It felt like fifty percent of his strength had just slipped from his shoulders– save for the bone cracking tension that locked up his jaw. “I know.” He said quietly, I’ll have my shit together.”

“Mr. Newgate says his lawyers are hard at work… He seems optimistic.”

Whitebeard had bought him a lawyer– a good one. Undoubtedly making the ten thousand dollars he spent on his bail look like small potatoes. Newgate didn't just care for him, he treated him like his son and the guilt choked Ace to silence.

Sabo’s voice had softened. “The world hasn't ended, Ace. This will pass. One day at a time, it’s all you can do right now, okay?

“Yeah.”

“–Hey” His voice made an attempt to sound lighter, more casual. These scheduled calls only happened once a week, he certainly couldn't let the entire thing be this depressing. “Can you tell me why Luffy has a problem with the way I make pastina? It’s pasta, how am I fucking up pasta?”

“Use milk instead of water.”

Sabo let his head drop back while the realization settled in, “Ah– I didn't know it was physically possible for him to be a picky eater.”

“Is he sick?” 

“Hm?”

“I make him pastina when he’s sick.”

“No, no– he’s not. It’s just…” Sabo considered his wording for a moment, “It’s easy to get down, I think.”

Get your shit together.

Two months off his medication was doing bizarre things to his head. Ace fell in and out of sleep all damn day but never felt particularly well rested. They were short, overwhelming waves of exhaustion that sucked the strength out of his limbs and sent static to the tips of his toes and fingers. When he’d open his eyes again, half an hour would slip by. These little naps blended together if they happened often enough. The entire day would get watered down into just another dream.

Get your shit together.

His fingers looked unfocused staring down at them. He’d been escorted into a dull room with four metal lunch tables spaced evenly across. He never waited here for anyone other than Newgate. The room was painted with a sickening pale green, floor to ceiling. Another family sat at the table diagonal from his. The convict's mother, an old woman with crooked wire frame glasses and trembling hands, wept in her son’s arms. 

The noisy radiator and her voice were the only sounds in the room. Ace’s knee bounced while he waited. He kept his head down. He had to. The more time had passed since his phone call with Garp, the more his words sunk in like a branding iron in his back. 

If it weren't for Sabo’s insisting, he would have conceded to the idea that luffy was simply better off staying the hell away from him. 

His baby brother. 

Luffy’s reliance on him since the age of five was the only reason Ace was still breathing. Ace could be his protector, his teacher, and his best friend. Now, he couldn't even drive him to school. 

He felt sick to his stomach. 

A short alarm blared before the double doors were unlocked at the other end of the room. Even hearing Sabo’s voice ask the security officer a question, Ace couldn't look up.

He was no protector. In this dim, freaky dungeon he’s dragged his family to, he wouldn't even have it in himself to comfort them. He couldn't bring himself to simile, let alone pick his head up. ‘They dont deserve this’ came first. That thought was followed by a concoffany of the cruelest things he could think to tell himself.

“HEY!!” Luffy’s voice cut through the air. It sounded no different then when he’d greet him after getting picked up from a sleepover. “THAT’S MY BIG BROTHER.” 

Luffy’s sneakers squeaked against the linoleum floor. “ACE!!” Three hours of processing time, in a dry silent office did nothing to contain the energy radiating off of him. He crashed into Ace’s side at full speed. Ace struggled to brace himself– his right foot shot backwards to absorb the momentum that would have otherwise sent them both toppling off the bench. 

“Hey– Young man! Physical contact is to be limited!”

Sabo bought them a few more seconds while he apologized to the security guard. “He’s ten! He’s just excited–” The blond smiled, disarming the officer with a little wave, “I’ll remind him– I’ll remind him.”

Luffy’s smile was bright enough to warm the sterile blue lights above their heads. For Ace, it was like holding a piece of his heart. “Look– look– Sabo bought all these treats! Look what we did!”

Over Luffy’s head, Ace stared while Sabo dropped an arm full of colorful bags of chips, cookies and various candy bars on the metal table. “We had to wait a while. Might as well raid the vending machine, right?” 

Sabo hadn't been back in the city since leaving for school. His hair had gotten longer, much longer than his parents would have ever allowed him to keep it. His bangs framed the sides of his face nicely and he stood up much straighter than he used to. But, the relaxed curve of his shoulders and his kind simile were exactly the same. Sabo hugged him tightly and Ace couldn't believe how many years had passed since he felt Sabo’s hands on his shoulders. His brother, three months his junior, mumbled, “I’ve missed you so much.” Sabo pulled away early to appease the security guard’s quickly waning patience. 

“I’ve missed you too.” Ace examined his face, “Holy shit. I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Do you want one?” Luffy pulled his attention back by his shirt sleeve. “Are you hungry?”

Ace looked between them, baffled and glassy eyed. “Yeah, of course I’m fuckin’ hungry.” 

Luffy pulled them both into the narrow bench, bolted to the floor in front of the table. He sat between his older brothers and excitedly organized their snacks into a pile of three.  “Ace, I made sure we found hot cheetos for you– The lady watching us totally fell asleep and I snuck around the whole office until I found them.” 

“Lu– you didn’t– this is so nice–” The plastic bag popped open between his hands, releasing the familiar, artificial, cheesy smell of home. 

“I have so much to tell you! You didn't even get to see which teacher I got this year– Mr. Del Rosario! Didn’t I say that was gonna happen?”

“You called it.”

“And Sabo’s really really good at doing my homework, so I haven't had to miss recess once.”

Ace’s eyes snapped up at Sabo, looking no less than scandalized.

Sabo’s hands jumped for Luffy’s shoulders as if he could stop himself from being thrown under the bus. “Woah– woah– woah– I don’t do it for him! Luffy, I don’t do it for you!”

“Okay, he’s generous with the answer.” Luffy clarified.

“They give him so much fucking work to do–” Sabo fired back, this time towards Ace. “How the hell is he supposed to get everything done in one night!?” He cut himself off the moment he realized how loud they were being in this otherwise very somber room. Ace ducked his head to stifle his laughter. Luffy had no such need to be quiet. He snorted, his legs swung wildly from his seat as if they were sat together at his school’s cafeteria. 

“Listen– I’d give him the fucking answers if I had ’em.” Ace smirked, “Luffy, how’s your crew?”

“Making Halloween preparations. Sanji said his dad decorated the whole restaurant. There’s gonna be a costume party and prizes.”

You’d think Luffy was made of solid gold with the way Ace looked at him “What are you dressing up as?” 

“I don’t know, we’re still work-shopping it. Right, Sabo?”

“They’ve had multiple meetings already. Still working towards a consensus.” 

Luffy snapped his little hands against the table when an idea struck him, “You never threw out that cowboy hat, right?”

“It’s in the closet.” Ace said, “Back right corner.” 

Sabo chuckled, “When did you buy a cowboy hat?”

“Halloween?” Ace cocked his head to the side when that alone didn't jog Sabo’s memory. “Last year? Luffy was a cow, I was a boy–” 

“Oh– right– how could I forget that stroke of genius.” 

The eyes of the security burned a hole in the back of his head while the time slipped through his fingers. Fifteen minutes flew by, he knew that it would. Ace was acutely aware of the sound of boot steps while the officer approached their table. His face was so still, it could have been a mask. “That’s it.” He said.

Disbelief made Luffy’s eyes go wide. “That’s it?” he echoed, then looked to his brothers in the hopes that they’d tell the officer he was wrong. “That was fifteen minutes?”

“I told you, it’d go fast.” To Ace’s surprise, Sabo looked nervous. It was subtle, just in the way his eyebrows twitched forward. “It’s okay Luffy. We’ll schedule another time to come back.” Goodbyes were scary. But explaining to a ten year old why he couldn't have another few minutes with his brother wasn't even comparable. Ace certainly didn't envy the kind of position he had put Sabo in. 

That being said, he put Luffy through worse. Nothing would haunt him more than the knowledge that he’d left Luffy alone the night of the accident. Nothing could be worse than that. Imagining him terrified in the back of a police car with that monster. 

If he had the chance to say goodbye, that’d be enough. Ace didn't look nervous. “Luffy, I promise, the first thing we’re gonna do when I get back, is go for a ride. You know that route around the city?”

He was referring to Striker, which Sabo hadn't caught onto until he saw the corners of Luffy’s mouth curl up. “Best sunsets on the east coast.” Luffy said back to him, “That’s what you always say.” 

“Yeah, we’ll just fly around the heights for a little while.” 

“And go fast enough to make Sabo mad.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking–” 

“-Hey!” Sabo gave Ace that exasperated look Luffy liked. It made them look like two bickering parents and he hadn't seen it in a long time. “Ace,” Sabo smirked, “Dont even get me started with you and that fucking bike.”

“I’m kidding, I’m obviously kidding.” Though the way he nudged Luffy suggested otherwise.

Ace hugged Luffy around his tiny shoulders. His mind ran wild with all the things he didn't get to say yet. “Did you ever get your winter clothes from the apartment?” Ace pressed, “Pop’s said he’d let you in anytime.”

“I got them, I got them.”

“And don’t be a picky eater for Sabo, okay?”

“I’m not!”

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I know.” Luffy hugged him back and for a moment, he could imagine they were home. The clothes Ace wore felt different against the side of his face. And his brother smelled nothing like the usual shampoos and cheap cologne he usually wore. But there was nothing more deeply familiar than the way Ace’s hand pressed strong against Luffy’s back, or the weight of his arms around his shoulders. Ace could hug him at fifty five and Luffy would still feel ten years old. 

“You’re such a cry baby.” Ace hummed after he heard Luffy sniffling. “I’m not dying Lu. Pop’s says everything will be back to normal by the spring, alright?”

Sabo was next. He offered Ace a quiet ‘you did great’ once he was standing in front of him. “Call me Wednesday okay? And keep your fucking cool in there, please.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” 

“And I promise, I’m taking good care of him.”

“I know you are.”

Sabo hugged him tightly enough to make it last long after he’d gone. When they pulled away and he saw how glassy Ace’s eyes had gotten, Sabo grinned widely. “You’re such a cry baby.”

Chapter Text

The end of summer crept over the city and dried out the asphalt. They were on the precipice of Fall. The wet heat that used to stick to their skin was fading. Autumn pulled the vibrant green out of the leaves and the vines that wound up the rot iron fences of most front porches. 

Luffy watched the groups of highschool kids race out of the arcade. Unshaparoded, falling over themselves, throwing their voices, echoing across the parking lot. Ah, the kind of havoc the Strawhats would bring to the city as soon as one of them was old enough to drive. Luffy grinned while he fantasized about it. The freedom, the impulsive adventures just waiting to be had.

For now, he trotted a few paces in front of Ace towards the bright red Harley that had been waiting for them.

Only after they’d left the arcade, it dawned on the brothers; It’d be a challenge to transport a stuffed animal, half the size of Luffy, on a motorcycle. This was something neither of them had considered while sinking half a bucket of quarters into a crane machine holding giant, fluffy, great whales. 

The boys stared at Striker. The leather bags mounted to the side of the bike were half the size they needed it to be. Luffy looked down at the big plastic bead eyes of his arcade prize. “I could hold him in my lap?”

Ace shook his head, “Your hands should be free.”

“Well–” Concern crunched up in between Luffy’s eyebrows, “What are we gonna do?”

“Leave him here probably. Better say your goodbyes–”

“Ace!” 

Luffy had always been independent for his age. The older he got, the less he needed from his brother. His shoelaces didn't need tying anymore, his jackets didn't need zipping like they used to– things Ace wouldn't admit he missed with a gun to his head. So, while those moments became fewer and farther between, one devastated look was easily enough to make Ace drop the cranky-older-brother-routine completely. At this point in their lives, when Luffy needed something from him, Ace would fold like a goddamn playing card.

Luffy made an attempt to reassure the whale, “He’s kidding. We’d never do something that messed up– right, Ace? You’re gonna find a way.”

Ace plucked the whale out of Luffy's hands. The carabine full of keys jingled from his belt loop while he marched towards the bike. The bungee cords usually used to hold Luffy’s backpack in place weren't quite long enough, but it was worth a shot. Ace braced the bike against his leg while he not so gracefully mashed the stuffed animal under heavy- duty nylon chords.

“What if he flys off?”

“He’s not gonna fly off.”

“You swear?” The whale’s giant body distorted hilariously under the cord. Luffy shuffled around Striker’s rear wheel to get a better view. “Holy crap, Ace. You’re gonna kill him.”

Ace released half a laugh while he struggled to secure the last hook onto the rack, “What’d you want from me, Lu? This is the best I got!” 

Luffy snorted once Ace took a step back to examine his work. It looked more like an abstract lump of stuffing than a whale but it sure as hell wasn't going anywhere. “He ah…” Luffy stifled his giggling, “He kind of kills the bad-ass factor of the bike, though.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? It’s a whale . Whales are totally bad-ass.” Ace finished the last of their lemonade after Luffy had lost interest in it. He rattled the melted ice around at the bottom of the cup before making the throw to the garbage can several feet behind them. “Let’s go,” He directed, “Helmet on.” 

There was a long, windy road that wrapped around the outskirts of The Heights. It was separated from the major highways and weaved in and out of a few local burrows. Each one had its own personality, food, and hot spots.

Warm breeze filled their jackets while Ace flew his bike over the asphalt. Striker leaned deep into each wide bend, rocking it’s passengers in what felt like a figure skating routine. 

Luffy held his hand out to the side, catching the wind that tore between his fingers. This was the first thing they did together after Ace’s release and the first thing they did together the night they moved out of Dadan’s place. This forty five minute loop wasn't just special, it’s what made Luffy fall so madly in love with the idea of freedom.

“Would you ever wana live in one of those giant buildings?” Luffy’s voice chirped through the static-y bluetooth that connected their helmets. He pointed at the skyscrapers a river away and the millions of tiny window lights. 

“Nah, we wouldn’t have this view if I did.”

Ace knew Luffy was pleased with that answer by the little hum he got over the headset. 

Riding ‘passenger’ on a motorcycle like this required awareness, it was more than sitting still. Luffy learned how to lean into turns and support his weight before he was six years old, calling him a natural was an understatement. So, when Ace slowed down to turn onto their street and felt Luffy’s helmet gently tap against his, it caught his attention. “You good, Lu?”

“Mhm, I was just thinking.”

“ Dangerous .”

Luffy smirked though Ace couldn't see it,  “Yeah, I wanna tell you somethin.” 

Ace cut the power once they reached the parking lot. Out of courtesy, he rolled his bike the rest of the way into the garage so as not to blast his 101 horsepower engine directly outside Whitebeard’s house this late in the day. The very specific sensation of riding from asphalt to smooth concrete felt like home. Luffy popped off the bike before Ace even lowered the kickstand and ran to retrieve his whale. 

He struggled with the chord and continued struggling even after Ace had reached over him to do it instead. Once he was free, Luffy fused to return the whale’s stuffing to its original placement. “Don’t get mad at me when I say this…”

“ Oh , I make no promises.” Ace sank down to his knee.

Wordlessly, Luffy looked up while his brother pulled apart the strap beneath the chin of his helmet. “I think it’s lame you’re too scared to date Marco.” 

Ace’s fingers froze. His entire face actually– for all Luffy knew, he just had a psychic vision by the way his brother’s eyes went wide. “Just who the hell do you think you’re talking to, brat?”

Giggling bubbled up in Luffy’s chest. He pulled his helmet off once the strap had been free’d. “It’s obvious you like -like him.”

“O bvious?”

“You cook for him. You spent all night on his car. You agreed to hangout and didn't flake at the last minute. That’s basically a marriage proposal coming from you .”

Ace stayed on his knees but he launched forward for Luffy’s wrist as the middle schooler scampered away. Luffy had made it just far enough to be inch out of reach. He squealed and Ace barked after him, “What–are you talking about!? Are you working for him or something!?”

“I should be!” 

The minute Ace stood up, Luffy’s flight response kicked in. He’d throw hands with a fully grown adult any day of the week but when his older brother stood up– Luffy knew to run.

“Lame!?” Ace echoed. 

Strategically, Luffy backed up towards a nearby car for cover. “Yeah– it’s kind of fucking Lame, Ace.”

“Woah– watch your mouth!” Ace feigned to the right before running left, earning a few precious extra seconds on Luffy, who bolted behind the car. This was the kind of tag where you were convinced would kill you if you got caught. Luffy screamed while he leaped over a tool box and felt a gust of air from how close Ace’s hand had been to catching his arm.

There was no time to look over his shoulder. Luffy called out, “You’re scared of feelings !” while he made a mad dash for the staircase. “Ooh– Ace has feelings !! How embarrassin–” 

The last syllable of his mockery was cut off when Ace caught him. He grabbed Luffy like he was a sack of charcoal and threw him over his shoulder. 

“Hey Pops– You still here!?” Ace called while he marched up the steps with Luffy. 

Beyond the high pitched screaming, Ace could hear Newgate– who was undoubtedly watching this exchange from the security cameras in his office. His voice was muffled through the wall, “Yep!”

“I’m gonna cook the kid for dinner– Slow broil him in the pressure cooker– How’s that sound?”

“Sounds great!” 

Ace dropped Luffy onto the couch from as tall a height as he could manage. Either he needed to push a little more at the gym or this twelve year old was getting heavy. Luffy, in his infinite flexibility, rolled across the couch cushions in a dramatic display of defeat. The dull purple sky held onto the very end of daylight. He stayed on his back and stared out at it while his fits of laughter died down. 

Ace was in the kitchen now, tearing through their freezer.

“Hey, Is it because of me?”

Ace’s attention snapped forward. “It’s not you. I just– I don’t have time for a…” He hesitated before trying the word, “ A boyfriend– or whatever– hanging around the apartment.”

“Mhmm.” Luffy pulled his sneakers off one at a time, leaving them wherever they landed on the living room floor.

“There’s so much shit I don’t have a handle on right now.”

“That’s only true in Ace-world.”

“Look at where we live.” Ace waved a bag of frozen chicken nuggets in the direction of the broken AC unit and crooked window blinds. “I barely keep our heads above water. Just barely, for the past however many the fuck years you’ve been stuck with me. I should absolutely pursue romance– instead of– you know, moving us out of an attic.” 

Luffy sat up. The goofy, curly, grin on his face was very pointedly gone. “This isn't an attic.” His face demanded eye contact. “Why would you say it like that?”

“We’re directly under the roof, that’s the definition of an attic.”

“Yeah, but you said it like we live in a crap hole.”

“Luffy, you’ve never in your life had your own bedroom. What’s your point?”

Ace had ignored the seriousness in Luffy’s voice for one too many snarky remarks. The twelve year old scowled at him. “ This is why I wanted to talk to you– you like– see things through this weird, freaky lens where nothing makes sense.”

Ace hadn’t been scolded by Luffy in a while. So, he set the frozen bag down to listen to him. He blinked.

“You’re so wrong , Ace– you’re wrong . I love our apartment!” He threw a pillow at him for emphasis and Ace let it bounce off his legs. “I love the color we painted on the walls and couch that’s too big– and I love our big family.” Luffy had Ace’s eyes, the kind that could burn a hole right through you, “This is a good life I have. Marco can be a part of it. The Straw hats are a part of yours, right? –Guess what? I don’t care if Marco eats dinner with us sometimes. I don’t care if you go out with him and like– do adult things and smoke weed or whatever you do. I wouldn't care if you send him to drive me around, either.” Luffy smirked, “We’d just talk crap about you the whole time.” Ace opened his mouth to say something but Luffy wasn't finished, “I think it’s cool he makes you happy. It’s not that complicated. So, if you’re using me as an excuse to hide from Marco, I’ll tell him myself, that’s a load of crap.”

Ace took his lecture with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyebrows quirked up while he stared back at him, struggling to wrap his head around the fact that his baby brother was too smart to be called a baby anymore.

Luffy had stood up. He pulled the chicken nugget bag out of his brother’s hands and read the back for an oven temperature. “You worry too much. Is that something that happens to adults? You get old and worry about everything?”

Ace shrugged. The answer was yes obviously, but that wasn't where his head was at. “You’re not worried I wouldn't be around enough?”

“What, if you dated Marco?” Luffy looked up at him like the punch line of his joke was weak, “No, you’re not physically capable of being away from me for more than twenty four hours.” Luffy snorted, “I’m not worried.”

Luffy was good at simple answers. While, Ace thought himself in circles, Luffy could boil his problems down to one sentence over the span of a conversation.

No, I’m not worried.

The pressure that unwound around Ace’s chest felt so good, he actually laughed. It came on slowly. His shoulders jumped, the corners of his mouth twitched. “What—“ He attempted to reason, “That’s not true!”

“Besides, Marco’s nice to me.” Luffy added, “He’d never stand a chance if I didn't like him. I mean— he’s definitely aware of that.”

Ace chuckled. “I’m sure he’s nice to you for more than one reason.” 

“It’s not his fault I have this intimidating aura.” 

Ace laughed. It was the kind of deep laughter that made his fingers and toes feel like a static-y television screen. “Mhm, the puppy dog eyes really put the fear of god into people.” He moved himself off the counter top and caught the edge of the kitchen table. “Okay– stop talking for a second.” 

“I swear– I made Usopp cry with eye contact alone one time.”

Despite the strength slipping out of his legs, his voice was anything but urgent. Amused, sleepy. He dropped himself into the creaky kitchen chair. His head had grown heavy and it felt worlds more comfortable in his arms on the table. It was muffled now, his voice was something more akin to giggling. “You’re too funny. You’re gonna knock me out, Lu.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Ace had taken a nap at the kitchen table. He could hear Luffy’s sneakers skip close to him. His brother’s hand rubbed little circles against his back, between his shoulder blades. “You still want the chicken nuggets though, right?” Luffy asked.

“Absolutely, yes.”

“And you’re gonna think about what I said?”

“Yes.” The oven’s bell rang once it reached its preheated temperature. “Do you need help?”

“Nu-uh. I’ll wake you up when they’re done.”

He couldn't always do this; give in, take a nap. He used to have a little kid he needed to keep an eye on. He used to give himself migraines trying to keep his eyes open. Nothing felt more kind and charitable, then the permission to slip away into the deep, dreamless sleep that’d just filled his head with cement. Ace hummed on his exhale, content, wearing half a simile “Thanks, Lu.”

Chapter Text

5:30pm.

Despite his many years of practice, feeding Whitebeard’s crew never got any easier. “It’s concerning the smartest guy I know can’t season a fucking pork chop.”

“I asked you how much oregano I was supposed to use— you’re acting like I’ve stabbed your father.”

“It’s a feeling Marco– it’s a feeling!” Thatch shook his hands like he might be able to rid himself of Marco’s academic energy. “You’re painting with flavors, buddy. You don’t expect an artist to mix the same shade of blue for every painting do you?”

“You wanted an artist and you asked me for help?”  

“Your hands are dry!” Thatch’s eyes darted towards the back door, where the other half of their family was gathered around the grill. “And… all the other mechanics are occupied right now, so it’s gotta be you.”

Marco shook dried oregano over a thick, prime cut of meat, pausing briefly to let Thatch turn the pieces over before he continued.

Thatch was a chef before he was a mechanic— in his heart at least. Every cent he could save was being poured into a fund that might one day take him to culinary school. Until then, his skills were dedicated to his family. When Newgate wanted to host a barbecue, Thatch was the first person there, holding a cooler of everything the butcher would sell him.

“Dude, my sleeve.” Thatch held out his arm and the blond, albeit reluctantly, rolled his sleeve up past his elbow. They worked quietly for a few minutes in Edward Newgate’s kitchen, listening to the muffled music that bled in from the speaker outside. Marco did his best to decipher the meaning of Thatch’s rushed, hand gestures. Pass the paprika, put away the olive oil, move this or that into the sink, so on and so forth.

“You want me to start the dishwasher?”

“Please.”

How was it, as twenty nine, Marco was still helping Newgate host parties? The muscle memory needed to catch the dishwasher door with his foot was still there. It didn't take Marco more than three minutes to have the counter clear, still, Thatch was scrambling around the kitchen like he had a clock running out. 

He stripped a bulb of garlic from its flaky shell with one turn of his hand. The sound of his knife against the cutting board tapped in perfect little eighth notes. “You’re not working tomorrow, are you?”

“I’m not.”

“Any plans to celebrate your boyfriend getting off parole?”

Marco rolled his eyes. “...If that’s how tomorrow ends, Whitebeard will be getting everyone drunk at Shaky’s place.”  

“Did you guys talk about what you’d do if uh… I mean, if he gets screwed over with some legal B S?” The daggers out of Marco’s eyes had Thatch rephrasing real quick, “I’m not trying to be a smart ass– This is the shit I’ve been thinking about, Marco! How serious are you guys?”

“He’s convinced he’s going to prison tomorrow afternoon. It’s really not the time for the ‘what are we?’ conversation.” 

“Really? You beat the shit out of Teach for him and he still hasn't cracked? Marco, if you beat up a back-stabbing stalker for me, you’d be showered in my admiration.”

“I never said I didn't get any admiration. Can you mind your fucking business?”

“You’re my best friends, this is absolutely my business–” The rhythm of Thatch’s kitchen knife abruptly stopped. The steel clattered against the counter top and Thatch shook out his left hand as if it’d just caught fire.

“Did you cut yourself?” Surely, that was karma for being nosy. 

“Yeah– Yep.” Thatch would attempt to dip away from Marco’s curious eyes, clutching his hand close to his chest. He wouldn't get far.

Marco locked his hand around Thatch’s wrist. His whiney protests; ‘ It’s fine Marco, this isn't an emergency room’ , were all but ignored while the blond dragged him to the sink and pushed the faucet on with his elbow. He drowned Thatch’s cut with cold water and his crimson blood made spirally little patterns in the base of the sink before swirling down the drain. “I’ll get you a bandaid.”

There was a stocked first aid kit in the back of the hallway closet. Once Marco had Thatch sat at the kitchen table, armed with saline spray and a little gauze, he could see how losing all that forward momentum of cooking, left his best friend looking far away.

The corners of Thatch’s mouth had pulled down sharply. “I feel like my dry rub seasoning is underwhelming.”

Marco raised an eyebrow at him like that statement had been spoken in french, “Your cooking is always perfect. What the hell are you talking about?”

“This barbecue is supposed to be a distraction, right? For the brothers. I know Pops loves poker and drinking… But, I’ve been watching how he’s put Ace to work all day.”

“He’s just trying to keep him busy.”

“And It’s not a bad idea.” Thatch sighed, “Can’t be anxious when you’ve got a million fucking chores to do, right?”

“Apparently, you can.” Marco’s smirk offered his sympathy. “I haven’t seen you slip with a knife in a long time.”

“Ah.” Thatch’s shoulders deflated while he searched for a way to explain himself. “I shouldn't have promised Luffy there'd be more pork chops then he could handle.”

“It’s a hefty promise.” 

“I just wanted to be helpful. They’re probably scared out of their minds. And, what am I doing– I’m cooking.” 

“Tonight is a distraction for everyone . We’re all on edge.” Marco’s voice dropped a bit lower, “And, I doubt there is any amount of meat in the world that would be enough to distract Luffy from the fact that he’ll be sitting in a courtroom tomorrow morning. Having the family together is all we can do right now. Being here is more than enough, Thatch.”

There was silence while Marco’s words sunk in. The doctor had the roll of medical tape on his ring finger and wound it around Thatch’s bandaged thumb to create a uniform little cast. Thatch’s eyes couldn't decide between watching his friend’s impressive handiwork or the eerily focused look on his face. “What about you? Are you scared?”

“Of course I am.”

Thatch frowned, “You were supposed to say you had complete confidence that everything would work out just fine.”

“Mh.” Marco pressed his lips together in a hard line. He raised his eyebrows, a moment from admitting whatever concerns he clearly held onto, when Luffy swung the kitchen door open.

“Uhm, you guys?” He held onto a workbook with as much disinterest as he had in completing the equations inside. It hung open and disheveled at the tips of his fingers. “Where’s my brother?”

“Ah– waiting on my pork chops, probably.” Thatch jumped up from his seat and shuffled back to the kitchen where the food waited for him.

“He’s helping Whitebeard with the grill.” Marco explained, “Is that summer work?”

Luffy nodded.

“Can I help you with it?”

“Can you… do it for me?”

Marco smirked, “I heard it’s not really the math that’s the problem more than it’s staying focused.” 

“Did Ace tell you that? He doesn't know what he’s talking about.” Luffy marched up to the kitchen table and dropped the mess of paperwork into a crumbled pile. He climbed into the chair across from Marco. “There isn't one part of this process that doesn't make me want to violently throw up. It’s all sick brain torture and know one should be putting me through this.”

“Can I watch you do one question?”

Luffy groaned behind his teeth, “But, I don't know what I’m doing .”

“ Alright… ” Marco shook out the sheets of paper until they fell into place. He turned the pages to the beginning and laid it out flat. “I’ll do it for you then.” He said it matter of factly and Thatch watched while Marco pulled the pencil from Luffy’s balled up fist. He gave it an experimental spin between his index and thumb, then tapped the led against the page. “I start with the multiplication, right? So, eight times twenty two…” 

“The parentheses!” Luffy jumped forward. He tore the pencil out of Marco’s hand like he was a second away from lighting the page on fire, “You gotta start with the parentheses! Jeez, I thought you went to medical school or something.” He leaned close to the table to erase the half a mark Marco made and quickly corrected his work.

Thatch pushed open the rickety screen door of Newgate’s house to the camp set up in the parking lot. Izou played pop music on a speaker hanging from the belt loop of Ace’s jeans. A few old yet perfectly comfortable lawn chairs had been dragged outside for those who wanted a front row seat of the grill. Whitebeard’s crew had been out there for the past hour, working through Thatch’s menu, filling the boulevard with the succulent smell of meaty, juicy, barbecue. 

Newgate hovered over the grill. “You sure that seal is any good?”

“Yes.” Ace breathed, “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do not set my damn house on fire.”

“Izou.” Abruptly, Ace called to the finely dressed man watching them from a lawn chair. “Please, pass my father the blunt so he gets off my ass?”

Newgate had tasked his youngest with replacing the propane tank. It was just bad luck the old man had run out of gas moments before the pork chops kit the cooking grate. Ace was laid out under the grill, his back against the asphalt, tightening the end of a hose to the new tank as tightly as he could.

Thatch brought them a cutting board of meat, stacked tall and painted in the warm, earthy colors of his dry rub. He approached them just in time to see Izou laugh while pushing a blunt into Newgate’s hands. “Hey Spades, you seen your brother?” 

“Tell him–” Ace grunted over the extra effort the rusty handle needed to turn, “I’ll be right over. Does he need help?”

“No— no, Marco’s all over that. He’s gone full grade school teacher on the kid.” Thatch smirked when Ace’ ears pricked up. The senior mechanic nodded towards the house, “You haven't seen them?” He took Ace’s arm while he crawled out from under the grill and pulled him to his feet. “I usually take pleasure in embarrassing him in front of you. So, I’m not sure why I’m telling you this. But, whatever magic he’s working in there is possibly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” 

Ace eyed Thatch with this cynical little twist at the bridge of his nose, “Bullshit.” He said, “There’s no way Marco’s gotten him to focus ten minutes before dinner.” 

“I’m just telling you what I saw, babe.” 

“Ah– I think I’m losing my will to live.” Luffy had moved onto the kitchen floor. He laid on his stomach doodling spirals in the corner of the page. “I don't know about this one.”

Marco had joined him. He rested his back against the cabinets and neatly crossed one ankle over the other. His arms sat folded across his chest. “It’s basically question ten. Look how similar they are.”

“I don’t know– I guess.” 

“You said something about how decimal points shouldn't be considered real numbers.”

“Oh yeah.” Luffy muttered. He swung his feet back and forth while he scribbled out a thought process in completely illegible handwriting. “I don’t know, Marco, this sucks, so bad. It’s ah–” He sneered at the page, “Is it fourteen point one?”

“I thought you said you didn't know how to do this.”

Funny, how despite facing away from him, Luffy noticed Ace first. Brotherly telepathy was what Marco had to assume. “Please tell me dinner is ready–” Luffy spun around on the floor, “Marco is torturing me.”

“We could have stopped four questions ago. He’s been determined to finish the page.”

Ace huffed out some kind of laugh. His eyes bouncing between Marco and his little brother, sprawled out on the kitchen floor. Marco used to be completely thrown by that face; that half startled, defensive look Ace would get when someone did something nice for him. “...You’re doing homework?”

“You told me to!” Luffy bounced up from the floor and clumsily shoved the summer school packet into Ace’s hands, “See? We almost finished the section, see?”

“Yeah– I see. You did all of this?”

“Yeah, Mr. Emergency-Doctor forgot how parentheses work but I explained it to him.”

“That’s incredible.” 

Luffy’s face lit up. He used his toes to make himself an inch taller. “Don't you think I should take a break?”

“Absolutely, I do.”

Luffy bounded out of the kitchen, that was all he needed to hear. He moved so fast, the curtains on the window fluttered after him while he tore down the hallway, squeaking out his thank you’s loud enough for every crew member on the property to hear.

“Where’s he going?” Marco took Ace’s hand when it was offered to him.

“To wait for the first pork chop off the grill, if I had to guess.” Ace didn't let go after he’d pulled Marco to his feet. He kept a tight hold on his wrist and coaxed him lower in height. It was unexpected. Just the soft, fleeting press of Ace’s lips against his. “That was nice of you.”

Marco would never describe himself as someone who’d grin very often, yet here he was. “Sure. You should know, all I really did was sit with him.” Ace's hands lingered in the cotton of Marco’s shirt. He kissed him again, gentle and warm enough to undoubtedly send Thatch into a state of shock if he witnessed it. 

He tasted like smoke, Marco’s mechanic. Like burning paper and a peppery bitterness that was strangely pleasurable the closer he got. Marco adored the side of Ace’s face in his hand. “...Why do you taste good?”

“Mm?”

“What did Newgate just give you to smoke outside?”

Ace raised an eyebrow. He allowed Marco to kiss him again before he answered, “A blunt. It's ah– weed rolled in tobacco paper.”

“Mm-hm,” Amusement curved at his lips, “You taste like you just smoked a cigarette.” 

“What– the fuck is that supposed to mean!? Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

Marco’s punishment for that remark was apparently, the loss of Ace’s narrow waist under his hands. The blond scrambled after him. “I like it— I like it!” He tapped his tongue against his teeth while he attempted to drag Ace back into the kitchen. “So defensive.” Ace was fast and experienced enough to avoid being grappled and for a few moments, he dodged circles around him. “Do you not know how bad my smoking habit used to be?” Marco’s wing span in a kitchen this small would be Ace’s inevitable downfall. The blond caught him around the waist.

“Get the hell off me!” The absurdity of Marco’s strength was apparently nothing to be underestimated. Ace laughed between his bouts of struggling. “I can't– even imagine you smoking cigarettes! What kind of health care worker are you?!”

“I know, I was a mess over them.” The tides had turned. Marco pushed Ace’s hips between his own and the counter top. He dipped his shoulders low to taste the faintest bit of tobacco on Ace’s lips again. “It used to be the best part of my night. You can’t just taste like nicotine and kiss me.” Marco sighed, “That’s cheating.”

Chills pricked up the back of his neck. Ace opened his mouth when Marco’s tongue pleaded for entry and he allowed the blond to taste every inch of him. He liked feeling needed. Addicting. It was rare Ace allowed anyone to touch him like this or anything close to it. So when Marco finally let him go, Ace’s face was shamelessly flushed. His pupils blown wide and head still buzzed from the decisiveness of Marco’s tongue. 

“Alright.” Marco, ever so casual and overconfident in his smile, let him go. He straightened the cuffs of his shirt sleeves around his forearm. “I’m done. Don’t do that again. Tease .”

Ace huffed, breathless, “Loud –and clear.”

8:30 pm.

Marco and Ace were hired in the complete opposite generation of Whitebeard employees. The front desk had a computer when Ace got hired. Marco used to log their receipts by hand when he was fifteen. Despite their generational gap, absolutely nothing had changed when it came to following orders from Newgate. There was one correct way to set up the poker table and you had better pick a god to pray to if you did it wrong.

Tucked in the closet under the stairs, its legs needed to be unfolded one side at a time. Marco and Ace did it so efficiently, you’d think they practiced.

Though Newgate had an obvious claim over the recliner, the rest of his boys were free to drag whatever furniture they wanted into the living room. Mismatching chairs and couch cushions were pulled out of place to surround the old table. They could play poker for hours to the classic rock of Newgate’s record collection and never ending plates of food. 

Marco nursed the ends of what would probably be his last drink. He cradled the neck of a beer bottle between his fingers and examined his cards with the other hand. He was winning. He usually did. 

“Damnit, Marco.” Jozu leaned his head all the way back in apparent agony, “Our poker economy was so balanced without you here.”

“ Balanced ?!” Izou’s hand jumped to Marco’s bicep. Reassuringly, he said, “We all usually take advantage of Ace because he sucks so bad– Jozu hasn't had anyone clean out his wallet in a long time.”

“I do not suck !” Ace unkicked his feet from the ottoman to lean forward, “Six months straight I played nothing but poker! You can’t tell me I suck.”

Newgate laughed from his belly. He sorted through his hand, “Yeah, that’s why you never had enough money to talk on the phone for more than three minutes at a time.”

Giggling spread across the room. In his usual theatrics, Ace snapped his head back as if he’d just been shot between the eyes. “Pops, no–”

“Well I’m calling his bluff.” Jozu snapped his hands down on the table. He had a pot to win. “Blonde’s had three great hands in a row. Eventually it just comes down to luck and this motherfucker isn't gonna be lucky a fourth time. Besides,” He gestures dismissively in Marco’s direction, “It’s getting late. The old man is tired and he’s feeling a little too comfortable. He’s bluffing.”

Marco smirked. 

Newgate rolled his eyes before dropping his hand, “Well, I fucking fold.”

Jozu’s speech seemed to inspire a few at the table but Isou had yet to be convinced. He leaned forward on his elbows. Ribbons of black hair fell around his shoulders while he studied Marco’s half amused expression, trying to read his face for any sign of deception. “I don't know…” He muttered, “Acey, what do you think, darling?”

“Oh–” Ace kept his chin resting on the table in his crossed arms. “Marco’s not bluffing. I fold.”

“Then, I fold too.” 

Jozu's full house easily beat the majority. Thatch and Hurata didn't stand a chance. This didn't surprise him though, it was Marco’s cards he wanted to see.

The doctor leaned back in his chair and crossed an ankle over his knee. He stifled a chuckle, “You know, I’ve been struggling to keep a straight face this entire round.”

Jozu rolled his eyes, “Just show me your cards, Doc.”

Marco’s hand was apparently so good, it was worth the theatrics. “Ace, you’re required to sit on my right for every game after this.” He snapped his hand face up on the table, sliding each card apart with a practiced swipe of his thumb. His family leaned forward to get a better look. Quad aces; one in every suit. “You must be good luck.” 

Isou had never seen Ace blush, really. Maybe once or twice if Yamato hung around long enough. Still, the kid had always been far too focused for crushes. The tips of his ears heated up and there was something innocent and love sick about the way he’d been trying not to smile. Marco offered him the spade from his winning deck and the tips of Ace’s K9s poked out from his top lip while he grinned. He took it.

“ Very smooth, Mar.” Izou chuckled.

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll be here all night.”

11:45 pm. 

The trip down the steps of his apartment, followed by the walk next door, was a longer journey than most kids had while escaping their bedtime. But, Luffy liked checking on Striker in the garage and jumping barefoot across the paver stones. 

The adults were doing what they usually did past ten o'clock; drink, gamble and gossip. He had no place crashing their party and usually, no interest in hearing Thatch recall his most recent hot date out. 

But, tomorrow, Ace’s fate would be up in the air and it’d take Luffy’s with it. He’d been climbing up and down the metal stairs, wondering how many of those trips he had left. Ace had to be kidding himself if he thought Luffy would sleep soundly through a night like this. He snuck through Newgate’s house towards the warm, smokey light of the living room. There was no reason to sit alone in their apartment, watching headlights pass by on the wall above his head.

“Hey.” Thatch pointed at the kid half hidden behind the door frame, “You’re supposed to be sleeping lil dude.”

The explosion of color that were his tie dye pajama pants contrasted the oversized, black t-shirt that absolutely did not belong to him. “How am I supposed to sleep when everyone else is having fun down here?” Luffy pushed his bottom lip forward, “I’m not even tired.”

Marco was surprised to see Ace quiet. His ‘older brother’ personality was pretty obsessed with Luffy’s sleep schedule among a dozen other things. Besides a few half hearted complaints, he did little to stop Luffy from crawling into his lap. “ Okay– you’re kinda fucking heavy, dude.” Ace wheezed while his brother half kneed him in the stomach. “No, be my guest– am I in your way?”  

Luffy beamed once he had settled down. He craned his head back to look at his brother’s face above his and asked, “Can I watch the game?”

“I guess. Marco’s been dominating and Jozu can’t really handle it– you might like that.” Ace cracked a smirk through Jozu’s grumbling and smoothed down the thick, gravity defying mess that was Luffy’s black hair. 

“You said poker was a vibe game.” 

“Unless you’re good at math.” 

“Well, I promise I won't say your cards out loud this time.” 

“Oh–” Ace huffed, “That’s very generous Lu, thanks.”

His threats were nothing but hot water. One last serving of barbecue and Ace’s hand in his hair was about as effective as any extra strength melatonin would have been. Luffy was asleep within twenty minutes. Quite moments like this, Ace looked more like a parent than a brother. It wasn't Garp or Dadan who explained to Luffy that thunderstorms were nothing to be afraid of, it was Sabo. There were dozens of monsters that used to hide under his bed and it was Ace who scared away every single one of them. Luffy had early, blurry memories falling asleep in his brother’s arms. No one else's insufferable body heat could knock him out cold like that. 

So, the crew generously kept their voices muted and their tipsy outbursts to a minimum. 

Every thirty minutes or so, anytime Luffy stirred, Ace would drop his head and ask him if he was ready to go upstairs. Every time, he was given a sleepy shake of the head ‘no’. 

The night crawled on. Passing police sirens had one of their boys checking the windows but passing was all they’d be. Their numbers dwindled. After the dishes were clean and the leftovers had been packed away, one by one, a new chair at the table became empty.

“Give us a call in the morning, alright?” Newgate dropped a few heavy hands against Thatch’s back.

He carried the recycling over his shoulder, insisting he take it to the curb for his father. Under his other arm, was a massive canvas bag, stuffed with leftovers, cooking supplies, and spices. “Absolutely.” His eyes jumped to Ace. “Absolutely– yeah. Good luck tomorrow, kid. I’m gonna be checkin’ on you.”

Ace’s calm exterior could be chalked up to the twelve year old asleep in his lap. At least, that’s what Marco thought as he watched the curve of his smile, “Thanks, Thatch.”

“I love all a’ you. Charm the pants off that parole board. You’ll be fine.” Thatch let himself out. The old growl of his truck filled the atmosphere outside and the three remaining adults listened to it eventually, fade down the highway. 

Marco’s car was the last in the driveway that didn't live there. They could only hold off the morning for so long. 

Whitebeard tapped a cigar he had no intention of lighting, against the table. “Marco.” His grumbling was gravely and muted enough not to be a bother to Luffy, “Why don’t you take my guest room. Stay the night.” The old man’s eyes slid across the table to Ace, who looked at least half privy to where this conversation was going, “We’re paranoid, the boy and I. Things have been too quiet. It’s Sakauzki’s last chance to pull some bullshit like showing up here first thing in the morning. I’d appreciate another set of hands.”

Perhaps, Marco had been waiting for that; clear orders. Ace’s eyebrows quirked up at the very nonchalant way Marco nodded, leaned forward and immediately began asking questions, “What are you imagining I’d be able to do? If Sakazuki is the problem, that’s not someone we can swing back at. They’d be thrilled to put handcuffs on any of us.”

“Neither one of you, under any circumstance, should be swinging at anybody. You’re kidding me, right? Run your mouth all you want but, you can’t put your hands on these people.” The strain this on-going ordeal put on Newgate was apparent in the slow, exhausted manner in which he pulled himself out of his chair. He dug his fingers into the inner sockets of his eyes to grind out the tension there. “I need you both to hear me clearly.  If Sakazuki thinks he’s got a reason to fire his gun, he will take it. The footage on his body camera doesn't have to be perfect. One of you boys sounding angry will be enough to cover his ass with a self defense claim–” He snapped his fingers, “Just like that.” 

Newgate shuffled around the living room, retrieving empty beer bottles and shutting off lights. He lifted the old remote and mashed its crooked buttons until the television went dark. “In the event that any cops show up to talk to me or the boy…” His eyes flickered across the table to Luffy's little face, squished against Ace’s shoulder, “Marco, you've gotta take the kid someplace safe.”

“And leave?” He scoffed like the plan was stupid enough to insult him, “I’m not going to leave Ace alone with Sakazuki and his dogs.”

“Let me handle that. You don't have to worry about him.”

“Sakauzki is a fucking nut case. We know how aggressive he is— I should be there.”

Newgate turned from Marco like arguing was simply too much of a chore. “See what you've done, Ace?”

Being the closest to Luffy, Ace spoke the softest in angry little whispers. “ Me!?”

“You've got him acting like he’s twenty fucking three— not listening.”

The corners of Marco’s mouth twisted up, “I’m waiting to hear a better idea, old man.”

“You wanna start suggesting ways we can outsmart the city’s police department while keeping the shop in-tact? Be my guest.”

“You know, Ive got a kid trying to fucking sleep over here. Volume – both of you. He didn't need to bring his voice above a hum, his mild sounding irritation was enough to stop the bickering in its tracks. “Marco, listen to us. If they’ve got some bullshit charge to arrest me, Pops would follow us to the police station and get my lawyer. We’d go from there.” It hadn’t gotten old yet, the way Ace could snap from docile and sleepy to deeply focused. He put his siren eyes to use when he looked at Marco. “I’ll give Sakazuki whatever he wants if it keeps him calm and away from Luffy. I just need you to have his back if I’m occupied.” 

While Newgate passed behind Ace’s chair, he squeezed both his shoulders. “That’s the worst case scenario. What’s more likely is, Marco has an uneventful night playing bodyguard all the way to the court house, yeah? Can you do that?”

He looked apprehensive. Still, Marco sighed while he told Ace, “I’m all yours.”

“That’s settled then. Ace, take the kid to bed already.” Newgate waved them out of their chairs. Ace slung Luffy onto his back, with all the grace of someone handling a rag doll. Though it didn't seem to matter, Luffy’s nose hardly twitched.

Marco’s offer to walk him back to the apartment was immediately interrupted by Whitebeard. The old man sort of chuckled and waved him away from Ace like a pest. “That’s alright, lover boy. I’ll walk with him.”

“No one needs to walk with me across the parking lot . You’re both freaks.” Ace swung open the front door with his foot to make his point, “I’ll be about a hundred feet away if anyone misses me too much.” 

“Please try and get some rest, kiddo.”

“Uh-huh, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Goodnight.” Marco told him. 

“Goodnight.” 

2:45 am.

All Newgate wanted was another set of hands. He hadn’t asked him to do this; lerk around the property like some kind of guard dog. 

Marco checked the lock on every door and the recording status on every security camera. He had a checklist of tasks in his head that could help him burn away the hours of the night– or morning, rather. Marco climbed out of his car from its new, more discreet parking spot behind the building.

The auto shop was surrounded by an old chain link fence that separated the parking lot from the highway. It had a wide, service truck sized gate leading onto the property and it sat open for years at a time. Marco needed all of his body weight to pull the wheels out of their rust and drag the gate closed.

If anyone wanted to get onto Whitebeard's property, Marco saw no harm in putting up as many obstacles as possible. Let those motherfuckers cause a little damage, it certainly wouldn't make Sakazuki look good on camera. 

Even with the sun long gone and Summer at its end, heat stuck to the back of his neck. Marco patted the fence’s rust off his hands while he returned to the shop. What else should be added to his list? What wasn't he accounting for? He hadn't looked at the apartment’s fire escape in years, checking if that ladder was still functional could be worth his time.

Though, a shuffling, creaky noise coming from the garage completely derailed that thought. Marco stopped in his tracks. He stopped his breathing, his eyebrows sat high up on his head, like it’d help him to hear more clearly. 

Movement. The sounds of boots and steel touching steel. Then, his cell phone buzzed. From Ace, the first message read: Hey . The second one said: I’m in the garage. Let’s hangout.

The garage typically amplified whatever temperature it was outside. Warmth radiated up from the concrete floor from where the sun had been beating down on it. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Marco stood in the threshold of the back door with his cell phone light pointed at Ace from across the garage. Striker’s gas tank and seat had been completely removed and the exposed steel made it look like Ace was in the midst of surgery. His sweat pants were red and orange, decorated with a logo to a videogame Marco had only seen in passing. The top most layers of his hair had been strung up into a bun behind his head. “You scared the shit out of me.” He muttered, “I heard you– I thought someone broke into the fucking garage.” 

Ace dangled a ratchet by the very end of its handle, “I live here. You’re the one creeping around outside.”

“You’re supposed to be getting rest.”

“Marco, Marco, Marco…” Ace retrieved a black box, deep within the body of his motorcycle. Thick black cables connected to it like veins to an organ and Ace unplugged every one. He did it gently, one at a time, with just the hint of a grimace at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t you know I’m only tired when it's completely inappropriate for me to be tired?” He waved the blond closer and gestured at one of the chairs near the work table behind him. “Are you keeping watch? You can do that from here.”

“Not to pull the narcolepsy card but, you’re really the last person that should be staying awake all night.”

Ace smirked, “I’ll go back to bed when I’m done. Keep me company for five minutes.” 

Marco walked past the garage door, scanning the empty parking lot while he made his way to Ace. The mechanic dragged two heavy-duty work lamps into his corner of the garage in place of the larger, overhead lights. Striker’s pieces were arranged across the floor and Marco took great care to maneuver around them. He dropped himself in the nearest folding chair and leaned his elbows on his knees while he watched. “Something wrong with it?”

“My bike? Of course not. Never.”

“Insulting that I even asked.”

“Do you know what happens when you let a motorcycle sit for a long time without running?”

In the dim lighting, Marco could identify the black box in Ace’s hands as the bike’s battery. His eyebrows fell, his voice sobered. “It rots.”

“The fuel sits in the tank, it goes bad, it clogs the system. It’s a real fuck fest.” Ace hummed, “The stabilizer I put in there should be good for a year.” 

“The battery goes too?”

“Yeah, poor thing.” He set it beside a tool box. Then, slowly, methodically began to reassemble the bike hollower then it used to be; without the brain, without the heart. “You’re too much of a realist to tell me everything is going to be fine tomorrow.”

“It wouldn't bring you any comfort to talk out of my ass.” Marco said.

It was the right answer. The tight corners of Ace’s mouth softened, “So, think of something comforting.” 

“You’ll have to come over here.” 

As inviting as Marco’s voice was, Ace still took a full thirty seconds to turn around. It was like there were strings attaching the bike to his finger tips. One more turn of the ratchet, just one more bolt, one last look. “Okay, but I’m not leaving this garage until Striker is back together,” Ace said while he sauntered over to Marco’s side. “You can distract me all you want. When you’re pissed I’ve been awake too long, you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

Marco halted all of Ace’s forward momentum with a raised hand. He stopped him short of what probably would have been a kiss. With his index finger, Marco drew circles in the air. “Turn around.”

“Oh, I misunderstood what ‘ come over here’ ment when you said it like that?”

“You did.” Marco chuckled, “Turn around.” 

So, he did. It was dark in the garage, even darker where the work table was ten feet off the nearest lamp. The ceilings didn't feel as high as they were. Darkness wrapped around them like a blanket fort over their heads.

Ace struggled with his patience. He could feel the heat of Marco’s skin before he’d even touched him. His hands hovered behind his neck and over his shoulders. Then, he felt the familiar weight of Dadan’s necklace.

“I didn't give this to you earlier because– Well, maybe I was overthinking it.” The new, narrow, rich chestnut colored chord made the red paint on the beads pop. Gently, Marco fastened it for him. “I don't know what story you told Luffy when you lost it, so… I figured I should give this to you in private.” He turned Ace by his shoulders to study how it looked on him. “The chord is leather.” Marco explained, “So, it should last. I hope it’s the right length.” Ace’s fingertips ghosted over the beads and when he didn't say anything, Marco continued, “I figured, I’d get my chance in the morning. But, you asked for something comforting…”

What else was there to say? Those nerves that pestered him anytime the steaks got a little too high with Marco. The anxiety he usually barreled through with his head down. It was gone and Marco’s jawline fit in his hands exactly as it should. Ace kissed him and that flight instinct left him completely. 

He wasn't sure what had gone through his head. Something about feeling understood. Seen right through to his guts. 

His stars had been cursed from the start. Ace had been waiting for this shoe– Sakazuki’s shoe– to drop for a long long time; for his shit legacy to rear its ugly head and finally finish him off after two years of bleeding.

But this necklace came long before things were complicated. This was given to him when he was younger, angier and usually wrong. When he was healthier but far more reckless. Making fewer mistakes but much lonelier. So, before things ended, Ace thought to himself, how nice it was to remember that person. That younger version of himself he couldn't seem to hate.

Marco had learned that Ace’s thank you’s looked like this. He didn’t mind it. Marco hadn't considered himself a romantic until recently. Ever since he caught himself daydreaming about Ace expressing his feelings for him with his hands and his mouth and his gorgeous set of teeth.  

“C’mon.” Ace hid what Marco could only describe as a diabolical smirk behind his overgrown bangs. “Kiss me like I’ve just smoked a cigarette.” 

*** *** ***

Unwinding Portgas D. Ace was one hell of a game. 

Press just a little too hard on the gas and you’d get nails in your back and teeth digging into your neck. He let Ace correct him like this for thirty minutes, sighing and hissing and pushing up against each other until their clothes stuck to their skin and the air in the garage felt too hot to breathe.

“You bruise so easily.” Once Ace realized how little effort it took to create the first hickey, he decided Marco’s neck ought to be a canvas. He’d pulled Marco down by the shoulders, low enough for the blond to need a hand, braced against the table. 

“Easy– with how high you’re going.” 

“Aw…” Marco could feel the younger man smirking. Lazily, he draped his arms around Marco’s shoulders while he worked. “I might not see you for a while after this.”

“Bruising the shit out of my neck is your parting gift to me?”

Ace’s breath traveled further up. He found a tender spot just beneath his ear, somewhere difficult to hide. The warmth of his tongue and the sharp edge of Ace’s teeth sent a bizarre pleasure dancing over his nerves. 

Marco still wore his day clothes. The jeans he had on weren't meant for this; for a lean muscled, punk, writhing against him, obsessed with his neck. His erection had been suffocating under his belt for the past fifteen minutes. Deliciously frustrated didn't even begin to describe the ache in his lower stomach. 

Marco slipped his hand under Ace’s waist band. It was so easy, his sweatpants just barely hung off his hips as it was. His fingertips ghosted over the hot mound under Ace’s boxers. Then, a sharp nip at his earlobe interrupted his attention. Marco flinched, “Ah– you’re like a little puppy– with sharp fucking teeth.”

“I would have stopped a while ago if it wasn't so obviously getting you off.”

Screw drivers and drill batteries toppled off the table while Marco pushed Ace against it. He allowed it this time, Marco’s much larger, much less calloused hand slipping beneath his boxers. His body reacted to everything, every little stroke and push of his thumb had Ace tensing and shifting. He got quite– immediately quiet. All that attitude took a brief reprise while Marco pumped a tight fist over him.

“Relax, relax, relax.” Marco muttered under his breath, “Who are you holding back for, love? Me?” 

“I just–” Ace huffed, “You make me act so fucking stupid.”

Marco tapped his tongue to his teeth, “You don’t understand how attracted I am to you.”

“Uh-huh– spare me.” He never did take compliments well.

Marco grabbed Ace’s wrist. He pushed his hand up against his jeans, the twitching almost painful bulge under tight fabric. “Stop performing. You don’t need to work hard to impress me. Everything you do, I like. I want. It’s simply not possible for you to look stupid, darling.” 

The hair Ace haphazardly tangled up in a bun, Marco pulled free. Now, the elastic hugged his wrist while he pushed Ace’s upper body over the table.

Ace clawed at the back of his shirt like he’d long overheated. He exposed his shoulders and the beautiful way his lateral muscles narrowed at his waist. Marco obsessed his hands over him.  “Gorgeous.” He mumbled under his breath, more so to whatever god blessed him with Ace then anyone else. “Gorgeous.” He pulled at Ace’s sweats until they fell around his ankles.

A younger, more reckless version of Marco wouldn't have hesitated to lubricate his fingers in Ace’s mouth. Current Marco knew better than to lose an appendage. There were a dozen more reasons to tread carefully, the fairly expansive nine years of experience he had over Ace being one of them. It would be irresponsible to take this anything other than agonizingly slow.

The sound of Marco’s belt being pulled apart had Ace twisting to look at him. Marco corrected him back onto the table, “You’ll get my fingers first. I just can’t stand being strangled by my belt.”  

“Tsh– I was about to ask if you were insane.”

“No love, that’s not the kind of rough I am.”

He could feel Marco’s bare erection, tacky and hot against his leg. Ace throbbed around Marco’s fingers while he worked him apart. He groaned quietly into his folded arms, occasionally twitching his right foot up Marco’s leg. Then, Marco hit something and Ace felt his insides tighten up. His shoulder’s jerked forward. He dropped one solid fist against the table before white knuckling the edge. “Fuck–” 

“I do love watching you enjoy yourself.” 

“Yeah–” Ace choked, “Fucking pervert– with long fucking fingers, what’d you want from me?”

“More of that.” Marco cooed. “Keep talking.”

“Oh–” Ace’s smirk wobbled, “You like hearing me complain?” Marco’s middle finger teased his hot spot again and it stole his breath. “Aa–hh. Just– Just fuck me already… Mar...”

It wasn't until Marco was turning him around, Ace realized how much of his weight Marco had in his hands. Ace’s thighs trembled for the brief seconds he was made to stand. His hands scrambled for the edge of the table while Marco pressed him onto his back and filled the space between his thighs with his hips. Marco brought Ace’s legs up. His ankle monitor’s tiny red light waved just in his peripheral vision while he propped his ankles over his shoulders. 

Marco’s cock hovered over his abdomen, throbbing without being touched. His body was nothing like Ace. Marco’s waist was boxy, he was built sturdy like a workhorse. Ace watched him pump a tight fist down his length, slicking himself in the pre cum leaking from his tip. “This is going to feel deeper.” Ace swallowed the saliva that’d gathered in his mouth. Breathless, Marco told him to relax. 

The fingertips that were spread across Marco’s back turned on him. He felt Ace’s fingernails dig into the skin across his shoulder blades the moment the head of his cock pushed past his entrance. Ace twisted beneath his body weight in an attempt to make room for the depth Marco could reach in this position. His neck and his back made a beautiful arch, painted in gold from the yellow work lamps behind them. “Ah-fuck–” Ace gasped, “—Fuck you.” 

“Still with me?”

“-Uh-huh.” 

Marco spared one of his hands to hold Ace’s jaw. His touch was delicate, still he needed his face forward. “Look at me,” Then his hands moved, sliding up Ace’s legs until they caught beneath his knees. He pushed down and forward. The tops of Ace’s thigh pushed up against his chest and something about all of it relaxed the muscles in his hips just a bit further. The resistance the both of them had felt a second ago, slipped away. Marco sunk down to his hilt. The unrelenting pressure crashing against Ace’s prostate was vision blurring.

And Marco didn't move, he didn't pull back— he reveled in the feeling of Ace throbbing around him in quick little pulses. He leaned forward, studying Ace’s glassy eyes and the bright red bite mark he’d given his own bottom lip. “How’s that feel?”

Ace opened his mouth but hardly made any noise. He hardly breathed at all. “M-m—” His voice along with all the air in his lungs had been knocked out of him the minute Marco pushed against his prostate. “Move—” The pleasure was like a searing burn at the deepest part of his groin. “You ha-ave to move.”

“Okay— okay.” Marco obsessed over keeping the inky black locks of hair away from his eyes. “Just look at me—” Marco struggled to keep his voice even while he rocked his hips, “I need to see you, just look at me.”

The death grip Ace had on Marco’s shoulders did little to stop the way he bounced against the table under each impact of Marco’s hips.

“Doesn't it fit nicely like this?” Marco sighed against the curve of his neck.

“I—” Ace nodded– it was somewhat of a nod. Challenging to speak when every decisive, deep push of Marco’s cock was lighting up fireworks behind his eyes. “I can’t– last if you keep this up.”

“That’s alright.” His right arm braced itself behind Ace’s shoulders, propping up the younger man a few inches closer into his chest. Marco’s hands claimed him, like something far too precious for anyone's eyes but his. “I'd like to see you cum all over yourself.”  

“Of co-ourse you would.” Ace shivered, “ - Dick.”

Marco smirked. The banter– how the hell Ace had a mouth on him, even like this was more of a turn on then he’d ever admit out loud. The soft snapping of Marco’s hips against Ace increased in tempo. Marco had never felt this greedy in his life, this wanting. Those gorgeous, sleepy black eyes staring back at him lit up something ache-ingly possessive in his chest. Ace allowed the slow, careful, surrendering of his body and Marco felt positively drunk on it.

At this point, the mechanic was no longer aware of the bright red lines he was dragging down Marco’s back. It was some desperate attempt to manage the pleasure overwhelming every nerve in his body. His pelvis tilted forward to accommodate the curve of Marco’s length and his legs tightened behind the blond’s back. “Marco–” He dropped his jaw before he said his name again, “M-arco…”

“That’s what I like to hear.” 

“Fuck– it’s good– it’s so good.” Ace braced his other hand on Marco’s abdomen. “You’re a real monster– aren't you?” 

Marco showed Ace his canines. “That’s right, gorgeous boy.”

“Fuck—” Ace hissed, blinking at the tears that pricked at the corners of his eyes, “Deeper– all of it–”

Marco dug his grip into Ace’s thighs, pulling them wide open to pound viciously into him. Things had gotten loud, the slapping of dewey, sweaty skin echoed into the dark, empty garage. It was unclear whose pre cum belonged to who, Ace leaked over his stomach while he took one thrust after another. “Fuck– Fuck me–” His head lulled to the side, blissed out, panting, “Mm. Right there.” 

“You take it so good–” Marco groaned behind his teeth, “I’m– impressed, Spit fire.”

“Yeah–y-yeah—” His toes curled and flexed, his jaw fell open again. Heat swallowed up his body. Ace jerked and twitched his hips so restlessly, he might have lost Marco’s cock hadn't the blond been pinning him down while he came. “ Fuck –Fuck—don’t stop.” Ace snapped his hand over his eyes and this time, Marco permitted it. His cock stood up straight, untouched and shooting wet ropes of cum across his stomach. Ace gasped while he slipped right over the edge, baring his pretty teeth at Marco while his orgasm sent shock waves all the way down to the tips of his toes.

Marco’s fingers left bruises around the meat of his thighs. He chased his own climax, fervently pumping Ace on and off of him.

Ace’s chest heaved, his gasping had become audible. It was just too much, the cum dripping down his stomach, Marco’s twitching cock bucking shamelessly into him. Marco filled him. The excess, and there was far too much of it, ran down Ace’s thighs. 

*** *** ***

Their chests rose and fell out of sync. Ace dropped his head back against the table. His skin flushed with a deep warm red that covered his ears and down his neck. Gently, Marco peeled Ace’s hands away from his eyes to find his face again. “Still with me?” 

“Uh-huh.” It hadn’t been this quiet in his head in a while. Ace swallowed another breath of hair. He nodded.

“You really drive me mad.”

Marco’s kisses felt like being worshipped. Ace tilted his head, malleable and relaxed in his arms, “I noticed.” He hummed between their lips. “Good luck explaining to Pops why I left my bike half disassembled.”

“Tsh– well, there’s no way you’re doing it now.” Marco’s watch had slipped to the inside of his wrist. 3:50am. “I let you seduce me, It’s my fault.” 

“Well, I’m sure I’ll be able to fall asleep now.” Ace pulled Marco closer to him. He hung his arms over his shoulders and enjoyed the weight of his upper body on his chest. Ace hummed, “Why would you do this to me?’

“Do what?”

“Make me like you so much. When it’s about to end.”

Marco kissed him. “You have to stop acting like it’s over. I’ll go along with the plan, but I expect you to fight like hell for yourself.” Marco drowned in the endless black of Ace’s eyes. “I want you around. I don’t want anyone but you, even if I have to wait. So don’t break my heart and give up early, alright?”

4:10am 

Ace had roughly two hours before he’d need to start getting himself together for the parole board meeting. Marco insisted he at least try to sleep for some of them. 

The moon had long passed its view of the living room window and the neon sign across the street had been shut off. Ace navigated through the pitch black of the apartment. The city blocks he used to have memorized might have left his head, but every turn and uneven floorboard of his home still remained crystal clear in the dark. 

The bathroom lights were about as comfortable as an icepick in the top of his skull. He kept his eyes closed while he peeled off his shirt and the cottony pants that had been sticking to him ever since he’d put them back on. He felt around for the shower faucet and by the time the water grew hot, had acclimated enough to the lighting to keep his eyes open.

It was bizarre, what he looked like in the mirror. There had never been dark bruises on his hips or up his thighs. He’d never in his life been so pleased to surrender himself to another person, and for a moment, while Ace studied his face in the mirror, he wondered if he looked different.

Condensation collected on every surface of the bathroom until the mirror no longer reflected. Warmth would hold onto Ace’s skin long after he’d left the shower. He liked the temperature scolding like that.

Once he’d finished washing and shaking his wet hair out in a towel, Ace dug through the laundry for something clean to sleep in. Fresh sweatpants and Newgate’s logo on his back felt appropriate.

Ace was eager to shut off the bathroom light. Darkness released the pressure at his temples instantly. Until, he noticed all the blue– the brilliant blue strip of light crawling up the back of his hand. 

It was coming from the living room, beaming through the crack of the bathroom door. Blinking. It was only natural that Ace considered he might be dreaming.  

Ace pushed open the door and found his living room, unrecognisable. It wasn't just the walls, the floor, the furniture; everything in the room was dyed in light. Bright blue turned white and then red. It flooded in through the window and repeated in a disorienting, patternless assault of flashing.  

Luffy’s back faced the room while he watched the light show. He stood incredibly still. He was holding his breath.  

“Lu… Get away from the window.” Ace didn't have enough air in his lungs to say it above a whisper. By the time he reached his brother and he could see outside, a sixth police car had pulled into the auto shop parking lot, bleaching the buildings around them in spinning lights.

Chapter Text

“Ace…” Police lights mixed like watercolors through his tears. Luffy’ stomach was in his throat and it choked him until his face turned red. “I’m sorry…” He cried, “I’m sorry— I’m really sorry.” Ace pulled him away from the window by the hand. Every step felt awkward. Every joint in Luffy’s body was locking up like he had cement drying under his knees. From the parking lot, an orchestra of trunks and car doors were being opened and shut. The chirping police radios’ sounded exactly like they would from the back seat of a squad car. Luffy dragged his wrist over his runny nose. “I’m sorry–“

“What are you sorry for?” 

“I’m weak– I-I’m so weak...” He said it like he was confessing to putting a knife in his brother’s back, “I don’t want you to talk to them. A-and I can’t help–I can’t protect–you–I-I don’t know what to do–tell me what to do–” 

It didn't take long with Ace– it rarely did. The longer Luffy went on, the more he seemed to compose himself. His shoulders settled and when he knelt down on his knees, Luffy was about a foot taller than him. Ace smudged at his tear soaked face with his thumbs and the sides of his palm. It was done in such calm, autopilot, the tears could have been over something as routine as a bad dream. “Give it a few more years.” He said, “I have no doubt you’ll need to come to my rescue eventually. For now though– For right now, that is not your job, Lu.” They didn't share the same blood but Luffy still ended up with Ace’s smile. Just one out of a thousand things Luffy borrowed from him. “Sakazuki must be pretty terrified of me if he needed an army just to show up here, have you thought about that?”

“Y-you’re so full of it.” 

“I need you to wait here. Don’t open this door for anybody you think might be full of shit– especially the police. If they want to come up and they’re not acting like a bunch of freaks , I’ll unlock the door myself. Otherwise, stay put.”

Luffy's voice was muffled against his shoulder while Ace hugged him. “I’m scared they’re gonna do something horrible to you.”

“I’ve got Pops and Marco watching my back. I’ll be fine." It cracked something in Ace’s psyche, to untangle Luffy’s trembling hands from his shirt. Pain bleached the look in his glassy eyes. Luffy followed a few trembling steps behind, while Ace made his way to the front door. He pulled his laces tight. Ace hammered the toe of his boot against the floor until his ankle monitor shifted down his leg the way he wanted. “There’s no running away… Where the hell am I running? I’ve got half my family here. Let your big brother handle this.” Ace separated his apartment key from its carabiner. He swiveled on his heel to point an index finger directly at Luffy on his way out, “Lock the deadbolt behind me. I love you, okay?”

“Okay…” Luffy’s lip trembled, “I love you too.” 

Newgate was a mountain outside the front steps of his auto shop.

It wasn't the squad cars that scared him, it was the SUV’s with bullet proof tires and tinted black windows. Boots hit the ground; six pairs of them from one truck alone. Buckles were fastened. Magazine cartridges snapped into sleek black rifles. The police worked like ants; scrambling around with their eyes hidden beneath the brim of their helmets.

The last time Sengoku had set foot on Newgate’s property, he’d been a cop. Cleaning up Rodger’s mess for the past several decades made a federal agent out of him. Now, he broke out of his swarm of soldiers wearing slacks and a crisp white shirt beneath his bullet proof vest.

The snap of Edward Newgate’s lighter would be the first sound exchanged between them. “Isn't that a shame…” Cigarette smoke seeped from his lips while he spoke, “That gate has stood around my property since the day I bought it… Just to get run down by a police van.” He grimaced. “I’m sad that’s how you want this to go, Sengoku.”

The agent wasn't built like his soldiers. He didn't have the predator's stare they had; not behind those thick framed glasses. “Mr. Newgate, I will make this quick so long as your people stay out of the way.” Sengoku presented him with a document three pages long and fine, fine print. “That’s a search warrant, Sir. Your employee and tenant is the subject of a federal investigation–“

“I’m well aware.” The paragraphs of text weren't possible to read without his glasses, still Newgate could recognize the auto shop’s address at the top of the page. “...One hell of a warrant. Your boys look like they’re armed for a gunfight.”

“Can’t be too careful.”

Newgate flicked ash onto the asphalt between them. “There’s a child on the second floor of the shop. You won’t tear this place apart with him inside.”

“It’s important we conduct our search of the property exactly as we find it. You can’t be running in and out of the building, moving whatever you like.” From the radio on Sengoku’s shoulder, a staticy, incoherent code was spoken.

“He’s twelve years old, Sengoku– you’ve got cops holding automatic firearms.”

“Garp’s kid is of no interest to me right now. You should be more concerned with the state of your business Mr. Newgate.” Sengoku called his shadows into action. A team of six marched past them and flooded the front office of the shop. They swung the front door open so hard the little brass bell hit the ceiling.

Newgate followed the current of boots storming inside. Immediately, they split into groups. Some stayed behind to tear the office apart while more crowded through the break room, eager to reach the connecting garage.

It was mostly incoherent, the warnings and orders they shouted before kicking open doors; like a pack of dogs all barking at once. Cabinet drawers were torn open so hard, they fell straight off their tracks. Paperwork slid off the counter in avalanches. 

A particularly aggressive young officer hacked at a door handle until he could kick it open. “Captain Akainu!” He called out, breathless from all the effort, “The garage is right through here, Sir!”

Akainu . The sound of Sakazuki’s police academy pet name had Newgate turning towards the door. On cue and center stage of his own show, Police Captain (Akainu) Sakazuki strolled through the auto shop’s front doors. 

He was dressed in black. His tactical vest made his chest look inflated with the amount of gear packed into its pockets. Sakazuki looked calm and well prepared with a rifle held proudly in his hands and three loyal officers at his side. They led him into the garage and he looked pleased to notice both Sengoku and Whitebeard were quick to follow him. 

The captain smiled, “Good morning.” Sakazuki spoke like a politician; calm, controlled and so far removed from reality, he almost sounded inhuman. “I’m sure you know who we’re looking for, Mr. Newgate.” 

The cops flipped any switch they came across and one at a time, the lights above their heads illuminated the garage. 

Whitebeard abandoned his cigarette. It was hardly halfway to the filter and he crushed it; smothered the thing into the heel of his shoe. He’d lost his fucking appetite. “What the hell do you need a gun like that for?”

“Newgate…” Sengoku warned. 

“It’s for my own protection.”

“I’ll respect the search warrant. If you decide to make an arrest– I’ll let you make your fucking arrest. But, you have no reason to point a gun at anybody in my home.”

Sakazuki stepped forward, a bit energized by the defiance, “You’ve got no power as the property owner. We have legal permission to be here and execute this investigation to the fullest degree. And, truthfully, as far as your employee, Portgas D. Ace is concerned…” He knew what he was doing. Sakazuki chose his words carefully just to see how overprotective the senile old man would be. The deep drawl of his voice spoke as if he had been reciting poetry, “The electronic tag I put on that boy’s ankle makes him mine. I’ll do what I like with him.”

When Newgate turned to face the police captain again, his shoulders cast a shadow from the work light behind him. Like a bear on its hind legs blocking out the moon. He felt sick to look that man in the eyes. It was the fact that he could– that the officer who assaulted his boy was nearly his height and his weight. One step forward had Sakauzki shuffling back and springing his rifle up to attention. Newgate’s voice rumbled through his chest. “You don’t want to experience what I’m willing to be arrested for, boy. Watch your mouth–”

“Is that right?”

A whistle, sharp enough to call a dog from ten miles away, cut through the air between them. Ace had pulled the apartment door closed until it clicked. He descended the metal staircase slowly, with his hands perfectly visible. “It’s alright, Pops... Don’t let this piece of shit under your skin.” 

Sakazuki’s controlled expression slipped– just for a moment and Newgate would have missed it had it been anyone else. The captain looked wired behind his eyes. Thrilled. “If it isn't Helen of Troy.”

Ace’s eyes jumped around the garage, collecting information. These cops weren't even dressed in uniform, their badges simply dangled from chains around their necks. Ace was eager to put himself in front of his boss– all of which Sakazuki found bizarre. It was only for the older adults to witness, but there was every bit of Rodger’s defiance behind that boy’s eyes. “Get the gun out of my dad’s face, Sakazuki.” 

Quietly, Sengoku agreed with him. While Ace was too adrenaline fueled to notice, it was the agent who tapped the barrel of Sakazuki’s rifle back towards the ground. 

Ace was everything Garp said he was when he was angry. His breath felt hot in his lungs. The very concept of this piece of shit threatening his family enraged him beyond logic and swallowing it all made him look ill. “If you want to talk to someone, it should be me.” 

“Once my search is through, I’ll be happy to put you in handcuffs. We’ll have plenty of time to talk, Ace.”

The auto shop has never seen such unkindness.

Most of the officers gave a half decent performance searching. They emptied tool boxes and tore apart supply shelves like there was a bomb for them to find. Others were a little more brazen in what it was they were actually there to do. A man half hidden beneath his helmet, kicked a work table over with one heavy swing of his boot. He sent it tumbling into the door of a client’s Volkswagen and it dented the steel with a high pitch crack .

“You motherfuckers…” Ace hissed after them. You dumb fucks– There’s nothing here!” 

Agent Sengoku read aloud over the sound of chaos, “Edward Newgate, by the authority of Judge Bartholomue Kuma, your property is to be searched for illegal substances, unlicensed firearms, or any evidence of trade on the black market. Interfering with the police’s work will end with immediate arrest. Stay out of the way.”

From the break room, a cop wielding large metal pliers ripped locks off lockers. He dug through each one, emptying their contents on the floor at his feet. Huratta’s budding manga collection was walked over while Sakazuki conducted his soldiers like Neptune conducting a hurricane. Thatch’s bluetooth speaker was hurled into the wall behind him. Something glass from Izou’s locker shattered. 

“There should be eyes on this computer!” He gestured his gun towards Newgate’s office and his loyal dogs came running. An officer with enough seniority to earn a few extra stars on her shoulder took a seat at the desk. She pushed a USB drive into the computer tower.

Sakazuki couldn't explain why the collage of photographs in the old man’s office irritated him so much. It was uncomfortable to see these criminals, these violent, blood spilling bastards who made his city so unsafe look happy– charading as a family– it was insulting to the people whose lives Rodger ruined. 

Whitebeard wasn't even in the room, he was busy keeping Ace quiet and his hands to himself and still, Sakazuki felt compelled to rip a few glass frames off their hooks and hurl them at the busted lockers in the break room.

When the captain returned to the garage, he could appreciate Ace’s rapidly deteriorating sanity. This feral thing Rodger left behind, looked somehow both on the verge of tears or ripping someone’s throat out. It was like watching Cerberus still in his infancy.

Whitebeard wrestled to keep a grip on Ace’s arm. “What did I tell you!? What did I just tell you!?”

“They’re screwing us!” His voice cracked, “You want me to stand here and watch them destroy this place!?”

“That’s exactly what you’re gonna do!”

“This is– it’s your entire life, Pops!”

Newgate dragged the boy a few feet out of an officer's walking path, “You think I give a damn about anything in this building besides the people in it? These are things , Ace– they’re just things !”

Though he couldn't go far with Newgate’s hand around his arm, Ace twisted his upper body to yell over his shoulder at the cop poking and prodding around the hydraulic lift. “You’re gonna crush your hand under that! You dumb-fucking-jack-ass!! You have no idea what you’re touching!” 

Whitebear pulled on his arm again, “That’s enough! Leave them alone.”

“Where the hell is Marco?”

“Following your orders, I’m sure.” 

“Captain Akainu!” An officer trotted past their field of view to Sakazuki’s side. In his hands, he held a bundle wrapped so completely with duct tape, it appeared entirely silver. “I found this inside that motorcycle, Sir.”

If Ace had run with Whitebeard ten years ago, he would have been able to recognize what it was. Instead, he stared, dumbfounded at Sakauzki’s pocket knife. The cop cut open the duct tape package and scraped fine white powder onto his blade. “You found this stashed inside which bike?” 

There was only one. Ace curled his lip up, disgusted. “You didn't find shit in my bike.” He spat, “What the hell is that? I don’t do that shit.”

Sakazuki pulled his thumb out of the glove of his stronger hand. The powder stuck to the pads of his finger tips easily and when he tasted it, the substance sent little electric sparks across his gums. 

“You know that doesn't belong to me.” Ace turned to look at Sengoku– he wanted to make sure they both looked him in the eyes, “You know!” 

“I’ve heard about a hundred scumbags tell me the same thing, Ace.” Sakazuki imitated him, almost fondly, “That doesn't belong to me…” The captain dropped off the little brick in Sengoku’s hand. “It wouldn't be the first time I've seen a mechanic hide drugs in a vehicle. It’s incredibly common. Besides… Marshall D. Teach claims you’ve sold illegal substances out of this building before. It looks like that theory holds some water now.”

Ace released a bitter laugh hearing that name. “My good friend, Teach said that ? What else did he tell you?”

“I’m not sure you want to open up that conversation. He’s claiming you assaulted him over a video playing from his phone.” Sakazuki liked the way Ace’s eyes got a little sharper. He liked the way his shoulders settled back down like a dog who’d just decided not to lunge. “I told you… we have a lot to talk about and plenty of time to do it, boy.” The captain made his way towards Striker.

Ace didn't respond to his name when Newgate tried to redirect his attention. The twenty year old was already biting at Sakazuki’s heels, “Stay away from my motorcycle.”

“Why is it open like that?” Sakazuki asked, “Clearly, we interrupted something.”

“I was–” It certainly wouldn't look good to admit he was anticipating being arrested tonight, would it? “...It’s just maintenance.”

“This late at night?”

“You can’t possibly tell me it’s suspicious to have a half assembled bike in an auto shop’s garage–” His argument was cut short. Sakazuki stole the air right out of his lungs the moment he touched Striker’s handlebar. “...I’ll take it apart for you.” Ace was negotiating now, “You can watch me– I can open up whatever you want.”

“Ace...” Sakazuki mused.

“I took out the battery– It’s just the battery.” He remembered the baton from Sakazuki’s belt once he saw it again. It looked heavy just in the way the captain choked up his fist around the handle. 

Striker’s right side mirror came off like it was some kind of toy. One swing of the bat sent the mirror and its frame bouncing across the garage floor. “I’d like to have a look myself. Just to be sure.”

The other officer’s– Agent Sengoku specifically looked surprised, though no one took any measure to stop him.

Ace thought himself as a coward for looking away. Only for that first real strike against the gas tank, he couldn't stomach to watch. He turned his shoulders— half collided with Newgate and fully jumped at the sound of metal crunching.

Sakazuki blew his baton into the motorcycle. He pounded a crater into the gas tank. The bike toppled from its kickstand. 

That motorcycle had never even been dropped before. Its shiny exhaust pipes had never touched concrete and Sakazuki warped them out of shape with every furious swing of his bat. The back fender couldn't take the abuse, Its edge was hammered against the wheel beneath it. The police hadn't been prepared for the ear ringing bang that was a tire blowing out– the entire room jumped.

Ace couldn't close his mouth. Sakazuki’s rampage was blind. He had no concept of what he was smashing. He had no idea that Striker’s gas tank had Sabo’s handwriting in marker on the underside. Or that the back foot pegs were custom installed to Luffy’s height. He had no idea the chrome cover that wrapped around Striker’s headlight used to belong on Whitebeard’s bike more than a decade ago. Ace built Striker when he was sixteen. There were four years of his life in every mis-matching bolt.

Sakazuki poked around the wreckage for organs. He braced his knee on the ground and beat the engine until one of the cylinders split off. The garage had gone silent while he worked hard to catch his breath. Sakazuki pulled at the hot collar of his vest. He took his time standing up.

Ace was very still. If he could hear Newgate trying to console him, he certainly didn’t act like it. His mechanic’s brain went wild diagnosing everything at his feet. Scrap metal– if a client had brought him this, he’d call it scrap metal.

Disappointment pulled at the corners of Sakazuki’s mouth. “Nothing to say, Rodger’s boy?” The eyes that jumped up to meet him were piercing, though Ace didn't say a word. “Looks like you were right. I don’t see anything else in there.” 

Agent Sengoku hid his mouth behind his fist while he considered Ace’s underwhelming reaction. It wasn't what Sakazuki promised him. “Doesn't matter,” he mumbled. “He’s done. Let’s get on with this. Read him his rights.” 

Ace was quiet while he was arrested. Again– while he was detained again. 

“You are being placed under arrest for the possession and suspected selling of illegal substances, menacing a police officer, and interfering with an investigation at the federal level. All of which are in violation of your parole agreement.” Sakazuki never asked him to get on his knees, he took pleasure in driving his boot into the back of Ace’s leg. He dropped forward without a sound. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

Somehow, the clicking of the handcuffs weren’t as loud as Newgate’s voice, tearing into the federal agent like he could smite him with Zues’s lighting. “You won’t find his finger prints on whatever the hell you’re trying to plant!!” Newgate ignored the officer’s visibility unsettled by the rage in his voice, “You really think I’m going to let this stand, Sengoku? If you don’t take responsibility for the shit police work in this city, I fucking will!” 

“Pops–” Ace’s voice was one note, “It’s okay.” He stared at the corpse of his bike. He craned his head to see it from where Sakazuki held him. It wasn’t easy to put a dent in steel. It was physical. Taxing, to mutilate something like that. 

Now, there were cops at the top of the metal staircase, testing the deadbolt’s strength on his apartment’s front door. This psychopath wanted access to his home, access to his brother. 

Both Ace and the commanding officers were realizing it at the same time; why destroying the bike didn't summon that feral animal who crippled Sakazuki’s hand with a police bat two years ago. Only in comparison to Luffy, Striker was worthless. So long as that kid wasn't being threatened, this was the kind of docile behavior they could expect. 

Sakazuki was rough in the way he twisted Ace’s wrists behind his back and pointedly invasive in the way he searched his pockets. That being said, the apartment key being somewhere between his sock and his ankle monitor ment Sakazuki wouldnt find anything valuable. “Are you under the influence of any drugs or alcohol?” 

Ace huffed, “No.” Sakazuki retrieved a narrow flashlight from the velcro on his belt and held it fist down in Ace’s face. He snapped it on with his thumb and the blinding, white light burned his eyes like it’d been pepper spray. Ace tore his head to the side on reflex. The string of curses that followed were only half coherent and ended along the lines of, “-You-cock-sucking-piece-of-shit.”

“Light sensitive?” Sakazuki asked him. “You think you could pass a breathalyzer test right now?”

“I’m sure you’d pull a number out of your ass if I did.”

“Is that your apartment up there?” Whatever Ace mumbled in response was too quiet to understand, so Sakazuki eagerly pressed on, “Ace,” He said, “You’re being spoken to.”

“Yes.” He kept his eyes closed while he waited for the gray splotches under his eyelids to fade away. “That’s my apartment.” 

The cop at the front door had been given a battering ram. It was compact and built for a single person to hold. She sent a crack running down the apartment’s front door in just one swing.

“You’re hiding that kid aren't you?”

“From the kind civil servants of the police force?” Ace hissed, “Why would I do that?”

“Last time I checked, Monkey D. Luffy isn't supposed to be living here.”

“Take that up with Garp.” 

Sakazuki smirked, “It’s not surprising to me that Dragon’s fucked up kid attached himself to Rodger’s. Is that why you play house with him?”

“Play house…” Ace echoed. He could hear his heart beating in his ears now. “You’re out of your fucking mind…”

Sakazuki’s voice was born for public speaking. His next orders echoed across the garage like he was giving a sermon. He pointed up towards the apartment. “When that door is smashed off its hinges, you will be entering a drug dealer’s den! People like this are not reasonable! If he has allies hiding in that attic, they will pull the trigger while you hesitate! I want to see you boys wide awake in there! Is that clear!?”

Yes Sir rang out in a unified roar. 

“You sick piece of shit…!” Ace’s voice shook. For the first time that night, Sakazuki saw it. Something close to that homicidal spark behind his eyes. If Ace didn't already have a good reason to believe Luffy was with Marco right about now, he might have gotten himself shot trying to make a break for the stairs. Regardless, there was no scenario in which he could hear a threat against Luffy’s life and take it well. “You’re sick!!” Sakazuki struggled to keep him on his knees. “You’ll never get rid of me if you hurt him, Sakazuki. You’re gonna drown yourself in the Hudson River tryin’ to get my voice out of your head– do you understand me!? I’ll haunt you, motherfucker!!” Ace tore his body weight forward to scream at him, “Your problem should be with me!! He’s got nothing to do with the shit you’re trying to arrest me for!” He seethed through his teeth, between short breaths of air, “STAY AWAY FROM HIM–!”

Sakazuki forced him onto his stomach. It was a more aggressive hold for combatant arrestees and unbeknownst to Ace, whose memory was fairly shot– the same position he’d been handcuffed in the first time. That might have explained why the feeling of Sakazuki's heavy hand pushing the side of his face against the ground immediately blurred his vision with tears. 

The keys on Sakazuki’s belt rattled. He dropped his knee and most of his body weight against Ace’s back, square between his shoulder blades. The air in his lungs was pressed clean out of his chest.

Newgate couldn't watch it. He needed three offers to stand in his way and all they could really do was slow him down. 

Ace’s shoulders had frozen. His eyes got a little bit wider. For more than forty years, Whitebeard had protected this place and the people inside. What the hell kind of a father was he if he couldn't keep one kid safe? 

There just wasn't a single man strong enough to push Edward Newgate any step in a direction he didn't want to go. His cracked and scarred fist made a collar around Sakazuki’s throat. He threw him backwards with all the force of a freight train. 

The next ten seconds were a hurricane. There was a scramble to separate them and the threats Sakazuki hurled at Whitebeard drowned out Sengoku’s attempts to regain order. 

“Do something– FIRE!!” Reaching for his dropped weapon, disoriented, with the coppery taste of blood on his teeth, Sakazuki yelled, “OPEN FIRE!”

Then, all at once, the overhead lights shut off, blanketing the entire garage in darkness. There was a mechanical ticking above their heads, then the spray of cold water and the pounding of gunshots.

Earlier…

Even from behind the building, Marco could see stripes of red and blue lights that reached all the way to the back fence. 

This was a fucking disaster. 

He considered he might need to sneak into the apartment. Had Marco lowered the fire escape ladder hours ago, he could have been in and out in under three minutes. 

Whitebeard was right, Ace had him acting like he was twenty three– a complete moron. What the hell was he thinking? Vulnerable, passionate, first-time-together sex was exactly the tone to set before a police raid. Ace should be fucking pissed at him.

Marco’s sandals shuffled dirt off the bottom of the window ledge. After living up there for a few years, he’d developed this entrence route that truly only worked for him. Nobody under six foot three would have the wingspan to climb the side of the building like this. 

The reach from the window ledge to the bottom bar of the ladder was precarious and despite feeling five years too young to be doing it, Marco managed. Rust flaked off on his hands while he climbed onto the creaky metal platform at the top. 

He went back and forth between knocking on the locked window and cupping his hands against the glass to try and get a glimpse of what was going on inside. 

Within a minute, he noticed a shadow moving. Marco was met with Luffy’s tear stained face and red puffy eyes a few seconds after that. The kid struggled with the window lock before pulling it open about three inches to look at him through the gap. “Hi…”

“Hi.” Marco knelt down. He spoke through the opening he was permitted and did his best not to look as out of breath as he felt. “...Can I come in?”

“…Yeah.” It was not easy nor was it natural to fit all six-foot-whatever of himself through that narrow, city-standard-sized window. Luffy held it open as high as he could. “What’s going on?” His voice was thick in his throat, “This looks really bad.”

The police boots shuffling around on the platform outside, had the metal staircase in a full blown roar.

“Yeah, it’s not good, Luffy– put your shoes on.” If this had been the three police cars they were expecting, he might have been able to eavesdrop for a little while. But, Marco didn't need his ear pressed against the door. Newgate’s voice roared over the sound of whatever hurricane was ripping apart the auto shop. 

Luffy struggled to get his heel into his sneaker. “Why are they doing this? What's happening downstairs!?”

“They probably have a search warrant… The police are raiding the building for any reason to arrest Ace.”

“What if they find something?”

Marco moved through the apartment with great intention. He’d only stopped to make eye contact with Luffy– sacrificing a few seconds to make one point very clear, “This entire thing is a circus. They want an excuse to attack your brother. They want an excuse to attack Whitebeard, and they want to attack the shop. There’s nothing to find Luffy. They’re cheating.” He grabbed a pair of Ace’s work gloves from the coffee table and pulled them on. “We’re gonna climb down the fire escape together, okay? It’s not safe in the building right now.” 

“ What ?!” Luffy’s voice had enough, it crackled like hot tinder. “We need to go to the garage! Ace is with that freak cop from two years ago! I— I remember his voice.”

The front door pulsed on its hinges when it took the first strike of the battering ram. A deep crack ran vertical up the grain.

“I promise, I’ll give Sakazuki a piece of my mind. But, I gave your brother my word, I’d take care of you first.” There was a shallow cabinet on the wall half hidden behind the TV stand. Luffy only ever saw Ace touch it after he’d blown a fuse. Marco tore the door open like there was money inside. “Armored police vans…” He mumbled to himself, “They’ve gotta be fucking kidding me with that.” He used his forearm to snap eight heavy plastic black switches down at once. After that, he turned a wide, red lever on its side. A distant motor stopped whirring.

“What did you just do!?” Then, there were gunshots– a ringing of an automatic weapon snapped through the air. It was possibly the loudest sound Luffy had ever heard; sharp pops that seemed to crack the atmosphere.

Luffy’s feet came right off the ground after that. Marco lifted him from the waist and carried him to the window. Whatever was devolving in the garage was too muffled to get a clear picture out of.

Marco threw the ladder out of its locked position. The iron screeched on its way down. The bottom legs crashed against the asphalt below and bounced on its rusty tracks.

Marco put Luffy’s trembling hands on the ladder bars. The kid could hardly close his fist enough to grab it “One at a time.” Marco urged, “You’re alright Luffy, one at a time.” Carefully, they descended the fire escape. 

There were no warnings. No one demanding whoever might be in that apartment better get the hell down. Glass rained over Marco’s shoulders before his feet were on the ground. 

Luffy covered his ears for the barrage of gunfire. He couldn't make sense of it all– His apartment window was above his head just a couple of seconds ago and now there was glass at his feet. 

“We’re still moving.” Marco reminded him and caught Luffy by the wrist. Instead of wrapping around the building, back towards the garage, Marco took him to where his Subaruwas was parked; halfway in a bush and out of the glow of the floodlights. “You’ve got to wait here. I’ll come get you after the police have left.” 

Luffy’s sneakers slowed down until he was dragging them over the asphalt. When he pulled on the wrist Marco had a grip on, it became very apparent how negotiable the next thirty seconds were about to be. “No way.” He stared up at Marco; his brother’s new boyfriend who felt he had the authority to tell him what to do. Luffy’s indignation was perfectly visible through all the tears in his eyes, “No way! I can’t stay here while Ace gets shot at!! Are you crazy!?” Unfortunately, Marco wasn't moved by this argument. Luffy scrambled backwards and halfway through his legs after the blond opened his car door, “We don’t know if he’s hurt!! I need to get to the garage!!” Marco lifted the middle schooler from under his arms and all but dropped him into the back seat. “I can’t stay here! I won’t , Marco!!”

The door shut in his face and all the noise of the sirens and chaos were instantly muted. He looked pissed– he looked like his brother. The orange tail lights blinked while Marco locked his car. Luffy was offered an apologetic little smirk through the window and while Marco’s voice was muffled, he was still perfectly distinguishable. “Good luck opening that door. You’ll never guess who installed my security system.”

“Marco!!”

“Just hang tight. The adults are gonna handle this one, okay? 

Marco returned to the front parking lot where police cars waited. 

Agent Sengoku had moved outside with a handful of his officers and their first successful arrest. They had Edward Newgate in handcuffs.

Sengoku’s face had turned red. He couldn't get enough air out in every raged order. Those who were close enough to hear, listened. “Do we have the whereabouts of the boy!?” Sengoku hissed, “He may still be hiding up there– check closets! Laundry bins!”

Several officers, the largest bodies Sengoku had, struggled to get Whitebeard into a police car. Narrow rivers of blood twisted down the left side of his face. Whether it was a blunt object or a bullet that’d gone dangerously close to his temple, wasn't clear. The old man took labored breaths before expelling what little energy he had to berate Sengoku. “I made it clear to you–” He thundered, “There was a child in that apartment and you allowed gun fire!?”

Sengoku ignored him. Truthfully– he didn't allow it. 

Captain Sakazuki didn't seem to understand the art of subtlety. Baiting Portgas D. Ace into a violent fit that would justify shooting him dead– that was doable. Releasing a hail storm of bullets into an apartment with a child inside– that was a lawsuit. 

Sengoku held his radio in a tight fist, close to his mouth. “Captain Sakazuki, I want you out here with Portgas D. Ace detained and in front of me!” He was met with nothing but static. 

“Hey, Pops!”

The sound of Marco’s voice in that moment could have brought him to tears. Luffy had to be safe if Marco was there and frankly, he couldn't believe they’d gotten this far considering how things started. Newgate stopped walking just short of ducking into the squad car in front of him. “Thank-fucking-god– Marco, are you alright?” 

Unlike the younger officers, Sengoku recognized the blond almost immediately. Had it been anyone else charging through his investigation, they wouldn't have made it more then three feet. Fortunately, he had an interest in hearing from Newgate’s supposedly ‘retired’ right hand man. “You want to tell me where the hell Garp’s boy is?” 

“We’re both fine–” Marco spat, “I go on one good date in the last ten years and the FBI is trying to fucking slaughter him– but I’m fine. I feel good.”

Sengoku had more questions chasing the first. He wanted to know how long Marco had been on the property– If he was admitting to hiding Luffy from the police– none of it mattered, Marco’s interest in the government agent was laughable. He addressed Newgate instead, “What the hell happened to you!?” 

“Sakazuki’s not keeping his badge after this. He’s gone off the fucking deep end… Ace behaved. I’m the one who lost my shit.” 

Marco couldn't care less; who stuck to the plan and who didn't. He twisted to look back at the distracted, frazzled police force, “Has no one called a fucking ambulance!? This man is bleeding!!”

“Oh– spare me– you need to find Ace! ” The officers struggling to duck Newgate’s head into the squad car were losing their patience. “I’ll make some calls– I’ll be fine.” Newgate hurried to say, “That little stunt with the lights and the sprinklers– it sent everybody into a panic! Sengoku’s lost control– Sakazuki is making his own decisions!”

Sengoku scoffed at the audacity, “He’s not stepping foot in that building– it’s a crime scene at this point.” 

Marco practically snarled at him, “If you followed the rules of your own search warrant you could have had it your way–” The real veterans of Rodger’s era considered Marco one of theirs. And even then, Newgate hadn't been expecting his eyes to look like that. He wasn't angry. He looked like a man who had finally seen a glimpse of the life he wanted and the next wrong decision would tear it all right out of his hands. “Arresting him wasn't enough, right!? So– you want me to go in there and clean up your mess or would you prefer answering questions from the press about the unarmed-twenty year old your cops killed!?” Marco wasn't waiting for an answer. He pushed past him, he checked the edge of Sengoku’s shoulder to make a B-line for the auto shop.

“I don’t care if that boy walks out in handcuffs!” Newgate called after him, “I just want to see him walk out!” 

“I got it–” While Marco had direct orders, it was one hell of a problem to stand in his way. Sengoku might not have wanted his hands any more filthy than they already were but Marco never minded blood under his nails. “I’m all over it. I’ll get him.”

His ears were still ringing from the shots that had gone off. 

Ace kicked against the ground to push himself further from the chaos. The sprinklers felt like rain against his back. He tore at his handcuffs. He twisted deep bruises into his skin trying to free his dominant wrist. Ace was the very last person who should be running around in the dark, dodging bullets with his hands tied behind his back. He was enough of a concussion risk as it was. 

Sengoku’s yelling had grown distant now. Newgate, he couldn't hear at all. Instead, there was a thunderstorm raging from the apartment above his head. 

Two frantic young officers nearly ran over him without so much as looking down. But, nobody grabbed him. Nobody seemed to realize where he was under the cover of darkness and the ringing of the fire alarm. Ace sat up on his knees. 

Without a doubt, it was the metallic sprinkler water acting as a lubricant. Still, when he got lucky like this, he preferred to give his mother the credit. The torn skin down the knuckle of his thumb was hardly a price to pay. Ace ripped his right hand out of the bracelet behind his back, leaving the rest of the handcuff dangling from the other side. 

The mechanic didn't need light, he followed the twisting cracks in the concrete down into the vehicle bay. The graveyard of destroyed projects provided cover. More valuable than that, was the back door on the far side wall. It was heavy and squeaky on its hinges, there was no quiet way out of the garage. 

Maybe he’d get lucky again and Marco would find him before Sakazuki did. That piece of work made him promise not to give up early and for once in his life Ace caught himself hoping for some kind of rescue. 

The back door must have been unlocked during the raid. It waited, ajar. The flood lights outside trickled through the gap and cut through the murky shadows of the garage. The exit was glowing for him. 

Ace must have been ten feet from the door when Sakazuki clotheslined him around the neck with his forearm. 

It was like being swallowed by a tidal wave. The kind that were as tall as skyscrapers when he was a little kid that threw him off his feet. He might as well have weighed nothing at all. 

Ace’s back hit the concrete wall a fraction of a second before his head. Grainy spider veins flashed behind his eyelids. 

Ace cried out. He curled forward immediately, his hands clamoring for the back of his head. tension squeezed around his temples like he was deep underwater— like his skull should have caved in. 

Sakazuki didn't hold onto him. He felt Ace get suddenly heavy in his arm and allowed his dead weight to slide down the wall. “There we go…” He said, “That’s enough, Gol. You've had enough.”

Ace watched Sakazuki’s steel toed boots turn through a puddle of water gathering on the ground. 

He knew Sakazuki was hoping to kill him tonight but now that it was happening. Now that his consciousness felt scattered and the room was spinning, alone on the floor of the garage, he wanted to live. He needed help. 

Ace hadn't felt safe in his body in years. He hated Rodger’s blood under his skin. He hated how exhausting it was just to keep his chest off the ground. He told himself he had a concussion like he was scolding a dog. Scrap metal. Irreparable. The ringing in his ear would never stop for all Ace fucking knew, his skull was filling with blood.

He expected Sakazuki to acknowledge the handcuffs he’d half torn himself out of– or reach for them at least. But Ace listened to the clicking of a loaded magazine instead. “Uh-huh.” Sakazuki replied into his radio, “Not without me. I want to be the one who tells Sengoku where the body is.” 

Ace struggled to his knees first, then up on his feet. He was in the business of buying himself seconds now. If it wasn't so obvious on his lost expression that the floor was spinning, the captain might have tried to stop him. Ace took roughly two steps away from Sakazuki before his right knee buckled. He looked drunk. He felt poisoned. Sakazuki watched the boy stagger– somewhat on his hands and knees, behind the cover of a black toyota. “No– no. Give me a few minutes.” Sakazuki continued into his radio, “I need the entrance wound to look right.”

The front office had been the first thing run through and long abandoned by Sengoku’s retreating officers. Distant security lights created odd shadows out of the toppled furniture.

In the threshold that separated the break room from the garage, only one officer stood guard. He wore aviators despite it being too early for the sun to have risen. The name Borsalino was embroidered across the back of his tactical vest and he held a rifle tucked neatly beneath his right arm. 

He could hear Sakazuki tormenting the boy. When his captain crossed in front of the red emergency light’s glow, he could even see where Ace had been cornered. 

“Mr. Kizaru–” The federal agent’s voice jumped out of the radio on his shoulder, “What the hell is going on in there!? I’ve got my hands full with Whitebeard and Akainu is nowhere to be found!” 

“Hm.” The officer was in no rush to answer him. And despite the frustration and desperate urgency in Sengoku’s voice, Kizaru took his time to find the ‘talk’ button. “Portgas is being detained right now. Captain Akainu feels he can still give us the ending we wanted.” 

“This is blatant disobedience…” Sengoku told him, “Newgate might have the grounds to shut this entire thing down– we need to clear out of here before city police start showing up and asking questions. I want your entire team outside in the next three minutes or I swear to you Sir– you’ll all be discharged!!” 

Perhaps if Kizaru hadn't been so focused on buying his captain more time, he would have noticed. There was a shadow crawling towards his feet. The police, still searching the apartment, pounded against the wooden floor with their boots and it all disguised the sound of approaching footsteps.

Marco stood like a ghost behind Kizaru’s back. His sandals were staggered apart, his eyes wide like it might help him focus better in the dark. Honestly, he wasn't sure how he’d compare against someone trained like this. He was out of practice. The last punch Marco had thrown in the past four years was at Teach and that was hardly a fight.

Slowly, he lowered his center of gravity. Marco grappled Kizaru around the waist, he pinned the cop’s right arm against his side and with all the power he had in his legs and his hips, ripped him to the ground. 

Dust shot past his head. 

“A few decibels louder than a motorcycle engine, right?” Sakazuki fired a few experimental shots into the car Ace had taken cover behind. The bullets sent orange sparks, dancing across the garage floor. The sound was deafening. It echoed off the cement walls and Ace swore that alone was going to kill him. 

His back was pressed up against the front grill of a 2016 Toyota whose owner was unknowingly waiting for one hell of a phone call. There were countless car parts scattered across the garage. Ace white knuckled a chrome pipe a few inches shorter than a baseball bat and a few pounds heavier. Water and sweat ran down the bridge of his nose. It dripped off his bangs.

Sakazuki’s drawl, permeated through the air of the vehicle bay. “I didn’t think you were the type to hide… Considering who your father is, I expected a little dignity.” He might have heard Ace chuckle at that. “And the blond you’ve managed to wrap around your finger, why haven't I seen him tonight?” 

“You think I’m worth all this trouble?” 

“I think you know how to manipulate a person into acting irrationally.” 

“Maybe.” Ace mumbled, “Marco can get pretty fucking irrational when he’s pissed off… You’ve really made his shit list now…” 

“All the people in this city and it’s you who brings that psychopath out of retirement.” 

“Go t’hell…” Ace strained to hear Sakazuki’s footsteps as the distance closed between them. Sabo would be picking out flowers for his funeral if he wasn't the one to swing first.

“You’re gonna bleed Whitebeard dry with the kind of legal protection you’ll need.” He’d been hoping to find Ace half capacitated on the ground. but It wasn't the first time Sakazuki underestimated him. Rodger’s son came out from cover like he should have been foaming at the mouth. Ace’s boots kicked water across the floor. He pushed himself off the ground with his hands. He launched forward and upper cut the pipe across Sakazuki’s body. Ace sent the rifle spinning across the concrete and for a decimal of a second, thought he’d bought himself enough time to make a run for it.

But no good cop only carried one gun.

The shattering pain in his right arm could have been to blame. He only grazed him. Sakazuki missed his chest and shot Ace across the shoulder with a pistol pulled off his belt.

Ace rolled onto his back. He clutched his arm, hissing, cursing, kicking himself back several feet. “Fuck–” He gasped, “Ah– fuck. Fuck– You motherfucker… Choke on shit, you motherfucker–” Warm, red blood spilled from the broken flesh on his shoulder through his fingers. 

Sakazuki took aim again, his healthy hand supporting his trembling wrist, “You can give Rodger my regards.”

The creak of the rotting back door hinges announced his presence. After making an escape from Marco’s car, Luffy had gone searching for them. 

All he’d done was follow the noise. “Hey…” He took a breath, “Ace?”

The wet atmosphere in the garage smelled like copper. The side Ace propped himself up on trembled like a failing support beam. Luffy could count the amount of times he heard his brother's voice terrified on one hand. Horror hollowed out the look on his face the moment they made eye contact. “Get out of here—” Ace mangled his voice into something that was supposed to sound calm. It didn't last. “Get out of here Luffy, are you kidding me–” He ran out of air between his sentences. He’d fucking scream if he had too– whatever it took to make Luffy’s legs move. “I’m okay! I’m fine— go the fuck outside!! GET THE FUCK OUT!!” 

When Ace planted his hands flat on the concrete, one of them left a wet, red handprint behind. He felt like shit– he felt like throwing up. He felt like his body had grown exhausted with him abusing it and was desperately trying to kick him out. 

Luffy hardly blinked. His breath had grown so shallow that his shoulders stopped moving. His fingertips locked at his sides, and Luffy was watching him. His eyes were on Ace. 

“Hey Gol!” Sakzuki screamed so forcefully, spit sprayed off his teeth. “Eyes on me! Stay where you are!!”  

Ace pulled a sharp breath of air through his chest and planted one boot on the ground at a time. He braced his weight on his knees until he was balanced enough to stand on his own. That was simply the young man Dadan raised. The ceiling had better odds of crashing down on their heads before Ace would allow Luffy to see him flat on his back a second time. “Lu…” his voice shook, “You gotta listen to me, kiddo… Go outside… I’ll meet you outside.” 

Sakazuki’s eyes flickered back and forth between them; the feral coyote he cornered and the little deer caught in headlights. Ideally, Dragon's boy would have been quietly erased during the apartment raid. Shot in the dark without the bullet ever being found. Ideally, Luffy would have died, a victim to his brother’s lifestyle. The convict, the supposed violent drug dealer. He opened his mouth to say something but Ace’s voice jumped in front of him, “Sakazuki…” He didn't need his consciousness pulled together, every word out of his mouth was instinctive, “Not in front of him. 

Luffy’s knees looked like they were one wrong step from buckling. His hair soaked quickly under the sprinklers and clung to his red face. The sheer wideness of his eyes dwarfed the specks that were his pupils. He had every reason to be afraid of Sakazuki. 

All Luffy had done the night Sakazuki nearly ruined his life two years ago was cry. He screamed and wailed and begged Ace to do more. To fix it. Like he always did and it almost got him killed. Now, Sakazuki held a gun to his brother’s head like pulling the trigger would bring him honest relief. 

No, for all the fear Luffy had in his body for that piece of shit, there was far more rage. “Stop it–” Luffy sucked in a tight breath of air between his tears. “Stop–” And he screamed at Sakazuki like he had the authority of the police commissioner himself. “DON'T YOU DARE!!” 

It was his fault. All of it. It started with being the reason Ace never had much of an adolescence and went all the way past that broken porcelain vase. Luffy was grateful for the sacrifices. He had good grades and pictures from the middle school dance because Ace dropped out of highschool to work. He had the Strawhats because Ace burned through his savings to move them into the city. Luffy was more than grateful– but he’d taken enough from his brother. Sakazuki sure as hell wouldn't have one more damn thing from him. “You don’t get to decide!!” Luffy would have swung at the cop had he made it that far. He certainly tried to. Ace felt something pop in his shoulder while he grabbed the twelve year old around the back of his shirt. Luffy raged anyway, “That’s my big brother–you don’t get to decide he can’t live!! You have no fucking idea who you’re trying to kill!!”

Ace struggled with him, “Are you insane!!?”

There was no paying Ace back for the childhood he volunteered to give up. So, It just wouldn't be fair; if his brother never got to live past twenty. “Everyone in the shop depends on him– Every single one of us is gonna know what you did!!” The kid had gotten strong. He fought Ace off long enough to point a finger at Sakazuki’s face, “YOU’LL HAVE TO GO RIGHT THROUGH ME!!”

Before Ace could pull together the strength and balance to put Luffy behind him and before Sakazuki had the chance to enact whatever inspired the wide, cold stair behind his eyes, Marco, from the ground of the break room’s doorway, fired half a magazine of bullets running up the back of Sakazuki’s left leg.

He doubled back, clutching his hamstring. Sakazuki crumbled. 

Royal blue uniforms were filtering into the garage. They weren’t Segoku’s people. They looked like cops off the street. With yellow stripes down their pant legs and badges pinned to their chest. A man with silver hair and a fat cigar called out to his colleagues. He said they needed an ambulance; that Captain Akainu had been shot. 

Ace needed to get away from them– all of them. The sea of uniforms filling the dark auto shop made it feel like their ship was taking on water. Ace dragged Luffy a few clumsy steps back from where Sakazuki agonized on the ground. 

Marco called out to him from where he was picking himself up off the break room floor, “Tell me— you’re both okay!” 

“We’re okay!” Ace’s voice fractured a little more with each syllable. “We’re okay– Luffy almost got himself fucking–...” He wasnt breathing while he tried to finished that sentence, “—Fucking shot… But, we’re okay.” 

Luffy did everything he could to control Ace’s fall– he’d seen it coming, he felt the pressure on his shoulders get impossibly heavy just before Ace’s legs gave out. They both sank to the ground right where they’d been standing.

Ace didn’t watch the new platoon of officers peeling Sakazuki off the concrete. He couldn't care less. He held his aching head in his hands. While the police swarmed around them to clean up the mess, he scolded Luffy,  “Why in the fuck would you do that!? —What the fuck is wrong with you!? Lu– did you think he wouldn't shoot you!? He would have!!” Luffy had only seen Ace cry a handful of times in his life. Still, the creak in his voice was unmistakable. “What were you thinking...”

“Marco!!” Luffy's hands were the same color red that covered Ace’s arm and soaked through his shirt. “He’s really hurt!! I– I need help!!”

“You’re so grounded.” Ace mumbled, “You’re so fucking grounded...” 

Luffy hugged him and it was probably the last thing keeping him upright.