Chapter Text
She knew she was going to die.
Just like stupid Roger before her, Portugas D. Rouge could feel the weakness taking over her body, as she Willed her pregnancy to keep going, just another month, and then another month, and then another, for as long as it took for their child to be safe. Unlike stupid Roger, however, she wasn’t doing it because she was afraid of a sickbed or being forgotten by history: she was doing it for far, far bigger reasons.
For love. And for spite.
For unconditional love for the child Rouge never thought she would have, the child they had not planned but that came to them anyway, the child that she decided deserved the world the moment she realized he or she was growing inside her belly.
(She had her head halfway inside the toilet and puking like not even the worst hangover had ever forced her before. Stupid Roger was pulling her short hair back from her face, and while it was a nice gesture and all, she quickly lost her patience with his fussing and kicked him out of the bathroom. Literally.)
Yes, for this child that was innocent of their parents’ crimes, Portugas D. Rouge would make Time, Nature and Fate all bow to her Will, because she loved them. She loved him or her wholeheartedly. And that was all there was to it.
As for the other mothers in Baterilla, for the dozens of women, children and babies that were mercilessly, cruelly hunted by the Marines and put down like dogs in the name of their so-called Justice, she would endure out of sheer spite. The Marines would not catch her, their child would not become a collateral in their nonsensical vendetta against a dead man.
(She had loved that stupid, incorrigibly stupid Pirate King. For reasons Rouge would take to her grave, she had loved Roger as much as she could ever love a man, and she would never resent the choice she made of staying by his side in his final years. Rouge would, however, murder him again once they reunited in the Flying Dutchman, for his terrible timing. Why couldn’t he have waited until their child was born and safely smuggled back to their territories in the Grand Line before going out in his dramatic blaze of glory? That was why she called him stupid Roger).
She hoped they would be reunited in the Flying Dutchman. Roger seemed the kind of pirate Davy Jones would invite to his crew; and she liked to believe she was as well.
Rouge had old beliefs. Her Captain had been of the old, old guard. She was taught legends of the seas in the same breath as navigation and how to do knots. For her Captain, piracy was not only a life-style, it was almost a religion. Rouge learned to fear Mother Ocean as much as she loved Her; she had drilled into her skull that one does not says Davy Jones’ name out loud in the sea unless you want to call death to your voyage; The Sea at The End of The World, Fiddler's Green, The Drowned Man’s Locker, those were beliefs she knew very few pirates these days still shared.
The fact that the World Government was particularly trigger happy around anyone, pirate or not, that believed in any god that wasn’t a Tenryuubito, probably had something to do with it.
Fuck the World Government and fuck the Marines as well. There was a reason why she was feeding her Will with spite.
Every time she crossed a Marine on the streets on her way to the market; every time one of them double-checked her even if her belly was still flat months into the pregnancy and she’d never seeked medical aid; every time they tried to investigate the woman who lived alone in a house by the sea (and somewhat infuriatingly, not recognizing her), Rouge’s spite would grow. It would grow and grow and feed her Will to keep her child safe and to see the Marines failing.
Her hand would come to rest over her belly. Not yet.
Roger was a monster, the Marines said. Roger’s lineage should end with his death, they said.
A monster. What a ridiculous notion. A monster in terms of strength, maybe. A monster in levels of stupidity, definitely. But that was not what the Marines meant. Roger was a “monster” because he embodied everything the World Government was trying to bury. Secrets lost to the waves centuries ago; the ideal of freedom they could only hope to extinguish. Dramatic bastards.
In Rouge’s opinion, the real monsters were the ones responsible for filling the brand-new graveyard in the outskirts of the city. The ones who were stealing new-born babies from their mothers and women and children from their families; the ones who were definitely not investigating anything, and simply executing innocents left and right. Those were the real monsters.
Maybe they were expecting that their purge would force people to snitch. But no one would say a thing - except, maybe, to lie and point fingers at someone else in the hopes of being left alone. But no one in Baterilla would give the Marines her name, because no one knew she was the one carrying stupid Roger’s child. There was a reason why she chose to be known by her sobriquet and not by her real name. No one in the city knew who she truly was and they had been careful to not let Roger be seen.
Honestly she had no idea of what piece of information the Marines could have got that pointed to this island but not to her. And since Rouge was not in the habit of lying to herself, she could also admit that, even though not being recognized was what was keeping their child safe, it still pissed her off.
Because she was Deadman Rouge, captain of the dread Deadman’s Hand Pirates. And if letting her hair grow and putting on a dress and a flower behind her ear was all it took for the marines to not recognize her, she would be burning a few more of their bases to make sure the message stuck this time.
No, she wouldn’t. It would take all she still had left on her body just to deliver the child. After that, the only sailing she would be doing was alongside Davy Jones.
The purge continued and Rouge endured. The cruelty of it all broke her heart, for sure, but she stayed silent and kept her child hidden and safe. She would not apologize to the living, because she had done nothing wrong. She would not mourn the dead, because they were not hers to mourn. She was a pirate, and therefore, greedy. She wanted this child and she would see them be born.
Above all else, Rouge had sailed long enough to know how the Marines worked. Rotten to their very core, with a few (not) notable exceptions. Even if she suddenly and inexplicably developed a conscience and a death wish, and offered herself to the Marines, they would still keep the purges going “just to be sure”.
The real monsters of this world lived above the Red Line, and from there they passed judgment on who lived and who died. And Portugas D. “Deadman” Rouge would be damned if her child became collateral on their petty schemes.
Fuck the World Governemnt, and fuck the Marines as well.
The girl’s name was Cattleya and she was fifteen. Around the same age of stupid Roger’s cabin brats, Rouge remembered somewhat fondly.
Wow. The pregnancy hormones must truly be messing with her if she was having tender thoughts towards those two pieces of trouble.
(They were one of the main reasons why she called Roger stupid. No one in their right mind should have kept literal children on a ship going to the end of the world).
Cattleya was fifteen and she was mourning. Her mother had been the last midwife in the island, so of course the Marines came for her seeking more information. After delivering so many babies that ended up dead, however, Ellie had refused to collaborate with them, and that cost that brave woman her life. One of the last caught by the purge that supposedly ended two months ago, thirteen months after Roger’s execution.
Cattleya was only fifteen, still wearing the black, and she was Rouge’s child’s only hope.
The girl had assisted Ellie in some of her last deliveries, and had just started training to become a midwife as well when the Marines took her mom from her. But there were no more doctors, nurses or midwives left in the whole island, and Rouge couldn’t hold back any longer, so Cattleya would have to do it.
She would have to also keep the baby until someone from her crew came looking for her, now that the blockade was over. Her vivre card had probably brought her crew to the South Blue already, but she had faith they would find the baby even after she was gone and the paper had burned. Her nakama were loyal like that.
She already missed them so much.
Cattleya, with her brown skin and long black curls and only fucking fifteen had agreed to all of Rouge’s selfish requests. She hoped Mukuro and the others hadn’t burned all their treasure because the poor thing deserved one hell of a reward after all the bullshit Rouge was putting her through. She made sure to give her a detailed description of every single one of her nakamas, and Roger’s crew too, for that matter, just to be sure.
Their child would be raised by Mukuro and the others and couldn’t be better protected. They would be just fine.
That was the thought that carried her through the start of the contractions, through the pain of her cervix dilation, while feeling her Will and her life slowly draining from her. Labor was just another battlefield, and Deadman D. Rouge excelled at those. So she pushed, and she screamed, and ignored the blood spreading on the sheets and Cattleya’s terrified face.
Outside, the weaves were breaking against the rocks. Mother Ocean was calling her daughter back, Rouge thought, almost deliriously. Not yet, Davy Jones; calm the fuck down. Just a little longer.
Would she be invited to join his crew and sail on eternally? Or had she sailed true enough to earn her a place in Fiddler's Green? She liked to believe she would not end up trapped in his Locker, since she wasn't dying by drowning.
Either way, she would be meeting with him later today, but her child. would. NOT.
Rouge pushed. Rouge screamed. And after twenty months, she finally heard her child crying.
Trembling and visibly panicking, Cattleya clumsily cradled the baby in her arms while she cut off the umbilical cord, and the baby’s cries filled the room while Rouge laughed.
She had done it. She had fucking done it. Kept her child safe long enough for the Marines to be gone and her baby was perfect, judging by how strong the cries were.
“What…?” she asked between laughs.
“A boy,” Cattleya mumbled, big purple eyes staring at the little miracle in her arms while she cleaned him up. “It’s a boy, Rouge.”
A boy.
She was still laughing, but she was crying, too.
‘We have a boy, Roger’, she thought, just as the black spots started appearing in her vision.
She was running out of time.
“Ace,” she cooed, as Cattleya put her son on her weak arms. Her son. “His name is Ace.”
She couldn’t take her eyes out of him. His little mouth and eyebrows, the dust of freckles on his tiny nose, just like hers. Black hair, like Roger’s. Just perfect. So dearly beloved.
“Portugas D. Ace,” she whispered, hoping Cattleya was paying attention. She couldn’t turn her eyes away from her boy. “He can’t use Roger’s name. Ever. Portugas D. Ace,” she repeated.
“I understand, Rouge,” Cattleya’s trembling voice came from between her legs, and she noticed the poor thing was probably trying to stop the bleeding.
“Keep him hidden. Keep him safe,” she sobbed, touching his little forehead with hers.
The girl didn’t respond. Cattleya just sobbed loudly and kept working on her with renovated frenzy. She would have made an excellent ship doctor.
Her Will was leaving her body, and so was her life. She cuddled Ace against her chest and thought, for the last time, that Roger was indeed stupid. There was nothing wrong with dying on a bed, if that meant she could hold their son at least once.
A treasure so much greater than the One Piece that it didn’t even warrant the comparison.
“My crew will come for me, I’m sure. Either them or Roger’s. You can trust Ace to them.”
“You can trust him to me,” said a new, disgustingly familiar voice from the door, and for a moment Rouge thought she was already dead and paying her dues in Davy Jones’ Locker.
Monkey D. Garp.
Monkey D. Fucking Garp was in her home and looking at her boy.
Cattleya screamed. Rouge wished, for the first time in her life, that she had Conqueror’s Haki, just to send the old fucker flying from her house.
“Don’t stop what you're doing, kid,” he grumbled, slowly approaching her bed, and Rouge was just too weak to do anything but watch as he came closer.
“How…? Why?” she managed to ask, just as she felt the calling from the sea getting stronger.
No. Not yet . Not with their enemy in front of her and looking at her son. No.
“Roger told me, all the way back in Impel Down,” he answered honestly. And Rouge.
Well, Rouge.
She found out she still had enough strength in her body for one last burst of anger.
FUCK YOU, STUPID ROGER.
GARP?
MONKEY D. FUCKING GARP?
“Everything that happened on this island…” he started, and no. Rouge didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want any excuses for the massacre. She just wanted Garp gone or dead. “...it was not justice,” he concluded, somewhat awkwardly.
“Oh, don’t you say ?” she snarled, cradling Ace against her chest.
The Marine had the audacity to look apologetic, and there was nothing that Rouge wished more right now than her deck cards to hit him in his moronic fucking face.
“Your child is innocent. I’ll make sure he’s taken care of,” Garp said, probably trying to sound kind.
And Rouge.
Rouge wanted to scream, and fight, and run, run, run, run away from Garp and everything he represented, run away from earth and sea, away from Davy Jones and the Flying Dutchman. Although she had made many strategic retreats to protect her crew, never once before in her life she had wished so fervently to run away from it all and hide with her son where Fate could never find them.
Fucking Garp was still talking, Cattleya was still working on her but Rouge could no longer discern their voices. The sea was calling her for the last voyage. Rouge didn’t fear death but she hated loneliness and uncertainty, and if she died now Ace would not. be. safe.
Not yet. Please, not yet.
But Davy Jones never heard anyones pleas, and Rouge lost conscience just as she felt Monkey D. FUCKING Garp take her son from her arms. Ace's wailing and little Cat's hoarse voice begging her to not go were the sounds that followed Rouge to nothingness.
Not the worst way to go.
Not yet.
Somewhere in the Grand Line, nine pieces of a vivre card that had been slowly diminishing in the past months finished burning and disappeared.
Cattleya, fifteen years old and completely out of her depth, could only watch, helpless, as the Hero of the Marines, out of all people, took Rouge's baby from her arms and turned around to leave.
No. Not again. Not another one. Not another dead mother and stolen baby.
It should have ended with her mother.
Cattleya had somehow miraculously stopped Rouge's bleeding but the woman was still dying in her arms, while Garp absconded with Ace.
She had made a promise. Cattleya had promised Rouge she would keep Ace safe, hidden, until someone in the List came to take him to the seas where he belonged. She knew, knew that there was absolutely nothing she could do against Monkey D. Fucking Garp out of all people, that there was no way to stop him, that the only one who could fight him head-on was long dead, but…
Not another dead mother. Not another stolen baby.
Cattleya could not stop Garp.
But Portugas D. Deadman Rouge could.
Cattleya was not a doctor, never aspired to be one either. All she only ever wanted was to be a midwife like her mother, and even that dream had been taken from her. Above all else, Cattleya was not a Grand Line pirate nor a high-ranking Marine, and she didn't have the first clue about what Haki even was, or how Rouge had used it to make nine months turn into twenty.
She only knew it was killing her friend.
Because they had become friends in the few months since her mother's death. The orphan and the soon-to-be mother, both victims of the same circumstances.
She knew Rouge so very little, and still she could tell that ‘victim’ was not an adjective that fit the pirate captain.
Rouge knew her so very little too, and yet for her child about to be born, she had trusted Cattleya with her secrets, with her baby. Because she knew Cattleya would never blame Rouge, her baby or even Roger for the acts of the Marines.
Cattleya was only fifteen, but she wasn't naive.
Rouge didn't think she would survive the birth. She had even gone as far as instructing Cattleya about where she would like to be buried. Cattleya knew Rouge never expected her to save her life.
And gods help her, Cattleya was NOT a doctor, but there was one thing her mother had left behind, one thing she could try.
She had to try. No more dead mothers. No more stolen babies.
Cattleya grabbed her mother's medical satchel, and from there she pulled the strange shell her mother had showed her once. A Dial, she had called it. Imported from the Grand Line, extremely rare, most likely stolen by pirates at some point and smuggled to the South Blue.
And wasn't that fitting for the Queen of the Pirates?
With trembling hands, she adjusted the Dial just like her mother had taught her. A last resort, for only when all hope was lost. Her mother had medical training, Cattleya didn’t . Her insane plan had a one in a million chance of succeeding.
She wanted to believe Rouge was a one-in-a-million kind of woman.
So Cattleya put the Dial over Portugas D. Rouge still heart and mumbled “clear”, before discharging it on her patient's body.
The electric current shook her body almost out of bed, but Rouge did not react.
Cattleya started crying.
“Please, come back. Please, please come back. Clear!”
Another discharge. So many tears.
“Don't let them win. Don't let the bastards win and take your son, please Rouge, COME BACK !”
The Sea at the End of the World, the old pirates called it.
Portugas D. Deadman Rouge stood on the black sand beach, feeling the cold sea water as it gently caressed her naked feet, watched the waves as they came and went, listened to the wind blowing the sails of the incoming ship, and tasted the salt of the ocean in her mouth.
She could smell Death.
In the distance, the ghostly green lanterns were the only part of the Flying Dutchman that Rouge could accurately discern. The ship that sailed under and above water, between life and death, at the beginning and end of the world was not to be described by mere words.
Davy Jones was coming to collect a soul that had lived in his domain. That was all that was to it.
And Rouge had always thought she would be ready when her time came, but she couldn't shake the feeling that this was wrong, that she shouldn't be here already, that there was something important she still needed to do.
Not yet.
Was her crew safe? Had she left them in the midst of a battle?
Not yet .
Had their allies called for help and the Deadman’s Hand failed to come to their aid?
Not yet.
Was it stupid Roger? Did that moron get himself in trouble once again? Was there an asskicking that needed to be delivered?
Not yet.
She felt a strange burn in her chest, but Rouge did not move. She stayed still in the surf, waiting for the ship that would take her to her last voyage, while every single cell in her body screamed for her to turn back and run, because she was not done yet.
Not yet.
Portugas D. Rouge was a daughter of Mother Ocean, and she couldn’t understand why right now she was wishing for land, longing for a hibiscus tree outside her window, a too big and empty bed, and a comforting Voice inside of her, so dearly beloved.
“Not yet,” she whispered, and her right hand came to rest over her lower belly.
Her flat, hard and empty belly.
…
Ace.
Feeling like she had been electrocuted, Rouge staggered back, losing contact with the sea, and suddenly her mind became clear.
Roger. Baterilla. Pregnancy. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Cattleya. Ace. Her son. Cattleya. Garp.
Ace.
She looked at her shaking hands, and for a moment she felt the ghost sensation of her baby being taken from her arms by her enemy.
Ace.
Love.
Spite.
Loss.
Rage.
Not yet. Not fucking yet. Because Monkey D. Fucking Garp had just stole her son.
Rouge looked up to the approaching ship, and took another step back.
She had not boarded the Flying Dutchman yet, and she would be damned if she let something as insignificant as death keep her away from her son.
Stupid Roger was going to have to wait for their reunion a little longer. Rouge had to fix the mess he had made first, as always.
“Not yet,” she declared to Davy Jones himself.
She turned around and ran.
For the first time in her life, Portugas D. Deadman Rouge ran away. Back to the light and towards her son and the girl that had saved them both.
Rouge breathed.
Cattleya crumbled to the floor, and wailed.
“GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRPPPPPPP!”