Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He couldn't hear, couldn't move, couldn't think. He could feel, though only in his chest, where an inferno burned and blistered, melting his heart and drawing out a scream in a voice he no longer had. Around him stretched nothing but black; he couldn’t breathe through the weight on his entire body and the pain and agony and fire—

"You promised!"

A broken promise, an empty vow, nothing but worthless words said in ignorance.

"Don't kill me off so easily!"

What did words like that mean now?

"Was I a good father?"

Memories, broken and painful and jagged fragments of a life worth next to nothing in the end but—

“Of course you were!”

He couldn’t forget, couldn’t let go, couldn’t give up so easily even after all he’d been through because—

“You promised!”

Words held meaning after all and even with flames tearing through him he was an older brother and a son before anything else and he couldn’t let go of his dreams, his hopes, his life so easily—

“Because being alone is much worse than getting hurt!”

Not when there were still people out there waiting for him, family—a brother—that would be left alone in this world if he left and he couldn’t do that, he wasn’t that cruel, so even with the fire raging and his body burning and his mind scattering in a hundred thousand different directions he wasn’t going to leave.

“And it’d be bad if I wasn’t here?”

There were things he had to do, people he had to see, places he had to visit and letting his life end here simply wasn’t an option, it couldn’t be, he wouldn’t let it be.

“You want me to live?”

A single frozen moment, a single question left hanging, a single life dangling just out of reach.

“Of course I do!”

He fought, kicked and punched and clawed and bit and screamed in defiance against the dark because he was rage and fire and light and he was going to live even if he had to burn everything to ashes to do it.

“No matter where we are or what we do, our bond will not be broken!”

And the darkness went up in flames.

Chapter Text

April 12^th, World Year 1522

Three days of relentless Grand Line storms left Marco grateful for any excuse to enjoy the nice weather on deck. Ace had happily provided such an excuse: he wanted to practice flying, and Marco was as good of a supervisor as any for that sort of thing.

Unbeknownst to Ace, Marco had also roped in one of their fishman brothers from Namur’s division. Not that he didn’t think Ace was capable, but on seas like these, it paid to be careful. So, they had a fishman discreetly keeping an eye out. Just in case.

Still, with the sun shining, breeze blowing, and ocean glittering, that worst-case scenario wasn’t seeming all that likely. Maybe Ace had just asked him to watch as a chance to show off his progress with the way he was blasting himself through the air.

“You’re his keeper today?” Thatch leaned up against the railing next to him, eyes on Ace. He whistled. “Damn, he’s gotten way better at that.”

“I don’t think you can really call it flying-yoi,” Marco admitted. “It’s more like he’s just firing himself through the air.”

“Potato, tomato.”

“Not how that goes. What brings you over here?”

“Ah, we’re apparently having some trouble restocking our stores.”

“Storms chase away the fish?”

“Maybe.” Thatch sighed and turned to rest his elbows on the railing so he could supervise the members of his division fishing on the opposite side of the ship. “It was fine at sunrise, but in the last couple hours, they’ve all just…vanished. Even the fishmen can’t find any down there.”

Marco frowned. He didn’t know of any New World phenomenon with that characteristic, but it was hardly a good sign. “Does Namur know?”

“Yeah. Nothing else about the water is raising alarms, according to him.” Thatch tipped his chin up towards the crow’s nest on the main mast. “Lookout’s been warned too, same with the other ships. No one’s reported any sign of trouble—other than the small issue of food.”

“How bad is it?”

“We’ll be fine for a week, but if we’re not catching anything by the end of today, we should try another spot.”

Marco sighed. Over the water, Ace did a barrel roll and then shot himself higher. Marco spared him an encouraging nod. “So much for this being a place of plenty.”

“You win some, you lose some.” Thatch craned his head back to look at Ace upside-down. “Hey, think he can do a barrel roll?”

“He just did.”

“What? And I missed it?” He turned and planted his palms on the railing. “ACE!”

The man hovered in the air a bit unsteadily. “WHAT?”

“DO A FLIP!” Thatch leaned back with a grin. “Fifty beri says he faceplants into the ocean.”

“One hundred says he doesn’t, and you’re getting him if he does.”

Thatch looked past Marco to the striped fishman chatting with a spiny brother several yards away. “Isn’t Falino keeping watch?”

“He’s not responsible for the nonsense you put Ace up to.”

“Shake on it.”

They shook. During their discussion, Ace had just been hovering there, brows knitted and eyes directed down at the fire by his feet in thought. Occasional flares of flame would rock his balance while he felt out how to do the trick without getting disoriented and accidentally launching himself straight into the water.

Evidently coming up with a plan, he rocketed up dozens of yards. There he stayed for a second, and then, with a visible bracing breath, he threw himself forward and tucked up his legs.

He lost nearly all the height he’d gained before he finished the turn, thrust out his legs, and poured fire out of them to arrest his momentum. Now almost level with Marco and Thatch—just a bit higher, though still pretty far from the ship—he threw his arms up in victory with a wide smile.

Marco held out a hand. Thatch slapped a bill into it with a grumble about prodigies.

“You should know better than to bet against him by now,” Marco chided, pocketing the money before the strengthening wind could whisk it away. Clouds had begun to gather. Were they in for a sudden storm? Their navigators hadn’t called any warnings.

“My money’s always on him when it counts. Can’t blame me for wanting to mix things up a little every now and then. Plus, I’m pretty sure I’d never try something like that even if I had a fruit.”

Marco quirked a brow. “I’ve seen you do more reckless things. When the hail was coming down yesterday—“

Thatch waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t have to worry about the ocean catching me and refusing to let go when I’m throwing myself in harm’s way.”

“Think you’ll ever want a fruit?”

“Ah,” Thatch blew out a breath and watched Ace as he arced through the air with faint whoops of exhilaration. “Tough question, Marco. I don’t think so. Too high a price for me. Besides, if I’m an anchor like him, who’s left to get us out of trouble?”

“You could simply not scheme together.”

“As I said: too high a price. And on the topic of high prices, one of our freezer’s pipes burst, so we need—”

“Wait.” Marco straightened. Ace was hovering again, but something was different this time. There was no obvious reason why, but Marco’s skin was prickling. The sky, so big and open mere minutes ago, was low and dark with clouds. When he tapped into his observation haki, he cursed and blinked spots out of his eyes.

“Marco?”

“Something’s wrong-yoi.” That brief instant of haki had left him trying to piece together why it looked like the sun was trying to swallow Ace. Blue fire sparked on his shoulders in preparation for the wings to follow. “I’m grabbing Ace.”

He had one foot up on the railing and Ace’s name on his lips when fire exploded from Ace’s chest. The force of it knocked Marco back and only Thatch’s quick hand—his other locked on the railing—kept him on his feet.

Past him, the fire that had been a ball around Ace had rushed up, expanded, and begun to swirl, a twisting pillar connecting sea and sky.

“WAVE!” screamed the lookout, and a dozen fishmen jumped into the water to try to head it off. Swells were already rocking the massive Moby Dick like it was a mere dinghy. Marco squinted against the blinding light and salty ocean spray to try to pick out Ace’s form in the fire, but it was hopeless.

After his earlier attempt, his observation haki was useless, burned out and painful to tap into. Whatever he had sensed in the instant of its activation—whatever lay at the core of the fiery tornado churning the water and scorching the air—had been so bright and big that it had been impossible to get any sense of what it was.

Meaning that he had no idea what condition Ace was in. Thatch had let go of his arm and so he summoned his wings.

“Are you seriously flying into that?” Thatch yelled over the chaos.

“Do you have a better idea? Or do you want us all to burn?”

A wave the fishmen couldn’t turn back crashed into the Moby Dick. Wood groaned and splintered, and Marco leapt into the air when the deck lurched out from under him. Thatch hung onto the railing for dear life. On the opposite side of the ship, several people went overboard.

Cursing, Thatch released the railing and went after them.

Marco shifted fully into his phoenix form and shot towards the epicenter of the inferno. The heat wasn’t much of a problem for him—what overwhelmed his natural resistance couldn’t burn him faster than his own flames could heal him—but the wind it generated shoved Marco around like physical blows. He quickly lost all sense of direction.

And then the fire died. Like a match going out, it simply ceased to be, and Marco was left to flap in empty air with only the churning ocean below as proof of what had happened.

The churning ocean and Ace’s falling body. Ace’s bloody falling body.

Marco dove.

He didn’t make it.

Ace hit the water and Marco flared his wings to avoid meeting the same fate. He looked around wildly, about to call for help, only to see a fishman’s silhouette—Falino, good man—streaking through the currents below.

Useless over the water, Marco flew back to where the Moby Dick was settling back into the calming waves. The ship was scorched in several places, the fire having flared far enough to reach it in the moments before it dissipated, and the ocean’s fury had splintered the weakened wood. Pirates inside were already bailing water.

On deck, Thatch ran over to greet him, clothes and hair sopping wet. He’d helped pull their brothers and sisters from the water. “Where’s Ace?”

“He fell. Falino’s got him. He’s injured.”

“Bad?”

“Looked like it.”

“I’ll get Tasuka.” He turned on his heel and sprinted away without another word.

Falino erupted from the water with a great splash and stumbled when he hit the deck. Ace, thrown over his shoulder, was completely unresponsive when Falino laid him out on the wood planks. Marco saw blood and was already kneeling next to him before he fully processed that Ace’s chest was in ruins.

Blue and gold flames of restoration roared to life over Marco’s arms. Even as his powers took hold, though, he knew it wasn’t enough to counter the horrific wound. At best, he was delaying the inevitable.

“Was he attacked in the water?”

Falino shook his head helplessly. “No. No fish. No sea kings. Just him and his blood.”

Right. He’d been bleeding when Marco saw him fall, but that didn’t make any sense. None of this did.

Ace was so pale. There was so much crimson staining the deck and the puddle was only growing. Marco’s flames were sputtering.

More and more pirates noticed Ace’s condition. Whispers grew to whole conversations, but when Tasuka came barreling out of the depths of the Moby Dick twenty seconds later, a bag of medical supplies hooked over one shoulder while her brown eyes blazed and her braided hair swung wildly back and forth, the crowds cleared instantly.

“Get away from the subject!” Tasuka roared. Thatch trailed in her wake, a glorified pack mule with more medical supplies in hand.

Marco was the only person unfazed by the nurse’s headlong dash to Ace’s side. He gave a quick summary of what had happened, starting from Ace freezing in mid-air to Falino pulling him out of the ocean.

For her part, Tasuka listened with half an ear and examined Ace with everything else, poking and prodding the unconscious young man with efficiency and precision while her other hand packed the wound.

“Any sign of what caused this?” she asked while she pried one of his eyelids open.

“No. There wasn’t anything in the water.”

After a few more tests, she growled and jammed a syringe into Ace’s skin next to the wound on his chest. Seeing Marco’s questioning look, she brusquely explained, “Anesthetic, in case he somehow becomes conscious, but with this amount of blood loss it’ll be a damned miracle he wakes up at all. Is your fire having any effect?”

He did a mental check and removed his hands so she could apply pressure to the wound. “Not anymore. It was initially.”

“Tasuka!” a new voice called. “I brought the stretcher!”

“Get it over here!”

Kisha, the head nurse in charge of caring for Whitebeard and all things medical on the Moby Dick, gestured for the crowd to part again and rolled the stretcher to Ace’s side.

“How bad is it?” she asked, kneeling next to her sister while the other nurses prepared to move him.

“Bad. He still has a pulse, somehow.”

“Marco, what happened?”

“I don’t know. He was practicing with his fire, and then…it went out of control.”

“That’s not exactly a common thing for you pirates,” Kisha muttered while the other nurses gently eased Ace onto the stretcher. “Hannah, prep three containers of blood; cabinet C, please. He needs a transfusion immediately. Tracy, alert Gekai. He needs emergency surgery. Tasuka, stay with him and give him whatever drugs will keep him alive. He’s not dying here.”

Tasuka grinned and thumbed the belt of syringes she always wore, though it came off as more performative than usual. “Certainly.”

Thatch leaned over his friend, face lined with worry. “Ace, you’d better pull through, you got it?”

Marco and Thatch prepared to back away and let the nurses do their jobs, but they both stilled when Ace’s eyelids twitched. After a second, his eyes opened, revealing a glazed look and dilated pupils. Despite his fugue, he latched onto Thatch, and quite suddenly the man with a hole in his chest and his blood staining the planks was trying to sit up.

“Hold him down!” Kisha ordered, and the nearby nurses hurried to comply. “How is he awake?”

Ace still struggled, and for a moment, as weak flames sputtered around his drenched skin, Marco feared that they would actually be forced to use sea stone on him. His worries were unfounded: Ace’s strength gave out. He went limp, and then he went under, and the nurses panicked, and the last that Thatch and Marco got to see of their friend and brother was the door of the operating room being slammed in their faces. Not even commanders were allowed in there during an operation.

Marco, at a loss for how such a calm day had turned into this, looked to his friend but found anything he wanted to say wilting on his tongue. What could he say?

Thatch reciprocated his consternation. “If someone hurt him—”

“They’ll pay,” Marco promised, putting a hand on his fellow commander’s shoulder. It was an easy thing to say, but in the privacy of his own mind, Marco had his worries. The ocean had been empty; there wasn’t anyone around to hurt Ace. More importantly…

The edges of Ace’s wound had seemed almost melted, the skin around the hole blistering and burned. There had only been one source of fire nearby when Ace’s injury had appeared.

But he’d moved past that after joining the crew…hadn’t he?

Chapter Text

April 26th

The halls belowdecks were relatively spacious for a pirate ship—they had many larger than average crewmembers—but even so, Thatch's raised voice made Marco wince.

"Calm down-yoi," he said. "He wasn't in his right mind."

Thatch cut in front of Marco and crossed his arms, making it clear that he wasn't going to let Marco brush him off and keep walking. "He said I shouldn't be alive. The first full sentence he says while conscious and it's that!"

"He was barely coherent. I'll admit, I want to think he'll be better soon, but he's hysterical at best, and we have to remember that this is only the second time he's been conscious for more than a minute. You heard Kisha; he's delirious. Can you move? I need to tell Pops—"

"Marco. He said I shouldn't be alive. And he wasn't being threatening or mean, he said it like a fact. He was just stating fact."

Sighing, Marco stepped around Thatch. "I know, I was there. It bothers me too, but there's nothing we can do now but wait and hope he's lucid the next time-yoi. We'll get an explanation then—if he even remembers any of this."

Thatch threw a glance back at Ace's temporary room. "I'm gonna stay nearby just in case he starts thrashing again and the nurses need help."

Marco nodded and kept walking. He wanted to have Thatch's faith in Ace's recovery, but his optimism was tempered by experience. No one, no matter how young, no matter how promising, was immortal. Not even his own mythical devil fruit granted him that much when faced with the might of the ocean.

He spared a glance back at the door where Thatch lingered. The room beyond was one of a handful of private recovery spaces. Although situated near to the infirmary, the private rooms were for patients who would best recover alone. The infirmary, down the hall and far larger, had been packed for days following the incident, filled to the brim with pirates sporting serious burns and others who were attacked by reappearing sea kings while attempting to repair the ship.

Speaking of those repairs, Marco needed to check in with Blamenco to see how they were progressing. The last timetable that had crossed his desk had not been optimistic; a full third of the ship had been nearly burned through and they didn't have enough spare lumber to repair it all or even get it to the point where it would probably hold up against a New World storm or surprise attack. Blamenco and the other shipwrights in his division had been doing what they could, but a lack of material wasn't easily remedied. They had sent one of their paddle ships out to a nearby island for supplies, but that ship, even if its journey went smoothly, wasn't due to return for at least another week.

In all, it was too long spent stuck in one place. Each additional day they remained ratcheted up the tension on the ship another notch.

Ace didn't know where he was. At least, not in any big picture kind of way. He knew he was on a bed in a small room, one he maybe recognized from some foggy part of his brain that wasn't still stuttering over the fact that he was awake at all. It was dark—no lamps burning, no light at all save for what came from a window to his right.

The real problems arose when he tried to remember how he'd gotten here, and for the life of him he couldn't bring anything to mind. The last thing he remembered was darkness and burning.

He slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, the thin sheets sliding down and revealing the bandages binding his chest. He let out a slight hiss through his teeth when the extent of his injuries made itself known. Well, what he assumed to be the extent; the wounds were mostly healed now, but there was more scar tissue rippling over his chest than actual skin based on what the bandages didn't cover. How long had he been out?

That scar tissue formed an indistinct shape, and when he gingerly poked it, he winced at the phantom flares of pain.

He blinked and saw Akainu's fist emerging from his stomach, smelled his own flesh burning away, and gagged while his balance rocked. He tightened his core to stay steady, but that just made his chest hurt more, and for a minute, he warred with himself to get his body under control. Involuntary tears leaked from his eyes while he shook, but eventually, the episode passed.

"Fuck," he whispered, still shivering even though the worst of it was over. What the hell was that?

Swallowing the faint taste of bile, he scraped his thoughts together and turned his attention to the room if only to avoid another episode. For the second time, he got the feeling that he should know this place or at least recognize its general construction.

Footsteps came from outside and he tensed. He tried to call up his flames twice before he realized that he couldn't. Only then registering the peculiar drain on his energy, he glanced down to where he could feel the source and saw a sea stone bracelet clamped over one of his wrists. Inwardly, he panicked, seeing that the thing had a keyhole and he didn't have a key. As the door opened, though, he schooled his expression into something neutral. If the marines had grabbed him…

A woman in a pink nurse outfit with brown hair done in an intricate braid and a belt of syringes hanging from her hips entered the room, a clipboard held in one hand. She was humming under her breath, a pen held between her teeth while she dragged a cart of food in with the other hand. Ace watched her wrestle with the door, his mind gradually making the necessary connections until—

"Tasuka?"

She dropped the clipboard and her gaze shot up to meet Ace's. The pen fell from her mouth, but she managed to fumble and catch it. "You're awake," she said, then frowned at herself for the unnecessary comment. She cleared her throat. "How long have you been up?"

Ace relaxed against his pillow, relieved at the sight of a familiar face no matter how weird it was. Hadn't the Moby Dick been destroyed? Was he on a different ship in the fleet? They did all look pretty similar on the inside, and it was possible that Tasuka had been moved to a different ship in preparation for the attack on Marineford. He was just comforted to see that she was okay. "A few minutes. I never knew you were the humming type. Were you really that happy to see me?"

She dragged the cart all the way over to him and lightly whacked him over the head with her recovered clipboard. "Brat. I must be better at my job than I thought, since I brought extra food today. Don't eat it all at once, though. You'll get sick and the food will go to waste, and what did I just say?"

Ace paused in the middle of reaching for another spoonful of broth, a chunk of bread already in his mouth. "Mmph?"

Tasuka growled something under her breath and jammed the bread farther into his mouth, making him choke until he managed to swallow.

"Are you trying to kill me?"

"No." Her expression softened. "It's just…it's good to see you awake." That softness vanished as soon as it had appeared. "But seriously, slow down or I'll force you to. I have some new sedative formulas from the last island we stopped at and haven't gotten the chance to test them out yet."

"Slowing down," Ace said instantly.

"That's what I thought." Tasuka flipped through the pages on her clipboard. "So, how are you feeling? Any pain?"

"Aches. Sitting up hurt."

"Of course it did. Your organs were practically vaporized. It's a miracle you—" she cut herself off, pursed her lips, and sighed. "Just aches? Nothing sharp? Have you noticed any bleeding?"

A miracle. Even with that weird bout of vertigo earlier, it hadn't sunk in. He'd…really been dying. Really said his last words, or what he'd thought would be his last words. It felt so surreal. "I don't think so."

"I'm going to lean you forward a bit so I can look at your back. Stop me if you feel anything out of the ordinary."

"Right."

He let himself be handled like a figurine that could break at any moment—he'd never known Tasuka could be this gentle—and closed his eyes against what felt like dull glass shards grinding against each other in his chest. Tasuka's ministrations were quick, but even so, when she let him rest against the pillows again, he was clammy with a new layer of sweat.

"The good news is you haven't reopened anything, and I couldn't feel any indications of internal bleeding. But," she looked him dead in the eye, "you need to be very careful, okay? The moment you think anything is getting worse, you let one of us know. The very moment, got it?"

"Right." He stared at her while she wrote more things on her clipboard. Everything was moving too fast and too slow. "Tas, wh—"

"Told you not to call me that."

"—what about Luffy?"

Her pen's scratching against the page ceased. "Your brother?"

"Yeah. Is he okay?"

She wasn't looking at him. Why wasn't she looking at him? "Your brother, last you told me, had just gotten his first bounty poster. I doubt he's gotten into too much trouble in the East Blue."

That wasn't a funny joke. "He was right there, and he was a wreck. You picked him up too, right? Treated him too?"

Her pen still wasn't moving, and neither was she. "The only person who was in any danger was you, Ace."

"What's that supposed to mean?" The sea stone bracelet burned like ice against his wrist and grew colder the more agitated he got. "Tas, he was a mess! He was—he went against all three admirals at once, I saw him, he needed help!"

She finally moved, setting her clipboard and pen down on the cart. "Ace, I need you to calm down."

"Calm down?" His heart hammered against his ribs and each beat sent lances of pain through his core. They were talking past each other and he couldn't understand why. Despite himself, despite all that Tas had done for him as one of the fleet's nurses, he failed to hold back a darker tone from his voice. "I can't do that when you won't tell me what happened to him?"

Tas caught it and gave him a warning look. "Nothing happened to your brother that I know of. I'm sure he's fine. I'm not saying this to mess with you. As far as I know," she stressed each syllable, holding his gaze in a deadlock, "your brother is fine. At least believe that I believe that." She pursed her lips. "Look, I'm going to change your bandages and then let the two mother hens know that you're awake. You talk to them a lot more than you do to me; I'm sure they can do a better job of answering your questions. So please, calm down. You'll only aggravate your injuries by getting worked up. Do you really want to give me an excuse to use one of my new formulas?"

He gaped at her. Why did it seem like none of his words were actually landing? She had to have seen what happened; Whitebeard's whole fleet had been there.

Heedless of his confusion, Tasuka eased him forward again and began unwinding the bandages around his chest. With how quiet she was, his anxiety couldn't find anything to react to, and so it slowly retreated.

"Ace," she said, a peculiar tone to her voice, "do you know how you wound up here?"

His brows furrowed. Was this some kind of trick question?

Apparently, his silence was enough of an answer. "You exploded." She spread the fingers of her left hand with a quiet pop noise. "Just, boom. Everyone I treated for burns told the same story. It was like your devil fruit went out of control, and when you were pulled from the water, you were already two steps from death."

"I exploded," he repeated numbly. His scars pulsed as Tasuka removed the last of the bandages. "What?"

"We were all hoping you'd know." She spread a salve over his ruined skin that smelled like grass and felt like frost.

In a looser part of his mind, one that hadn't quite anchored itself to the moment, he realized that, if the scars on his chest were this bad, then the ones on his back were even worse. His tattoo had to be ruined.

"We've all heard the stories about novice devil fruit users having trouble with their abilities," she continued, "but you're a veteran, aren't you?" She wiped the excess salve off with a towel and pulled a new roll of bandages from the cabinet next to his bed. "Does that sound like what happened to you? Things going out of control?"

His jaw worked but nothing came out. At the end, he'd barely had the strength to whisper, much less call up an inferno strong enough to damage nearby ships. After a glance up at his face, Tasuka paused her rewrapping and handed Ace a glass of water off the cart. "Take your time. You've been out for a while; I'm not trying to interrogate you here."

"How long have I been out?" he tried instead of answering her question.

"Two weeks."

Two weeks. Two weeks.

Nothing was adding up. This looked like the Moby Dick, but he'd watched the whole fleet go up in flames under Admiral Akainu's attacks. Tasuka said he'd exploded, but all of his strength had been gone. She didn't even know anything about Luffy's fate even though Ace had passed out in his brother's arms.

"All done," Tasuka declared. She put the remaining bandages back and stood. "Keep that glass if you're still thirsty. I'm going to let them know you're up. If they give you too much trouble, just tell me." She patted her syringes. "It's not just the injured who sometimes need to calm down."

Just like the last one, her threat felt strangely hollow. She'd never been this careful around him before. Before he could comment on that, she tossed her braid over one shoulder and left, taking everything she'd brought in with her.

The ensuing silence didn't last; muffled voices came from outside, and then the door was thrown open with a loud bang that made Ace wince. Someone strode through, backlit by the much brighter light in the hallway. Another figure slipped in and closed the door before lighting the two lamps on the walls, forcing Ace to squint for a second while his eyes adjusted. He hadn't even realized Tasuka was treating him in the dark; the light from the window had been enough.

"Ace, finally! Tas says you're feeling a lot better. That true?"

The voice was familiar. It stirred up old feelings in Ace's chest, ones that had been buried under the despair of Impel Down and Marineford. Confusion, more confusion, swirled through his brain.

He stared, and stared, and stared. He didn't dare blink, couldn't. If he did, then the image of Thatch alive and well before him would disappear and he didn't think he could take something like that right now. He could see Marco talking to Tasuka in the doorway but couldn't process the words because Thatch was right. There.

Was he hallucinating? Was this Tasuka's doing? Did she give him something when he wasn't looking? What was that salve she'd used?

Ace felt the hysteria he'd been shoving down bubbling up again and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drive it back.

Footsteps.

"Ace?" A hand on his shoulder. Gentle. Warm. Familiar.

Thatch.

Ace drew into himself and tried to get away from the gut-wrenching hallucination in front of him. Focusing on it would only make things worse when he came back to reality. Maybe this whole thing was just a dream; maybe Tasuka not understanding what had really happened was just his mind playing tricks on him. Maybe he hadn't actually woken up at all.

The hand left his shoulder, and though Ace felt terribly cold without it, he didn't let it show.

"Ace, tell me what's wrong."

He bit his lip, trying to stop the tears that still rose at the memory of his voice. He brought his hands up to cover his face. "I can't do this right now," he whispered into his palms. Get it together.

"Talk to me, please."

Maybe he'd finally gone insane. It wouldn't be that much of a surprise, really.

"Buddy, come on. I'll leave if you want me to, but you're awake for the first time in weeks. Sue me for being a little worried about you."

Someone else—Marco—scoffed. Apparently he was done with Tasuka. "A little worried? You've worn a rut in the hallway outside."

"What is it with you two and acting like worry isn't normal?"

"Your level of it isn't."

Ace, for his part, was having difficulty breathing. He pulled his hands away from his face to get some air, but it didn't help. They were talking to each other. Was he hallucinating Thatch and Marco? That was new. Or—

No, he wasn't. There was no way.

"You," he said, the word slipping out of his mouth before he realized that he didn't want to say what followed. Instantly, he felt their gazes on him. Thatch's gaze. "You're—that's not…" He couldn't breathe, his chest was on fire, and his wrist was coated in ice. "That's not possible, it's not—"

"Ace. Open your eyes. What's not possible?" Thatch stepped forward, his footsteps all too loud on the wooden floorboards. Ace shook his head, remembering smoke and ash and screams and fire and burning in his chest and a brother that shouldn't be here—

"Get away!" Ace shouted, his whole body tensing as he tried to block out memories of Marineford, only for agony to roar up from his chest. He cried out and curled in on himself as pain and truth crashed down on him. He hadn't passed out. He'd died. He'd died in Luffy's arms.

What was this? Was this the afterlife? No, it couldn't be. He'd died at Marineford, but there was something deep in his mind now that declared with complete and resounding certainty that he was alive. Ace latched onto that feeling for all he was worth while the waves of pain receded. If he didn't, he'd go mad. If he hadn't already.

And suddenly there were hands on his shoulders again, a grip strong enough to break Ace out of his thoughts and make him look up and open his eyes out of sheer reflex. He blinked, taking a moment to process that Thatch was way too close and then he yelped, jerking away and slamming the back of his head into the wall. He grabbed it and groaned in pain.

"Why would you do that?"

"Ace," Marco said from over Thatch's shoulder, "look at me. Thatch, give him some space to breathe." His half-lidded eyes were boring into Ace's. "I don't know what's going through your head right now, but Thatch and I are real. Flesh-and-blood real, and we're not going anywhere."

Slowly, Ace focused on the first division commander instead of Thatch, who had stepped back to the end of his bed.

Ace had died, but now he was alive, and so was Thatch, and no one was talking about Marineford even though Ace had the injuries to prove it happened. Something…something big was going on. Whatever it was, it wasn't just something from his mind. He swallowed and let his hands fall from his head.

"Can you accept that?" Marco asked. Hesitantly, Ace nodded.

And now that he wasn't caught up in himself, he could smell the sea salt on the air and taste it on his tongue. He could feel the gentle rocking of the ship, the cloth of the thin sheets on the thinner mattress rubbing against his skin. He could hear the slap of waves on the hull and the muffled calls of pirates on the deck. It all felt real. As real as Thatch's hand had been on his shoulder.

"Well, glad that's over with," Thatch declared, clapping his hands together. "Marco, what's the ruling?"

Marco's eyes stayed on Ace. Measuring. "He can go as long as he doesn't strain himself."

Ace glanced between them. "What?"

Marco cocked an eyebrow. "Do you want to stay in here? I seem to recall you being eager to leave the infirmary wing every time you got yourself hurt."

"Of course he doesn't," Thatch said, holding out a hand. "Come on, we can at least make sure you get to your room without keeling over. Kisha would have our heads if we let you go alone. Hell, I'd deliver mine myself."

Ace took that hand on reflex more than anything, and he must have done a very bad job of hiding his reaction when that hand turned out to be as solid as his own, because Thatch all but yanked him up. Ace hissed in pain.

"Sorry, sorry. You were doing the zoning-out thing again. Can you believe that the last time you were conscious, you couldn't even look at me? It was rude, you know. Terribly offensive. I ate all the pudding I made for you to feel better, just so you know."

"Pudding?" Ace repeated dumbly.

"Yes, pudding. Good stuff, by the way. Some of my best work. Shame you couldn't have any, being unconscious and all." As he talked, he steered Ace towards the door with one arm keeping Ace upright while Ace's head swam. In that muddled mess of thoughts came an idea so insane, so absurd, that he nearly dismissed it out of hand. But the more Thatch rambled and the farther they trekked through the Moby Dick, the more traction it gained.

"—and if Jeremy could just keep his damned apron from bursting into flames every other minute like some kind of ten-year-old roasting marshmallows at a bonfire, today would be going swimmingly—"

"Thatch."

The fourth division commander stopped instantly, giving Ace a confused look.

"Sorry. I just…what's the date?"

"The date," Thatch said slowly, drawing out each word. "April twenty-fourth, I think."

"No, it's not," Marco said from behind him. "It's the twenty-sixth."

"What's the year?"

Both of them blinked at him in surprise before Thatch drew away with a gasp of shock. Ace staggered back against the wall without his support, eyes wide. "What, what is it?"

"They said amnesia was unlikely!" Thatch bemoaned, completely ignoring the flat stare he was getting from Marco. "Oh, you poor boy! Don't worry, I can teach you everything, starting with how to do division paperwork! Why, I even have some blank forms lying around my office that we can use for practice."

This time, Marco rolled his eyes. "Stop trying to mess with him. He clearly remembers you."

"So you say. Ace, the year's 1522." Then he glanced at Marco. "Right?"

"Yeah."

"There you go."

And suddenly the wall was the only thing keeping Ace on his feet. He waved away Thatch and Marco's worried looks, muttering, "I'm fine."

He wasn't, though. That insane theory was now the only possible reality. Marco and Thatch were real, he'd already established that, and they weren't the type to play a prank like this on him, not when they'd been so worried. Ace glanced down, eyeing the new scar tissue on his chest that was vaguely shaped in the form of a magma fist. Marinefordhad happened. He wasn't crazy. It hadn't been a dream.

Or a nightmare.

Ace let out a deep, shuddering breath, forcing his muscles to relax and the nausea from looking at his scar to recede. Somehow, he'd gone back in time. That was the only fact his mind could focus on. Hell, that was Thatch standing a few steps away; alive. Breathing. Without a bloody hole in his back.

He had to think. Had to plan. He was getting a second chance, though he didn't know why because he hadn't done anything to deserve it. He could save Thatch, could avoid Marineford, could keep Luffy from doing something goddamned stupid—

"Ace?" Marco again. "Are you sure you're okay? If you're not feeling well, we can take you back—"

"No, I'm fine," Ace said, standing upright and offering them a small grin. From their skeptical looks, Ace judged that he didn't pull it off very well, but he could work on that later. "I'm just…tired. Yeah. Tired."

"You were unconscious for two straight weeks."

Ace shot Thatch a dry look. "Unconscious isn't the same as asleep."

"He should know; he spends more time sleeping than carrying out his duties as a commander-yoi."

"Oh, give it up already," Thatch replied. "You know I'll get it done. Just let me fuss first."

"I'm fine, honest," Ace said, stepping away from the wall. "See?" He stumbled, and Thatch caught him.

"Yeah, not fine," Thatch said. "I'll take you to your room, you rest up, and then you get dinner from the chef. Personally. You should be honored."

"I'm sure he is, Thatch, but you need to coordinate dinner for the rest of the crew," Marco said, gently easing Ace away from the other man and slinging Ace's arm over his shoulder to give support. Ace muttered that he could handle himself just fine but didn't make any move to take his arm back. "I'll ensure he makes it so you don't feel the need to behead yourself."

Though Thatch clearly wanted to disagree, he sighed instead. "Right as always. I'll find some time to swing by your room later, Ace."

Ace managed a tired smile. "I'm looking forward to it."

"If you need anything, just call," Marco said, indicating the baby Den Den Mushi on Ace's desk.

"You really don't need to worry so much," Ace said awkwardly. Having the first division commander practically dote on him like this was…new. And strange. He and Marco were close, sure, but not to this extent. "I can take care of myself."

Marco gave Ace a measured look that pointedly drifted to the bracelet still around Ace's wrist. Though he had given Ace a key to remove it whenever he wanted, Marco had made it clear he was worried about Ace's powers going out of control again.

Ace waved that braceleted arm to force Marco's eyes back over to his face. "I'll be fine. Really."

Though his lips thinned, Marco nodded and left without another word.

The moment he was gone, Ace's bravado evaporated. He shifted on his bed like that would do anything to ease the burning in his chest. That salve was acting as a numbing agent, but it could only go so deep. Every breath he took fought against a vice, and the more he pushed against it, the worse it hurt. There was nothing he could do to stop it, no position he could find that made it better. The food he'd eaten earlier rested uneasily in his stomach, and Ace knew that he was going to disappoint Thatch when he brought dinner.

Those were all short-term problems, though. His pain would fade and his wounds would heal. He had to focus on the bigger picture, and that meant turning his thoughts to the future.

If it was April, then he had two months. Two months until that raid, two months until Blackbeard—

His scars pulsed. Even if it was Akainu who had dealt the killing blow, that traitor was the one who'd set it all in motion. All that blood was on his hands—what wasn't on Ace's for failing to stop the knife, at least. Ace took the deepest breath he could manage and then stood. A few shaky steps took him to his desk, where he sank into the chair and waited for the headrush to subside. When he could see straight again, he rifled through the drawers. He didn't remember exactly where everything was—he didn't have much to his name to begin with—but there were only so many options where a notebook and pen could be.

The empty pages stared up at him. Once, he'd thought about writing a journal to honor Sabo's memory, but he had never been able to find the words.

Here, an even greater purpose spurred him onward. He spun the pen on his fingers and then brought it to the page.

Chapter Text

Marco sat across from Ace at the low table that Thatch had dragged into Ace's room. To Marco's right, Thatch dug into his meal. Marco ate his at a more sedate pace, while Ace…wasn't eating much at all, actually.

A silent look to Thatch was all Marco needed to confirm that Thatch had noticed it too. He chewed his next bite of chicken slowly, wondering how best to broach the issue. The specter of Ace's bouts of complete hysteria during his recovery hung over them like a shroud. Tasuka was no therapist, but she had consulted with Kisha and other nurses, and told Marco that the possibility of a relapse was nonzero if his wounds reopened and drowned him in delirium.

"You're gonna need to eat more than that if you want to keep your strength up," said Thatch. He pointed his fork at Ace's plate, which was still loaded. "Something there you don't like?"

Ace was quick—almost too quick—to reassure him. "No, no it's good. It's really good, like it always is. I just ate too much earlier, and things aren't quite," he hesitated for a second, "settled."

"Ah."

The eating resumed, and with it, Marco and Thatch's covert observations. For his part, Marco doubted that Ace remembered the times he had been conscious before; judging from the way he was eating and how relaxed he was, he probably expected Marco and Thatch to take his apparent recovery in stride. Unfortunately, they weren't.

They had been talking for days now about some of the things Ace said while hysterical or unconscious and were no closer to figuring out what they meant even now that Ace was awake. In the throes of fever, he had mentioned Impel Down several times, his kid brother Luffy, as well as the Warlord Jinbe and—worryingly enough—Marineford.

The Ace now picking through his meal across the table didn't seem inclined to suddenly share what could have thrust those things into his dreams. Nearly every piece of his past unrelated to Luffy and the basics of his former crew was a mystery to all of them.

To say the duo was concerned was an understatement. Thatch had been panicking and though Marco took everything better, he was still worried. The last thing they wanted was to trigger some kind of relapse by prying, but they needed answers of some kind. Ace's flare up and delusional ramblings were too dramatic to just ignore.

A thump caught Marco's attention and he sighed. Some things never changed.

"Don't poke him," Marco admonished, giving Thatch a look. The pompadour'd man lifted his free hand in the universal sign of innocence.

"What, like you don't want to?" He gingerly shifted Ace so he could remove his other hand from where it had been supporting his shoulders. "I stopped him from face-planting in his food, at least."

"Thatch, I can see the marker."

"What marker?"

"Put it down."

"Aw. Spoilsport." Nevertheless, he tucked it into his pocket, his cheeky grin melting away. "I don't even know if it would actually make him feel like things are normal."

Before Marco could respond, Ace abruptly sat up, blinking and looking around for a second before he hissed and clutched his chest. He quickly held up his other hand, which, Marco noted, still had the sea stone bracelet dangling on the wrist behind it. "I'm okay, just pulled some stuff I shouldn't have. Ow."

"Do you need painkillers?"

"No, it's going away. Just give me a second." He took a few more shallow breaths and then straightened up. Though he was still pale, he picked up his fork and seemed to realize just how much food was left. "Ah, sorry that I won't be able to eat it all, Thatch."

Thatch waved him off. "No, no, that was my bad. I should've put it together that you wouldn't be as hungry as normal. Don't feel bad. I'll give your leftovers to Stefan."

Ace visibly relaxed at the thought of his leftovers not going to waste. He had always, despite his prodigious appetite, never left anything behind. It was one of his many quirks, like how, for someone so ready to talk about his younger brother, he was otherwise silent about his past. Beyond the bounty posters for the Spade pirates and his failed confrontation with Whitebeard, Ace's life was an unknown.

Perhaps the reasons behind Ace's explosion lay in the past they didn't know. This was not a time to be delicate; Marco knew from experience that Ace would just give vague answers to vague questions and ignore—deliberately or otherwise—the implied desire for more details. That said, they couldn't just take a battering ram to this castle gate, but Ace's own actions had given them a potential way inside.

"So," Marco began once Ace set his utensils down for good, "what do you remember, Ace?"

The young man froze, the toothpick he'd picked up wedged between his teeth. "Eh?"

"A trigger, maybe," Marco added. "Something that could make a devil fruit go out of control."

Ace looked between them, working the toothpick around his teeth in an obvious ploy to buy time. "I…don't really know. Things were normal, and then I woke up in that room. I don't remember anything between that."

Thatch leaned back with pursed lips. His eyes darted to Marco's for just a second. Marco nodded; a vague answer to a vague question. They needed a new angle. "You were saying some unusual things while you were recovering. You don't remember any of that either?"

"What kind of stuff?"

"I guess that's a no."

"What kind of stuff was I saying?" Ace pressed, eyes narrowing. When neither Thatch nor Marco spoke up, he closed his eyes and let loose a quick sigh. "Tasuka probably gave me something she wasn't supposed to. Please, ignore what you heard."

Marco kept his frown to himself. As if they could do that so easily.

"You're one of the ones she actually likes," Thatch pointed out.

"Only because I don't constantly show up burned and poisoned from trying to cook everything I find," Ace retorted. He then paused, a strange expression crossing his face, before he shook his head. "What did I say when I was out?"

Another quick glance. Marco gave a minute shake of his head and took the lead. "Well, if you don't remember any of it, it's probably nothing-yoi. If you do recall anything, though, let us know."

"Can't have you exploding on us again," Thatch said. He tried to say it with a joking wink, but it fell flat when Ace just responded with a pained smile.

"I'll try not to."

The awkward silence fell over them like a physical weight. Marco let it stew for a second before he climbed to his feet. "We won't keep you up."

Thatch followed his lead, expertly stacking their dishes so he could carry them with a single hand. "Sleep well, Ace."

"Thanks."

As they walked away from Ace's room, Marco found himself dwelling in a pensive silence. Thatch was in much the same state, but once they reached the kitchen—empty at this hour—he broke his silence.

"I'm worried, Marco." He set the dishes in the sink but made no move to begin washing them. "I mean, I've been worried."

"I've noticed."

"Obvious injuries aside, he's not telling us something. He's been hostile before, but," he trailed off, brows furrowing.

"He's never lied to us before."

"Yeah. Exactly." Thatch let out a deep breath and pushed off the counter. "What did he go through? And why doesn't he trust us enough to tell us what it is?"

Marco didn't have the answers to those questions. If anything, Thatch was in a better position to know; relatively speaking, he spent far more time with Ace than Marco. "All we can do is make sure we're at his side when he decides to share what's hurting him."

When Thatch's frown didn't clear, Marco raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a better idea-yoi?"

"Well, maybe. We could ask his old crew about what he was like when he first got the Mera Mera no Mi, see if anything like this has happened before."

It wasn't a bad idea per se, but—"They're spread out in the fleet. Tracking them down will take time, and I'd rather not word get out beyond the Moby Dick about what happened. The last thing we need is the marines hearing about a division commander nearly dying."

"Nothing can ever be easy, can it?" Thatch sighed. "Keeping an eye on him it is, then." He paused, then put a hand over his eyes with a quiet groan. "I forgot to tell Pops he was awake before making dinner."

"I'll handle it," said Marco.

"Thanks, buddy. I feel bad; he's probably been waiting for an update all day."

"I won't tell him you forgot, if that's what you're worried about. Good night, Thatch."

"'Night."

Marco left to the sound of water splashing into the sink.

"Pops!" Marco knocked slightly louder on the door. Near his feet, Stefan the dog lifted his head and regarded Marco with mild curiosity before sinking down and falling right back asleep.

Whitebeard's voice rumbled from inside. "Come in, Marco."

Gently closing the door behind him, Marco faced his captain in the flickering candlelight that cast the whole room in a warm glow. Whitebeard was propped up in bed, a book held in one giant hand. He snapped that book closed and set it aside. Even lying down, the man dominated the space he was in, and not just because of his size.

"What of Ace?"

"He's woken up. Lucid, this time. Tasuka gave him permission to rest in his room; he's wearing a sea stone bracelet."

"I see. And his wounds?"

"Healing. He can walk and eat, but not easily."

"Still, that's good news." Whitebeard drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Have you found any reason for what happened two weeks ago?"

"He claims that he doesn't remember anything."

Whitebeard narrowed his eyes at Marco's wording. "Claims?"

"To be blunt, Thatch and I both feel that Ace is hiding something from us-yoi. He doesn't want to talk about it, or he would've brought it up. We think it has to do with what he talked about while he was unconscious."

"Marineford and Impel Down."

"Yes."

"Hmph."

There was a strange look on Whitebeard's face. Did he know something Marco didn't? But no, if he did know something that could explain it, he would've shared it. Marco kept going. "Thatch will be keeping a close eye on him, and I'll be helping when I can. We'll make sure he knows we're on his side."

"I'd expect nothing less. Ace has gone through a lot and grown stronger for it; we must believe that this, too, will pass."

"I know." Marco's lips thinned. "It's the time before that happens that worries me."

Chapter Text

"Not that I'm against helping you, but I'm pretty sure Commander Thatch would've been fine with sending food to your room."

Leaning heavily on Tasuka, Ace gave her a sheepish grin while the salt-laden breeze tossed his hair in his face. "I've been stuck in my room for three days, Tas. I needed to see the sky again."

Though he'd gotten a little more strength back over the last few days, he was nowhere near recovered. Even now, even with Tasuka acting as a crutch, his legs were shaking and his skin was clammy. He probably looked half dead; every time he glanced in a mirror, the dark circles under his eyes seemed to get worse.

The last time he'd looked, there had been a healthy growth of stubble, and he'd felt the overpowering urge to claw his own face off.

So, the mirror in his room was now a bunch of shards on the floor. He'd deal with that, and managing a proper shave to get rid of any whispers of a mustache, later.

"Thank you for helping me walk all the way up here; I wouldn't have been able to do it without you."

She sighed. "You're just too polite to get angry at. You know, your division's galley was closer."

"That one doesn't have Thatch's cooking."

"Fine, fine. In we go."

The moment she pushed open the door to the grand mess hall of the Moby Dick, all of the muffled noise it had been holding back washed over Ace in a wave.

Well, "grand" was one word for it. The room was big, sure; it had to be big to house to many hungry pirates at once. But "grand" implied elegance, opulence, and expensive décor. The Moby Dick had none of those, but it made up for them in volume, population, and life. The energy of the Whitebeard Pirates might as well have been a living thing; it ebbed and flowed through the air, congregating where conversations broke into uproarious laughter and weaving through crowded tables of low conversation, only to swell again where other pirates were bursting into song.

But the moment they realized Ace was the newest arrival, all of that energy swelled and crashed down directly onto him. He froze up under it, for an instant feeling his knees on a platform and shackles on his wrists, only for the sight of Tasuka putting herself between him and the storm to snap him out of it.

"Hold it, you lugs!" she declared, one hand extended while the other kept Ace on his feet. "If any of you even think about thumping him on the back or anything like that, you're signing up to be test subjects, got it?"

The encroaching crowd halted instantly. Tasuka nodded.

"That's what I thought." She glanced at Ace. "Do you think you can make it on your own from here?"

Confidently? No. "I can manage."

She carefully extricated herself, and once she saw he could stand on his own, took her leave. When the threat of her needles was gone, the pirates broke into motion once more. No one touched Ace, but he was hit with a barrage of smiles, congratulations, and welcome-backs that all blended together as a haze of gratitude. No one even seemed upset about how he'd apparently almost barbequed the Moby Dick; they were all focused on his recovery.

Even with the tens of faces pressing in around him, he could pick out the ones he'd last seen from on top an execution stand.

All of these people had been ready to give their lives for his. Some of them actually had.

"Ace, that really you?" Thatch shouldered his way through the crowd into Ace's small Tasuka-enforced bubble. He grinned wide, went to shake his shoulders, and promptly stopped when all of the other pirates hissed a warning. "O-kay then. Well, you're here now. Ace?"

How many people in this room had died for him?

Thatch flicked his forehead, heedless of the way everyone drew back with fearful glances towards the door. "I told you not to space out, especially not in my domain. Come on, let's get you a table and some food. Anything in particular you want?"

A little dumbfounded, Ace trailed after him to a sparser section of the mess hall. A glance at Ace was all it took for the nearby pirates to make plenty of space. Ace practically had a table to himself.

Three days of rest and whatever strange medicinal cocktails Tasuka cooked up in her free time meant that Ace's body wasn't the only thing on the mend. His appetite, too, had begun returning, so when Thatch returned with a tray for him, Ace sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry to send you back there, but I think I'll be needing more than this."

It was as though he'd just handed Thatch a million beri. The man brightened instantly. "Don't worry about it at all! Wait here, I'll be right back."

And just like that, he was lost in the crowd. Ace turned his attention to his food. There wasn't any need for Thatch to tell him to wait where he was; he wasn't going anywhere. As he regarded his food, though, he swallowed, left hand hovering over his stomach. He could do this. He'd had three full meals yesterday for the first time, even kept it all down. The nausea sucked but getting through it was the only way he was going to get his strength back. After a bracing breath, he picked up his fork and got to work.

Per Tasuka's orders, nobody touched him, but as he ate, he had a steady stream of well-wishers winding past his table nonetheless. He thanked those he could—often with a full mouth, which they seemed to find heartening—and nodded to others. The vast majority were from his division, but even pirates from other divisions swung by. After several minutes, though, the line dried up. Most people were content with just seeing Ace moving around again.

The clatter of a tray being dropped down next to him brought his attention away from his food. He looked over the massive pile on that tray to Thatch's beaming face.

"Did you leave anything for the rest of the crew?" he asked around the bite of meat he'd stuffed into one cheek.

"Look at you, being all considerate." Thatch sat next to him, a tray for himself in his left hand. "How is it?"

"It's exactly what I needed."

"Glad to hear it." He sampled a bite of his own pancakes and nodded his approval. "It's good to see you up and about. When you cooped up in your room last week I was worried Tasuka was going to hunt me down for dragging you out too soon."

Swallowing and chasing it with a swig of water, Ace shook his head. "She wouldn't do that."

"She threatened everyone in here with drugs to keep away from you."

"She…probably wouldn't do that?"

Thatch sighed. "At least you still have your sympathetic sense of humor." He frowned, attention dropping to Ace's wrist. "Are you still wearing that bracelet?"

"Marco made it pretty clear he was worried about me exploding again."

Thatch's abnormally serious gaze seemed to pierce right through that weak excuse. "Right, I can understand why Marco's worried. I don't understand why you're just as worried as he is." His frown deepened. "Is there something else going on, Ace?"

Something else. Something else.

Something like knowing what his own burning flesh smelled like. Something like the memory of his insides melting overwhelming him every time he reached for the key. Something like his powers, already on an emotional hair trigger, having injured tens of his own brothers and sisters.

Ace took a deep, shuddering breath. He'd bent his fork and so set it down carefully. His appetite was gone. Even though Thatch had probably seen every single thought cross his face, Ace still took another few seconds to compose himself.

But those few seconds tore everything apart.

The door to the mess hall opened—as it had been doing for the past hour almost constantly—but this time, the new presence demanded Ace's attention. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and an instinctive tide of anger swept through him, making whatever excuse he had been about to make die on his lips.

Now, Ace had never been known for his haki; he was "Fire Fist" Ace for a reason. People tended to focus on his devil fruit powers before they looked any further, and it was a rare day that Ace felt pushed to use what skills he had.

No one got to the New World without picking up a few tricks, though, and Ace had picked his up from any crewmembers—and even some opponents—willing to indulge his curiosity. Ace was a quick learner, and though his observation haki was good in a fight, he struggled to use it as well as, say, Marco did in regular life.

But he would never fail to recognize the feeling of the person who had just entered the room.

He was turning, standing, burning before he even fully realized what he was doing. Memories of mocking laughter and darkness filled his mind's eye and he remembered that dark night, then the hunt and the battle that followed. The taunts, the threats to Whitebeard and to Luffy—they all rang like claxons in his skull.

There would be no forgiveness, no mercy, no hesit—

"Ace?" Upon hearing the familiar, concerned voice, and feeling the hand on his arm, Ace glanced down and saw Thatch giving him a confused look. Alive, breathing Thatch. Who was holding his arm because Ace had that bracelet around his wrist, and he wasn't burning, he was freezing. Every ember he'd unconsciously summoned had been drowned in a tide of oceanic frost. "What's going on? Is something wrong?"

He tried to look where Ace was looking, but Ace swiftly tore his eyes from the traitor. Teach's presence moved to the line for food. Ace tightened his hands into fists, wanting desperately to rip off his bracelet and burn the man to a crisp, but now more people's eyes were being drawn to him and he couldn't just up and murder a traitor before anyone knewthat he was a traitor. If he killed Teach now, he would be the one in the wrong.

And with how icy the sea stone felt on his skin, if he released it, he would be putting all of his family in danger. Though he hated it, hated the way logic was stopping him from doing what needed to be done, he forced his hands to relax. He breathed deeply, schooled his expression into a blank mask, and sat back down, ignoring Thatch's assessing look.

"Sorry. Thought I heard something."

One of Thatch's eyebrows crept up. "Really. What kind of something?"

"It's nothing."

"What kind of nothing can—"

Marco's voice from behind them pulled him up short. "There you are, Thatch."

Ace stiffened, ready for Thatch to tell Marco what had just happened, but Thatch did nothing of the sort.

"Marco, buddy, are you here to tell me you approved my new budget? I patched that freezer pipe but we could really just use a whole new one."

Marco shot him a droll look. "Keep making requests for absurd amounts and I'll start slashing it instead-yoi. You're getting an additional ten thousand beri next month for new equipment. That's it."

"That's barely enough to pay for a decent pan."

"Do you want me to start asking whyyour excuse is always that you need new pans, even though at the prices you claim, they're supposed to last for years? If your division really needs new equipment, give me an itemized list. If you just want to try every new gadget they put on the market, give up." Thatch withered. "Anyway, that's not the only reason I wanted to find you. I need you to start spreading the word in your division. We're stopping at an island soon and Izo has made it clear we're all expected to have formal clothing for something this week. Ace, you too."

"Right," Ace said numbly. Thatch had definitely noticed something was wrong, Marco had even interrupted him in the middle of calling Ace out on it, but now he was acting like nothing had happened at all. Was it a kindness, or was Ace going to hear about it later?

"Formal clothing?" Thatch asked. "Why?"

"I don't know for sure, but given that Tallie has been making the rounds of this room for a few days now, I'm sure they've got a celebration of some kind planned."

"Now that you mention it, I think it's someone's birthday," Thatch mused. "She was asking about cakes yesterday. Or was someone getting married? No, wait. Having a kid?"

"Whatever the reason," said Marco, "try to have something, or Izo will never let me hear the end of it."

Thatch saluted with a grin. "I'd hate to be the cause of that."

"And I expect a revised budget proposal by tonight-yoi. I don't want you coming to me later claiming that I meant to give you a hundred thousand more and just forgot a zero on the form."

Thatch's grin died. "One more day?"

Marco had a smile of his own. "No."

While Thatch attempted more doomed negotiations, Ace tried and failed to convince himself to eat a little more. Teach's presence was making him feel sick, threatening what food he had managed to take in. The longer he sat here, the worse it was going to get. If Marco said anything, if he pushed at all, Thatch would probably tell him everything, and then Ace would be cornered.

So he stood. Abruptly. "I need some fresh air. Excuse me."

And he walked away. Abruptly.

"Ace?"

He bit his lip and ignored the concern in Thatch's voice. Caught up in thoughts of Teach and the fact that the traitor was approaching Thatch and Marco, he barely realized he'd made it all the way out onto the deck without support. The moment he processed what that meant, his injuries made themselves known. He staggered, hissing through his teeth, only for someone to grab his arm and pull him back up.

Vista looked down on him with knitted brows. He wasn't taking his hand away, for which Ace was grateful. The ship was still spinning as much as it was rocking. "Are you well enough to be out here alone, Ace?"

"I just got a little dizzy, that's all. Thanks for catching me." He noted that Vista had both of his swords and a bag thrown over one shoulder. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Just a little bit of scouting ahead to make sure we don't have any fools interrupting our journey to Toraburu Island."

Ace frowned. He also managed to stand straight, a silent signal that it was okay for Vista to let go. "Is there something wrong?" Marco hadn't said anything about them running low on food or weaponry.

Vista awkwardly scratched his chin while he regarded Ace. The motion drew Ace's eyes to his mustache, which was looking noticeably thinner and patchier at its start and far shorter at its ends. "Well, ah. The Moby Dick took a fair amount of damage recently. The port side is holding for now, but a stray cannonball would be…problematic. We already have all of the fishmen keeping the sea kings away."

"I—" Ace swallowed, then bowed his head. Marco had probably been trying to keep that from him. What if the whole party was just a cover? No, they wouldn't go that far to coddle him. Regardless: "I take full responsibility. It's my fault."

"No, don't worry about it, don't worry. We all know you wouldn't do it on purpose. No one blames you." In the periphery of Ace's awareness, Teach's presence began moving for the door. He probably wanted to check in with Ace, division member to division commander, just like everyone else had been doing. "Anyway, if you see Marco, let him know I've headed out."

"Wait!" The word burst out before Ace could stop it. Vista paused, raising one eyebrow, and Ace had no choice but to keep going. "Can I come with you?"

"You are still injured, are you not? Has Tasuka released you from her watch?"

He had less than a minute until Teach reached him. "Please, Vista." His gaze flicked to the mess hall doors and then back to Vista. "Please." When Vista only pursed his lips, Ace held up his braceleted wrist, hoping that the desperate tremble to his voice wasn't as obvious as his mind was telling him it was. "Look, I won't cause any trouble. I just need to get off the ship for a minute. You won't even know I'm there."

Twenty seconds. If Vista said no, Ace was going to have to make a run for it and pray someone got between him and Teach. He'd nearly lost all composure just sensing the man; he knew himself too well to think he'd have any kind of control if he had to talk to him.

With a great sigh, Vista let his shoulders drop. "Very well." He then held out an arm for Ace to take as support. "This way; my ship is tied near the stern."

Chapter Text

He didn't have his hat with him, so as he leaned against the railing of Vista's ship, the ocean breeze tousled his hair. The spiteful gusts wouldn't pick a direction or an intensity, forcing the ship's crew to make constant adjustments to maintain their course, and he had to squint against the spray kicked up each time the bow cut through an oncoming wave.

Vista had pulled together a small crew of five members from his division in addition to himself. More than enough for a simple scouting mission; he had a Den Den Mushi on hand to call for backup if they encountered anything serious.

As the resident tagalong, Ace was staying out of the way. He was also trying to hide how cold he was. The bracelet sealed his devil fruit's powers, including its passive effect of always keeping him comfortably warm. On the open water, shirtless, and hit with spray, he was shivering.

But he was away from Teach, and that was all that mattered. He would bear some discomfort if it meant more time to get a handle on himself.

He needed it.

"You look cold," Vista noted as he walked over.

"I am cold," admitted Ace. "It's either that or I risk setting the ship on fire."

Vista regarded him for a moment before he turned towards the man working the sail. "Rinji, can you lend your jacket to Commander Ace for the trip?"

"Eh?" Rinji, who was probably in his late thirties with curly blond hair, sun-bronzed skin, and missing front teeth, peered down at them. His green, pocket-studded coat, currently unzipped, flapped in the wind. "Yeah, no problem. I was actually starting to work up a sweat."

He shrugged it off and dropped it down to Vista, who handed it to Ace.

It was really that simple. So much for "freeze or burn the ship."

For a second, though, he hesitated. Putting on the jacket would cover up Whitebeard's mark—and then his brain kicked in. The mark was already ruined. So with a quiet thanks, he slipped it on.

Drawing comfort from the new warmth, he turned his gaze to the water. There wasn't any sign of their destination yet, but he'd overheard the navigator saying they were only an hour or so away. "What's your plan, anyway?"

"It's not complicated. If we make it to the island without trouble, we'll do a wide circle to make sure no one unwelcome has taken up residence in its waters. Then I will do a sweep of the town while Rinji and the rest make sure no spy-types can sneak away." He absently brushed a hand along his mustache, coming up a bit short when he remembered that it wasn't what it used to be. "Which would you prefer?"

Strolling through town with Vista in search of a fight or staying back on the boat as an unnecessary set of extra eyes. Ace chewed his lip, turning his gaze to the waves. Leaning here, the pain in his chest was negligible, but a pervasive sense of weakness kept him from trusting his limbs completely. If a fight broke out, he'd be worse than useless. He'd be a hindrance.

But staying on the boat didn't sit right with him either. He was a commander, for fuck's sake. The least he could do to pay Vista back for letting him join was provide some company.

"If I may make a suggestion," Vista said, drawing Ace's eyes back to him. He gestured to Ace's wrist. "I understand why you're worried about a second time, but that sea stone can't be doing you good. I may not have a devil fruit, but from what I've heard, that stone saps your strength. Now, I'm no doctor either, but I suspect that it might be interfering with your recovery."

Feeling rather stupid, Ace raised that arm and stared at the innocuous stone bracelet. "I didn't even think about that."

"Do you have a key with you?"

"Yeah." He rummaged in his blue pouch but hesitated to put the key in the lock.

"If anything happens, I will be at your side," Vista said.

That was what he needed to hear. "Thank you."

He took a deep breath. Even with Vista right there, he still needed a moment to make absolutely sure he wasn't calling on his powers without realizing it. Apparently, that was something he needed to do now. He also braced himself for more echoes of Marineford, but with the salty ocean thick in the air, none came.

The key slid in and turned with a click. The bracelet popped open, and Ace handed both the key and the bracelet over to Vista, who looked at him expectantly. "Well?"

The very instant the bracelet left his grasp, new strength flooded Ace's veins. He marveled at the feeling. He'd been walking around with a ball and chain on each leg and hadn't even realized what its true source was. His healing wounds still hurt, but that constant, low-grade ache throughout his body was gone.

Blinking, he looked down at himself. No fire. He turned his hands over and flexed his fingers. "You were right."

Vista grinned. He almost looked like he was going to slap Ace on the back but settled for a quick shoulder squeeze instead. "Then we shall look through the town together."

Even with their small craft's considerable speed, it took another hour and ten minutes for them to reach Toraburu island. Unlike other islands in the New World, it didn't have an imposing presence. If anything, it was out of place: though there were hills on its north side and a freshwater spring at its center, its overall geography was mundane. Maybe that was why it had been so quick to become a New World haven; it was one of the few islands around that could be approached and explored safely, particularly because it fell under Whitebeard's protection.

That said, it wasn't very big, and the port town on it could only grow so large without stepping on the toes of the other settlements. All of the inlanders wanted nothing to do with the dregs that washed in from the sea. Ace got a decent look at all of it—shores and interior—while their ship did its patrol circuit.

"Doesn't look to be any trouble here," Vista noted.

"Probably scared off by Pop's flag."

"Hm." Vista stroked his mustache. "I'd like things to be that simple, but that flag can attract as many fools as it scares away. They just tend to be targeting us, not the island residents."

Ace frowned at the approaching dock. "Do you think someone infiltrated the island to lie in wait?"

"Merely a precaution. It will be our job to find out whether it's warranted."

Dock agents met them the moment they stepped foot off their ship. With Whitebeard's flag hanging from their mast, to not do so would've been a glaring oversight. Vista handled the formalities while Ace scanned the people milling around. There were several merchant ships rocking on the water nearby and three massive passenger vessels probably stopping en route to a different island. There was also an unmarked ship far on one end, but it didn't have any activity going on around it.

"Listen," Vista's exasperated voice pulled Ace back to his immediate surroundings, "I'm quite finished entertaining your idea that we're impostors. We are Whitebeard Pirates. Find our bounty posters if you're so convinced otherwise but stop making it our responsibility to prove ourselves."

The dock authority at the head of the pack gawked as Vista walked right by him. The other agents parted before him. Ace favored them with a pretend tip of his missing hat while he followed in Vista's footsteps.

As they began their perusal of the port town Mina, Ace fell into stride next to his fellow commander. This was a shopping hub all right: stall vendors crowded every inch of the street that wasn't claimed by a brick-and-mortar shop. Store windows competed with each other to have the most eye-catching display. Crowds of people flowed through the streets to sample some of the finest merchandise that the New World had to offer.

"You're still wearing Rinji's coat."

Ace's lips thinned. He'd half-hoped Vista wouldn't notice and so settled on a half-truth. "We don't need people knowing I'm injured. We're supposed to be looking for trouble, not the other way around."

"A fair point."

He'd stopped wearing a shirt to show off Whitebeard's mark. Now that mark was destroyed because of his own stupidity. He couldn't stand to look at it himself, much less reveal it to the world.

One merchant who had caught his eye at the start—his wares were noticeably lower-quality than everything else on the street—now earned more of Ace's attention. His stall was tucked behind several others, practically crammed into an alleyway instead of on the street. Even so, he'd been in conversation with his one customer for as long as Ace had been able to see him—at least twenty seconds. That conversation finally ended as Ace and Vista drew level with that stall, and Ace saw money change hands for one of the shirts on display.

It was far, far more money than the shirt was worth, but the customer seemed well aware of that; Ace watched her toss the shirt onto someone else's stall the moment she was back on the street. He narrowed his eyes.

"Give me a second," he said, breaking away from Vista.

As he'd suspected, the merchant was actually an information broker. He was cagey when Ace approached, and though he didn't seem to recognize Ace as a wanted pirate, he was suspicious nonetheless.

"Apologies, but I don't think any of my goods will suit your tastes."

Ace roped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in close before he could retreat. The merchant went rigid. "Don't be like that," Ace chided, gesturing at one of the gaudy hats on the lower shelf. "I think you're selling exactly what I want." That hand then went into his right shorts pocket and produced a healthy stack of beri.

He could be intimidated all he liked, but the merchant couldn't turn away money like that. It was nearly double what the last customer had offered. After a beat of surprised silence, the merchant pocketed the cash and told Ace everything he wanted to know.

When Ace returned to Vista, he did so with a satisfied smile despite now having zero pocket change.

"What did you find?"

"Nothing much. Just that a local restaurant—the Spiked Hatchet—is a gathering spot for a certain group that's been spreading all kinds of rumors about Whitebeard. I think it's time someone set them straight."

Vista mirrored his smile. "Lead the way."

The Spiked Hatchet was an unsavory sort of place buried behind the glossy sheen of the stores doing their utmost to separate travelers from their money. Unlike those establishments, the Spiked Hatchet made no pretenses about what it was. Its paint job was unsavory, its clientele was unsavory, even its food and drink were unsavory. The place's only redeeming quality was that no one smart talked about what went on inside, outside.

In all, it was the perfect haven for every pirate that had to stop in Mina, so when Ace and Vista stepped into its dilapidated wooden interior, the tension in the air grew thick enough to feel. The patrons already there turned hostile glares on the new arrivals as, like candles blowing out, every conversation died.

That was fine. Ace was used to places going silent when he walked in. He strolled up to the bar and sat at an open stool. Vista, meanwhile, stayed in the back—an implied threat to anyone who was thinking about leaving. Given that Ace was without his hat and had his tattoo covered, Vista was the only one attracting second glances.

Ace ordered a drink from the surly bartender while casting a subtle look over to the mountain of a man he assumed was the bouncer. He wasn't a giant and Whitebeard would dwarf him sitting down, but the man easily equaled Vista in size and had the muscles to match.

"Whitebeard's boys, eh?" A nearby man said. He was nursing his own drink, shooting Ace a difficult-to-interpret sideways look all the while.

"What gave it away?" Ace replied with a good-natured grin. The old man didn't seem to be picking a fight.

"What didn't," the old man grumbled. "What are you doing here?"

"This island is our territory."

The man looked unamused by Ace's flippant response. "I didn't ask a question to bandy words, boy."

Ace bristled at the "boy" comment but kept his smile in place, though his tone took on an edge. "Shame, because that's why I'm here. I've heard some rather disturbing rumors. Not the kind that a Whitebeard Pirate like myself is fond of hearing."

The man scoffed, looking into his drink with such intensity that Ace wondered what was in it. "Foolish. You shouldn't travel places on rumor alone."

"Would you know, sir?" If the man was so willing to talk, then he probably knew something. Ace decided to go the polite route to see if he could get more information that way. The man snorted at the word, looking amused more than anything.

"Sir," he repeated lowly. "Haven't been called that in a long time, especially not by a brat like yourself." The man fell silent, but Ace just waited, knowing he was going to continue. After he took a long sip of his drink, he did.

"Do you know about Laugh Tale, boy?"

"Of course," Ace said instantly. He realized a moment later that the man wanted a better answer than that. "It's the island at the end of the New World where One Piece is supposedly hidden."

The man looked almost curious. "Is that all it is to you?"

Though they were rapidly approaching Ace's limits on casual conversation, Ace decided to humor the man. "No." He didn't intend to go into any more detail, and the man seemed to be able to tell that much from Ace's closed expression.

And then, to Ace's surprise, the man laughed, his surly attitude melting away.

"Well, then, I won't stand in your way. I'm just a relic, after all." He looked wistfully at the drink in his hand, his mind far away. "A disgraced captain with no crew and no ship. Making a living in a shit port town like this…ha. Ha! If I could see myself now, I think I'd die."

"What?" Ace wasn't sure whether the old man was talking to him or not. That confusion vanished when the man pinned him with a hard stare.

"Let me tell you this, young man." It was a step up from boy. A small one, but a step nonetheless. "Don't get stuck in one place. Things change. People change. Sometimes it's better to let things go than watch them slip through your fingers."

"I'll keep that in mind," Ace said, managing to keep the confusion out of his voice.

"I'll help you," the man continued, "if only because you've got more spark than any of the wannabe pirates that have come through here before. I like your fire. It burns hot."

Did he know who Ace actually was? "Uh…thanks?"

The man continued as though Ace had never spoken. "The men you're probably looking for are the Blue Cross pirates. They showed up here about a year ago and haven't left since. They've been spreading doubt about Whitebeard's power since day one. I may be old, but I'm not blind. They want us to reject Whitebeard's protection." He finished the last of his drink and stood, leaving some money on the counter. He had a strange expression on his face. "Hasn't worked, of course, because people enjoy safety. Nice to see you finally stepping in. They're too comfortable here; tried to run me out of town once."

Ace raised an eyebrow. "How'd that go?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?" He sighed. "I can see where this is going. If your friend in the back will let me go, I think I'd rather avoid getting caught up in it."

"That's only fair for what you've told me." Ace raised a hand to get Vista's attention. Vista nodded and let the man pass, then resumed his post. "Now then," he turned his gaze to the bartender, who stiffened as he was reaching for the old man's empty glass. "That's a very distinctive tattoo you've got on your wrist."

He yanked his hand away, but that moment of his sleeve pulling back had been more than enough.

"I'm no expert," Ace went on, "but that's a pretty odd shape for a jolly roger." He paused to take a sip of his beer. In the silence, every shifting chair was deafening. "Actually, it looks more like a repurposed marine tattoo to me. What, did you guys run out of people willing to do this who didn't have your logo stamped on their skin?"

The bartender scowled. "You—"

Ace cut him off with a cold glare. "No self-respecting pirate would settle in one place just to undercut another. This is the part where you run."

Instead of running—not that Ace had expected him to—the bartender wound up for a wild haymaker. He got Ace's mug of beer to the face for that, and in the same moment that he reeled, clutching his nose while beer spilled all over, Ace kicked his stool back into the three guys charging him. As he turned to face the roiling bar, Ace noted Vista dealing swiftly with his own horde by the door.

All but four of the patrons were Blue Cross members. While the innocent ones scrambled to get out of the way, the undercover marines charged. As the armed one, Vista attracted the majority of them, but six in addition to the ones he'd bowled over with the stool turned their eyes to Ace.

Though his core was trembling, Ace gestured for them to try their luck. He had his devil fruit; even weakened, he could handle some overconfident marines.

And then the bartender stabbed him through the back.

Ace started the fight with perfect confidence, so Vista wasn't worried about leaving him to his own devices. He wasn't sure what Ace had said to get the bar up in arms, but clearly, the men throwing themselves onto his swords were their enemies. He could get the whole picture from Ace later—or so he thought.

He caught only a glimpse through the bodies around him: Ace, wobbly—though still cocky—smirk on his face, taunting the men charging him. Movement behind him. A knife emerging from his chest, followed by the fist wrapped around its handle, all of it wreathed in flames.

Ace's smirk dropped away. His hands came up to the knife only to stop before touching it. His fingers trembled. His eyes lost focus.

Vista cut down a man trying to tackle him and parried another carrying a sword, but his attention remained on Ace. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of Vista's neck, and on his next breath, he realized just how warm the air had become.

"Ace!" he called.

Fire licked at Ace's shoulders and then raced down his legs and arms. He didn't react to Vista's voice at all.

"Ace!" Vista shoulder-checked the nearest attacker and forced his way through the rest, heedless of the weapons scraping over his rushed haki.

He wasn't fast enough. What were individual tongues of flame burst into an inferno that blew back everyone nearby. Vista braced himself against it and was still pushed back a foot. He raised an arm and squinted against the light. Ace's fire was growing by the second, a hurricane of blistering heat. Vista didn't bother calling out again; his words would just be lost in the roaring storm. All of the other people in the bar had fled.

He gritted his teeth. This was his doing. Despite Ace's clear reluctance, Vista had convinced him to remove the bracelet and even encouraged him to come into town when he was very obviously not recovered. He had been far too quick to make everything seem like it was normal when he should've been mindful of his brother's condition.

So, since it was his fault, it was his responsibility. He battled his way through the flames one step at a time, his haki the only thing between him and agony. This was no hurricane; it lacked an eye, and the closer Vista got to its source, the wilder the inferno became. Still, he kept going, scorched floorboards threatening to crumble with every step.

At the center of it all, Ace was barely corporeal. His body was a flickering outline threatening to get lost in the flames. He was on his knees, hands on his head, mouth open in a silent scream as his powers raged beyond his control.

His form was just solid enough for Vista to get the bracelet around his wrist. The instant the sea stone made contact, every bit of fire in the bar blinked out. The flames nearest to Ace rushed back to his body and faded. Were Vista not still holding his wrist, Ace, unconscious, would've collapsed completely.

The silence was deafening.

Chapter Text

"And you didn't see what set him off?"

Thatch shook his head. "I tried to ask him about it, but he shut down. I thought I'd get a chance to press him on it after breakfast, you know, get a minute alone, but since he went with Vista…" he let the sentence trail off.

Marco, sitting behind his desk, glasses perched on the end of his nose, sighed and rubbed his temples. "We're missing something big."

"Yeah." Thatch squeezed the back of the chair he was standing behind. He was too keyed up to sit down. Between Ace's behavior that morning, his abrupt departure, and the storm battering the damaged Moby Dick right now, he couldn't find a way to relax. "I just would've expected him to, I don't know, say something about it. Talk to us."

"That's never been his strong suit."

"He got better after he took the mark."

"Did he get better-yoi, or did we just stop asking?"

Thatch chewed on that, brows furrowing. It was true, in a way. The worst of Ace's issues had seemed to just…melt away after he joined the crew. He was brighter, happier, quicker to smile, maybe a little too quick to talk about his little brother—and while his anger was still there, it wasn't nearly as volatile. Thatch, like everyone else, had considered his issues basically solved, and…

"I stopped asking."

The floor tilted. Thatch braced himself against the subsequent lurch as the Moby Dick slid down the back of a massive wave. Marco grabbed a pen before it could roll off his desk. One of the lamps nailed into the wall flickered.

"He's still wearing the sea stone, too," Thatch muttered when the ship stabilized.

"That may be my fault-yoi."

"It's not just that he's being careful about burning the ship again." Thatch frowned at the floor, waiting out a roll of thunder before he continued. "You can see it in his eyes, Marco. He's scared of something. He doesn't trust himself anymore." The wood near his fingers cracked, and Thatch hastily let go. "Sorry. It's just—it's Ace. Ever since he took Pops' mark, he's been the most steadfast guy I know. I don't understand why that changed so quickly."

The ship rocked again. "All we can do is keep an eye—"

Footsteps thundered down the hallway, and then the door to Marco's office banged open. Vista, soaking wet and breathing hard, stood on the threshold. His clothes were singed and slashed, his beloved cape in tatters in a way no lightning strike could justify.

"It's Ace," he said.

Thatch's eyes darted to Marco's before they both focused on Vista.

"Explain," Marco ordered.

Vista laid out the bones of what had happened on Toraburu Island: removing the bracelet, patrolling the streets, confronting the men in the bar, and Ace's devil fruit going out of control once again.

"Did you see what triggered it?" asked Thatch.

"All I saw was the bartender attempt to stab him from behind, but his attack just went straight through."

"Did Ace say anything?"

"No, and he was unconscious from the moment I got the sea stone on him."

Thatch and Marco exchanged another look. In Ace's original episode, his flames had gone out and he'd presumably been unconscious well before he hit the water.

Marco set his glasses down. "Where is Ace now?"

"I had my men take him to the infirmary."

"He's injured?"

"Not visibly. Not more, at least. But I figured it was best to be safe; he might've opened something up again."

Marco's lips thinned. "Good call." He drew a quick breath and stood straight. "I'm glad you made it back in one piece. If you and your men are able, assist with the storm efforts as best you can. We can't afford to take on much more water than we already have. I'll join you shortly once I record what you said about the marines' new tactics in our territory. Thatch, check on Ace before you head up. If he's awake, make sure he stays in the infirmary."

"On it."

They split up. Per Marco's request, Thatch's first stop was the infirmary. Ignoring a rather foreboding surge of déjà vu, he pushed open the door and headed through. "Tasuka? Hello? Any nurses in here?"

No response. Thatch rode the rolling of the ship on his way to Ace's bedside. He was close to the door and the nurse's station by the entrance. Someone had put him there with the foresight to know the storm would be tossing the Moby Dick around; special rigging meant that the bed would, to some extent, tilt to stay level. It was better than what his original private room had offered and more comfortable for the injured than a hammock.

Ace…wasn't looking so hot. His face was washed out, his freckles stark against his skin. Sweat beaded on his brow as he tensed and mumbled incoherent pleas. He'd already twisted up all the sheets under him. The only good thing was that his wounds didn't look to have reopened.

Thatch pursed his lips. Was all of this his doing? Ace had been fine that morning until something put him on edge. Was it a relapse? Could something in the food—

"No!" Ace abruptly cried, making Thatch jump. He thrashed on his bed, features screwed up in fear. "Luffy, move! Luffy!"

Luffy? Ace's kid brother? He shook his head. That didn't matter; Ace was going to hurt himself like this. He reached out to grab Ace's arm, maybe jostle him awake.

Only to end up on the floor, a knee in his gut and a fist inches away from his face. He reacted on reflex, deflecting Ace's punch and catching his other hand.

"Ace!" he grunted, "it's me! Thatch!"

Ace's eyes were dark and full of roiling fury. "Get away from my brother," he snarled.

"Brother?" Thatch jerked his head to one side to avoid Ace's next punch and grabbed that hand too. "Wake up! I'm not whoever you think I am!" He winced as Ace strained against him. He wasn't as physically strong as Ace, and whatever nightmare had his brother in its thrall was giving him strength his injuries shouldn't have allowed.

Right as Thatch's grip was slipping, another wave rocked the ship. Ace lost his balance, giving Thatch the window he needed to shove his knees up against Ace's center and knock him over. Rolling with the motion, Thatch wound up on top. He pinned Ace's wrists and used his legs to lock Ace's down. Ace bucked against the hold like a wild animal, and to Thatch's horror, actually threatened to break free.

There was no time to think of a better way. Apologizing silently, Thatch rammed his forehead into Ace's with a growled, "Wake. UP!"

The floorboards under Ace's head splintered. Ace choked, his struggles ceasing. Thatch, breathing hard, readied himself for another.

"Ow," Ace croaked.

Thatch released him immediately. "Ace? Are you finally awake?"

He had his eyes screwed shut. "That depends. Are you real?"

They weren't going all the way back to this, were they? "I certainly like to think so."

Ace cracked one eye open. "You…headbutted me."

"You weren't listening to much else."

"Oh." His eye closed again. "Sorry."

"It's okay. No harm done." Except to the floorboards, but that wasn't important. And his pompadour, which was. "Come on, let's get you back on the bed."

"Mm."

Trying not to think about just how out of it Ace still was, Thatch got an arm under him and lifted him up. Ace tried to help, but he couldn't manage much. He passed right back out the moment Thatch laid him down.

Better than more nightmares. Probably.

He was fixing his hair and considering his next move when the door to the infirmary opened again. Tasuka walked through, a metal tray in one hand. She stopped upon seeing Thatch. "Did you need something, commander?"

"He was having a nightmare."

Tasuka nodded, setting her tray down on the nurse station counter. "I was preparing a sedative for him to make sure he didn't aggravate his wounds."

"He…definitely just did that. I had to hold him down."

Her eyes widened and she swiftly grabbed the syringe and small bottle off the tray. "Make sure he stays still. Did you see any signs of bleeding?"

Ace didn't stir this time when Thatch held down his arm. He didn't even twitch when Tasuka put the needle in. "No, none. He wasn't himself."

As the drug began to take effect, all of the tension left Ace's body. The deep furrow in his brow smoothed out. Tasuka stood straight, expertly flicking the used needle into a nearby waste container. "I'm sure there's a whole story behind what happened, but for now"—she stumbled as the ship rocked, then scowled as the tray tumbled off the counter—"he needs rest. I'll make sure he gets it. You're probably needed on deck."

"Right." Thatch shot one last concerned look at his brother. "Can you keep visitors out, or get some other nurses to move him back to that other room? We don't need everyone to see him like this."

Nor did they need him attacking anyone who just wanted to wish him well.

Ace didn't wake up so much as claw his way back to consciousness. His eyelids had weights attached to them and his whole body felt like it was being sucked back down towards the abyss. He fought against that pull until it finally released him, at which point he sat up with a gasp.

And then winced, his middle protesting with cramps and lancing pain. He didn't remember it being so sensitive before.

"You went and aggravated your injuries," Tasuka called from his left. He glanced over and saw her writing something down by the door. She had bags under her eyes. "You've been out since yesterday."

Blinking, Ace tried to get a sense of what time it was, but the window was just dark.

Wait. The window. The weird standing desk thing by the door. Tasuka. He was back in that infirmary room. "What time is it?"

"Three in the morning."

"Did you drug me?" It sure felt like it.

"It was the only way to make sure you didn't hurt yourself more." She sighed and tapped a stack of papers into order. "Commander Marco wanted me to let him know when you woke up. I'll be right back. Try not to hurt yourself in the meantime; I've been up too long to have steady hands."

He swallowed. "Right."

With Tasuka gone, he was alone. The disjointed pieces of how he'd gotten here began to fall into place: breakfast, seeing Teach, begging Vista for a way out—

God, he'd been so desperate. How low was he going to go? He'd have to confront Teach eventually.

After that…they'd gone to the island. Vista had removed the bracelet. He checked his wrist; it was back on. Clearly, something had happened, but everything after his conversation with the old man in the bar was a blur.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall with a sigh. Hopefully, Vista hadn't gotten in trouble for letting him tag along. Try as he might, he couldn't remember what happened after the old man left. Something about the bartender, a tattoo. Probably a fight, too, with how things had been going. Was that it?

A knock at the door. "Come in," Ace responded reflexively. It wasn't like this was his room.

Tasuka entered with Marco a step behind.

"Two weeks' bedrest," she said without preamble. Ace gaped. "You can choose to either spend it here under supervision or in your room with three daily checkups and food delivered."

He looked to Marco but found no sympathy. "Why?" he managed.

Tasuka crossed her arms. "Clearly that bracelet needs to stay on, and I didn't realize how much it was impacting your recovery. Since you took the first opportunity to get into trouble, I'm not giving you another chance until I know you can handle it. Marco agrees."

"Marco…?"

"She's right."

His head fell.

"So, which is it?"

"My room," he mumbled. At the very least, it would give him a little privacy to think things over, and—more importantly—Teach couldn't just walk on in.

Marco pulled over a nearby stool. "How are you feeling?"

"Worn out."

"Hm. Do you remember what happened?"

"Not really. Why?" A flicker of fear curled in his stomach. "What did I do?"

Marco held up a hand. "You didn't seriously hurt anyone-yoi. Some marines and the bar got burned. According to Vista, you were stabbed in the back and lost control of your fire again. Fortunately, he was close enough to get that sea stone on you before it went too far."

Ace looked down at himself while relief pooled in his gut. It didn't look like he'd been—

Oh. Devil fruit. He frowned. "But why would that make me lose control again?"

"I'd like to know the answer to that too," Marco said dryly. "Especially since, whatever it was, it had you riled up enough to attack Thatch when he tried to wake you."

Ace froze. "I did what?"

"He claims you weren't actually awake." Marco's expression was inscrutable, but his half-lidded stare didn't waver. "Were you?"

"N-no, Marco, of course not. I wouldn't—" but he had. He bit his lip.

His immediate denial, though, appeared to put Marco at ease. "I didn't think so, but I had to make sure."

Ace's worries, however, weren't so easily assuaged. More details of the bar fight were trickling in, and they weren't good. First he nearly destroyed the Moby Dick. Then he put Vista and everyone on one of their protected islands at risk. And then he attacked the guy he was trying to save. His head fell further, his hair hanging limp over his face. Son of the devil indeed. He'd come back to make things better? Rich. He was just making everything worse.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. He blinked up at Marco.

"You know you can talk to us, Ace."

He bit his lip. Marco squeezed lightly.

"Please talk to us."

"It's just—"

"Just what?"

He curled his hands into fists, frustration with himself curdling into something sour and heavy. "It's my fault. I'm the one who keeps losing control and getting people hurt. It's what I did"—he cut himself off before he could say at Marineford—"on the island and before that, too. I'm dangerous, Marco."

"You've been dangerous for far longer than you've been part of this crew-yoi." He softened his voice. "We can't help you if you don't give us a way to do it."

Ace chewed his lip.

"Do you really not remember anything?"

He closed his eyes. Marco was reading him like a book. "Everything was fine until the fight started. I saw fire." In his chest, trailing the edges of a fist coming through. In that instant, he'd looked past that to see a phantom Luffy with magma dripping down his face. His scars ached. "I don't remember anything after that."

Marco leaned back in his seat. "It was your own powers and not something else that triggered it-yoi?"

"Kind of. Maybe. It's complicated." He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, fighting against the pain in his chest the whole way, then gave Marco a crooked smile. "Maybe you should just drop me off on a deserted island for a few days until I figure it out."

Marco didn't return his smile. If anything, he became even more stern. "We're not doing that."

Ace looked away. "It was a bad joke. Sorry."

"When you first ate your devil fruit, did you have this kind of problem?"

"No. I accidentally set a lot of stuff on fire, but I never exploded."

"Do you think this is something that practice can solve?"

"I don't know."

"Ace, we can't do nothing. As your brother, I can't do nothing, and we both know how Pops would feel about leaving you on your own-yoi."

"You know, that kind of sounds like a threat." It was another attempt at a joke that fell painfully flat. He swallowed. "Practice might help." He thumbed the bracelet. "I think."

In truth, he didn't know. Looking down and seeing that—well, Marco said Vista saw him get stabbed, but in Ace's memories, there was no knife. And seeing Luffy…Everything had just been too much. He hadn't been able to breathe, that horrifying numbness he'd felt pulling him down in Marineford spreading like lightning through his body.

Maybe his fire had been an automatic defense, a way to burn out the numbness that he hadn't been strong enough to fight when he'd been dying. He didn't remember. If just seeing his own flames was enough to set off that reflex, then he was a danger to himself and to others.

Marco snapped his fingers two inches from Ace's face. Ace jumped, then whipped a glare at the first division commander. "What was that for?"

"You were spacing out." He stood and took a few steps back. "Come on."

"Why?"

"Just get over here."

After a glance at Tasuka, who nodded permission, Ace gingerly joined Marco cross-legged on the floor.

"Does it hurt to sit like this?" asked Marco. "You can lean against your bed if that hurts less."

"I'm fine. What are we doing?"

"Meditation."

Ace blinked, then peered at Marco with a frown. "You…meditate?"

"We'll use it as a way for you to practice your powers," Marco continued right over him. "I'll supervise and have the sea stone on hand just in case. I figured the floor would be less flammable than your bedsheets."

Ace glanced back at the messy blankets. "You're probably right."

"So, how would you like to begin? Fingers? Toes?" His lips twitched toward a smile. "Hair?"

"I mean, you're the one who actually knows how to meditate. I've never really done it before. I don't know how to start."

"The goal is to close your eyes and relax as much as you can. Focusing on yourself and what you can feel of the world around you can help you get away from distracting thoughts. Once you're calm, you can start drawing on your fire in a small way."

"Right, I think I get it." Ace shifted a little and closed his eyes, hands loosely clasped in his lap. He stayed still and silent for barely a second before giving up. "Marco, doing this without focusing on this"—he gestured to his chest—"isn't possible."

In truth, he was stalling. What if he lost control again? It was a childish fear, something he'd never really felt before. When he was younger, lashing out whenever he needed to was just what he did. It was how he'd developed such a reputation with Dadan and her bandits. He'd mostly stopped around Luffy just because the kid had somehow kept Ace from reaching those levels of static with his presence alone. By the time he got his devil fruit, he could focus his rage enough that collateral wasn't an issue.

Now, though? Now his episodes got other people hurt even when he didn't mean it. He wasn't used to feeling so out of control, and he didn't want Marco to see him this…this scared. This pathetic. It was his own head. He should be able to handle it.

But Marco just regarded him with his half-lidded eyes and inscrutable expression. There was sympathy in there only when Ace squinted. "If you've fought while injured, you can meditate while injured."

So much for that excuse. Ace drew in a deep breath around the pain in his chest and closed his eyes again.

As he did, a memory surfaced: the night that Marco had told him about the relationship between Pops and his crew, his family. What it really meant to accept Whitebeard's mark.

Ace had been a wreck that night, which was almost reassuring to reflect on now. A hundred days of trying to kill Whitebeard and failing miserably, haunted by the loss of his crew, unable to see Whitebeard's mark as anything but the death of his own dreams and the idea of anyone claiming to be his father as anything but a slap in the face. That Marco had been able to get through to him at all was almost a miracle.

Really, by this point, Marco had seen him at his worst. His opinions on Ace weren't going to change just based on this, right? It had to take more than that. Plus…At Marineford, he'd put his life on the line for Ace's even after finding out who Ace really was. Those feelings hadn't come out of nowhere, and they weren't the type to be swayed easily.

Marco wanted to help. Ace just had to let him.

"Okay," Ace muttered, shifting again. His eyes were still closed. "What now?"

"We need to take off the bracelet."

Ace opened his eyes, a bit of color flushing his cheeks. Right. He'd forgotten about that. "I don't think I have the key—"

"I do. Here."

When the bracelet came off, Ace braced himself for the worst, only to realize that Marco hadn't actually removed it. Instead, he had his gaze fixed on Ace's face.

"Were you afraid when Vista removed it?" he asked.

"I was trying to keep it contained."

"Then do that again."

Ace pursed his lips and muttered, "Easy for you to say." Still, he tried to center himself the way he had on Vista's ship and keep his fire deep down in his core.

"Remember," Marco added, "I'm right here."

"Right." Ace bit his lip. "I think I'm ready."

The bracelet came off and Ace felt like he could breathe again. And, as though they had never once raged out of control, his flames stayed exactly where he wanted them to: tightly bound under his skin.

He nodded at Marco and then closed his eyes.

"My earlier question stands-yoi. What do you want to start with? The smaller the better."

"My hand, I guess."

"Right or left?"

He hadn't gotten that far yet. He used his right for his hiken attack…probably best to avoid accidentally setting that off on any scale. "Left. Am I just supposed to turn it to fire?"

"More or less."

Ace cracked an eye open and frowned. That wasn't exactly clear instruction. Then again, it was about as helpful as the things Gramps had yelled in his face during "training" back when he was a kid. Ace had, eventually, picked up the fine art of creative interpretation.

Closing his eyes once more, he tried to even out his breathing. Then he paused. "How am I supposed to see if my hand's on fire if I'm not looking at it?"

"Can you not feel it? I can tell when I use my devil fruit."

"Oh. Right."

One more time. He treated his fire gingerly, unspooling it from that knot in his core down through his arm and into his hand. The shift was easy, deceptively so, like it had always been. Most of Ace's training had been figuring out how not to turn into fire, rather than the other way around.

The feeling of trading flesh for flame wasn't one easily described. The nearest thing Ace had was what it felt like to put his hand in water that was about the temperature of his skin. There was the confusion of knowing that something had changed without being able to pinpoint what. Beyond that, it was impossible. The few times he'd been asked, all he had been able to say was that it was warm. The fire was a limb that shifted its form endlessly, and though it lacked nerves, he held awareness of it all the same.

So, after all that time spent building awareness of that feeling so he could stop doing it by accident, he knew that he'd shifted his hand to fire now.

"Keep your eyes closed," Marco said before Ace could think to open them and glance down at the flame in his lap. "How does it feel?"

Of course he immediately asked the impossible question. After chewing on a response for a few seconds, Ace just said, "Normal."

"Do you feel in control of it?"

Ace pursed his lips and then started manipulating the fire. Without seeing it, he went by experience to make it grow, shrink, and dance before letting it settle once more. "Yeah."

Marco was silent for long enough that Ace nearly prodded him, but his next order came just before that point: "Open your eyes. Look only at me."

Furrowing his brows at the latter half, Ace nonetheless complied. He could see the flickering of his own flames in the lower part of his vision and their warm light on Marco's clothes, but he resolutely kept his own gaze high. "What now?"

"How do you feel?"

"You know, you're asking me that a lot." Ace sighed. "Sore and tired, but fine. He leaned forward, making a point of not looking down. "Is there a reason for this? I thought meditation was about having your eyes closed."

Marco didn't rise to the bait, not that Ace had expected him to. Instead, he called upon his own devil fruit. Blue and gold flames flickered to life along his shoulders and down his chest. "And now?"

The purpose behind it all finally clicked. Marco was checking with him every single step of the way to try to pinpoint what kept setting Ace off. Ace swallowed, chills racing down his spine at the prospect of triggering another loss of control. He hoped Marco didn't notice. "Yeah. Still fine."

Marco's flames died. "Try looking at your own fire."

A simple enough command, but Ace hesitated. Sure, his subconscious wasn't throwing up any warning signals, but his own memories of the bar on Toraburu were clear enough to turn those chills into a full-on cold sweat.

And, of course, Marco picked up on that instantly. "You don't have to," he said.

"No, it's—" Ace clenched his other hand into a fist. He was being ridiculous. It was his fire. He was the second division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates with a price on his head so high that most bounty hunters gave up on the spot. He wasn't going to freak out about seeing his own fire. Fuck, his name was Fire Fist Ace. "Never mind."

He looked down before Marco could say anything else.

For a second, he could believe everything was fine. He could lift his hand, flex his fingers, watch the familiar red, orange, and yellow tones of his flames trail between them. He could think that Toraburu was just some kind of freak accident.

And then the smell came. His relieved smile fell away as it trailed up from his hand and circled his head like an invisible gag. Warm. Cloying. Sickly sweet. His stomach lurched. He brought his free hand up to his nose, but it just made things worse.

Oh, god. His hand was smoking. He stared in numb fascination as the wisps grew thicker and darker, then remembered where he was. He swallowed down his nausea.

"The smoke is new," he said for Marco's benefit. The smell probably went without saying; Marco had been around him plenty of times when Ace had used his powers, and he'd never commented on anything like that before.

"Smoke? There's no smoke."

Ace furrowed his brow. "I'm looking right at it."

Its smell was just getting stronger. He barely held back a gag while he leaned away. And then something else clicked: for there to be smoke, something had to be burning—and the only thing on fire was his own hand.

Pain hit him like a cannonball. The nerves in his hand screamed, their agony racing up his arm as his flames broke from his control. Behind that pain was crippling nothing, that numbness that haunted him spreading like a web through his core. No amount of fire could burn it out. He couldn't tear his eyes from his hand even as his flames roared up around him. In the flickering light, he could see his skin bubbling and blistering, some of it melting away as though coated in magma.

The numbness took his lungs. He couldn't breathe. The more he tried, the worse it got, and there was a storm in his head tearing everything apart—

A hand broke through the inferno to clasp around his wrist. With that touch came a surge of ice that swept through Ace's body. His fire went out like a doused torch, the storm broke up, and he could breathe again.

As he bent over and sucked in air, he caught a glimpse of Marco's blue and gold flames wreathing around his retracted hand before blinking out.

"I'm fine," Marco said before Ace could get a word out. He rotated his healed arm with a wry twist to his mouth. "It takes more than that to keep me down."

Something like sea stone cuffs. Ace looked down at the one once more wrapped around his wrist and gritted his teeth against the wave of undiluted frustration that swept through him. He gripped the bracelet hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

His hand was fine. No burns at all, like they had never happened—and, he realized with a twist in his chest, they hadn't. He squeezed his eyes shut. The smell remained, but it was weaker now and fading by the second. "Marco—"

"If you say anything about being too dangerous to stay on this ship, I'll take it as an insult-yoi." Ace scowled and opened his eyes, but Marco just took that as a sign to keep going. "I can open up some time in my schedule most nights except," he paused, glanced at the ceiling, and continued, "Tuesdays and Fridays. For now, I'll go to you. Once you're done with your house arrest, knock on my office door around eight p.m." When Ace just stared, Marco raised an eyebrow. "Something the matter?"

"I—" where did he even start? He fell back on politeness just to say something. "I don't want to impose."

Marco gave him a strange look. "Accepting help freely offered isn't imposing." He climbed to his feet and then held out a hand to help Ace up, but he didn't let go right away. Instead, he squeezed lightly until Ace met his gaze. "We're here for you, Ace. Don't forget that." He glanced at Tasuka. "Can I take him to his room?"

"Go for it. I'll be seeing you in the morning, Ace."

He managed a tired smile he didn't feel as Marco helped him sling one arm around his shoulders. "Can't wait."

On the walk back to Ace's quarters, the silence was suffocating and made worse by Ace knowing it was his fault. Marco was trying hard to help, but Ace was holding hostage the information that would let him help the most. He didn't have a choice; the truth was too absurd. After how he'd apparently acted during his recovery, Marco would probably think he was relapsing, and then they wouldn't believe anything he said. As much as he was struggling to make progress now, it would be far harder if he was marked insane and put under guard.

At the same time, that decision to say nothing at all was eating at him. Marco wasn't family like Luffy, but he was still Ace's brother. He was doing all this to help and getting repaid in lies. It wasn't right.

When they reached Ace's room, Marco paused in the open doorway. "What happened?"

Ace followed his gaze to the shards of his mirror still lying all over the floor. The ship rolling on the waves must've scattered them even more.

"Accident," Ace said. Lied.

Again.

Marco surveyed the extent of the mess for a moment before he picked a relatively clear path to Ace's bed. After he set Ace down, he carefully picked his way back to the doorway in an effort to avoid grinding any larger pieces into fragments.

"I'll have someone get you a broom," he said, one foot in the hallway. Ace's thanks got stuck in his throat and then the guilt twisted it into something entirely new.

"Marco, I—" he hesitated, but Marco was turning back and he couldn't just stop now, so: "I…got myself into trouble. And my family and my little brother came to get me out of it, he put everything on the line to get me out of it, but I—I didn't listen to him when it counted the most."

If he'd just ignored Akainu, if he'd just kept going, how would it have ended?

Under Marco's even gaze, he drew in a ragged breath, dug his nails into his palms, and exhaled slowly. "I ruined everything. Made everyone's sacrifices mean nothing."

Pops. Pops. He hadn't even dared to think about that yet, but his father had been dying for his sake on the battlefield, and Ace had wasted that for the sake of defending his name against a man who didn't care about his response at all. Even as every other member of his crew ignored Akainu's words and retreated, Ace had taken it upon himself to fall for juvenile taunts.

Some great pirate he was. He might as well have spat in Pops's face.

"It was my fault," he whispered, composure crumbling under the weight of exactly what he'd done that day. His eyes burned at the memory of Sengoku's announcement to the world. The words that, to the world, erased Whitebeard status as Ace's true father. "Everything was my fault."

The door closed with a soft click. Marco rested a hand against it for a beat before facing Ace again. "I don't know what happened," he said carefully, "but you have a habit of taking the blame and carrying everything yourself. Are you sure it was all your fault?"

"Yeah." He squeezed his hands into fists, then put his head in his hands. His throat, too, burned. "Yeah, it was."

"How long ago did it happen?"

He swallowed. "It still feels like yesterday."

"So it's done. You can't change it." Although Marco's tone was gentle, it brooked no argument. "You have a right to mourn, but wallowing in your regrets isn't the way forward."

Wallowing in his regrets. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop a broken chuckle. That was exactly what he was doing, wasn't it? Regretting the actions of a future that hadn't even happened yet. Just one more broken promise to add to the pile.

"Is that what set you off three weeks ago?" Marco prodded.

Ace didn't lift his face from his hands. He couldn't lie; Marco would see right through it. His voice came out strained. "Something like that."

"I see." The pause was an invitation, but Ace stayed silent. "I'll stop by tomorrow at around eight-yoi. Sleep well."

"You too," Ace mumbled.

He stayed still until long after Marco's footsteps had disappeared down the hall. And then, once he was sure he was alone, he gave into the tide swelling up from his chest. His breathing hitched, the burning in his eyes broke up into tears, and he dug his fingers into his scalp hard enough to hurt.

In the moment, using his last words to thank everyone had been all he could think to do. An apology instead of gratitude meant regrets, and if there was one promise he had been trying to keep, it was the one that would let Luffy move on as painlessly as possible.

He wasn't in the moment anymore, and the weight of everything he'd been losing or lost, even if none of that desolation existed anymore, drove the stifled sobs shaking his shoulders.

Chapter Text

May 5th, 1522

Taking a watch shift wasn't something Ace commonly did. While commanders could take up responsibilities on the Moby Dick like any crewmember, they usually had other things to worry about.

Given his grounding—and there really wasn't any other way to think about it, in his opinion—Ace didn't have other things to worry about. His division didn't have the same paperwork loads that other divisions like Thatch's and Blamenco's did; it wasn't like the second was in charge of food or ship maintenance. They were a strike force, a rapid response team. And since Ace was benched, taking watch was just about the only thing he was permitted to do besides walk around.

The two nurses keeping an eye on him hadn't been happy about Ace climbing up to the crow's nest, but they hadn't been able to stop him, either. He was more impressed that, after a harsh whispered debate, they followed him up and were now seated on the wooden yard on either side of the basket. In their tight skirts and fishnet stockings, traversing the rigging was no small feat.

He had one more day of "bedrest." Thanks to repeated sessions with Marco during which the sea stone came off, he'd gotten those two weeks shortened to a week and a half and his strict confinement loosened to free reign of the ship so long as he had a nurse escort. They probably hadn't intended to include the main mast as part of that range, but they should've thought of that ahead of time.

Up this high, the ocean wind was nearly constant even though the Moby Dick was moving at a crawl. They had two paddle ships flanking them with crews on both ready to intervene if the temporary repairs to the flagship began to break down. Ace was really trying not to think about that. He'd gotten into a full-on shouting match with Tasuka the previous day over wanting to go and help Blamenco fix what Ace had broken or at least help bail out the water that leaked constantly into the ship, but she had put her foot down citing his injuries and even gotten Blamenco to back her up.

He leaned on the basket's railing and looked out at the horizon. To say he felt useless was an understatement. He wasn't even allowed to make amends—though he had apologized. At length. Whitebeard had taken it well, Izo had warned him to never pull a stunt like that again, and Blamenco had indicated that as long as Ace paid for the repairs, there weren't any hard feelings.

Ace's treasure hoard was looking rather thin at present. Since joining Whitebeard, he hadn't been the type to go after other pirates just for their stuff, but seeing his stash go from respectable to pathetic hurt. He'd had more wealth as a ten-year-old.

Paying Rinji for his ruined coat had been just the right amount of salt in the wound.

With his chin resting on his arms, Ace could feel the lack of stubble on his face. A fresh mirror, a new razor supplemented with careful applications of fire, and he was back to being able to look at his own reflection without wanting to scream. So that was nice, at least.

Movement from below caught his eye. Thatch was strolling around the deck, weaving among groups of pirates. One of those pirates pointed up and Thatch followed his finger, squinting up at Ace.

For a second, Ace hesitated. Thatch had been coming to see him plenty while Ace was in his room and even hung out while Ace was wandering around the ship. Always ready with a joke, always suggesting pranks that were guaranteed to get them both in trouble—but always, always watching. Whatever he'd said while unconscious, or maybe just the exploding thing itself, had Thatch on edge.

What if…no. If Thatch knew, then there was no way he'd still treat Ace the same way. No way in hell. He might try to hide it, but it would show. This clinginess was something else.

Ace shoved all of those thoughts aside and waved.

Thatch's acrobatics up to the crow's nest put both Ace's and the nurses' to shame. He landed neatly in the basket and took a bow while the nurses offered polite applause.

"Thank you, thank you." He straightened, grin firmly in place. "Did you time that apology for when I'd be in the kitchen on purpose?"

Ace leaned his elbows on the basket. "Dunno. Did I?"

"Brat. I heard that Blamenco charged you for repairs, though. How much?" Ace's expression said it all. Thatch had the gall to laugh. "Sorry, sorry. It's not funny. I mean, it's not that funny." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, I also heard some rumors that you're looking for something to do."

The two nurses whipped their heads around. Thatch stiffened under their sharp gazes, swallowed, and pressed on. "I've gotta take inventory this afternoon, and everyone else in my division has made themselves very scarce when there's still food prep to do."

"Taking after their commander, clearly," Ace drawled.

"Hurtful, and you sound like Marco. Anyway, I'm sure helping out with basic kitchen management doesn't violate any of your medical restrictions, right?"

The two nurses exchanged a look and then nodded. Thatch beamed.

"Great! I knew you'd say yes."

Ace didn't even get a chance to point out that he hadn't, actually, before Thatch was tugging him over the side.

"I already have someone on their way to take your watch shift. Down we go!"

For all his confidence in getting Ace into the kitchen, Thatch wasn't sure how to carry out the task he'd assigned himself. A week and a half of trying to act like everything was normal around Ace had only served to set the young man on edge to the point where Thatch worried that he was going to start losing the trust he'd worked so hard to build.

So, after a talk with Marco, he'd decided to be a bit more direct about things. Just a bit, though. Ace was always touchy about personal matters that didn't start with L and end with "uffy."

He tapped the pen against his chin while he peered up at the top shelves. Taking inventory was boring, quiet, and time-consuming. Most of it was spent in the pantry, which—while massive to accommodate their prodigious food stores—was still rather cramped from all the stuff crammed into it.

His joking offer to let Ace take inventory while Thatch peeled potatoes had been met with a bland stare and a rather definitive "no." Speaking of…

Thatch peeked his head out of the pantry door. "How's progress?"

The knife Ace wielded with adept precision flashed in the light while he whittled away at a potato. He tossed the peeled vegetable into the bucket of its brethren while the peel remnants on his blade got swiped into a separate bucket already coated in them. The knife on his hip really wasn't just for show; Ace knew his way around a blade.

"I can't say it's the most exciting thing I've ever done. Don't other members of your division usually take care of this stuff?"

"Usually," Thatch acknowledged. He leaned against the pantry doorway with his clipboard held loosely in one hand. For the moment, he and Ace were alone; he'd managed to convince the nurses to hang out in the mess hall on the other side of the swinging galley doors with the point that they were just a shout away if anything went wrong. "I'm giving them a break this afternoon." He realized too late that he was contradicting his own reasoning from earlier.

Ace palmed a new potato. "Just to give me 'something to do,' huh?"

"If you don't want to—"

"No, I appreciate it." He flipped the knife around his fingers and spun it over his knuckles. "The nurses wouldn't even give me back my dagger until yesterday."

"Did you need it for something?"

"No, but…" he stopped messing with his knife, and his expression softened in a way it usually only did when he was talking about his brother. "Someone important gave it to me, so I like to hang onto it."

Sensing the mood about to shift towards melancholy, Thatch stepped in. "Well, congratulations on reclaiming the 'armed' part of 'armed and dangerous.' And on your recovery in general. I know Tasuka's been keeping you on a pretty tight leash."

Ace snorted, glancing towards the doors leading out into the mess hall. "Yeah, that's an understatement. She never listens when I say I'm fine."

A raised eyebrow was all Thatch needed to do to remind Ace of what had happened the last time he insisted he was "fine." Fortunately, Ace just blushed instead of getting caught up in the guilt hanging like a shroud over his head.

"I won't do it again. I've still got this." He flicked the sea stone around his wrist.

"How are things going with Marco?"

"They're…going."

That was an imminent shutdown if Thatch had ever seen one. He switched tracks while wishing he hadn't put Ace on the defensive. "Speaking of our resident bird, I was talking to him last week. He was pretty bothered by something you said."

Ace wound down to a stop and looked up at Thatch warily.

"Failing your family, thinking that failure might have to do with what happened with the," he made a loose gesture to indicate Ace's explosion and hoped his tone was light enough that Ace didn't take this as an attack. "And I don't mean to pressure you, but you never got the chance to answer me at breakfast last week. Is that what got to you?"

The silent point that Ace was still wearing his sea stone hung between them. Ace set his knife aside.

"You're also avoiding your division's galley," Thatch said carefully. Ace stiffened. "I'm a cook, Ace. I spend most of my time here, and you're hard not to notice. I appreciate that you're socializing after what happened, but is there a reason you're avoiding your division's wing of the ship other than to sleep there?"

Ace's gaze fell to the table. His hair slipped loose from behind his ears and hung like a curtain between them. Even if Thatch couldn't see the pain in Ace's eyes, though, he could see it in the set of his mouth easily enough. Ace was biting his lip hard enough to turn it nearly white.

Pushing this any further was just going to make things worse. Thatch closed his eyes for a moment. He'd known that asking Ace these questions would make things awkward, but he'd really expected Ace to give him something. It looked like Ace was practically warring with himself every time Thatch plied him for information.

He wasn't going to lie. Not being trusted with whatever was causing Ace this much pain stung. But he was also a grown man, and he wasn't going to force Ace to do anything he didn't want to do. He'd talked through this idea with Marco and the big bird had seemed to think it would work, so—despite decades-old reservations tugging well-worn chords in his chest—he spoke.

"You know, I ran away from home when I was sixteen. By accident, really."

Ace blinked and lifted his head. His eyes flicked between Thatch's while his brows furrowed. "How do you run away by accident?"

"Pure talent. And some good luck." Thatch leaned against the doorframe and blew out a breath. "My family wasn't noble, but we worked under one that was. We were their personal chefs. Now, despite my present unparalleled prowess in the kitchen, I wasn't always a master. Nor was my work always appreciated." He pointed his pen at the sink. "I started as the dishwasher. Scalded myself more times than I can count; it's why I feel temperature better with my right hand than my left."

"Right," Ace said slowly. His tone was neutral but his expression said get to the point.

"Naturally, I wasn't content to stick to cleaning," He spun the pen around and gestured at the impressive arrangement of appliances around them. "I had grander ambitions. To get there, I had to practice, and I had to perfect some experimental recipes of my own. But there was a big problem."

Ace narrowed his eyes. "The nobles."

Thatch grinned. "Bingo. The food I used wasn't my family's; it was theirs. Punishment fell on all of us, but it hit me the hardest after my biological parents sold me out."

Ace's expression turned thunderous. "Your—"

"They didn't hate me," Thatch explained, trying to make Ace understand before that anger got in the way, "but, uh, well. They valued themselves more. They'd never even planned on having a kid at all, so," he shrugged.

Ace subsided with that storm lingering behind his eyes.

"Cut to six years later—"

"Years?"

"—and I was pretty well disliked by the nobles. I mean, any sixteen-year-old brat invites ire, but I wasn't really going out of my way to endear myself to them, you know? I was still stealing from their stores to practice, but I'd gotten good at it, so most of the time they didn't even notice." He jerked a thumb at the scar by his eye with a grin. "Most of the time." His grin fell away. "My father came around to my side of things and tried to help out, but my mother was against it all. She was terrified of what would happen to us if we ever lost the nobles' favor."

"It always comes back to them," Ace muttered. He'd curled the fingers of one hand into a fist. A history with nobles? He'd always had a bend towards causing trouble for the World Government, but maybe it ran deeper than the whims of piracy.

Thatch kept going. "One auspicious day, my mother burns her hand pretty bad and can't bake a cake for the nobles' birthday party—I think it was for their son, or maybe their daughter? Either way, I told her I'd do it, since my father was busy with the banquet. I wanted to show off, convince her that the trouble I'd caused was worth it."

He stalled for a beat by fixing some stray strands of hair doing their best to escape from his pompadour. Ace frowned. "So what happened?"

Thatch flashed a big, bright smile. "I fucked it up."

"Huh?"

"Not on purpose, but it was my fault. And because of all my experiments, we didn't have enough of a particularly special ingredient to make a second cake. I had to go out into town and track some down or at least find a replacement that would satisfy the noble palate." He absently scratched his nose. "One thing led to another, and I found myself stuck in the hold of a pirate ship setting sail. I'd thought it was a merchant vessel and that I could steal something from their stores, but that didn't really work out."

"Was it Pops's?"

"No, not yet. That came later. These guys never really made it into the history books, if you get my meaning. But they were leaving port with me on board. I knew how to swim. If I'd wanted to, I could've jumped and made it back to shore."

"Why didn't you?"

"The million-beri question." Thatch's shoulders dropped a hair. "I was sixteen, I'd just failed to do the thing I'd promised I'd do, and I'd put my mother in the line of fire in the process. We'd been fighting for years; to her, I practically stabbed her in the back every time I stole." His voice turned wistful. "I was so sure she hated me."

He blinked old memories out of his eyes and looked back at Ace, whose eyes had widened for a second before that storm rolled back in. Thatch did his best to inject that lighthearted tone back into his voice. He didn't want his own mistakes to be what Ace focused on.

"So, naturally, I didn't make any effort to go back. Many, many years later, here I am, cooking for the best father on the four seas. I think it worked out."

Ace searched his face, probably searching for a point in all this. Thatch offered a crooked grin.

"It took me a long time—too long," he acknowledged, "to realize that a lot of what makes a betrayal hurt is intent. I had a lot of reasons to leave that family behind," his mouth took on a wry twist, "but the one thing that made me certain I had to was probably the least significant of any of them. Maybe it's selfish to brush it off; after all, I'm the one who left."

The confusion hadn't left Ace's expression.

Thatch heaved a sigh. "Right. If Izo were here, he'd tell me I was being way too indirect. Just—try not to assume what we'll think. Give us a chance to think for ourselves, you know?"

When his final word was left hanging, Thatch pursed his lips and let it stay that way. Ace was staring down at the potato in his hands with a pained look on his face. For a moment, Thatch wondered if he'd nicked himself with the knife, but when Ace saw him looking and raised his head, it became clear that the pain was internal.

Ace broke eye contact to set his potato down and then made a pretense of brushing bits off his hands. Thatch wasn't fooled; he was stalling. Finally, Ace closed his eyes, took a breath, and then looked Thatch right in the eyes. "Do you trust me?"

Thatch blinked. He'd really thought his story would encourage the opposite question—whether Ace trusted him, not the other way around. "Of course I do."

Ace's expression did a funny thing, but he just nodded and recovered his potato. Left in the lurch, Thatch haltingly resumed taking inventory, though his scattered mind took several seconds to remember where he even was in the process. That was it? After all of that? Ace had gotten the answer he wanted, apparently, but Thatch was left with just as many questions as he'd started with, if not more. Why was his trust in Ace something that Ace felt the need to check?

What was he missing?

The Moby Dick arriving at any island was always a bit of a special occasion, and this time was no exception. If anything, this was more of a special occasion: while they had stocked up at Toraburu Island and managed enough repairs to get the Moby Dick seaworthy again, Blamenco had ordered they stop for a full day at this island while his division procured even more supplies. They had cleaned out Toraburu's shipyard and still been left wanting, something the shipwright division's commander was clearly out to remedy.

Marco wasn't going to get in his way; after all, his business at this particular island was as mundane as it got, and a day of rest would let him get on top of his own work.

Per the instructions circulating on the ship, he procured a suit. Rather than wait in the long line of his fellow pirates purchasing formal clothing of their own, he swiftly took his prize back to the Moby Dick, and to one room in particular.

"Come in," Izo called when Marco knocked.

Marco opened the door. Rather, he tried to; it caught almost immediately. Seeing fabric poking out from under it, Marco peered around the edge and raised an eyebrow at the commander seated in the middle of a carpet of clothes.

"Just push it a bit, it's all a mess anyway," Izo said with a sigh. "I think my system broke down hours ago."

"I take it I'm not the first to think of using your services."

"Not even close. Though almost all of these are from yesterday; you're only the third one this morning. What do you have for me?"

"A new suit."

Izo raised a delicate eyebrow and peered in the bag Marco handed over. "And what catastrophe has demanded you change tradition?"

"Thatch took it upon himself to bet Jiru and Haruta fifty thousand beri each that I would wear the same formal getup I always do."

"I should've guessed. How'd you find out?"

"Namur. He was patrolling that side of the ship when Thatch was conspiring and he still owed me for covering his division's patrol route last month. I've decided to remind Thatch why betting on my behavior is a poor choice."

Izo deftly tied off a knot and set aside the shirt he'd been working on. "I swear Thatch forgets you have eyes and ears everywhere every time he comes up with an idea."

"There isn't enough room in his head for both-yoi," Marco said dryly, earning an amused smile. "So, should I take my tailoring request elsewhere?"

"Of course not. Set it over there, to the left of the vests."

Marco picked his way across the floor, eye catching on all of the Whitebeard symbols emblazoned on the shirts in this corner. "Did you get a commission?"

It wasn't their simplified Jolly Roger, either. It was the full symbol, grinning skull and mustache, like what Pops had on his back.

Like what Ace used to have. Right as he connected the dots, Izo noticed his expression and nodded. "Ace asked me to. Apparently he already talked to Tasuka and the other nurses, and they said the skin on his back was beyond recovery. He even went to Curiel to see if he could still put a tattoo on the scar tissue, but the damage was too great. It wouldn't turn out."

"And the last thing Ace wants to do is dishonor Pops's mark," Marco muttered. "This is his compromise?"

"For now. I certainly wasn't going to turn him down. Actually, can you take the ones I've finished to his room? Ace is out with Thatch, and I need to free up a bit of space here."

"Just a bit-yoi," Marco said wryly.

"If you do it, I'll have more time to get those alterations of yours done."

"Which ones are they?"

Izo smiled a victor's smile.

"Ace?"

He knocked again. The door was already partially open, but it was best to be sure. Ace didn't have strong reactions to most things, but—in addition to his issue with accepting Pops's mark—someone invading his space was, without a doubt, on the list. Blamenco had never quite been able to get the scorch marks out of Ace's doorframe from the first and only time someone had made that mistake.

His second knock got no answer. Marco glanced down at the pile of clothes Izo had tasked him with delivering. If he found out that Marco had just left them on the floor…

With a sigh, Marco pushed the door open. "I'll be fast, Ace," he muttered. He left the door open, too, just in case.

The bedsheets were rumpled, so Marco angled for the desk, only to see that the chair was tipped over on the floor and the desk had a notebook open on it. His eyes then went to the pencil that had rolled partway under the desk and the pieces all fell into place. He could almost picture it: Ace writing in that notebook, minding his own business, when Thatch barged into the room and dragged him out to go shopping.

Poor kid.

Balancing the clothes in one hand, he righted the chair with the other and gingerly set the pile down on the seat. As he made sure they wouldn't tip over, his gaze fell onto the open notebook for just a moment. It was a glance at best, but even so, he had read some of the few words scrawled on the page before he realized he was doing it. He quickly looked away, but his mind was already turning over what he'd seen.

A list—people, events, and islands, he recognized Foodvalten and Hachinosu—and dates.

But none of the dates had happened yet. The closest one was still more than a week away. Was Ace trying to predict the future? Maybe he visited a fortune teller at an island recently. It was a bit strange, but everyone was welcome to their own superstitions.

As an afterthought, Marco switched the clothes to the bed after straightening the sheets a bit. Ace might suspect someone had seen the notebook anyway, but there was no need to make it obvious.

It wasn't like Marco was going to bring it up. Ace deserved some privacy even with all the secrets he kept. He'd keep what he saw to himself when he met up with Ace later.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Ace admitted, looking—and feeling—rather lost while he gazed up at a display window. Those mannequins had to be uncomfortable, posed like that. Thatch raised an eyebrow.

"Have you never been shopping before?"

Ace scowled. "'Course I have. These shorts, belt, boots, supplies, stuff like that."

"Never a suit? I see your problem. Luckily for you, I happen to be the ship's foremost expert on suits and all manner of formal apparel."

Ace felt his hopes rise, but then he remembered Thatch's character and shot the chef a frown laden with a healthy dose of disbelief.

Thatch looked offended for a moment and then sighed. "Okay, sure, there are a couplepeople who might be more qualified—"

"More than that," Ace interrupted. "Izo, for one. Vista. I mean, even Marco's got opinions, even if he doesn't take his own advice."

"Marco? He's worn the same—you know what, we're getting off topic. Bottom line, I am perfectly qualified to help you pick out a suit and tie combo that will send the ladies flying into your arms."

Ace snorted. "Not interested in something like that."

"Don't like ladies?"

"That's not it," Ace demurred, tilting his head back to look at the sky. He narrowed his eyes at the clouds that, when he squinted, almost looked like devil fruits. "I've got other things to focus on right now."

"What about when you settle down?" Thatch asked, nudging Ace suggestively and forcing Ace's thoughts back to the present. "Or if you find a partner worthy of you on the seas?"

And do what? Ace didn't say that out loud, but the thought scalded. Have a kid, let Roger's blood poison another generation? To hell with that.

He gave Thatch a look that could have melted iron. "I'm not tying myself down."

And that was that.

They abandoned the shop with the strange mannequins and went to one a block over and half-hidden in an alley. Thatch grabbed Ace, who hesitated for a second upon seeing some of the outlandish outfits on display, by the arm and barged in without a care for the slightly irritated look of the rather pompous man behind the counter. Ace could see the instant that man recognized who Thatch and Ace were; his face cleared instantly.

It was a small shop, but it was full of suits. A handful of decorated mannequins, not contorted into uncomfortable poses this time, were arranged in artful ways to show off their outfits. In all, the interior was cozy and smelled of cloth and polish.

"Good day, sir!" Thatch called, a jovial grin on his face while he walked up to the counter. Ace hovered off to one side, eyeing a mannequin to his left like he suspected it was about to start moving. "My friend and I would like suits."

The shopkeeper's gaze darted between Thatch—still smiling and looking about as genteel as a pirate could look—and Ace, who was still glowering. Deciding that humoring Thatch was the best option, the shopkeeper nodded slowly.

"Would you be needing two suits, sir?"

"Ah, you can just call me Thatch. And yes, two would be great."

"Do you have any styles in mind?"

"Nothing overdone," Thatch said, glancing at Ace and suppressing a sigh when he saw that Ace had managed to fall asleep while standing up. Better than falling over; the nurses would've had his head, since he only got Ace shore leave on the promise that Thatch would keep an eye on him in their stead. "Something…simple, but not boring."

"It would be hard to find a suit that could be called boring with gentlemen like yourselves," the shopkeeper said. Then he went white. "Ah, my apologies."

"It's fine. We gentlemen will let you know if we find anything to our liking."

Eyeing the snoring Ace, the shopkeeper nodded slowly. "I suppose you will."

In a truly impressive feat of balance, Ace managed to stay both asleep and standing through the entirety of the time it took Thatch to pick a suit for himself. When he woke up, however, Thatch immediately bombarded him with several different suit choices. Ace, whose childhood raised by bandits did not leave him a fashion enthusiast, just went along with the ones Thatch clearly preferred. Then he was swept up in a whirlwind of measurements and rapid-fire questions from the shopkeeper, and by the time he was finished Ace's head was spinning.

And, Thatch was pleased to note, all that melancholy from before was nowhere to be seen. He guided his younger brother out of the store, a pleased glow about him. "That wasn't too bad, was it?"

"Not really," Ace admitted, turning sideways to let a few of their crewmates by. "How'd you even know about this shop, anyway? Every other one was packed."

Thatch thumbed his nose. "I have my connections."

"That so."

"Oh, ye of little faith." They'd even been lucky enough to get in before word about the shop got out to the rest of their family. "You'll see in a few days. In the meantime, we get to hang out on this island. There's supposed to be a good bar up the street—I forget the name—and it's where Marco's meeting us."

Ace's expression darkened. "I'll pass."

"What? C'mon, it'll be fun!"

"The last bar I was in, I burned to the ground."

Thatch's mouth made a perfect O. He spent a couple seconds mentally berating himself, then slung an arm around Ace's shoulders, careful not to put any real weight behind it. "But I'm sure you've been in plenty of bars that you haven't burned down! C'mon, you don't want to leave your record on this island at one for one, do you? Let's make it one for two. It'll be good for you. You know the only thing waiting for you on the ship is the nurses, and I'm sure they'll want Tasuka to take a look at you since they let you wander around without them."

Ace shuddered. "Maybe…Maybe a bar isn't a bad idea."

"That's the spirit! You up for some drinking?"

Ace made a face. "I've never been a massive fan. I don't mind the taste, but—" he made a vague gesture at his body. "I burn it off almost as fast as I can take it in."

"You poor boy," Thatch said. Then he brightened. "Hold it. You're wearing the bracelet, aren't you?"

Ace paused and looked down at his own wrist like he'd forgotten the thing existed. "Yeah, I guess I am." He shook out his arm. "I'm not noticing it as much anymore, I think. But I'm still not drinking, just in case."

"Aw, why not?" Thatch cursed himself when he saw the dark cloud he thought he'd chased away settle right back over Ace's face. "You know what? Never mind. Some people like it, some people don't. I'd bet you'd make a pretty terrifying drunk, anyway."

"Yeah, probably."

"How about some pool instead? As the only sober guy in the tournament, you'll be the star of the show."

"Tournament?"

"Curiel was talking about organizing it when we came into port. C'mon, you know you want to. Or you can be the judge—that'll probably lead to less complaining from our dear family."

Ace bit his lip for a second and then let out a breath. "You know what? I think I'd like that. To hell with being a judge, though. I'm gonna win."

Chapter Text

May 8th, 1522

Was this right? Ace tugged at his sleeves and rolled his shoulders. It was tight. Not uncomfortably tight, but noticeably. Thatch had said that it was supposed to be snug, that that was the whole point of getting it tailored. But, now that he was on his own and not groggy in a menswear shop, he was starting to question Thatch's taste. Maybe it was his own fault for letting Thatch make the decisions.

The man himself knocked on Ace's door. "C'mon, you'd better not be asleep in there! The party's starting."

"I'll be up in a minute!"

Thatch retreated. Ace took a deep breath and smoothed out his jacket. He looked himself over one last time in the mirror just to make sure nothing was obviously out of place. Thatch had talked him into a crimson suit with black patterning, lapels, and lining. The jacket rested over the crispest and cleanest white shirt Ace had ever worn—a shirt with the top couple of buttons undone and its accompanying tie left hanging over Ace's chair. Gold cufflinks matched tasteful gold accents lining the cuffs and lapels in patterns reminiscent of flames, a pattern mirrored on the belt he had purposely left loose in the same style as he wore his other belt.

He set his shoulders. Even with the buttons undone, the shirt hid his scar completely, though its ridges showed through if he pulled it tight against his chest. He could do this. After a nod to his reflection, he turned on his heel and headed out.

There was no one in the halls. The only people he saw on the deck were the person manning the crow's nest and the helmsman—both of whom looked less than thrilled to be left out of the festivities during their shifts. The one on watch called for Ace to send him a beer, but the helmsman swiftly shut him down before Ace could even get a word out.

Ace gave the sentry a helpless shrug, the sentry heaved a sigh visible even as far away as Ace was, and that was that.

He'd half-expected Thatch to be waiting outside the doors to the mess hall, or even to burst out onto the deck to greet him, but no. Though noise bled out from every gap in the woodwork, the door remained closed. Even Thatch would have a hard time noticing his arrival with so many people around.

Ace took a deep breath. His right hand rubbed his left wrist where the sea stone bracelet rested, innocuous and awful. His new nervous habit pushed the sleeve of his suit up, exposing the bracelet, and he tugged it back down with a frown before heading in. He'd have to stop doing that. Problem was, he didn't notice until it was too late, like poking at a bruise.

A sense of déjà vu washed over him alongside the wave of noise and life that the door had been holding back. He stepped all the way through, letting the door to the mess hall close behind him, and took in the sights. His memory of this party from the first time around was fuzzy at best, and so he spent a second reacquainting himself.

Tallie of Izo's division had gone all-out with decorations, stringing lights and banners and even a disco ball up on the ceiling and along the walls. A banquet piled nearly as high took up the left-hand wall while a dance floor ate up the center. Whitebeard himself was set up in a chair on the right with a couple of nurses at his side to supervise his drinking. A separate squad of nurses stood in the far corner on alcohol poisoning duty.

The musical members of Vista's division had taken up residence on the stage against the far wall, their backs to the kitchen while they carried the room to the tune of Binks' Sake.

It was loud, it was packed, and it was undeniably a pirate party. A smile spread over Ace's face—a smile that dimmed slightly when he saw what everyone else was wearing.

Oh, they were dressed nice. For pirates. But all the suits had rolled-up sleeves, tears from battle, weapons attached, or had any of a hundred other unsubtle signals that the wearer was not really part of what their dress indicated. Plus, no one else was in a full, coordinated, pristine suit.

The only one matching (and surpassing, if he was being honest) Ace's level was Izo, who had gone all-out with kimono bedecked in flowers along the seams and some actual flowers embroidered along its bottom edges. Gold thread shimmered in his hair.

God, Ace had even showered and let Thatch style his hair with that flower-smelling gel for this. He should've been far more suspicious of the man's glee when Ace agreed to that proposal.

Damn that Thatch. He'd made Ace one of the best-dressed idiots here, drawing entirely too many eyes Ace's way. And as those eyes arrived, they didn't leave. Elbows were thrown, shouts tossed, and soon, the whole room was convulsing and turning on Ace like a living thing. The collective inhale of every pirate was all the warning Ace got before Whitebeard raised his sake dish and a deafening shout rang from every throat in the room:

"CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR RECOVERY!"

Ace actually backed up a step from the sheer volume. When the ringing subsided, he flashed a sheepish grin to buy a second for the lump in his throat to shrink. He blinked a few times just to be safe and said as levelly as he could, "Thanks, you idiots. You're too loud."

Whitebeard's laugh spurred the party back into full swing. The crowd swelled and swept Ace up into the thick of it. Someone shoved a drink into his hands, someone else nearly spilled theirs on his shoes but didn't thanks to someone else accidentally getting in the way, and no fewer than six people slapped him heartily on the back. The last of those slaps came from Jozu who, judging by the flush to his cheeks and the way he was smiling ear to ear, was himself several drinks deep.

Back stinging, Ace stumbled to the edges of the crowd and found himself in the banquet line. It was the closest thing to reprieve he was going to get, and just the sight of the food back from the door had been enough to set his stomach rumbling. Now close enough to smell it over the beer, he found his mouth watering.

He loaded up a plate with as much as he could fit and then a little more that he started eating before it could tip everything over. In the middle of the second steamed bun, though, someone threw an arm around his shoulder. He turned as much as their shoulder permitted to find Thatch grinning at him.

The man had a suit of his own—white with yellow accents along the edges, a yellow pocket square, and the sleeves rolled up. He also still had his yellow sash and swords tied around his waist, making Ace wish he'd rebelled against Thatch's advice and thrown on his dagger. He felt like a stooge.

"I've never seen you slip out of the spotlight so fast," Thatch needled. "Did the food smell that good?"

"Mmphy," Ace managed around the bun. He swallowed the rest, chased it with a swig of his drink, and then tried again. "Maybe."

"You know, you looked like you were about to cry when you first walked in. Get a little sea in your eyes?"

Ace shoved him off, losing a roll from his plate that he neatly kicked up and into his mouth, holding it in place with his teeth. "Shut up," he said around it.

Thatch raised his eyebrows at Ace's trick, but before he could say a word, a different voice cut in.

"Thatch, Jiru and Haruta say you've been intentionally avoiding me."

"What?" Thatch, unlike Ace, refused to turn around and acknowledge Marco, who had his arms crossed and a very satisfied twist to his lips. "That's ridiculous. We're pals. I'd never." He took a bun from Ace's plate and proceeded to examine it closely. "You know what, Jeremy is burning things again. I should go supervise his next batch—"

Marco took Thatch by the shoulder. "It's almost like"—he tightened his grip to prevent escape—"there's something"—and forcibly spun him around—"you're trying to claim you didn't see."

Ace watched with bemusement as Thatch shut his eyes and slipped out of Marco's grasp. Clearly, he was missing something, and it probably had to do with Marco's outfit. It wasn't the suit Ace usually attributed to Marco dressing up, and this new jacket's level of detail screamed Izo's intervention.

"You probably want to see this," he chimed in.

"I absolutely do not," Thatch moaned.

After a glance at Marco and a nod of approval from the bird, Ace balanced his mug on a cleared section of his plate and snatched the bun back out of Thatch's hand. "I'm about to smudge the filling all over your shirt," he warned.

Eyes still closed, Thatch fidgeted. "You wouldn't."

"I'll be warning him how you're going to move-yoi," Marco added.

"That's just unfair!"

"So is refusing to admit you've lost your bet."

Thatch drooped and opened his eyes in time to see Ace lick his fingers clean. "You just ate the bun, didn't you?" He heaved a sigh and looked to Marco. "Your suit looks amazing, you asshole. Izo outdid himself. How'd you find out?"

"You're not subtle-yoi."

"You're not going to tell me."

"Why would I?"

"A fair playing field?"

"So I should knowingly let you go behind my back and let myself be used for your own little schemes?"

"Yes?" Thatch tried.

"No."

Ace finally cleared off his plate and finished off his beer. "Did Thatch bet on your clothes or something?" He maybe remembered something like that.

"One hundred thousand beri that I wouldn't wear something new," Marco clarified with a heavy dose of satisfaction in his tone as he sounded out the number. Each syllable had Thatch sinking even lower. "Like an idiot." He glanced towards the dance floor. "Haruta just noticed us talking, by the way."

Ace glanced behind him. "Jiru's blocking the door."

Cursing, Thatch shoved past Marco and made a beeline for the galley and his only chance of evading his debt collectors. Movement out of the corner of Ace's eye drew his gaze upwards to where Haruta was using the ceiling decorations like ropes to swing in hot pursuit. It was impossible to tell from where he was standing whether Thatch made it through the galley doors before Haruta dropped down.

Marco crossed his arms with a sigh. "He never learns-yoi." His gaze slid to Ace. "How are you feeling?"

No point in lying. "A little overwhelmed."

"Are your injuries bothering you?"

"Not really." Ace worked his jaw. He couldn't exactly explain that the last time he'd seen his family gathered together like this was his own execution and he'd never thought he'd see any of them smile again. "It's complicated. In a good way, I think."

"I'll take your word for that, then."

A shout went up from the center of the room. Someone dimmed the lights and someone else fixed a spotlight on the entrance to the mess hall. Jiru was nowhere in sight—probably working with Haruta to corner Thatch in the kitchen.

Ace tried and failed to peer over the more massive of his brothers to catch a glimpse of the person coming through. "What's going on now?"

"The main event-yoi." Marco pushed off the wall. "I should join Pops before Vista starts getting nervous."

"Vista?"

"His second-in-command is marrying one of the nurses. He's been fretting over this for days."

So that was why Ace hadn't seen him since their mission. He made a mental note to lead a toast just to make sure Vista knew he held no hard feelings. "I guess he does like to stand on ceremony."

"And thus the de facto first mate must assist in the vows," Marco sighed.

Deciding to stay by the buffet table—the spot past its end was pretty clear of people and gave him room to both breathe and continue sampling the food—Ace watched the wedding play out. He must've been drunk or distracted the first time around, because everything about this felt pretty new. Although, maybe the bride's elaborate dress that managed to still feature fishnets rang a bell or two in his memory. He was too far away to hear everything that was said during the actual ceremony, but there was a moment of silence, a kiss, and then an uproarious cheer that rattled the nearby plates.

The new couple got the dance floor to themselves for a song before the band switched back to an upbeat jig and the party resumed.

At one point, Vista stopped by the banquet line. Ace got his reassurances out then and somehow ended up joining him in the crowd overlooking a drinking competition between Jozu and Blamenco. Whenever Jozu was focused on his own glasses, the contents of Blamenco's vanished into his face pocket, much to the entertainment of the onlookers. Too buzzed to notice he was getting played, Jozu just kept soldiering on. Ace broke off before it ended, but when a cheer went up soon after, he could guess the winner.

He spent a while mingling and, once he saw Haruta and Jiru rejoin the party, tracking down Thatch. His flight from consequences had been entirely in-character and neither Haruta nor Jiru would actually cause lasting damage, but Ace at least wanted to make sure he hadn't gotten himself into a mess he couldn't escape alone.

He walked past Thatch three times before realizing that the sad pile of discarded ribbon in the corner had a prisoner wrapped up within it. Thatch's loafers and nose were the only things poking out. Even his hair had been flattened.

Crouching, Ace tossed aside the excess ribbon and pulled down the cloth over Thatch's mouth. "What did you do?"

"Ace?" Thatch wiggled a bit, but with his arms and legs thoroughly tied together, that was all he could do. "That you? Could you get me out of this? I'll grill you a whole steak."

Glancing over his shoulder, Ace caught a glimpse of Haruta looking his way. "I'll think about it."

"Come on, don't be like that. Two steaks. We're friends, right? Friends help each other."

"They're supposed to," Ace acknowledged aloud while he silently grabbed and held onto the lighthearted atmosphere of the party for all he was worth. He was not thinking about that now. Not here. Not when this was supposed to be a happy memory. "What did you do? I can see Haruta wanting to get back at you for trying to get out of this, but Jiru's not the type to take it this far."

"Maybe he had a change of heart. Can you at least get it off my eyes? I can't see."

"Haruta's watching."

Thatch stopped his fruitless fidgeting and let his shoulders slump. Given how he was completely covered in decorative ribbon, his pout was more funny than sad. "Tell him I'm sorry."

"You wouldn't apologize just for trying to get away or you'd be doing it all the time." He checked to make sure Haruta was looking away before he started work on untying the big bow behind Thatch's head. Haruta had done good work with it. "Haruta's not wearing the same jacket he started with." The first one had been a glittering and ruffled sight to behold while Haruta swung across the ceiling. This new one, while still unequivocally Haruta's style, lacked the same punch.

Thatch heaved a sigh. "Okay, maybe I got a little desperate in there. And maybe I started grabbing and throwing everything I could reach. And maybe one of those things was a tub of frosting."

Part of the knot gave. Ace started work on the next level. "You're a treat, Thatch."

"Thank you. But I didn't know the lid was loose—I honestly didn't." Ace hesitated, vague memories of stealing into the kitchen in the middle of the night for a snack surfacing. Most of the time he was in a fugue and didn't really remember what he ate, and it was worse than ever after his injury, but he had woken up with frosting on his fingers a couple days ago. He decided to keep that to himself. "Izo's gonna kill me for ruining his work when he finds out."

"Probably."

The last of the knot gave. Once Thatch could see and Ace got his arms free, the cook was able to extricate himself from the rest. "I appreciate the help, but why didn't you just burn it off?"

Ace stared at him, but Thatch was too distracted with fixing his hair to notice. Ace sighed. "I didn't want to set your hair on fire."

"You know what? Thank you for not using your powers. Now, it sounded like I missed the ceremony." He did his best to peer over the crowd. "Have they already brought out the cake?"

"As if they'd do that without you. They're probably waiting."

Thatch huffed. "Knowing Vista, he'll blame me even though I was tied up. I'll cut you an extra big slice as thanks, by the way."

Next to the bride's entrance, the cake appearing was the biggest moment of the night. It was so large that Thatch had to wheel it out on its own cart. White with gold and silver accents, it towered over everything else in the room save Whitebeard himself. The wheels squeaked over the wooden floor before falling silent in front of the dumbfounded new husband, who had lost his wife during the party.

For a moment, the entire mess hall was silent. The groom opened his mouth to ask if anyone had seen his wife—only for the woman herself to erupt out of the cake and slam the entire top tier into her husband's face. Frosting and cake flew over the cheering audience. Whitebeard's laugh was the loudest of all.

The newlyweds devolved into a vicious scuffle on the floor while, behind them, Thatch expertly set aside two portions for them and one extra-large for Whitebeard, and then began serving everyone else with characteristic flair. A jostling line quickly formed—Thatch's special-occasion cakes were not to be missed—but Ace hung back. His stomach was rumbling, his eyes glued to the cake, but seeing the chaos of the line made him wary. He could just wait until it was shorter.

His hand drifted once more to his wrist, and he squeezed. He was…he was feeling okay, right? Right now. In this moment. He was feeling pretty good, even. It was noisy, but it was a familiar, comfortable kind of noisy. The kind of noisy that had been all too common in Dadan's hideout.

It would just be for a minute. Just a test. With that promise to himself in mind, he produced the key from his jacket's inner pocket and carefully removed the sea stone from his wrist. He balanced the stone circlet on the sleeve of his jacket and let his hand hover over it, ready for the first sign of trouble. Like every time before it, the removal of the sea stone brought an immediate wave of relief. He let out a breath.

The noise of the room washed over him anew. He weathered it, trying to find in it the same comfort as before—but now, it wasn't just a background buzz. He couldn't get it out of his focus. And it was only getting louder. The room, too, no longer felt grand. It was pressing in close, the shifting bodies a few paces away threatening to crush him.

He slammed his hand back down on the bracelet. The numbing effect took hold instantly, but he still couldn't get enough air. Securing the stone back onto his wrist, he dove into the crowd with his eyes fixed on the exit. He just needed some air, and then he'd be fine. Just a little bit of space to himself.

Throwing himself into the sea of pirates was an invitation for people to try talking to him. He brushed them off, knowing he was being rude but unable to stop himself. His vision tunneled to the door and the narrowing stretch of floor between it and him.

And then a body bigger than all the others cut that tunnel short. Ace barely stopped himself before he ran into the new arrival, fumbling out an apology that died on his lips the instant he raised his gaze past the man's chest.

Teach.

The bastard had a plate of cake in one hand and a wide grin on his lips. "Been meaning to say this for a while, Commander Ace, but congratulations on your recovery! We were all worried for ya."

His words devolved into nothing but a shriek in Ace's ears. He couldn't drag in enough air. He had to speak, had to say something, but the only thing that would come out if he opened his mouth would be the furious howl bubbling in his throat.

"Commander? Something wrong?"

He was either going to throw up or lash out, his whole body shaking like it was going to snap—

And then a new figure slid between them. Ace's vision went white until he backed up a single unsteady step and realized it was the back of Thatch's suit.

No, part of him whispered as he felt the thread of fate winding around his neck like a garrote. He didn't hear what Thatch said to Teach; everything was devolving into a blur that didn't resolve until he was heaving his guts over the side of the ship. Gagging and coughing out bile, he squeezed his eyes shut and dragged in a breath, only for it to get interrupted by another heave.

The wooden railing pressed into his arms while he stared down at the waves lapping against the side of the ship. They weren't moving fast, and the New World sea was mercifully calm for the moment. Right now, he doubted he could stop himself from getting thrown overboard if a storm struck. Salt-laden wind slowly teased his hair out from Thatch's styling to hang over his face.

When the next wave of nausea passed, he let his head fall. He'd gotten complacent, focusing so much on his own injuries and letting the days slip through his fingers. Thatch's life was at stake, and he was out here going to parties and pretending like things were normal. Wasting time.

His lungs shook on his next inhale, and slowly, more than his immediate surroundings filtered into focus. Some of the party had spilled out onto the deck and a few people were drifting closer to him. Fossa was asking if he was okay.

He didn't want to wait until Thatch found the fruit on that fateful raid. He had to start doing something now, find a way to keep Thatch from ever facing that danger. If there was anything that could help him do that, it would be hidden in Teach's room. But right now—as Fossa's gentle hand on his shoulder and the forest of eyes at his back showed him—he couldn't go anywhere without being the goddamned center of attention.

For the second time this night, Thatch came to his rescue, shooing away the onlookers while Ace offered halfhearted reassurances to Fossa so that his fellow commander would return to the party. That done and now with a little cleared space around them, Thatch blew out a breath. He had two mugs with him, and he set one of them next to Ace's arm before leaning against the railing just as Ace was, eyes looking over the moon-touched waves.

"You don't need to worry," he said lightly. "I just told Teach that you're still recovering a bit, not to take it personally, that kind of thing."

Ace counted himself lucky that he'd turned away from Thatch so the cook couldn't see the snarl on his face. That expression vanished when another dry heave hit and his whole chest clenched from the force of his body rebelling against him. Its only upside was that it spared him the need to respond to Thatch's words, something he wasn't sure he could do right now.

Gentle pressure on his back. Thatch rubbed slow circles through Ace's suit while Ace gagged and spat, then offered the mug Ace hadn't touched yet. Ace took a drink, swished it around, and spat that out too.

"I saw you suddenly disappear instead of fighting your way to the cake. Figured something was wrong."

"So you gave up on the cake?" Ace managed. "I'm honored."

"I'd do anything for you, Ace," Thatch replied softly. "You're my brother, more important than any cake, no matter how objectively amazing."

Ace's eyes widened and then watered. He swiftly ducked his head.

"Marco? You alive in here?"

A chorus of pained groans and a few slurred shouts answered Thatch's call. Drunk pirates, most semiconscious at best and losing the fight to stay that way, were spread out all over the Moby Dick's mess hall. Even Whitebeard was out, much to the consternation of his medical detail, who had no hope of getting the snoring man to his quarters on their own. The only ones left standing were a handful of his own fourth division dutifully collecting the remnants of the buffet and making preparations for what was sure to be a subdued breakfast the next morning.

Thatch nodded to those he passed while he picked his way through the bodies. "Marco?"

"Over here-yoi."

Tracing the sound to the wall behind Whitebeard's chair, Thatch found his friend pulling Jozu out of a new hole in the wall. The large man was snoring away, completely oblivious to Marco's efforts to get him out of the way so the damage could be assessed. Thatch swiftly lended a hand.

"Thanks," Marco said, wiping off his hands, only to frown at them. "I swear, everything in this room has a coating of beer. Especially our family."

"Aw, cut him some slack. He had a good night."

"For the parts he was conscious, I'm sure he did. Was there something you needed?"

"Yeah, actually. It's…" Thatch hesitated, then glanced around. He couldn't see all of the mess hall from where they were standing—Whitebeard's chair was in the way—but instinct begged caution. "You know what? Let's take this to the kitchen. I'm sure these idiots want some peace and quiet."

More groans, now interspersed with marginally more spirited insults.

Down to a skeleton crew, the kitchen was mercifully quiet with only the occasional bustle of Thatch's division members going in and out. The sloshing of the sinks provided a good bit of white noise to cover up Thatch and Marco's conversation in a neglected corner.

"How's Ace?" Marco asked.

Thatch leaned against the wall and crossed his arms with a sigh. "I took him back to his room. He seemed all right, all things considered."

"What happened?"

"Not sure. He helped me get free, seemed more than interested in the cake, but when I caught up to him by Teach…" He let out a slow breath. "You should've seen his face, Marco. When I was coming up, I've never seen him so angry, not even when he was trying to take Pops's head. But after I got there? Pale as a ghost. I thought he was going to be sick—well, he was, but he got to the deck first."

"Did he have his bracelet on? He's had that kind of reaction a couple of times."

Thatch pursed his lips and thought back. "No, I think he had it on. Maybe he took it off for a second and got overwhelmed, and Teach was just…in the…way…"

"Talk to me, Thatch. I can see your gears turning-yoi."

"No, it's just—remember the breakfast before Ace went on that mission with Vista?"

"I recall."

"Yeah, right before you showed up, he had some kind of reaction. Not the same. The look on his face—I lied, I've seen him that angry before, and that was it. Swear the whole place would've been ashes if he hadn't had that stone on his wrist."

"And the connection here is…?"

"Well, I can't guarantee it—it might just be sheer coincidence—but I'm pretty sure Teach rolled in for breakfast around that time."

Marco's brows furrowed. "And then he headed over to us-yoi."

"To greet Ace, exactly."

Marco brought his hand up to his mouth while he thought, eyes fixed on the floor. "He never mentioned Teach while unconscious."

"No, just his brother, Pops, and some character named Blackbeard."

"I've looked into the name Blackbeard because of Ace mentioning it, but even though it's apparently been invoked in some underground circles lately, there isn't anything concrete. It's just a rumor."

"Okay, if Blackbeard's a dead end, then in the meantime we can try to keep Ace away from Teach. I don't know what's going on there, but clearly it's not good."

"That seems like a good step one," Marco acknowledged. "I'm working on a theory of my own but I need time to see if it's accurate-yoi."

"If it's time you need, it's time you'll get. I'll make sure they stay apart."

"I might be able to do something about that too."

Chapter Text

Ace opened his eyes. A glance at the window in his quarters confirmed that it was still the middle of the night. As far as he could hear, the ship was quiet, so he swung out of bed, tugged on his boots, and headed on silent feet up to the deck. Passing among the passed-out and snoring pirates scattered around the deck brought back memories of creeping past the sleeping tigers in the forest back before he, Sabo, and Luffy had been strong enough to take them on.

He had to scour from helm nearly to stern to find Teach, but as he'd hoped, the traitor was as out of it as the rest of them. His face was smeared with half the pie that was now growing cold next to him, his arm protectively encircling its tin.

Ace stood over him a moment. The sea was quiet, calm. The night air still. Teach was completely out of it. Everyone around him was dead to the world. Even the lookout in the crow's nest was audibly snoring.

A cloud passed in front of the moon and in its shadow the war inside waged itself openly on Ace's face—but when the shadow lifted, his mask was back in place.

He turned away, slipped back belowdecks, and headed for his division's wing. There were fewer pirates in the underbelly of the ship, but there weren't none; many had made a valiant effort to get back to their beds and hammocks before alcohol-fueled exhaustion claimed them.

One pirate whose name escaped Ace mumbled and shifted as Ace crept past. Ace froze, each heartbeat sounding like a drum to his own ears, but the pirate didn't wake.

Ace let out a breath and moved to keep going only for the pirate on the opposite side of the hallway to abruptly reach out and grab his ankle.

"I'm good fer'nother," he slurred. "C'mon, one more swig."

Ace held his breath, but though the man's muttering continued, his eyes remained closed.

Trying to break the man's hold proved fruitless, and if Ace tried any harder to shake him off, he'd wake up and this opportunity would be lost to him. He cast around for any other option and an empty mug nearby caught his eye. Sliding his other foot forward, Ace ignored the burning protests of his straining hamstrings and shoulders as he reached for it. His fingertips brushed the handle, nearly rocking it out of his reach. Teeth gritted, he pushed himself to reach that extra inch and secured the mug.

He was going to feel that tomorrow, he thought with a wince. Though empty, the mug still reeked of the beer that had once filled it.

When he set the mug on the drunk's chest, after a tense second, the man let go of his ankle and curled around the mug like it was a stuffed toy. Ace left him to it.

Teach's room was locked. Unusual on the Moby Dick, but not unheard of. Ace produced some picks from the blue pouch on his leg and got to work. He hadn't been raised by mountain bandits and robbed rich idiots of their literal treasure chests just to never pick up such a basic skill.

Slowly, carefully, he worked the pins one at a time until the last one went up and the tumbler turned. He opened it the rest of the way with the lever and then eased the door open, pocketing his picks on the way in. The hinges were well oiled and silent on their way back closed.

He'd never been in Teach's room before. Despite this whole plan, he hadn't spared a thought for what he was walking into. There were some vague notions of evil kicking around in his mind, but as he surveyed the space, he was struck by how bland it was. All of the furniture was standard, save for the desk chair and bedsheets, which were extravagant in their luxury. Impressions in the seat cushion spoke to how often Teach used it; tiny talon marks from messenger birds in the desk spoke to what he used it for.

That was hardly incriminating evidence. Even with den den mushi, birds were often cheaper and didn't rely on the other person having one of their own. There was, actually, a sleeping mini den den mushi in Teach's desk, complete with a few wires and metal pieces scattered in the drawer with it, but Ace knew at a glance the thing didn't have any real range. Hardly incriminating.

Finally, buried in the back of one of the other desk drawers, a book of devil fruits. Again, hardly incriminating; everyone was on some level fascinated with the damn things. Even if the page with the Yami Yami no Mi was noticeably more weathered than the rest, it wasn't like Teach had circled that fruit and written "I'm gonna kill Thatch for this" in the margin.

The only other unusual thing in the room was an old hook looped into a broken fishing line wrapped up on a nail in the wall. Unlike the sheets and chair, it was cheaply made. A memento from his past?

Checking the drawers revealed nothing but clothes, paper, and ink. The chest at the foot of his bed contained his treasure stash, which while rather underwhelming for a Whitebeard pirate, hardly pointed to anything nefarious. Teach could argue that his luxury goods were just that expensive or that he'd spent it on food, not on building clout in underground circles.

Ace leaned against the wall and scrubbed a hand over his face. This room was almost as bland as they came; he should've known Teach was too smart to just leave damning evidence out where any nosy bastard could find it.

Hoping otherwise, hoping that he could put a stop to Teach's plans long before they put anyone in danger, had been naïve.

He let his hand fall. "Dammit."

"Can you stretch both arms over your head?"

Ace complied with Tasuka's instruction. This was one of many stretches she was having him go through after a physical exam.

"Any pain?"

"None."

She checked off another box on her clipboard sheet. "One more. Can you twist from above your waist like this?" She demonstrated, rotating her shoulders almost ninety degrees from her hips.

Ace did that too, but he didn't make it nearly as far, and Tasuka noticed his frown.

"You have a lot of scar tissue in your abdomen now, and even if it's not causing any problems, it will impact your flexibility a bit. It's not dangerous unless you notice any pain or the reduction in movement gets worse."

"It didn't hurt," Ace clarified. "Just a little discomfort."

"Good." She drew breath to continue, but a loud growl from Ace's stomach pulled her up short. Ace went red and she pursed her lips to stifle a smile. "That's everything. Sorry to keep you so long past your usual breakfast time."

"It's fine, better to know I'm healed." And better to know he wouldn't need to spend time in the infirmary anymore. He hopped off the cot. "Anything I need to do going forward?"

"Make sure you keep stretching every morning and evening to keep that tissue from stiffening up. If that happens, there isn't too much we can do about it, though," she began tapping her pen, gaze no longer focused on the paper in front of her, "I wonder, if I mix…that could work, if it doesn't induce reactive paralysis—"

"I'll just keep stretching," he said quickly. "Thanks, Tas."

"You're welcome. Now scram; I have some allergy meds to put together for some idiots who got too drunk to think straight last night."

"What, no one's begging for a miracle hangover cure?"

"Strangely, my cures seem to be viewed as worse than the disease."

"Weird."

Now that the poking and prodding was over with, Ace moseyed his way up to the mess hall. He was showing up more than an hour after he usually did, but there was still more than enough food available to tide him over until lunch. Maybe it was a side effect of the sickness plaguing the ship; the mess hall was shockingly quiet and just as empty. Ace counted thirty-odd pirates in a space that could hold hundreds, and the vast majority of those pirates were looking at their food with what could best be described as trepidation.

He ended up at a table next to a hole in the wall temporarily covered with a tarp. There was a story there, but he didn't get to think too much about it before Thatch dropped into the seat across from him.

"Ace! And here I thought you'd gone and slept in like everyone else."

Judging by the dark circles under Thatch's eyes—marks of exhaustion echoed on the face of every cook Ace had seen during his journey for food—Thatch was the one who needed that rest the most.

"I got plenty of sleep," he lied between bites. "Did you stay up all night? This place got turned around pretty quickly."

There were still decorations on the ceiling, but everything else, including all the spilled beer and food, had been cleaned up or packed away. More than half the tables had been returned to their proper places.

Thatch waved a hand. "Cleaning up is the easy part, believe me. I'll be fine. What about you? Marco was looking for you earlier and couldn't track you down in your room or here. The poor bird almost looked worried."

"I had a checkup with Tasuka."

"Oh? And what's the word on your health?"

He grinned. "Fully recovered."

"Yes!" Thatch crowed, pumping a fist in the air. "I mean," he cleared his throat, assuming a very transparent façade of wisdom, "obviously we knew."

"Obviously." Most likely, that congratulations the previous night had been approved by the nurses with Ace's follow-up as one last confirmation. "What did Marco want?"

"He didn't say. You can try his office, I don't think he's going anywhere today." Someone in the kitchen called for Thatch, who responded with a wave. "Yeah, on my way! I'll leave you to your meal. Check in with me later, though—there's a searing technique I can't quite nail down, and your flame control will make testing much easier."

"What's in it for me?"

"I'll let you eat the failures."

"Deal," Ace said with a cocky grin like this wasn't a routine they'd repeated a hundred times.

Leaving Thatch to his work, Ace meandered down to Marco's office while enjoying the comfortable sensation of a full stomach.

"Marco?" He knocked on the door again. "Thatch said you were looking for me."

"Come in-yoi."

Ace opened the door to the familiar sight of Marco going through stacks of paper at his desk. He set his current task aside when Ace walked in and gestured for Ace to close the door. Ace did so with a raised eyebrow. Was this going to take a while?

A thrill of fear shot up his spine when Marco leaned forward to speak with a serious look on his face. Had someone reported him for sneaking into Teach's quarters?

"I've assigned some members of your division to a scouting mission in the North Blue," Marco said, and Ace's fear was replaced with confusion. "We've picked up on a handful of rumors that a group there might be looking to ally with an emperor. It bears investigation."

"You sent them without talking to me?" In theory, as the de facto first mate, Marco had the authority to assign members from other divisions. It just wasn't often done and in this case it stung a bit. Did Marco think he wasn't competent enough to triage missions on his own anymore? He was healed!

"There's a large storm expected to hit us shortly," Marco explained. "Given that these rumors could be time-sensitive, it was best to get the team out immediately-yoi. It's not reflecting on you as a leader, Ace."

That was an explanation all right, but it still rankled Ace's pride. He tried to hide that discontent. "Who's on the team?"

Marco pulled out a different sheet of paper and held it out. "This is the dispatch." Ace took it, looked over the details. "It should have everyone, but I know I assigned Johan, Thern, and Teach—"

Ace saw the name in the same instant Marco said it and did a poor job of hiding the tension that shot through him, leaving him feeling like a bowstring that had been abandoned halfway drawn.

"Something the matter?" Marco asked, and Ace did not like that tone to his voice. Marco knew something.

"No," he lied, handing the paper back. "They're a good team."

A good team that was going to be gone basically until the raid that would unearth the Yami Yami no Mi. He couldn't chase after Teach, not without inviting even more suspicion. The traitor was out of his reach.

"Thanks for letting me know."

"Of course."

Marco's knowing gaze followed him out until the closing door cut it off.

Chapter Text

Ace wasn't sure what to expect when Thatch barged into his room, but he knew he was going to have no choice but to find out. He'd already flipped his notebook closed, so he wasn't worried about Thatch seeing the messy notes scrawled within.

"I had lunch earlier," Ace said, eyeing the bag in Thatch's hand.

"I know."

That look on his face begged suspicion. "What's this about, Thatch?"

"Yeesh, everyone's a cynic these days. It's a gift. You do realize we docked an hour ago, right? I figured I'd give you a reason to come out of this hole of yours. What are you even writing in there?"

Ace leaned over his notebook protectively.

"Is it a diary?"

"No, and you're not getting a look."

Thatch gasped. "A sketchbook?"

Ace dropped the notebook in a drawer and slammed it shut. "Your gift?"

Brushing off the topic of Ace's notebook like he'd never cared about it at all, Thatch rummaged in his bag and then tossed a bundle of cloth at Ace's head. Ace grabbed it out of the air and unfolded it with furrowed brows.

"Are you trying to buy me a whole new wardrobe?" he asked into Thatch's expectant silence.

"I am merely attempting to fill the holes you've left in your supplies of…everything," came Thatch's affronted reply. "If you don't want them—"

"I didn't say that. I've just never really needed swim trunks before." He gestured at himself. "Swimming isn't exactly something I do anymore. The shirt's nice, though. Thank you."

A bit mollified by Ace's appreciation, Thatch produced his own shirt to match the one Ace had now separated from the trunks. Thatch's was a simple green and pink floral pattern on a blue background. Eye-catching, to be sure, but nothing offensive. Ace's, though…

"Where did you even find this thing?"

"Honestly, I've been keeping an eye out for a while. Us stopping at an island with a good beach is all the excuse I need to peruse the shops."

Ace turned his shirt this way and that, scrutinizing it from every angle. No matter what angle he chose, though, the shirt remained the same fluorescent—and familiar—orange. Flowers outlined in red, some filled in with golds, others left orange, bedecked it in a pattern far splashier than Thatch's.

"Okay," Thatch said when Ace's expression remained on the cooler side of enthusiastic, "I may have missed the mark here—"

"Are you kidding?" Ace grinned and shed his current shirt so he could don the new one. "This is great. It matches perfectly."

"Matches?" Thatch repeated. Ace answered by producing his hat from a chest by his bed and expertly flicking it onto his head. The orange of his hat and the orange of his new shirt were nearly identical. "Ah. So it does. But! The outfit is only half of why I'm here. We," he threw an arm around Ace's shoulder and gestured towards the door, "are going to the beach."

"Huh?"

"C'mon, did you really think that I got you that shirt just so you could show exactly no one by staying cooped up down here?"

"What's at the beach?"

"The rest of the crew not stuck on the ship, including our favorite bird who has a lovely shirt of his own thanks to me. Look, you're healed. We threw a big party, but that was just standing and sitting around."

"And drinking."

"And drinking. C'mon, don't you want to move around a bit? You've been spending way too much time down here."

Ace couldn't very well say he'd been trying to put together some kind of incriminating paper trail to take down Teach. In part because he hadn't been succeeding, in part because it was a crazy thing to do to a seemingly random member of his division. Thatch took his silence as agreement.

"We're gonna put together some games. The crew'll be thrilled to have you there."

Ace's reluctance weakened with every word out of Thatch's mouth. The cook had a point; he had been spending a lot of time belowdecks trying to figure out some way of nailing Teach. If he turned Thatch down, it wouldn't only be out of character; it would be downright suspicious.

"All right, you got me. Let's go."

Ace tried to focus on the games. He really did. Any other time, it would've been fine; he'd always had a competitive streak, and once the rules of volleyball were explained to him, he was serving and spiking the ball with the best of them. But for every point his division's team earned, for every set and match they won, Ace thought about what he wasn't doing: preparing for the inevitable.

There were rumors out there—unproven but not unsubstantiated—that devil fruits gravitated towards specific people. Even if he somehow altered Thatch's path away from the Yami Yami no Mi without taking down Teach, there was a chance it could find him again. And through him, Teach. Or maybe even to Teach directly.

No. Until he had proof Teach was Blackbeard, better to let it happen in a way he could predict. Even if the thought of letting all those events line up made his skin crawl.

It was in one of those moments of distraction that Haruta snuck a spike past Ace's distracted guard. The ball slammed into the sand just behind his right foot, much to the dismay of his teammates.

Ace blinked.

"Game, set, match!" declared Rinji, who was acting as the referee.

Cheers went up on Haruta's side, groans and jeers on Ace's. Ace offered a sheepish apology, but contrary to his expectations, no one blamed him. There were some—careful—slaps on the back handed out, some congratulations given for getting as far in the division tournament as they did—sixth place was respectable considering how few of them had ever played volleyball before—but that was all. No blame. No vitriol.

He should've felt touched, probably, that they were still being cautious with him. But instead, he was annoyed. His failure had cost them the game, and they were content to just blame it on the wounds the nurses had already declared healed? Would they be so unbothered if his fuckups got Pops killed again?

He at least had the presence of mind to keep those thoughts to himself.

He bowed out of the post-tournament friendly matches. He then turned down an invitation to toss a frisbee or race. He even declined to place bets on the swimming competitions; very few fools had decided to square off against the fishmen in their crew, which meant there wasn't much for Ace to actually watch. All the action was underwater.

So there he sat, off on a chair in the shade of a softly swaying palm tree, sipping a lemonade while the heat slowly baked in the layer of sand stuck to his skin. His thoughts were all on Teach, missing entirely the worried glances tossed his way.

Teach's personal quarters were a bust; nothing there was incriminating. The man himself was out of Ace's reach. What else was there? There had to be something. Some angle. Teach was smart but he wasn't omniscient. He'd screwed up, left a trail. Everyone did. It was how Ace'd tracked him after he murdered Thatch.

Even now, there were traces of Teach's—no, Blackbeard's—dealings hidden in the dry numbers of the second division's paperwork. Something off in Teach's accounted spoils, maybe. Certain mission locations he preferred that overlapped with Blackbeard rumors.

He hadn't found anything yet, but it had to be there. He had to be careful how he investigated in case Marco caught wind of what he was doing, but it was something. A way forward. A way to protect—

"Hey!" Thatch, strolling over from the direction of the coastal town, waved with one hand. His other held a very particular fruit. "Done playing already?"

"Got tired," Ace lied. "What's with the pineapple?"

Thatch grinned and spun it on his index finger. "You like it? Turns out this place has a ton. I've decided to hold a bit of a treasure hunt for them—or, really, a way to get our kitchens stocked in a way that doesn't require me to buy them from the seller who just tried to quadruple the price on me."

"A treasure hunt."

"Yep. The division that brings the most back to the ship within the next half hour gets 500,000 beri added to their budget and avoids cleaning rotation for a month."

Ace's eyebrows went up. "A whole month?"

"See, Marco thought 500,000 beri wouldn't be enough, so I threw that in as a little extra."

"I think that'll be enough, yeah. Doesn't explain why the one you're carrying has Marco's face drawn on it. Badly."

Thatch stopped spinning the fruit and peered at the half-lidded eyes crudely inked on its exterior. "Badly? Really? I thought it was pretty good."

Ace shrugged.

"Right, well, I decided to have a little fun. These special editions are worth five each. Just a way to make things more interesting. Care to participate? It'll be starting soon."

Ace caught movement over Thatch's shoulder. "How soon, exactly?"

"Five minutes? I've told almost everyone, but I need to track down Izo and Blamenco, let them know about it."

"You didn't forget anyone else?"

"Hm? No, just you and those two. Why?"

Ace sipped his lemonade. "No reason."

Marco's heavy hand fell on Thatch's shoulder.

"Thatch," said Marco with a bright smile to match his blue-and-gold patterned shirt, "you didn't tell me about this fun game you'd put together-yoi. Five points for a single fruit with my face on it? I'm flattered-yoi."

Thatch was rigid as a board, his eyes darting about in vain for a method of escape. "Uh, well—"

"I was so flattered that I changed the game to better honor you, the selfless organizer."

"It was all in good fun—" Thatch's efforts to wriggle out from under Marco's grip went nowhere.

"You're now worth fifty pineapples, and if the winning team has you in their stash, they get an additional five thousand beri in their prize. I've already informed all divisions about the new game rules. You're welcome." His tone took on the edge formerly limited to his smile. "I suggest you start running."

In the distance, a cloud of kicked-up sand marked the approaching horde.

Marco finally released him, and so Thatch, after a plaintive look to Ace—who shrugged—took off to avoid getting caught and tied up like some kind of prize meat.

"I see you're taking it easy-yoi," Marco noted as he turned back to Ace.

"We got sixth."

"Only?"

"Only." Seeing Marco glance at the sea stone bracelet, Ace shook his head. "It's not bothering me as much as it used to. And I was mostly using it to avoid melting the ball if someone accidentally served it into the back of my head."

"Really? I'm impressed you were able to play with it on. It leaves me feeling awful."

"Maybe it's 'cause there isn't much of it."

Marco was unconvinced. "I've heard a few anecdotes about devil fruit users building up a tolerance to the stuff, but never seen it myself."

"I mean, if 'tolerance' can be counted as not feeling terrible just by touching it, then sure. Still shuts my fire down like the ocean itself."

"I think that counts." He rubbed his chin. "I'd be curious to know if the amount of it you're touching matters."

"Bring it up with Tasuka. She's probably got some ideas for how to test it."

"Mm. I might do that." Spoken like a man who had zero intention of giving Tasuka more ideas. He let his hand fall. "So, you're feeling good? Healed?"

"Thought the party cleared that up."

"The party was a party."

"Yes, Marco, I'm feeling good." He fished the cuff key out of his pocket and unceremoniously dumped the unlocked sea stone on the sand. "See?"

An expression Ace couldn't interpret flitted across Marco's face. "I'm glad you're feeling better," he finally said. "If we don't need to meet anymore—"

"It wouldn't hurt to keep doing that," Ace quickly interrupted. He fished the bracelet out and put it back on, suppressing a shiver as he did. "I mean, sitting on a beach isn't the same as getting in a fight. I still got overwhelmed at the party."

"If it's what you want-yoi." Marco glanced behind him, where an explosion of sand indicated Thatch's most visible attempt to escape his pursuers so far. "It's good to see you off the ship. You've been more restricted than the rest of us while you healed."

"Not like there was much anyone needed me for."

"Are you looking to get back out on missions?"

Missions meant time away from the ship, from records, from his investigation. Then again, if he could travel to Blackbeard's haunts…

"There are some locations that could use our eyes on them," Marco continued, his own eyes on Ace. "Places like Hachinosu."

Ace started at the familiar name, a reaction he knew Marco caught. "Why there?" he asked in a poor attempt to distract from what he'd given away.

"Just a suggestion. There have been rumors about someone vying for Ochoku's seat."

"Seems like a dangerous thing to do," Ace said carefully.

"Very. When a former Rocks pirate-yoi is in the crosshairs, even we have to take notice."

"You want me to investigate?"

"Maybe. Are you interested-yoi?"

Trap, Ace's brain yelled. This is a trap!

"I…think I should take a little longer to recover. I need to build my strength back up. I don't want to bring shame to Pops's name."

Marco nodded. "Fair enough. We certainly don't want a relapse. If you're feeling up to it now, though, I happen to know a good way to stretch your legs-yoi."

Ace downed the last of his lemonade, grateful for the excuse to escape Marco's scrutiny. "I'll do better than sixth this time. I know where Thatch likes to hide."

Chapter Text

May 18th

At the sound of the eighth gunshot, the News Coo who'd been trying to ply Ace with the latest paper flew away for good with an assault of annoyed squawks. Ace winced and called after it with an apology, but he knew it'd be pointless. They wouldn't deliver to him for weeks.

Izo lowered his pistol. "Being distracted is all too common in battle."

Ace sighed and glanced down at the flaming hole in his thigh. It closed up a second later. "Yeah. I know." He reset his feet on the Moby Dick's railing. "Let's go again, I'll get it this time."

"Remember: it's not about what is. It's about using what is to see what will be."

"Right."

Izo raised his pistol and Ace exhaled slowly. He stretched out his haki, taking in the wood creaking under his feet, the shifting planks of the deck, the tens of people above and belowdecks that were all within range. He observed Izo most of all, his breathing, his heartbeat, the way his eyes shifted and his muscles tensed. The angle of his gun. If he fired now, the bullet would—

The bullet went straight through Ace's forehead. He groaned and bent over with his hands on his knees. The effort of stretching out his observation haki so much over the course of this training session had left him sweaty and suffering a headache. What did he have to show for it? Telling Izo that there was a fraying seam in his left sleeve.

"I would've dodged it if I wasn't so focused on predicting," Ace grumbled while his head closed up.

"No doubt."

"Even when I know you're going to fire, I get the angle wrong, or I'm so stuck looking that I don't move fast enough to get out of the way. None of it matters with regular bullets but I'd be dead if there was sea stone in them." Something that, in the New World, he had to care about much more than in the East Blue or Paradise.

"Well," Izo said while he reloaded, "if you got good enough, you wouldn't have to move your whole body out of the way of a sea stone weapon or armament haki fist."

"What do you mean?"

"You could use your logia abilities to get your body out of the way before it hits you. I've seen Marco do it a handful of times with those wings of his. They're massive targets, but he can pull the fire aside, part the feathers—create holes in himself, I suppose—so that the bullets can pass through without causing harm. Unusual for a zoan, but the phoenix is special, so I hear."

Ace cocked his head, frustration ebbing while he rolled that idea around in his head. "That…never even occurred to me." Even when he was in the middle of a battlefield, marines slashing his fire with swords or peppering him with bullets, he still viewed his body as, well, a complete thing. Changing flesh into fire, sure. Doing that and then deliberately shaping the fire to create a hole?

He held up his hand. Against the whispers of nausea in his gut and the smell of smoke he knew wasn't real, he turned his palm to flame. Then, like flexing a muscle that had always been there, unused, he opened up that fire to peer at Izo through the hole.

"Huh. I guess I can do that."

Izo smirked and pulled back the hammer on his pistol. Ace hadn't even challenged him enough to warrant drawing the other one. "It's no surprise you didn't think of it. It's hardly an easy thing to do, and in battle, it's practically precognition. Of our family, I've only seen Marco manage it, and as for myself, I can't predict what someone is going to do. I can only give myself however much extra warning close observation provides. But since haki seems to come easily to you when you put your mind to it, maybe you'll be able to pull it off. You just have to do it quickly enough to save yourself."

"Easier said than done."

"Well then, I suggest we stop talking and you focus on doing."

Ace readied himself again. He flexed his haki, his reflexes, anything and everything that could give him an edge to—

Bullets passed through his arm, his shin, and his neck. Where it went through his neck, though, it went through a hole-in-progress. Too slow to save his life, but it was something.

Izo continued to train Ace for as long as he could before duty called. By the end, Ace was soaked in sweat, panting for breath, and seeing nearly double. Putting his bracelet back almost made him pass out then and there. He slumped against the railing and breathed deep until he was sure he wasn't going to collapse completely.

Every time he was sure Izo was going to fire, he had two options: try to get out of the way or try to reshape his body out of the way. He had to pick one of those options, but that simple instant of hesitation between the two usually cost him the chance to do either in time.

He needed more practice. Much more. Practice until that decision was reflexive and instantaneous. The kind he used to get when fighting for his life against the old man.

"Done already?"

Ace cracked an eye open to see Thatch glancing over from where he was fishing with a few members of his division. Behind him, several stacked plates carried the remnants of the sea king they'd caught earlier, gutted and arranged by Thatch's skilled hand. Members of his division were slowly but surely transporting it down into their stores. Ace was willing to bet he'd see artful fish and pineapple skewers for dinner. The tropical fruit had featured in just about every dish lately.

"For now."

"Yeah, I'll be honest, I'm surprised you lasted that long. I get pretty bad headaches almost immediately when I try to see the future."

"Observation haki's not for everyone, commander," put in a fourth division member.

Thatch heaved a theatrical sigh. "I suppose I have to be content with the basics. Leave the fancy tricks to you and Marco. Though, what's with the sudden insistence on training? Don't get me wrong, a little practice to keep the rust off is good, but I haven't seen you so focused on anything since before you joined the crew."

Ace pulled himself up as straight as he could while still using the railing and shrugged. "After everything that happened, I realized I've been slacking."

True and not true. Even discounting his foreknowledge, the simple truth was that Ace had neglected his haki after discovering his devil fruit. Maybe, if he'd had strong armament haki to use against Akainu that day…

And maybe, if he'd had honed observation haki when he challenged Teach that day, if he'd had more than the fire to rely on…maybe Marineford never would've happened at all.

He had to get stronger. What kind of older sibling had to be bailed out by his kid brother? And what if Luffy got in over his head down the line, and Ace wasn't strong enough to help him? To hell with that, to all of it.

Thatch raised an eyebrow. "You and I have very different versions of slacking. But, not gonna discourage you from getting even more capable than you already are. I like having someone I can trust to watch my back."

Ace's smile came out unsteady. "Do what I can."

This second chance was more than just saving Thatch and avoiding all that followed; it was a chance for him to do all the things that would let him look Sabo in the eye when it was all over. No regrets.

"Oh, messenger bird."

Thatch's comment pulled Ace's eyes to the sky. Sure enough, a pelican sporting a notable white mustache—albeit formed out of feathers—was descending from above with a small bag strapped on its back. The birds weren't a common sight; people usually just used the snails if anything was urgent. Must've required passing along something physical.

One of Thatch's men went to receive the bird, but a member of Haruta's division beat him to the punch. Man and bird disappeared belowdecks.

Ace, spying an opportunity, closed his eyes and attempted to trace the man's progress through the ship with haki. Down, left turn, straightaway…Wow, there were a lot of people moving around. It looked like his guy was heading towards Marco's office, and—

His sense of the whole space abruptly dulled and the headache flared anew behind his eyes. He groaned and bent down to press his forehead against the railing, fighting the urge to vomit.

"You're not going to fall asleep and fall overboard, are you?"

"I'm fine," he told Thatch. "Overdid it."

"See, the second one kinda undoes the first. If you want to improve your haki that bad, you should just talk to Marco. I'm sure he's got some tips in that head of his to stop you from accidentally exploding yours."

"That can happen?"

"Not that I know of, but I'd rather you not be the first. You've already spontaneously exploded once." Thatch made a shooing motion. "Go on, get. And get some food while you're at it."

Marco's door was open, the messenger bird hanging out on his desk while he looked through papers that had presumably come with it. There was also a fruit on his desk. The man who'd brought the bird in was gone.

"What's with the apple?"

Marco glanced up over his readers. "There's this practice called 'knocking.'"

"Sounds weird."

He sighed, gave up. "We've had reports of unusual devil fruits appearing off and on. Very rarely in our territory. This is the first time we've actually gotten our hands on one."

Ace leaned in close. The apple looked, well, like an apple. Minus the perfectly circular yellow and orange spots evenly spaced across its surface. "Looks a little weird, I guess. Smells fine."

"That's part of why they're so dangerous. They cause severe adverse reactions in people—the kind medicine can't fix. I'm putting together an advisory for our family-yoi." He set his papers aside. "What brings you down here?"

Ace looked away from the apple, grateful that he'd gotten a snack from the kitchen before coming here. Otherwise, he'd be speaking over his growling stomach. "I've been practicing my haki," he began, but then his gaze caught on one of the reports laid out on Marco's desk, and one word on that paper in particular: Foodvalten. Ice chilled his veins and he lost any idea of what he'd been saying.

Foodvalten. That was the start of it. He didn't bother picking up his sentence where he'd left it, not that he could've if he tried. "I need to go on that mission, Marco."

It took Marco a second to realize Ace had jumped tracks. "That's not one that needs a division commander."

"Then it's perfect as a way to prove I'm back on my game."

"Your game has nothing to do with it. It's just someone defacing our flag, the same as every other nuisance flag incident we've seen in the last several months. For one thing, Foodvalten is technically the fourth division's territory. For another, there's already a Mini Moby in the area—"

Ace slammed his palms on the desk. "Marco."

For a beat, Marco just stared at him, not in shock but with suspicion. Then his expression cleared. He stood, walked past Ace, closed his office door, and returned to his chair. He took up the Foodvalten report, read out the date, the name of the island. He looked up at Ace. "You had this place and time written in your notebook weeks ago."

Ace froze.

"I wasn't searching your things. I only saw it while I was dropping off your shirts. I couldn't help reading a few lines." He set the paper down and waited. Waited for Ace to admit the truth, because that was what family did. They told each other the truth.

The urge to say that truth roared up Ace's throat and he clenched his jaw to keep it from going any farther. He had no proof. None. His only advantage—his only advantage—was that he knew Teach's true nature and Teach didn't know he knew. If he went around carelessly pointing fingers at someone so entrenched in their family, even if he was deemed healed when he did it, he'd be throwing his own credibility, his own sanity, into question.

But he couldn't say nothing. Marco knew something was going on and he wasn't the type to just let that kind of thing go. He worked his jaw for a moment before deciding on a gamble that might pay off.

"When Thatch gets the Yami Yami no Mi, don't take your eyes off Teach."

"When—the Yami Yami no Mi? How do you—"

"I can't explain it all now, but I need you to trust me."

"Does this have to do with your injury?"

"Yeah."

Marco stared long enough for Ace to get uncomfortable and then released a short sigh while he replaced his spectacles and picked up the report once more. "Fine-yoi. I'll send you on this mission."

"Thank you."

"I'll send you, but in return, I want the full explanation. Now or when you get back. You choose."

"Marco—"

"Ace." Someone knocked on Marco's door, but Marco's unwavering gaze remained on Ace. "You've dodged every question so far. We're worried. Are we your family or aren't we?"

That was a low blow. They were his family, they'd proven that a thousandfold when they went to Marinefordfor him, when they heard his heritage and didn't care at all, when they gave their livesfor his, when—

When he threw his away anyway—

Did they take in Luffy? Did they protect him? Did it matter, now that he was here? Not that it was even a question worth asking; of course they took in Luffy. Of course they protected him. Because they were family. They protected each other. He had to protect them.

He swallowed. "When I get back."

"Good." Marco looked past him to the door. "One moment. Ace, I want daily reports."

"Daily?"

"We still don't know what set you off the first time." Ace winced but held his tongue. "If something goes wrong, I'd prefer to find out quickly. Take a Den Den Mushi-yoi. And take this." He held out the report. "Even if you already know what happens, maybe we found some details you didn't hear."

Stomach turning from the revelation of just how suspicious Marco was of him, Ace took the paper, muttered his thanks, and ducked out past the man who'd come in to share a report of his own. He had preparations to make. Most importantly, hiding the paperwork he'd been trawling through in his desk, removing the sea stone bracelet, and making sure he could travel alone.

Chapter Text

May 30th

Travel time on the Grand Line varied. Storms, sea monsters, and other unwelcome surprises could tack days or even weeks onto what should've been a journey of half that time. Thus was Ace displeased to find his progress towards Foodvalten interrupted time and again. After the delight of proving to himself that he could fuel Striker's engine without issue, it was one delay after another.

First, it was a sea king that took exception to Striker blazing through its territory. The beast was so big it swallowed Striker and Ace whole. Stuck waiting in the acidic and foul comforts of its belly on Striker while he dried off, Ace could only count the seconds passing by until his fire came back and he could burn his way out. There was a tricky bit involving forcing the thing to surface rather than dive, but it worked out in the end and he got his freedom back.

Then he'd hit some kind of fog labyrinth he knew for a fact hadn't been in this stretch of ocean the last time he'd passed through. It took him days to get out and he wound up farther from Foodvalten than he'd started.

Surely, he'd thought, that was the extent of the universe screwing with him. Surely.

And yet.

Not for the first time and not for the last, he cursed his luck and his narcolepsy. Shortly after escaping the labyrinth sometime past midnight, he'd fallen asleep, something had chewed through his sea anchor, he'd gotten caught in a particularly bad current, and finally he'd been swept into the port of a marine base that was practically its own island.

He'd managed to wake and hide before anyone caught him, stowing Striker in a patch of reeds and lying low, but now the gate that covered the opening to the base had been closed and he wasn't confident that he could melt through it before cannon fire sunk his ship.

"Intruder in section E! Intruder in section E! Squads Gamma through Kappa, report to section F!"

Ace groaned, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He needed that gate open but strutting around this place undisguised was asking for trouble. Somewhere this big had at least a vice-admiral helming it.

He ducked through the numerous smaller buildings next to the port, sticking to the shadows and moving as silently as he could. Luck was on his side—probably trying to make up for getting him in this situation in the first place—and he managed to corner an ensign that had been separated from his squad.

"Hello," Ace greeted. "I need your clothes."

The marine didn't even have time to scream.

Ace pulled his new baseball cap down lower over his eyes and kept walking, his similarly new vest resting comfortably over his shirt and covering the mark on its back. His shirt was blank on the front, so he'd kept it instead of stealing the ensign's since his was perfectly adept at concealing the scar tissue there. There was nothing he could do about his arm tattoo, but no one seemed to care. He didn't need to hide the scars, but they would no doubt invite questions, and questions were dangerous right now.

Step one: figure out how to raise the gate and keep it open.

Step two: get back to Striker.

Step three: get out.

Short and simple—although, as a particularly delicious smell floated over to him from down the hall—perhaps there was room for one more step. All those delays in his trip to Foodvalten meant his supplies had run low, so a little food was really just taking care of himself.

Yeah. He'd go with that.

The mess hall was chaotic. The intruder alarm was still going on, but everyone not roped into the search, as well as those who thought they could manage it before their higher ups noticed, was grabbing lunch. Ace, copying the example of the guy who'd walked in right in front of him, grabbed a tray and joined the line.

Someone ahead of him requested double portions. Ace, delighted to learn that was possible, requested triple. The man serving the food raised an eyebrow, but Ace's anticipatory "please" apparently worked. Grinning at his prize—a loaded tray—he found an empty spot at an out-of-the-way table and got to work.

Unfortunately, his spot was right next to a rather talkative squad, and they took notice of his pile of food.

"Hey," the man across the table called. "They gave you triple rations? How'd you manage that?"

Ace swallowed and cleared his throat. "I asked."

"No way."

"Look," said the woman next to him, "he's got the food, so maybe that's really all he did."

"I swear they give me half portions."

"Have you tried asking nicely?"

"Don't you start."

The third man at the rectangular table leaned forward to get a look at Ace. "Say, I don't think I've seen you around here before."

"Now that you mention it," mused the first man.

"We're the people who usually get stuck with orientation for new recruits. Were you out yesterday?"

Ace bought himself a bit of time by chewing the next bite of meat a bit more slowly. Guides, yesterday…so new recruits had come in yesterday. That could explain why that one ensign had looked lost and confused, wandering where Ace could catch him alone. "Yeah, I…was sick. They told me to grab some food today and get my strength up."

"Huh. You hear the intruder alarm?"

"Hard to miss. Did they find the guy?"

"No, but you should probably head back to your barracks after this. Now's not a good time to be wandering around alone, especially if you're not feeling well."

"I'll do that, thanks."

"Is this your first time in the New World?" asked the woman. "If it was seasickness, I totally understand—I got hit by it too. The sailing here isn't like anything else in the world."

He would really prefer they stop trying to talk to him, but a little conversation wasn't the worst thing. "It's my first time, yeah. Actually, there was a storm on our way here. Hail as big as the ship. Does that hit the base, too?"

"Rarely, but it can happen. We've got cannons and the like to smash anything too big."

"Pirates ever attack?"

The farther man snorted. "Not the smart ones, that's for sure. We lower the gate and all they can do is pepper us with cannon fire. None of 'em can take what we dish out in return."

"And the gate. Looks heavy. It sure closes fast, but what if you have to open it fast?"

"What, to chase something? It's some complicated pulley and gear system. You saw the tower on the east wall coming in, right? That's where they control it from. Best place on the base to spend time, though; you can see for miles from up there."

"From there, huh?" Ace moved on to the last of his meal, which he'd been managing to plow through during every little gap in the conversation.

"Probably got the place locked down now, though," said the nearer man mournfully. "Intruder and all. You'll get your chance, though. Cleaning up there is miserable with all the crap scattered around, so all the new guys get stuck with it pretty quick. What squad are you in?"

"Theta," Ace lied through his teeth. All he had to go on were the announcements from earlier, but thankfully, his guess had struck true.

"Let's see," mused the woman while she searched her memory. "They're on armory rotation for this week."

"I'll find a way to visit on my own time," Ace assured her.

His meal finished, he stood to find another woman hustling towards their table. "Nate, Aura, Toram, get up! Didn't you hear the announcement?"

"What's going on?"

"There's a supply ship coming in."

"Right, but the gate's closed."

"It hit a sea king on the way in. They're taking on water; they need to be brought in now."

Ace wondered if it was a relative of the monster he'd fought off.

"So they want us joining the hunt? Right, okay, yeah. Be right out. Uh, newbie—what was your name?"

"Ace."

"Ace. Get back to your quarters, got it?"

He nodded and watched the marines—alongside nearly everyone in the mess hall—scramble to dispose of their trays and get out. A few didn't even bother with that much and left their food sitting where it was. Ace moseyed past a tray with a fresh, still warm cinnamon roll sitting on it. He paused.

Licking the last of the sticky icing from his lips, Ace peered around the corner to the long corridor beyond.

Was this a risk? Absolutely. But it was one worth taking. This wasn't the same base he'd hit in the previous timeline, but there was a chance the marines were sharing info about a certain shady underground figure slowly making a name for himself. A frontline base like this probably had some kind of intelligence operation.

Seeing no one in his way, he walked down the hall with all the confidence of someone who belonged there. A secretary emerged from one of the offices and saw him. He nodded at her. She blinked, nodded back, and continued on her way, muttering something about tugboats.

He started going into offices somewhat at random. The first two had nothing of note besides one marine's rather unusual collection of…Ace peered closer, stunned. Action figures. Of pirates. He recognized many of the faces, grinned when he saw Whitebeard, and scowled when he noticed Roger. Frown firmly in place, he reached out and unceremoniously flicked that figure so it toppled off its platform.

The third office was nondescript at first, but after melting open the locked drawer in the desk, Ace found a trove of reports. He rifled through them, hunting for anything related to Blackbeard, his associates, or his base of operations.

Footsteps came from the hall. Ace froze and ducked low behind the desk, knowing that his flimsy cover wouldn't explain why he was searching this office or the slagged bit of metal where a padlock used to be. Thankfully, the squad kept right on going.

Exhaling, he kept looking. He was getting to the end of the papers stored here, and so far, nothing that looked promising.

Until he got to the last page. That paper mentioned Blackbeard. A quick scan: the name coming up in relation to noted inquiries about Impel Down and suspected ties to certain prisoners. Plus unconfirmed suspicions of trafficking of some kind.

Nothing that said Teach, but at least proof that Blackbeard existed. He took the paper, folded it, stuck it in his pocket, and headed out. A glance out the window showed a ship riding very low in the water approaching the gate, which was trundling open. Ace eyed the frothing water where the ocean met the edges of the wall, then lifted his gaze to the bustling hive of activity that was that control tower. Maybe he could fight his way through all that, but if they lowered the gate or sabotaged it, he'd be out of luck.

No, better to do this quiet.

In the deepest bowels of the wall, things were relatively calm save for the pounding feet of hundreds of marines overhead. The patrols down here were comparatively scarce; they all thought he'd go for the controls, not the parts.

Damp, cramped, and distinctly slanted, the wall's interior spoke to the time it had taken to both build and spent standing since. The faint crash of the ocean, whose waterline he was currently beneath, sent goosebumps up his skin.

With no one crossing his path, Ace snuck through the depths unhindered. Per the marines earlier, the tower directly overhead controlled the gate. That meant at least some of the mechanisms were located on and around it. Mechanisms like the giant gears he was now passing, which were so massive they stretched up through the grated ceiling and scaffolding beyond. Ace grinned.

If the gate had been closed, he'd be in far more trouble trying to get it open. But since they'd opened it for that supply ship, his job was far simpler: jam it open. All that meant was ensuring the gears couldn't turn.

His fist lit up. First red, then orange, then yellow, then a searing blue that made the humid air steam. The nearest gear started to brighten from the heat.

He could manage that.

His sabotage left the gate stuck halfway open. The supply ship couldn't get through, alarms were blaring, and kicking the hornet's nest a second time revealed an even larger, angrier nest within it. Ace ducked into the veritable tide of marines going every which way and tried to direct his progress back towards Striker.

Unfortunately, he couldn't remain an anonymous face in the crowd forever. Someone demanded he identify himself and his squad. "Ace" and "Theta" weren't sufficient; they wanted some kind of identification number. Staring at the red-faced marine, Ace had a sudden burst of clarity, and with that clarity came a kind of relief. Sure, he could do things quietly, but that wasn't his strong suit.

Punching the marine yelling in his face was pure catharsis. He bowled over several of his comrades and then Ace was sprinting for Striker, bullets filling his body with holes.

He retraced his steps as best he could, remembering what he'd seen while disguised and using the incomplete mental map to his advantage. He ran across a training field and toppled a veritable wall of crates, scattering the splintered wood and shattered contents across the grass and forcing the chasing marines to pick their way across or take a detour.

This place was huge. He hadn't had the time to properly appreciate its size when he was drifting through the main gate, but now that he was being chased headlong through the courtyards and training grounds and supply warehouses and barracks, he was really getting to appreciate the scale of it.

He skidded around a corner and kept sprinting, arms pumping and boots pounding against the ground. Striker was just past a large stretch of open ground and through a short trail across the reeds, which he could bypass with a flame-powered leap now that stealth was no longer an issue.

He was in the middle of the open space when he had to dive out of the way of a sea stone cage falling from the sky. It clanged heavily against the ground; he retraced its path and saw another two cages getting launched from catapults. He scrambled out of the way, and the time it took him to get recover cost him; he was surrounded.

"Well," he said slowly, looking around. "Shall we?"

In the distance, he could see the great gate, still stuck open. The supply ship was slowly edging in at the mercy of the strange tides that swirled through the manmade bay whenever the gate was opened. The main mast had been shorn off to get it through.

"Give up! You're surrounded!"

"Does that ever work?"

The marines charged and Ace leaped into the air. He came down on a guy's sword, kicked off, and began jumping off their heads with quick, sure footsteps before being forced back to the ground when the marines realized what he was up to. Still, he'd cut the distance he'd needed to go by nearly a quarter, and half the marines were behind him.

A spear passed through his midsection and Ace retaliated by punching the offending marine in the face, stealing his spear, and knocking back another six marines with a wide swing. He then abandoned the spear and turned to flames, weaving between another twenty soldiers before a sea stone staff forced him to return to normal.

He kicked that staff away, leaped into the air with his body blazing, and gathered his flames for a new surge.

A great pillar of flame erupted around him and shot to the sky. Its raging torrents spilled across the ground, forcing the marines away. Ace darted through the firestorm, using flame bullets to quickly shoot down any marines that tried to fight their way through the flames.

Once he was sure there were no sea stone ranged weapons, no cages about to get the drop on him, and no weapons about to put holes in his ship, he shot himself into the air and then rocketed to Striker. The small craft rocked in the water when he landed in it but he paid that no mind as he wrenched the boat around. Then he was blasting out of the reeds, fire roaring from his feet to push Striker's engine to its limits.

Cannonballs crashed into the water around him, turning the waters already churning from the gate even choppier. He wove around the impacts, keeping his senses open. The brief haki training was already paying dividends: he could tell where and when they were going to hit, so it was startlingly easy to weave around the paths of oncoming cannonballs.

Alarms blared, lights flashed, but there was nothing more they could do to stop him. He passed through the main gate, offering a wave to the dumbfounded marines on the deck of the supply ship that had unintentionally aided him in his escape.

Only when he was speeding away from the naval base, the wind once again whipping through his hair, did Ace relax. He was sweating, his heart was pounding, and his scars were aching. But he'd done it. He'd fought, he'd won, he'd escaped. All under his own power. No attacks or anything.

Embracing that nascent pride, he pulled out an eternal pose, oriented as best he could, and poured more flames into Striker.

Behind him, sirens still ringing, the marine base sank below the horizon.

Chapter Text

June 2nd

In terms of New World islands, Foodvalten was mild. Mild in its climate, mild in its terrain, mild in its inhabitants. Top to bottom, end to end, Foodvalten was just plain mild. Its most distinguishing feature, other than the white cliffs that sheltered the interior from the worst of any passing weather, was that all residents wore a single feather on their heads.

The last time Ace had been here, he'd been a bit too busy trying to take Whitebeard's head to appreciate the absurdity that was such a banal island existing in the New World. Now, drifting up to an open spot in the calm marina created by the island's protective cliffs, it was hard to ignore.

Once he was bumping up against the dock, he jumped up from Striker with rope in hand and swiftly secured his boat. He was straightening up by the time the dock authority reached him.

"Morning," Ace greeted the retinue of three people. The one in charge based on his uniform, who was also the tallest of the three and the one with the smallest feather, nodded back.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?"

They must've seen the large Whitebeard insignia emblazoned on the back of his shirt on approach—either that or they recognized him or Striker from his bounties—because even with that lack of pleasantries, they were the politest port authority he'd ever dealt with.

"Heard about the flag." Ace slung his bag over his shoulder. "What can you tell me?"

"We can show you. It's right this way."

He let them lead the way while steadfastly ignoring the complaints of his stomach. That stint in the marine base had been one of several delays and detours on his journey, which had left his generous store of rations running empty a full day ago.

Hungry as he was, seeing to the insult against Whitebeard came first.

The creaking and salt-encrusted wood planks of the marina gave way to stone as they approached the flag. It was right at the entrance to the rest of the island, tied up on two crossed wooden poles, a plank with the island's name on it suspended beneath with some fishing line. Simple, straightforward, and stable. At least when one of the posts wasn't sawed nearly all the way through. Under the natives' wary gazes, Ace crouched down and poked at the splinters sticking out. There were scorch marks on the other pole—whoever'd tried to burn it hadn't counted on the frequent rains this time of year keeping the wood from catching fire.

The flag itself, though…Ace stood and stepped back to get a better look and felt fury stirring in his gut. It was torn in several places like someone had taken a sword and tried to slash it to ribbons but hadn't been able to reach more than the bottom half. The Foodvalten sign had caught some strays, too. There was the disrespect of vandalism and then the disrespect of lazy vandalism.

If nothing else, though, the damage was repairable. He just needed some sewing supplies—even the rough skills he'd picked up from Makino and used off and on the last several years were better than leaving the torn cloth to flap in the wind. Pops deserved better.

He pocketed that plan for later and turned to the dock workers. "What do we know?"

"Not much. It's been defaced three times. The first was two months ago, using bleach. We replaced the flag. Then, a few weeks after that, they came back with paint. We replaced the flag again. Now, a week ago, this. You asked us to leave it for investigation." He added the last part defensively, as though he expected Ace to get mad at him for letting a damaged flag continue to fly.

"Any pattern in the timing?" Ace asked. "Always at night, or…?"

"No. The first happened at night because someone reported the flag being fine the evening before and we noticed the damage in the morning, but the second happened in the middle of the day. And this, we're not sure. There was a storm that rolled through; everyone was sheltering inside. They must've used the weather as cover."

"And no visitors to the island who've been here for that whole time, I bet."

"Right."

Ace returned his attention to the flag. It was nearly three yards above the ground. To make those kinds of cuts with the Foodvalten plank in the way, the attacker was either a head taller than Ace himself or he'd used a platform of some kind. Unfortunately, with the stone ground, there was no evidence he could use to find the right answer.

"We posted a watch," offered another one of the dock workers. "Old Siev, over there, he keeps an eye on it, weather permitting. You should talk to him."

"I'll do that, thanks."

While the dock workers returned to their posts, Ace strolled over to old Siev. Old Siev was, as his nickname implied, old. He was as wrinkled and worn as a quality pair of boots at the end of their lives and smelled about the same, but his eyes were bright and alert and focused on Ace when he got close.

"Good morning!"

The guy grunted.

"My name is Ace. I'm investigating the vandalism on the flag. What can you tell me about it?"

Another grunt, this one a precursor to the man pushing himself a little more upright in his tilted wooden chair that looked as though it'd been sitting out in the sun and salty ocean spray as long as Old Siev, if not longer. His beard, all salt and no pepper, rustled in the ocean breeze. "Whitebeard send you?"

"Something like that."

"Hn." Old Siev was unimpressed by Ace's polite tone, his polite smile, and his polite bearing in general. "Those whelps tell you I'm keepin' watch?" Ace nodded. "Well, been here every day since the second incident 'cept for the day of that damn storm, never saw a thing."

"Every day? When do you sleep?"

"Roscoe takes over for me."

"Roscoe?"

The pile of weathered cord next to Old Siev shifted and Ace realized to his amazement that it wasn't cord but a massive dog. It yawned, revealing a mouth that could fit Ace's entire head inside it, and then settled back down.

"She hasn't seen anything neither," Old Siev continued. "Tried gettin' her to track the damned miscreant after the last time, but the storm washed away the scent. Farthest we ever got was after the second time, a little way up main street before she lost the scent—all the shops around, see. That and the ocean. Hard on her nose."

"I see."

Old Siev gave him a withering look. "Not sure you do."

"I'm sorry, I meant no offense. Please, explain."

Mollified and after another adjustment in his chair, Old Siev relented. "Been living here longer than most," he said. "Near as ten years ago, this place was a mess. Every pirate saw our cliffs and saw a haven. Then the next crew came along and the third war in as many weeks broke out. Pirates died. We died. And our homes burned." He dragged in a breath and let it out slowly. "Look around and see the scars if you like. Point is, Whitebeard's flag changed that. I felt it in the air the second I saw his ship gliding toward our shores. Mark my words, no one who lived through those hellish days would lay a finger on that flag, I tell you what."

"You think it's an outside job."

"Either that or a young'un who doesn't realize the fire they're setting. If it's the latter, I ask you let us deal with it, pirate. I'll give 'em a thump upside the head so good they'll never get near that flag again."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Now get a move on. You're blocking my view."

"Right, thanks for talking with me. By the way, do you know a good place to eat around here? It's been a long trip."

"There's a place on main street. You'll smell it." He sniffed, a coincidence rather than emphasizing his point. "Bring me something, I'll consider us even for this waste of my time. Best food on the island."

Ace raised an eyebrow at the hostility, but nodded and left before Old Siev saw fit to sic Roscoe on him. His boots rang against the stone street while he turned over what he'd learned. It wasn't encouraging; no witnesses, no consistency in the type or damage or the timing, and just one old man's conviction that this wasn't the doing of any of the island's residents.

He'd have to grab the island's log from the port after his meal. For now, he'd humor Old Siev's theory that this was the doing of an outsider. That meant going through every visitor this island had recorded with a fine-tooth comb, which was going to be tedious, time-consuming, and the kind of thing for which Marco would express exactly zero sympathy if Ace voiced any complaints.

First order of business, though: food. He wasn't about to bore himself on an empty stomach.

Following Old Siev's advice, he meandered over to the main street, which he probably would've done even without the cantankerous old man's direction since it was the only large street coming off of the docks. As he walked without a destination in mind other than the first thing that could stand out above the overpowering smell of the ocean, he caught the attention of the residents who were out and about.

One woman tending to the plants outside her second-floor window dropped her watering can in shock when the logo on the back of his shirt came into view and only a quick shove from one of the boys below kept another boy from getting brained.

"Pirate!" a girl cried from where she was playing with a toy horse, only to get shushed by her mother.

"He's with the Whitebeard pirates, they protect this island."

And so it went.

A small café to his right caught his eye. It had some outdoor seating separated from the street by some quaint white waist-high fences and latticed wooden arches framing the entryway. He would've called it ritzy if not for the eclectic paraphernalia he could see stuck on the walls and hanging from the ceiling inside.

Most importantly, when he got closer, he saw some delicious-looking pastries on display on the counter inside. Their smell wafted out into the street, a tantalizing mix of fruits and spices. His stomach rumbled and he knew he had his destination.

There was only one person inside: a young woman with curly black—no, just a very dark purple—hair and freckles in a simple green dress with a white apron. She was mending a tablecloth but set her tools aside when Ace entered.

"Hi there," Ace said with a gesture somewhere between a wave and lazy salute. He'd manage better manners when it didn't feel like his stomach was trying to devour itself. "I'm looking to get some food—are you the owner?"

"I work here," she corrected with a tired smile while she headed behind the counter. "Are you a tourist?"

"No, but I am taking a look around the island." He pointed to several of the pastries that had caught his eye and she dutifully began pulling them out. When he just kept pointing and pointing at more and more, her eyebrows crept higher and higher.

"Is this all for just you?" she inquired. "I can package them up if you like."

"No, just me, I'll eat them here. It's been a long trip." And he had some pilfered money from the marine base to spend. "By the way, I heard about what was going on with Whitebeard's flag. This place is pretty close to the docks—have you heard or seen anything?"

She set his selection on the counter along with some kind of fruity drink. "Pairs well," she said at his questioning glance. "And no, I haven't. We close pretty early in the day and I'm quite busy taking care of things here after hours."

"That so." He paid and then began munching on the first of the pastries, some kind of berry-infused bread. "Well, I'll be sticking around for a while. Let me know if you hear anything."

Her expression was full of rote politeness. "I'm sorry, I don't think I ever got your name."

He polished off the second-to-last pastry and took a quick drink. Something that had a ton of citrus in it—she was right, it paired well. "Did I forget? My apologies. Name's Ace, it's nice to meet you."

Blinking at his manners, she cocked her head. "Right, Mister…Ace."

"Ace is fine."

"Right. I'll, um, I'll be sure to tell you if I hear anything."

It was obvious from her tone that she had no intention of doing anything of the sort, and no wonder. To her, he was some random guy who'd strolled into her café. Still, after swallowing the last of his food and drink, he smiled at her, wide and genuine.

"Thanks."

Then he turned to claim a table and finish his meal. When he put his back to her, she released a quiet gasp; she must've noticed the mark on the back of his shirt like everyone else on the island. Maybe it would help her hearing to know exactly who he was.

Though she hadn't been helpful in his investigation, her pastries really were as tasty as they looked, and he polished them all off in short order. Oddly, despite the speed at which he ate, the ice in his drink was fully melted by the time he finished. He also ended up with an odd number of crumbs in his hair, which he spent a minute picking out.

Oh. He'd fallen asleep.

Stomach for the moment sated, he stepped back into the café, but the employee was nowhere in sight. He couldn't just take the sewing supplies she'd left out on the table; that would be horribly impolite, and the need wasn't so urgent he had to tarnish Pops's good name with petty thievery.

"Hello?" he called. He hadn't seen her step out, but maybe there was a back entrance. "I'd like to borrow your sewing supplies, if I can."

Still nothing—no, wait. Someone was coming, he could hear them running up some stairs in the back. There was the opening and closing of a door, presumably to the basement, and then the young woman was emerging from the back with a harried look on her face and a flush to her cheeks, probably from hustling back upstairs.

"Sorry, sorry. What did you need? Was something wrong with your food?"

"No, nothing like that." He pointed to the table with the sewing supplies. "May I borrow those? I want to mend the flag."

"Oh." She peered at him. "You can sew?"

He favored her with a smile. "I can. Sometimes I even do it well." When he wasn't accidentally burning what he was working on. "Do you mind?"

After hesitating another second, she slowly nodded. "As long as you bring them right back."

"It shouldn't take me more than an hour. Old Siev will keep me honest. Speaking of, he asked me to grab something for him."

She paused in the middle of gathering up the supplies into a little tote bag.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"No. Nothing. Here." She all but shoved the bag at him, then walked swiftly to the counter to grab a pastry.

"Thanks," he trailed off, realizing he'd never caught her name.

"Emi," she said. "Emi is fine."

"Well, thanks, Emi. I'm—"

"It's nothing. Take your time, I have a lot to do here. Just—just leave those on that table when you're done."

He gave up trying to give his name; clearly, she had other things on her mind. "I'll do that."

Old Siev kept him honest, in that Old Siev had relentless feedback for every little thing Ace did after pulling the flag down and setting to mending it. He couldn't go one stitch without the guy hollering that he was fucking it up.

Ace's gift of a pastry, rather than softening the man's demeanor, only seemed to make it pricklier.

"You know," Ace said pleasantly while his patience, a lit fuse dangerously close to its end, continued to burn, "you don't have to say anything. I can handle this."

"Like a pirate like you knows a damn thing about mending flags."

Ace's fire stirred under his skin. He held it in. One crotchety asshole wasn't going to be the end of him. "I'm trying to help, and I'm almost done, anyway. If you wanted this done the way you wanted, you could've done it."

"And deprive you of your precious evidence? Wouldn't dream of it."

Deep breath in, deep breath out. He decided any further responses were just going to give Old Siev more ways to poke at him, which Ace really didn't need since he'd jabbed himself in the thumb a half-dozen times already. It didn't hurt—his thumb was fire, after all—but each time he risked setting the flag aflame, and it was taking more concentration than he cared to admit to keep everything nice and under control. It didn't take long for him to break a sweat from the effort.

When he'd mended all the tears, he hung the flag back up. The repairs were clear if you got close enough, but it would do until a proper replacement could be made. He jumped back to the ground and stepped away a few paces to inspect his handiwork, then nodded in satisfaction. All those years of living in the moods, making and mending his own clothes and shelters, had paid off.

"It's crooked," Old Siev declared.

Ace's eye twitched.

After returning the sewing supplies—Emi was once again nowhere to be seen—Ace headed back to the marina to get those records about visitors to the island. While the port authority was digging those up, Ace struck up a conversation with one of the salt-crusted young men tending to the boats.

"You worked here long?"

"All m'life."

Ace probably could've guessed that from the sun-weathered skin and hands calloused from handling rough rope and rigging. "See anything strange in the last couple months? Something out of the ordinary."

The guy shrugged. "Weather's been pretty calm for this time of year, 'cept the storm a li'l while ago."

"Any unusual ships come through? Pirate crews?"

"Naw. Well."

Ace cocked an eyebrow and the guy elaborated, pointing at a dilapidated old shed hanging off an unstable bit of unused pier.

"Shipwreck appeared over that way."

"Appeared?"

"One day, wasn't there. I went out to fish, came back a few days later, there it was." He shrugged. "Appeared. Prolly lost the crew and got damaged in the storm and got shoved in with the waves before it sank. Take a look if y'want, but mind the pier. Ain't stable."

"Thanks, I'll do that."

Ace spared a glance at the guy still digging through records and figured he had at least five minutes before that process wrapped up. Tipping his hat at the guy he'd been talking to, he strolled over to the shed. The quality of the wood under his boots changed dramatically when he got close: the solid thunks of his footfalls turned to soft impacts on faltering planks more inclined to bend and fracture than hold strong. Beneath them, the calm waters of the harbor lapped at the askew support pillars.

Inside the shed, the gentle slaps of the water were magnified with a half-dozen echoes bouncing off rusted equipment and abandoned building materials. A nice, constant reminder of the ocean that would see him happily drowned if the failing wood saw fit to dump him down into it.

Ace crouched by a pile of rotting crates. The smell had probably been horrific at one point, but time had dulled the rancid contents into a musty unpleasantness that could barely hold a candle to when Pops took his boots off to clean them.

"No one's been here for ages," he muttered, side-eyeing the layers of dust his entrance had kicked into silent swirls. He'd thought his target might be hiding here, but apparently not.

Though the shed tempered his expectations, he still took a minute to peer at the shipwreck on the other side. As the man had said, it was right there, sitting just barely below the waterline, sunken and clearly beyond salvaging based on the hole blown clean through the keel. Pretty impressive for any helmsman to manage that in Foodvalten's waters—or maybe it had encountered a particularly pissed-off seaking and barely managed to limp into harbor, her crew bailing her for all they were worth, before she breathed her last and sank.

On his way back to collect the logs, a plank shattered under his boot, and the one bearing his other foot gave way just to make it more interesting. Before his toes could touch water, he blasted himself up and out of the hole with a jet of fire, flipped, and landed on his feet on a much steadier stretch of pier. He glanced back to see the whole walkway he'd been strolling down listing and then collapsing into the water, its cracked pillars finally succumbing to the inevitable with a chorus of splintering wood.

He watched until the harbor waves smoothed out over the settling debris, then resumed his walk.

"It doesn't make sense."

"Maybe you missed something-yoi."

Ace gave the den den mushi carrying Marco's voice a baleful look. "I didn't." He ran a finger down the paper one more time. "Ever since Pops's flag started getting defaced, there have been exactly two people whose time in town overlapped with an incident: that couple visiting distant family on their honeymoon. And they left the day after, and the flag was messed with again the night after that, so it wasn't them. There isn't a single log here that explains the ship in the harbor or who was on it."

"You're sure you've been through everything?"

"Very. I even went back to talk to the guy who told me about the wreck and got the exact date. There's nothing recorded here."

"The logs could have been doctored."

"I thought about that," Ace confessed, "but there's no evidence of tampering, and it would be stupid to hide an entry when anyone can see the ship with their own eyes. It would just be inviting suspicion."

"So, you have no leads-yoi."

"I'll keep questioning the locals. There's going to be some hideout here I haven't found yet, or they'll slip up the next time they go after the flag—"

"You think they'll try again while you're there?"

"I don't know. We'll see." He sighed and stood. "I'm losing daylight. I'll call tomorrow."

"Good luck."

Marco hung up and the snail on Ace's desk fell dormant. At least he'd gotten through Marco's questions about his physical state quickly enough, and he hadn't even lied to do it. He was feeling fine. Annoyed about the state of the investigation, but otherwise fine.

Now, if only he could find these assholes causing problems—or remember literally anything about what he'd heard from Thatch the last time around—then he'd be feeling great. But Thatch's recounting of that tale had been the same night of his murder, and for all that Ace remembered feeling happy in those moments, he remembered far more finding his brother's cooling body lying on the deck, his blood pooling over and leaching into the planks they'd all walked over a thousand times.

He blinked now and could see it fresh behind his eyes. Nausea tried to stir his stomach, but anger swept it away. He was here, in this place, because of that moment. To stop it. There was no point letting it get to him when it was never going to happen.

With his next blink, he saw only the backs of his own eyelids.

Chapter Text

June 6th

Several days after Ace had left for Foodvalten, Marco sat back in his chair and stared up over his glasses at the ceiling. He could do no other; after weeks of his own investigating, his efforts had finally borne fruit. The report bearing the news sat on his desk, just one more paper amid a dozen others, but it was worth more than all the others combined.

Found you.

He exhaled, adjusted his readers, and sat forward in his chair to look over the numbers again. As reports went, it was at first glance unremarkable. Merely a combining of a few months' treasure and expense summaries, divvied up first by division and then by division member. Hours upon hours and hours of painstaking work to dig up all that raw data, but worth it now. Worth it all.

Ever since Thatch had raised the issue of Ace's reactions to Teach and Marco had sent the man off to the North Blue, Marco had been casually collecting information about Teach. Nothing serious, nothing that would make anyone think he had a vendetta against one of his own brothers, but enough to be an insurance policy. A just-in-case thing, just in case he had to dig deeper.

And ever since Ace had told him to watch Teach when—not if—Thatch got the Yami Yami no Mi, Marco had found his reason to dig deeper. The implications were clear: Ace thought Teach was a traitor of some kind. In that instant, all of Ace's reactions to Teach this whole time made so much more sense. All along, he'd known something they hadn't.

Something like whatever happened with Blackbeard at Impel Down and Marineford.

His lamp abruptly burnt out. Left blinking in the dark, he glanced out the window and realized it was well past midnight. It was late, late enough that he should just get some rest and pick this up in the morning, but…He glanced down at the paper in his hand and set his jaw. He needed Thatch's opinion on this and it was something best explained when the rest of the ship was quiet and not at risk of overhearing.

So he stood, tucked the paper into his waistband, and headed for Thatch's quarters.

Three knocks. "Thatch." Two knocks. "Thatch!"

Thatch's muffled, groggy, and slightly annoyed voice came through the other side of the door: "Yeah, yeah, what?" He yanked it open and leaned on the frame, squinting against the light from the blue flames on Marco's shoulder. Clothed only in loose pants and with his hair falling loose to his shoulders, he was the picture of a man yanked from sleep. "Marco? Something wrong?"

"Can I come in?" Marco held up the papers. "It's important."

"Figured it had to be, considering." Thatch spared a second for a massive yawn and then gracefully bowed out of the entryway so Marco could step inside. After closing the door, Thatch joined Marco by the desk and spared a second to light a lamp so they didn't have to see by Marco's flames. "So, what is it?"

"This." Marco spread the papers out and pointed at the summary table. "Mostly that."

Thatch peered at it. "Right…I'm going to need a bit more context for this one."

So Marco ran Thatch through the hours and hours of investigation he'd poured into one simple question: who is Blackbeard? Once Ace had pointed the finger at Teach himself, connecting the two men was a logical step since everything else he and Thatch had tried until that point to discover the man's identity had been a dead end. Marco would be dreaming of crunching numbers for weeks, he was sure.

"Which leads us to Teach's finances." Marco pointed at the second-to last summary sheet. "He's claiming as much treasure as anyone else of his tenure-yoi, maybe even a little less—but I can't find where it's going."

"He's got some luxury stuff in his quarters, I've seen it."

"That's what I thought at first too, but look—this is how much he's made, this is how much even a liberal estimate of those costs totals to."

Thatch rubbed at his chin. "Maybe he's giving it to the Second Division?"

"That would make sense, but look—no bumps in the Second's treasury. Nor in any other division's."

"He could be sending it home, or to someone important to him. Whatever bakery gave him a taste for pie as a kid."

Another shake of the head. "I looked into his home island. It's poor, and nothing about it indicates it's receiving this much-yoi."

"So where's the money going?"

"Here." He pulled out one last paper and held it out for Thatch to read. Months and months of business deals painstakingly collected onto a page, front and back, absolutely inundated with Marco's notes about the veracity each one. "He's careful-yoi. The name 'Blackbeard' doesn't crop up until well after we're gone, if it even gets mentioned at all. But it's never come up at a place we haven't visited, or one that Teach hasn't been near-yoi."

"You're not seriously suggesting Teach is a…I don't even know what you're suggesting. A two-timer? A traitor?"

"I'm suggesting he's doing dangerous things behind our backs and taking pains to make those things hard to find-yoi. Think about it—if I hadn't known to look for this, I never would've found it."

"And you knew because," he pitched his voice up in question, "Ace told you?"

"I know because Ace told me to watch him when you got a devil fruit."

"Yeah, but—wait, what?"

"According to Ace, you get the Yami Yami no Mi. When you do-yoi, I'm guessing Teach's act breaks down for a second."

"Wait, wait, wait. Back up. First: you know I don't really want a devil fruit. Second, 'act' is a hell of a way to describe the way Teach has always been since he joined this crew. Third, when I get the fruit? Is Ace seeing the future now?"

Marco held up a finger for each point he was addressing. "I know, but what you want and what you find don't need to line up. Yes, it's a serious accusation and one I don't repeat lightly-yoi. And yes, I think he is. He's had events described in his journal that came to pass when and how he'd written them to happen."

"Marco, this is—this is crazy."

"I think that's precisely why he didn't tell us the whole truth, why-yoi he's still not telling the whole truth. I wouldn't have believed even this much except for that I started noticing the clues myself." Marco rested a hand on the stacks of papers on the desk. "Look at all of this, Thatch. The people involved, the scale of it."

"It's a conspiracy."

"The kind that could upset the world's balance of power." Marco leaned against his desk and stared at the wall, pensive. "What I still don't understand is how Ace knew about all of it. He knew about Blackbeard weeks ago-yoi. Blackbeard and Impel Down."

"Impel Down?"

Marco flipped through a few reports to find the one he wanted. "Look on the second page. Seems Blackbeard's been eyeing some of the inmates, asking about their histories-yoi and contacting their old connections. Imagine if there were a prison break-yoi."

"Mayhem."

"It doesn't explain everything he was talking about when the fever had him, but it's a start."

Thatch set the papers aside. "He never mentioned Blackbeard before, though."

"Pardon?"

"Before his accident. Nothing of the sort. He treated Teach like everyone else, too."

"Good point-yoi. You think Teach caused that accident? Gave himself away?"

"No, if only because I can't think of any possible way he could've caused Ace's devil fruit to go berserk like that. But this seeing the future stuff and his accident—what if they're related? What if that accident is when he learned all this stuff? Some kind of…I don't know. Something."

"There's no way to prove it," Marco said thoughtfully, "but the timeline adds up."

Thatch snapped his fingers, startling Marco. "The year. He asked me what year it was. I thought he was just out of sorts, but—"

"You're not seriously—"

"—what if he traveled through time?"

Marco's protest died and he rubbed at his forehead. "Thatch…"

"Oh, come on. We've both seen the impossible made possible in the New World more than once. Who's to say Ace didn't run into someone with some time traveling devil fruit in the future?"

Letting out a long sigh, Marco slowly nodded. "It would explain a lot. If his future was bad enough…" he stopped.

"Marco?"

"He also thought you were dead."

"I was kinda hoping we wouldn't get to that."

"If he's from the future," Marco hedged, "if he is, then it was clearly a violent one-yoi. Your death, Teach's betrayal, and some battle at Marineford. A conflict there would cost hundreds of lives no matter what."

"No wonder he was so freaked out."

"He still is, he's just better at hiding it." Marco rubbed his eyes; it was late. "We both should get some sleep, we can talk about it more tomorrow."

Thatch offered a crooked grin. "Says the guy who woke me up."

Ace scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed, trying to ignore the phantom sensation of dust settling on his skin. He was never going to fully scrub that old warehouse out of his clothes. "No, the hideout theory didn't pan out."

He leaned away from the Den Den Mushi while Marco went on about recommended investigative practice and some other stuff he tuned out. The ocean breeze flowed uninterrupted through his room's open window, carrying with it the scents of a bakery a couple doors down that Ace had been patronizing pretty heavily these last…days. Fuck, he was really almost at a whole week in this place. How long did he have left? How long until that devil fruit decided to take matters into its own hands?

It wasn't like he'd just been lazing around this whole time. He'd explored just about every abandoned place in town on the hunt for the people responsible, with a particular eye for anyone who could've come in on that sunken ship. All that effort, to no avail. He'd found nothing; not in the cliff dwellings, not in the storage warehouses, not in the condemned houses, not even in the ashen remnants of homes burned down before Whitebeard came knocking.

Old Siev's theory about outsiders made the most sense—Ace hadn't seen a single native person on the island who wasn't happy about Whitebeard's protection—but at this point…the outsiders either had someone helping them hide, or they came in on that boat, sunk it, and left on another before Ace showed up. It wasn't like there had been anymore vandalism since he arrived.

Maybe he scared them off.

Ah, Marco had stopped talking. "I'm doing what I can, Marco. I'll figure it out, you know I will."

The snail did a remarkable job imitating Marco's facial expression when his sigh crackled across the line. "I know. Just…take care of yourself, Ace."

Ace cocked an eyebrow at his tone. "Something wrong?"

"No. Any issues with your devil fruit?"

"Not one." Not that he'd had any reason to use it. "Like I said, I'll figure it out. Call ya tomorrow."

He hung up, stood, and stretched. Marco's tone, though, nagged at him. The old bird had been weirdly intent on Ace's well-being, even more so than he'd been for the last near-two-weeks of calls.

Well, if Marco wanted to talk about something, it was on him to bring it up. Ace had an investigation to get back to.

He donned his hat and headed out of the inn. A few passers-by waved at him and he waved back. They all knew who he was and why he was here, but two weeks with nothing to show for his presence was beginning to wear on their goodwill.

The Whitebeard flag, when Ace meandered over to it, was as intact as he'd left it. He eyed his handiwork critically; some of it was sloppy, relatively. Then again, he'd been a little distracted.

Old Siev didn't react to his side-eye.

He rapped a knuckle against one of the wooden posts holding it up; sturdy as ever, like it'd never been knocked down.

He'd tried camping out at the site, but nothing ever happened when he watched, and all he'd gotten for his trouble was every aspect of his appearance and character ripped apart by an old man with nothing better to do.

He sighed and headed away from the port up the main street. His stomach was rumbling.

"Breakfast already?" called Jemi, a grandmother who always seemed to be watering her second-story-window flowerpots whenever Ace was out and about.

"Can't start my day on an empty stomach. How are your plants?"

"Doing very well, very well. You should try Aster's pancakes, they're simply phenomenal."

There was something in the way she voiced the suggestion, some undercurrent in her tone, a tiny fault in her expression—but it was there and gone in an instant, so fast he could've imagined it. "Aster's?"

"You don't know it? You've been there a half-dozen times, so I hear." Another fleeting glimpse of something more. "It's where Emi and her father work."

Multiple days and he'd never actually caught the name of Emi's café. Also, her father? Not someone who'd shown his face thus far. Maybe they traded off shifts and Ace had just always popped by on Emi's turn. "I'll do that. Thank you."

"Think nothing of it."

She gave him a wide smile that made Ace suspect she'd be pinching his cheeks if he was in range. Before she could get any ideas, he continued down the street, returning any greetings thrown his way while he went.

As he hit main street and approached the café, he looked closer at the sign he'd taken little note of on every other approach. He'd just seen the pink many-petaled flower and assumed it was a bit of meaningless decoration, in the vein of one of Luffy's innumerable "creative" flag designs back on Goa Island, and not the actual signpost for the establishment.

He was no flower connoisseur, but he was willing to bet that flower was an aster.

Inside, a handful of locals were scattered around the tables and waiting up by the counter. They all paused when Ace walked in but resumed what they were doing in short order. Mindful of his growling stomach, he joined the back of the line and distracted himself by taking in more about the eclectic décor while he waited.

By the time he made it to the front, the other patrons had cleared out. Ace didn't take it personally; even though Whitebeard was beloved and everyone here treated him and his crew kindly, very few were comfortable spending extended periods with a pirate in the same room. History died hard. Though he didn't remember his only other stop at this island—too busy with the murder attempts on Whitebeard—he was sure the stop had been brief.

"You're back," Emi noted.

"The food here is great. Why did you name it Aster's?"

She blinked at the non-sequitur. "My dad picked the name. It's my mother's."

"Oh, you all work here together?"

"No, she's—she's gone."

"I'm sorry."

Emi swallowed and straightened, tossing her towel over her shoulder. "Can I get you something?"

"Jemi told me I should try your pancakes."

"Jemi did?"

"Should I be worried?"

"No," Emi, distracted, worried at her lip a moment before shaking her head and wiping her expression clear. "She's just a bit nosy sometimes."

Ace counted out the beri for his meal and handed it over. Emi took it, clearly still distracted.

"I just ran out of flour up here," she said once she'd rung it up, "so let me grab some from downstairs. It'll just be a minute."

"Do you want any help?"

"What, are you trying to steal what you haven't already eaten?"

He smiled while he tried to figure out if she was just teasing or really meant it. Her tone wasn't clear. Failing, he offered, "Just being polite. I'm the one who's been eating my way your entire stock since I arrived, and you did let me borrow your sewing supplies."

"It's fine. It really isn't much to carry. Besides, you're a customer. Just get comfortable at a table and stay there."

He wasn't about to argue. Shrugging, he did as asked. Between one blink and the next, he somehow ended up falling out of his chair, which, ow. He wiped a bit of drool off his chin and resettled in his seat right as Emi emerged from the kitchen with a plate of pancakes stacked higher than her head.

"I think I'm starting to learn how much you can actually eat," she said.

"Starting," Ace replied with a grin. "Thank you for the food."

A couple more customers came in while Ace devoured his meal, but as he'd expected, no one stuck around. He still wasn't offended, but after two weeks of rooms clearing out when he walked in, he was starting to get a little tired of it. It felt…uncomfortably familiar. His darker days, his worst days, when the world was in his way, when everything in it was a reminder of the monster whose blood he carried, when any bandit or thug who crossed his path was lucky to escape with only a busted lip.

He blew out a slow breath and patted his full stomach, letting his gaze wander the café décor rather than allow his thoughts to linger on that time. Knickknacks, trinkets, doodads…and pictures. Lots of pictures. Mostly of other islands, probably bought from a merchant ship passing through, but plenty of Foodvalten itself. Even a few of this café, the people who made it—a smiling man and woman, and then, in a few, a young Emi, an older Emi, an Emi who looked a lot like the one currently sweeping behind the counter—but the woman who had to be her mother wasn't in any of the recent photos.

Gone. Right.

But…her father was still in those photos. Ace hadn't seen any sign of him around the café, and he was sure he'd remember seeing a guy who had bright purple hair styled in such an elegant sweep off to one side anywhere on the island.

Now that he was looking for them, more details about the café stood out: the men's coat on the coat rack by the door that had been there since Ace's first visit, the specials menu that had two different handwriting styles on it, split between the older items and the newer, and Emi's correction that she wasn't the owner, just an employee.

He eyed her and decided it would be best to be direct. It was always what he'd preferred when this particular topic came up; people dancing around the issue just pissed him off more.

"Where's your father?"

She froze mid-sweep. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your father." He gestured at the photos, the coat, the whole café. "He's the owner, right?"

Her knuckles, he noted, were white from the force behind her grip on the broom. She drew in a shuddering breath and slowly released that tension, then stared at him with a gaze so neutral it was more effective than any glare. "He died, a few weeks ago. Thanks for the reminder."

"I'm sorry." And he was, truly; he hadn't meant to go ripping open a fresh wound, but still, it nagged at him. Old instincts honed from walking through Edge Town, a persistent sense that something is wrong even when all signs indicated no immediate danger—and then a thief lunging from a shadowed alleyway, knife aimed for Ace's chest.

He didn't think Emi would be lunging at him with a knife anytime soon, but clearly, her father's passing wasn't a subject to bring up lightly. Something had happened there. Something bad enough she hadn't even been able to do so much as remove his coat from the rack.

"If it had anything to do with the sunken ship in the harbor," he began, watching her carefully, "I'd appreciate if you could tell me more about it."

Emi swallowed and closed her eyes. "It doesn't. Could you—I think I'd like you to leave, now. Please."

Well aware he'd overstepped, Ace inclined his head in half acknowledgement and half apology, and left.

Chapter Text

June 8th

The next day, Ace found himself still stuck on Emi. Her situation was, in its simplest form, a mystery he hadn't yet solved. Other than the sunken boat in the harbor, it was the only mystery he considered worth solving. Maybe it was a steppingstone to solving the sabotage case, maybe not; but he had little to lose by tugging on that thread.

Asking around town confirmed that Emi's father had disappeared three weeks ago, but "disappeared" didn't mean "dead." A few people suggested he'd gone out fishing—it wasn't his usual profession, but he'd been known to lend a hand to understaffed fishing crews—and gone overboard, though none of those people could tell him who he'd gone fishing with.

Another theory was that he'd gotten caught in the bad storm that had hit around then, that he'd been swept out to sea, never to be seen again. That was a more annoying theory with even less potential proof to confirm it happened. There was, however, a compelling piece of evidence against it: the coat still on the rack in the café. Ace doubted the guy would've braved a storm without it.

By the afternoon he'd gotten a decent idea of how Emi and her father had operated over the last many years. Jemi had been a particularly good fount of information, albeit one less than willing to explain why she was so invested in Ace learning about Emi. He'd suspect her of trying to set them up if she hadn't outright laughed at the idea, and laughed so hard it brought tears to her eyes.

All that left him in his room that evening, sitting at the desk and explaining what he'd learned to a snail doing its best to mimic Marco's half-lidded expression.

"It's possible she's involved," he finished. "Her and her father. I'm not sure how yet, though. I doubt she's actually touched the flag."

Marco made a quiet noise of thought. Though the Den Den Mushi didn't see fit to share the ambient sounds of his surroundings, Ace had no doubt Marco was shuffling papers around at his desk. Giving Ace as much attention as he could, but that wasn't all of it.

"What's the point?" Ace finally asked, posing the question that had sat in the back of his mind since he saw the damage to the flag. "Go to one of Pops's islands, deface the flag, and then…what? Melt away before you can pay for what you did?"

"Plenty of people just like to annoy emperors for the sake of it. Most even get away with it. It's a vast ocean-yoi."

"If they only did it once, maybe. But they did it multiple times, and they've gone to a lot of effort to cover their tracks." He leaned back in his chair, tipping it onto its back legs, and stared out the window. "The marines, I'd get. They don't like pirates and they really don't like it when we claim territory. Everyone's seen a marine take down a flag; those stories always make the front page. But they make a spectacle out of it. This kind of hit-and-run isn't their style. They would've made a show of it by now. And it's not like this island is in any kind of strategic location."

The snail bearing Marco's visage shifts an eye in what Ace can only interpret as Marco raising an eyebrow. "You're thinking about strategic locations?"

"Just trying to figure out the motivation. The marines aren't subtle—well, unless they've got…doesn't the World Government have some kind of spy organization? CP-whatever?"

"They do, but like you said, Foodvalten isn't a target of value for them. If it was, I would keep a part of our fleet permanently stationed nearby."

"You're probably right." A good thing, too. If Ace was dealing with actual spies, he was very outclassed. "Not too close, though."

"They're still scared of pirates, so, yes. Not too close."

Ace rested one foot against the desk and used it to tip himself even farther back in a small rocking motion. "You said other places had their flags attacked."

"Several-yoi. But not all in the same way. We've caught some of the ones doing it; petty thieves, a couple of small-time pirate crews with no connection to each other."

"You don't think they're related."

"I think the status quo has existed for long enough-yoi that people are starting to resent it."

"Resent, huh?" Ace turned his gaze to the ceiling, tracing the swirls in the wooden beams. "This doesn't feel like lashing out against authority. It feels like they want attention. I'm here, they've got it, and they're nowhere to be seen." He narrowed his eyes. "It's like all they wanted was to lure me here."

"They'd have no way to know you would go-yoi," Marco cautioned. "I was planning on sending Thatch, or anyone he designated in his division."

He had a point. "They wanted to lure our family, some small part of it, here. Why? If it's a trap, they're doing a shit job springing it."

"Who knows? That's why you're there. To find out."

Ace grunted, but an idea had hit, and the longer he spent turning it over in his mind, the more it appealed to him. He'd never liked being passive, responding instead of initiating. Here was an opportunity to go on the offensive.

His chair crashed back down to all fours.

"I have an idea."

"Figured out the mystery around your café girl?"

"No, but I know how to lure these idiots out. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Not even going to expl—"

Ace hung up and set to preparing. He had to make this look at real as possible.

"Yeah, it's a shame. I wish I could've done more to help."

Jami pouted from her second-story window. "Are you sure you can't stay a little longer? Just a day or two?"

"I'm afraid not." Ace made sure to keep his voice just barely on the reasonable side of loud—more than enough for everyone traveling up and down main street to hear. Including Old Siev, who was ambling alongside Roscoe on his way to his morning pastry from Aster's. "Whitebeard called me back, I'll be leaving first thing tomorrow. He's not the type I can say no to."

"A pirate like you?"

"What can I say? He's got my respect."

Still visibly disappointed, Jemi tried a few other tactics to get him to stay, including offering a crocheted scarf for his return journey that would only take her a few days to complete, honest. He turned her down, but he was gentle about it.

Then he wandered around the island making sure anyone who hadn't witnessed or heard about that performance was in some way or another aware he was preparing to leave. It was a pretty easy sell; as he pointed out to the port authority when they questioned his departure, the flag wasn't getting defaced anymore.

"The cowards," Ace had patiently explained to anyone else who was curious, too, "probably cut and ran the second they heard an actual Whitebeard pirate was here. Spineless idiots like that don't stick around for a fight. They're weak, that's why they use childish tactics like tearing up a flag to try to get a crew's attention. It's pathetic, but it happens."

Emi, the latest to receive that story, set his pastries on the counter between them. "You sure think lowly of them."

"I do," and he meant it. "Anyone who resorts to this isn't worth the water holding up their hull."

"Well. I hope you're right."

Old Siev was his last stop, and the wrinkly old bastard looked one more word from spitting at Ace's feet by the time he finished.

"They'll be back," he growled. "You know that."

Ace shrugged, even though he was in perfect agreement with Old Siev. "If they're dumb enough to do this, they're dumb enough to slip up eventually."

Shaking his head, Old Siev waved Ace off.

With the word spread and his mission for the day done, Ace retreated to his room, kicked up his heels, laid his hat over his face, and dozed the day away. The sun had never crawled across the sky more slowly, but crawl it did, until the western horizon was a pale violet and stars twinkled from within the galaxy's colorful embrace. Ace flicked his hat down so it was resting over his back and leaned out his window to confirm there was no one watching.

Old skills, these, and poorly practiced. Stealth had always been more Sabo's thing. Definitely not Luffy's, though. Ace had at least managed to pick up a good chunk of them when he and Sabo were terrorizing High Town—so much easier to steal if the alarm wasn't raised on the way in—but the youngest of them had always been hopeless in that regard. Ace wasn't, and in the deep dark of night when occasional clouds deepened the shadows into almost pitch-blackness, those half-remembered and ill-practiced skills were enough to get him to the flag undetected.

And when the latest cloud scuttled out from in front of the crescent moon, Ace saw the flag ripped from its cords and left, torn and ragged once again, on the ground.

Two emotions laid claim to Ace's heart: one, triumph that he was right in his suspicion; the other, fury that he'd been too slow, fury so hot it demanded he find the perpetrators and burn them now, now, now for disrespecting his family, his pops, while he was right fucking there.

He leashed that fury and turned, mouth open to call to Old Siev—but Old Siev was slumped in his chair, unmoving, and Roscoe was slumped in front of him, just as still.

That fury crystallized and exploded into jagged shards that ripped clean through any concepts of a leash. Ace knelt next to Old Siev and needed four deep breaths to ensure his fingers wouldn't burn before he could check for a pulse. There wasn't—was, there was a pulse, weak and slow but there. His other hand he held in front of Roscoe's nose and relief made him sway for a second when he felt the rush of exhaled air. Alive; they were both alive.

He summoned a tiny flame over his palm to see more—were they asleep? But Old Siev hadn't woken at his touch, and the one time Ace had caught him sleeping in his time on Foodvalten, Old Siev had snored loud enough to wake the dead. Certainly loud enough to wake Roscoe, who by the time Ace arrived, had gotten so fed up that she put her paws on Old Siev's knees and barked in the man's face until he woke with a startled shout.

No blood, at least, no sign of any injury at all. Just a few crumbs on Old Siev's lap and in his beard, evidence of a late dinner. Roscoe, too, had a few crumbs around her maw, caught up in the furry wrinkles of her face.

Neither was in immediate danger, and when Old Siev didn't rouse with a few shakes of his shoulder, Ace decided to cut his losses. He dispelled his flame and, cloaked once more in darkness, made his way toward main street.

Farthest we ever got was after the second time, a little way up main street, Old Siev had said that first day. No telling how long had passed since the flag was defaced, but Ace tried his best to look for any clues regardless. Not that there was much to find; the paved path didn't exactly lend itself to tracking, and Ace was no bloodhound. No shops had their lights on, and when Ace stopped near each one, he heard no sounds from inside.

Two hours he spent walking down every street, path, back alley, and gutter in the village. Two hours wasted.

A whole night, arguably, wasted, except for one crucial confirmation.

Whoever was defacing the flag was still here.

And they had help.

Chapter Text

June 10th

There were murmurs of surprise the following morning when two things were discovered: first, the freshly vandalized flag, and second, Ace's continued presence on the island. Thanks to his reasoning for his departure, him now sticking around in the wake of this latest attack on Whitebeard's honor wasn't a surprise.

Those murmurs started up just past eleven because Ace, caught thinking late into the night, got an even later start to his morning. He had a hunch. No, at this point, a theory—a theory that was one conversation away from being a reality. The more he turned it over in his mind, the more certain he became he was right. All the pieces lined up.

It started with that boat in the harbor. A ghost vessel, lacking any record of its arrival or passengers, presumed to have been washed over by that storm. Ace was certain now that was how the saboteurs had gotten onto the island somewhat undetected initially. Probably, their main craft had been too big to make it into the relatively narrow gap in the rocks that offered natural protection to the harbor.

It continued with main street. The saboteurs had been tracked at least that far, before the smells interfered. The ocean, Ace wasn't inclined to believe; Roscoe had lived on Foodvalten her whole life, she'd know to ignore that. But food? That was as good of a way to cover a scent as any.

It ended with Emi. Emi, whose father went missing near to the time the sabotage began, whose pastries Old Siev loved, whose cooking was more than good enough to hide anything slipped into the food, whose establishment had a basement Ace had never been in.

Yeah. It ended with Emi.

There was one stop to make first, the hot flames of his fury having subsided enough by now that he felt obligated to do what he skipped last night: make sure Old Siev and Roscoe were okay rather than simply alive.

Old Siev remembered nothing from the previous night and was still groggy when Ace went over to check on him. That grogginess did nothing to improve his usual mood, and by the middle of that conversation, he and Ace were freely cursing at each other, Ace matching his frustrated malice because he was very aware the flag was harmed on his watch, thanks, and his plan to catch the idiot in the act and failed and he knew Old Siev had a point about him being useless so far but he was about to solve the fucking mystery so if this guy could just lay off for a single second when Ace had only come here just to see if he was okay—

"Just tell yer damn crew to lend a hand!" Old Siev snapped when Ace saw fit to remind him he'd fallen asleep on duty before.

"A division commander is more than enough!"

"Tell that to the fucking flag!"

Ace sucked in a deep breath and composed himself. This guy got under his skin like no one else other than maybe Luffy when they were kids. "I'm not sending a message to drag anyone else out here—the cowards behind this don't deserve more attention."

"Well, they've clearly got it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Turn that useless head o' yers and look for yerself!"

Ace followed Old Siev's extended finger to the harbor, and then beyond to the ocean visible past the white cliffs sheltering the island. There, just barely visible on the horizon, was a looming ship. Even at this distance, the black flag flying from its mast could just barely be seen.

It was too far to make out details, but Ace knew: "That's not Whitebeard."

Marco would've said something, and moreover, the shape of the ship was wrong. It was too big, too square in the places the Moby Dick and its fleet were round. He couldn't tell how big it was from this far away, but instinct told him it was big. Too big to fit in the harbor. As he kept looking, though, he picked out other shapes nearby. Satellite ships, a whole fleet of them. They would slip in no problem.

So much for going to see Emi.

"Get somewhere safe," Ace told Old Siev. "Tell everyone else that, too."

This time, there was no arguing. Old Siev shuffled off to raise the alarm. Ace, knowing he had time before the ships made landfall, spent a moment collecting Whitebeard's flag from the dirt. He dusted it off as best he could, but there was no mending these tears right now. Instead, he laid it out over Old Siev's chair—better than the ground—and started walking down to the harbor.

Though the safest play for any devil fruit user was a fight on land, the smartest play here to protect Whitebeard's territory was to take the fight to the ships out on the water. It wouldn't be the first time Ace and Striker took on an opponent on the open ocean.

Over the sounds of rising panic as the residents of Foodvalten took shelter from the approaching pirates came one particular cry, a familiar voice: Emi's, raised and sharpened by both fear and anger.

Ace knew what he'd see before he turned around, but that didn't mean he was happy to be proven right. There was Emi, her hands bound behind her back, chin tipped up not because of pride but because of the gleaming knife at her throat, a knife that cut a shallow line in her flesh to shut her up. Behind her, a man in loose, dark clothes with purple and blue accents, a dangling earring carved in the shape of a lightning bolt catching the early morning sunlight.

Emi's eyes met Ace's, and in them was that anger he'd heard—but also an apology.

Ace raised his hand at the pirate, index and middle fingers extended, his fire eager for his command, but he paused when the pirate stopped his forced march and pointedly angled his knife to catch the light. "Who's faster, you think?"

Emi whimpered. Ace narrowed his eyes. He was accurate, Izo and hours of practice had made sure of that, but fast? He could move fast, and his fire bullets were fast, but fast enough to stop the bastard from cutting her throat? He wasn't sure, and there was a life hanging in that uncertainty.

"Please," Emi whispered, the knife having come away just enough to permit her to speak. "They have my dad, and I care about him way more than that scrap of fabric. Even if you save me, they'll kill him. You Whitebeards are all about family, right?" Tears streamed from her eyes and mixed with the blood trickling down her throat. "I'm begging you, don't take mine away."

Ace's supporting grip on his extended right arm faltered. He couldn't…If he tried his haki, he could take down the guy holding Emi, but the pirates coming ashore would see it, would know something was wrong. If her dad was on that ship, or that ship had a snail to contact wherever her dad really was, then Ace would be signing his death warrant.

"All this," he said, trying to buy time. "The flag, the hiding out here—it was just to lure me away from the fleet, keep me here until your backup arrived."

"Not you, not you specifically. You're a bigger catch than we expected, and it took the captain a while to pull the fleet together." The pirate's gap-toothed smile made Ace's skin itch. He'd seen a smile like that all too often in the Gray Terminal, and even more in his adventures beyond Dawn Island. All teeth and greed, nothing but more greed behind it. The kind of smile that saw two snot-nosed brats not as kids but as easy targets. "Big bounty, you've got, Portgas D. Ace."

"How's yours?"

The smile soured. Ace felt his hopes of finding a way out of this diminishing with the distant sound of many footsteps getting closer and doing so quickly. He started to turn, but the pirate dug the knife in, Emi whimpered, and Ace clenched his jaw. Fire flickered along his shoulders, impotent and furious, while several ships' worth of assholes closed in on him from behind.

"What's your name?" he asked, staring at the pirate, committing his face to memory. Searing it there, really.

"Misu. Remember it when they take your head, Portgas."

Ace never saw the blow coming, but he felt it: a sickening thunk against his temple, a pommel slamming into his skull hard enough to rob the strength from his body and send him to the ground. Dazed and working hard to not puke, there was little he could do to stop them from restraining him.

Sea stone cuffs, he could tell instantly from the weakness in a league of its own stealing over him, utterly oppressive relative to the hit to his head. They'd had those cuffs ready and waiting, because of course, Misu had told them exactly who was here and that there would be two hostages from this trip: Ace, for his bounty; and Emi, to—in the words of the asshole who slapped the cuffs on Ace hard enough to bruise—keep Ace honest.

They were no kinder to Emi than they were to Ace, but at least she didn't have to endure the persistent discomfort of sea stone restraints. Prisoners both, they were dragged onto a smaller skiff nestled amid the creaking hulls of the fleet and then out into the main craft waiting beyond the harbor. The sun disappeared behind the door leading belowdecks, the refreshing ocean breeze replaced by the damp and stale air of a ship that had gone too long without regular cleaning. It did nothing to help Ace's unsettled stomach.

Nor did getting bodily thrown into a tiny cell, his head cracking against the planks that made up the far wall. This time, the stars were so numerous he couldn't see or hear anything for long enough that the pirates were gone when he regained his senses.

Not even a guard? No, there was a guard—down there, at the end of the hall, playing poker with a second guard Ace hadn't noticed. Focusing his eyes on something that far in the dark made the nausea looping around his stomach squeeze like a vice.

There was a bucket in the corner of his cell. He puked into it, then retched a few more times for good measure—not that his body would let him avoid that right now—wincing at the burn of bile with each convulsion that seized his stomach. The rocking of the ship, normally a comfort on the Moby Dick, became a nuisance that fed the vertigo holding him by the neck. He didn't bother fighting it; an empty stomach would settle faster.

Eventually, the retching faded, the need becoming a faint and fluttering urge that pulsed in time with the heartbeat he could feel both in his chest and where the sword pommel had cracked against his skull.

In the cell next to him, Emi had curled up in the far corner, finding a scant bit of comfort in leaning against the curved wall and straight metal bar. Blood had drawn stark crimson lines down her neck and stained the top of her shirt, but from what Ace could see, the wound wasn't actively bleeding anymore.

He spat to clear his mouth, and when he was sure he could go from kneeling facing away from her to sitting facing toward her without toppling over, he did just that. Slowly. And carefully. And with a few winces; their captors had taken cheap shots while he was getting dragged.

He cleared his throat. "I need you to tell me everything."

She drew her knees up to her chest, a position made awkward by her hands still being bound behind her back. "You heard them. They want the reputation for taking out a Whitebeard Pirate, and they want the bounty for it, too."

"That doesn't explain why you and your dad got caught up in it."

The ship rocked—back out on the open ocean, under sail, whatever it was, and Ace leaned against the wall to avoid losing his balance, sliding his legs out from under himself until he was sitting with his cuffed wrists resting on his lap. A cursory inspection of the keyholes didn't show anything fancy, but it wasn't like he had anything he could use to pick them; the bastards had taken his dagger while they dragged him through the ship.

And that, right there, was one too many thoughts to think in a row when his brain felt like a scrambled egg, so he squeezed his eyes shut against the pounding pain and tried to stay upright while his sense of balance rocked back and forth out of rhythm with the ship.

"A-are you…okay?"

Concussion, bruised ribs, a dozen small cuts and bruises, sea stone cuffs, and to top it off, the taste of puke refusing to leave his mouth, just for that last little extra bit of misery. About equal to Impel Down, though Jinbe was better company.

He swallowed and cracked an eye open to look at her. "How did they take him?"

She winced and looked away, trying to pull in on herself more only to give that up when a lurch of the ship nearly tipped her over. "Th-there was a storm. Bad. My father went out with a few others to help secure the boats."

Burying her face in her knees, she continued. "Near the end of the storm, someone was banging on my door, demanding to be let in. I didn't want to—the rain and wind—but then I heard my father and I, I opened the door, and it was my father and a pirate with a knife at his throat, and then another pirate forced his way inside. It was either help them or they'd kill my dad. One of them left with him when the storm began to calm, said I'd only see him again when the job was done. That his life was over if I said anything, if I let anyone know I had a pirate in my basement." She sniffled. "I'm sorry."

Ace sat absorbing that for a minute, in part because it was worth taking his time on and in part because if he went any faster his brain was liable to pull itself apart.

Most likely, the pirates were taking them to either a home base or the actual flagship if this massive vessel wasn't it; otherwise, Ace would've been brought up before the captain rather than tossed in a cell. And if they were trying to stay off Whitebeard's radar, their destination wasn't going to be too close.

There were two possibilities with Emi's father: either he was already dead—the pirates not wanting to go through the trouble of holding a prisoner—or he was alive and being held wherever they were going. For Emi's sake, Ace hoped it was the latter. Another glance at her—crying silently to herself, dirtied and bloodied and scared—didn't make him confident she'd handle that former revelation well.

Must have been nice, having a biological father worth crying over.

Ace closed his eyes again and leaned back against the wall. "Might as well get comfortable," he offered. "We're going to be here a while."

She raised her head a fraction. "Where are we going?"

"Not sure."

As the ship rocked again, she wiped the tears from her eyes. A spark burned behind her pupils, a spark born of anger and indignation and desperation. "What can we do?"

Heartened by her change in attitude, he adjusted the weight of the cuffs on his lap. "I've got a few ideas."

Someone's spittle caught Ace on the cheek. Could've been any of a dozen people; they were all so close, yelling and screaming and jeering, and they kept sneaking cheap shots into his arms and legs.

The slow parade through a sea of hostility was familiar territory. Ace faced it with his head held high even as his heart pounded in his chest.

His scar ached.

One pirate tried to trip him, which was a mistake; Ace's hands were bound, not his feet, and he stomped on the guy's foot hard enough to break something. He caught a club to the back of the knee for that, staggering him, but it didn't dim his satisfaction. Familiar territory, but also new territory; these people weren't marines. They weren't about to hear the name he despised and they sure as hell weren't about to see him die.

Six hours of fitful sleep on the ship hadn't done wonders for his head, but it had helped, and he was even feeling fairly acclimated to the suffocating weight of the sea stone. It was more than what he'd worn on the Moby Dick, but the effects were the same. It still meant no devil fruit, but physically? He was doing okay.

He idly scanned the leering mugs of the pirate crew around him while some stranger kept prodding him in the back with the end of a rifle barrel to keep moving. It was a long walk from the docked ship to the imposing stone castle these guys had commandeered and that one particular spot next to his spine was smarting from all those jabs.

One face had been absent during his and Emi's departure from the ship, a face Ace now hunted for in the people assembled to harass him. Some were pirates—most of the fleet this crew headed, he was sure, but some weren't as quick to throw the stones and rotten fruit in their hands, were too quick about looking away when he looked at them, weren't quick enough to hide the shame in their eyes. The local townspeople, forced into this farce.

He looked for that one face. He didn't see it.

Inside the castle and out of the dreary rain that was just light enough to soak through everything before you realized what it was doing, the jeers were magnified tenfold, bouncing around the grand hallways and archways and beating down on Ace's ears. No more townspeople, just pirates eager to see him brought low. He breathed deep through it, centering himself, keeping calm and focused, chin up and shoulders straight because that pissed the pirates off more, and as long as they were focused on him they weren't focused on Emi.

This castle was old—centuries, probably. But someone had begun the process of retrofitting it with more modern comforts, and so steam pipes lined some of the walls, trying and failing to keep the drafty interior warm.

A pair of grand doors at the end of the hall wrought in iron and with painstaking silver decals left tarnished by these pirates' lack of care groaned open, then hit the walls with a bang that shook dust from the ceiling. He felt more than saw Emi flinch behind him.

Pirates milled around the throne room beyond, some clearly having looted the local nobility for their finest clothes judging by the cashmere and suede and rich purples on display. More poured in after Ace and Emi were through, eager for the show, a small sea of people on either side of the silver-bordered green carpet that spilled across the floor, up the three dais steps, and stopped at the foot of the grand old throne. Even at a glance Ace could tell the chair was worth a fortune—or it would have been, had someone not taken a dagger to the inlay to tear out every gem and pricey scrap of fabric from the upholstery.

The man sitting in it, too, depreciated its value. Greasy black hair spilling out around a dark blue bandana worn as a headband, but solidly built and with a massive purple coat accented in gold, he looked down at Ace with a wide, avaricious grin. It was the same kind of smile Ace had seen on the face that still hadn't shown itself anywhere he could see.

The captain, because he had to be, stopped slouching to look down at Ace, who was encouraged to stop at the foot of the bottom stair when two people grabbed his shoulders and kicked the backs of his knees, forcing him down.

"Fire Fist Ace," he said. "Not so hot now, are you?"

Ace glared up at him. All these people liked to do the same thing: flaunt their power, taunt those they thought were without. Flex and posture right up to the edge of the fire, believing they couldn't get burned.

When Ace offered nothing but silence, the captain scoffed and waved someone over. That guy hopped up onto the dais and presented the captain with a piece of paper—Ace's bounty poster.

"Five hundred and fifty million beri," the captain read. "You know, there's even a rumor that for you, there's more to that if you're alive."

A chill raced up Ace's spine. "If you're going to be someone else's errand boy, you could try to pretend otherwise. Save what's left of your dignity. If there is any."

He swayed to avoid the punch he knew was coming and ended up taking it on the shoulder instead of the jaw. The captain held up a hand to stop Ace's apparent guards, one on either side, from retaliating more. There was a gleam in the captain's eye, a warning tone to his voice. "That's a dangerous accusation to make to me, in front of my crew."

A few echoes of agreement rose up from the ranks. So, the crew didn't know.

"Who was it? Who put the stupid idea in your head to target Whitebeard? You all know the price of going after my family, but you did it anyway. Well? What was so good? If it was the bounty alone, someone else would've done it. You had no idea you've get me, either. You think you have a way to avoid the consequences." He narrowed his eyes. "Someone told you the consequences wouldn't matter."

This time, there was no avoiding the retaliatory blow, and the captain didn't bother stopping his crew until Ace was facedown on the ground, a split lip oozing a bloodstain onto the expensive carpet already ruined by dirty footprints. They grabbed him by the hair and hauled him back up to his knees, where he swayed, trying to bring the captain back into focus.

"We choose our own fucking targets," the captain spat.

Liar, Ace thought, a little loopy from the pain. No one here would say it, least of all the captain—if he even knew who was really pulling his strings, or if there had been a whole team of middlemen—but there was only one man so interested in whittling away at Whitebeard's strength without anyone the wiser, in poking holes in his indomitability, in testing the strength of the net where its edges were coming undone.

Bastard.

"Whose house am I getting bled in?" Ace asked when he had control over his mouth again.

Satisfied for now that his authority had been reasserted, the captain leaned back on his stolen throne. "You're kneeling before Captain Uragiri, fleet commander of the Brink Lightning pirates and king of Fukitsune Island."

Fukitsune Island. Ace ran through what he remembered of New World charts, only to abandon that effort when the cost of pulling up those memories drove a knife through his brain. It didn't really matter, anyway. It was within a day's travel of Foodvalten and inhabited, which meant Ace could fairly easily find a way to get a message out, whether that meant sailing back to Foodvalten or finding a more convenient method here.

There was just the small matter of getting his freedom back, first.

"Sorry," Ace said, "never heard of you. Small-timers don't catch my eye." And if Uragiri was a king instead of a usurper, then Ace would eat his boots.

He got booed and insulted for that, as though they hadn't already been doing that from the moment he was tossed onto their ship like so much cargo.

The captain scoffed and waved a hand. "We'll see where that bravado is when you're on an execution platform. Toss them in the dungeon with the others. We'll coordinate with the marines for that bounty payment."

Ace was hauled to his feet. He offered no help and made himself dead weight. When the two pirates were utterly focused on their struggle to lift him, Ace drove his shoulder into one and kicked out at the other's leg. The first recovered and snapped a punch at Ace's face, only to reel back with a howl of pain, his broken fingers held aloft. Ace grinned, his cheek shining black.

That armament haki vanished to be replaced with bands around his wrists, just under the cuffs. Captain Uragiri pushed out of his chair with a cry.

"Don't let him—"

Yelling, Ace drove his hands down on either side of his knee. The chain, held taut between the cuffs, weaker than the cuffs themselves, shattered into a half-dozen broken links against the anvil of his haki-coated knee. Ace spun to turn that momentum into a brutal backhand swing that bludgeoned two pirates trying to stab him from behind with the cuffs. They flew into their comrades while Ace kept moving to keep his momentum up and—more importantly—keep all eyes on him while Emi picked up a dropped dagger and melted into the crowd.

Ask the version of him of five months ago if he could take on a whole room of pirates with sea stone on his wrists and he'd have hesitated. There was no hesitation now, no room for it; do or die. That was how he'd grown up, how he'd always lived, and the familiarity of the adrenaline roaring through his veins threatened to bring a smile to his face as he dove forward under a wild swing from a massive club into a handspring that let him drive his boots into the chin of the giant man responsible. His lights blew out like candles in the wind and Ace caught the club falling from unconscious fingers as he flipped back to his feet. The next idiots to charge him learned exactly how fast that club could move in Ace's hands.

There was a bang, a whistle past Ace's ear, and then a blooming heat along his cheek. Ace turned his gaze to the captain who'd finally worked his pistol out of its holster and the club—hurled like a javelin—followed an instant later, pinning the guy to the wall hard enough to splinter the stone. He fell and didn't get up.

Something slammed into Ace's back and launched him into the wall to his right, driving the breath from his lungs. He dropped to the floor, landed on his feet, and realized there was a steam pipe attached to the carved stone next to him.

Well, he thought. Don't mind if I do.

He yanked a section off the wall, tested its weight, and nodded before using it like a bat to brain the first pirate unlucky enough to reach him.

Then Ace was running into the throng of pirates for cover as more bullets began to fly. His haki saved him time and again: observation, to tell him what was coming and where from; armament, to let him survive what he couldn't dodge.

But each usage of both tapped reserves of strength already straining under the weight of the sea stone, and Ace was working harder for each breath, for each spin and counter and blow that kept him moving through the throng that wanted nothing more than to pin him down. In the chaos, he caught sight of Emi bringing a discarded baton down on a pirate too focused on Ace to notice her coming. She swiped something from his waist—keys.

Their eyes met. Hers broke away—toward the door, the prison and the man beyond. She could flee, leave Ace to his fate, and bank on the odds that she and her father could find a ship and escape. No trust in a pirate required, the certainty that if nothing else their lives would be in their own hands.

Something sharp slashed across Ace's back. He let out a grunt of pain and kicked out blindly, feeling his boot connect with something hard that splintered under the impact. In the next moment, something shiny was flying toward his face.

Trusting the pirate. Trusting that Ace was strong enough to win and honorable enough to keep them all safe.

He snatched the key out of the air and jammed it into the left manacle, head butted the guy trying to stop him, and then flung his left elbow into the nose of another while the manacle fell away. Some of the weight eased and he could breathe easier, easier enough to kick another attacker back and then kick up and off another into the air. His pipe shattered the hand of a pirate reaching for him; the man recoiled with a howl of pain. The right manacle clicked open; he threw both it and the still-attached key back toward Emi.

The sea stone left his fingers. Left his skin. Left. For a split second, Ace was horribly cold.

Then the sun rose in his chest, he was the sunrise, and he blazed to life with a vengeance for being caged. He landed from his flip and released a wave of scorching flames that bowled over and burned everyone in a twenty-yard radius. Screams of panic cut through the roars of rage. Bullets rained down, and Ace once more tapped his haki, seeing the sea stone rounds amid the rest before they hit and opening holes in himself to avoid them as he seized the offensive and refused to give it up.

Within ten seconds the anger in their eyes had given way to fear. Within twenty seconds, many were trying to run. Ace felt the shift, ignored most of the faces around him, hunted for just one. Just the one.

Misu was by the grand old doors, trying to shove his way through the rest to escape. Ace hefted his pipe and then, thinking better of it, slung it at a nearby rifleman before he could take his shot. Then Ace was sprinting the length of the throne room, leaving scorching footprints on the carpet with every step.

He deemed himself close enough. He skidded to a stop but that momentum didn't fade, he just transferred it back and then forward as he followed through with a blazing punch.

His namesake tore through the pirates like a battering ram and even ripped the ancient doors clean off their hinges. They released deafening bangs as they thundered down the hall, injuring scores more in their path before they crashed to the floor.

Misu, seeing Ace approaching, had been smart enough to drop to the ground when Ace launched his attack. Now, he wasn't fast enough to get to his feet, so Ace helped him up with a scorching grip on the back of his neck.

"Hey," Ace said, pleasantly. "What do you know, I do remember you."

His fist crashed into Misu's face, breaking his nose with a satisfying crunch and sending the asshole tumbling down the hall to join the rest of his groaning comrades. But there were still scores left standing, still bullets whizzing through the air, and one mistake with his haki would mean the end of the—

"Ace!"

He whirled, and there was Emi, her restraints gone but one eye blackened and shut while she tried to fend off a group of four pirates with a sword whose blade was snapped clean in half. The wall was at her back, and one of the pirates was already swinging his mace.

ENOUGH.

There was a moment of stillness, a wave of something that started with Ace and washed to every corner of the throne room and most of the hallway beyond, and then the pirates started dropping like so many marionettes with their strings cut. Ace straightened, confident his conqueror's haki had hit everyone.

And then the price of using it with a heavy concussion hit, and he crumpled, dazed and dizzy while his brain did its damndest to break out of his skull with hammer blows in time to his heartbeat.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, trying not to pass out or puke, but a light touch pressed against his shoulder. He tensed, flames at the ready, only to realize it was Emi. She pulled one of his arms over her shoulder and stood straight with a pained grunt. Blood splattered the floor, dripping from the fingers of her other arm.

"The mace caught my arm, I think. I don't know. I think I blacked out for a second." She adjusted his weight while he tried to form a question, but she answered before he could voice it. "I'll be fine, and I have the keys."

She did, he saw them on her hip. "Do you know where…?"

"No."

They made an awkward pair, shuffling around and over the bodies of a hundred passed-out pirates, but with every passing moment Ace's strength returned until he could walk on his own again.

"You there! Hey, you!"

They paused in the seventh identical castle corridor at the harried whisper and glanced over to see a face peering out from behind a tapestry on the inner wall.

"Hello?" Emi greeted hesitantly. "Who are you?"

"I'm one of the cooks—the castle cooks, not with the pirates. They forced us to—well, never mind that, this way, quickly!"

After exchanging a glance with Emi, Ace shrugged and stepped into the secret passageway. Emi followed and closed the swinging stone door behind them. In the cramped hallway beyond, the only light came from old braziers along the walls. The cook was a wiry old woman with white hair pulled into a short braid on her head, her uniform wrinkled and her apron stained. She had bags under her eyes and a bright purple bruise on one cheekbone.

"You're looking for the dungeons, right?" she asked.

"Y-yes," stammered Emi, "but how did you know that?"

"That hair and feather of yours," the cook tapped by her temple, "and the rest, you look a lot like the fellow who's been rotting away in there the last long while. If we hurry, we can make it before they wake up and remember he's there."

The stronger pirates, Ace knew, would already be shaking off the effects of his haki. Emi had only done it so quickly because Ace hadn't wanted it to affect her, and maybe if he was able to practice it more, he could get better at sparing people from its influence entirely.

He'd burn that bridge when his brain wasn't trying to leak out of his ears.

"Lead the way," he said.

As they half-walked half-jogged through the winding paths, at times lit only by the fire Ace produced, and at just as many times suffering the feeling of cobwebs brushing across their skin, the cook explained more of what had happened to the island and its former king.

Several months ago, the Brink Lightning pirates raided the island. Fukitsune was a small bit of land, not much larger than Foodvalten but with better soil for farming, and they didn't have the forces required to resist the invasion.

"We had a pirate's flag up for protection," she explained, "but apparently that one bit the dust a year or so ago, and people have been taking over his territories bit by bit ever since. Many of us were killed, and those that weren't…forced to work for the pleasure of feeling their boots grinding down on our backs. Word about you two—you in particular," she clarified with a glance at Ace, "spread, and a couple of us went near the hidden passages in the throne room to watch."

"That's when you saw Emi and made that connection."

"Yes it was. We left as soon as the violence started—figured you'd be wanting a quick escape, so we tried to post ourselves near as many of the hidden entrances as we could."

"Well, I appreciate the help."

"It's nothing. If you Whitebeard Pirates are anything like your reputation says, I confess I'm hoping you'll drive these ungrateful invaders out."

Ace couldn't make that promise—claiming any territory was the decision of Whitebeard and Whitebeard alone, but he could offer, "As long as I'm here, I'll make sure they don't get any more ideas."

The cook nodded in appreciation and stopped by a stretch of wall that looked the same as all the others. "Here, this will put you in an empty cell in the dungeons." She pressed one of the stones on the wall and the door ground open with surprising quietude. "Don't worry about the cell door—it's designed to never properly close. Oh, and here." She produced two small portions of salted meat wrapped in paper from her pockets. "I swiped these from the kitchens on my way. Consider it an early gift of thanks."

"Thank you for your help," Ace said, accepting the food. He also accepted Emi's portion, because she was already running out into the dungeon. "Listen, all of you should get out of here, get someplace safe. They're going to wake up and they're going to want revenge. I can call for backup, but it won't get here right away."

She nodded. "There's a swamp a league north of here, and a path marked with a symbol that looks like a sickle. Follow that, you'll find an old hunter's cabin that should be fairly safe. There might be some people there already, but it's as good a place as any on this island for your friend to hide. Just come back through here on your way out, take the first to lefts, up the stairs, and then a right, and you should be at a back exit they don't know to guard."

He nodded in appreciation and the cook, her job finished, melted back into the dark to find her own safe place to hide.

Ace ate his portion in one bite—bear meat, tough and gamey but still his favorite despite Thatch's best efforts to sway him to other options—and savored the tang of the salt while he caught up to where Emi was striding down the central path between the metal-barred cells on either side. He could see from her frantic pace that she wanted to call out, but right now the guards here didn't know about the chaos upstairs and there was no need to raise the alarm early.

Ace tapped her shoulder and pressed the food into her hands when she paused.

"He'll need the strength," he said quietly when she tried to push it back at him. "Keep looking—I'll take care of the guards."

The guards numbered five, and they were unprepared when five fire bullets burst from the shadows. One for each, and that was all it took. Ace jogged back to Emi, who was fumbling with the keyring in front of a cell about halfway down the length of the hall.

"I know," she was whispering to the man inside, "I know, but I wasn't going to just let you die. Do you think I could face Mom like that? You can give me a hard time when we're both back home, okay? How's that sound?"

The old lock finally accepted a key and Emi yanked the door open. Ace caught it before it could bang on the bars and held it open while Emi rushed inside. The prisoner, a somewhat emaciated and dirtied version of the purple-haired man from the pictures in the café, rose to his feet to catch her in a hug so tight it made Ace's heart ache, and then the prisoner was noticing Ace and breaking out of the hug to shove Emi behind him—

"No, Dad, wait! It's okay, he's helping."

"What?"

"I can explain while we get out of here."

In the distance, they could hear muffled yelling, and the faint drumming of boots on stone. Ace gestured them both out of the cell. "We should hurry."

Their escape wasn't as clean as Ace had hoped; the pirates knew about the hidden passages, they just weren't as familiar with them as the locals. Still, Ace could deal with anyone who stumbled across them, and then when they were back in the open air, Ace let himself be the distraction again while Emi and her father made for the swamp.

He sprinted back through the town he'd been marched through, dozens upon dozens of pirates yelling for his head behind him. His head was pounding, his stomach was somewhere up in his throat, and there was vertigo threatening to seize him if he gave it too much attention. He kept swallowing it all down, not in the least because he wasn't going to waste the food that cook had given him.

Just a bit farther, to where their flagship squatted in the harbor. With the setting sun choked behind the miserable clouds still spitting rain, the ship was mostly one great shadow on the water save for the handful of lights dotting it where crewmen carried lamps. The other ships were quietly bobbing nearby, their own guard crews wandering their decks like fireflies.

A line of freezing water traced the edge of his cheek and fell from his jaw, splattering against his shoulder while he skidded around a corner. His boots slid on the wet cobblestones and he smacked into a wall on the far side before he could get a grip again. He spared a second to shoot off a bit of fire in the opposite direction, which fizzled into nothing when it hit wet stone.

Ten minutes he spent weaving his way through the village, using fire and crates and pipes and bricks and anything he could get his hands on to throw the pirates off his trail and make it less clear what he was trying to do.

It wasn't often Ace regretted eating his devil fruit, but now, a twinge of that feeling was tugging on his heart. If he could dive into the water, he could swim around to the other side of the ship—out of sight of the island—and climb aboard undetected.

No point wishing for things he couldn't change, right now. He didn't have the focus to spare for it. On his winding way through the town, he'd grabbed some rope, and now as he snuck around the docks, he borrowed a hefty steel hook. Tying the former around the latter, he hefted his improvised grappling hook and nodded.

Though the pirates had left the gangplank in place—they'd been here so long they'd long ago dropped their guard—Ace couldn't traverse that plank without being spotted by at least three of them. He'd be able to handle any opposition, but it would make his reason for getting back aboard the ship much more difficult to realize.

The grappling hook was a gamble too, of course. He had no way to hook it silently to the railing; he just had to toss it and hope for the best.

Crouched behind some barrels near the end of the pier, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply a few times to center himself. His heart was still pounding from his escape, a concussive series of thuds his head was eager to mirror, and he still felt vaguely sick. The combination of the cool ocean breeze, hazy setting sun, and drizzling rain was firmly on the spectrum of miserable. Even if his fruit kept him plenty warm, his hair was plastered to his skin, and water kept getting in his eyes.

There was a distant explosion—the last of Ace's tricks to pull attention in another direction. A quick pulse of observation haki told him the pirates meandering the ship's deck had all gone to the other end to look at the rising smoke from the improvised explosive.

The first two throws failed and it was only Ace's fast reflexes that allowed him to reel in the rope and catch the hook before it could either smack against the ship or splash into the water. The third time, the hook caught. He tested it and then swiftly climbed the rope, flipping up onto the deck in one smooth motion.

As he'd seen, the pirates were all looking away from him, jostling each other and speculating about what was going on. Ace used their distraction to first gently lower the hook and rope into the water, then slip belowdecks. In the cramped passages, he found it easier to avoid detection; most of the pirates were bedding in the castle or in commandeered homes rather than the ship, and those that were on the ship were mostly in their own rooms or up on deck.

It took him twenty minutes of careful sneaking to locate his belongings in an empty room—Misu's, he was willing to bet. He closed the door behind him, eyes on the pile of stuff carelessly tossed on the floor. Misu had been going through Ace's things for the journey back, a thought that left a scowl on Ace's face. He jammed his hat back on his head, his dagger back in its sheath, and rummaged through his backpack until he found the dormant snail.

"Yeah, I know," he muttered when it grumbled at being woken up. "My day's not going much better."

At least Misu hadn't thought to do anything to the snail, just cram it back into the bag when it didn't look valuable. It begrudgingly began to ring while Ace, cross-legged on the floor, tapped an impatient finger against his knee.

The snail straightened up. "You're checking in late."

"I had an exciting morning. Listen, I'm on Fukitsune Island. I don't know exactly where that is, but it's within a day of Foodvalten. I could use some backup—I found the pirates responsible for the disrespect to Pops, but there are a lot of them, and they have a whole island to use as hostages if they want."

Plus, Ace added in the privacy of his own mind, I'm not sure I'm in any state for another multi-day fight right now.

He hated getting hit in the head.

"Fukitsune Island. We have…" Paper rustled. "Two ships in the area. One can be there within the hour."

"I'll take what I can get. I'll see what I can do to keep things under control until then."

"Ace—"

He cocked an eyebrow at the oddly hurried tone. "Yeah?"

"—just, don't be reckless."

"A little late for that, Marco." There were footsteps coming down the hall. Ace swallowed, knowing there was a distinct chance he'd be in bad shape when the fruit made its move. "Remember what I said about the fruit. I gotta go."

He hung up, swept his things into his backpack, and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Then he pressed himself against the wall next to the door, on the side that would be hidden by the door itself when it swung open. And swing open it did, revealing Misu with a bandage over his nose. He took a few steps into the room, clocked the lack of Ace's things on the floor, and turned around in time to catch Ace's fist to his nose for the second time that day.

Loosing a strangled scream of pain, Misu staggered back and brought a hand up to his nose. His other hand fumbled for his pistol, but Ace ignited his whole arm in warning and Misu froze.

"Who's faster, you think?" Ace asked. Misu's answer was to let his hand fall away from his weapon, the only answer Ace was willing to accept. "Here's what you're going to do: you're going to come with me up to the deck, and then you're going to tell all your friends on the island this: Take any of the locals hostage, damage any of their houses, do anything to test me, and I burn this ship and your entire fleet like kindling. Understand?"

Slowly, Misu nodded. Ace smiled an unkind smile.

And so the standoff began.

Chapter Text

It was, in the end, the longest and least eventful standoff Ace had ever been involved in. Unlike the Brink Lightning Pirates, he knew about his family's reinforcements. So, unlike them, he knew this battle of attrition was temporary. They thought they could just wait him out, that he was being an idiot and making a final stand that could only end one way when his stamina ran out.

That end came after just over an hour, time he spent poised and ready to ignite the ships, eyes trained on the village and ears attuned for any cries from the locals while his headache gnawed at his every thought. Its hunger spiked every time he tried to lean on his depleted haki, and the empty wells where that haki had been were hollow enough to yank on his insides like they had a hunger all their own.

Bruised, dazed, tired, and swaying on his feet—that was how the members of the support fleet found him. So focused on him, so ready for the moment he keeled over, the Brink Lightning crew never even saw the Mini Moby approaching in the dark, and the Whitebeards had been smart enough to douse the lights to make themselves even harder to spot. Ace only realized they'd shown up when the shadow of a sail blotted out the stars and familiar faces jumped onto the deck.

Relief shot through him, relief that swiftly blew away the fumes of strength that had been keeping him upright. As the Whitebeards ran through the Brink Lightning pirates like several dozen knives through butter, as a fiery blur of blue and gold dropped down in front of him, Ace finally let himself relax a little.

His headache, injuries, and exhaustion seized on that weakness, and the last thing he heard as his whole world tilted into the black was Marco yelling his name.

In retellings, particularly any that happened when Luffy was in earshot, Ace would skip the part where he passed out. Instead, he held strong and eventually allowed himself to get taken to a local doctor to get checked out. In reality, as far as he knew, he went from falling on the deck of the Brink Lightning flagship to lying on a bed in the span of a single blink, the hours between those moments lost completely.

Per the local doctor taking care of him, there was a deep slash in his back to get stitched up, a dozen cuts to clean, and a broken rib and myriad of bruises he'd just have to deal with. Most of those injuries, Ace could ignore. He'd had way worse. But the cut to his back stung; one more injury to his back. One more disrespect to Pops's mark.

He needed to do better. Make sure that never happened again. Even if the tattoo was already gone, its spirit remained, and he sure as hell didn't want to be the kind of coward who ended up with a back more scarred than his front. He didn't run. He wasn't about to let the world think he did.

At some point after his return to consciousness, he fell asleep—or passed out again, it wasn't clear—and he woke up with the rising sun.

The doc was busy tending to other patients, villagers caught up in the previous night's violence before Ace put a stop to everything, so Ace offered a quick and heartfelt thanks before he slipped out the door. His head was feeling better and his stomach was settled, so he detoured to a local restaurant for a filling breakfast before anything else.

He found himself inundated with double, triple, quadruple portions and a proprietor who ardently refused to even mention any form of payment. Not that Ace had been nursing any plans of dining and dashing in the present circumstances, but that generosity killed even the idea of it completely. There wasn't any fun in running from someone who wasn't going to get upset about it.

Stepping out of that restaurant and picking the remnants of some crispy bacon out of his teeth with a toothpick, he paused on the threshold and tried to figure out what about the sight of the port was so strange. There were, he realized, fewer masts visible over the tops of the buildings than before—some of the Brink Lightning fleet was gone. Under the waves, probably. But he recognized the flags from the ones that remained. That second ship Marco had promised must've arrived while Ace was out. And a few others, too, apparently. They must've been the ones to sink nearly all the Brink Lightning fleet.

That mystery solved, he set out at a brisk walk for the castle and the swamp beyond. He had to let Emi and her father know things were safe enough now for them to return to Foodvalten.

It turned out he didn't have to go all the way to the swamp. In fact, he didn't even have to leave the village. There, in front of a random house, stood Emi, her father, and—

"Marco?"

The old bird glanced at Ace. "Finally awake-yoi? We were starting to get worried."

"How are you here? The Moby Dick—"

"Is docked right over there-yoi. You were out for over a day. According to Emi here, you were using a lot of haki with a severe concussion-yoi. That's asking for it. Tasuka wasn't thrilled with you."

Ace blinked. So, this wasn't the following morning, it was the following following morning. No wonder he felt so much better, or why he'd been so hungry. "She never is, I think. Doesn't explain why I remember seeing you show up with the Mini Moby."

"When you in particular can't make promises about being reckless-yoi, I might get worried. I left the Moby and caught up with the others just before they arrived. And I was right to do it; you were a sitting duck, passing out like that."

Ace reddened and pursed his lips, not wanting to admit just how much trouble he would've been in if he'd been left to their mercy. They probably would've tried to use him as a hostage, same as he'd done to their ship.

"It's good to see you're feeling better," offered Emi into the silence. She nudged her father forward. Forward he went, awkwardly extending a hand to Ace.

"Thank you, for helping my daughter, for…all of it."

"You're, uh, you're welcome." He had a firm grip, and the shower and change of clothes he'd acquired since Ace last saw him had done wonders for his appearance. The telltale feather that marked all residents of Foodvalten, naturally, remained. "You're looking a lot better."

Emi was quick to explain. "After your family arrived, they routed the other pirates and found us in the swamp. One of the villagers was kind enough to let us stay with them last night instead of the cabin—"

"Which was very…cozy, with twenty people in it," her father added.

"—and now they're saying they'll take us back to Foodvalten." She looked to Marco. "Right?"

He nodded. "Right. Those other pirates are currently being held prisoner on their ships while we decide what to do with them. Thatch took point on finding and collecting their spoils."

Ace did his best to hide the lightning strike that shot through him at that, but of course Marco noticed. He didn't say anything, though, instead turning to Emi and her father to explain the logistics for getting them back to their island. Only once he'd sent them on their way did he address the issue.

"Teach returned to the Moby Dick two days ago," he said without preamble. "He's there now."

Ace stopped in his tracks.

"You don't look surprised."

"No," Ace admitted after a beat. "Where's Thatch?"

"Either in the castle or on the ship—he was almost done last I heard, just working with Haruta to crack a vault connected to the king's bedroom."

"If he's on the ship, then we should be too."

Ace started walking again and Marco fell into step beside him. "Are you going to explain-yoi?"

"You're acting like you already know."

"I like to have things confirmed."

Well, he had given his word. "Like I said, when Thatch finds the Yami Yami no Mi, keep an eye on Teach. I'll explain everything after that."

"How did you know Teach would make it back?"

Ace pressed his lips into a grim line. He wasn't inclined to believe in fate or destiny—if he did, he'd have been screwed from the start—but sometimes it felt so close to being real it was practically a noose around his neck. "I just did."

Ace's first order of business when he was back on the Moby Dick was locating Thatch. This wasn't hard: the fourth division commander was standing over a large pile of shining golden loot with his arms crossed while members of his division scurried around it, shifting the pile little by little.

Behind him, Whitebeard sat in his deck chair with a couple nurses trying to cajole him into drinking what had to be some kind of medicine judging by the disgruntled expression twisting his mustache. He shifted in his seat, the motion of his boot pushing Ace's gaze back down to Thatch, and then lower still when something caught his eye.

There was a small wooden chest at Thatch's feet.

Marco's shoulder brushed Ace's. "Trust me," he muttered, before leading the way to Thatch. "How much of this is going to new pans?"

"Marco, and hey, Ace! Anyone tell you that you sleep too much? No, it's not for pans, it's for," he hesitated, "things. I'll get you an itemized list later."

"Pops," Ace greeted.

"I heard you were reckless again," Whitebeard noted, handing off his drink to a disappointed nurse. "Are you recovered?"

"Enough. How'd you make it here so fast? I thought the Moby Dick was more than a day's travel."

Marco coughed. The nurses glared daggers at Whitebeard. Whitebeard just smiled. "The ocean favored us."

The last time Ace had heard Whitebeard use that line, it was because the man had used his devil fruit to conjure tidal wave after massive tidal wave that—when they weren't threatening to capsize the Moby Dick—shot it across the ocean at incredible speed.

"You didn't have to," Ace began awkwardly, but Whitebeard just waved the protest away.

"We're here now."

Someone grabbed Ace's head and shoved it down into an awkward bow.

"Sorry, Pops," came Thatch's voice. "We keep trying to train him to say thank you, but he's still just awful at it, so I'll say it on his behalf."

Whitebeard's rumbling laugh vibrated the planks under Ace's boots and completely drowned out Ace's protests. "Accepted. One day he'll learn."

"Here's hoping."

Thatch then guided Ace a little way away, since the nurses were looking progressively more annoyed that their medication schedule was getting delayed. Ace smacked Thatch's hand off his head and adjusted his hat.

"I can say thanks just fine," he said. "I was taught how."

"Uh-huh, sure."

Deciding to salvage his dignity by changing the subject, he gestured at the treasure. "Is this all from the castle?" He pretended to scan the pile as though the entirety of his focus wasn't on that tiny little box once more near Thatch. No, not the entirety, because amidst all the activity on deck was one presence he couldn't ignore if he tried.

Small mercy that Teach wasn't approaching him to congratulate him on yet another recovery. Maybe it was his proximity to Whitebeard.

"Ace, buddy?"

"What?"

"You're on fire."

Ace glanced down at himself and, sure enough, there were flames licking up his arms. He brushed them off and leashed the simmering tension tighter and tighter until it was contained beneath his skin. "Better?"

"Maybe. Seems like something's on your mind."

"Yeah. Where all this," he waved at the pile, including that chest in the motion, "came from."

"Some of it is from the castle," Thatch confirmed. "We're not taking everything—the Bring Lightning crew—"

"Brink."

"What?"

"Brink Lightning."

"Ew, that's worse. The Lightning crew already did serious damage to the local economy and Pops isn't in the business of destroying islands these days, so we're leaving enough to let them get back on their feet. It's all from the Lightning's coffers, generous souls that they are."

Ace cast an eye back over the island, skipping over a few spots where his efforts two days earlier had left visible damage. "Are we leaving anything else?"

A crooked grin settled on Thatch's lips. "A flag, you're thinking?"

"Not my decision, but…they could use some protection, or this'll keep happening to them."

He didn't miss the pointed look between Thatch and Marco, nor Marco's sigh.

"We're thinking about it-yoi," he admitted. "There are…factors."

"Factors."

"We can talk about it more later. For now, we should finish taking care of this." He nodded at the loot, the pile of which was already looking far leaner than it had when Ace and Marco first made it to the deck.

"Which reminds me," Thatch bent down and scooped up the chest and Ace's heart right with it, "I found this in the captain's room—the one he commandeered from the king who, by the way, was actually hiding out in the—"

"Thatch," Marco prodded, probably catching the look on Ace's face that he couldn't hide if he tried.

"Right, well, I'll regale you with his excellent taste in marinades later. But the captain was keeping this little thing secret, so I figured I'd crack it open so we can all see what's inside. A proper mystery—anyone want to take bets?"

Ace bit down on the urge to tell him to get on with it, to throw the chest in the ocean, to keep it secret and say not a single goddamn word. People were looking, and of course Thatch would make it a little bit of a show, that was what he did. Anything else would be strange. Anything else—

He barely heard the guesses his family tossed out. Most erred on the side of unfathomable riches, but one person, Izo, offered a devil fruit.

"The pool needed variety," he explained when he got a few questioning looks. "Besides, it's been a while since we welcomed a new anchor."

"If Thatch becomes an anchor, who's left to pull Ace out of trouble?" mused Vista.

Do not burn do not burn do not, Ace chanted to himself while he watched Thatch flick off the chest's lock with a haki-infused finger. Everyone was watching when he lifted the lid. When the midday sunlight spilled over the rich velvet interior. When it washed over the purple fruit nestled in the center of it, over its many swirls and bright green stem.

Izo grinned while curses went up from those who'd bet wrong. Ace was deaf to all of it. A chill was coming from behind him, from the last place he'd seen Teach, and Marco was—

Marco was next to Thatch, Ace realized, having thrown an arm around his friend, but it was all an excuse to put Teach in his field of view and he saw it, right? He had to have seen it. Whatever dark impulse had Ace's observation haki blaring a warning, Teach couldn't hide it all. There would've been a flicker, a crack in the mask, there had to have been.

"Ah," Thatch said, staring at the fruit in disappointment, "I was hoping for a new set of swords."

"The chest was way too small for that, buddy," Marco noted, clapping Thatch on the shoulder and letting him go. "Why don't you put that in your room for now-yoi, and we'll finish organizing all this? Ace, go with him, knowing him he'll get distracted and accidentally try to cook it."

A flimsy excuse, but an excuse all the same. Ace was pretty sure he didn't manage a full breath until he and Thatch were in the relative privacy of Thatch's quarters, and even then, there was something pressing on his lungs that kept him from inhaling all the way. Maybe it was the cramped nature of even a commander's room, the wooden walls pressing in, the tiny porthole letting in too little of the outside.

Or his broken rib.

Oblivious to Ace's inner turmoil, Thatch shut the door and wandered over to his bed, tossing the chest almost carelessly. It bounced off the mattress, the fruit popped out, and Thatch dropped into a seat on the edge of the bed with his back to the fruit that had turned the entire world on its head.

"You're stressing me out," he said, waving at his desk chair. "Sit down, Ace."

"Thatch—"

"Even time travelers don't get to look down on me while we're having a conversation. Sit."

Ace sat and then processed what Thatch had said. "You—you knew—"

"Easy, easy. Let's just wait for Marco. He'll be here in a minute."

For that minute, Ace was left to grapple with both the idea that Thatch and Marco had planned that whole fruit reveal and the idea that Thatch and Marco knew about the time travel.

When the door opened, he jumped to his feet. "How?" he demanded of Marco, who raised his eyebrows at Ace's tone, glanced at Thatch, and then spent a deliberate several seconds closing the door, locking it, and then finding a seat on top of Thatch's footlocker.

"Sit down, Ace."

Ace opened his mouth again, but seeing the look in Marco's eye, he slowly sank back down into the chair. "How?" he asked again once he was seated, marginally calmer this time.

"Well, you were being so subtle about it—" Thatch stopped when Marco threw a glare his way. "Sorry."

"Ever since your injury, you've acted different-yoi." Of all the ways to describe the way Ace apparently blew up and then blabbered nonsense during his recovery, that was probably one of the most diplomatic. "We had our suspicions for a while that there was something more going on, but we couldn't find an explanation that fit, and you weren't forthcoming with one either."

"So," Thatch continued, picking up the slack, "we decided to hang back and be there for you—like always, like family. And in the process, we noticed a few things. Well, Marco noticed things. I noticed the way you reacted to Teach."

Even now, Ace bristled at the name, and Thatch nodded.

"Exactly."

"Then there was your notebook," Marco added. "The dates, locations, events, it was impossible to explain. When you demanded to be put on the Foodvalten mission, when you told me about the fruit and to keep an eye Teach—that, and the way you'd been reacting to Teach all this time—that was the last straw-yoi. I did some investigating of my own."

He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a handful of papers from an inner pocket. "This isn't close to everything, but it's a summary."

Ace took the papers when they were held out, wincing when the stretch pulled on the still-healing slice through his back, and skimmed them. Numbers weren't exactly his game, but he could recognize the names in the labels. "Blackbeard. You…connected him to Teach."

"He is Teach, isn't he?"

After a beat, Ace slowly nodded. No point hiding that now, not when Marco had dug up the proof, not when time travel and everything else was already on the table. If they were going to accuse him of being crazy, the conversation never would've gotten this far. Still…

"You believe me?"

Marco and Thatch exchanged another look and then both were nodding, but it was Thatch who spoke.

"I wish you'd trusted us enough to tell us everything sooner, but I think I get why you didn't. You were worried we'd think you were crazy, right?"

"I was out of my mind enough to attack you, so. A little."

"The next time you go through time, I hope you'll give us a little more credit."

"I'll," Ace's throat was burning, and he needed a second to swallow the feeling down, "I'll do that."

"So," Thatch leaned back and smiled, "that's our side of things. I believe you promised Marco here—and, by extension, me—your side. The full picture, not just what we could piece together on our own."

Ace stared down at the papers. Then, remembering, he produced the paper he'd stolen from the marine base and added it to the pile. Even Marco hadn't turned up any proof that the marines recognized Blackbeard.

The room was at once suffocatingly silent. Ace licked his lips and swallowed again for good measure because his mouth was dry.

Seeing him hesitating, Marco said, "You could start with the fruit."

Start where it all started. Sure. It would work as well as anything else. "Teach wants the Yami Yami no Mi. The first time, he killed Thatch, stole it, and fled."

Thatch stiffened and Marco narrowed his eyes, but neither said a word. Which was good, because Ace wasn't sure he could start up again if he stopped. That was the most absurd thing out of the way; nothing left but the aftermath.

"I wanted to chase after him. No one else wanted me to go." He couldn't really remember their reasons; he hadn't heard them over the blood roaring in his ears, that undeniable rush that demanded he move. "He was in my division; it was my responsibility. I went before the trail could go cold. When I found him, he'd already eaten the fruit, and it…it gave him the advantage. I lost and he turned me over to the marines."

"Bastard," Thatch whispered, the word slipping through the cracks in his control. Marco gave the barest hint of a nod.

"They put me in Impel Down. Because of—it doesn't matter, they decided they wanted a public execution, to make an example of me, and they wanted it to happen at Marineford." He could tell by the looks on his brothers' faces that they were starting to put together all the things they'd overheard while Ace was feverish and delusional. "All of you tried to save me. My own kid brother tried to save me. Pops was willing to give his life for me. And I—"

His voice caught. He closed his eyes and loosely flexed his hands, trying to drown out the echoes of Akainu's taunts with the Moby Dick's gentle creaking, the feel of the wood pressing into his thighs, the pressure of his nails in his palms. The ache in his chest, the creeping cold, the trembling of Luffy's hands holding him up.

God. Luffy.

With some difficulty, he managed to continue. "I did something reckless, and I nearly got Luffy killed, and I died trying to save him. Broke the most important promise I ever made." He hoped Luffy got out. He really, really hoped.

He swallowed with some effort and opened his eyes, which he had to blink several times to clear. "I woke up on the Moby Dick, and none of that had happened. You," he looked at Thatch, whole and alive and staring in mute horror and not splayed out in a pool of his own blood, "were alive. Pops was alive. And Teach was still part of the crew. No one knew what he was going to do. After hearing how bad off I was, I thought trying to tell the truth right out would make me look crazy. I tried to find proof but I couldn't. I figured the best way would be to set a trap with the fruit, get him to prove to everyone the worthless family-murdering traitor he is, but I didn't think the mission in Foodvalten would turn out like this."

With that last line spat out, he realized more flames had leapt to life along his limbs. Scowling, he put them out.

"Are you…having trouble?" Marco asked.

"It's—fine. I'm fine." He took a deep, shuddering breath, and then waved the papers. "We can use this instead. It's safer."

"It's bad," Marco acknowledged, "but it's not damning. I could use it to argue for him to be removed from the crew, but Pops might try for rehabilitation. He's done it for worse cases-yoi."

Ace let the papers fall before he accidentally set them alight. "I only ever tried to kill him, and I never made a secret of it. I stopped when I joined, too."

"Point being, it's not a guarantee. Either he stays on the crew under watch—which could end with his guards getting murdered and another escape attempt—or Pops cuts him loose, disavows him, or Pops agrees he should die for working against his own family for personal gain. Do you want to take that chance?"

No. No he didn't.

"Seems like there's only one thing to do," Thatch said. He reached behind him and collected the fruit from where it had fallen and gotten stuck in the small gap between the bed and the wall. He held it up. "Let's set that trap."

Chapter Text

Ace, Thatch, and Marco were late to the all-commander meeting in Whitebeard's quarters that night. Most often, these meetings were simply held on deck, but a last-minute request from Marco for more privacy had seen it moved to Whitebeard's quarters to save Whitebeard the trouble of relocating too far from his chair.

The first of the trio being late wasn't a huge surprise; more than once, a bout of narcolepsy had left Ace stumbling in halfway through the meeting. The second was also fairly in-character. Cooking could be unpredictable, after all, and no one would fault the chef for arriving late if it meant a meal was prepared to his rather high standards.

The last, though, was a shock. Marco was never late, barring some unexpected combat or a mission that ran into complications. Concern delayed the meeting until all three of the missing commanders showed up at the same time, each one of them looking as serious as any had seen them while the evening wind banged the open door against the wall. There were, of course, other commanders not in attendance—rare was the day they were all on the Moby Dick together, Whitebeard's territory being as vast as it was—but the absence of those three had been particularly noticeable.

Whitebeard, sat up against his bed's headboard, frowned at the sight of them.

"Here I thought deciding whether to claim territory would be a pretty happy occasion," Izo said while Ace battled the door closed against the force of the oncoming storm. "What's wrong?"

"We'll save it until the end-yoi," Marco deflected, taking up his usual spot next to Whitebeard. As the second division commander, Ace stayed by his side, while Thatch filled the hole next to Jozu, nearly vanishing behind the third divison commander's tremendous bulk.

"Hn," Whitebeard grunted, while a rumble of approaching thunder rattled the ship. He gestured for the meeting to start, and Marco cleared his throat.

"On the matter of claiming Fukitsune Island as part of our territory, are there any objections?"

"Not an objection," Haruta said, "but if we do, who's gonna manage it?"

Thatch scratched at his goatee. "Foodvalten is mine, and this is pretty close. I'd be fine with taking it on too, unless anyone else has a compelling reason for me not to."

"It's a pretty dreary rock," mused Vista.

Thatch grinned. "Ah, but some of the ingredients here can only be found in a few other places, none of which are ours." He rummaged in his sash and produced a mushroom that, to Ace, looked identical to the vast majority of mushrooms he'd seen on Dawn Island. "This thing is so rare I've only seen it in books until now! Do you have any idea how much they charge for it at market?"

A few interested hums came from the other commanders. When no further objections came up, Whitebeard nodded. "We'll bring Fukitsune Island under our protection. Thatch, the details are your responsibility."

"'Course, Pops, leave it to me." Rather than tucking the mushroom back into his sash, Thatch popped it into his mouth. Despite the seriousness of what was to come, Ace gagged. The mushrooms on Dawn Island that looked like that had tasted awful even when spiced to hell and back as part of a stew.

"Quick meeting," Fossa grunted, turning for the door.

"We're not done yet-yoi," drawled Marco, and Fossa sighed back into his spot. "There's another matter of the nuisance attacks on our territories these past months. Lately-yoi, they've been increasing in frequency and boldness. Foodvalten's flag being defaced was just one incident, but there are dozens being reported. In some cases, those responsible are other pirate crews; in others, marines disguising themselves as pirates."

A couple of the commanders who hadn't heard about that particular tactic yet muttered in irritation but quieted when Marco continued.

"While Fukitsune Island is close to our existing territory-yoi, these attacks have shown how thin our coverage is becoming. Pops is aging, and the world knows it." Everyone in the room straightened up, but Whitebeard cut off their protests with a gesture.

"I won't fall to any upstart brat who crosses us, but my health is no secret. The last thing I want is a family who refuses to confront the fact I won't be here forever."

Ace, who'd been quiet up to that point, bit his lip hard until the urge to speak out faded. Logically, of course, he knew Whitebeard wouldn't live forever. At Marineford, he'd seen firsthand both how absurdly powerful and terrifyingly mortal he was. That didn't mean he liked thinking about a world without him. A world where the only father figure who mattered didn't exist, whose legacy would forever be stuck battling his rival's.

Weight fell on his shoulders and he looked up to see Whitebeard eyeing him. Ace ducked his head until he could get himself under control. Of all the things to focus on tonight, that was not one of them.

"Point being," Marco continued, "it's time we reminded the world why Whitebeard is an emperor and what it means to insult his family. Pops doesn't need to be there personally; we carry his flag for a reason"

"I can go out," Ace said, earning twin sharp looks from both Marco and Thatch, the latter of whom had to lean out from behind Jozu to do it. He held strong under their scrutiny. "Once we've taken care of things here—"

"You've only just recovered-yoi."

"But I did recover," he retorted to Marco's point. "Besides, with Striker, I can reach the more distant territories faster than anyone, and the second division's is far away anyway."

"It's not a task for one commander—"

"A matter for later," Whitebeard decided, ending the conversation before Ace and Marco could really get into it and right as a large wave heralding the storm's arrival rocked the ship. Experienced sailors that they were, every pirate in the room rolled with the motion of the planks under their feet. Whitebeard may as well have been a mountain with how little he moved. "We've settled Fukitsune Island's claim. Is the issue of the other territories what you were holding for the end?"

"No." Marco nodded at Ace, who stepped forward a little and swiftly claimed the room's attention.

"Those nuisance attacks on our family aren't a coincidence. The marines, maybe. I'm pretty sure there's an admiral behind what they're doing. But not the pirates."

Kingdew cocked his head, sending his blond bob into an asymmetrical lean. "What, there some kind of mastermind pulling their strings?"

"There is. His goal is to sow doubt in Whitebeard's strength, seek out recruits for himself who are willing to cross an Emperor, and distract us while he grows his own power."

Crossing his arms, Izo commented, "You're talking like you know who he is."

"I do. I'm not making this accusation lightly." Ace took a deep breath. "It's Teach."

He saw confusion flash through his fellow commanders' eyes. Even Whitebeard frowned. A bone-shaking boom of thunder from directly overhead punched through the growing silence.

"Teach?" Jozu rumbled in its wake. "Marshall? The one in your division?"

A bolt of anger lanced through Ace at the reminder of the responsibility he bore for the traitor. "Yeah. That one."

At his confirmation, protests rose up around the room, but Whitebeard calmed them with a raised hand. He had eyes only for Ace. "Explain."

But it was Marco who responded, those papers with Teach's trail in hand. "Teach has been hiding his moves from us-yoi." He handed them off to Whitebeard, who held them carefully in his massive hands and scanned them with an ever-deepening frown. For the benefit of the others in the room, Marco gave a quick overview of the various shady transactions, and—most importantly of all—the moniker "Blackbeard," which even the marines knew about.

"Disrespectful," Haruta scoffed. "But that's not anything definitive and you both know it."

"It doesn't feel right to suspect family," Fossa growled. "Especially on something as flimsy as finances and a nickname. All of us have gone on trips of our own that could look suspicious if you wanted to view them that way."

Ace bristled. "What are you implying? You think I want to suspect a member of my own division? You don't even kn—"

"Ace," cautioned Thatch, before addressing the room. "Trust me, we're not making this accusation for the fun of it. We have strong reason to believe Teach is going to make a move for the Yami Yami no Mi, and that move isn't exactly going to be asking if I'm willing to part with it, if you catch my meaning."

"He wouldn't," Izo said. "None of us would—"

"He would," snapped Ace. "He di—"

"Ace!" Marco cut in, loud enough to catch Ace by surprise and even make a few other commanders jump. Ace bit his tongue with a scowl and brushed off the flame that had taken hold on his forearm. Outside, sharp droplets of rain intermixed with bits of hail like bullets began to fall. They pinged off the Moby Dick, creating a constant rattle Marco had to speak over.

"Like Thatch said, we suspect he'll make a play-yoi for the devil fruit. I saw the greed in his eyes myself. I know a paper trail and greed alone isn't enough. I know even suspecting one of our own of anything like this is insulting and against everything our flag represents. I know." He indicated himself, Ace, and Thatch. "We all know. But I'm not willing to risk family for the sake of it. If we're wrong, we're wrong, and we'll accept the punishment we're due-yoi." Ace stiffened, only to bite his tongue when Marco flashed him a warning look. "But I don't think we are."

Those fiery words coming from Marco of all people, rather than the black-haired commander at his side, gave them far more weight. The mood in the room shifted from affronted to disbelieving and confused.

Another bout of thunder shook the ship. The light of the setting sun had been completely choked off by the black clouds.

"Pops?" Izo's soft voice broke the tense silence. Whitebeard, gaze lingering on the papers, didn't respond right away.

"We don't intend to punish without actual proof," Marco said, pushing the point as far as he could. Ace couldn't help the anxiety swirling in his stomach at the sight of the doubt and lingering resentment on his brothers' faces. Before Teach's betrayal, he would've been feeling the same as them, if not even more insulted that anyone would cast doubt on the strength of the Whitebeard family's bonds. The thought of anyone betraying Pops had been unfathomable. "What we need is your support, and your eyes. Teach will try to take the fruit and he will hurt anyone who gets in his way. We can catch him in the act."

"When?" asked Fossa. "You're so sure, but do you expect us to be on guard against our own brother forever?"

"Tonight." All eyes swung back to Ace. Teach had done his time; now that he'd seen his prize, his patience was spent. Besides, he thought everyone would be distracted by the storm, which he'd also be using as cover to escape. So, he spoke with absolute surety. "He'll do it tonight."

Whitebeard's gaze was heaviest of all, and it wasn't pleased.

The longest night of Ace's life was wet, cramped, and smelled distinctly of the feast the locals in town were holding to celebrate their freedom. The scents of their cooking wound through the pounding rain, down through the bowels of the Moby Dick, and all the way to Ace's quarters to remind him that he'd only managed to choke down a single portion at dinner.

In another lifetime, he'd been down at that celebration, enjoying the heat, noise, and food on offer in the town's central hall, uncaring about the storm wailing beyond its walls. On his return to the Moby Dick, when he'd been the first to find Thatch's lifeless body, that cozy feeling had gone up in flames.

And now, at the memory of that awful moment, his hunger likewise evaporated. He resisted the urge to get up and pace; he was relying on his observation haki to keep track of what was happening in the rest of the ship.

Whitebeard remained in his room while the other commanders were spread out around the ship in positions that varied based on their ability to act normal. Haruta, as one of the few people able to avoid detection via observation haki so long as he didn't move, was hidden in Thatch's room; Marco was in his office; Blamenco, Jozu, and Fossa were out on deck helping to deal with the storm; Izo and Vista were wandering, and so on such that there was no part of the ship one of them couldn't reach within ten seconds.

And Thatch? Thatch was wrapping up end-of-day kitchen cleaning with his division, his daily ritual. His daily, predictable, constant ritual. Everyone knew that Thatch liked to have a little time alone after finishing; no one would be surprised at his lack of appearance in the common spaces for a while afterward. Maybe later he'd wander down to the festivities below, but that wasn't a guarantee with the storm in play.

The path from the kitchens to Thatch's quarters would take Thatch near Ace, but not right past him. If anything went wrong, it would take Ace a few seconds to get there and help.

"I'll be fine," Thatch had promised. "Your freakish talent aside, my observation haki is for now still better than yours, you know, and now I know to have my guard up."

No amount of reassurance would banish the sight of Thatch's body from Ace's head.

He was pacing. He didn't even remember standing up. Scrubbing a hand through his hair—his hat was hanging on a hook on the wall—he forced himself to stop moving and take a deep breath. That didn't help; he couldn't get enough air.

All of it, all of those days and weeks of fruitless investigation and preparation, all of that for this moment. And what was he doing? Sitting in his room waiting for the inevitable.

He tried to tell himself that it was like all the times he and Sabo had lain in wait in the forest or Gray Terminal for their targets, but that didn't work because at least back then he'd had Sabo for company. Sure, right now he had all the other commanders on his side, but they were elsewhere. In his room, there was nothing and no one to accompany him but all the ways this night could go wrong.

If he ended up hunting Blackbeard again, though, he'd do it right. He'd get all the mercy Ace had shown the wild animals in his early youth: none at all. He'd kill the bastard before he had any chance to retaliate and raze to the ground every inch of the little reputation he'd started building for himself. He'd—

Thatch was moving, and so was Teach. The traitor had been in the galley, by all accounts enjoying one of his usual pies as a late-night snack. When Thatch bid his division members farewell for the night and began the trek to his room, however, Teach was conveniently finished with his pie and headed in the same direction.

Ace's mouth was suddenly dry, his palms clammy. He really was doing it tonight. Ace had known that, of course, he'd said as much—but still a seed of doubt had remained, the fear that he'd done something, said something, changed something that would make Teach reconsider his plans. But he hadn't. He hadn't.

Of all the things in the world Ace hated—and there were many—being powerless often ranked at the top. Here, now, he was stuck being precisely that. If he went to Thatch, he could spook Teach. If he went anywhere near Thatch, he could spook Teach, who would no doubt be scanning for any potential interruptions with haki. Hell, if he so much as got a little too riled up in his quarters, he could spook Teach.

There was a knock on his door. He froze, realizing in his frustration he'd both resumed pacing and let his own haki slip. Heart hammering, he spread his awareness again. Thatch was still meandering through the halls toward his room, and there was Teach, slowly closing the distance.

Another knock, followed by Tasuka's annoyed voice: "Open this door before I pick the lock, Ace."

"It's not locked," he responded on reflex. He didn't want anything slowing him down when he ran out after Teach.

With a huff, Tasuka swung the door open and stepped inside, letting the door close behind her.

"Marco sent me." She put a hand on her hip, frowning. "Said you could use a checkup."

"I don't need a—" he stopped, realizing Marco's game. Tasuka giving a checkup would explain why Ace was hanging around in his room instead of joining in on the celebrations on shore like he had the last time. "Okay," he said, weakly.

She pointed at his chest, then jerked her wrist. "Shirt. Off."

He complied with token resistance while she rummaged through her medical bag. "What exactly are you checking up on?"

"Scar tissue plasticity, heart and lungs—a general physical."

"I've been stretching."

"I could tell since you were able to take your shirt off unassisted. Stay still." She took a stethoscope and began pressing it to Ace's chest, her eyes closed in concentration while she listened to…whatever she was listening to. "I always forget how warm you are," she muttered.

"Your hands are cold," he offered in return, and she snorted.

"Can you take a deep breath in, then breathe out slowly?"

He did as asked. She nodded in approval and switched the stethoscope to his back, once more pressing it to a few different places and asking him to breathe again.

"Good news, your lungs and heart are probably still there." She straightened and hung the stethoscope around her neck. He waited for her to comment on how he was a little short of breath, but she didn't seem to have noticed, and he started to wonder if it was in his head. "This next bit is going to involve some poking and prodding. Try to stay still."

It wasn't exactly comfortable, having anyone pressing and pulling on the skin of and around his scar. It didn't hurt anymore, but the pain had soaked in deeply enough to leave echoes. He shifted, grimacing, and Tasuka promptly pinched him.

"Hey!"

"I said don't move. I'm almost done. Trust me, I know enough to not make your rib any worse."

He held his grimace and stared up at the ceiling with his jaw firmly set while she kept going. It was easier to bear if he kept his focus on Thatch and Teach, who would be passing by a nearby hallway in just a few seconds. Teach was maybe ten seconds behind Thatch, but he wasn't stupid enough to make a move right by Ace's quarters when he had to know Ace was inside.

Thatch's unconcerned whistling carried down the hall and through the door. Ace couldn't help tensing up, and Tasuka pinched him again for that.

"It's hard enough to do this when the storm's rocking the ship, I don't need you squirming."

A flash of lightning cut off Ace's retort, followed almost instantly by a clap of thunder that shook him to his bones. Tasuka cursed in surprise and Ace wiped away his grin before she could see; she still had that ever-present belt of loaded syringes wrapped around her waist.

"I hate storms," she muttered, embarrassment dusting her cheeks that Ace knew better than to comment on. "Okay, just a few more things, then I can go back to the infirmary…and hopefully not get thrown into any walls on the way."

"At least we're docked."

"Small mercies. Turn your head, I need to look in your ear."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it. And bend your knees, you're too tall."

He rolled his eyes and started to comply, only to freeze.

"Ace?"

In a single heartbeat, he'd flown out the door and torn down the hall.

"Ace!"

Tasuka's voice gave chase without catching; he was laser-focused on the next turn, slamming into the wall because he couldn't stop in time and it was faster than slowing down, the straight corridor he used his flames to hurl himself through, the next right—

And there was Teach's bulk blocking the way, and there was Thatch pinned on his back on the floor, holding the wrist Teach was trying to bring down because in that hand was a knife aimed squarely at his throat.

Ace crashed into Teach with a furious roar, bodychecking him clear over Thatch, who'd been paying enough attention to release Teach at the last second. Teach went flying, thrown by the impact and by a burst of brilliant flame that bloomed like a flower when it and Teach hit the opposite wall several doors down. Ace yanked his power back under control before anything could catch fire and hurriedly knelt by Thatch.

No blood. There was no blood.

"Blue?" Thatch gasped. Ace hauled him up, simultaneously checking him over for wounds in case the blood had just been soaking through out of sight. He didn't see any.

"What?"

"Your"—Teach was standing up—"never mind." Thatch expertly kicked the knife Teach had dropped up into his hand and made a show of examining it. "Hey, Teach, I think you dropped this."

Teach took in Thatch holding the knife, Ace standing beside him with flames licking hungrily at his skin, the approaching presences of every other commander on board, and he lied.

"Commander Ace! Zehahahaha," his laugh was as nervous as they came, "there's been a misunderstanding."

"Don't call me that. That word is reserved for people you respect."

"Tell me how I'm misunderstanding you trying to stab me in the back," Thatch drawled. He tossed the knife away, seemingly disgusted by even holding it. Teach held up his hands.

"I was taking it back to my cabin to clean it, it's rusty, but when the ship rolled—"

The fire bullet slammed into the wood planks an inch from Teach's head, singeing his hair and filling the hall with the unpleasant smell of it burning.

"Lie again," Ace hissed. What he meant: give me an excuse.

Thatch was safe, Teach was disarmed, and the remaining commanders were on their way. In a moment, Teach would be in their custody and Ace wouldn't get the chance to finish what he should've finished all those months ago. He started forward, but Thatch's hand on his shoulder stopped him. That hand was coated in haki, the only reason Thatch could bear the heat pouring from Ace.

Seeing that, Ace also processed the sheen of sweat on Thatch's skin, matched by the nervous sweat coming from Teach.

And in that moment of hesitation, the rest of the commanders arrived. No one needed to be told what had happened; they'd all observed it, even if they hadn't witnessed it with their own eyes.

"Teach," Izo growled, pistols in hand.

"Unforgivable," Fossa agreed, a sentiment echoed throughout the halls. Jozu slammed his fist into his palm, skin turning diamond iridescent. Whitebeard's displeasure, though, outstripped all of theirs; even from his place in his quarters, a weight like hammer blows slammed down onto everyone on the ship while unnatural waves left all of them staggering. Teach's complexion had gone gray, but there was no getting out of this for him.

"It's over, Teach," confirmed Marco, one of the few standing straight under the pressure. "Submit quietly while you still can."

A few other Whitebeard Pirates, the ones not knocked flat by their captain's anger, were emerging from their quarters and gathering from around the ship at the commotion, but the intimidating aura of fury surrounding the commanders kept them at a distance. Something big was happening, they could tell; something with which they shouldn't interfere.

Teach's gaze darted from Marco, to Ace, to Thatch, to the commanders, seeking a way out, an opportunity, a weakness. He saw none, and that fear began to build. He was strong, strong enough to be considered for second division commander, but even Ace in his prime couldn't take on every other commander at once.

Teach was trapped, and everyone knew it. Until he reached into his pants pocket, a motion that had everyone bristling.

"Don't move!" snapped Izo, a bullet slamming into the wall almost exactly where Ace's fire had hit earlier.

Teach did stop moving, but he'd already pulled the thing out of his pocket. Ace frowned at it. It looked for all the world like a small Den Den Mushi with some random bits and wires stuck on it. It was familiar, but he didn't have time to place it. More worrying was the grin spreading across Teach's face. His confidence was back.

"Zehahaha, what's over, Marco?"

"What is that?" snapped Haruta.

"Never seen a dead man's switch?" Before any of them could stop him, he used his other hand to yank a pin out of one of the extra bits. The snail woke with a start, eyes wide and shell vibrating. "I let go, this snail sends a signal, and down sinks this ship and half the ships in the fleet!"

"You're bluffing!" Ace stepped forward, eyes and fists ablaze. "That thing doesn't have the range."

"This ship, then," Teach amended. His grin widened. "Maybe I've got another snail hidden away for this one to talk to."

For the second time that week, Ace found himself in a stalemate. He wasn't worried about the ship sinking—they were right next to an island, everyone would make it to shore—but he was worried about explosives. Who knew how many could get caught in the blast? Precious few of their family had the ability to survive something like that if they didn't see it coming.

If they tried to knock Teach out or kill him or even shoot the snail out of his hand, there was a chance it would still send out the signal. Nor could they take the chance that he was, in fact, completely bluffing. Ace tried to think back to the first time, to any damage that had been done to the ship that they'd chalked up to the storm and all its lightning, but it was hopeless. He hadn't cared about any of that at the time, hadn't been listening for the details, hadn't wanted to.

"And the point of this?" Vista challenged.

"My freedom," Teach declared. "Let me go, I tell you where the explosives are."

"Not gonna happen," Ace snarled.

"Ace," Marco warned. He crossed his arms and leveled an uncompromising stare at Teach. "You realize we'll hunt you down-yoi. There is no forgiving fratricide. Attempted or otherwise."

"That's a cold thing to say to your brother."

"You've lost the right to call us family."

Without Pops present, Marco spoke for him. Such a declaration was anathema to the crew—but not a single soul protested. Teach just laughed. "I figured! I'm flattered by the concern, but I'll be just fine, don't you worry."

"Feel free to capsize and drown," spat Izo. "The world never forgives a traitor. No matter how long it takes, his time will come."

The sheer knowing in his voice gave Teach pause. And in that time, a presence—so small compared to the commanders that it had gone completely unnoticed—slipped close to Teach. There was a flash of lightning that bathed the whole corridor in blue, a sliver of metal shining in that light, and then a needle plunged into Teach's shoulder.

Teach shouted in pain and lashed out blindly. He bashed Tasuka into the wall, the nurse letting out a choked cry and going limp as she fell to the ground. The commanders exploded into motion and Teach went to release his grip on the dead man's switch but found to his surprise that he couldn't loosen his fingers. In the next moment, his limbs ceased responding to him and he collapsed, stiff as a board and foaming at the mouth, to the ground.

Letting out a soft groan, Tasuka slowly picked herself up and leaned against the splintered wall while she winced in pain. "Always," she wheezed, "wanted to try that one."

Ace stared at the body. "Is he dead?"

"No, I," she coughed, a few tears leaking from her eyes from the pain, "We needed his hand to stay tensed, right?"

"How long do we have-yoi?" Marco asked.

"Ten minutes, then he'll start to loosen up."

Marco quickly nominated several of the commanders to coordinate their divisions and locate any and all explosives across the fleet's craft. Thatch, meanwhile, untied his yellow sash and wound it tightly around Teach's hand to maintain his grip on the switch. Blamenco stepped forward and pulled heavy manacles from one of his pockets, which he and Thatch worked together to fasten around Teach's wrists and ankles, a task made a bit more difficult thanks to Teach's body being locked rigid by Tasuka's drug cocktail.

Then they were hauling the traitor up and marching him through the halls to face Whitebeard's judgement. Ace, feeling like he was outside himself watching things happen, only joined the procession when Thatch gently nudged him forward.

"I'm okay," he murmured. "It's over."

The words washed over Ace like so many raindrops. He followed the procession up to the main deck, where actual rain pounded against every exposed plank of wood and pane of glass. For the moment, at least, the island was shielding them from the worst of the storm and the Moby Dick, big as she was, was holding fairly steady in the turbulent waters of the harbor.

Teach was brought to the center of the deck, forced to his knees in front of Whitebeard's empty chair. Pirates ringed the lowered section, not a single one of them who wasn't a commander daring to step down into the arena. Many were being held up by their compatriots, and many more were visibly straining to stay upright. Whitebeard's anger was carrying undertones of haki now, and Ace—from that distance place he couldn't escape—wondered if he could do that too.

The commanders, meanwhile, arranged themselves around the space. Jozu and Vista stayed by Teach, silently assuming the task of making sure the traitor went nowhere they didn't want him to go. Thatch tugged Ace into the formation. Ace let himself be pulled. He tried to focus, he did. But all he could see was Thatch's pompadour drooping in the rain.

A door banged open, carried into the wall by the storm with a crack to rival the last thunderbolt. Whitebeard unfolded to his full height from the entrance to his cabin. Gone were the IVs, the breathing tube, the hovering nurses. His captain's coat billowed in the wind and his every stride forward was accented with a strike from the end of his bisento.

Teach started with his head proudly raised, but as Whitebeard approached with those slow steps, his bravado evaporated bit by bit. Maybe his shivering was from the cold; Ace knew better.

The strongest man in the world descended the four steps next to his seat and stood in front of Teach. The end of his bisento came down one last time, and Teach flinched.

"I called you my son," Whitebeard said. "In return, you commit the greatest sin possible against your family."

"C'mon, Pops, he's still alive."

Rage from Whitebeard and every single pirate in earshot sharpened the air into something that hurt to breathe. Ace was putting off so much heat that any rain hitting him evaporated on contact.

And still he felt like he was watching all of this happen from a Den Den Mushi projection. That was Whitebeard, his father, Pops, staring down the traitor with nothing but disappointment and anger in his gaze and Ace should be here, he should be right here, but he was two feet up and out of his body and it was taking all he had just to hear what was being said over the rain.

Whitebeard's eyes pinched with disdain.

"You may be a child of the sea, but you're not my son. You're a disgrace. As of this moment, you are expelled from this crew. You have no right to its name or its flag. You are a traitor, a backstabber, and nothing more." Whitebeard took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, the disappointment was gone. Only the anger remained. "Marco, the punishment for killing a crewmate."

"Execution," Marco replied promptly.

"He's not dead!" Teach protested.

"No thanks to you," muttered Thatch.

Whitebeard slammed his bisento against the planks. Blamenco flinched, but the wood held up. "Attempted or succeeded, the intent is the same, Blackbeard."

The name hung in the air. Teach blanched, realizing what Whitebeard knowing about that moniker meant.

"It was meant to pay my respects," he tried, his voice rising with increasing desperation when he saw Whitebeard hefting his weapon. "To show the world how much the name Whitebeard meant! That's all!"

Whitebeard's lip curled under his mustache. The powerful muscles in his legs, back, and arm bunched up in answer. Teach, sensing his time was coming to an end, shoved himself to his feet, empty flattery cast aside.

"Your era's ending, old man!" he yelled. "What the hell does family mean? We're pirates! It's not about family, it's about the goal! It's about claiming the One Pie—"

"Roger isn't waiting for you," Whitebeard snarled, and swung.

He didn't miss. Of course he didn't, not at this range, not with Teach bound and helpless to do more than spit one last insult that was lost to a booming clap of thunder. The blade severed his neck like the flesh and bone was so much air.

When Teach's head hit the planks, Ace snapped back into himself. At once he was aware of the storm's fury, the crash of waves, the salty spray crashing over the railing, the wind whipping that spray and the rain nearly sideways into his face, his wet hair plastered to his skin, his soaked clothes steaming from the reflexive heat of his devil fruit under the onslaught.

He sucked in a deep, sudden breath, his lungs aching, and tried not to feel dizzy.

As Whitebeard finished his follow-through, white lines split the air with an echoing pulse of warning. The shockwaves of that single fatal blow ripped a tidal wave from the ocean on the other side of the Moby Dick. So tall Ace had to crane his neck to see its crest, it was silhouetted for fractions of a second at a time by lightning strikes before, with a roar like thunder of its own, it crashed down hundreds and hundreds of yards away. The resulting swells nearly pitched a few stunned pirates overboard. Ace staggered into Thatch, who stumbled into Marco, and finally Blamenco steadied them all.

Thatch's hands were on Ace's shoulders. Just a reflex, trying to catch him. Like anyone would do.

Ace turned on the slippery deck, grabbed Thatch, and pulled him into a hug so tight he could feel the other commander's heart beating a steady rhythm in his chest.

Alive. Thatch was alive. Teach was dead, Thatch was alive.

It was really over.

Luffy fell out of his hammock on the Going Merry and hit the floor with a muffled thud. The impact meant nothing to his rubber body, but it was just enough to force him into a sleepy, semiconscious daze, if only for a moment.

He looked around, a strange feeling hovering just outside of his ability to identify it.

Then he shrugged, climbed into his hammock, and went back to sleep.

Far away, on an unknown island in a barely known stretch of sea, a man paused mid-word, blinking his blue eyes in confusion. The woman beside him frowned and cocked her head.

"Something wrong?" She kept her voice low, not wanting to be overheard as they crept along the rooftops by the light of the crescent moon overhead.

He shook his head and kept moving. "Nothing. Just a weird feeling."

"Is it an ambush?"

Frowning, he tried to bring that feeling back into focus, but the more attention he paid to it, the faster it slipped through his fingers. As quickly as it had come, it was now gone. "No. Let's hurry; the patrols will be here soon."

Within a minute, the feeling—small and brief and vitally important—was already fading from his memory.

Chapter Text

In the wake of the storm that had battered the Moby Dick the previous night, the following morning was markedly calm, not a single cloud in the sky and a breeze that was both light and refreshing. The sun was shining, the fish were biting, and Thatch was happy he was around to witness it.

"So you've said-yoi," Marco replied when Thatch gave voice to that thought, not for the first time that morning. While Thatch was sitting cross-legged on the railing, Marco was leaning with his elbows on it, his gaze directed at Thatch's fishing lure bobbing in the gentle waves but his mind elsewhere.

"I'll keep saying it." For a second, he thought something was biting at his lure, and he tensed himself in preparation—but the tug on his line went away, and he sighed in disappointment. Correction, the fish were biting for seemingly everyone except him.

"The last time you went fishing while sitting on the railing like that, you got yanked overboard."

"If I sense it's a big fish, I'll move."

"I'm sure you will."

Thatch frowned at his friend, and of course, a big fish—probably the same one that had been taunting him for several minutes—chose that moment to chomp down and yank. He pitched forward with a yelp of surprise and only Marco's lightning-quick grip on his wrist kept him from taking a morning swim. Marco braced himself with one foot on the railing wall while Thatch hauled mightily on his fishing rod with his free hand.

The battle between man, fish, and fishing line raged for several seconds before the weakest link gave out. The line snapped with a deceptively innocent plink noise, and then Marco was getting bowled over by his friend.

"Oof," said Thatch.

"Off," groaned Marco, pushing him none-too-gently so he'd get the message. Thatch inelegantly rolled off him and, with a disappointed sigh, set his fishing rod aside. The blame was at least partially on him; he'd been meaning to replace that line for a couple of weeks now.

"There goes my excuse."

"Trying to avoid questions-yoi?"

"As if you're not. I could at least pretend to need total focus for fishing. Now what am I supposed to do?"

"If we look serious enough while we talk, we should be fine."

Thatch laughed and once more hopped up to take a seat on the railing with one leg folded over his knee. "All right, fair enough." He sobered, and not just in the interest of putting up an act of seriousness to deter interruption from nosy crewmates. "I would've expected you to be left alone after Pops addressed the fleet."

"I thought the same, but something like this…it's no wonder people want to make sure-yoi."

"I guess." Thatch spun where he sat to look over the water while Marco once more leaned on the railing next to him. Fukistune island was on the opposite side of the ship, and while it was arguably more interesting to look at than calm ocean, Marco had always preferred the sight of open water to land, even after eating his devil fruit.

"I'm going to be getting even more questions after I send out the bulletin," Marco mused. "The questions after we told every ship to scour itself for hidden explosives were bad enough."

"At least something good came out of that."

"Hm." Thatch had a point; so far, no explosives had been found anywhere except a handful on the Moby Dick. Teach must've smuggled them into the cargo hold one of the times he volunteered to help organize and inventory it. "The marines are going to have a field day with this. They're always salivating at the chance to point out how our family is nothing but opportunists, backstabbers, and traitors."

No one was naïve enough to think word wouldn't get out, if it hadn't already.

"They'll report on it," Thatch mused, "and they'll be right to. It's not just Teach—or, I guess, it is, but it isn't. Something big changed last night. You felt it."

"I did-yoi."

"Pops said it himself. He's getting old. His condition's getting worse. He won't be around forever."

"He won't."

"Not that I want him to go," Thatch hurriedly added, and Marco waved a hand in an of course gesture. "But everyone does, eventually. He's the last great pirate of his era, y'know? What comes next?"

"I don't know," Marco admitted. "Maybe a rookie fills the void. Maybe the World Government makes a move. Maybe nothing really changes at all. The ocean is too big for us to know everything."

"You're getting philosophical in your old age."

Marco snorted. "I'll push you overboard-yoi."

"I'll take you with me." Thatch rubbed at his goatee, trying to articulate what had kept him up all night as effectively as the memory of Teach raising that knife. "It feels like there's a storm waiting just over the horizon, and we're sailing straight into it."

The ocean lapped against the hull of the Moby Dick, smelling of salt and bringing with it a renewed cool breeze. Marco closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of it. Even after so many years at sea, he could never fail to appreciate calm days like this one. They were a rarity in the New World.

"It was the same all those years ago, you know, back when the Pirate King was executed."

Marco sighed, his sense of serenity slipping away. "The era's changing again."

"I wonder what's going to be happening this time. I hope some of those infamous new rookies raise hell; that'll be interesting."

"Seems like they're moving too fast. Pops keeps calling them impatient brats."

"Ha! He said the same about Ace. We were all impatient brats, one time or another."

"I won't argue that."

Boot heels rang against the deck and both commanders glanced over their shoulders to see Ace approaching. The kid still looked…tired, but better than he had the previous day. The dark circles were fading, and he'd even taken the time to shower and clean himself up that morning.

"Missed you at breakfast," Thatch noted, while silently noting that Ace was without his usual jolly-roger-embroidered shirt. His scar was on full display. It could mean any of a dozen things, but all of them were good. Unless all the shirts had been destroyed and Izo was about to go on the warpath. "Did you get that plate I sent down?"

"I did, and it was delicious. Thank you." Ace bobbed his head in a quick bow, which Thatch paid him back for by flicking his forehead.

"How many times do I have to tell you that's not necessary?"

"It's habit. And what happened to teaching me how to say thank you?"

"I hate when you remember what I say."

Ace picked a spot to Thatch's left, leaning against the railing much as Marco was—but not before he clapped Thatch on the back, just once, as though making sure he really was there.

"If you fall in, I'm not fishing you out," Thatch warned. Ace offered a wan smile that had Thatch instantly worried. "Something wrong? If you're about to say Teach had an evil twin brother and the real one's still out there—"

"I wouldn't be here," Ace said, apparently unaware of the flames that licked at his shoulders for a second. "I'd be out there—"

"Repeating your mistakes-yoi," Marco finished wryly. Ace chuckled, acknowledging the point.

"Yeah, maybe. I won't fall in." His wry smile took on a darker twist. "I've got a promise to keep."

Thatch's heart skipped a beat. Marco's did too, apparently, from the look they shared. Was that really all that kept Ace from—from that? A promise?

But Marco shook his head, a silent signal to see if Ace would keep talking on his own. Him opening up at all was a small miracle, and to do it unprompted? Thatch would comment on him making history right now if it wouldn't make him clam up faster than a braggart pirate captain seeing Whitebeard arrive in port.

Heedless of his brothers' thoughts, Ace continued to stare over the water, the ocean breeze tousling his hair. His hat was absent, probably left in his quarters.

"I checked on Tasuka," he offered after a minute. "She's okay, just some broken ribs and bruises."

"I'm glad-yoi. That was brave of her."

Thatch sighed mournfully. "I always thought those syringes of hers were for show. I never would've antagonized her so much if I'd known."

Marco chuckled, the bastard, probably imagining Thatch getting struck with all kinds of unpleasant afflictions delivered by needle. In the interest of preserving his dignity, Thatch didn't deign to respond. Instead, he let himself enjoy this moment of camaraderie. In the wake of Teach's betrayal, he was never taking anything like this for granted ever again.

Teach's body had met a watery grave while Haruta and Fossa worked to unravel every knot in his network. Thatch planned on coincidentally hanging around Marco's office every night when the day's report trickled in, complete with a report on the latest damage to Teach's grubby legacy.

There was a point in his back, just between his ribs, that wouldn't stop itching. Maybe it was fanciful, but he imagined it was where the knife would've plunged into his flesh if he hadn't felt Teach trailing him from the moment he left the kitchen.

"You know," Ace said softly, pulling Thatch from his thoughts, "for most of my life, I didn't know if I deserved to be born. No one in this world wanted me here; any of them would've stopped it from happening if they could've."

Thatch bit down on his denial of that; Ace wasn't done. Besides, he'd said believed. Past tense.

"Marineford was…bad, but it did that one thing for me. It showed me the truth." He shifted to pillow his chin on his stacked forearms. His eyes shone but no tears fell. "There are a lot of people in this world who want me to live. Who think I deserve it, even though—even though I'm a monster."

Another denial Thatch bit back. If Ace was a monster then he was on a whole crew of monsters, part of a whole family of monsters—but that was something they could get to later, if Ace ever saw fit to open up like this again.

"Then there was this." Ace's voice softened further even as it thickened with emotion. "Coming back. Trying again. Even I can't deny getting a second chance like this has to mean something. Last time, I couldn't speak loud enough for you to hear, but now I can." He swallowed, then pushed off the railing and turned around to look at both of them. "Even though I'm a reckless good-for-nothing, even though I've been a burden, you've always been here for me. You trusted me when you would've been justified in throwing me out, or letting me drown any of the times I tried to kill Pops and he tossed me overboard."

He bowed his head, and Thatch was pretty sure he did it mostly to hide the tears spilling from his eyes that were still audible in his voice. "Thank you. Thank you for letting me make this right, and—and thank you for letting me join your family, even after I…"

Moving on an unspoken signal, Thatch wrapped an arm around Ace while Marco moved to do the same from the other side. Ace's voice broke and didn't mend, and his shoulders shook.

"You're always welcome, little brother," Marco said.

"Maybe you don't need more lessons on thank-yous," Thatch added, his own voice wobbly.

A little ways away, a few members of Ace's division paused in their work; Thatch jerked his chin and they resumed what they'd been doing.

Before too long, Ace dragged in another shuddering breath and pushed away to collect himself. Marco and Thatch took up spots on either side of him, and when Marco judged Ace was more or less collected, he asked,

"What's next-yoi?"

A broken little laugh escaped Ace's throat before he caught it. "I don't know. Part of me really didn't think I'd make it this far. Maybe I was going to disappear the second we dealt with Teach."

"Well," reasoned Thatch, "you're still here, so you're probably stuck with us for the long haul."

"You did volunteer for shoring up our territories-yoi. Still interested?"

"I thought I was too injured."

"The old bird was just worried you were taking on too much. With Teach taken care of, I think we can all agree you've got room to focus on other things again."

"Are you sure there's not something here I should—"

"Ace, buddy." Thatch put a hand on his shoulder. "I say this with all the love in my heart, and I say it for your sake: go away. You've been caught up in this Teach plot for weeks, and as long as you're here waiting for the other shoe to drop, you're not going to be able to relax. Get back out on the ocean, remember why you've put a truly stupid amount of money into that fancy banana boat of yours."

"Fuck off, it's not a banana."

"I'm not hearing a no on the rest of it."

"I don't—it hasn't even been a day."

"Go away tomorrow, then. I'm not trying to get rid of you, but I do think you'll feel a lot better in the long run if you get some distance from here. Right, Marco?"

"I agree-yoi. Besides, the rest of us will also be traveling to reinforce our territory soon enough. Take today if you need it, but tomorrow, your next assignment starts, on one condition."

"I'm not doing daily check-ins."

The snark brought a smile to Marco's lips. "No, I wouldn't expect you to for this. The condition is that you bring some of your division with you. The ones who won't stab you in the back-yoi. And I'll be adding one other person on top of that."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"That's not a condition, I would've brought people with me anyway."

"Then you have nothing to worry about-yoi."

Ace sighed and pushed off the railing. "Fine. Is Pops in his room?"

"Last I heard. He finally agreed to the medical equipment."

Ace's shoulders dipped in relief. Every time Pops went out without that equipment, they knew, he was taking a risk.

They watched Ace make his way across the deck, knock on Whitebeard's door, and—after a brief pause to scratch under Stefan the dog's chin—head inside. Thatch leaned his elbows on the railing and side-eyed Marco. "So, gonna explain that crew stipulation?"

"He's been distant from his division ever since he traveled back-yoi. Teach's betrayal did more than I think Ace knows, but his division members have noticed. It's good he was already planning on doing it, I was just making sure. They could all use a reminder of what it means to be on this crew together, and as for that last person…Ace could use a reminder of how far he's come."

After Whitebeard's "Come in" carried through the door, Ace patted Stefan on the head one last time and then headed inside, closing the door behind him. Instantly, the background noise of the open ocean grew muffled, and with Whitebeard sprawled out on his massive bed with a jar of sake in one hand and a newspaper in the other, the largest cabin on the Moby Dick was left feeling quite small.

Ace, really, felt quite small.

"Something to say?" Whitebeard prompted after Ace took a seat on the footlocker at the end of his bed. A smile played on his lips. "Something important?"

Would time travel qualify as important to Whitebeard? He was the type of man who'd already seen everything. If Ace's birth father wasn't enough to stun him, then Ace didn't know what was. He sure seemed to be trying to find out, though. "Pops, do you…Do you know why I didn't trust Teach?"

That smile fell away. "Marco was convincing with his proof." He sat up a little, his bulk making his bed frame creak and groan. "Enough that no one asked why he thought to look in the first place. You told him to?"

"Not exactly. He did it himself, I just—pointed him in the right direction." The unspoken question, how did you know, lingered. Ace licked his lips. "Do you remember that day, when I was training and somehow got a hole punched through my chest?"

Whitebeard frowned. "I remember."

Bringing a hand up to his chest to trace the rough contours of the scar, Ace continued, "Admiral Akainu gave me that wound. He was going to hurt Luffy, and I got in the way." He let his hand drop. "'Course, neither of us would've been in danger if I'd just kept running. I've never been good at running away."

Whitebeard's reflexive anger made the air tremble, but it was undercut by suspicion. They both knew Akainu hadn't been anywhere near the Moby Dick that day. "I wouldn't have welcomed you as my son if you'd run that day we first met."

"What if I got you killed?" Ace tipped up his chin, heart slipping out onto his sleeve. "What then, Pops? Do I still deserve to call myself your son then?"

Whitebeard eyed him for a few seconds and then sighed. "That day, your injury—was it a devil fruit? I know of one that can manipulate time, but I don't see how it would've reached Marineford."

"You knew—"

"Marco and I spoke of you while you were recovering in the days after. I was worried."

Ace bit his tongue and forced himself to relax with marginal success. "It wasn't a devil fruit, I think. I don't know for sure. I went from dying there to dying here, only here, there was just enough to keep me alive."

Whitebeard grunted. For a minute, they sat in silence, Whitebeard nursing his drink and Ace trying to figure out what else he should share. In the end, it came down not to what he should share but what he was left wanting to know.

"At…at my execution," he started. "You were willing to give your life for me. I—we both know I'm not worth that."

"Do we?"

Under Whitebeard's unwavering stare, Ace tried to be patient, he did.

He failed.

"You were going to do it, weren't you? From the moment you set a course for Marineford, you knew how it could end."

Despite his best efforts, it came out petulant, almost accusatory. Shame flushed his cheeks but, before he could walk it back, Whitebeard spoke.

"My era is over."

It was all too similar to what Akainu and Teach had said and Ace reacted without thinking. "What? No, you're—"

"Old, and getting older, which the nurses won't let me hear the end of." He laughed as he took another drink, probably as a slight against those nurses who kept trying to take his sake away. "Every battle could cost my head, but there's too much I care about to stand aside. I know you feel it too."

"Why? I'm not—I'm not worth you."

"We're all children of the sea, but you're my son. What father doesn't want to see his children live?" In the time it took him to drink, Ace's thoughts spiraled toward the man who probably wouldn't.

Seeing that, Whitebeard softened his expression. "I don't know who he became to you, but Roger and I were more than rivals. He valued his crew differently than I valued mine, but he valued them all the same. I don't doubt he would have seen a son as a treasure more precious than any other."

"Easy to say," Ace managed.

Whitebeard conceded the point with a tip of his head. "When I look at you, Ace, I see you. Roger might be in your blood, but he's not why you're here."

Ace blinked, then blinked again, then quickly wiped his eyes. Whitebeard sat back, nothing but warmth in his gaze.

"I don't know the thoughts I had in a future that won't happen, but I can say without a doubt that I did those things without regret. The rest doesn't matter to me." He grinned. "No matter what the world thinks, you'll always be my son."

If there was a faster way to take a knife to his heart, Ace didn't know it. This time, he didn't bother trying to wipe away the tears before they fell.

Chapter Text

"Alabasta? We haven't gotten any reports of anyone disrespecting Whitebeard there."

"I know." Ace straightened up from the main table in their small craft's galley. He offered a chagrined smile at his current second-in-command, who'd seen that exact expression so many times his groan was automatic.

"Cap—"

"Commander," Ace corrected, and Masked Deuce accepted that with a wave of his hand.

The former first mate of the Spade Pirates was still dressing much the same as he had while under Ace's command, but in his time serving in Whitebeard's fleet, he'd found sturdier boots with metal studs up the sides to match the ones marching up the sleeves of his green trench coat. A knife sheath similar to Ace's hung from his belt, nearly lost in the folds of his loose teal pants that were almost the same shade as his hair. On his other leg, he now kept a small satchel of medical supplies, a souvenir from the nurses alongside whom he'd been serving since the day the Whitebeards absorbed the Spades.

"Commander, we have no reason to go there."

"You don't. I do."

Deuce sighed and rubbed at his forehead just above where his teal-edged navy blue mask ended. Across the table, a man by the name of Bront, who was roughly twice Ace's age with salt-speckled black hair and an eyepatch threaded through with green like twisting vines, spread out a map of the area. He and Deuce used their daggers and a nearby Den Den Mushi to weigh down the corners.

"That crew we chased from the New World is probably hiding out here," he indicated an island a half-day's travel away from Alabasta.

Ace nodded. "Right. You lot go there and take care of them, and I'll catch up once I finish my business in Alabasta."

"What business?" asked another one of his division members. There were eleven of them plus Ace on the ship, and for the last several weeks, they'd been crisscrossing Paradise and the New World in their hunt for anyone and everyone who'd been nipping at Whitebeard's heels lately. Marines, pirates, bandits—it didn't matter. They all ended up in the crosshairs at some point.

The newspapers had picked up the story a couple weeks in, when several other divisions had joined in the effort and dozens upon dozens of crews and marine squads had faced the consequences of their actions. Pirate crews used to being able to nip at Whitebeard's heels were suddenly dropping like flies, and those yet to be caught were wreaking havoc on all the seas in their efforts to escape retribution. More than one kingdom had been turned inside-out in the chaos. The newspapers decried Whitebeard's bullying, his flexing of power, and so on and so forth in ways that made Ace roll his eyes. This wasn't about power. This was about making sure everyone knew Whitebeard's family was as strong as it had ever been after all those splash pages about Teach's betrayal.

Ace rummaged in his pockets and produced Luffy's bounty poster, more wrinkled and creased than it had ever been. "Guess who's been spotted heading for it?"

He ignored the groans and quickly—very quickly, honestly—regaled his crew with the tales of Luffy's most recent exploits. Despite all the chaos Ace's little time travel adventure had kicked up, it seemed Luffy's path was more or less the same—just with a few more run-ins with panicked pirates fleeing the wrath of his brother's crew than before. There'd apparently been a large standoff on Drum Island, but of course Luffy pulled through. He always did.

"So," Ace finished, "I'm going to swing by, say hi, drop off a gift, and meet up with you at that island when I'm done. I'm not sure exactly when he'll get there, so I might be a week or two."

Deuce lifted his eyebrows. "All that talk about him, and you're not going to spend longer with your brother?"

"Nah, he can handle himself. And if I stay too long, he might think I'm joining his crew."

"Why not get him to join ours?"

Ace barked out a laugh. "I'll offer, but I know his answer already."

Sailing toward Nanohana, Ace considered his options. Even before being fully aware of Luffy's latest accomplishments in this timeline, he'd swung his crew down towards this part of the Grand Line in an effort to line up with when Luffy should be headed this way, but that was no guarantee he'd timed it right. He could be days ahead of when Luffy was due to come to town. Or maybe circumstances being what they were, Luffy wouldn't head this way at all.

Ah, it wasn't a big deal. There were worse places to spend time. He'd keep an ear to the ground, and if he missed Luffy, he'd find him again.

As he sailed, flames billowing into Striker's specialty engine, he absently toyed with his necklace. Maybe he'd find a souvenir he could send Dadan—actually, why not visit those bastards? He had time, now. Could hand off the souvenir in person.

The more he thought about it, the more the idea grew on him. Hell, they were probably all missing Luffy at this point, and there was no way Gramps would be anywhere near Dawn Island with Luffy causing a ruckus elsewhere, so…yeah, why the hell not?

He tucked that plan into his back pocket when a distant smudge blurred the horizon. As he got closer, that brown smudge sharpened into the peaks of vast golden dunes: the famous sands of Alabasta. When he got closer still, angling himself towards the river mouth that marked his destination, a few colorful spires rose out of the undulating dunes, confirming that he was heading for the port town of Nanohana.

It was the same as he remembered it: brightly colored blocky buildings with many of those structures sporting onion-shaped domes on their tops arranged near the ocean, colorful canvas screens strung up to provide relief from the sun, the skyline broken up by palm trees and swaying ship masts. But even the tallest spires were dwarfed by the dunes towering above it all.

If memory served, the other clusters of civilization just barely visible between the dunes would be Katorea to the east and, on the other side of the river, Yuba to the west.

As he slowed his approach from the speeds he only hit on open water, the ocean breeze began to give way to the desert heat. Though he wasn't bothered by it, he could feel it, a stifling weight and stillness that the breeze could only chase away, never banish.

He had two options: dock in the main port and pay the fee, or circle around to a small out-of-the-way cove and leg it over to town. He chose the latter, for two reasons: one, he disliked paying to just stick his ship somewhere, even if his reputation as a Whitebeard Pirate meant no one would mess with it; two, if Luffy were here, he also wouldn't put his ship out in the open in a place like this. At least, not if his navigator—whose name escaped him—was as sharp as Ace remembered. So there was a chance Ace would see Luffy's ship in that cove.

Waves slapped against Striker's sleek hull as Ace rounded the last bit of land jutting into the water and the cove came into full view. His heart lifted when he saw a ship docked there—and then fell when he realized it wasn't the sheep-headed caravel he remembered. Luffy would never have anything to do with that purple-and-pink monstrosity. And what was with all the number threes on it?

"Not even a jolly roger," Ace muttered, slowing to a stop. He left a few large rocks between Striker and that weird ship, jumped to shore, and tied Striker up. A thought struck him and he dug one of his few non-embroidered shirts out of Striker's front storage compartment. No point putting the entire town on edge for possibly days while he waited for his brother to show up. Besides, last time, there had been marines wandering around too. Best to be careful.

His walk to town was uneventful, and as he'd observed on approach from the water, Nanohana was the same as he remembered: a bustling port town with an active marketplace, its air suffused with constant hubbub and the smell of perfumes and food being cooked in the many, many market stalls. In the sea of the natives' bright, flowing clothes, Ace's red shirt and black shorts marked him as an outsider immediately to everyone looking.

And boy, were there a lot of people looking. He was a fresh wallet, which meant a chance for new sales.

"Fresh deer meet for the hungry traveler!" one merchant called.

"Fresh fruit, fresh fruit, guaranteed to help you beat the heat!" cried another.

"Perfumes for the misses at home!"

"Every dried herb you can imagine, perfect for long voyages!"

"Sharp blades, perfect for self-defense!"

"Swords from Wano, guaranteed to hold an edge!"

They all blurred together to Ace's ears, though he glanced at the Wano-claiming merchant long enough to see he was probably a scammer. He rebuffed those he passed close to with polite refusals of their wares while he scanned his surroundings for the things he actually wanted.

He did actually stop at the deer meat stall, though, and get himself a few skewers; he had enough pocket change for that and the skewers smelled delicious. Happily chewing his way through the succulent chunks that proved his nose correct, he came to a slow stop in front of a stall selling cloaks and other outerwear. One piece in particular hanging among the rest snagged his interest: a black and red affair, the red vaguely patterned like flames coming up from the bottom and the ends of the sleeves. Sure, the black wouldn't exactly blend in and it would catch the heat, but Ace didn't mind standing out a little bit and the heat wouldn't bother him.

Naturally, the seller noticed his interest and sidled over.

"Ah, youngster, is this your first time in Alabasta?"

"Depends how you look at it."

"Well, this was a custom piece for a traveler who unfortunately had to leave before he could collect it." Ace was willing to believe that story. It didn't exactly fit the local styles.

"That so?"

"Yes, yes, indeed so. He paid handsomely for it, a true tragedy he isn't here now. It's been long enough that I would be pleased to sell it to you, it having caught your eye and all."

"Really." Ace reached out and felt the fabric between his fingers. Thin, sleek, exactly what he'd expect. If not for the colors, this would have been as in demand as every other piece from this shop. He was pretty sure he'd bought the cloak the last time he came through here, or at least one a hell of a lot like it. "How much?"

The merchant rattled off the price.

"Not a chance," Ace refused immediately. The merchant was all apologies.

"I'm so sorry, sir, but like I said, it was a custom piece. There was a lot of work put into—"

"You also said it was already paid for, and a color like that? You can't have many takers. This has probably been sitting here ever since you finished the commission, right?"

"Er, well."

"I'll give you, hm. How about this much?" He held out a small handful of beri in the hand not occupied with the final skewer, which amounted to barely a tenth of what the merchant had been asking. The man stared.

"You can't be serious."

"If you don't want it…" Ace started to put it back in his pocket, and the merchant hastily waved his hands.

"I, I mean, please, I have a business to run. It's been taking up space here for weeks, and prices have gone up since it was made. Double that," he nodded at the bills in Ace's hand, "and it's yours."

"Deal." Ace pressed the money into the guy's hands and swiped the robe from the rack while the merchant processed his unexpected agreement. "Pleasure doing business. By the way," he stuck the last skewer between his teeth, having finished the meat on it, "have you seen this guy? A pirate with a straw hat?"

There was a chance Luffy had already come through here. A small once, but still.

The merchant looked at Luffy's poster in confusion, and then fear. "No. Is there a pirate in town?"

Damn. He'd forgotten how on edge everyone was with Whitebeard's fleet on the prowl.

"Nah," he spoke around the skewer, "I'm just looking for him and heard a rumor he might be passing through here, but I guess I was wrong. Don't worry about it."

He swept out of the stall with his new robe billowing around him and adjusted his hat to better block the glare of the sun while using the bare skewer to pick the meat out of his teeth. That was one goal down; he looked slightly more like a local, or at least someone who hadn't just rolled into town.

Keeping Luffy's bounty poster on hand, he started looking for merchants who were a bit more likely to have seen Luffy, if he'd been here at all. On his way, he passed a group of locals huddled around a game of dice in the shade of a turquoise building.

"Ugh," one of them said, fanning herself. "I swear it's even hotter today."

"Definitely drier," another agreed.

"How can it be drier?" challenged a third. "I swear, leave any water outside for any time at all and it's gone just like that. Where does it go? Definitely not to the sky!"

"What I'd give for a cloud," moaned the first.

Ace kept going but cast an eye upward. It was a cloudless day, but that couldn't be too unusual in a desert, even on the coast. Besides, the ocean breeze kept things relatively cool.

Man, he thought as he walked, Sabo would've loved this place. All the people, the cultures, the things on display. Ace's fingers itched with the urge to liberate a few items just to get an echo of that thrill from his childhood. Each jewelry shop he passed made that itch worse, but he reminded himself he had to wait for Luffy. Couldn't very well get run out of town before his kid brother showed up. That would just be embarrassing.

Of course, he mused some six hours later, wallet thin and patience spent, if Luffy wasn't on the island, it didn't really matter what Ace got up to. Today was a bust; he'd try again tomorrow. At least he'd managed to sample just about every food stall while avoiding any scrutiny. There were some really, really good cooks in this town. He'd earmarked a few to visit again the next day and noted down a handful of recipes to pass to Thatch.

Alone in the room he'd reserved for the night at a local inn, he pressed a hand over his heart to muffle the pang there. The first time he'd come to Alabasta, he'd had a similar thought, only for the pang to be a searing stab that bled rage. Back then, there hadn't been a Thatch to go back to.

Well, now there was. And Ace would make sure he passed the recipes along. He'd even snagged a few dried ingredients that would keep until he next saw the guy.

The last thing he'd purchased, a pair of earrings with brilliant red beads, he stuffed in a smaller pocket inside his backpack. Dadan would like them, he was sure.

Chapter Text

Late the next morning, Ace was roused from sleep by shouts from the street below his second-story window. Blinking, he opened his room's shutters and peered out, trying to see what was causing the commotion while he used one hand to deal with his bedhead. No one sounded panicked, just surprised. He followed a few pointing fingers to a spot off in the distance.

What was that? He squinted. Clouds? Dark gray, like storm clouds. But the whole circular collection couldn't be more than a couple hundred yards across and the rest of the sky was spotless. The heat distortion in the air made it hard to tell, but it sure looked like it could be raining beneath them.

Weird. He'd never heard of that kind of weather phenomena in the desert. Even as he watched, the clouds were already lightening, thinning, and dissipating, until there was no sign anything had happened at all.

He caught a stray comment from someone in the street below: "Someone must've used dance powder."

They were swiftly shushed by multiple people around them. Ace cocked an eyebrow. Dance powder? So not anything natural.

Dismissing the matter from his mind, he figured he might as well start his day. Maybe Luffy had turned up while he was asleep.

Before he could turn to collect his things, his eye caught on someone staring up at him from a dark alley across the street. That man just as quickly looked away, chatting with a couple other men next to him. They were all armed.

"First the marine ship coming into port, now this," another voice said, drawing Ace's attention. "What is happening to this place?"

Marines? Yeah, he'd better find Luffy.

His second search of the town didn't yield any fruit after the first thirty minutes, much to his frustration. Observation haki in a place as crowded as this would only net him a headache; he wasn't good enough at it yet to filter out all the unnecessary noise outside of combat. Ignoring the increasing number of armed men trailing after him and failing to be subtle about it, he went from merchant to merchant in the market, paying particular attention to the food stalls, but kept striking out.

Giving up on that front, he decided to camp out in the restaurant where he'd run into Luffy the first time. Or, where Luffy had run into him. What was it called? He peered at the sign at the end of the road. Spice Bean.

His stomach grumbled. He could use some food, too. Vendor samples alone weren't going to hold him for the whole day. Maybe his shadows would come out, too, and he could get that over with before Luffy showed up.

He set a course right for that restaurant until an arm shot out to block his path and he realized one merchant had been hawking to him in particular. He regarded the short, older guy staring up at him from under a blue hat. Then golden apple in his other hand caught the light and his eye.

"Whaddaya say?" the merchant prodded. "Check out this solid-gold apple!" He held it up for inspection, clapping his free hand on Ace's shoulder—but only briefly. The black fabric there was rather hot. "Don't tell anyone, but this is an incredible treasure I found in some ancient ruins. Just one bite of this magic gold apple will let you live for a thousand years!"

A dizzying sense of déjà vu struck Ace as he stared down at the liar. He'd seen this before, had this conversation before. How many people had fallen for this? Couldn't be too many, if this guy was still peddling these wares, or he would've been chased outta the market. A breeze carried down the street and rustled a green curtain strung up between wooden poles in an alcove near the stall. Ace could just barely make out below its rippling bottom edge someone's sandals.

"Sorry," he deflected. "I'm not interested in living a thousand years. I've already died once, I'm not worried about the next time."

He walked away, leaving the merchant to his next victims. Two people were already staring in gobsmacked disbelief at the apple. One, with curly black hair and a very long nose, and another that looked like a large man covered in brown fur, with a red hat.

Ace paused mid-stride. Something about those two struck him as familiar, and it wasn't just the lingering sense of déjà vu.

He turned around. The merchant was continuing his pitch and those two were buying it hook, line, and sinker. The longer he stared at them, the more familiar they seemed, until he put it together: they were on Luffy's crew.

"Oi," he started, hoping to interrupt before they could hand over the thousand beri the merchant was charging, only to choke on his words when a redhead in dancer's clothes slid up behind them and knocked them both on the head hard enough to send them to the ground. Redhead…the navigator, he was pretty sure.

"Honestly, now, what are you two thinking?" she demanded, straightening up.

"I wouldn't take him seriously if I were you." And there was the swordsman, easily recognizable even with his green hair covered by an orange head wrap by the three swords sheathed at his waist. He pulled back the curtain Ace had noticed earlier to reveal the man slathering gold paint on various pieces of fruit. He froze upon realizing he'd been discovered.

The navigator began dragging the first two away by their collars but stopped when Ace stepped into her path.

"Pardon the interruption," he said, "but you know Straw Hat Luffy, right?"

"Nami," the swordsman said, hand dropping to the topmost of his hilts, "get back."

Tension thickened the already oppressive air and the crowd, picking up on it, began to noticeably thin. Lacking the cover of other people, the men who'd been tailing Ace retreated out of sight.

"Zoro?"

"I'm not here to pick a fight," Ace placated. "I'm just looking for Luffy."

"What does someone like you want with him?" The swordsman—Zoro—growled. "We've done nothing to Whitebeard."

"Whitebeard?" Nami squeaked, a sound echoed by the two still sprawled out behind her. She took a hurried step back from Ace. "The emperor? What does he want with us?"

"Nothing," Ace assured them all. "Well, he once said he'd be interested in meeting Luffy. Pops has a bit of a soft spot for cheeky brats. But I'm here on my own."

"Who are you, then?"

"Fire Fist Ace," Zoro answered for him, two swords drawn and ready as Nami retreated behind him. The street had well and truly emptied out at the first mention of Whitebeard. Now, there were only the muffled bangs of more wooden shutters slamming down into place as merchants tried to lock up their stalls before fleeing. "Second division commander of the Whitebeard fleet. As a former bounty hunter, I recognize that hat. Take off that robe and I bet I'd see his mark on your back."

Nami sank to her knees, pale as the white clothes she wore. "You can't be serious."

"Go find Vivi and head for the ship," Zoro ordered. "I'll hold him off."

"Hey, hold on a second, I think there's a misunderstanding. I really have no intention of fighting you. I'm just looking for my brother."

"Wait." One of the guys Nami had been dragging, the long-nosed one, rolled over now that Nami had loosened her grip in shock and stared at Ace. "Brother?"

"Yeah. Luffy's my brother."

"WHAT!"

Ace leaned back a little from the force of their shouts and let out a sheepish laugh. "Sorry, probably should've led with that. Yeah, Luffy's my kid brother. I heard he was coming this way, and I was in the area, so I thought I'd say hi."

"Luffy has a brother and that brother is a commander of the Whitebeard Pirates," Nami whispered, looking fit to faint. "Usopp, catch me."

She did go limp, and the long-nosed one caught her, but Ace was pretty sure the whole thing was an act.

Zoro's swords had dipped down, their tips threatening to scrape the dusty ground. But the second Ace drew breath to speak, they came right back up again.

"So, have you seen him? I've been looking around town for a while now but there's been no sign."

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" Zoro again, and Ace had to respect his caution. Between him and Nami, he could really see how Luffy's more reckless side had been kept out of serious trouble—or at least successfully pulled out of it.

"I guess you don't," Ace admitted. "We can ask Luffy when we find him. I was checking all the food stalls, but no one had seen him."

"Chopper," Nami said, glancing at the hairy man, "can you smell anything?"

"Can't, perfume," Chopper groaned.

"Ah. Some of that might be mine."

"It is."

"Teehee. Oops."

When Ace did nothing besides continue to stand relaxed in the road, Zoro sheathed his swords and eyed him warily. "If you're his brother, then you should know something about him his bounty posters wouldn't say."

"I mean, sure, but has Luffy ever told you anything about where he comes from? It sounds like he never mentioned me." Ace tapped his dagger's sheath, thinking, while the breeze blew clouds of dust around the empty street. "Well, he loves food. Eats enough for ten people, and steals any food you leave unguarded at the table."

He could see from their expressions that he was accurate, but that was hardly inarguable proof. He drew breath to try another angle but stopped when he saw the look of shock on Zoro's face.

Zoro wasn't looking at Ace; he was looking behind him. Ace glanced over his shoulder and saw a young woman with black hair and pink glasses staring at them, a sword at her waist and another sword held in her hand. The shopkeeper she'd presumably been talking to had been one of the last to run, and Ace could see his retreating back disappear around a corner.

"Something wrong?" Ace asked Zoro, who'd ducked behind Chopper's bulk.

"That depends, Fire Fist Ace."

Aw, hell, Ace thought, looking past Chopper to the marine walking up from the opposite direction. Two lit cigars dangled from his lips, putting out smoke that matched his short white hair, and the hilt of a jitte jutted out from behind the shoulder of his unzipped white specialist marine coat. Green fur spilled out around the ends of his sleeves and collar, and more cigars wrapped around his upper left arm. He had a number of pirates slung over his shoulders, whom he unceremoniously dropped when he got close. Small-timers; Ace recognized them from his search the previous day, when they'd been trying to throw their weight around thinking people were too scared of Whitebeard to challenge anyone with a black flag. Must've tried the same around the marine…captain? And paid the price.

"Smoker," Usopp said, in a familiar and fearful tone that told Ace this wasn't the Straw Hats' first time encountering the captain. The name kinda rang a bell, a very old bell. Maybe Ace had passed near him while he was making his way with the Spade Pirates.

"Are you serious?" Nami whispered. "He followed us all the way from Logue Town?"

Ah. That was where Ace had heard the name. Deuce had mentioned something about a captain chasing them while they grabbed supplies; Ace had gone onto the island alone, splitting from his crew.

The platform had been smaller in person than he'd expected. He'd spent a while staring at it, trying to imagine how the scene had looked with Roger up there and the whole square packed to bursting. How deafening the jeers must've been. How loud it must've been, in the silence after his declaration, when the blades came down.

If he'd gone to look, would he have seen a bloodstain?

He'd left, returning to the ship in time to see his crew piling in and yelling for him to hurry up.

"Tashigi!" the marine called. "Care to explain why you didn't notice all these pirates chatting right next to you?"

The young woman jumped at the sound of his voice and then, seeing that the whole street had become a ghost town, stared in shock. Then she saw Zoro peeking out from behind Chopper and her whole demeanor changed into something considerably more hostile while she set aside the sword she'd been examining. "You."

Zoro gulped.

"Take these idiots to the royal guard," Smoker instructed Tashigi. "Bring a squad back with you when you're done, and have the rest comb every inch of this town for the remainder of Straw Hat's crew."

She hurried to do as he ordered, saving a glare for Zoro the entire way. While she dragged the pirates away into custody, Smoker crossed his arms and regarded Ace.

"What's a big shot pirate like you doing in this kingdom?"

"Family business."

"What's Whitebeard want in this kingdom?"

"Different family. I'm looking for my brother."

Smoker narrowed his eyes.

"So," Ace continued, "what do you want from me?"

"For you to come quietly." Smoker glanced at the rest of them. "You, too."

"Rejected," Ace replied instantly. "We've got other things to do here." The Straw Hats exchanged nervous looks when Ace lumped them in with him.

"Meeting this brother of yours."

"Exactly."

Smoker sighed. "I'm busy trying to find another pirate at the moment. To be honest, I have no interest in taking you in right now. Who is this brother?"

"The real question is where he is." Ace doubted Smoker had run into Luffy, or if he had, that Luffy had allowed himself to be caught, but it was worth asking. "I don't suppose you've run into him? Straw Hat Luffy?"

Smoker's eyebrows shot for his hairline even as he continued puffing on his cigars. "Straw Hat Luffy is your brother."

"Sure is."

"Well, that changes things. I can't let either of you have your run of this place. Not as long as I'm a marine and you're pirates."

"What a boring reason. But, I think we could have some fun with it." Flames leapt to life along his shoulders while Smoker's right arm, with the exception of his brown-gloved fist, turned to smoke. It was a good thing the street was already deserted; this was going to get ugly. He glanced at Luffy's crew. "I'll hold him off if you want to head to your shi—"

"—cket!"

A tan, red, and blue blur shot past Ace, collided with Smoker, and kept going, leaving only a stirring of air in its wake. Ace grabbed his hat on reflex to keep it from flying off his head with the wind and blinked at the spot Smoker had just been standing. Now there was nothing but a faint puff of dust.

"Did that," Usopp began.

"That sounded like Luffy," Chopper confirmed.

Zoro slammed a palm over his face. He and Nami spoke in unison: "That idiot!"

"Leave him to me," Ace said. "Where are you docked? That cove to the east? I'll bring him there."

"Hold it," Nami got to her feet, "I'm not sure we trust you."

"You can follow me if you want, but the marines are coming." He nodded at the end of the street, where another rising cloud of dust indicated where Tashigi was returning with reinforcements.

Nami worried at her lip for a second before coming to a decision. "Usopp, Chopper, with me. We need to grab Sanji and Vivi. Zoro, go make sure that idiot doesn't get in too much trouble."

They split up. Zoro met Ace's gaze and didn't respond when Ace lightly tipped his hat in greeting.

Well, politeness wasn't for everyone.

Luffy's trajectory had carried him and Smoker clean into the Spice Bean. Ace and Zoro jogged into the restaurant and were greeted with the sight of Luffy shoveling food into his mouth while the bartender and most of the patrons stared in shock at the hole punched through the bar, back wall, and several houses' worth of walls beyond that. Ace whistled. Luffy had really gotten some speed with that maneuver. He was glad he hadn't been on the receiving end this time.

"Oi, Luffy!" Ace called. No response; the kid must've been starving. There was only one way to get his attention, then. Leaving Zoro at the door to mind the approaching marines, Ace strode up to Luffy and neatly plucked one of the meat skewers from a nearby plate.

Instantly, there was a rubber hand shooting for that skewer. Ace danced out of the way and cleaned off the whole skewer in a single bite.

"Too slow." He took another skewer, and this time, Luffy did more than react unconsciously to the thief stealing his food. When he did, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

"ASHE!" he spewed, showering Ace with a rain of fried rice that Ace simply let fall through him with near-unnoticeable spurts of flame.

"You got any idea who you hit on your way in here?"

"Someone got hit?"

"Yeah." Ace jerked a thumb at the shadow falling over the hole in the wall. "Him."

Smoker, looking considerably more banged-up and pissed off than he had a minute ago, hauled himself through the last gap into the restaurant and stared at Luffy.

"Straw Hat," he snarled, straightening up. Luffy glanced between him, Ace, and his food, and prioritized the last, much to Smoker's annoyance. "Stop eating!"

"Cut him some slack, he was starving." Ace leaned on the bar, snagging a forkful of fried rice for himself and neatly angling his head away from Luffy's automatic grab. "You mind not interrupting? I just want to have a conversation with my brother."

"Not a chance." Both of Smoker's limbs turned to smoke, and the patrons, who'd been blissfully ignorant of the earlier panic around Ace's identity, realized there was a reason no one else had come into the restaurant in the last few minutes. They all rushed for the exit. The bartender took the shorter route, scrambling through the hole in the wall behind Smoker.

"You might be smoke," Ace said, "but I'm fire. A fight between us won't go anywhere."

"Maybe," Smoker acknowledged. "But I can't let you go."

"I figured." Ace pushed off the bar. "Luffy, take the rest of that to go. Your crew's already headed for your ship, and they're waiting for you. I'll handle this."

Nodding, Luffy shoveled the remaining food into his mouth and jumped off his stool. Zoro cast one last look at Ace before following his captain out the door, cutting into an alley just before they hit the pursuing marines. Ace watched them for a moment, vaguely recalling that the marines hadn't been the only threat in this town.

Ah, well, Luffy could handle himself. He faced Smoker and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

"Shall we take this outside?"

The marine grunted. Ace strolled out the door, figuring Luffy had done enough damage to that restaurant for the both of them. Once outside, he cracked his neck and squared off against Smoker.

"I know what you're trying to do," Smoker said. "He won't escape."

"You might know, but you can't stop me from doing it." His grin turned cocky and a bit manic. "Because you're a marine and I'm a pirate, right?"

Growling, Smoker launched a billowing fist. Ace let it pass clean through him; the only thing he needed to worry about was that jitte. Something about it made him nervous. Most likely, part of it was sea stone; there was no reason for a logia user like Smoker to carry around a weapon otherwise.

When Smoker pressed the attack, Ace broke up into a solid wave of fire to catch him before he could slip past. Then, because Luffy was already well away judging by a quick pulse of observation haki, he coated one reformed boot in armament haki and performed a spinning kick to slam it down on the densest cluster of smoke he could see.

Smoker loosed a pained grunt and crashed to the ground. Ace reformed and dropped down lightly a second later, catching his hat as he fell. Smoke against fire was an even fight, sure, but Smoker apparently didn't know haki and that gave Ace the advantage. "Better luck next time."

He spun on his heel to see that squad of marines—no, another squad, the first had split off to pursue Luffy and Zoro—facing him down. Several were aiming guns, but all of them were shaking. They'd just seen him take down their captain with what was, essentially, a single blow.

How could he pass up this opportunity? Ace focused, finding that core of himself that fueled his every move. He fanned it, growing it like a flame, and then hurled it outside of himself in a great wave. The invisible pulse raced out in a ring with him at its center and crashed into the marines. Struck dumb by the conqueror's haki, they fell, unconscious.

Grinning, Ace jogged after his brother. He was getting the hang of that. armament haki, too, but he'd had a lot of help learning that one. No one else on Whitebeard's crew could teach him conqueror's haki, and Whitebeard himself was—in his own words—a poor teacher.

Most of what Ace knew, he'd gotten from years of practice with the Spade Pirates. Whitebeard's one lesson on it in the wake of Teach's betrayal had been…unhelpful. All Ace had learned during it was that someone else's willpower could overwhelm his own, which in hindsight had been one of the deciding factors in his one-hundredth battle against Whitebeard.

A few more careful uses of observation haki left Ace with both a mild headache and the knowledge that his brother and his brother's first mate were hopelessly lost in the back alleys of Nanohana.

He fished them out—in the process swatting away an annoying mercenary or bounty hunter or thug, he hadn't bothered figuring out exactly why the overly large man with four swords strapped to his back was so interested in his head—then watched Luffy stretch his arm all the way out to where his ship was sailing parallel to shore in a bid to get away before the marines were in a position to give chase. Zoro was, naturally, dragged along, and his fading yell contrasted nicely with Luffy's laughter.

"Well," Ace told the mooks who'd followed him to the shoreline and hadn't figured out they should give it up already, "guess I'd better catch up."

After a brief slowdown while he worked through the idiots in his way, he found Striker still docked where he'd left it, though the breeze had helpfully kicked some sand into the seat. He ignored that for now, shoved the boat into deeper water, then jumped in. A judicious application of twisting force and fire spun him fully around, and then he was jetting off after Luffy.

After a brief trip over calm blue waves, he pulled up alongside his brother's caravel, grabbed a rope already fastened to Striker, and leaped up onto the railing in time to interrupt Luffy's boasting.

"Who's winning what now?" he asked, tipping up his hat to get a better look at the crew facing him. Seeing them for the second time, he could confidently put names to faces: Nami, Zoro, Chopper, and Usopp he'd already seen in the street; but there was also the blue-haired Vivi, and…the last one, who could only be Sanji, the cook. He didn't look anything like the bounty posters Ace remembered.

Vivi was another oddity. He'd seen posters for Luffy's crew later on, and he didn't remember Vivi's among them. She must not have stayed. Unsurprising, if she really was the princess of this country.

"Thank you for taking care of my little brother," Ace told them while Luffy stuttered, bowing his head. "I know he can be a handful."

"It's nothing," they chorused, a bit dumbfounded.

"He might even be a bit much for you to handle, but take good care of 'im for me, please."

"Are you sure you're related?" Nami asked, then put a hand to her mouth like she couldn't believe she'd said that out loud. "I mean," she added when she realized she had and might as well keep digging, "you're so…"

"Polite?" Sanji offered.

"Reasonable?" Zoro put in.

"Sensible," Nami finished.

"I really would've expected Luffy's brother to be more reckless," Usopp added, earning a grin from Ace.

"See?" Luffy said, back on his feet after Ace's arrival had knocked him over, "Aren't these guys neat?"

Ace hopped down from the railing and held out a hand. Luffy clasped it, then let out a quick noise of surprise when Ace yanked him into a tight hug with their hands between them. Eyes closed, his other arm around Luffy's shoulders while Luffy's stretched and snaked around both of them, Ace let his observation haki wash over Luffy, taking in every single detail. Gone was the beat-up, end of his rope, barely on his feet brother who'd screamed for the world to hear that Ace was his brother.

Of course, this one would do the same. It was Ace's job to make sure he never had to.

Luffy's heartbeat thudded strong and true in his chest. He smelled like sea and straw. He was whole, he was happy. His presence, spirit, willpower, whatever the hell observation haki actually picked up—it was as indominable as ever. This kid would challenge the whole world for his family and he wouldn't think twice.

He missed him so, so much.

"Ace?" Luffy whispered, picking up on the way Ace was shaking.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Ace pulled away. He put his hands on Luffy's shoulders and gave his brother a far more obvious once-over. Then he patted his shoulders and stepped back, because his pulse of haki had picked up something else. Vivi noticed it too, having been looking in that direction already, and she was the one to point out the ships rounding the next bluff to the rest of the crew.

"The billions fleet," Zoro growled, going for his swords.

"Billions," Ace repeated. "Those guys from the port?"

"Yup," Luffy confirmed. "They're so annoying!"

Perfect. He could burn off all this restless energy the memories of Luffy at Marineford had shot into his veins. "I'll handle them."

"Eh? Really?"

"Sure. They're probably in part after my bounty, after all, so this is partly my fault."

"So responsible," Nami whispered, hands clasped in front of her chest. Sanji scowled.

Zoro released his swords and crossed his arms. "I'll admit, I want to see how the second division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates handles a fight like this."

Any further comments were lost to the wind when Ace dropped down to Striker, undid the rope, and blasted away. He sized up his opponents. Five full-size ships, each one full to bursting with those "billions" people. A couple of the sails read "Baroque Works"—must have been the name of the organization they belonged to. He swung wide, realized the ships were staggered at a bad angle from this side, and adjusted his plan.

They saw him coming, of course. He wasn't making any attempt to hide, not that there was anything he could do to disguise himself on open water. If he cared about stealth, he probably could've kicked up a cloud of steam, but that was it.

Bullets and cannonballs splashed into the water, the latter causing minor eruptions that showered him in spray. He wove through all of it with quick, controlled bursts of fire into Striker's engine. With all of the ships firing and choppy waves, though, he found one cannonball flying at him he couldn't dodge.

Bracing, he focused and amped up his speed so the cannonball would catch him in the chest rather than Striker at his feet. When the cannonball was close, he twisted onto one foot and launched himself into a sideways flip in the air. He stuck out a hand behind his back based on a glimpse of blurry black, felt the cannonball hit, felt it add to his momentum.

He held on, guided it, finished his spin, and absorbed the shock of his feet slamming back onto Striker while he hurled the cannonball back the way it'd come with half again the speed of the cannon that fired it. The side of the nearest ship erupted with flames and splinters, and the other ships who'd seen the feat paused firing in shock, buying him the second of reprieve he needed.

Wrenching his hips to bring Striker partway around, he put himself at the perfect angle while he brought his fist back.

These idiots were going after his brother, and they were stupid enough to do it while he was here.

He let out a wordless roar and unleashed a swirling torrent of flames. It ripped through the billions' ships like they were so much paper. In moments, the fleet was little more than smoking pieces of wreckage drifting on the waves while the wind fought to disperse the massive cloud of steam his attack had produced.

Rather than smiling at his handiwork, though, he was frowning. That fire fist—it was hard to tell, he'd been focused on directing the flames, but…there had been some blue, in all that red and orange and yellow. Maybe.

Or maybe he'd just been seeing flickers of the water, or one of the ships' sails, or any number of things. He dismissed it from his mind and cut through the waves after his brother. Once again, he came up next to the craft, jumped up, and resecured Striker.

The moment he stepped onto the deck, he was presented with a mug of booze. What ensued was a round of at least eight toasts, each one a little more ridiculous than the last. Ace took a seat on a nearby barrel and decided to leave the celebrants be; Luffy was having fun, and that was what mattered.

Even if he really had to quit saying that Ace was joining his crew.

"Why are you here, then?" Zoro asked. "No offense, but this doesn't seem like something you'd care about. I thought Whitebeard was much more focused in the New World."

"Whitebeard's got an interest in shoring up his territory," Ace explained, pausing to whet his throat with another sip of booze. He was already running out. "Which is mostly in the New World, you're right, but we've got interests elsewhere too. I'm cleaning up some places that have gotten a little too comfortable badmouthing the old man. That took me close to here, and since Luffy was in the area, I figured I'd say hi. Reminds me—Lu, wanna join Whitebeard's crew?"

"No way." Luffy's face screwed up in distaste at the idea, and Ace laughed. An offer like that, one that so many pirates would've dreamed to hear, and Luffy frowned at it like it had just knocked his favorite beetle onto its back.

"Yeah, figured. Had to try, though."

"Are you staying?" Nami asked.

"I'll go as far as Yuba, I think." That was as far as he'd gone before, staying right up until he'd confirmed the rumor that Blackbeard had been sighted there was based on precisely nothing. He had no reason to stay that long now, but at the same time, he had no pressing reason to leave, either.

Really, he just didn't want to leave Luffy right away. He couldn't. Every time his brother was in his periphery, Ace caught a glimpse of the kid who was one strong breeze away from collapsing and still screaming a challenge at the entire navy anyway. He had to look twice to make sure Luffy was doing just fine.

But, though he was happy to spend more time with Luffy, he didn't want to crowd his brother. There was no way having a Whitebeard Pirate tagging along wouldn't mess with Luffy's journey and bring way too much attention to him. So he'd leave when they reached Yuba and catch up with his own crew before they started to get worried.

"Do you have business there?" asked Vivi.

"Nah, I just want to spend a little time with my bumbling kid brother. I don't see him often, but I know this one finds all the trouble."

"And then some," Usopp agreed with a fervent nod. Luffy just looked thrilled.

"You're really staying? You're joining my crew?"

"Ah-ah, nope. The only captain for me is Whitebeard. You could still join my crew, you know."

"No way. I'm gonna be king of the pirates."

Ace laughed at the familiar refrain, not because he found it funny, but because it was just so Luffy. So normal. So…

Something he'd thought he'd never hear again.

"You'll have to fight Whitebeard for that title," he warned.

"Then we'll fight."

Ace grinned when the rest of the crew made various noises of aggravation. Nami even rolled her eyes to heaven, probably asking for patience. Sabo had made a face like that many times when Ace and Luffy were brainstorming schemes. It was borderline comforting.

The grin didn't last long, though. "Hey, Luffy."

"Eh?"

"Can we talk?" He glanced at the crew. "Alone."

Confused, Luffy nodded and followed Ace to the stern of the ship, where the loudest sound was the ocean frothing in the ship's wake. Ace had learned from a boastful Usopp that her name was Going Merry. Usopp, in turn, had asked questions about Striker, but Ace had deflected them all. Striker was Deuce's brainchild; her secrets were his alone to share.

Well separated from Luffy's crew, Ace leaned against the Going Merry's rear railing, resting his elbows on the sea-worn wood. His now-empty mug sat a few inches from his left arm. Luffy stood in front of him, one eyebrow raised and his head tilted slightly to one side.

"What'd you wanna talk about? Is this about you joining my crew?"

Ace laughed again. How long had it been since the laughter came so easily and so often? "Still not happening, little brother."

"Then why you were acting weird earlier."

"Yeah. I, listen. I realized there were some things I've left unsaid. Things I would've regretted you never hearing. Things I want to say."

He wanted to say I'm so glad you're okay.

He wanted to say I've missed you.

He wanted to say I'm sorry.

He wanted to say I'll never let it happen again.

He wanted to say Thank you.

And he wanted to say it all again, and again, and again, until the message got across: Thank you for loving me.

But he couldn't say any of that; his mouth refused to open. All of what he wanted to say crowded his throat and stopped anything from getting out.

Luffy, this Luffy, this younger and happier and healthier Luffy who'd never seen the inside of Impel Down or thrown himself face-first into hell for Ace but would, he'd do all of that over and over, he'd do it as certain as the sun would rise every morning, frowned. "Ace?"

Luffy took a step forward, and then another, his expression shifting to one of concern instead of puzzlement. "You're—"

And that was when Ace tasted the salt on his lips.

Ah, so that explained it. It wasn't words blocking his throat. Even with all the time he'd had to prepare himself for this moment, he felt oddly vulnerable, strangely exposed. He didn't like it.

"Luffy, I—" he tipped his head back and stared at the sky as though that would clear the hoarseness in his voice. The breeze pulled his hat off his head, but the string kept it from blowing away. He dragged in a deep breath and let it out slowly, ignoring how his chest shook. "I've never been good at this kind of thing. Listen. There's no easy way to say this, so I'm just gonna say it. I nearly died, Luffy, a little while ago. I refused help and I got in over my head."

"You—you nearly died?"

"Yeah." Ace unbuttoned his shirt and pulled both it and the cloak aside so Luffy could see the scar splashed across his chest. Luffy's eyes widened and he reached out to touch on reflex. Ace shivered as his brother traced the edges of the hole Akainu had punched through Ace trying to get to him.

"But you got better," Luffy said, looking up at him, and it wasn't a question.

"I did. It took a long time, but I did." He managed a lazy smile that maybe, probably, hopefully wasn't as watery as he felt inside. "Nothing makes you realize what's important like nearly dying, right?"

"You shouldn't joke about that, Ace."

That smile faltered under Luffy's unwavering stare. "You're probably right." He licked his lips. "Coming here, I realized I've thanked just about everyone else except you. I should fix that."

Luffy cocked his head. "Thanked me? For what? You don't need to thank me. Zoro's the one who gave his booze for the drinking earlier."

Based on the way Zoro had swatted at Usopp when he went to ask if Zoro would share the barrel he was drinking out of, Ace had serious doubts about the gave part of that statement.

"It's not for the booze, though I do appreciate that. This is for when we were kids. Luffy," he straightened a little, "thank you for being my brother. I don't know what I did to deserve you—all the times I threw you off bridges, or tossed you to the wolves, or hit you—but not a day goes by I'm not proud to call you family. You're my brother, I"—his voice caught, but he pressed on, saying what his child self hadn't known enough to know—"I love you. No matter where we are in the world, no matter how much time passes, that'll never change."

Luffy blinked several times and then wiped at his eyes. "What's this all about, all of a sudden?"

"Just something I had to say, that's all." Ace pushed off the railing and clapped Luffy on the shoulder. "Now, let's see if Zoro has more of that booze to give, why don't we?"

They had about an hour of sailing up the Sandora River before they reached the point where they should dock and head inland toward Erumalu. After speaking with Luffy, Ace spent that time much as he had before, getting to know Luffy's crew, refreshing his memory of Luffy's antics, and generally just relaxing. The first time, this trip with his brother had been a welcome break from the relentless tension of hunting Blackbeard. Now, it was simply time spent with family.

As they got close, though, he saw Vivi looking at him more and more. Not long after the fourth time their eyes met, Vivi gestured him aside, using the scant privacy offered by the tangerine plants that belonged to Nami much as Ace had earlier.

"I don't mean to assume anything, but the way you look at me," Vivi chewed her lip, then went for broke, "I get the impression you have distaste for royalty." Ace tried to muffle his surprise. He thought he'd been doing a pretty good job of hiding that, especially because Vivi herself seemed like as good of a person as anyone could possibly be in these circumstances.

"I understand why," Vivi continued, "but…I want to save my country. That's why I'm here. I didn't mean to drag your brother this deep into this mess. I'm truly sorry."

Ace blinked at her forthrightness and felt his respect for her tick up another few notches. "Nobles."

"Eh?"

"Not just royalty. I'm not a fan of nobles, in general. But there are some I like, specifically. You have Luffy's stamp of approval; I don't need any more proof of your character than that. My hangups are my own. I apologize for insulting you. I'll do better."

"O-oh. Please, don't bow your head, that's not necessary. I'm sorry for confronting you about this."

"Don't worry about it. What Luffy does is his choice. If he's decided to help you, who am I to question that? He's here because he wants to be, and that's the end of it." He grinned. "You sure found one hell of an ally, princess."

She self-consciously brushed a stray bit of hair away from her eyes. "I don't want to imagine how poorly things could've gone if Luffy wasn't there."

"He's got a habit of being exactly where he needs to be for people who don't even realize they could use his help."

"He does." She worried at her lip a little more. "You could stay, you know. I would never turn down more help."

"Luffy's made that good of an impression that you're willing to trust another pirate right away?"

"Well, you are his brother, and you've already helped so much."

Ace waved that off. "Cleaning up my own mess, mostly. You don't need my help. This is your fight, and you've already got Luffy with you. He's more than enough. Besides, a Whitebeard Pirate getting involved in this would put a lot of attention on this kingdom that you don't want."

"Are you really that infamous?"

Ace shrugged. After his latest escapades around the Grand Line, his bounty had risen a cool fifty million beri, putting him at a solid six hundred million. During their last phone call, Thatch had bet that Ace would hit a billion before the end of the year. Never mind the target on the back of every Whitebeard Pirate because of the chaos they'd been causing lately.

There was also the small issue of his heritage, which the World Government had certainly cracked by now. No, best not to make it known that Vivi was associated with him in any capacity.

"My name and reputation might help in the short term, same with Whitebeard's with the way we're all over right now, but it'll only hurt in the long term. Just like that dance powder stuff, right? You want to save this kingdom, and I doubt you want to see it crushed under the World Government's heel in a couple years. I'll help you cross the desert—I know exactly what kind of trouble Luffy can find there—and reach Yuba, then I'll say my goodbyes."

He offered a warm grin, remembering the moment he saw Luffy's bounty had jumped from thirty million to a hundred million. "I've got a feeling things will go better than you expect, princess."

Ace spent the next few days getting to know the quirks of Luffy's crew all over again as they crossed the scorching desert. Though the tragedy of Erumalu was a sobering start, Luffy's antics quickly lightened the mood. Ace stayed in the background as much as he could; he was really just here to soak it all in. With the lives they led, he and Luffy crossing paths anytime soon after this was unlikely unless Ace actively sought him out again.

Every time they thought they'd found a safe haven, some new denizen of the desert decided to attack. Ace wasn't worried about getting hurt—no creature this early into the Grand Line had any concept of haki—and Luffy's crew was more than strong enough to handle wild animals. He even got to try some kinds of meat he'd rarely had before, which was a bonus. He could pass along a few more suggestions to Thatch.

The thought, as it always would, brought a smile to his face.

By the time he'd dealt with the old man who'd claimed to be a great bounty hunter, Ace was feeling assured once again that Luffy was in good hands, if that hadn't already been proven to him by the fact that, originally, Luffy had survived this island just fine and even made it to Marineford. His crew was reliable, loyal to a fault, and had all the skillsets a resilient group needed to survive the Grand Line.

Ace was honestly reminded a bit of his own crew, the Spade Pirates, back before Whitebeard disrupted everything. Could they have been like this, as close as this, if he had just let his guard down a little more?

But, the time to leave crept up on him, and it felt all too soon. Still, he didn't fight it; he didn't want to risk Luffy's future getting screwed up just because he wanted to be a selfish older brother.

"Are you really leaving, Ace?" asked Chopper. Behind him, the sun was setting, painting the sky and the sands in brilliant hues of gold, orange, and crimson.

"Yeah," Ace affirmed. "I did everything I wanted to do in this country. You all have your own mission here, but I don't, and I'll only get in your way if I stay. It's time to move on."

"Oh," Luffy said simply, his expression impossible to read. Sanji took up the slack.

"Where are you planning to go next?"

"Depends where I'm needed." He reached into his pocket, where a piece of paper had stayed for the past several days. He fished it out and then tossed it to Luffy. "Here."

Luffy caught it, confused.

"Keep it with you always," Ace advised.

"What? It's just a scrap of paper," Luffy said, puzzled. Even his crew looked confused, but Ace was confident that they would figure it out sooner or later. He wasn't going to spoil the surprise; discovering the truth behind the Grand Line's mysteries was half the fun.

"That scrap of paper will let us meet again," Ace said. Luffy made a noise of incomprehension as he unfolded the Vivre Card. "What, don't want it?"

"No, I do."

Ace grinned, then addressed Luffy's crew. "Having a younger brother who's a bit on the reckless side makes an older brother worry. He's probably going to keep causing a hassle, too." He offered a short bow. "Take care of him for me." He then straightened. "Luffy, I'll be waiting for you at the top."

"Okay!" Luffy agreed, grinning with anticipation.

Ace tipped up his hat, looking his little brother in the eyes. He knew the warmth in his chest was way too obvious in his face, but he couldn't help it. "I'll see you there."

Chapter Text

After reuniting with Deuce, Bront, and the rest of his division’s strike team, Ace formally resumed their mission. At first, it was as hectic as it had been before Ace took his break in Alabasta, but that didn’t last forever.

At the moment, they’d finished clearing out a particularly seedy port town with a bar that had been far too interested in reporting on Whitebeard Pirates’ exact locations to anyone with a bit of money and were now languishing on the water while they figured out their next move.

Maybe this was the time for Ace to head to Dawn Island. An immediate marine target after leaving Alabasta had stalled that plan in the moment, and that stall had continued as Ace and his crew chased leads all over the ocean. But there wasn’t anything demanding their attention right now.

Problem was, they were back in the New World. Dawn Island was a bit of a trek.

Oblivious to Ace’s focus wandering toward East Blue, Deuce leaned over the map Bront had once again spread out on the galley’s main table and indicated roughly where they were in the New World. “We could head southwest, toward the Calm Belt. Rumor is some remnants of the Brink Lightning fleet that weren’t at Fukitsune are hiding out near there.”

Ace tapped his dagger’s sheath. “I thought Vista’s fleet was in that area.”

“They moved north a couple days ago, chasing some scout ships that were getting a bit too bold.”

“Hm. And Namur?”

“Also chasing marines away.”

Well, that was both of the other commanders in the area. “We could. Wouldn’t hurt, and it beats floating aimlessly.” Dawn Island would have to wait another day. “Tell Shadi to set the course.”

“Commander Ace!” The door crashed open. “Marco’s on the line!”

“Rushing in here like that—what’s wrong?”

“Wrong? No, he’s just calling.”

Bront sighed, Deuce shook his head, and Ace flicked the messenger on the forehead. “I keep telling you to dial it back a little. Not everything’s worth getting worked up over, you know?” He ducked out of the galley—twice already he’d smacked his forehead on the low exit out onto the deck—and headed to where the snail was waiting in the wheelhouse. At night or in bad weather, he kept it in his quarters, but it was open to the rest of the crew during the day. And today was a good day: clear skies, a warm breeze helped by Ace’s devil fruit, and fish so plentiful that one had leaped so far from the water it had smacked one of the fishing crewmembers in the face.

Picking up the receiver, Ace leaned against the low wall around the wheel. “Marco, heard you were asking for me.”

“Ace, good to hear from you-yoi.”

“You still on the Moby?”

“I just got back, actually. A report came in this morning—marines, pulling more of that Blue Cross Pirate nonsense. Apparently, they’re going by Blue Dogs this time.”

Between the marines and the other pirates…vultures, the lot of them. “Where are they?”

“Hingeki Island.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Most people haven’t. It’s a quiet town, and Pops hasn’t officially claimed it but we consider it ours. Technically Vista’s territory, but—”

“He’s chasing off other marines, I heard.”

“You’re already in the area-yoi?”

“Yeah. I’ll handle it.”

“Appreciated.”

“Take care, Marco.”

“You too.”

Ace hung up and headed back to the galley, collecting their navigator, Shadi, as he went. They had a new course to plot.

It was all too clear in hindsight. The two other commanders pulled away, leaving only Ace and his crew to answer the call. That call causing them to reach the island, dock, go straight to the local hangout—an inn, this time—and flush out the marines masquerading as pirates. By now, the whole crew were professionals about it, and they acted like it, moving in practiced patterns.

Practiced patterns that went straight to hell when Akainu’s warship emerged from a hidden cove. Only the quick thinking of those who stayed behind on their own ship kept it from getting blasted apart and burned to cinders, but their hasty escape from the port left the others stranded—and there was no getting down to the docks to borrow another craft with Akainu himself having disembarked to stand in their way.

“Get to the backside of the island,” Ace ordered, staring down from the top of the hill that the main street climbed. “I’ll keep him off you. Have the guys on the boat leave Striker there and get away from here.”

“Without you?” Deuce said, indignation twisting his lips into a thunderous scowl. “You think I’m doing this again? We’re not—”

“You are,” Ace snarled. A spike of dread shot through him and he shoved Deuce away just in time for a cannonball made out of dripping magma to hurtle through the space he’d been. In its brief passage, it sucked all the moisture from the air and left Ace’s face tingling from the heat. No longer making it a choice, Ace bodily threw Deuce away and started running toward Akainu. “Go! Get away from here, all of you!”

Before anyone could think about disobeying, he threw up a massive flame net dozens of yards high and thick enough that even the Whitebeard Pirates would think twice about trying to jump through. More importantly, they’d obscure Akainu’s view of the fleeing pirates.

The flames covered his back. In front of him, the oddly undulating construction of this island’s main port town, reminiscent of the ocean itself and colored in a similar way with the white-edged blue roofs, spread out below him, and again, hindsight flagged how quiet it was. The people here had been evacuated long before Ace showed up. Any townspeople they’d glimpsed on the way in had been marines in disguise.

And there, in the center of main street and slowly walking closer, not even deigning to run, was Akainu, admiral jacket billowing in the wind and his red suit standing out starkly against the island backdrop.

Ace swallowed. His mouth was dry, his hands clammy, his heart hammering in a chest that was already burning.

“Running is pointless,” Akainu called. “You’re all going to face justice today.”

A shiver wracked Ace despite the roaring flames behind him. He had to focus on breathing just to get enough air to stave off the walls trying to drive his vision into a tunnel. An echo of his own voice hit his ears:

“LUFFY!”

He swallowed again and gathered his strength. This wasn’t Marineford. Luffy wasn’t here. He had other brothers to protect, though, and he would protect them, and then they’d all laugh about how stupid they’d been to spring this trap tomorrow.

Injecting cockiness into his posture and voice to hide the trepidation beneath, Ace replied, “Your justice is worthless. I’ll pass.”

Out on the water, Akainu’s ship was giving chase to Ace’s. The smaller Whitebeard ship was horrifically outgunned by the marine battleship, but his crew members were putting up a fight in their effort to gain distance and circle around the island.

Magma dripped from Akainu’s arm, slid down over his fist, and landed hissing on the ground. The sound snapped Ace’s focus away from the ocean. He fought to breathe, unable to tear his gaze from the cooling rock.

“Regardless of what that fool Sengoku says, you’re too dangerous to be left alive. Whitebeard’s era is ending; he can’t protect you anymore.”

Ace stiffened, rage eating at the fear. “What?”

Akainu stopped a dozen yards away and adjusted his glove. More magma was rolling down his sleeves. “He’s a doddering old fool, a relic from an age that just doesn’t know how to die. You’re proof enough of that.” He clenched his hand into a fist. “I think it’s time we helped you lot figure it out.”

Flames roared to life along Ace’s shoulders. He grabbed that rage and held it tight, trusting it to keep at bay everything Akainu’s presence was trying to dig up. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Whitebeard is the greatest pirate alive. There’s no one closer to Pirate King.”

His words only merited a scoff accented by the distant booms of cannon fire. “Worthless titles for worthless people.”

Ace’s patience snapped. The fire fist exploded out from his fist with twice again the force he’d brought to bear in Alabasta. Daylight turned dark by comparison, and when the flames cleared, the entire block had been erased. Only the sloping ground had saved the rest.

This time, Ace knew he wasn’t mistaken. There had been flickers of blue flame in the red, thicker than ever before.

In the middle of the destruction, Akainu flicked a few errant embers from his coat and gave no other sign Ace’s attack had done anything but singe his clothes. “Like a tantrum,” he noted. “What did you expect that to do? You may be fire, but I’m magma. You can’t burn me.”

He’d known that going into this but that didn’t make Akainu saying it aloud any less annoying. “Maybe I haven’t found the right flame yet,” Ace retorted, knowing it didn’t really make sense, knowing it was the most Luffy-like answer he could’ve given. All he wanted was to keep Akainu talking. The more he talked, the less he attacked, and the longer Ace could hold him back. His crew would use that time to deal with Akainu’s ship and then Ace would get away on Striker and they’d all have that story to tell.

“An arrogant pirate is a dead pirate.”

Done with talking, Akainu lashed out with a magma fist to match the fire fist Ace threw to counter it. Globs of molten magma flew through the air and Ace’s fire was swiftly outmatched, but Ace was already diving to one side, propelled by a blast of fire from his leg. A few stray bits of magma splashed over his limbs and sent bolts of searing heat up his nerves before he could throw them off.

Midair, he crossed his fingers in front of his chest and aimed the beam of guiding light straight at Akainu’s chest. His fire, ever-present and ever-willing, welled up inside him. This attack always called for it to be compacted down, and now Ace put even more effort in packing his flames as tight as he could. “Jujika!”

The condensed flames flared up around his hands and then rushed down their set path to crash against the arm Akainu threw up in defense. Ace landed and rolled back to his feet, taking in the effects of his work.

“Pointless,” Akainu snarled, lowering his arm. Magma dripped from it like blood, but Ace ignored it. His fire fist, even hints in his flame net, and now with jujika—that last attack had carried more blue in it than any before.

Blue fire.

“Why’s the flame blue?” Thatch, repeating Ace’s question, glanced over his shoulder from where he was taking some kind of torch to his latest dessert. “It’s hot, obviously.”

“So’s this,” Ace replied, holding up his hand and letting it turn to flame. Thatch chuckled and turned back to his work— brûlée, so he’d said. Something about making sure the top of the dessert was perfectly crispy.

“Sure, that’s hot, but it’s not hot enough, not for this. It would take way too long. Ignoring Marco’s weird phoenix flames, blue fire’s way hotter than red or orange or even yellow fire. I bet it could even burn you.”

At the time, Ace had scoffed, but Thatch had rejected his requests to prove that fire wouldn’t hurt a man made of flame. Now, with magma burning him, he was starting to think Thatch had been right.

And if blue fire could hurt him, and if magma could hurt him…then maybe blue fire and magma were on even footing.

“You know,” Ace began, trying to buy himself some time to figure out that blue fire thing. He wasn’t doing it intentionally and never had, but clearly, there was some way to increase the temperature of his flames. He’d done it a little now and again to help Thatch cook, but he’d never focused on getting them to be as hot as they could possibly go. “All these taunts make you sound a little desperate, Admiral. And only one ship? Someone might think you’re not exactly following orders by coming here.”

“I only need one ship.”

But Ace had clearly struck a nerve, because the ground under his feet suddenly shook and fractured.

Shit!

Ace leaped into the air and used an extra burst of flames to extend his leap clear of where Akainu’s magma was bursting from the ground. That whole time, the bastard had been shoving molten rock through the ground, trying to catch Ace unawares.

The main street swiftly became a bubbling, boiling wasteland; as Ace watched, stable in his hovering above it all, the nearby buildings began to sink into the morass of magma. 

That was bad enough. Worse were the two dog-shaped collections of molten rock hurtling toward him. He spun to avoid the first and, when the second changed course, he opened up a hole in his own body to let it pass harmlessly through. Even when he was just fire, though, the heat of the magma passing so close was painful.

He jetted off to one side, vaguely aware of Akainu giving chase with his own magma blasts. Magma fists punched through the air, each one threatening to knock Ace out of the sky, but time and again Ace tapped into his haki to avoid them by hairs.

Where were—there! Seeing his crew’s ship and the marine vessel getting far too close to it, Ace angled himself down into the homogenous birch forest that took up the island’s eastern coast. He landed right on the edge of it where grass gave way to a rocky beach. He wasn’t close enough for a fire fist to work and even St Elmo’s Fire wasn’t stable enough to keep its shape over that long of a distance, but he didn’t need fire for this. Those marines were distracted by his crew, probably confident in their admiral’s ability to bring Ace to heel.

The trunk of the first tree he reached didn’t last through a single haki-infused punch. Ace seared off the branches with a wave of flames and, conscious of the rising temperature behind him as Akainu closed the distance, hefted it up onto his shoulder.

Maybe he didn’t have Gramps’s throwing arm, but he could manage this just fine.

He braced himself, took a deep breath, and focused his haki. One step, two steps, three four and five to build momentum and then, with an explosive release of all the tension in his muscles, he sent the javelin-like trunk sailing through the air in a high arc.

The instant the tree left his grip, he turned his throwing motion into a dive and roll. Akainu’s magma fist whizzed just over his head, singing his hair, and crashed into the ocean with an explosion of steam. The birch forest had slowed him down on his way to Ace and paid the price; now, the pale trunks, their leaves burnt to ash, stuck out like bones as they were consumed by the magma field that had once been the ground.

In the distance, there was a crash, splintering wood, and distant cries. Ace risked a brief glance over his shoulder and realized he’d managed even better than he’d meant to. He’d intended to just hit somewhere on the marine vessel to distract it and slow it down, maybe take out a cannon or several marines, but his missile had slammed into the main mast about a quarter of the way up and cracked it severely. The marines, the ones not pinned under the fallen log, were hurriedly trying to furl the sails before the wind could break the mast completely. Without the wind to aid the oars, they’d never keep pace with Ace’s ship.

Satisfaction pooled in Ace’s gut as he faced Akainu again. The admiral was walking—rolling, really, on a wave of magma—onto the beach, his expression nothing short of thunderous.

“Sorry,” Ace said, readying himself, “but we’re getting out of here.”

A few more minutes, his crewmates would be picked up from the far side of the island. Once they made it far enough to be out of reach of Akainu’s longer-range attacks, Ace would hop on Striker and join them.

Just a few more minutes, he told himself, as the wave of magma Akainu rolled in on didn’t stop and began to devour the beach. Ace was reminded of Teach’s Black Hole technique. A bead of sweat dripped into his eye and he blinked it away.

Just a few.

Not for the first time, Akainu scoffed in the face of Ace’s defiance. They’d already established fire wouldn’t do anything to him, so he was probably feeling pretty good about his chances.

A small part of Ace also felt pretty good about Akainu’s chances. A small part that Ace was resolutely ignoring. He’d fought Pops a hundred times, been trained by the other commanders, and had even battled Jinbe to a draw before any of that. He’d thought his journey to the top ended with Whitebeard’s mark on his back, but that wasn’t the case. There was still one volcanic peak he had to climb.

Fire was out of the question for now, so Ace called on his armament haki. It coated his fists and most of his forearms in a black sheen. He flexed his fingers, then launched himself at the admiral with a shout. Akainu, naturally, retaliated with a magma-infused punch that could level a city block. Ace used a jet of flame to spin himself around it.

Sure, he couldn’t use his fire to hurt the guy, but he could sure still use it to augment his own speed and movements. His fist crashed into Akainu’s stomach.

Akainu grunted. Stepped back.

And retaliated with a brutal counter that sent Ace skidding across the sand and into the waterline. Only a last-second transfer of his haki from his hands to his chest had saved him from having more than just the wind knocked out of him. Ocean washed over his legs, dousing his flames in an instant.

He scrabbled in the sand to avoid a hail of follow-up attacks, Akainu having been too impatient to sit back and wait for Ace to get to his feet. His flames were guttering and weak until the water evaporated from the heat of Akainu’s attacks, but even with them back, Akainu was pressing the attack too hard for Ace to think about anything other than defense.

Bit by bit, though, Ace started to see through Akainu’s attacks, and he could buy himself precious split-seconds of breathing room by predicting where he’d strike. That was enough for him to draw his dagger. Fire wouldn’t work, blunt force wouldn’t work, which left him with cutting power.

For as long as he’d had the dagger, it had been far more of a tool than a weapon. His flames had always been enough for a fight and significantly less useful for day-to-day jobs like hunting and preparing food.

But it was a weapon all the same. And with haki, he could make sure the edge cut into Akainu’s physical body rather than that bubbling magma.

“That’s an interesting scar, Portgas,” Akainu snarled after Ace leaped out of range of his last punch. Ace froze and glanced down at himself, where Akainu’s magma had burned through his shirt to reveal the fist-shaped mark on his chest. His haki had saved his skin but not his clothes. Observation haki shrieked a warning and he spun out of the way of another blot of magma Akainu had lobbed while he was distracted.

The scraps of his clothes were only going to get in the way. He burned off the tattered remains of his shirt and rolled his shoulders, bringing his knife up in challenge. “Mind your own business.”

“A monster like you is my business.”

Akainu’s insults were almost a blessing; each one sent Ace’s rage to new heights, and it was easy to feed that rage to his flames. Inside himself, deep in his core where no hint of it would seep from his skin, he continued to take the most furious of that fire and urge it hotter.

The admiral wasn’t exactly a chatty combatant, though, and as he launched a barrage of magma attacks, Ace was forced to give ground or risk gaining entirely new scars. Time and again, his armament haki saved his skin, letting him deflect the attacks he couldn’t dodge—but every time, those attacks threatened to break through, and his skin was left red and blistering in their wake. Though he considered using more of that technique to pull his body out of the way, he wasn’t sure he could pull it off reliably, and it required a lot more strength and concentration than armament haki.

Haki that was, Ace realized in a cold flash of clarity, starting to run dry. Akainu noticed his hesitation, the flicker of fear in his eyes, and rushed forward to buckle Ace’s last nerve.

Which was exactly what Ace wanted him to do. Ace ducked his punch, got behind him, and hit him in the back with a haki-infused kick that—despite having a good chunk of Ace’s strength behind it—was still only barely enough to send Akainu into the shallow surf. Spluttering, the great admiral suffered the same as any other devil fruit user in the ocean, and his magma lost its cohesion. Ace seized the opportunity and took off at a sprint that swiftly turned into a rocketing leap and sustained flight.

Instinct wanted him to head straight for Striker, but a calmer head that spoke in Sabo’s voice prevailed. He angled himself several degrees off of where he’d glimpsed Striker’s distinctive yellow hull.

His flight wasn’t smooth; lurching and unsteady, it was closer to controlled falling most of the time. But there was no way Ace could chance running across the ground. As fast as he was, Akainu’s magma had swallowed all but the edges of the island.

Sensing Akainu’s recovery, Ace threw up three flame nets in quick succession, the effort digging trenches in his wavering reserves and making black spots dance in his vision. They wouldn’t stop Akainu, wouldn’t even slow him down—but they’d cut off his view while Ace filled his path with softly glowing green and yellow bombs.

The first trap worked exactly as Ace hoped it would: Akainu rushed through the flames only to get blasted back by the effects of Ace’s fiery doll technique. The blasts wouldn’t hurt, but they would slow him down.

They also annoyed him. Each slowdown grew the tide of magma behind him, and if Ace didn’t get to the beach and Striker now, there wasn’t going to be a beach, and Striker would go up like a lit match. The heat was choking; so bad it was distorting the air and making it hard to breathe. Or maybe that was just the memories clamoring for Ace’s attention like they were at all the most important thing for him to focus on right now.

The second and third traps, Akainu destroyed by simply sending a wave of magma through the fire ahead of himself, harmlessly detonating the fiery dolls.

Ace’s crew, when Ace could get his eyes to focus enough to see them, was already halfway to the horizon, well out of Akainu’s reach. Even the admiral, if he could attempt to fly the way Ace did, wouldn’t be foolish enough to try to chase them in the sky, not when the price of a single mistake would be a watery grave.

So he hoped.

A line of bright red bubbled up ahead of him and with a cry of surprise, Ace jetted himself back from the volcanic eruption that shot a wall of magma a hundred yards into the air, cutting off the way he’d been going. Ace swiftly adjusted, thankful he hadn’t gone straight for Striker, only for another eruption to cut off that path too.

Fear curled tight in his stomach, threatening to weaken his already faltering flames. He grabbed it like the snake it was and choked it into nothing as he turned in the sky to see Akainu approaching.

He’d promised Luffy he’d never die. Now, the man who’d killed him had him cornered.

The universe had a sick sense of humor.

Akainu, of course, saw the instant Ace altered his course. He wasn’t running away from the admiral anymore.

He was headed straight for him.

Ace saw the vicious grin split Akainu’s face when he realized Ace had changed tactics. He probably thought Ace, seeing no escape, was trying one last gambit. And he was utterly confident in his ability to crush that last gasp of hope under his boot.

He wasn’t wrong. Not totally, anyway.

There were still patches of safer ground amid all the magma, mostly fallen trees not fully consumed and rocks sticking out like steppingstones. Ace dropped from the sky and leaped off those, conserving his flames. As he closed the distance, Akainu pummeled him with all kinds of magma projectiles. Many were just those fists that would destroy anything they hit. Some were those dog-like things that looped around for a second or even third attempt at a hit. There was even the spray of smaller globs that weren’t enough to kill on their own but could easily incapacitate.

Ace saw them all coming. He saw them. And because he couldn’t afford to waste fire countering them, he let them come.

Like bullets, he told himself. Like Izo’s bullets, passing through the paths Ace saw coming. Paths Ace could pull his body out of, one bare-minimum piece of himself at a time.

Fifty yards. Forty. Thirty. And Akainu was realizing what Ace was doing, and he was bracing himself to change tactics, the magma flow behind him surging at his call—

And Ace was dragging that fire out of his core, that fire he’d been building and building all this time, that fire that said Whitebeard is the greatest pirate on the seas and My father is Whitebeard and Don’t touch my family, and that fire exploded out of his palms and rushed back down into two searing lances of pure blue flames.

He gripped the lances that made Saint Elmo’s Fire. His brain felt like it was cooking from the effort of just holding them without losing control. Before his grip could falter, Ace hurled them forward with a defiant yell even as Akainu, sensing the difference in this attack, raised a wall of magma and his haki-infused arms between them.

 In this, his devil fruit betrayed him. That wall hid Ace, hid the lance’s trajectories. He wasn’t going for a kill shot, and Akainu’s arms could only shield his head and upper chest. The lances hissed through the air and punched clean through the magma wall, leaving tiny holes in their wake.

The first embedded itself in Akainu’s right leg.

The second buried itself in Akainu’s stomach.

Ace slammed into a higher rock and stayed there. He couldn’t help a cry of pain as he clutched at his right arm. That moment of pinnacle focus when he released his fire had meant a lapse in his haki and one of Akainu’s projectiles had caught it badly. The pain was excruciating, threatening to white out what few thoughts he could string together.

There was a series of dull, wet thuds. Ace raised his head to see Akainu’s magma constructs losing their form and splattering down, spraying him with tiny burning bits that were so inconsequential in the face of every other agony that Ace didn’t even feel them. It took all his strength to stay conscious, to keep the black threatening to flood his vision at bay, to move his eyes instead to his opponent.

Stunned, Akainu lowered his arms and stared at the lances punched through his body. Then, for the first time in years of battle against pirates, he fell to one knee, then dropped to both. A choked grunt of pain escaped his clenched jaw.

Though his body wanted nothing more than to give out, Ace forced himself back to his feet, staggered once, and then called on his flames to get him away from the admiral. It was all he could do to stay in the air, and he listed heavily to the right. He passed over the bubbling fissures where Akainu had created two devastating eruptions, over the leading edge of the magma flow, and finally over the beach. He fell into Striker’s seat, grateful his crew had left it pointed it away from shore.

The splash of his arrival was swiftly joined by a much louder splash. Steam hit Ace in a searing wave. More splashes followed, and with mounting horror, he realized Akainu was still launching attacks.

Panic, rather than rage, fueled his flames this time. He poured that fire into Striker’s engine and tore away from the island, his hat’s cord threatening to choke him as the hat itself caught the whipping wind.

Ever more magma projectiles crashed into the water, proof that Akainu was far from defeated. Ace’s haki was spent; he resorted to looking behind him to judge where the magma fists would fall. He weaved through the hellish rain with an ease that belied the incredible feats of balance and devil fruit control required to execute each swift spin and turn.

For nearly a full minute at full throttle, he danced with Akainu’s magma and the ocean itself, which seemed to swell more than necessary with each impact. But in that minute, so much steam collected over the water that Akainu lost sight of Ace. His attacks grew less accurate, then—when Ace was finally out of range—stopped entirely.

Heart fit to gallop straight out of his chest, Ace pulled up alongside his crew’s ship. There were scorch marks on the hall, a couple holes from cannonballs that were thankfully above the waterline, and familiar faces calling to him from the deck. He couldn’t hear the words, even though their voices were plenty loud.

Swaying as he stood, he tossed them a rope with the arm willing to move. Striker jerked as they pulled her close. Someone, seeing that Ace wasn’t jumping up, threw down a rope ladder over the side. He caught a glimpse of blue; Deuce. They were all still calling things at him, loud enough to make him wince. He leaned toward the ladder, trying valiantly to bring it and the rest of the world into focus, but it kept blurring out.

The noise hit a painful high, his vision went black, and he collapsed.

Chapter Text

"Why's the flame blue?" Thatch, repeating Ace's question, glanced over his shoulder from where he was taking some kind of torch to his latest dessert. "It's hot, obviously."

"So's this," Ace replied, holding up his hand and letting it turn to flame. Thatch chuckled and turned back to his work— brûlée, so he'd said. Something about making sure the top of the dessert was perfectly crispy.

"Sure, that's hot, but it's not hot enough, not for this. It would take way too long. Ignoring Marco's weird phoenix flames, blue fire's way hotter than red or orange or even yellow fire. I bet it could even burn you."

Ace scoffed. "Not a chance. How can fire burn fire?"

"Well, devil fruits have tiers, right? The Mera Mera no Mi is powerful, sure, but maybe there's another heat-focused fruit that's a step above. You don't want your cockiness to get you into trouble there, do you?"

He pointed the torch as a mock threat, but Ace only had eyes for the flame. Critical eyes. Doubting eyes.

"Lemme try it."

"Absolutely not."

"Thatch, c'mon. I wanna know. So do you."

"I…It's a bad idea, Ace. You know Marco wouldn't approve."

Spreading his hands, Ace looked around as though the man would appear. When he didn't, he raised both eyebrows at Thatch, who heaved a sigh.

"You know what? Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you." Thatch turned away from the countertop where he'd been prepping the deserts and readied the torch. "Hold still."

"I can do it mys—"

"Nope, if you freak out and drop the torch, I'm not getting blamed for the whole ship going up in smoke. Just tell me when it hurts."

"If."

Rolling his eyes, Thatch kneeled in front of the seated Ace and once again hesitated. Ace reached out and flicked his forehead. "Get on with it, unless you're gonna chicken out."

Indignation did the trick. Thatch scoffed and put the torch to Ace's skin.

He put it to Ace's chest. Ace had been expecting the hand, or maybe the arm, maybe even the thigh, but chest?

"Thatch, I—" his voice caught when the flame got close. Heat prickled on his skin, then poked, then jabbed, then ignited. Ace tried to flinch back, tried to tell Thatch to stop, tried to do anything except watch that flame blacken his flesh like those desserts but he was locked in place and it burned it burned it BURNED—

"LUFFY!" Ace screamed, launching himself upright and slamming his forehead into the man who'd been leaning over him. The man, doctor by that coat and a familiar one at that, reeled back with a yell of pain, clutching his head, and Ace likewise brought a hand to his forehead while he stared around the—the infirmary, on the ship, that they've been traveling in to clean up Pops's territory. Not the Moby Dick's kitchen. Right.

As reality overwrote the nightmare, so too did the pain of the arm that hadn't responded when he went to grab his head. He bit down on a groan and hunched over, reaching down without touching because heat of an entirely different kind than the comforting waves of his devil fruit radiated from the skin.

"Commander?"

"Sorry, doc," he managed. "Didn't mean to hit you."

"It's okay, it's just my head. I'll, ow, let the others know you're awake. Try not to move your arm—the admiral burned it pretty bad."

Burned. Ace wanted to laugh, but if he opened his mouth, that groan would definitely escape. Thatch was right. Fire burned fire.

"Don't go messing with it, now, Commander," the doctor warned. "It took Deuce and I hours to patch you up, and he told me to tell you that he's going to personally throw you overboard if you 'botch it.'"

"I hear you." Deuce was so paranoid. Ace could investigate a wound without worsening it, thank you very much.

The moment the doc ducked out, Ace turned his attention to his arm.

He had to see how bad it was.

Though his stomach twisted at the thought and the smell of burnt flesh was making the room roll even on calm waters, he forced himself to look at the damage.

…Which he couldn't see. Because his right arm, from wrist up to and around the shoulder, was swathed in bandages. Something glistened at the edges of the cloth, probably a salve of some kind. Carefully, gingerly, he flexed his fingers, and he breathed a sigh of relief when they all moved, even if it sent fresh pulses of pain up his arm.

Small mercy that it was his left arm that bore Sabo's jolly roger; that mark had escaped unscathed. He didn't need Akainu ruining both of his tattoos. Unfortunately, his shirt was ashes in the breeze, so that first victim of Akainu's wrath was on full display.

Ace bit his lip. He had more shirts in his bag, but he didn't relish the thought of putting any of them on over the sticky salve and bandages.

The scar, when he ran his fingers over it, made him shiver.

He'd gotten away.

He'd survived.

That was what this scar was now, he decided. Not a mark of his shame, of his failure, of his weakness, but a declaration that despite it all, he had survived. It was a scar on his back but only because he'd done it to save Luffy. He'd carry a hundred scars on his back if it meant Luffy would live. He'd given his life for his family and something, somehow, had decided he got another shot at things. The World Government tried to say he didn't deserve to live; in answer, the world itself, and everyone who mattered within it, had declared that he did.

This scar, including the marred jolly roger still visible at its edges, was defiance.

He could stand to let the world see it.

He could also, probably, when his newest burns healed, get a simplified version of Whitebeard's mark on his shoulder. Just to make it once again clear to the world who he considered to be his father.

The door to the infirmary opened and light, people, and noise poured in. Deuce was at the front of the pack, the doc a step behind, and Ace picked out several other members of his division—but not all of them.

"Commander!" they chorused, a unity that broke apart as everyone found a different way to ask if he was okay.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Ace assured them. "I'm more worried about you. Where is everyone? Did the marines…?" His expression darkened at the thought and flames licked at his shoulders.

"Oh, no, everyone's okay," Bront hastened to say, only for the doc to pointedly clear his throat. "Okay, we got some bumps and bruises—"

"Dottie lost two fingers trying to stop that cannonball," the doc interrupted.

"—but we're still here, and that's what matters. They're all just busy bailing water right now."

Ace furrowed his brow while his flames calmed. "Are we sinking?"

Deuce wiggled one hand in a so-so gesture. "A little."

"How bad?"

"We did some quick patch jobs, but they won't hold forever. Shadi put us on a course for the nearest island and she's pretty sure we'll make it as long as we keep most of the water out. You've been out for a day."

Ace grunted, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stood. "I'll help."

"Whoa, wait!"

He staggered a step but smacked away Deuce's helping hand. "I'm okay. Just hungry." On cue, his stomach rumbled. Deuce scowled and the doc straightened up.

"I'll grab you something from the galley. But no physical labor with that arm! I could've sworn I set aside a…oh, I'll find it. If you must do something, you can watch for sea kings. They've been circling for hours now."

Ace grimaced at being benched but nodded. "Thanks. I'll be on deck." The doc hurried out.

"I'm guessing I won't convince you to lie down and get more rest," Deuce said.

"You know me so well."

They followed the doc at a slower pace, Ace leading the way. He glanced back to ask Deuce if there'd been any sign of marine presence while he was unconscious, only for his head to slam into something. Deuce's palm slapped against his back, keeping him upright while he hissed a breath in through his teeth and brought his good hand up to his head.

"Wouldn't have hit it if you rested more," Deuce said mildly.

Ace shot him a glare.

When he dodged the door and made it out in the bright sunlight, he had to shade his eyes from the glare. He shifted his other shoulder, wincing. There was no comfortable way to hold his bad arm, and the other bandages covering the less severe burns all over his body pulled awkwardly at his skin. Everything was going to itch horribly once the healing really started.

"Your hat's in your quarters," Deuce said, noticing him squinting. "You want me to get it?"

"No, it's fine. I'll grab it later. How far are we?"

Shadi's lilting voice came from the raised aft section of the ship behind him. "See that smudge on the horizon straight ahead?"

"Yeah." It really was just a blackish blur. On anything other than a clear day like this, it would be invisible at this distance.

"That's our destination."

"What's with the smoke?"

"I don't know. It's not labeled as volcanic on any map I've seen."

Ace crossed the deck to lean on the prow and stare at the column, which grew ever larger as they got closer. He could faintly smell things burning on the breeze, and he knew that too would get stronger with their approach.

There was…a lot of fire in his life, lately. And it never seemed to bring anything good.

A thought struck. "I should let Pops know what happened." An admiral attacking a Whitebeard division commander was, he knew, a pretty big fucking deal.

"Already did," Deuce said. "Pops is probably taking a nap right now, but you should call Marco to let him know you're okay. You were still out when I reported back."

Ace hid a wince at the thought of what Marco would have to say about Ace forcing his own crew to run and staying behind to tangle with an admiral. "I'll do that once we've reached that island and figured out repairs."

"Yeah, I bet you will. Stop picking at your bandages or I'll throw you overboard." Deuce eyed him and Ace bristled while he brought his hand away from the bandages, which were starting to feel uncomfortably stiff.

"What?"

The man was unperturbed. "You did it again. Taking everything on yourself. I thought I told you that you don't have to do this alone."

A bit of guilt made Ace shift uncomfortably. "You know I don't run."

"I know. Forcing the rest of us to, though?"

"This was different. Akainu—I'm never letting him take anyone else from me. No one, not ever again."

"Commander!"

The doc was back, and with the cook trailing behind him. Ace's mouth instantly began to salivate at the big pile of food teetering precariously on the plate in the cook's hands. But the doc stepped up first with a bundle of cloth.

"A sling," he explained. "I couldn't remember where I'd put it, but I finally found it. We'll need to make sure to stretch your arm morning and night to keep it flexible, but in the meantime, please use this to ease some of the discomfort."

"Is that really necessary?"

"Some of the damage was to your shoulder joint, so humor me."

A glance around the ship showed the handful of people not stuck bailing water sneaking worried glances his way. They'd all been worried for him. For a minute, some of them had probably thought he was giving his life for them. The medical attention, the food—that was all they could do to help right now.

The final straw was Deuce crossing his arms and raising a challenging eyebrow. If Ace didn't capitulate, this would turn into an argument, and Deuce knew way more than Ace when it came to medical stuff. Ace'd had enough of his head spinning to last a lifetime, so he'd pass on having Deuce lecture circles around him.

He sighed aloud and gestured for the sling. "Fine, fine."

When he was situated, fed, and both the doc and the cook were satisfied, Ace was left alone—save for Deuce, who stayed by his elbow and joined him in scanning for sea kings.

They hadn't spoken in months. Before this mission, Ace had been busy with the second division, and Deuce had been hopping between divisions. Last Ace had heard, he'd been learning from the nurses on one of the mini mobys.

"The crew been okay?" he asked to break the silence.

"Some better than others. Generally, yes. Leonero and Kukai went back to their home islands. Kimei's dropped off the map. But the rest of those idiots are still scattered around the fleet."

"I should be keeping better track of them. I didn't know about Kimei."

"Part of dropping off the map is being quiet about it. I'm not surprised it didn't reach you. You've got your own problems to worry about—flushing out a traitor, for one."

No one knew the full details of Ace's involvement in that other than the commanders and Whitebeard, but everyone in the fleet knew Ace had been the one to reach Thatch first.

"I'm glad they're doing right by you," Deuce continued after a beat. "Would've kicked their asses if they didn't. Tried, really. We both know how it would've ended."

"I'm glad you didn't get your ass kicked," Ace offered in return. Deuced smiled thinly.

"Thanks. I try to avoid it, when I can. Unlike you."

"It's not like I go looking for it."

He snorted. "Could've fooled me. From the second you burst onto the beach with that slapdash mess you called a boat, you and trouble have never been more than arm's length apart. And this time, it got way, way closer than that." He sobered. "It didn't change you much, did it?"

"What?"

He made a vague gesture at all of Ace. "You're still ready to throw yourself between the people you care about and the things that want to hurt them. I know you don't run," he added before Ace could repeat himself. He sighed and leaned more of his weight on the railing. "Do you know there's a chance the people you care about don't enjoy watching you do that? Especially not twice."

"I'm not dragging you into a fight you can't win just because I was stupid."

"Maybe I would've gotten in the way. Maybe I would've been a burden. But I don't want to be forced onto the sidelines while you burn out. On your crew or not, I'm your second. If I'm watching, I'm failing."

For a moment, Ace was reminded of Luffy. The utter joy and relief in his eyes in those brief minutes at Marineford when he and Ace had fought together for the first time in years. When Luffy had been able to prove just how strong he'd become. "I…I didn't think about that."

"Got plenty of other things to think about, so let me worry about this one. You just focus on recovery. The next time Akainu comes calling, we'll be ready." He nodded at the rest of the ship. "All of us."

Seized by a sudden need, Ace gripped Deuce's shoulder with his good hand. "Join the second division."

Deuce raised an eyebrow. "They split us up for a reason."

True, the Spade Pirates had been broken up and scattered around the Whitebeard fleet; unlike other crews, they hadn't joined as a full crew. Their captain had been ripped away and the rest of them assigned where they could be useful, far enough apart from each other to avoid risk of trouble. But that had been long ago. "I'm a commander now. It's different."

Deuce searched his face for a moment before he nodded. "I have a few things I need to wrap up after this mission, but when that's done, I'll join you. Clearly, you need more patching up than one doctor can manage."

Them ending up with two doctors on the same ship—Deuce having refined what he learned growing up with what he observed with Whitebeard's nurses—was a quirk of them having to pick up Deuce on the way to their territory. Ace wasn't too bothered about it; unlike the other doc, Deuce was also comfortable in a fight.

Ace squeezed his shoulder and then let go. "Maybe we can track down Kimei together. I want to at least make sure he's okay."

"Agreed."

"By the way, I meant to ask—any marines since that island?"

"No, no pursuit. Seems he really was acting alone."

"Good."

In the lull that followed, Ace stared down at his hand. He let it turn to fire, and he stared at those tongues of flame in thought. With the distant scent of the island burning, there was no room for his brain to insert any smell of burning flesh. Besides, after that second fight with Akainu, he felt closer to his flames than ever. With a little concentration, he could tinge the orange with blue.

Yeah. If Akainu tried again, he'd be ready.

They stood in companionable silence for a while, watching the water. A few sea kings were fighting off in the distance—visible only as the occasional fin flashing within sprays of water—but none were approaching their ship, at least not yet. Ace began to fiddle with his sling before he glanced at his companion.

"Deuce?"

"What?"

"Thanks."

"For…?"

"Everything."

Deuce tilted his head but slowly nodded. "Anytime."

In the hours it took them to reach the island, several things happened. First, a vicious sea king took exception to their ship passing through its territory. After the fish shrugged off his crew's attacks and even Ace's weakened lefty fire fist, Ace solved that problem with a burst of conqueror's haki that left him feeling only a little like he was going to pass out.

After the sea king, one of the New World's freak weather events opened up a whirlpool right under them. Under Deuce's quick direction, Ace solved that problem by jumping into Striker and using the smaller craft to tow the other ship clear while his crew, the ones not stuck bailing out ever more water, rowed for all they were worth. While doing that, Ace tried not to think about how low in the water their ship was sitting and how little it moved with the waves that rolled under it. He hadn't seen any of that damage before he passed out—they hadn't taken on enough water by then. And he'd been a little distracted.

Finally, the column of smoke proved to be an entire city's worth of burning buildings. Ace picked out relatively few active fires judging by the brightness, but what had burned before was still smoldering, and a choking haze hung over the water for several miles in every direction.

"Not the best place for repairs," Deuce muttered, standing next to Ace on the prow.

"Yeah." Ace set his shoulders—shoulder, when the other one complained. "But we don't have a choice."

Under the veil of smoke, the island was relatively small, probably just a hair larger than Dawn Island. The kingdom it boasted had set up its castle on a tiered hill overlooking the port town, its triangular construction matching the very uniform mountains that ringed the area like crenelations on a tower. Everything about the island, in fact, was pointy in some way, from the roofs of every building to the canvas screens stretched over the streets to the tops of the posts holding up the pier.

But the castle was more than pointy—it was very well defended. Booms they'd been able to hear when they were still an hour out were now near-deafening, and their source was a series of massive cannons set into the castle walls. Whenever one of those fired, a beat later, a massive explosion ripped through a section of the island. At least they were targeting the land; the pirate ship had, for now, escaped their list of priorities. The haze was providing a little bit of cover.

"Gotta be some kind of civil war," Dottie noted, adjusting the polka-dot scarf that was the source of her nickname. She frowned when the motion was impeded by the bandages on her hand.

"And we're sure there's no chance we can make it anywhere else?" Bront tried.

Deuce shook his head. "Water in the bottom level got all the way up to my chest thanks to the whirlpool, so, yes, we're sure. Unless Ace figured out how to use those flames to fly more than just himself."

Ace, peering at the dock and seeing no sign of any local authorities coming out to greet them, barely heard him. "Sorry, no can do."

He jumped down to that pier when the ship was close enough. The landing jarred him to his bones, and all of his burns pulsed with a warning shot of pain, none stronger than his arm. He ignored it.

Though the town was clearly in the middle of some kind of conflict, no one was paying much attention to the port. A glance around showed only a handful of other ships docked, and pretty much all of them—save for one set apart from the rest that was rather garishly decorated and sported exclusively triangular sails that had to belong to whoever was defending that castle—were nondescript. None were flying a jolly roger.

Deuce's boots thudded down onto the planks of the dock until he was stopped behind Ace. "What's your thinking, Commander?"

"It's definitely not a raid." Ace scanned what he could see of the streets and houses. The clash of steel and bang of gunfire rang out all over, so frequent and overlapping so much that it was impossible to pinpoint a single source. "I don't see any marines, either. Whatever it is, it's been going on for a while."

"Dottie's probably right about the civil war."

"Yeah." He pointed at a handful of warehouses a hundred yards away from where they'd docked. Most looked intact. "I'm betting we'll find timber and other ship supplies there. If we—"

He stopped. There were people approaching: a fishman with green skin and some kind of white uniform tied with a belt at the waist, a young redheaded woman with a scarlet cap and gold goggles resting upon its brim, and a third guy dressed in a scorched tunic with the remnants of a triangular cape fluttering behind him. They'd come out of a nearby alleyway, not the little shed at the end of the dock where the authority typically camped.

"Afternoon," Ace greeted, stepping forward so they wouldn't get too close to his ship and crew. "Are you the welcoming party? Only one of you looks local."

"What brings the Whitebeard Pirates here?" the woman asked. Her voice was pleasant enough but it couldn't cover the tension blanketing her whole group. "We weren't aware you were in the area."

"We had to take an unexpected detour."

Her eyes darted down to his arm. He gave her a lazy smile; injured arm or not, he was still plenty dangerous. To ease the sting of any implied threat, he jerked a thumb back at the ship, which, even with all the bailing, was still sitting low. "We need supplies to repair our ship, then we'll be on our way."

She frowned. "That's it?"

Someone else dropped down from the ship behind Ace, making the woman and her two friends brace themselves.

"Commander," the cook said quietly, "we're also running low on food. If we're going to sail out of here without risking scurvy, we need something other than fish to eat."

"I'll take care of it." He eyed the woman, who looked far more inclined to kick Ace and his crew firmly out to sea with only a barrel between them than offer help. What were the odds they'd let Ace go shopping?

The odds were pretty high. At least, they were after a lot of negotiating and Ace pointing out that what was worse than a boat full of Whitebeard Pirates was a sinking boat full of hungryWhitebeard Pirates. Thus were Ace and four of his crewmates escorted toward the market street. The rest, including Deuce, stayed by the ship: some to collect supplies to repair it, some to defend it, and some to continue the endless bailing until those repairs could be done. Ace's escort was the woman, and just the woman; the other two split off within a couple of streets.

"Fighting has largely coalesced around the castle," the woman—Koala, as she'd introduced herself—explained to Ace as they walked. "The markets should be safe enough for you to get what you need."

"Should be?"

"No guarantees. The soldiers have been getting rather desperate and those cannons aren't going anywhere."

"How long has all this been going on?"

She sighed. "This is the third day."

No wonder there was so much smoke, and so few civilians. Everyone Ace saw was either a fallen soldier bedecked in triangle-patterned armor or a resistance fighter in far more slapdash armor. Their rallying symbol was apparently a pair of crossed triangular pendants waving in the wind.

"That castle," she indicated the one squatting above them all, "is ancient, and its defenses were for ages considered impregnable. We're working on that, but it takes time."

"And who's we? You're clearly not from around here—no offense."

"None taken." As she walked, Koala scanned their surroundings. At first, Ace attributed it to justifiable caution since they were walking through an active battlefield. When she crouched next to a body lying facedown on the edges of a collapsed house and gently rolled it over, only to let out a silent breath, he realized she was looking for someone. "At first, we were just here to scout things out, but while we were here what we thought was a slow boil turned out to be a lit fuse, and you can see the results."

What he could see was an oppressive haze of smoke and dust, dozens upon dozens of bodies scattered around, and the choked sunlight shining off innumerable weapons and bullets lying near their fallen owners and targets alike. And that she'd avoided answering his question.

He absently scratched at the bandages near his wrist, only for his crewmate to slap his hand away. Ace scowled at the guy, and the guy scowled right back. Knowing he was being saved from a Deuce lecture, Ace let his hand fall.

After the sea-king-induced haki headache, he'd been wary of using his haki again. So when a guy in pink-and-orange checkered pants careened out of a nearby alley yelling for Koala, it was all Ace could do not to reflexively kick him into the only building on the block left standing.

"Sevens!" Koala's shoulders dropped with relief. "Are you—"

A bullet punched through Sevens' leg and he dropped like a stone. Koala caught him and dragged him out of the line of fire while Ace retaliated with a continuous flame gun that mowed down the squad of soldiers who'd been giving chase. They went down with screams of pain, their triangle-festooned armor accents proving to be quite flammable. The rest of the Whitebeards readied themselves for more, but no one else appeared.

"Sevens, stay with me! You're okay, it's just a shot to the leg. It looks like it missed anything vital." Koala reached into the small backpack she'd been wearing and produced a bandage, which she expertly tied as a tourniquet just above the bullet wound in Sevens' thigh. "That'll hold for a few minutes. Where's Sabo? Wasn't he with you?"

"Went," Sevens gasped, face streaked with sweat and blood, "went into the caves under the castle. Royals detonated a trap, cave was collapsing. Didn't see him come out. I had to run, I had to, I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay." Koala glanced up at the sound of more approaching footsteps. It was the fishman again. "Hak, good timing. Can you take him to the field hospital?"

"Yes," Hak hefted the man up into a bridal carry. He whimpered when his wound was jostled. "I was coming to tell you, they put up a fresh barricade on the service entrance we found earlier. Though we haven't found any sign of the missing children yet, I spotted Sabo making his way here. I told him you're looking for him."

Koala let out a relieved breath that ended as annoyed huff. "If he'd answer his stupid snail, I wouldn't need to look, or worry that he's been buried alive. But thanks, I'll keep my eyes peeled."

Hak nodded and took off at a jog whose every jolting step had to be agonizing for the guy he was carrying judging by the cries. Ace's shoulder throbbed in sympathy, but he barely noticed it, too distracted by something else he'd heard.

"Sabo?" he asked. He remembered her examining various bodies along their route. In hindsight, he realized they'd all been blond. "Is that who you're looking for?"

She hefted her backpack over her shoulders and stood straight, eyeing him critically. Evidently deciding there was no point hiding the information, she said, "Yes, he's a bit of a loose cannon partner, running off the way he does. He said he would get back before you lot reached shore, but that didn't happen. He should've been the one to talk to you."

"I think you did fine."

"Of course I did, but he's the one who's always had a curiosity for pirates. Anyway, let's keep moving. We're getting close to the market."

It was an obvious deflection away from the topic of Sabo. Shrugging, Ace let it go. He'd been curious about this stranger who shared his brother's name, but making sure his crew was taken care of came first.

"Thanks," Koala said after another block.

"For what?"

"Handling those soldiers. This isn't your fight; you didn't have to."

Ace stepped over the body of a fallen soldier. Someone had stripped the armor off, but some of the triangular bits of cloth remained. "They'd attack us too. Besides, it felt like the right thing to do."

Another booming explosion from the castle's cannons firing shook the air.

"A pirate with a moral compass? Though, you are one of Whitebeard's." She tsked when she saw a makeshift barricade blocking their way, then led them on a quick detour through a nearby alley where someone else's barricade had been ripped apart. "This place has been ruled by corrupt kings for centuries—people without any moral direction. Or just enough to point them solidly away from what's right. And those kings gathered a lot of like-minded nobles who are putting up quite a fight to maintain their right to exploit and abuse their people."

Ace considered the castle. From this far away, it didn't look too big, but the people swarming its battlements were barely visible. "Nobles, huh?"

"Spoken like someone who doesn't like them."

There were a couple chuckles from the other Whitebeards. It was an understatement, and not just for Ace.

"Can't say I'm a fan. Though," blond hair and blue eyes flashed through his brain, "I've learned they're not all bad."

Koala snorted. "Yeah, well, these guys are all bad, and they've promised their militias a lot of money to make sure no one in this kingdom ever thinks of revolution ever again. Before you got here, they were trying to set the castle village on fire with casks of explosives they'd smuggled in earlier. Fortunately, we noticed and stopped most of them, and the remaining fires are mostly under control. All these people, their people, and they were just going to kill them and destroy their home? For what? It's despicable."

"Because they can."

She glanced at him in confusion.

"Why they do it," he elaborated. "Because they can. Because doing it means they can hold onto power, and it reminds the trash of their place." It took him a few steps to realize Koala had gone pale and put another step between them. He pulled his flames back and forced himself to exhale slowly. "How is it going? The revolution, I mean."

"I didn't think a pirate like you would be interested in one island's politics."

"I'm here now and my ship is going to take a while to repair. Even if the nobles end the revolution today, I don't think they're going to take kindly to pirates docked on their shores if they're willing to burn their own people. Maybe I'm interested in making sure the needle moves one way." Besides, he tacked on silently, you've got a guy with my brother's name fighting for you. Sabo was dead, sure, but maybe he felt a little inclined to help out the guy carrying on his name, so long as he proved to be worthy of it.

"Well," she hesitated, "we're not really in the business of contracting with pirates. We can handle this ourselves."

"You still haven't said exactly who you are." Though, at this point, he had a guess.

She noticed the street sign at the next corner and brightened. "We're here. I think a handful of the shopkeepers came back after the fighting moved away from here, and if not, you can take inventory and leave some b—"

They rounded the corner and she cut herself off, eyes widening in shock.

"Huh." Ace tipped up the brim of his hat. "Guess I'm not the only one who wants supplies."

Halfway down the street, a large platoon of noble militiamen—easily identifiable by their vibrantly colored uniforms wholly unlike the pedestrian garb of the local residents—was razing the shops. The bodies of the few shopkeepers who'd objected lay cooling on the cobblestones.

"Secure the supplies we need, secure the day!" yelled the presumed lieutenant to his fifty men. He slammed the butt end of his pike against the ground. "Just burn the rest."

Fury stirred low in Ace's chest. Nobles taking whatever they wanted, damned be the rest of them. Same as always. Possibly even worse than Goa Kingdom; at least there, the nobles had normally seen fit to toss their trash where the rabble could have it rather than burn it.

Then again, rare was the day anything truly valuable made it to the Gray Terminal. Sabo had speculated once or twice about how the nobles discarded the really good stuff—the things that would've doubled, tripled the value of their paltry treasure hoard with just a couple items—and how they probably made certain those things never ended up where the dregs of society could find them.

At some point, he didn't know when, he'd stepped forward in front of Koala. He was vaguely aware of her shocked expression, her upraised hand, the question of are you really—

But before he could hurl a torrent of flames building in his left hand at the soldiers, something else hit them from behind. Bodies flew up and crashed back down, and shouts of surprise and pain carried on the smoke-laden wind between flashes of some metal weapon that moved too fast for Ace to see what it was. He slowly lowered his fist as the platoon was ripped apart by…a single man, he realized, while the remaining soldiers fled and their attacker stowed his weapon on his back and dusted off his hands.

The haze made it hard to see details until the man was close. When Koala didn't look alarmed at his approach, Ace figured he was another revolutionary, so he hooked his thumb on his belt, leaned his weight back, and waited.

He made out a top hat, long coat, and hair that was either brunette or blond before Koala was striding past him. The man opened his mouth to say something only for Koala to pinch his cheeks painfully.

"Why didn't you answer my calls?" she demanded.

"Shorry, I wash bishy," the man, who was coated in so much dust and soot he looked like he'd lost a fight with a chimney, managed to say. Koala released his face and he rubbed his cheeks, wincing. "That leader was the last of the nobles' generals; their command structure should be in disarray now. I couldn't sneak up on him if I was talking to you." He glanced past Koala to Ace, a light of surprise shining in his eyes. "Fire Fist Ace, right? I saw your ship approaching earlier. What brings you here?"

Puzzled by the man sounding vaguely familiar, Ace shrugged. "Repairs."

"I've always found pirates interesting. What's it like to be on an Emperor's crew?"

Koala pinched his cheeks again. "NOT. THE TIME. SABO."

Ace's eyebrows shot up. Sabo? So this was him. The fitful breeze was pushing the haze away, and as it cleared, he could get a better look at the guy. The hair, under the dirt, was indeed blond and fell in short waves from under a black top hat sporting a pair of goggles that sent a pang through Ace's chest. Plus that napkin at his collar, the pipe on his back…

His gut said that was too many coincidences. His brain, though, knew the truth.

Sabo was dead.

The Grand Line was a big place; it wasn't impossible there was another brat like him wandering around. Even if this one was close enough to make Ace's heart hurt.

When the breeze caught his hair, it moved enough to reveal some kind of scar over the man's left eye, something Sabo definitely hadn't had. Besides, this guy wasn't acting like he knew Ace. Just to be sure, he stuck out a hand, interrupting Koala's lecture.

"Portgas D. Ace. Nice to meet you."

The man who called himself Sabo blinked in surprise and then, with a tiny shrug, shook Ace's hand with a firm grip. "Sabo, the same to you. I'm afraid I don't have a lot of time to chat at the moment—"

"Damn right you don't!" Koala snapped, yanking him away. She paused just long enough to ask Ace, "Do you know the way back?" He nodded and she added, "Take what you need and leave some beri, we'll handle it." Then she refocused on Sabo. "Like I was trying to tell you, Hack discovered they barricaded our service entrance into the castle. We need to find a new one." She kept going, but she was pulling Sabo away, and their voices were lost to the chaos. Ace still watched until they were out of sight, unable to look away from that top hat and the shock of blond hair below it.

He never grew it out when we were kids, he mused. His parents wouldn't let him, and when he lived with us, he said long hair was too much of a target.

Seeing this guy now, he thought the look would've suited Sabo as a kid just as well, if not better.

He shelved that thought for later melancholy and turned to his crewmates. "Let's see what we can find."

They found some, but not all, of what they needed. Ace's shipwright determined they could make temporary repairs—enough to get them to another island in a less unstable state—but no more than that thanks to a cannon shot having taken out several warehouses before their arrival. And with the revolution still going on and stray shots coming uncomfortably close to their craft, there was the chance any repair work could get undone before they even left this island.

Between this and what he had unintentionally done to the Moby Dick, he was having terrible luck with ships lately.

He cast a critical gaze over the island from the deck. It seemed, no matter what, they would be stuck here until things calmed down. As the commander, Ace should stay with the ship; he was, after all, a pirate responsible for his crew, and one who had no reason to care about anyone involved in the revolution. But that Sabo character wouldn't leave his head.

A pointed cough from the doc, who was carrying some medical supplies toward the entrance to belowdecks, reminded Ace to stop absentmindedly fiddling with his sling. He sighed and pushed off the railing to find something small he could carry without aggravating his wounds.

He couldn't abandon one family to chase the ghost of another.

Halfway through turning, he was the first to see the cannon shot from the castle's defenses flying right for them. He aborted his turn, kicked off the railing into the air, and called on his devil fruit to push him just a bit farther into the right spot. Right as gravity started to take hold, he lashed out with a spinning kick, balancing his devil fruit and haki so his black-sheened shin slammed into the cannon ball while fire gave him the force he needed. The cannonball careened back the way it had come. Ace dropped to the dock, staggered a half-step, and watched a deceptively small section of the castle wall explode.

The shock of landing jarred his burned arm and his strained shoulder let out a sharp pang of protest to counter the dull ache of tapping into his haki. He stifled a wince. Good thing the doc was busy with those supplies.

An icy presence washed up behind him. He froze.

"Commander," Deuce said, voice hauntingly pleasant, "I thought you were taking it easy, on account of nearly dying."

"I'm fine, I'm fine!"

"You almost fell into the water."

"I didn't!" He turned around to plead his case and saw that Deuce had his arms full with a few sacks of grain he'd been in the middle of ferrying up the gangplank. That was an opportunity if Ace had ever seen one.

"Keep working on repairs!" he yelled to the whole ship, adjusting his hat. He had his excuse; they'd fired on his family. "I'm gonna go make sure they don't shoot at us again."

Deuce's eyes went wide. "You—"

"Want a hand?" This question came from a couple of his division members working on repairs nearby. Ace waved them off.

"Keep defending the ship. Leave the castle to me."

"Commander!"

Aaaaand there was the doc. Deuce was hunting for a place to drop those sacks, probably so he could tackle Ace and drag him into the infirmary. "C'mon, you two, I'll use my legs!" Even if Fire Foot Ace made him sound like some kind of dancer.

The man heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Please be careful."

Deuce glanced up at him in utter betrayal.

With a grin and flippant salute, Ace struck out at a jog until he was far enough from his ship, then blasted himself up into the air and flew towards the castle. That, he was sure, was where he'd find Sabo.

First, he'd take care of those cannons in the wall. Then, he had a few questions. Just a few.

Brushing ashes off his sling, Ace peered around the castle courtyard. The smoke from his fiery doll attack made it really hard to see, and in the haze, all the rubble looked like bodies until he got close.

Approaching the castle had been easy. Even when a couple of the cannons noticed his approach and fired on him, they were meant for much larger targets and, even the one time they got lucky, they were useless against a man made of fire. From there, all Ace had needed to do was blast himself up and over the wall, at which point he had a clear shot at the defenders gathered in the courtyard behind the main gate.

But man, he'd raised hell here and now it was damned hard to see. He chanced a weak test of his observation haki and his head pulsed in reply—but he got a sense of the courtyard around him. No signs of Sabo or Koala.

He spun on his heel to head for a door leading into the keep. As he entered, he was faintly aware of the locals who'd been tentatively watching him approach the castle breaking down the weakened front gate behind him.

Good for them.

Inside, the castle continued its obsession with triangles. Even the hallways had ceilings that angled up into sharp points, which had to have been hell to build.

His head was still hurting, so he held off on more haki and tracked Sabo the old-fashioned way: looking for the biggest fight he could find. This involved a lot of opening triangular doors. Most led to empty rooms or identical triangular hallways. By the third, Ace was annoyed. By the fifth, irritated. By the tenth, angry.

When he opened the eleventh door, an entire barracks' worth of soldiers stared back at him.

Oh. This was a barracks.

"Never mind," he said, and closed the door. He made it five paces away before the door crashed open and a tide of soldiers poured out.

"HOLD IT!" they yelled, along with, "STOP RIGHT THERE!" and "INTRUDER!"

Their armor decorations once again proved to be flammable. Ace shook out the flames lingering on his fist and ignored the twist in his stomach at the sickly-sweet smell in the air. At least the wind from the hole he'd just made in the wall was clearing it quickly.

"Shoulda stayed in there," he told their bodies with a jerk of his chin toward the door.

He finally found the fight he was looking for in what proved to be the throne room. When he finished dispatching the guards outside and kicked the oversized doors open, he lowered his foot in surprise. The hinges, which had looked so sturdy as he approached, were apparently pretty flimsy because the doors had ripped free and sailed clear across the room to embed themselves in the far wall with a thundering crash.

"Sorry," he said to the crowd, which was full of faces looking at him or the doors in stunned disbelief. Then Ace looked closer at those faces. There was Sabo, standing on the red and orange triangle-patterned carpet that ran from the doorway, up the three stone steps to the dais, and pooled under a couple of chairs with gleaming diamond-encrusted triangled sticking out their backs. Old habits had Ace briefly calculating their value before he dropped his gaze down to the man and woman sitting on them. By the gaudy crowns and clothes, they had to be the local rulers. Which made all the other gaudily dressed people in the room nobles. The ones who weren't soldiers, anyway.

At the foot of the dais, several of those soldiers had a number of children on their knees with blades held to their necks. More soldiers had blades leveled at Sabo, who was too far away to reach those kids before the blades cut their throats.

The situation was clear: Sabo, probably using Ace's attack on the courtyard as a distraction, had snuck inside in an effort to take out the king and queen. Anticipating some kind of attack, the nobles had used kidnapped local children as hostages to stay Sabo's hand.

"Fire Fist?" Sabo asked, confused. Hearing his own epithet fall from Sabo's lips rather than his name and having it feel about as comfortable as nails down a chalkboard solidified things in Ace's mind: this was Sabo. His Sabo. It had to be—or Ace was going crazy.

The last time he'd thought he was losing it, he had really and truly traveled back in time. Compared to that, Sabo somehow surviving the Celestial Dragon attack was borderline mundane.

Didn't explain the mystery of why Sabo didn't know him, but he'd burn that bridge when he got to it. The current priority was dealing with the triangle-spangled idiots pointing their weapons at his brother.

"Look at you," he told Sabo. "What would you do without me?"

Indignation furrowed Sabo's brow, but before he could reply, Ace gathered what little haki had pooled back in his reserves, packed it down tight, and then unleashed it in a devastating wave. The haki itself was invisible. The effects were not: every single noble and soldier in the room fell back as through struck, their weapons clattering harmlessly to the ground. Sabo and the kids were the only ones unaffected.

Sabo was looking around, stunned. "Color of the supreme king?" he whispered.

Grinning with pride at his control, Ace wiped away a bit of blood trickling from his nose.

"See?" he said, and blacked out.

Unlike his usual narcoleptic attacks, this one was really unwilling to let Ace go. Maybe it hadn't been narcolepsy at all. He dredged his way up from the darkened deep until he had a vague sense of his own body. He was lying down somewhere hard, with something soft under his head, and the gentle slap of water against wood and the smell of the ocean coming from all around him. For a second, he thought he was on a ship—but no, the ground wasn't moving.

It took a few tries for his brain to connect with his body. When it did, he sat up with a jaw-cracking yawn and peered around through eyes slitted against the pounding in his head. "Why am I back at the docks?"

"Because you overdid it, you idiot!" Deuce snapped, slapping Ace upside the head. It was a gentle slap, though, and there was more worry than anger in his voice. "The revolutionaries had to carry you down here!"

"Oh." Nice to have his theory about who they were confirmed. He found those revolutionaries—Sabo, Koala, and Hack—having a quiet conversation among themselves while seated on a few supply barrels a few paces away. Upon hearing Deuce's yelling, though, they glanced over.

"Sorry for the trouble," Ace called. "I apparently overdid it. I didn't mean to be an inconvenience."

"Doc's gonna have your head," Deuce muttered.

Sabo hopped off his barrel and strode over while a combination of Deuce and Bront helped Ace to his feet. "No worries, we appreciated the help. Didn't expect you to collapse like that, though."

Ace shrugged his good shoulder. "It happens sometimes. Not usually like that, I'm just…"

"Recovering?" Sabo surmised with a glance at Ace's arm.

"Yeah."

Sabo nodded at the Whitebeards' ship, and in particular the damage still visible around the ongoing repairs. "Speaking of trouble, can I ask what caused so much for you?"

Ace scratched his chin. Couldn't hurt, really, to tell them about Akainu. They'd probably want to know an admiral was nearby anyway. So he shared an abbreviated version of that confrontation and how it had led to them limping their way to this island.

"Can't say I'm upset to hear you gave as good as you got," Sabo said when Ace was done. "Koala, can you spread the word? We should be careful. Even if he wasn't out here on official assignment, I don't want him deciding to unofficially assign himself to investigating our activity in the area."

Koala saluted and pulled a Den Den Mushi from her pocket.

"Your repairs are making good progress," noted Hack in her absence. His voice took on a tone as pointed as his teeth. "When do you plan to move on?"

"Well, my crew's gotta report back to Pops, recover, and probably get a new ship on the way too, but," Ace's eyes landed on Sabo, "I think I'll stay with you."

"WHAT?" roared his crew, making him wince. Sabo and Hack were similarly flabbergasted, and at the look on Sabo's face in particular, Ace couldn't hide his smile.

To his crew, he said, "We've taken care of the threats to Whitebeard in this area and it's time to regroup with the rest of the fleet."

"Still," Deuce protested. "Of everyone, you're the one who needs to recover the most."

"I'll be fine. It's nothing a few good meals can't fix."

"Why do you always do this?" He pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved a long-suffering sigh. "You'd think I'd be used to it by now."

"If I may," Sabo interrupted. "You haven't explained why you're staying behind." His polite tone was just the slightest bit strained. There were other tells, too, things Ace only recognized as betraying Sabo's confusion and irritation because they matched his childhood observations: the tilt of his head, the asymmetry of his smile, and how he'd leaned the slightest bit closer to Ace to add a tiny bit of pressure most people wouldn't consciously notice. "Surely the commander should report back too."

"You are such a hypocrite," said Koala, having just returned. "Where's this attitude when you finish a mission?"

"This is my first time running into revolutionaries," Ace lied. In truth, he'd encountered them a handful of times over the years, but usually in fleeting one-off interactions or in the distance. And never had he heard about Sabo being part of them. "I'm curious, that's all."

Sabo narrowed his eyes. "Curiosity can be a dangerous thing."

Ace answered that with a lazy smile. To Sabo's left, Hack was bringing Koala up to speed. Her expression went from confused, to stunned, to annoyed.

"Curious or not," she said, "we can't have you tagging along. You're far too recognizable, and while you may not like the World Government either, there's a world of difference between being a pirate and being a revolutionary to them. You don't want that level of attention."

Oh, the irony. "I can handle it."

Sabo pinched the bridge of his nose in a way strikingly similar to Deuce and Koala looked a couple more words away from trying to toss Ace into the ocean. Rather than do that, though, she grabbed Sabo and pulled him away into a hissed discussion. Apparently, neither of them knew that Ace had picked up on how to read lips back when he was a kid.

He didn't catch everything, of course, but the gist was easy enough to follow: they couldn't figure out how the hell they were going to give the second division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates the slip, they were considering sabotaging his ship, and they were worried about any retaliation.

"Sabo," Ace called, interrupting their hurried discussion. "Can I talk to you? Just you. I'll make it fast. I think it'll change your mind, too."

Sabo glanced at Koala, who threw up her hands. He sighed and strolled over to Ace, who'd retreated a little from his men for privacy's sake. "What is it?"

"Those scars," Ace nodded at Sabo's face while the man bristled, "they're from a Celestial Dragon's attack in the Goa Kingdom, right?"

Sabo's reflexive anger tumbled into shock. "What?"

That answer was all the confirmation he needed. "Let me sail with you a while, and I'll tell you how I know that."

"And if I refuse?"

He shrugged. "I haven't decided yet."

Only after saying it did he realize how ominous it sounded, but really, he just hadn't figured it out. Sabo's guard slammed right back up.

"Look," Ace placated while trying not to make it obvious how badly he wanted Sabo to agree to this, "I have some information I think you want, and I have no intention of ruining whatever mission you came out here to do. I just want to talk to you."

"Me, specifically."

He nodded and Sabo sighed, staring down at the ground in thought. There was a familiar furrow in his brow that spoke to the conflicting goals he was trying to balance. Knowing better than to speak, Ace merely waited. Finally, Sabo raised his head.

"Let me make some calls."

While Sabo made his calls, Ace fended off the questions from his crew. They were all used to his whims by now, but this one easily took the case for most inexplicable, and they wanted answers—especially when they'd have to answer the rest of the fleet's questions about just where the hell their second division commander was running off to this time, and while he was injured to boot.

Ace placated some of those by promising to call Marco before he left. He placated the rest by saying rather simply that Sabo was his brother, he just didn't know it yet. After that, he was left mostly in peace, though the grumbles about his capricious nature remained. Ace tried to ignore the doc saying he was going to talk to Tasuka about ways to make Ace cooperate with his own recovery in the future. He tried even harder to ignore Deuce's pointed, "Told you so."

Belowdecks, he found his Den Den Mushi and rang Marco, who picked up after several seconds of quiet purupurupurupurupuru.

"What is it-yoi?"

"It's me. You heard what happened from Deuce?"

"I did. It's good to hear you're awake." Marco's voice turned heavy with displeasure. "Akainu overstepped."

"Yeah. We were lucky to all get out."

"Your ship was damaged, right?"

"Yeah, we're docked at an island to do repairs now. When that's done, I'm sending my crew back to the Moby—something's come up."

Marco's sigh echoed across the Grand Line. "Ace…"

"I'm not going after Akainu," Ace hastened to reassure him. "Remember Luffy?"

"Straw Hat? How could I forget?"

"Well, I had another brother. Thought he was dead. Turns out I was wrong."

Ace could count the number of times he'd seen Marco gobsmacked on one hand, but the snail was doing a pretty good job conveying the expression. After a beat, though, Marco collected himself with another sigh that Ace knew meant he was rubbing his temples.

"At least you gave some warning this time. Any other long-lost family I should know about?"

Garp's face flashed through Ace's brain. He shuddered and elected to keep the rest of his living family to himself. The dead ones weren't worth mentioning.

"No, no one else. I don't know when I'll be back, but I will be back, I promise. This isn't a," he paused when he realized the phrase "Blackbeard hunt" wouldn't mean as much to this Marco. "I know what I'm doing," he amended. "My brother needs some help, so I'm going to travel with him for a while."

The thought that Sabo would refuse no longer even crossed his mind.

"Well, take care of yourself. And if you happen to run into more marines or troublemaking crews on your way—"

"I got it, I got it. I'll be careful, you don't need to mother hen me."

They hammered out a few more details—where Ace's crew was coming from and how long their repairs would take, mainly—before Ace hung up and went back to shore to see if Sabo had wrapped up his end of things.

Deus stopped him on the deck. "Here," he said, passing over a sheet of paper and a satchel. Ace took both with his good hand and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Care instructions for your burns and the supplies to do that care. You'll need his help for some of it."

Ace knelt down and carefully fit the satchel and instruction sheet inside his watermelon bag. "Thanks, Deuce."

"Yeah, yeah. You'd better take care of yourself, understand?"

"I understand."

The moment his boots hit the stone pier, though, Koala was striding up to him.

"What are you trying to do?" she asked. Ace hefted his bag a little higher on his shoulder and gave her a grin that invited suspicion.

"What do you think I'm doing?"

She scowled. "What do you want with him? What did you say to him?"

Pleasure stripped the wild edge from his smile and made it something far more genuine. "Ah, he's letting me tag along? If he didn't tell you why, it's his business."

"You expect me to believe the second division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates happens to come to this island at this particular moment and happens to take particular interest in Sabo?"

"That's what happened."

She put her hands on her hips while worrying at her lip, and worry it was, Ace realized.

"Hey," he said, softening his voice, "I'll take good care of him. I have good reason to."

"The worst part," she said after a moment of searching his face, "is that I believe you. Ugh! You and him are perfect for each other, the way you do whatever you want."

"There you are, is Koala giving her blessing?" Sabo was striding down the pier, a small bag of supplies slung over one shoulder. "She means well."

"I can tell. My ship isn't meant for two—mind if I tie it to yours?" Ace pointed to one of the other ships in the harbor, and Sabo cocked his head.

"Who's to say that's mine?"

"You revolutionaries came here on those two," Ace indicated the two most nondescript ships rocking gently amid all the other craft. They were the only two that were conspicuously free of any damage. "I'm guessing most of your people came here on the larger one. Stands to reason, if you're striking off on your own, you'll take the smaller one."

"Am I? Striking off on my own, I mean."

"The way you didn't want me snooping on you at all, yeah, I don't think you want me watching everyone else, too. Which is fine by me; like I said, I just want to talk to you."

An appreciative gleam in his eye, Sabo nodded. "Sure, you can tie yours to mine."

Ace lazily touched two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute and jumped over to Striker to untie it from the Whitebeard craft. He put his back to land so no one could see that his hand was shaking as he worked at the knot one-handed.

Sabo. Sabo Sabo Sabo. Every blink brought a new memory: their first time meeting, their first spar, the first treasure they ever put into their hoard, the first time Ace showed Sabo the right way to dine and dash, on and on and on.

There was a smile on his face he couldn't hide if he tried.

Chapter Text

Their departure from the island was uneventful. In part thanks to Ace's intervention, the revolution's main goal of toppling the monarchy was done, and Koala and the others were per Sabo more than capable of steering the interim government in the right direction.

From the deck of Sabo's ship, Ace had waved goodbye to his crew. He'd yelled at them to stay out of trouble, which had been thrown right back in his face, complete with several indignant insults and a particularly spirited invective from Deuce. Fair enough.

Now, though, it was just him and Sabo on the open ocean in Sabo's rather small ship, whose cabin in the stern was just a bathroom, two small bedrooms, and tiny galley. Striker was tied behind, and Ace figured he'd sleep there just so he didn't put Sabo even more on edge than he was already even though Koala had removed her few things from the second bedroom.

Content to let Sabo take the helm while they sailed, Ace leaned back with his elbow on the railing and grinned at his brother. Sabo raised an eyebrow.

"You keep doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Smiling at me."

Ace shrugged. There was the initial hit of Sabo being alive now, but Ace had realized something else: if Sabo was alive now, then Sabo had been alive then, which meant Ace hadn't left Luffy alone. Luffy'd still had a brother out in the world, even if Sabo hadn't remembered him, and that realization had been hitting Ace over and over again for the last several minutes. "It's nothing. Where are we headed?"

"First, stop scratching at your bandages."

"But they itch!"

Sabo gave him a baleful look that was twice as cutting when Ace realized that, of course, Sabo would've dealt with this kind of thing. Didn't mean he had to be a dick about it.

"Okay, okay. Deuce talked to you?"

"Is he the one in the white coat?"

"Oh, the doc did." Sneaky bastard. Probably got Deuce to distract Ace so he'd miss that conversation happening. "Fine. The plan?"

"Well, if I have someone as recognizable as you tagging along, my usual covert operations aren't on the table."

"Sounds serious."

"Instead, since you're so dead set on staying with me, I figure I might as well stick to the overt ones."

"Dragging me into a fight?"

"I can still turn this ship around."

Ace's smile sharpened. "No need."

"You know that associating with me will put you firmly in the World Government's crosshairs." Sabo appraised him critically, not for the first time. "But it doesn't bother you."

"Not really, no." He already knew the worst-case scenario. Relative to that, what else was there?

"Are all Whitebeard Pirates as reckless as you?"

Sabo was being so cautious, and in a way, it was gratifying to see his brother's careful side still on full display all these years later. It made purposely acting reckless so much more rewarding. Even if the proof that Sabo didn't remember Ace's heritage dimmed that smile.

"Where are we hitting first?" There were a lot of islands around here, most of which were under the World Government's thumb.

"Vallaha," Sabo said. "Ever been?"

"No, actually. I think I've heard of it, though."

"It's a winter island that's a common vacation spot and a resupply hub for the marines. And, as a few of our people confirmed the other day, it's currently hosting a few rather high-profile nobles for a conference. Those nobles have…reputations, let's say, when it comes to the treatment of those they deem lesser. The kind that come with collars and whips."

Ace scowled. "Slavers."

"Right. We've tried more subtle methods in the past, but for every slave ship we freed and trader we took down, there were another two in their place. Their kingdoms shield them, so we can't attack them directly without putting too many innocents in harm's way."

"You mean, when they're at home. Which they aren't, if they're at this conference."

"Exactly."

"A high-profile attack like this on a World Government island with a marine base would look pretty bad."

"Which is why the World Government will cover it up for us, the same as they have for every other one of these we've done."

Somehow, Ace wasn't surprised to hear this had been done before. Sabo talked about it like it was as routine as a stop at a shipyard. "So, you do this a lot."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Ace snorted and turned around to face the ocean. "You're being vague on purpose. You can admit you've got a bone to pick with nobles."

"Considering one of them apparently tried to kill me, yes, I do have a bone to pick with them."

A couple seabirds flew overhead, squawking at each other as they went. A few dozen yards off the starboard side, a sea king's radiant red fin breached the water for just a moment before sinking back below the waves. Ace traced its dive for a moment with observation haki before a spike of pain behind his eyes let it slip free of his awareness. Before it went, that same observation haki told him—in agreement with the prickling sixth sense at the back of his neck—that Sabo was staring at him.

"Apparently," Ace repeated, soft. In his mind's eye, he could see both the child he remembered and the man behind him. The images merged, overlapped, until all the similarities and differences blurred together. But there was one that didn't, one that the simple passage of time couldn't explain. Those scars…they had to stretch past his face. The way Dogra had described it—

He cut off that recollection before those old emotions could overwhelm him. Instead, he swallowed them down. "We thought they succeeded. That you were dead."

Sabo squeezed the wheel so hard the wood creaked in protest. "We?"

"Me, Luffy, and the people who raised us."

"Luffy?"

Ace fumbled in his pockets for a moment before his fingers closed on a well-creased bit of paper. He pulled out the bounty poster, uncrumpled it, and held it aloft, pride warming his chest. "Straw Hat Luffy. We're brothers."

Relaxing his grip on the wheel, Sabo tried to wrap his head around that. "The rookie who took down Arlong? I suppose you do look alike."

Ace laughed and put the poster away, once again resting his elbow on the railing with his back to Sabo. If he was looking the man in the eye, he had no doubt Sabo would pick up on the pain every time he said something Sabo should recognize but didn't, and Ace was not ready to have that conversation yet. That was something to be approached carefully, a great black bear dozing in the woods. "Yeah, Luffy's amazing. He's gonna be the pirate king, you know." He paused, but Sabo didn't laugh. "We're not related by blood. We shared sake and became brothers."

"So, you two lived in the Goa Kingdom and saw what happened."

Another pang. Already shaking his head, he clarified, "We lived in the forests outside the kingdom. You were the only one who spent time living in the kingdom itself."

"You're being vague on purpose."

"I can't tell you everything right away or you'll have no reason to keep me around." Or, he added silently, you'll think I'm crazy and kick me off your ship. "I promised to tell you what I know, and I will. Just not all at once."

Not in the least because Ace himself wasn't sure how to tell a man who saw him as, by all practical measures, a complete stranger, that they were brothers. He'd rather not ruin this chance to befriend Sabo again by rushing it; he'd rushed far too many things in his life already.

"How far from Vallaha are we?"

Sabo checked a map and then glanced up at the sky, which was beginning to darken with oncoming night. "We won't reach it until tomorrow, so far enough that we should have dinner."

Ace perked up. "I'll handle that."

"You can cook?"

"Yeah, I cooked a lot of the game I caught as a kid, and one of my brothers taught me more when I joined with Whitebeard. I grabbed some supplies from the island before we left." He couldn't help smiling again, which made Sabo eye him with suspicion.

"Supplies for what, exactly?"

"Ramen!"

Something bright was shining into Sabo's right eye. He squeezed his eye shut tighter and rolled over in bed until the brightness went away. Then he felt it: gentle rocking. And heard it: the quiet rush of water. His ship was moving.

He shot upright, the lance of moonlight coming through the window once more dazzling him in the process. He should've put down anchor before sleeping, right? Why was the ship—

Because he wasn't alone. Sabo blew out a breath and scrubbed a hand through his hair. Right. Portgas D. Ace had volunteered to take first watch. After cooking some shockingly delicious ramen for dinner. And watching Sabo eat it like Sabo's word on the quality of the meal was the only thing that mattered to him despite the audible growling of his stomach.

Those were all small things, though, compared to the mind-boggling fact that he'd hurled himself right into the middle of a bloody revolution just to get more time with Sabo. That image—Ace in the ruined doorway, unconscious people piled around him, blood dripping from his nose while he beamed in a way that somehow punched right through Sabo's chest—would not leave his head. He'd half-expected to dream about it.

He couldn't help being surprised at himself for falling asleep. Full stomach or not, how had he managed to get comfortable enough for that with a stranger on his ship? He'd expected to manage a fitful doze at best while justified caution kept him up. Instead, the warm bubble that was the Whitebeard Pirate's presence had lulled him to sleep.

A literal warm bubble, he reflected. It seemed Ace's devil fruit had passive effects the man didn't notice, which was fine; it turned the night from chilly to pleasantly cool.

Regardless, he'd have to be more careful. Just because Ace hadn't done anything yet didn't mean he never would. Fire and Sabo didn't exactly have a history of getting along. For example, right now, Ace was taking far too long of a first shift. A quick pulse of observation haki pointed Sabo toward the deck.

Ace's presence, he reflected, had a warmth distinct from what anyone would expect of his Devil Fruit. He wanted to liken it to a crackling campfire, or—no, more accurately, a steady-burning hearth. But that wasn't quite it either.

He stood, stretched, and went to look for the pirate.

He found Ace on the far end of the deck and, to his relief, awake. The pirate was leaning against the railing, elbows on the wood while his hands dangled over the water. His hat, he'd left to fall over his scarred back, supported by the cord. His hair, thus freed, waved gently in the wind that was pushing a few scattered clouds across the night sky. He'd undone his sling, leaving it partway tucked through his belt.

It spoke to his distraction that he didn't react to Sabo's presence until Sabo got close, but maybe the quiet slap of waves against the hull had disguised his footsteps.

"Hey," Ace greeted without looking. "Am I late?"

"A little. It's my turn to be bored, go get some sleep."

Ace snorted softly but made no move to leave. His eyes flicked to Sabo's when Sabo leaned his back against the railing next to him, but they lingered only for a moment. "You don't remember anything from before the Celestial Dragon attack, do you?"

Even though the pirate's question didn't insinuate much of anything negative, Sabo still found his hackles rising. It had been so long since anyone was so casual about bringing up the incident that brought Sabo to the Revolutionaries. "Are you asking me or confirming? Because it seems like you know plenty about me already."

A flicker of—sadness?—passed over Ace's expression. "Less than I thought." He pushed off the railing. "Watch is all yours; try not to have too much fun."

"I won't," Sabo called to his retreating back, just as confused by the pirate's attitude toward him as before. Then another thought struck him. "Portgas!"

Ace glanced back, a disgruntled expression on his face. "What?"

"Take the other cabin. You don't need to sleep on that tiny ship. I'm worried you'll have a bad dream and fall out."

Affronted, Ace drew himself up to bite back and then realized Sabo was joking. He deflated with a roll of his eyes and a scoffed, "Fine, whatever."

Hiding his smile—it was fun to rile him up—Sabo resumed his watch. He loosely tracked Ace's progress with haki as the pirate first went to his ship to grab his things, then shlepped them over to the cabins and laid claim to the one Koala had vacated. The door closed, the lock…didn't click home. Sabo furrowed his brow, waiting, but after he spent a while changing out his bandages, Ace laid down and went to sleep with the door still unlocked.

Was it a trap? Or was he just that trusting? Sabo was leaning toward the latter. Clearly, Ace had known him in some capacity on Dawn Island, but what that capacity was and how much it meant he was keeping close to his chest.

There was one possibility he'd considered right away with Koala and dismissed just as quickly: maybe Ace was a spy, and had only ever been just someone else in the kingdom who saw an opportunity to get close to a revolutionary. The theory just didn't hold water. There was no reason for one of Whitebeard's men to go that far; what could the revolutionaries offer a pirate in such a prestigious crew? Besides, Whitebeard and the revolutionaries had an unspoken agreement to stay out of each other's way.

An agreement that Ace was, for whatever reason, breaking.

Ace had also recognized Sabo despite all the years between the last time they must've seen each other. So more likely, Ace had known Sabo as more than a fellow resident of the island. They looked nothing alike, which ruled out family, but…friends, maybe?

That didn't feel right.

Sighing, Sabo went to check the wheel and make sure they were still on course. Better boredom than questions that circled around without ever actually going anywhere.

In the morning, Sabo had breakfast ready but saw no sign of Ace. That was unusual—the guy had a borderline bloodhound-like nose for food, which he'd demonstrated the previous night when Sabo fixed himself a snack and looked up from the refrigerator to find Ace sleepily wandering through the galley door. Figuring he had either had another narcoleptic attack, genuinely overslept, or sleepwalked overboard, Sabo headed over to the other cabin and knocked.

"Ace? Breakfast's ready."

"Be out in a sec."

Something about Ace's tone raised alarms in Sabo's brain. It was tense, strained, carrying notes of please go awaythat were a far departure from Ace's habit of never letting Sabo out of his sight if he could help it.

"I'm coming in."

"Wait, don't—"

The door swung open, and there was Ace, standing a half-step away from the small mirror hung up on one wall with a blue flame still flickering around his right index finger. Sabo blinked.

"What am I looking at?"

Ace shook his hand to dispel the flames and then tried to run that same hand casually through his hair. His hat, Sabo noted, was over on his bed. "Nothing, just a morning shave."

"A shave. With fire?"

"It lasts longer."

"That has to be far more dangerous."

He shrugged. "I've gotten a lot better at it than I used to be."

"Surely a little facial hair isn't the end of the world."

"Surely it's none of your business."

Taken aback by Ace's sudden venom, Sabo opted to retreat. "Well, breakfast is ready, and that is my business. Hurry up before it gets cold."

When Sabo closed the door—almost slammed it, really—Ace felt a brief stab of guilt. It wasn't fair to get mad at his brother for that comment, for being ignorant of his heritage. But it had been so unexpected, that particular knife in the back from someone he trusted so early in the morning after a full night of childhood dreams, that he hadn't been able to stop his anger from whipping out a response.

Sighing, he went back to the mirror and finished getting rid of all the hairs that had started to grow since the last time he'd done this. The blue flames, while even more effective than his usual ones, were also prone to burning him if he wasn't careful, so he had to go slow.

By the time he was done, the smell of Sabo's breakfast had wound its way through the cracks in his door, and Ace's stomach was rumbling.

"Finally done?" Sabo asked when Ace showed himself in the galley.

"Fuck off," Ace replied, looking appreciatively at the large plate of eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast Sabo had put together. "And thanks."

"You made dinner. It's only fair."

"Mmpho on'o ee."

Though Ace's reply was somewhat muddied by the food going down his gullet, Sabo seemed to get the message anyway. "It's not about owing. I'd do the same for anyone else." On reflex, Sabo slapped away Ace's hand, which had been darting out to claim one of the pieces of bacon on Sabo's plate. "Hey!"

Ace shrugged. He'd be faster next time.

…As fast as Sabo, who'd just snatched one of Ace's pieces of toast and crammed it into his mouth while laying into his own food.

"Bashard," Ace managed around a mouthful of eggs. Sabo grinned around that piece of toast, and the fight was on.

In the end, they were both winners: stuffed to the gills and patting their stomachs in satisfaction while they wandered up to the deck to see if their destination was in sight yet.

"I can't believe you got me to do something so childish," Sabo muttered as they went. "I haven't fought over food like that since I was a kid."

Ace looked at him sharply. "What?"

"Since the revolutionaries first found me. The looks on their faces." He shook his head. "Koala would kick me whenever I tried that with her. Eventually, I broke the habit."

The moment the open air washed in through the open door, Sabo shivered and held out a hand to catch some of the fat flakes drifting down.

"I guess we're getting close," he said.

"Yeah," Ace agreed, looking up at the sky. How long had it been since he'd seen snow? Even as he held out his own hand to catch some of it, though, the snowfall—which was thick enough to turn the horizon into a muddy haze in all directions—lightened, lightened further, and then ceased entirely. The new visibility let both Ace and Sabo, the latter of whom had gone up to the wheel, see the mountainous island peaking over the northern horizon.

"We'll anchor here," Sabo said after a gentle course correction. He tied the wheel and headed for the mast to furl the sail. "Can you drop the sea anchor off the bow? I don't want to drift too far."

"Sure, but what are we waiting for?"

"Nightfall. I was hoping we could use the snow for cover to approach in the daytime, but now that it's lightened up, we'll have to wait."

"We're not using the main port, are we?"

"There's a cove a little way to the east of it that's well-hidden from sightlines. We'll use that."

The sea anchor deployed and the sail stowed, the two met up by the wheel to go over the plan. Seeing Sabo's breath frosting in the air—and that he'd detoured into the ship to grab a heavier coat—Ace released some fireflies to float gently in the air around them. Sabo flinched back when one drifted got close.

"They're harmless," Ace assured him. "Just a bit of heat."

Eyeing Ace with heavy skepticism, Sabo reached out a gloved hand and gingerly tapped one of the glowing green balls. When his finger got too close, the ball drifted away, but not quickly; Sabo was still capable of feeling the gentle heat it was throwing off.

"Neat trick."

"It came in handy when my old crew was exploring. Light and heat, y'know?" he leaned over the map Sabo had spread over the planks between them. "So, what're we dealing with?"

The plan went wrong, because of course it did. Somewhere in the chaos of Sabo sneaking into the mountaintop resort where the nobles were convening and Ace splitting off to be a very loud and very bright distraction, Sabo was detected. This wasn't the end of the world; after all, most of the guards were pursuing Ace. It did, however, make Sabo's task of collecting information a bit more difficult.

Seeing the smoke coming from the ski lodge at the top of the tallest mountain on the island, Ace abandoned his high-speed sprint around the base village and blasted himself up toward that lodge. Frigid wind bit into his face, and though the cold didn't bother him, the wind itself left tears streaming from his eyes.

He crashed down on a snow-covered patio with an explosion of snow and steam. Resort guests screamed and scrambled away from him, upending tables as they went. The heavy clomping of their weird boots shook the wooden planks, but Ace ignored it while he scanned his surroundings.

This place was built just like all the buildings in the base camp: heavy logs stacked together and roughly cut into shape, steep roofs to let the snow slide off, and metal grate stairs to try to keep the snow falling through rather than building up.

Even with a lot of it covered by several feet of snow, it would go up like a torch if Ace wasn't careful.

The door leading inside from the patio banged open and marines poured out. No, wait. Not marines. These guys were in suits. Cipher Pol.

"Don't suppose you've seen my brother," Ace called. A bullet went through his eye in answer. The flaming hole took a second to close up, a second Ace spent watching the blood drain from the shooter's face.

And then he counterattacked. Even keeping his use of fire to a minimum, he was more than enough of a threat to these guys who were probably supposed to be guarding the nobles here—whichever ones weren't skiing away, at least, relying on the lit trails to make their way in the dark.

He ducked a wild swipe of a baton, not trusting the look of it, and hit its holder in the stomach with a punch that knocked him into everyone behind him, and they all went down like so many dominoes. Sensing more coming up behind him, all of them having abandoned the ineffectual guns, Ace dove forward onto his hands and lashed out with a spinning, fiery kick that opened up the space he needed to run inside the door they'd kindly left open.

A chorus of yells followed him into the high-ceilinged dining area, which must've been evacuated when Ace landed because it was a ghost town now.

"SABO!" Ace yelled, jumping off and over tables and chairs while the agents gave chase. "WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?"

There was a scuffle behind the swinging kitchen doors, and then those doors burst open. Ace jerked to one side to avoid the burly agent sent flying at him and, when he looked back at the kitchen, Sabo was emerging while adjusting the napkin around his neck.

"So much for your distraction," he said.

Ace bristled. "What the hell? I set an entire mountain on fire. I led them on a chase for thirty minutes! I had the entire base camp running after me! What more did you want?"

"To avoid that." Sabo pointed at the converging agents behind Ace. Groaning in irritation, Ace turned and released a massive fire fist. It tore through their ranks, the furniture, and then the wall and patio beyond with ease. In its wake, smoldering timbers dropped down and frigid night air rushed through the gap.

"There. There's your distraction. Happy?"

"I have these," Sabo showed the documents stuffed in an inner pocket of his coat, "so yes. Let's go, before—"

The floor shook. It didn't shake in the way a building shook when something heavy inside fell or someone hit it, no; it shook the way a building shakes when the ground below it moves.

Together, Ace and Sabo looked out of the gaping hole in the side of the resort. They followed the trail of destruction left by Ace's frustrated fire fist up and up, all the way to where it had finally blasted apart a small copse of trees. A little higher than that, past those smoldering splinters, was snow. Lots and lots of snow. Snow that was, slowly, starting to slide.

"Oh, shit," they said.

Sabo punched out the opposite wall and Ace threw them both into the open air. They hit the deep snow and awkwardly rolled out, then started slipping and sliding their way down the mountain.

"Stay on the ski trail!" Sabo yelled over the growing roar of the avalanche. "The snow's packed down!"

Ace swung his good arm wildly for balance while his feet threatened to slide right out from under him. "Yeah, I noticed! What the hell's a ski?"

"Long flat sticks you strap to your feet. They work like a sled on snow—look out!

A bullet sliced through his pinwheeling arm. He chanced a look over his shoulder and cursed as colorfully as he could manage while putting so much effort into staying upright.

"Cipher Pol!" he said for Sabo's benefit.

Sabo cursed too and glanced behind him. He nearly did a double take, and Ace felt the same. Cipher Pol wasn't just chasing them, they weren't just trying to escape the avalanche; they were doing both of those things on skis. Some of them had doubled up, one person on the skis and another riding their shoulders so they could shoot freely. And on those skis, they were faster than the two brothers sliding their way down the mountain.

"They're persistent," Sabo grunted, ducking a hail of bullets and, when the perpetrator skied too close, kicking the man into the trees lining the trail. "Can't you just fly us out of here?"

"I could fly me out of here," Ace snapped. With a wave of his arm, he left a minefield of fireflies behind him. They exploded as fiery dolls that took out swathes of their pursuers, but there were still dozens more sliding through the smoke. "You'd get burned."

Sabo vaulted over a skier trying to ram him and Ace, a step ahead, clotheslined the guy. "Then why the hell are you down here?"

"I'm not leaving you here alone!"

"That's really kind of you and all but I don't see how that helps anything!"

Scowling, Ace left another wave of fireflies. He couldn't turn and properly brace himself for any of his larger attacks, much less the full-strength fire fist he'd need to have any hope of diverting the avalanche away from him and Sabo. "I'm helping! Look!"

"You're the one who started the avalanche!"

"You're the one who got caught!"

"You're the one who sucked as a distraction!"

"You little—"

Ace's tackle was interrupted by one of the last Cipher Pol agents, who took the hit in Sabo's stead. Ace grappled with him a moment, but when the guy made a grab at Ace's injured arm, Ace snarled and launched him straight into the avalanche's edge on a spout of flame.

That edge was getting close.

Really, really close.

"Sabo?"

"What?"

"Run faster."

"Run faster? Seriously?"

Back on the deck of their ship, Sabo glared at Ace. He still had flakes of snow dusting his shoulders, hat, and even speckled throughout his hair. His skin was flushed from the cold and his precious hat was dented on the top thanks to one particularly bad tumble when Ace picked him up and hurled him up and out of the avalanche's path.

Ace had turned to flame the moment Sabo left his grip and escaped nature's wrath that way, but his brother had been less than amused when Ace located the snowbank he'd sunk into on landing.

"You know," Ace said, "we could've tried their skis—"

"One, you don't know how to ski. Two, we didn't have the boots that work with those bindings."

"The what for the…what?"

"Boots. Bindings. Never mind." Sabo removed his hat and dusted off the snow, then headed for the wheel. "My hands are too numb to work. Untie us and let's get away from here before reinforcements arrive."

Ace held out his own hands. Sabo paused. Ace made a small beckoning gesture.

"What?" Sabo asked. "You don't need the documents."

Ace rolled his eyes. "Not those, idiot. Your hands. Gimme."

Sabo drew his hands as far away from Ace as they could reasonably get. "Why?"

"You're cold. I'm fire. Lemme help." He gestured for them again. Sabo shook his head. "C'mon, why not?"

"I don't know if you've put the obvious together, Portgas, but—"

"Ace."

"What?"

"Ace, not Portgas."

Apparently choosing to pick his battles, Sabo rolled his eyes. "Ace, then, I haven't had the best experiences with fire. My hands will warm up once I swap into dry gloves. I'll be fine."

"I can warm you up now, though." Maybe Ace was being petulant, but hell, so was Sabo! Ace could help, and Sabo was slowing them down by refusing. He released a handful of fireflies to prove his point. "Don't you want to get out of here as fast as possible?"

Sabo hesitated. Ace seized the advantage and stepped closer. He looked deep into Sabo's eyes. Somewhere deep behind the yawning dark of his pupils, Ace knew, his brother was staring out. Ace spoke to him. "Do you trust me?"

Taken aback, Sabo opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed. "Against my better judgement, yes. Fine."

He let Ace take his hands. With more focus and caution than he'd ever shown since getting his devil fruit, Ace fully wrapped Sabo's hands in his and slowly, slowly released the heat forever circulating within himself. Sabo was taut as a bowstring, his gaze fixed on his hands, looking like he was ready to yank them away at any second.

He didn't, though. Yank them away. Instead, they both just stood there, quiet while the boat rocked gently beneath them and the faint alarms from the resort drifted over to them on the wind.

After a minute, Sabo let out a shaky breath. Steam was curling up from between Ace's fingers, though the streams were thinner now than they had been.

"Good?"

"Good."

Ace released him. "Think you can untie us? If it's a quick getaway we need, I have a better idea than a sail. Wind's going to change when we're out of this cove, anyway."

His better idea was simple: use Striker to tow the larger craft. The engine was powerful enough to do it, so long as he built speed slowly.

Hours later, when Vallaha was a distant memory and the eastern horizon was beginning to glow with the promise of dawn, Ace returned Striker to the stern and joined Sabo on the main ship.

"Food?" Ace asked.

"Is that an offer or a request?"

"Offer. I can make ramen."

"Again? And for breakfast?

"I got too many supplies for it. Besides, it's your favorite, right?"

Sabo stared. "How did you…?"

"Lucky guess."

Unable to argue, Sabo let Ace take charge of cooking, which he took to with the gusto of the hungry. Ace had the small kitchen to himself while Sabo set them on a course for a calmer stretch of ocean where their pursuers wouldn't think to look. The adrenaline from that whole adventure had long since faded and his hands were steady, but his mind wouldn't rest. He wondered if Sabo had noticed it—how easily they moved around each other, how natural it felt.

If he had, he hadn't said anything.

Ace called Sabo in when he was finished cooking. While Ace tucked into his own portion, Sabo stared at his bowl, even though Ace could hear his stomach growling. Ace pointed and spoke around a mouthful of noodles.

"If you're no' 'onna ea' tha'—"

"You knew me."

"Eh?"

"We knew each other, didn't we? You weren't just someone else on Dawn Island. We knew each other. We were friends."

Ace swallowed through the twist in his chest. "We were close," he confirmed.

Sabo rested an elbow on the table and massaged his temples, wincing. "I must've been…"

"We met when we were both five." He pointedly ate another mouthful. "That's all you're getting today."

"Stingy," Sabo muttered, but he turned his attention to the bowl in front of him and didn't press.

Watching him carefully until he started eating, Ace slowed his pace on his own food. He had an idea, one that would make a lot of people pretty happy when they saw the third brother returned from the dead. Plus, the familiar sights might help jog his brother's memory.

"Hey," he said when Sabo was slurping up the last of the broth, "how would you feel about going back?"

Sabo froze. The bowl obscured his face.

"Not to the Goa Kingdom," Ace clarified, "but to Dawn Island. I can show you where you liked to spend your time. You won't be going anywhere near those bastards who tried to keep you locked up, I promise."

The bowl slowly came down. Beyond it, Sabo's face was pale, his expression beset by a dozen conflicting feelings. "You should know," he said after a moment, "the only thing I remembered when the Revolutionaries fished me out of the water was that I absolutely could not go back to where they found me."

"You were escaping your blood family. Getting away from them was the only way to chase your dream. You were a kid then, they can't touch you anymore. And if they try, I'll make them regret it. No one is ever gonna take your freedom away again."

Sabo's throat bobbed as he swallowed. "I don't know…"

"If you want to leave, you can do it whenever you want. I'm not forcing you. But I think it'll help. It'll definitely better than my storytelling. You were always better at that." He stood and collected the dishes. "There's more to the island than just Goa Kingdom. Think it over. You don't have to decide right away."

It wasn't until late that night, while Ace was keeping watch from a relaxed seat on Striker, that Sabo gave his answer. A shadow interrupted the moonlight falling over Ace and he tipped his head up to see Sabo looking down at him from the railing above, goggles shining under the stars.

"I'll go," he said, "to Dawn Island."

Chapter Text

He sensed more than saw the Lord of the Coast swimming around beneath them. It was just a shadow under the waves, hard to pick out in the weak evening light, but undeniably there. He didn't even need to use observation haki to confirm it.

"Relax," he told the guy next to him with a nudge.

Sabo, tense, didn't take his eyes off the water. "You aren't seriously about to tell me that thing is friendly."

"What? No. It's just, I've run into it before, and it knows me."

"It's afraid of you, you mean."

"Same difference, right?"

"You're sure it won't attack?"

"No, but even if it does, we're right by the shore."

"You're an anchor. You'll sink."

"That's what you're here for!" He grinned and slapped Sabo on the back before heading to the wheel to bring the ship properly into port at Foosha Village. Crashing into any of the few fishing vessels there wouldn't set his homecoming off on the right foot, probably. And there was one larger vessel taking up most of the free space, so he had to be extra careful.

If his smile slipped when he thought about how Sabo—if he'd had his memory back—would've cracked a joke about the both of them fishing out Luffy a hundred times, that was his alone to know.

Meanwhile, Sabo remained on the deck, keeping watch in case the old sea king decided to take his chances. When they hit shallow water and the Lord of the Coast swam away, Sabo joined Ace up by the wheel. They took in the approaching dock in silence. Ace was hoping the sight would inspire Sabo to say something, but Sabo just seemed to be looking at the quiet village and its windmills and lush farmland with quiet appreciation and zero recognition.

"You grew up here?" he asked when they had docked and Ace was tying up their ship. The village was quiet; made sense, it was late. They'd only barely made it here before the sun set.

"Nah, not in the village. This was Luffy's home way more than it was mine. It's where he met Shanks."

"Red Hair Shanks. The Emperor."

"Yep." Knot tied, Ace stood and tipped his hat up to peer down the pier and to the main street. He pointed at one of the few buildings with light spilling out the windows. "There, that bar."

"Eh?" Sabo squinted, trying to read the sign in the dark. "Partys Bar?"

"Makino runs it. She's amazing, I think you'll like her a lot. She's the one who taught me to be polite."

"You needed lessons on manners?"

Ace snorted. "I was raised by bandits and lived in the woods. Yeah, I did. When I ran into Shanks, I wanted to be able to thank him properly." Seeing the question in Sabo's eyes, Ace explained, "The guy was kind of a hero to Luffy—still is—and he saved Luffy's life from that sea king out there. Without him, I never would've met the kid. I just wanted to let him know I was grateful for that."

The closer they got to the bar, the louder the conversation from inside. Must've been a rowdy group; Ace could hear the shouts, laughter, and jeers even at this distance.

"And did you?" Sabo pressed. "Thank Red Hair, I mean."

"Of course I did, I said I would. Tracked him down to a freezing island in the New World. He thought I was there to fight him."

"That's probably why most upstart pirates approach him."

"He threw a party once I said I was Luffy's brother. Great guy. Drank my entire crew under the table even though I'm pretty sure his entire crew was still drunk from their last party. Crazy bastards, the lot of 'em. Haven't seen 'em since, though. Don't think Luffy's even met 'em since he was kid."

"Do you think—"

The door to Partys Bar banged open and Sabo cut himself off. Light, heat, noise, and a very drunk man spilled out of the opening. The man staggered down the steps while slurring a call back to the people inside that he was going to take a piss. He nearly hit Sabo, who deftly dodged but—nose wrinkled at the reek of alcohol coming off the man—stuck out a foot in retaliation. The guy tripped, windmilled his arms for a moment, and then fell.

He didn't get up.

Ace raised an eyebrow at Sabo, who shrugged. Shrugging back, Ace crouched next to the guy and poked him. He wasn't dead, judging by the incoherent mumbling, just completely sauced.

"How's that going to help?" Sabo hissed.

"Who says I'm trying to help? Look." Ace poked again so Sabo would see what he was poking: a tattooed jolly roger on his forearm.

"Do you recognize it?"

"Do I look like I know every pirate crew that goes stumbling around the East Blue?"

"This is your home, isn't it?"

"Aren't spy networks more your thing? No, I don't recognize it. But," another burst of raucous laughter from inside had Ace frowning, "I've got a bad feeling."

It was just laughter and conversation, but there was an edge to it, some pervasive undercurrent of something unpleasant that had his hackles rising like he was five years old again. For that feeling to come from Makino's bar wasn't only wrong, it was a wrong that he had to make right.

"Come on."

"Starting a fight already?"

"Says the guy who tripped him. You can always go back to the ship."

Sabo favored him with a sharp smile. "No need."

Inside, as Ace had suspected, the rest of the pirate crew were making nuisances of themselves. Chairs had been tipped over, beers spilled, mugs thrown, and tables shoved all over while they made themselves right at home. Not a single local resident was inside, a massive red flag on its own even without the mess. Ace took that all in with a single sweep of his eyes, not even breaking stride on his way to the bar.

Behind the bar was the only other person in this place besides Sabo who mattered: Makino.

She was older than the woman he remembered. Of course she was; it had been a few years. But still, the stray strands of gray in her hair, the extra wrinkles around her eyes—they caught him by surprise. Almost enough to make him stumble.

Almost.

"Hey, more beer!" someone yelled, breaking the hush that had fallen over the room when Ace and Sabo had walked in. Makino, though, was frozen in shock.

"Sorry to impose when you're so busy," Ace said, sliding into an empty stool. The pirates were all at the tables. He was willing to bet nearly all of them were too deep in their casks to balance on a stool.

"It's no trouble," she replied automatically, deaf to the repeated calls for refills and staring at Sabo as he claimed the seat next to Ace. "I…It's been a very long day, I think I'm seeing things."

Ace let the giddiness that had swept through him that first day on the boat surge anew. "You're seeing exactly what's there. Makino, let me reintroduce you to my brother. Sabo, this is Makino, probably the only reason I can last more than ten seconds in polite company."

Makino reached over the bar to take Sabo's hand in both of hers. Her eyes shone with the promise of relieved tears. "You survived? That's incredible. We were all worse for your loss, and I can't imagine how happy Ace had to be when he found you. But…" She furrowed her brow and Ace knew what she was going to ask. Sabo, already opening his mouth for the apology, found himself interrupted for the second time that night by a pirate. This one slammed down a near-empty mug of beer onto the bar. Some of its contents splashed out onto Sabo's coat and Ace's arm.

"Beer," growled the pirate, who had to be at least seven feet tall and was built like a bear. He also, Ace noted, looked, swayed, and smelled like most of a brewery had gone down his throat in the last couple of hours. "I ain't asking again."

Makino blinked, then took her hand back from Sabo to wipe her eyes and smooth out her apron as a calming gesture. "Just one moment, I'll—"

The pirate, reaching between Ace and Sabo, grabbed her by the collar and yelled, "BEER! NOW!"

Sabo and Ace moved in unison. Sabo grabbed the guy's wrist and broke his grip while Ace took him by the back of the head and bounced his face off the bar. As his legs folded, Ace kicked his body away so it skidded into a nearby chair, upsetting it with a great clatter of falling wood.

He frowned at the new smudge on the bar. "Sorry, Makino. Can I borrow a napkin? Actually, wait, I'll just use Sabo's—"

"Don't you dare!" Sabo snapped, twisting his chest—and his fancy neck napkin thing—out of Ace's reach.

Behind them, the entire bar was up on its feet, a dozen pissed-off pirates peeved about the two of them providing some humility to their crewmate.

"Quite a homecoming," Sabo noted. He and Ace left their stools in unison, Ace cracking his neck with his free hand, Sabo pulling his pipe from his back.

"I bet I'll get more."

Sabo scoffed. "In your dreams."

The pirates threw taunts and jeers their way; in reply, Ace threw his stool and Sabo his pipe. The missiles crashed into their intended targets—the two closest idiots—and sent them reeling back into their friends. Ace, following his stool, kicked the off-balance guy in the face and used that impact to get his left foot into the chest of another.

A one-handed diving somersault carried him under a retaliatory sword slice and he kicked up with both feet this time, launching the attacking swordsman into the ceiling, where he hung, head stuck in the broken plank he'd hit.

Catching a blur of yellow out of the corner of his eye, Ace turned that kick into a modified handspring and got to his feet in time to punch the guy trying to sneak up on Sabo, who was fending off four swordmen simultaneously and looking delighted as he did it.

Ace recognized that look. He was playing with his food.

His loss. Ace stole three of his targets with a one-handed fire gun and laughed at the look on Sabo's face. "Gotta be faster than that, 'Bo!"

Sabo's eyes widened and he lashed out with a sweeping blow from his pipe. Ace ducked under it, catching and pulling down his hat with his free hand, while the pipe whistled through where his head had been. The pirate who'd been sneaking up on Ace took the pipe to the jaw and went crashing into the bodies of his dazed brethren by the door.

"And you," Sabo said archly, "have to watch your back."

He thrust the pipe behind him, taking another pirate in the stomach without even looking.

"It's not my fault my haki's still recovering!" Ace protested.

"Nor is it mine. You're the one who started this competition, and I just want to say, eight."

"Eight?"

"Pirates."

Ace scowled. "Seven."

The guy he'd kicked into the ceiling finally tumbled down amid a rain of splinters.

"Eight," he amended. Sabo tsked.

"A tie feels awful."

As one, they turned toward the door, where the pirates were beating a hasty retreat. Those still conscious were dragging out the ones who weren't so lucky. Seeing them looking, the pirates' efforts turned rather more desperate.

Ace looked at them and saw nine, ten, and eleven. Even twelve if he could get there first, injured arm be damned.

He didn't get there first, but only because Sabo tripped him, the dirty cheater. Ace retaliated by yanking Sabo's hat down over his eyes while they took the brawl to the street outside. Their totals were neck and neck, and no matter how far down the road they kicked the pirates, they never kicked so hard the pirates couldn't pick themselves up and keep running.

They had a ship to catch, after all.

It was, in a way, like old times. Sabo knew some new tricks, he moved faster, and he hit harder, but the bones were the same. Wherever Ace wasn't, Sabo was, and vice versa.

With the Spade Pirates, and Deuce in particular, Ace had almostfound that same rhythm again. But it was never quite right. The Whitebeards, too, came close. Thatch matched on the close-quarters side of it, but his swords weren't the same as a pipe, and so Ace had given up ever completing the melody and burned up the song with flame. He didn't have to think about the boy who wasn't there when that boy had never made a rhythm with the Mera Mera no Mi.

He was here now, though. And every time Ace used his flames, the rhythm they were building stuttered and turned into something jagged and misaligned. So, even though the doc will kill him, Ace switched from using fire to using his fists—fist. And feet. And occasional elbow, plus one knee to the groin because fighting dirty was how he and Sabo had always fought, and it just felt right.

Down the main street they beat the pirates, and then up the dock, and finally next to their ship. The pirates scrambled up the gangplank, then hauled it up after themselves like that would slow Ace or Sabo down in the slightest.

They pretended like it did, though. They had no interest in sinking the ship or making the pirates stick around here; it wasn't like there were local authorities capable of doing much about them, much less imprisoning or charging them. And they definitely had no interest in bringing the marines around.

Shifting his weight to make the wooden planks of the dock creak under his boots, Ace gingerly flexed his arm. He'd kept it in the sling, and his shoulder felt okay despite all the jarring. He was probably fine. He was about at the point he could remove the sling, anyway, at least according to Sabo when they were still a couple hours away from Dawn Island and Ace had been getting twitchy.

"All Revolutionaries know first aid," he'd claimed. When Ace had pointed out how examining his arm didn't qualify as first aid, Sabo had said, "Some Revolutionaries learn more about how bodies work because it can be quite useful for injuries."

He had, Ace had noted at the time, neglected to mention whether the injuries were inflicted on themselves or others.

"I thought you said this was a quiet town," Sabo drawled, watching the pirate ship slink off toward the horizon after a few cannon shots to ward off the Lord of the Coast. To their credit, they weren't stupid enough to try firing on the island.

"It is! Just…most of the time. At least it wasn't bandits."

"Bandits?"

"Yeah, they've got territory all over the mountain. They used to be a nuisance here, but they got better when Dadan's family took over. Which is good, because you can't chase bandits off an island like you can pirates." Ace blinked a few times, a familiar fuzzy feeling crawling through his brain, then hurried out, "We'll visit 'em tomorrow."

"Visit—"

A freshly developed reflex had Sabo catching Ace before he could faceplant into the ground.

Snoring, Ace was oblivious to Sabo's deep sigh, which carried in it intermingled notes of mild exasperation and growing fondness. He'd pulled this stunt several times on their journey to Dawn Island, and Sabo was starting to recognize the subtle fogginess that clouded Ace's expression and voice in the instant before he dropped.

Sabo slung the snoozing pirate over one shoulder and, after one last glance to make sure the other pirates wouldn't be coming back—they wouldn't be stupid enough to risk crossing that sea king's territory a third time—he took them both back to the bar.

A few local residents, woken up or otherwise disturbed by the fighting, had emerged from their homes. Sabo waved them back from their porches.

"Just some pirates deciding it was time to leave," he said when their curiosity remained. "Apologies for the disturbance."

They were, thankfully, willing enough to take the word of a stranger carrying another stranger like a sack of potatoes. Small towns, Sabo thought in wonder. More accurately, East Blue small towns. Those mountain bandits must've been the only real trouble they ever saw—other than the sea king.

He did a quick pulse of observation haki before entering the bar to make sure the pirates were truly gone and to make sure he wasn't going to hit Makino with the door. When he did, he was reminded of how Ace felt. He'd considered him like a hearth before and found the comparison lacking. Now, with more context, he suspected Ace wasn't the hearth. He was the home.

And Sabo ached for not remembering him.

Makino, having already swept the debris off to one side, abandoned her mop and bucket when they entered. "Oh, dear, is he—"

"Just asleep," Sabo reassured her. "I think he should wake up soon, right?"

"I knew he had narcolepsy, but I haven't seen him have an attack since he was much younger. Here, the floor over this way is clean. Let's just lay him down."

She untied her apron and wadded it up for Ace to use as a pillow. "There. That ought to help."

They surveyed their handiwork for a moment before Makino, still kneeling next to Ace, reached out a hand and stopped just short of touching Ace's chest. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Sabo admitted. "He had that when I met him."

"When you…met him?" She pulled her hand away and stood, smoothing her skirt while she gave Sabo a curious look. He braced himself for the inevitable. "Earlier, it sounded like Ace was reintroducing you."

It wasn't a question, not really, but it was a question all the same. "I was in an accident when I was young."

Makino nodded. "The Celestial Dragon attack. I remember."

"Were you there?"

"No, I…I only heard about it after. It was a terrible thing." Most every time Sabo'd heard that phrase in his life, it'd held notes of imperious apathy. A kind of oh, the peasants are suffering again. How terrible. Anyway. In Makino's voice, though, he heard nothing but genuine distress, and echoes of her own grief. It made his chest tighten. "I'd never seen Luffy so upset."

He wondered briefly at why Straw Hat Luffy would care so much, reasoned it had to do with him being Ace's brother, and then dismissed the matter for now. He already had a light headache, so he wasn't keen on the idea of juggling more in his brain than he had to. "I lost my memory in that attack."

Makino brought her hands to her mouth, then reached out, almost like she was going to pull Sabo into a hug. She settled for holding his shoulders, then abandoned her restraint and hugged him anyway.

"I'm so sorry that happened," she said as he awkwardly reciprocated the gesture, "but I'm so grateful you survived. Does Luffy know?"

"I…I doubt it. Ace and I have only been traveling together for a little while."

"Well, I'm sure he'll be thrilled whenever he hears." She pulled away from him, and he wordlessly offered her a handkerchief from his pocket. She smiled in thanks but simply used her sleeve instead. "What are you two planning to do here?"

"The guy with the plan is currently snoring down there, but I think he's trying to get me to remember things. Familiar sights, people, places. He mentioned visiting bandits—he said he grew up with them, I think."

Makino was nodding, which reassured him that he hadn't misheard Ace's absurd history.

"He was really raised by bandits?"

She laughed. "You were too, for a while." She was oblivious to his stunned reaction and clapped her hands together. "I have completely abandoned my manners, I'm so sorry. Can I get you some drinks? Food?"

At the mention of food, Ace stirred and sat up, blinking. "Huh. I fell asleep."

"Yeah, you did." Sabo helped him to his feet and gestured to the stools at the bar. Ace joined him there, offering Makino her apron back when he did. "I don't know if you heard Makino, so: you want food?"

Ace's stomach let out a growl in answer to Sabo's question. Makino laughed.

"Those pirates didn't clean out everything, I'll be right back," she promised, and disappeared into the kitchen.

"How long was I out?" Ace asked while Makino fetched some of whatever smelled so delicious back there. "Looked like you two were chatting."

"Just a few minutes, and we were. You were really raised by bandits?"

Ace made a so-so gesture. "My shitty gramps dropped me at their doorstep when I was a baby and kind of forced them into it. They weren't happy about it, I was even less happy about it, and I kind of…terrorized them. For years."

"And…now you want to visit them."

Unable to stop the redness flushing his face and creeping down his neck, Ace wished Makino would hurry up with that food. "I got better, okay? Politeness lessons, remember? Between you and Luffy—" he stopped, realizing he'd just given away something huge. Sabo narrowed his eyes.

"Between me and Luffy…what? What did we do?"

Clearing his throat, Ace looked anywhere but at Sabo. "You just helped me get out of my own head, I guess. Maybe. A little, anyway."

Sabo leaned closer, that damned tactic of his successfully making Ace uncomfortable. "Ace. Who was I to you?"

The past tense made him wince. "Gave it away, huh?"

"You're an awful liar."

"I didn't lie. I just…"

"Didn't tell the whole truth. Yeah, I know the strategy. Spy, remember? You've had a couple weeks of dancing around the truth. I let you dance because I'm nice like that, but I'm not that nice. Your time's up."

Ace's throat bobbed. Staring into Sabo's eyes, one brilliant blue and the other closer to gray from long-ago damage, a thousand nights spent with a kid who was dead and alive and dead dead dead stopped up his throat. He was there, somewhere, behind those pupils. He had to be. He had to be.

He couldn't lose him again.

"My brother," he whispered, because a whisper was all that could make it out. "You're my brother."

Sabo blinked and leaned back, surprise overwriting the determination to learn more. "Brother? But…" He furrowed his brows. "The sake, wasn't it? We swore brotherhood. You, me, and Straw Hat Luffy."

Ace bit back the urge to tell him to drop the Straw Hat epithet and just nodded. His eyes were watering, the traitors, and he kept that moisture from escaping as actual tears through sheer stubborn force of will.

"Huh." Sabo rested his elbows on the bar and stared down at his hands. "Brothers. I had brothers."

"Have." The correction slipped out before he could stop it, and fuck, that was his heart in his throat, on his sleeve, in the air between them. "Luffy and I are still here. You're still here."

He didn't like the look on Sabo's face, didn't like the way his fingers curled toward fists, didn't like the way he drew breath with his shoulders already coming up defensively.

"I brought food!" Makino swept back in from the back with arms laden by platters of food. Ace's stomach growled something fierce and he dropped the topic in favor of stuffing his face.

"Mm," he managed between bites. "Thish'sh'elicious. Thanksh!"

Sabo devoured some of his own but paused long enough to explain, "The only place we stopped at since reaching the East Blue was that floating restaurant. I was afraid Ace's growling stomach would capsize our ship before we made it here."

Ace smacked him with his spoon for that one, then recovered the utensil for its more valuable service of shoveling food into his mouth. Neither he nor Sabo had Luffy's appetite, though they did plenty of damage, and by the time they were approaching full, Makino was presenting them with the final plate.

Picking the last of his meal out of his teeth with a toothpick, Ace sat back on his stool with a contented sigh. Sabo was wiping off his mouth with his napkin looking just as satisfied with the five stacks of plates and bowls they'd managed to accumulate between themselves.

"Ace," Makino said after carting those stacks into the back to be washed later, "can I ask you something?"

"Sure, ask away."

She gestured at his chest. "What happened?"

The toothpick snapped in his fingers. He picked out the splinters with a wince and waved off her apology. "It's fine, it's fine." He saw Sabo looking and figured he'd been wanting to ask the same question but had just been too tactful to do it. Or he'd figured Ace wouldn't answer. "I made a mistake and Akainu almost got me."

Sabo stiffened. "The admiral?"

"The one and only."

"You encountered him twice?"

"Basically." Mindful of his painfully full stomach, Ace stood and turned so Makino could see the damage on his back. "I'm fine now, but…it was close."

Makino reached across the bar, then hesitated. "May I?"

"Sure."

"What was the tattoo?" Makino's fingertips ghosted over the lingering edges of the Whitebeard jolly roger, making Ace shiver.

"It used to be Whitebeard's mark. I talked to the guy who did it, but he said the scar tissue wouldn't take to a repair job. Too much, too thick. I think I'm gonna get a new one on my arm instead."

"On your arm?" Sabo asked.

"Yeah, my right arm, I'm thinking right about here. I've already got yours on my left, and that's not going anywhere."

Sabo shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. "Ace, I'm hardly a pirate these days, you don't have to—"

"Shut up."

"I just don't want you to—"

"Sabo!"

Sabo flinched at Ace's tone. So did Makino, her touch vanishing from Ace's skin. Ace dragged in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Sorry," Sabo offered the ensuing silence. "I didn't mean to be rude."

Ace only answered when he was back on his stool and sure he could speak calmly. "This means more to me than just your dream of being a pirate. Even if that was all it meant, I'd never get rid of it."

Though he looked like he wanted to protest, upon seeing the dangerous light in Ace's eye, Sabo wisely chose to stow his quibbles with Ace's perspective on the tattoo.

"I think another jolly roger on your other arm would look nice," Makino said.

"It'll be a lot smaller," Ace said, grateful for the shift in topic. "The one on my back took weeks to heal completely and it itched. Man, it itched." Maybe that had been a kind of practice for all his healing burns. "Anyway, I think we'll stay the night here, then head for Mount Colubo in the morning. From there, you can decide if you want to see the Gray Terminal and the capital. How's that sound?"

Sabo nodded. "Works for me."

"Great. After we're done here, if you're willing, I'll introduce you to the Whitebeards. I've told them plenty about Luffy, but nothing about you. I can't wait to see the looks on their faces."

Looking a little thin around the edges, Sabo managed a smile that Ace—distracted by another question from Makino—didn't realize was fake.

The dirt trail wound around the mountain without any seeming commitment to one direction besides vaguely up. Many side trails split off from it, most of them game trails, some so overgrown they were only another year from disappearing entirely.

"That was ours," Ace said, gesturing to one that split off to follow a nearby creek. "In the spring, that was the best place to hunt deer on the whole mountain. We could climb up in the trees and wait for the herds to come through for water."

"You had to ambush them?"

"We were kids. Couldn't exactly outrun 'em, and we usually only had pipes for weapons. You're the one that found the spot, too. Luffy kept trying to fight you for your perch on the tree 'cause it was the most comfortable."

"You didn't want it?"

"You found it first."

Ace kept up a steady stream of stories like that to keep at bay the discomfort that hadn't left Sabo's expression since their conversation at Partys Bar. He didn't want to know what Sabo had been about to say about their brotherhood. He did not want to know.

So he kept talking—with one brief interruption when a bear crossed their path—until his throat was hoarse and the trees finally thinned out to reveal the clearing the Dadan Family called home. Nostalgia tightened Ace's throat when he saw the old, red-roofed cabin looking just as he remembered. There were even a couple lines of laundry strung up to dry between the building and a nearby tree. No one was in the watchtower built into the roof, not that the thing saw much use after the other mountain bandits and Bluejam Pirates were dealt with.

"That idiot!"

Sabo flinched at Ace's outburst. "Jeez, what now?"

"Look!"

"The…" Sabo squinted and read from the blue sign over the open first floor: "Luffy's Kingdom?"

"Bastard took over my kingdom." Ace crossed his arms and glowered at the three-story amalgamation of what had once been his and Luffy's kingdoms sitting just to the left of the main cabin's front door. His own orange sign was sticking out of the top but Luffy had crossed out the words with more black paint. "I'm hitting him for that for sure."

"Right," Sabo said slowly, eyeing Ace with obvious confusion.

"That came after you—after you left. Me 'n Luffy were trying to be more independent, so we made our own kingdoms."

"Directly outside a bandit hideout."

"We still needed to use their bath. And kitchen."

"Right, of course. Very understandable."

Well aware that Sabo was ribbing him and deciding not to rise to the bait like the mature oldest brother that he was, Ace strode toward the door.

Eyeing the spiked metal decoration hung up over the entrance, Sabo nudged him. "This is where you grew up?"

"Yeah, more or less."

"More or less?"

"I spent most of my time out here," he gestured at the forest with his free hand. His sling was stuffed into the blue pocket in his shorts, and while his shoulder was sore, it was feeling a hell of a lot better than before. Deuce's notes had mentioned that he shouldn't keep using the sling longer than he absolutely had to; something about weakening the muscles there. "But it was a roof over my head when I needed it. I shared a lot of the stuff I caught with the family so they'd quit complaining about having to raise me, too. You even stayed here when your old place got too dangerous."

Sabo frowned and glanced back at what Ace was dragging behind him but kept quiet while Ace knocked.

"Oi, Dadan! It's me, open up!"

"Is it even locked?"

"I'm being polite." He knocked again. "C'mon, you old hag! I brought lunch!"

From inside the cabin came faint yells, then the tromping of feet until finally the door was flung open and a very familiar, furious face framed with curly orange hair was glaring down at them both.

"Don't you two idiots know where you are?" Dadan demanded, nearly sending her cigarette flying from her mouth. Ace grinned at her.

"Hi, Dadan. Miss me?"

Her thunderous scowl froze on her face, then melted away. "A-Ace?" Her eyes slid to Ace's left and nearly bugged out of her head. "SABO?"

"SABO?" echoed the bandits coming up behind her, all looking fit to faint. Sabo tensed only for that tension to get knocked out of him when Ace slapped him on the back.

"Yep, we're back!" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the carcass of the bear. "And, like I said, we brought lunch!"

Stunned speechless, Dadan vaguely gestured at the bear and a handful of bandits, all of whom were looking at Sabo like he was a ghost, shakily collected it and dragged it off to the kitchen. Ace, meanwhile, threw his arm around Sabo's shoulders and pulled him inside, heedless of Dadan's staring.

"So, this is the place," he was saying. "Dropped off when I was a baby. Feel free to look around, see if anything's familiar."

Eyeing the bandits looking at him with shock and confusion, Sabo tugged his hat lower over his eyes. "I'm not sure that would be productive."

"Fair enough, they've reorganized things a bit since I was last here. C'mon, take a seat, stay a while!"

Ace dropped down onto the floor by the firepit in the center of the main room, where someone must've been cooking some stew because it smelled delicious.

"Any of that left?" he asked Dogra, who was the first to trail after them.

"Uh."

"Here," said Magra, holding out two bowls and spoons.

"Thank you." Ace served Sabo and himself with the last of what was in the pot, then devoured his own portion in just a couple of gulps. He raised an eyebrow at the bandits staring at him. "What? Something on my face?"

They swiftly shook their heads. One of them nudged another and said, not quietly enough, "I didn't think the manners would stick."

Ace grinned as that guy's friend elbowed him hard in the side. Dadan broke through the crowd and waved at her people to disperse.

"You've all got your own jobs," she griped. "It's going to rain tonight, someone had better bring that laundry in! You can say hi to these brats on your own time." Unlike her people, she dropped down next to them. Ace noted the presence of a second, newer cigarette in her mouth. "What are you back here for? Him?" She nodded at Sabo.

"In a way," Sabo answered cagily, before draining the last of his stew.

"He lost his memory in the attack," explained Ace. "I found him and dragged him back here from the New World to see if we could knock anything loose."

Dadan coughed a little bit at the mention of the New World but recovered, and didn't even lose a cigarette in the process. "Is it working?"

"If seeing your ugly mug didn't help, I'm not sure what will." Ace easily swayed back to avoid Dadan's reflexive punch, then brightened. "Oh! That reminds me. I got something for you—something other than lunch."

The smell of which wafting in from the kitchen was making his mouth water, but he ignored that for now while he dug through his bag. First came the recipes and dried ingredients he'd grabbed for Thatch, and he carefully set those aside. After a little more rummaging, he produced what he'd purchased in Alabasta: those earrings with red beads.

"For you," he said, holding them out to her. "I picked them up in Alabasta, figured you'd like them."

To his left, Sabo was looking between Dadan, the earrings, Dadan's necklace, and the necklace around Ace's own neck. He sucked in a breath and hit his fist on his palm. "Oh, that's why!"

"Oi, what's that supposed to mean?"

But by then Dadan was taking the earrings and running her fingers over their beads, her expression noticeably blank.

"Boss?" asked Dogra, the only one not chased away to do chores. "Something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Are—"

"I'm sure!" She spun around and hunched her shoulders. Ace exchanged a look with Sabo, a smile to Sabo's confused frown.

"Did you get anything for us?" Dogra asked hopefully.

"Sure I did. That."

Dogra looked where he was pointing and saw the massive platter of meat getting carried in from the kitchen. Ace got to his feet and cracked his knuckles, then glanced at Sabo when he made no move to stand.

"You might want to get up."

"What? Why?"

The moment the platter hit the floor, the bandits descended on it with a vengeance. Ace threw himself into the fray with a yell and found it disturbingly easy to shove aside the people who'd once been so much bigger than him. Securing several pieces, he extracted himself from the horde and returned to the fire pit with a victoriously massive bite of the first chunk.

Sabo dropped down next to him a moment later, several pieces of his own in hand while he straightened his hat.

"Is it always like that?"

"Pretty much. Though I usually get first claim on what I bring in." He eyed Dadan when he said the last bit. She had, while he was claiming his food, dried her eyes and put the new earrings in to replace the gold and white hoop earrings she'd worn for as long as Ace could remember.

"You said it was a gift," she sniffed, before she reached out and accepted the pieces handed to her by another bandit. As the boss, she didn't have to fight the way the rest of them did. While she chewed her first bite, she jerked her chin at his chest. "What happened to you, brat?"

"Ran into a marine admiral a couple of times. This one," he rested a hand over his scar, "was a while ago." He indicated his arm. "This was recent." He ran through an abbreviated version of his latest fight with Akainu, spitting crumbs the entire time. "It'll be healed soon," he said while gnawing on a bone to get the last slivers of meat off it. "Just gotta keep changing the bandages."

As Ace was polishing off his food, Sabo was staring around the room. Pochi the dog, much older and stiffer now, wandered over from his bed of old towels in the corner to inspect the oddly familiar new arrival. Sabo gave him a few scratches under the chin before sending him over to Ace, who glared at the dog until he stopped a pace away from Ace's last piece of meat.

"I can't believe you really were raised by mountain bandits," mused Sabo.

Ace laughed. "Yeah, Gramps overlooked a lot of their crap if it meant they'd give me a roof over my head. Luffy, too. You shoulda seen the looks on their faces when he brought a second kid up the mountain."

Dadan nearly spat out her food. "You're the one who was the menace, you brat!"

Ace laughed harder. Pochi seized his opportunity and snatched the last piece of meat from Ace.

"Hey, you stupid mutt!"

But since Pochi was shuffling out of reach and had already gotten his whole mouth around the piece, Ace sighed and gave up with a grumble.

"You wouldn't remember this if Ace ever told you about it," Dadan said, turning to Sabo, "but this idiot nearly killed Luffy more than we ever did."

Sabo looked askance at Ace, whose irritated expression turned sheepish. "What is she talking about? I thought you were brothers!"

"We are!" Ace defended. "Just…not then. Not yet. He lived, anyway. He was a tough little shit."

"What did you even do?"

"Not much."

"Ace."

"I'm being serious. All I did was kick a tree at him, trigger a rockslide on him, hit him off a bridge into a wolf-infested gorge, lead him to a gator-infested pond, kick him off a cliff into a vulture-infested valley, lead him off another cliff into piranha-infested waters—"

"Okay, enough, enough with the thing-infested things! Jeez, you really wanted him dead."

"I went through so many cigarettes in those three months," Dadan bemoaned.

"MONTHS?" Sabo cried. "Ace!"

"I had reasons! I was trying to keep him away from you and our pirate stash. Didn't work, though."

Heaving a sigh, Sabo massaged his temples. "You keep giving me headaches."

"You're the one who agreed to kill him when he found us!"

"You suggested it first!"

They blinked at each other. Sabo sat back.

"You…" Ace started, but Sabo shook his head.

"No, just…just a feeling." He winced and rubbed at his temples again, then clambered to his feet. "I'm gonna get some air."

Ace watched him go, torn between worry for the clear pain Sabo was in and joy that Sabo remembered. Sure, it was only a small piece, a tiny fragment of a moment, but it was something. He was in there. He was.

He turned a grin on Dadan. "Did you see that?"

"Ace," she warned, but he didn't hear her. He crammed the last of Sabo's lunch into his mouth, shot to his feet, and went out after his brother.

Sabo stood at one of the main trails leading north from the bandit's den, hands hanging loose at his sides while he stared up at the forest.

"Hey," Ace called. "We can head this way to the Gray Terminal. If we're fast, it won't even take an hour. I'm sure I remember the best way." He put a hand on Sabo's shoulder. Sabo flinched at the touch and Ace tried to pretend it didn't hurt. "So, you wanna go?"

Sabo's left hand flexed in and out of a fist before he slowly nodded, mouth settling into a grim line. "Lead the way."

Unlike their walk to the Dadan Family den, their jog out to the Gray Terminal was mostly silent. Ace couldn't ignore the air of increasing don't talk to me rising from Sabo, and for his part, Sabo wasn't exactly asking many questions anymore. Was that a good thing? Ace wanted to think so. He also wasn't an idiot.

"We'll take a detour here," he said, turning onto a side trail.

"What's this way?"

"The treehouse. Man, I hope it's still standing. This place gets some pretty wild storms sometimes."

"Treehouse?"

"Treehouse, hideout. You'll see."

"I guess I will."

The new path took them through a couple of thickets and up a small cliffside, then opened up into a clearing delineated by a number of fallen trees. Ace slowed to a stop, catching sight of the old wooden signpost with faint chalk marks still visible on it.

"What is it?"

"Our scoreboard. This was our training ground. See all the destroyed rocks and trees? Huh. More destroyed rocks than I remember. Must'a been Luffy."

"Was this also Luffy?" Sabo pointed at the three pipes stuck into the dirt at the foot of a tree. One was straight up, the other two crossed in front of it. Ace grinned wide.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was."

Sabo stepped up to the small memorial and traced a finger along one of the pipes. Ace held his breath—an action Sabo noticed, prompting him to draw his hand back and avoid meeting his gaze.

Before the silence could sour, Ace gestured over his shoulder. "C'mon, the treehouse is just up this way."

They kept going along the path until finally they reached the shade of the biggest tree for miles in any direction. Ace paused by its massive trunk, hands on his hips while he stared up into its branches.

"You lived in a tree?"

"Yeah! Right there." He pointed at the lowest branch, a delighted smile on his face because it was, in fact, still there, albeit looking smaller than he remembered. Sabo walked up next to him and peered up, having to hold his hat to keep it from tipping off his head. His gaze caught on the circular treehouse tucked against the trunk on that branch.

"A treehouse."

"Sure is." Ace punched his shoulder, still grinning, nostalgia making his whole body warm and fuzzy. "You designed it, even! C'mon, I want to see if they're still in there."

The rope they used to use to climb up had fallen down since Luffy left the island, chewed through at the top by some curious animal or just rotted by time. Ace climbed the tree itself instead, able as an adult to reach handholds that would've been too far apart for his childhood self. He could've also shot himself straight up with his fruit, but that felt like cheating. As he climbed, he was aware of Sabo following suit behind him.

He hauled himself into the treehouse proper and took stock. His head promptly smacked into the ceiling and he crouched down, groaning. Sabo jumped up behind him, swiftly ducking through the entryway and staying ducked while he looked around.

"Wow, it's a mess in here."

It was. Ace had seen evidence of it from the ground, but up here it was undeniable. Years of storms had taken their toll, stripping wood planks and turning the interior into a disaster zone. The curtains, rotted at their ends, had been ripped from the rods over the windows and scattered around. The wheel was askew, its nails having slowly come out over time. But, he was delighted to see while he straightened up as much as the ceiling allowed, the nail holding the net of sake cups was still in place.

"Never mind the mess. Look!"

"Cups?"

"I can't believe these are still here. Ah, I should've brought sake," he realized, putting a hand to his forehead. "I guess it wouldn't be the same without Luffy here, though. Next time."

He let the cups rest against the wall again but Sabo didn't respond. Ace glanced over his shoulder and saw him just standing there, staring at the cups, face pale.

"Sabo?"

He blinked and glanced at Ace. "Sorry, did you say something?"

"Just your name. You okay?"

"I'm fine." Doubt lanced through Ace and showed plain in his expression, earning a scowl. "I'm fine," Sabo stressed. "We still have to see the Gray Terminal, right? We don't have time to hang around here."

With that, he turned and leaped from the treehouse. Ace rushed to the doorway in time to see him land with a neat roll, effortlessly handling a drop that easily could've killed him the last time he was here.

Trying to hide his uneasiness, Ace—after a glance back at the slanted wheel and scattered cloth—followed. They could clean up another day. He struck out on the far more hidden path leading to the place where everything had gone so right when he was five and so, so wrong all those years later.

The closer they got to the Gray Terminal, the more tension radiated from Sabo. Ace could feel it even without tapping his observation haki and it was putting him on edge too.

They crested the final rise and stopped between the two old trees framing the end of the path. Down the hill, the ground itself flattened out on its approach to the massive gray walls that marked Edge Town. Overtop the ground, though, were mounds and mounds of garbage. Smaller than they used to be, but ever-growing.

Even the fog that contributed to the Gray Terminal's name had come back in full force in the years after the fire, fed both by garbage and mist pouring in off the ocean. Ace couldn't help wrinkling his nose when the smell, which had been faint while they were still in the protective embrace of the woods, hit in full force. Beneath the all-encompassing trash were more specific smells: oils, tarnished metal, sweat, salt, mold, and rotting wood, among a thousand others.

One last scent wound its way to him and he scowled. "Still?" he muttered, wishing the undertones of smoke and ash would dissipate. They wouldn't, he knew. Probably not ever, not as long as the Gray Terminal remained. The new layers of trash ensured the charred old ones were shielded from the elements.

Sabo had stopped next to him, unable to take a single step farther. He looked out over the Gray Terminal with confusion at first, but Ace saw his nose twitch, suspicion overwrite the confusion, and then horror drown out the suspicion.

"They burned it," he whispered. "That's why it smells like that, right? They burned all of this. The whole Gray Terminal."

Ace eyed him and spoke carefully. "Yeah. They got Bluejam—a pirate—to put explosives all over the Gray Terminal. Luffy and I even helped him because we needed the money. But we didn't know they were explosives, or we," he squeezed his hand into a fist, "we never would've helped."

"Was I there?"

"No. You…your father found us and took you away, that's why it was just Luffy and me. We didn't—we didn't see you again."

"That's where it happened, isn't it?" Sabo pointed to a spot just past the harbor barely visible beyond the capital's wall. "Where the Celestial Dragon tried to kill me."

"Yeah."

Sabo stared at that spot for a long minute and then looked at Ace blank-faced. "They burned this place, shot me down, and you…you chose to become fire?"

Ace went still, then looked away, a muscle in his jaw feathering. Luffy hadn't asked in Alabasta, and Ace had thought—naively, it seemed—he'd never have to explain that choice.

"I don't run," he finally said, focusing on the Gray Terminal and the memories of a fiery hell brought to life amid its mounds of trash. "Not from anything. I didn't know what the Mera Mera no Mi was when I ate it, but using its power—that never bothered me. Fire…it took so much from us. I couldn't stand being afraid of it."

He exhaled and tried to pretend his whole chest wasn't shaking. "If I'd had the fruit that day, when they set fire to everything, or when the stupid noble came to town, then the fire wouldn't've been so dangerous. Now, I can show everyone what it means to start a fire they can't control. They can get exactly what they deserve."

"Are you—"

"Only if you want to." Ace lifted his eyes to the city proper, Edge Town and High Town and the royal palace squatting above them all. "They deserve it."

Sabo leaned against a nearby trunk, eyes squinted but not in an attempt to bring anything he could see into focus.

"You okay?"

"Fine," he answered, distracted. "Just…not enough sleep, lately." He pinched the bridge of his nose for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and then pushed off the tree. "Let's head back to Dadan's. Turning in early tonight might help."

Clearly, going into the Terminal itself or anywhere near the Capital was off the table. "If you're sure you're okay."

"I'm fine, Ace. Let's just go."

Worried, he stuck close to Sabo the whole way back. Most worrying of all, Sabo was too distracted to snap at him for it.

In the morning, Sabo didn't wake up.

Chapter Text

"Boss! Boss Dadan!"

Her dream of lifting a hefty purse off an idiot merchant who wandered too close to the forest broke up to the sight of Dogra and Magra standing over her, fear in their eyes. Past them, the weak sunlight bleeding through the windows told her it was barely past dawn.

"What?" she groused, throwing off the comfortable blanket and sitting up from her futon. She'd forgotten how those idiot boys never failed to shatter the peace she usually found once she laid down to rest. "What the hell is it?"

"It's Sabo!" Magra whimpered. "He, he—"

"He won't wake up!" Dogra finished, clutching his dictionary like a lifeline.

"What?"

Dadan scrambled to her feet and didn't bother changing out of her nightgown before crossing the hideout and throwing aside the curtain partitioning off the room Sabo and Ace had claimed.

There was Ace, kneeling with his head bent over Sabo cradled in his lap, and there was Sabo, held and unmoving.

Ace looked up. There was panic scratching at the frayed edges of his composure and shining in his eyes. "He won't wake up. Dadan, he—he won't wake up."

He'd never looked at her like that. Not even when he was hauling her out of the burning Gray Terminal or tending to her wounds in the tree hollow where they'd sheltered from the guards hunting survivors. Then, he'd been worried, but determined, and trying to mask it all under bravado and anger. What he wore now was a dangerous look: a helpless and cornered animal one wrong move away from lashing out.

She tried to placate him. "We had a big dinner last night and you two were running around the forest all day. He's probably just exhausted."

Wrong move. "No! This isn't that. I shook him, I slapped him, and he's still asleep! He wasn't like this before. If I sneezed on watch he'd wake up even if I was on the other end of the ship. Something's wrong. He—fuck, I don't know!" He tried shaking Sabo again to no avail. His panic ratcheted up another notch. "He needs a doctor."

"We don't have a doctor," Dadan snapped. "We're bandits, not—"

"Then get a FUCKING doctor!" Ace roared, fire blazing in his hair, down his arms, even leaping as embers from his mouth. Dadan's throat went dry. She stepped back. They all stepped back.

Ace bit his lip, glanced down at Sabo, and then squeezed his eyes shut. His fire went out.

Then he did something Dadan never, not once in her life, expected to see him do: he set Sabo aside, got down on his hands and knees, and pressed his forehead into the floor.

"Please," he forced out, voice cracking.

Dadan's heart went right up into her throat and then crashed back down into her stomach in a way that left her feeling singularly awful. She gestured to Magra. "Take three with you to Foosha—it's closer than Edge Town and more trustworthy anyway. Ask Makino first. Go!"

They rushed from the room. When Dadan looked back at Ace, he was adjusting Sabo so the man was comfortable on his futon once again.

"He'll be okay, Ace."

He didn't even look at her.

In the evening, the doctor came. The doctor was useless. There was, in his words, nothing wrong with Sabo; he was in peak health, in fact, scars aside. He tried a couple of medicines to encourage him to wake up and only succeeded in inducing nightmares, for which Ace tried to strangle him. It took the combined strength of Dadan, Dogra, and Magra to hold him off just long enough for the doctor to escape, and she suspected that was only because Ace didn't want to hurt them.

With the doctor gone, Ace resumed his vigil at Sabo's side and refused to move. He didn't come out for dinner. He didn't sleep. He just sat there, eyes fixed on Sabo, waiting.

By the evening of the third day, the whole hideout was walking on eggshells. No one wanted to go in that room. On the second day, someone trying to bring Ace a small lunch had tripped, spilling the platter on Sabo. The resulting explosion of violence had taken out a wall and left that bandit with a broken limb and burns.

It was as bad as when he was a kid. Before Luffy, maybe even before Sabo. The only difference was that he wasn't moving from Sabo's side, wasn't dropping off dead beasts and taking the meat he deserved when they were prepared, wasn't waiting in the woods to ambush any bandit stupid enough to go looking for him. He was staying in that room, and as long as they were careful, they wouldn't suffer the fury that lurked as intermittent blue flames around his shoulders.

Dadan's heart hurt to see him regress so easily. He fronted well, but when his reserves dried up, he fell back on the one thing that had kept him going through the worst moments of his life: rage.

As a child, Ace had been plenty dangerous when the anger took him. As an adult, he was lethal. Dadan doubted he even had the capacity to care about the bandit he'd injured right now. It was Sabo and no one else.

Seas, but she wished Luffy were here. Or that Sabo would wake up. Those two were the only ones capable of pulling Ace out of one of his black moods.

She couldn't manage that, but she could sure as hell manage something else. Ignoring the worried looks of her merry band, she headed for the curtain.

When she got there, she paused. Ace had permitted them to put up tarps where the destroyed wall had been, and the entire time they were working, he hadn't moved. He still hadn't moved. He was exactly where he'd been ever since the doctor left: sitting against the wall, eyes fixed on his brother's face, waiting.

Dadan wasn't fooled. She knew Ace knew she was there.

"Brat, you need to eat."

"Sabo isn't eating. Neither am I."

She sighed. Left.

Five minutes later, she was back with a full platter of food. She thunked it down next to Ace while she took a seat by Sabo's feet, snagging one of the meat-laden bones as she went.

Annoyed, Ace shot her a glare that chilled her to the bone. "I said—"

"I heard you." She ignored the cold fear the same way she ignored the sweat caused by the heat pouring off Ace; she was the boss of this mountain, and dangerous pirate or not, Ace was part of her family. If she had to take risks to get him to take care, so be it. She finished her portion and pointed the cleaned-off bone at Sabo. "Starving yourself doesn't help him. What do you think he'll do when he hears about it?"

Ace winced. Sabo—the one Dadan remembered, at least—would smack him and call him an idiot. This one…would probably do the same, actually, from what she'd witnessed. And probably offer a lecture about how Ace would make a shitty guard when he was distracted by his growling stomach.

Not looking at Dadan, he snagged one of the loaves of bread on the edge of the platter. She was smart enough to not say anything about his capitulation.

In the back of her mind, she hoped the smell of food so close by would rouse Sabo.

It didn't.

This was his fault. Ace didn't know how, but it had to be. He was the one who'd dragged Sabo back to Dawn Island and then pulled him around to every relevant corner of the place even when Sabo obviously wasn't feeling well.

You keep giving me headaches.

He curled up even tighter against the wall, arm wrapping around his knees, which were pressing into his chest. His other hand was knotted in his hair.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, staring out at Sabo through the grease-tangled strands. "It's my fault. I'm sorry."

He shouldn't have pushed it. Shouldn't have gotten on Sabo's ship. Shouldn't have taken him back to Dawn. Shouldn't have guided him through every piece of the life he'd left behind. Shouldn't have chased the ghost.

What had he been hoping for? All that had been was a tour of all of his regrets.

Here's where we used to live.

Here's where you never lived again.

Here's where we used to train.

Here's where you never trained again.

Here's where we used to run wild.

Here's where we lost you.

Here's where I missed you.

Here's where I missed you.

Here's where I missed you.

"I didn't mean it," he told Sabo's sleeping form. "I wanted you back, I did, but I—you deserve to be free. I didn't mean to tie you down with what you lost. I'm sorry." Sabo's chest rose and fell under his blanket, but that was the only sign of life. Ace buried his forehead in his knees. His stomach, long empty of the meal Dadan had brought hours and hours ago, was an aching hollow. Just one more discomfort to add to the vice squeezing his heart.

Everything he touched, he ruined. Sabo, letting his parents take him. Luffy, dragging him to Impel Down and Marineford. Pops, making his sacrifice meaningless in the end.

A small part of him pushed back on those swirling thoughts, and it did so with familiar voices: Sabo, captaining their treehouse; Luffy, waving to him as he set out to sea at seventeen; Pops, smiling wide with unmitigated pride when he saw the mark on Ace's back; Thatch, fishing him out of the water after a prank gone wrong.

That part was a candle in a hurricane, though, and it blew out as Ace's thoughts spiraled farther and farther down to the black core that never ever went away, only got buried deeper.

A shift in the light beyond his eyelids and the quiet creak of floorboards told him someone else was in the room. His fire reared up and he crammed it back down; he wasn't burning down his childhood home, for fuck's sake. He'd already hurt someone who didn't deserve it. A few blue flickers escaped, but that was it. That was the price of packing it down like that: whatever got out was nearly as condensed as what he'd used to spear Akainu.

"Now, now, you need to change your bandages, Ace."

Magra.

"Go away."

He did, but not before setting something down next to Ace. When Ace confirmed he was alone again with a pulse of haki, he lifted his head enough to see Magra had set down a small basket of medical supplies: bandages and salves. His gaze slid to his arm, where the three-day-old bandages smelled of sweat and soured old salve, and then beyond, to where Sabo lay unaware of the world around him.

He pressed his forehead back into his knees.

Though he didn't want to, he slept. It snuck up on him when he let his guard down, grabbing five, ten, twenty minutes at a time before he realized what was happening and snapped awake. It was in one of these lapses as the third night bled into the fourth morning that something changed.

When Ace jerked awake, cracking his head against the wall behind him, Sabo flinched at the noise. Ace fell still as Sabo squeezed his eyes tighter shut, then—with a defeated sigh—sat up and pulled them open, the blanket pooling around his waist.

"What time is it?" he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

"Sabo?"

He pushed his hair out of his face and blinked at Ace. He squinted. One more blink and his eyes were filling with tears. "Ace?"

He didn't need to say it; the truth was laid bare on his face and dripping down his cheeks.

Ace launched himself off the wall, yanked Sabo close, and wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug. Sabo's air left him in a surprised whuff. Ace could feel his brother's lungs fighting to expand, his heart pounding away, his muscles tensing in preparation to resist. He pulled him in tighter.

"You bastard," he gasped into Sabo's shoulder, and Sabo hesitated. Tears Ace couldn't fight back any longer fell freely and turned his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so glad you're alive."

It was such an inadequate way to relay the unmitigated relief and joy washing through him in ever grander waves. Sabo. Alive. Sabo. Remembering.

Sabo's arms wrapped around him in turn—as much as they could when his biceps were pinned—and squeezed just as hard. "Ace," he choked out. "I—I should've, I didn't mean—"

"Shut up."

He did. For a minute, Ace held him, basking in the joy of his brother's return. From the tears hitting the side of Ace's head, the feeling was mutual.

How many times had he dreamed this moment? How many times had he, on that one day a year, poured out a second dish of sake and toasted the man he'd thought he'd only ever know as a memory?

For each of those days, he counted out another second of holding his brother tight.

When the moment began to ease towards its end, he shoved Sabo away, cocked back his fist, and punched him clean in the face. Sabo reeled back with a cry, clutching his bleeding nose while he glared at Ace over his hands. "What the hell?"

"That was for forgetting us. And this," he lunged, avoided Sabo's reflexive kick that was weak on account of him still being on his ass, and whacked him over the head, "is for making me worry the last three days! Don't ever do it again!"

Sabo scowled and kicked Ace's foot out from under him. Ace stumbled backwards and fell, just in time for Sabo to clock him in the jaw with a punch of his own.

"Ow! What was that for?"

Shaking out his fist and still plugging his bleeding nose with the other hand, Sabo declared, "For being a secretive bastard for weeks instead of just telling me the truth!"

"You would've thought I was crazy!"

"I already thought you were crazy! What kind of pirate gets on a ship with a total stranger? Never mind one of Whitebeard's. You're as reckless as you ever were!"

"Real funny coming from you! You're acting like you didn't challenge the—"

"Don't you dare even start! You've got twenty stupid choices for every one of mine!"

"The hell I do!"

In hindsight, Ace wouldn't remember who threw the first real punch. What mattered was that they were mid-brawl when Dadan, still in her nightgown, swept aside the cloth in the doorway and hollered, "KNOCK IT OFF, YOU NOISY BRATS! IT'S TOO DAMN EARLY FOR THIS!"

Ace and Sabo froze. She also froze, taking in the tableau of Ace underneath Sabo, one of his hands in Sabo's face—and one finger up Sabo's nose, another yanking at Sabo's cheek from inside his mouth—his other hand grappling with Sabo's left, while Sabo tried to pin down Ace's legs with his own and his free hand was tangled up in Ace's hair.

"Sabo's awake?" Magra asked from over Dadan's shoulder.

"Sabo's awake!" Dogra confirmed.

"Sabo's awake!" cheered the bandits woken by the commotion. Several, trying to peer around Dadan's bulk, broke out in tears at the sight of the two brothers tussling.

Reddening from the embarrassment of the scene, Ace pulled his hand away from Sabo's face and tried to compose himself. Sabo did the same, albeit with a pointed huff and adjustment of his unbuttoned shirt. Dadan, meanwhile, was yelling about a celebratory feast.

When the bandits didn't move, she whacked the nearest two over the head and dragged them out.

"Give them some privacy, you nosy fools," she snapped.

The curtain fell back into place over the doorway, leaving Ace and Sabo in as close to privacy as they were going to get without going into the woods. Ace, the urge to fight having faded, shifted on his knees to face Sabo.

"What happened? You were complaining about a headache, then just…wouldn't wake up."

"Was I really asleep for three days?"

"Yeah."

"What happened to the wall?"

"Accident."

Sabo chewed his lip and started pulling on the clothes the doctor had stripped off that first day. One of the bandits had washed and returned them at some point; Ace didn't even remember that happening. "I don't…I did have a headache, and when I went to sleep, I just…started reliving all of it. Kind of out of order, I think, but all of it. If you think about it, three days for all those years is pretty good, right?"

"Maybe."

"C'mon, don't be mad. I'm here now."

Ace snorted. "Yeah, fine. 'Cause I'm nice like that." Something else occurred to him. "You called me a secretive bastard, but you refused to tell me anything about all that revolutionary crap. What's up with that? What happened to piracy?"

Shame flickered across Sabo's face, and his gaze went to the tattoo on Ace's arm. "I…I never meant to give up on our dream."

"Hey, hold on. I didn't mean it like that. Obviously, stuff happened, I'm not mad at you for it." He put a hand over the crossed-out S. "This isn't blaming you. I…I wanted to honor you somehow, and this felt right."

Sabo's voice was thick, but that could've been from his bloody nose as much as anything else. "I feel like I've…Like I'm wasting all that time you spent grieving. Spitting on it."

Ace was shaking his head before Sabo even finished. "Doesn't matter. I'm proud to have your mark on my skin, alive or not, pirate or not. You seem pretty happy with what you're doing, and if it involves giving the Celestial Dragons bloody noses, I'm all for it. Just as long as you're happy. At least this way you won't have to worry about Luffy demanding you join his crew."

Blinking and wiping at his eyes, Sabo managed to say, "I'm pretty sure he'll do it anyway."

"Yeah, knowing him."

While the bandits' voices drifted through the doorway, most of them excited for the coming feast, Sabo rubbed at some of the dried blood on his clothes. His nose had stopped bleeding, but he'd need a damp cloth to clean off the blood already clotting on his face.

"I'm not sure how much there is to tell," he admitted. "I don't think I need to tell you that, however bad you think the World Government is, they're worse." Ace nodded. "I've spent years being a thorn in their side, trying to learn all I can about what they really intend for the world, but so much is still a mystery. You caught me on one of my best days—actually being on the ground, helping the people who need it."

"That was a good day?"

"Sometimes I can't afford to make a move." He curled one hand into a fist. "Having to watch, knowing it's for the greater good…I hate it, I really do. But I have to do it."

Ace tried to understand, but he knew this was a place he and Sabo sharply diverged. He couldn't watch. He couldn't stand aside. Just waiting for Teach to make a move, even when Teach wasn't actively hurting anyone, had been singularly awful. Even if it meant greater good down the line, rare was the day Ace could comfortably put off doing nothing right now.

"Well," he finally said, "if there's anyone I believe can turn the world on its head, it's you."

Genuinely touched, Sabo blinked and wiped his eyes. "When'd you get so good at this?"

"I've had some practice spilling my guts."

Sabo chuckled. "I guess so." He stopped, frowning, and Ace followed his gaze to the basket of medical supplies. "What's this for?" His eyes snapped to Ace's arm, which Ace was too slow to hide behind his back. Sabo grabbed for it and succeeded on the second attempt, dragging Ace's arm out and examining it critically. "You didn't clean it."

"I had more important things to do."

"Ugh, this is going to scar even worse now. I told you how to treat a bad burn! You have to give it attention! And you should've been letting this breathe for days now!"

"Ow! You don't have to hit me for it!"

"Take better care of yourself! You might not care but Luffy and I do. Now sit still and don't move."

Red-faced and pressing his lips tight together, he sat cross-legged while Sabo unwound the old bandages, cleaned the burn, and applied fresh salve. When he was done, Sabo's touch lingered, and Ace—composure mostly restored after a few minutes of easy silence—raised a questioning eyebrow.

"You really accepted Whitebeard's mark, huh?"

"I did." Ace drew himself up a little straighter. "He's my father, no one else."

"I hear you loud and clear." Sabo smiled at him, and even though the gap in his teeth was gone, it was every inch the smile of that boy from the Gray Terminal. "I'm glad you found a crew that makes you happy, Ace."

Ace's heart did a weird little flip in his chest and heat rushed into his face. He rubbed at the back of his head, unable to stop a nervous smile. "They found me, more like. I spent months trying to take Whitebeard's head after he dragged me onto his ship."

Sabo barked out a laugh. "Okay, that sounds much more like you. I was about to say, it seemed too easy."

Ace scowled at him, which Sabo just took as a challenge.

"Remind me, how did you treat Luffy when you first met?"

"Doesn't count, I was a kid back then."

"I'm pretty sure that makes it worse, actually."

They fell into easy bickering for a while until a bandit poked his head into the room to announce the food was ready, at which point Ace dragged Sabo off-balance by his neck napkin and ran to snag the best cuts of meat for himself.

Sabo, naturally, caught up and managed to loop Ace's belt around a hook on the wall in the ensuing scuffle.

"That's what you get for having way too much left hanging!" he crowed as he went for the platter. In retaliation, Ace turned to flame to escape and caught Sabo in a tackle from behind.

"I'll show you too much," he growled, fighting to get a grip on Sabo's coat. Sabo, in turn, was nearly poking Ace's eye out.

And then Dadan was shoving cuts of meat into both their mouths. "Knock it off, you brats, we're supposed to be celebrating!"

They separated, blinking, and swallowed down their respective portions. A moment later, all the bandits who wanted to say hello descended upon them, kicking out all thoughts of getting even for their dirty tricks.

"Hey, Ace?"

Though he was currently sprawled out with his back kind of to Sabo, Ace was way too full and tired to roll over and face the guy. The party had gone on for the entire day and now a crescent moon was barely giving him any light to see by in their shared room. "What?"

"Earlier, I said I didn't want to go to the capital."

"Yeah, I remember."

"I think I changed my mind."

That was worth rolling over for. "Why?"

Sabo was already facing him, his eyes just glimmers in the dark. "What do you say? A jaunt through High Town for old time's sake. Besides," as though he needed to sweeten the deal further, "we don't have a hoard built up here like we used to, but we need to finance the trip back to your family somehow, right?"

Ace grinned from ear to ear.

Chapter Text

For a second, when the water rippled, Ace thought it was just a trick of the light. Nothing more than the ocean breeze skimming off the waves and making them catch the afternoon sun. But when it rippled again, a new hope took hold: this was victory, finally taking the bait.

Grinning, he leaned forward on the railing, gripped his fishing rod even tighter, and waited for the perfect moment to yank his trophy from the ocean. Another tug, a shadow under the surface—

"HA!"

Ace whipped his head around to see Sabo, seated on the opposite rail, heaving something out of the water with a cry of triumph. His fishing line glistened for a second before the shadow of a massive sea king eclipsed it. For almost four seconds the fish was arcing over their small craft, the water cascading from it creating a gentle rain.

And then it was crashing into the sea on the other side with a wave that nearly tossed Ace overboard. He held the railing for dear life and cursed as his own quarry, spooked by its brethren coming down, fled.

Grumbling, he reeled in the line while ignoring that Sabo was getting a fresh line for his own.

"That makes six," Sabo called, the smug bastard.

"Five," Ace bit back. "You only have five."

"No, you only have five. I have six."

"Then I have six! You were one back. At most we're tied."

"The hell we're tied."

"The hell you're winning!"

"I was winning at the start!"

"And now you're not! We're tied, you idiot! And that one got away like all the rest so quit acting all high and mighty about it!"

Sabo scoffed. Line repaired, he hopped back onto the railing and cast his lure. "Fine, I'll fix that, just you watch. Dinner's going to be on me."

"Big words from the guy who was losing until a minute ago."

"You know, it's going to be very embarrassing for you to lose to me right before introducing me to the rest of your family. You could always back out now and save face."

"The only face I'm saving is the look on yours when I hook the biggest sea king in Paradise."

"Ha! You're on."

Passion literally burning along his shoulders, Ace threw his own fishing line out far from the ship. There was the faintest splash in the water when it landed, then silence. He had about a minute before he'd have to reel it in and re-cast it thanks to the wind filling the ship's sail.

Impatience left his flames flickering. Twice he recast his line, his shoulders getting more hunched each time. He kept glancing behind him, but Sabo wasn't having any better luck.

Good.

And then, on his third cast, a shadow bloomed beneath the waves. He straightened, worries about Sabo forgotten. There was a tug on the lure. Another tug. A yank.

"You're MINE!" he roared as he hauled the beast into the air with so much force he tumbled backward onto the deck. The sea king, a striped and spiny beast, shrieked and twisted in defiance but couldn't stop itself from getting tossed up.

Straight into the other sea king Sabo had just caught and thrown.

Ace froze. Sabo froze.

Rather than arcing gracefully across the width of the ship, the sea kings collided, their shadows meeting in the center of the ship deck—and then they began to fall. Straight toward the ship. Which was, at best, a quarter of their size.

Ace tossed his fishing rod aside and leaped into the air, Sabo right there with him. He tensed, braced himself, and then spun a wicked roundhouse kick into a fleshy bit of the sea king between all the spines. A shockwave burst out of the fish's other side, its eyes popped nearly out of its head, and then it was nothing but a distant memory skipping over the waves to the far horizon before sinking down.

Gravity took hold and Ace dropped back down to the deck. He landed in a crouch, one hand on his hat to make sure it stayed with him. Sabo landed a second later, his pipe in his hands. A glance around showed no sign of his catch; he must've batted it far away.

"Well," Ace reflected, "there goes dinner."

Sabo chuckled and stowed his pipe. "It's not like this ship is big enough to bring a sea king on board without capsizing us anyway."

"I figured you'd catch a small enough one that it wouldn't matter."

"Funny, I was expecting the same from you. We'll just have to get food at Sabaody. We can't be more than an hour away at this point."

After a quick check of his log pose, the ocean, and the sky, Ace nodded. "Yeah, we're close. I'm thinking we can start at Grove F—"

Badabadabada. Badabadabada.

"—are you gonna get that?" Ace pivoted when Sabo made no move to answer the ringing Den Den Mushi presumably in his pocket.

"It's probably not important. You were saying?"

"It's still ringing, though."

"It'll stop."

Ace cocked an eyebrow and waited. And waited. And waited.

With a self-conscious cough, Sabo fished the snail out of his coat. "Okay, maybe it's important. Hello?"

"Sabo!" The snail all but leaped out of Sabo's hand.

"Rusty? What is it?" To Ace, he mouthed: "Sabaody operative."

Leaning against the railing, Ace wondered why the Revolutionaries had operatives on Sabaody Archipelago. Then he reconsidered; with all the human and fishman trafficking that went on there that the government pretended didn't exist, there was plenty of work for them to do. Plenty of potential recruits, too, and marines and pirates to spy on.

"Sir, they put me in contact with you as the person likely to be closest, and, well, Koala said you had a special interest in the pirate involved."

Ah, Ace reflected. Sabo had called to check in for the first time in weeks the previous day, saying—in addition to the fact he'd recovered his memory—that he was headed for the New World and would be passing through Sabaody shortly. Koala's lecture about timely updates had been audible even from where Ace was lounging on Striker at the time.

"Pirate?" repeated Sabo. "Which pirate?"

"It's Straw Hat Luffy, sir. He—he punched a Celestial Dragon!"

Ace choked. Sabo went pale.

"He what?" they asked at the same time, voices strangled by shocked disbelief. That disbelief, for both of them, just as quickly got muddied by pride, and then worry.

"The news is reporting it as a hostage situation. Admiral Kizaru is here, and—and I haven't had it confirmed yet, but it sounds like Kuma sent the entire Straw Hat crew away!"

The ocean was calm, the waves as peaceful as they got in the Grand Line, and still Ace felt the deck threatening to drop out from under his feet. Luffy could take care of himself, sure, but against an admiral? When confronted with the same, Ace had barely escaped with his life—hadn't even managed that, the first time.

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. There was a block stuck in his throat, something thick and heavy and choking, one he hadn't felt since the Gray Terminal was turned into Hell's best day.

"Tell me everything," Sabo demanded.

There wasn't much else to tell. Dark King Rayleigh was there too, and the Navy was one big kicked hornet's nest, but many of the other rookies—eleven of them had been there at once, what were the odds—had managed to escape in the chaos.

"Rogers's first mate was involved?" Ace whispered when the call ended. His heart was pounding in his chest, too loud, too heavy, too much. "What the hell did he do to our brother?"

"Not Rayleigh," Sabo said distractedly. "Kuma. We need to get there now."

Ace didn't need telling twice. While Sabo furled the sail, Ace changed Striker from being tied to the back of the craft to being tied to the front. Standing in his bright yellow vessel, he poured flames into its specialty engine until it was dragging the other ship through the water far faster than the wind would ever manage. Better to put his energy toward that than the anger bubbling up in his stomach. Better to do anything than give into the fear, into the reflexive animalistic don't touch my family that demanded he rip and tear through everything in his way, damned be the consequences.

But if they'd hurt Luffy, he'd damn the consequences, himself, and the whole fucking world if it meant Luffy would be okay.

"Hey!" Sabo yelled over the wind. "The navy's going to be all over the archipelago, but I know a way through the roots that should keep us hidden. I'll take us to Grove Thirteen!"

It took Ace a second to remember how to speak. "Why there?"

"Rayleigh was there, and I know where he works. Odds are he went back to his bar!"

"How do you know where he works?"

"Rogers's crew is worth keeping tabs on. Last I heard, he was a coating craftsman. Sabaody is probably the best place in the world to keep tabs on up-and-coming pirates." Sabo had one hand lightly holding the brim of his hat in place as the wind whipped around them. "Can you go any faster?"

In answer, the flames from Striker's engine surged. Ace knew he couldn't maintain the faster pace for more than a few minutes at a time—he'd have to rest the engine at the original pace to keep it from overheating the paddles—but it would shave off a few minutes in the end. Besides, putting more into his fire was a good distraction.

It couldn't distract him completely, though. Unable to keep it to himself anymore, he had to ask the question: "They said Luffy was sent away. What the hell does that mean? He's not dead, is he?"

"He's not dead."

"How do you know? How do you know?"

"Kuma is…He may have saved Luffy, actually. When he hits a person with his paw, he can repel them to just about anywhere. That must be what he did to Luffy and his crew. Otherwise, there would've been bodies."

Ace's chest wrenched at the thought, then wrenched again when he considered Luffy, all alone, beaten and—if Kuma's power worked one person at a time—having just watched his entire crew vanish one by one. Luffy was alone. "We need to find him."

"We will."

When roaming the forests of Mount Colubo, Ace had dealt with several big cats over the years. The tigers had been the worst: cunning, ferocious, deadly up close, and way too good at getting close without being noticed. In the days before Luffy, before they'd ever taken on the king of the mountain, it had been even worse. Once, though, he and Sabo had managed to outsmart one that had been hunting them by luring it into a three-walled canyon and then triggering a rockslide to seal it in.

They'd sat on the edges of the canyon, trying to hurt it with thrown rocks rather than risk close-quarters combat with their pipes, and finding that the most they could do from a distance was annoy it. Even with all its strength, though, and the gleaming sharpness of its fangs and claws, it couldn't leap high enough or get enough grip to clear the walls.

So it had paced, its hungry eyes never straying from Ace and Sabo for long. Back and forth, the width of the canyon, hour after hour and day after day. Nothing but restless hate in that gaze. Nothing but violence that knew it had no outlet. Nothing but the creeping fear of the inevitable undermining all that came before.

Sitting and watching, Ace had found it fascinating. Sabo had been…less enthused about trapping it, but more than happy to not have to worry about the beast getting the drop on them again.

Now, as an adult, Ace was that tiger and he hated it. He was pacing back and forth on the shores of Grove Thirteen, the shadows of the mangrove's canopy forever distracting in his peripheral vision, the stupid sap-ridden grass squelching under his boots, and the faint popping of bubbles just loud enough to drive him mad. Luffy was the snot-nosed kid sitting just out of reach and every time Ace looked at him the sun was in his eyes and he couldn't fucking see. Was that a hole in Luffy's chest? A shadow? Who knew? Not him, that was for fucking sure.

What was he even good for right now besides wearing a rut in the ground? Nothing. Nothing at all. He was watching the ships but Grove Thirteen was one of the calmest in lawless territory with one of his crewnearby, and Ace would boil every ocean for a goddamn fight right now because he was, actually, truly, without a doubt, losing his fucking mind.

He couldn't even wave some marines over because there weren't nearly as many as there should be and they were all distracted in other groves, and if Ace left the ships Sabo might just give him the fight he was looking for and then they could both waste their time while Luffy was in trouble for maximum stupidity.

The tiger's escape was starvation. Ace knew a relaxing swim in the ocean lapping at the roots below would be faster than succumbing to the riot in his brain.

All this and it had barely been an hour since Luffy disappeared.

Three more steps, turn, and pace back the other way.

Sabo had better make it quick.

Tugging his cravat a little looser to let some of the stifling air cool the sweat building beneath it, Sabo pushed open the door to Shakky's Rip-Off Bar. To his surprise, it was unlocked. He'd never been inside this place before, not personally, but more than once the revolutionaries had tapped its proprietor as a useful source of information. When they could afford her and they were sure Rayleigh wasn't around, at least.

But right now, price was no object and Rayleigh was absolutely around, sipping beer from the bottle and sitting in one of the wooden stools at the half-moon bar taking up the far wall.

Yeah. Convincing Ace to stay with the ships had been a really good idea. Sabo hadn't missed the way Ace's responses had gotten shorter and shorter as time ticked by, his attention more and more focused on the straight line that separated him from Luffy and whatever bullshit he had to carve his way through to stay on that line. There was no getting through to Ace to yank him out of that mindset; that was Luffy's talent. All Sabo could do was point Ace in the direction of least destruction. And right now, that destruction was firmly away from his biological father's crew and anyone who might recognize him as Rogers's biological son. Ace was not at all in the right headspace to handle that.

Sabo hadn't said anything to him, but what had been a warm day on the archipelago had slid very firmly into hot territory when they reached shore.

On the other side of the bar, a woman with dark hair—Shakky, had to be—was leaning on her elbows, eyes fixed on Sabo like she'd known he was coming from the second his boot fell on the bottommost stair leading up to her door. Maybe she had; Rayleigh had probably clocked his arrival the second their boat docked.

The biggest surprise was to Sabo's left. In front of the red couch that took up most of the left-hand wall, two tables had been dragged together to make a platform upon which laid an octopus fishman absolutely drowning in bandages. He was unconscious, fitfully groaning while sweat gleamed on his brow. A young mermaid with green hair and a…sentient starfish? They were tending to him, but they both paused when he glanced at them.

Rayleigh grunted and took a swig from his bottle. "First Kuma, now this. What a strange day."

Shakky shushed him and gestured Sabo farther inside. "You've picked an interesting time to stop by. What can I get you?"

He didn't have time to waste on pleasantries. He strode up to the bar and placed a bounty poster on its sticky surface. By the grace of a decade's training, his hand was steady and his voice didn't shake. "Information on Straw Hat Luffy's whereabouts."

He unhooked a pouch from his belt with his other hand and dropped it on the bar next to the poster. The jewels he'd liberated from that crazy sprint through High Town jingled within the canvas, cutting off Shakky's comment about pricing. Ace had lightened their winnings to repay Dadan for the damage he'd caused to the hideout and the injured bandit, but even after that and their journey to the archipelago, there was still more than enough left for this.

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife and only got thicker while Shakky took a thoughtful drag from her cigarette. "Why do you want to know about Straw Hat? You don't strike me as a marine."

Sabo laughed but it had no humor in it. "Never. I just need to know where he is. I know you," he looked directly at Rayleigh, who was pointedly examining the label on his bottle, "were there. I know you saw what happened."

Rayleigh released his bottle. "I was, was I?"

Outside, Sabo knew, Ace was one strong breeze away from exploding into a fiery inferno. Even without a devil fruit, Sabo felt like doing the same. "He is my brother," he bit out instead, "so I would appreciate if you didn't bother trying to waste my time. I know everything went down in Grove Twelve and I know Kuma was there but you, Rayleigh, are the only witness I can reach right now."

Rayleigh finally looked at Sabo, his gaze alone as heavy as Dragon's had ever been. "You seem to know plenty."

The bartop splintered under Sabo's fingers. He didn't even know when he'd grabbed its edge. Maybe he was just trying not to throttle the Dark King. One strong breeze indeed. He took a deep breath and held onto the dregs of his composure for all he was worth. "While I respect you as the former first mate of the Roger Pirates, and while I know my little brother was over the moon to meet you, don't think I'm above destroying his idols if it means saving him."

Rayleigh's gaze turned dangerous and, despite his anger, Sabo felt a chill run down his spine. Rayleigh looked ready to throw him out on his ass and Sabo was just as ready to force answers out of him. Ace would back him up. Together, they could probably—

"Enough," Shakky interrupted, stubbing out her cigarette in a nearby ash tray. "Your name?"

"He's—" Rayleigh started, but Shakky held up a hand to forestall him. Sabo scraped together the shreds of his patience so his voice didn't sound quite so close to furious.

"Sabo."

"And you're Straw Hat Luffy's brother."

He nodded. "We met when we were kids. It was after Luffy decided to stab himself in the face to prove a point to Shanks, he already had that scar."

It was the most significant thing he could think of in the moment to prove that he knew more about Luffy than any bounty poster could communicate. The number of people who knew the origin of Luffy's facial scar had to be miniscule…which meant Rayleigh might not either, he realized with a sinking heart.

To his surprise, though, the darkness evaporated from Rayleigh's face. He even laughed. "Ha! I heard that story from Shanks himself. Impulsive little brat, scared the hell out of him pulling a stunt like that. Fine, fine. Brother, huh?"

"We swore it over sake." Sabo's glare dared Rayleigh to challenge that, but the elder pirate merely nodded and tapped his bottle. After a beat, he offered,

"Kuma didn't kill him."

Though he'd already suspected as much, having it confirmed robbed some of the strength from Sabo's legs. He sank into a stool.

"I don't know exactly where he sent all the Straw Hats," Rayleigh continued, only for Shakky to follow up with:

"I have a few ideas."

So caught up in his spiraling thoughts, Ace didn't notice Sabo's return until the other man was starting to untie their ship.

"What?" Ace asked, realizing Sabo had been saying something.

"I said he's probably alive."

"Probably? What did probably ever do for us? Either we find him or he's probably dead, so let's go."

Literally steaming in Sabaody's moist air, Ace was left fuming at nothing when Sabo, recognizing the sight of an Ace who only wanted to pick a fight, didn't reply and instead set to prepping the ship to sail. With a frustrated tsk, Ace went to check that knot holding Striker was secure. That didn't take long, and soon enough, he was back to pacing on the main deck, which was only a marginal improvement from pacing on the damp ground.

"Turns out Whitebeard kicking up trouble all over the Grand Line was useful for more than just news fodder," Sabo said while he set to weighing anchor.

"So?"

Sabo waved a hand at their surroundings briefly before he went back to pulling up the anchor. "We're in the lawless area of Sabaody right now, but didn't you notice on the way in? There weren't very many marines at all, even with all the chaos Luffy kicked up. Thanks to your extended family causing problems on the whole of the Grand Line, the navy's stretched thin trying to keep things under control. We won't have any trouble getting out of here."

"That's fucking great," Ace snapped. "Care to share the weather report while you're here? Maybe update some maps?"

The solid metal chain link in Sabo's left hand shattered. The anchor, thankfully already gripped in Sabo's other hand, wasn't left to fall.

"Ace," Sabo said, face hidden but voice pleasant enough to make even Ace's anger reconsider itself, "please don't mistake my observations about our ability to leave here at speed for idle chitchat. I am very well aware that we are on a mission to save our little brother. I am painfully aware of that, in fact, and it's starting to get rather distracting. So distracting that I'm having a hard time keeping myself in check, and if I join you in flying off the rails, who do you think is going to make sure we stay focused on the best way to rescue him? Can you tell me that, Ace?"

Mouth dry, Ace had to swallow a couple times before he could speak. "N-no, I don't—I mean, it's good, that we can leave. Easily."

The anchor thudded to the deck and Sabo strode over to the sail. On the way, he flashed Ace a bright, violent smile. "I agree. Now, Shakky was kind enough to provide information at a discount once I told her our relation to Luffy, and that information points to Luffy being sent in the direction of Amazon Lily."

"The island of women in the Calm Belt? Why there?"

"When I find that out, I shall endeavor to inform you. Now, Luffy could be there, or he could be on any of the islands between here and there. It's best we hurry, don't you agree?"

Sabo was still speaking formally. He was pissed.

The right thing to do right now was apologize, Ace knew. But those words got stuck in his throat somewhere behind Luffy's name, and so he and Sabo struck out from the archipelago amid a tense, simmering silence.

Chapter Text

Striker ripped through the placid waters of the calm belt like a knife. In its wake followed Sabo's boat, its useless sails furled just like Striker's. Out here, neither wind nor wave disturbed the blue expanse that stretched from the darkening eastern horizon to the western horizon now catching the setting sun.

Speed, though, generated a small wave at the bow that occasionally peppered him with spray and made the flames flying into Striker's engine hiss and spit. It also created wind that seemed hell-bent on putting his hair in his eyes.

Thus was his existence: the flames at his feet, the wave ahead of him, the wind pushing against him, and the boat at his back. Somewhere ahead of him, Luffy. Dead or alive.

Alive. He had to be alive.

With each wave that slapped against the hull, Ace flashed back to a different island. Seven of them. Seven islands. For each one, Sabo had tapped Revolutionary contacts, trying to confirm Luffy was or wasn't there before they had to waste time stopping and looking themselves. The wind had even been at their backs for several hours of their journey, letting Ace conserve his strength and giving Striker's engine time to cool.

In that reprieve, he'd called Marco. Well, first he'd called Pops—but Pops was undergoing a more intensive treatment and couldn't answer, so he'd called Marco.

"Marco," he'd said. "Something else came up, Sabo and I won't make it to the Moby next week."

"Your little brother Straw Hat, I heard-yoi. I hope you learned your lesson about being reckless already."

"Tell Pops I'm sorry."

"Tell him yourself, and bring those brothers of yours-yoi with you when you do."

That conversation had been hours ago. Then, the sun had been high in the sky. Now, it was setting. Luffy had disappeared yesterday. It had been over twenty-four hours since that moment, and the only thing left in Luffy's path was either a watery grave or Boa Hancock's island and Ace didn't know which was worse.

Hancock had been at Impel Down. At Marineford. But that was the extent of what Ace knew about her. Had she sided with the marines during that war? With the pirates? He'd been far too distracted to notice.

Wait.

The flames going into Striker's engine sputtered and surged anew.

Had Luffy done this the first time around? Fought Kizaru and Kuma, and lost? Ace had never gotten the story on how Luffy went from Alabasta to Impel Down to Marineford, only that Hancock had been involved in some way in helping Luffy reach the prison based on what she'd said to him during her visit to level six. Maybe…maybe she would help Luffy again.

He snarled at the thought. As if relying on anyone else's charity had ever done him good. There was every chance his meddling had thrown whatever turn of fortune had brought Hancock to Luffy's side out of reach.

"Something in the water?" Sabo called from the bow of his ship. They'd been avoiding and scaring off sea kings with haki and Sabo's pipe for their entire trip through the Calm Belt thus far, and though Sabo was usually the first to sense them coming, Ace had the best view of what was approaching.

And in this, Ace again had the better view. Sabo didn't know what Ace knew. He had no inkling of the possibility that Hancock might be more charitable toward their idiot little brother than her reputation would imply.

He didn't want to give false hope, but…he couldn't keep this secret, either. Sabo had told him often enough by now that he was a bad liar.

"Hancock might help Luffy."

"Her policy about male interlopers is pretty clear."

Ace chewed his lip, then went for broke. "There's a future where I get captured by the marines, held in Impel Down, and then executed at Marineford. In that future, I'm pretty sure Hancock helped Luffy break into the prison to get me out. I don't know for sure, but I think the fight with Kuma happened then too. That must be how she met him."

"W…" Sabo's voice failed. He stared at Ace like he'd grown another head. "What?"

Sensing a sea king charging at them from below, Ace faced forward, tensed, and did a quick evasive swerve to one side to get out of its path. The beast breached the surface and crashed back down, generating a wave that gave them a boost of speed to carry them out of its reach.

Thus reminded about the need to keep his eyes forward, Ace kept his back to Sabo.

"Are you going to explain any of that?"

"I don't know anything else."

"Marineford, Impel Down—the future?"

"A future. Not this one."

Though he wasn't looking, he sensed Sabo staring with increasing incredulity. "I'm—I'm sorry, when did this happen?"

Another sea king rushed them. This one, Ace hit with a lance of fire as it was surfacing, and its body was left to float for the few seconds it took the other sea kings in the area to descend on the meal that wasn't fighting back.

"Sabo, drop it."

"You're talking about time travel—"

"And Luffy's in danger! That's the point, not anything else." That one lapse had let a few blue flames sneak into Striker's engine, forcing him to ease up, to slow down. "I just wanted to say Luffy might be okay. Drop the rest."

"Let it go, he says," Sabo muttered. He sighed. "Fine. But we'll be talking about it later."

"Fine."

"Even if Hancock might be nice to Luffy, we still need a plan when we reach the Kuja Tribe." Ace didn't say anything and Sabo frowned. "You can't start a fight with the whole island, Ace."

"Watch me."

"Ace." Recognizing the cajoling tone, he glanced back at Sabo with a glower that had sent lesser men running. Sabo was no lesser man and he weathered the look without flinching. "Making an enemy of Hancock and all her people won't help Luffy. Why turn a potential ally into a certain enemy? If anything, it'll put him in more danger. We need to be careful."

"I don't want to be careful," Ace snarled, facing forward once more and urging just a little more from his fire. A few more blue flickers snuck in amid the yellow and he forced himself to dial it back. Too much heat could overwhelm even Striker's resilient engine, and then they'd really be screwed. "I want to save my brother, something I thought you'd agree with."

Something slammed into the top of his head, causing him to yelp in pain. Sabo flipped his pipe and relaxed his lean against the prow of his boat while he slid the pipe back into its straps. Despite the ease of the motion, his eyes were cold, his posture tense. "I get that you're angry, but we're on the same side, Ace."

Having grace enough to feel ashamed through the anger still burning through him, Ace worked his jaw. "I just—going in slow and careful, when Luffy could be in trouble? That's never been how I work."

"Yeah, I know. But it is how I work now. We're going to get Luffy out of this."

"If he's even there."

"He will be." Sabo set his jaw. "He has to be."

A few more sea kings were starting to swim nearer. Ace tsked and glanced around, then down at Striker when he felt her stutter. She was overheating. He throttled his fire to the bare minimum to keep them moving and released a concentrated pulse of conqueror's haki to chase away the fish that instantly moved in for the kill.

"Handy trick," noted Sabo. "But," he eyed a few other sea kings who were trying to push the limits of what they could endure, hungry for the two idiots moving through their territory, "if your engine needs to cool down again, I think we could be smarter about this. Your fire will be visible for miles when it gets dark, too, and you should get some rest before we reach the island."

At midnight, Ace and Sabo made landfall at a beach so tiny that Sabo's ship barely fit. Nestled amid the unforgiving cliffs that made up the vast majority of Amazon Lily's shores, it was invisible until they were nearly barreling onto it. They set loose the two sea kings they'd harnessed to Sabo's boat and the fish—after a brief debate over trying to attack the two whelps who'd dared to use them like glorified horses, a debate that ended when Ace lit up a hand in a gesture that said try me—splashed back into the depths to attack a less-defended dinner.

Ace extinguished his hand and helped Sabo drag the ships above the high tide mark, then straightened and examined the island they were about to conquer. Or, infiltrate, however Sabo's whole thing worked.

Over the beach loomed a tropical jungle as dense and foreboding as Mount Colubo's worst depths, and over that jungle loomed the massive mountain bearing the Kuja Clan's name. Light was coming from the top of that mountain, visible as the last of the daylight finally died.

"Okay," Sabo said, done erasing the deep ruts their boats left in the sand and using some fallen fronds to break up the boats' silhouettes. It wouldn't hold up to any serious inspection, but in the dark, it would work well enough against a passing observer from the sea. Who knew if the Kuja had patrols regularly sweeping the waters around the island; Sabo wasn't going to take the risk of coming back to destroyed escape craft. "The village is at the top of that mountain; Luffy's probably up there somewhere."

"If they didn't kill him," Ace growled. "If they did, I'm burning this whole island down."

"I'll be right there with you, but let's confirm the situation first, shall we? And please keep your head down. If we get discovered sneaking around like this, we'll put Luffy in danger, whether he's somehow gotten Hancock's favor or not."

Like he'd already said a dozen times, or so it felt like. Ace trailed after him without a word, eyes scanning the dark as the woods closed in around them.

Sneaking around Amazon Lily at night wasn't as difficult as Ace had expected. Maybe some of that could be attributed to Sabo; his observation haki and general sneaking abilities took them on the safest path through patrols and guard posts. Aside from one minor hiccup with some wildlife in the forest, they were able to reach and scale the mountain without incident.

At the top, they took a minute to rest and stretch. Ace couldn't remember the last time he'd done that much rock climbing as a straight shot, and even Sabo with all his finger strength was wincing as he stretched out his hands.

"Where's the prison?" Ace asked, peering down at the sea of lights nestled in the shielded top of the mountain.

"Not sure yet." Sabo was sketching something on the back of a bounty poster they'd picked up from a particularly brave News Coo. Ace glanced closer and realized it was a map of the city. Sabo tapped a rectangular building towards one side. "This seems likely—there's a gap between it and the surrounding buildings, and there are more Kuja stationed near it. We'll start there; when we get close enough, we can use haki to confirm whether he's there."

"And if he's not?"

"Here," Sabo pointed to another potential prison, "and then here." His finger drifted up to the edge of the city. Frowning, Ace looked at the actual location rather than the sketch representation and found himself staring at the palace.

Ah, wait. He got it. If Luffy wasn't in those places, then he was probably dead. Which meant they'd be making Hancock pay for what she'd done.

Part of him hoped it wouldn't come to that. Another, larger part knew that if it did, he'd find some solace in making this place look like a volcanic eruption's aftermath.

Luffy wasn't at the probable prison or the other probable prison. When Ace ignited his hand and started for the palace, though, Sabo yanked him back into the shadows of the alley and grabbed his wrist with haki-coated fingers.

It was then Ace learned Sabo hadn't pointed to the palace for reasons of killing Boa Hancock but for reasons of "Luffy could be there too."

And, when they scaled the sides of the not-actually-volcanic caldera again and circled around the comparatively less defended edges to get close to the palace, Sabo sucked in a sharp breath. Ace didn't need to ask, but he did anyway.

"He's there?"

"He's there."

Sabo pointed to the window of the tower nearest to them. With some creative applications of rope and climbing ability augmented by Sabo taking the time to figure out the guards' patrol routes and probable shift change pattern, he and Ace were able to reach the window leading into Luffy's room.

Ace was second into the room. He hauled himself through the window, ignoring the burning in his arms from the nonstop climbing, and dropped onto the plush rug on the other side that helpfully muffled the sound of his boots on the floor. He uncurled to see Sabo looking around with an ease that said there was no immediate danger.

"No one outside the door," he said.

Nodding acknowledgement, Ace made a beeline for the bed and the shape sprawled out on top of it. He'd kicked the sheets halfway off and his straw hat had slid off the bed with them, but Luffy was snoring away unbothered by the chill coming in from the window and the bandages winding around his body.

"He's injured."

Sabo, finished confirming they weren't about to be ambushed, joined Ace. "They could be from Sabaody."

"Or here."

"He's fine, Ace. Look at him. His stomach's still full from dinner so they're obviously feeding him. You know how he bounces back once he's got food in him."

Ace made a noncommittal noise. "Do we have a way out with him?"

"Yes. On our way in, I heard the guards saying their shift change was coming up soon. We'll use that confusion to escape. Hopefully, the Kuja will never even know we were here."

Though he knew that was for the best, Ace found himself frowning. There was a fire in him, ignited with the thought of Luffy in danger, that demanded action. Sneaking around wasn't going to let it out.

"Still," Sabo was looking around again, "this has got to be the most comfortable imprisonment I've ever seen."

"Who cares? Let's get out of here. Oi, Luffy, get up." Luffy kept snoring. Ace's eyebrow twitched and he whacked his brother on the head, even putting a little haki into the blow. "Get up!"

"Ow!" Luffy shot upright, one hand flying to his head. "What was that for, Ace?" Then he cocked his head, sleepiness clearing up in a flash. "Ace?"

"Yeah, it's me. C'mon, we're getting you out of here."

He went for the window, Sabo close on his heels, only to pause when Luffy spoke again.

"Who's that?"

"Eh?" Ace glanced over his shoulder. "You don't recognize him? Luffy, that's Sabo. Now come on this way, we don't have long before the guards change shifts."

First, the loss of his entire crew; then, the shock of Boa Hancock and the whole of Amazon Lily; and then Ace crossing half the world to rescue him; and finally, his other brother unceremoniously returned from the dead to do the same. It was all, quite suddenly, too much for Luffy's battered brain.

There was a muffled thud, a hiss of panic from Sabo, and then the distinct lack of Luffy's voice. Ace looked over his shoulder again to see Sabo picking Luffy off the floor and shaking him gently.

"Hey," he whisper-hissed. "Hey, Luffy, wake up! I only need one brother with narcolepsy!"

"Is he—"

"He's," Sabo paused long enough to check his pulse, "fine? Maybe?" When Luffy didn't rouse, Sabo slung him over his shoulder and gestured for Ace to move. "Go, I'll be right behind you."

Ace nodded and turned toward the window, only to freeze when a couple of presences pinged off his haki. "Someone's coming!"

"Then go!"

"They're outside the window!"

"Why—oh, hell, you're right."

Ace cursed and tossed Luffy onto the bed, then grabbed Sabo by the arm and dragged him under the bed frame in the instant before the two women he'd detected scaling the wall peered in through the window. He and Sabo ended up facing each other, Ace with his back to the room, Sabo with his back against one of the bed's central supporting legs, their knees touching and their shoulders lightly pinned between the floor and the frame. Cramped didn't begin to do it justice. Insult to injury, their abrupt arrival had kicked up the thick layer of dust that had settled over the floor.

The sheets are just fluttering from the wind blowing in, Ace thought in direction of the window for all the good it would do.

Two observers, just two. Two young women, even—no, of course. This was the island of women. They had, much like Ace and Sabo, scaled the wall to reach the window.

"Can you see him?" one asked.

"Just the hand, quit jostling. Let me—right there, right there! Over on the bed."

"Oh, wow. What a carefree sleeping position. Is that how men sleep?"

"It must be."

Sabo's nose twitched and his eyes went wide.

Don't you dare, Ace mouthed. Sabo shook his head, slowly shifting so he could get his hand up to his face and pinch his nose, trying to stifle the sneeze that desperately wanted to escape. His eyes were watering. His whole body tensed. Ace tensed too—

Sabo squeezed his eyes shut, twitched, and then let out a slow, careful breath. He grinned at Ace, who scowled back. They could be relieved when they got out of this mess.

"He's smaller than I thought he'd be," one of the women was saying. "I'm pretty sure I could fit his head in my hand."

"Maybe he's just a small man? He's about my size. There could be men your size."

"Maybe."

They fell silent for a moment and Ace hoped that meant they were finished creeping on Luffy and were about to climb away. Instead, their comments took on a different, far more objectifying air. Rage knifed through Ace as he was forced to listen, and when he couldn't tamp it down any longer, a haki-coated hand clamped over his mouth.

From past that hand, Sabo glared. Ace glared back.

A flicker of fire escaped his control. They both froze, that flare of light painfully visible in the dark.

Sabo didn't have to speak for Ace to read the are you fucking serious on his face.

"Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"There was a light under his bed."

Ace could hear the faint scuff of hands and feet on rocks as the women adjusted their positions.

"I think you're seeing things."

"Huh. I could've sworn…"

"Wait, look—down below."

Sabo's hand squeezed. Ace readied his fire, careful to keep it contained this time.

"The guards are changing."

"Shoot, you're right. Liana won't let us keep looking when she starts her shift. Let's go, quickly."

As they climbed down, Sabo whispered, "If the guards are changing now, we've missed our window. We'll need to wait for the next change."

"It'll be almost morning by then."

Sabo shrugged as much as their cramped hiding place allowed, eyes reflecting the frustrated helplessness making it into his voice. "We can't leave now without running into those two. When it's our turn, we'll have to move fast."

"Great." Ace shuffled out from under the bed and moved aside so Sabo could do the same. "Luffy's still asleep."

"Like you have any position to judge from." Sabo brushed off the dust and went to the window. He pressed himself to the wall next to it and then carefully peered out. "Guards have finished changing. Looks like those two women got caught."

"Meaning?"

"Just a lecture, looks like."

Ace scowled. "After what they said—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I heard it too. They're very sheltered in this place." Sighing, he left the window and arranged Luffy a little more comfortably before sitting on the edge of his bed. He patted the spot next to him. "Pacing isn't going to get you anything. Sit down and rest, we have time."

Ace hadn't even realized he'd started pacing again, but he felt way too coiled up to relax. "I'll stand."

"Suit yourself."

Sabo had left his Den Den Mushi on the boat, so there was nothing to break up the silence except the faint sounds of the island that the breeze carried through the windows. Fortunately, no one else seemed inclined to scale the tower for a look at the only man on the island.

The only man they knew about, anyway.

Time crawled by. Ace spent some of it examining the room—nothing of note, just expensive furniture and expensive silks and expensive everything—and then peering out the window—nothing worth noting that they hadn't already seen. Luffy kept snoring away. Even after a narcoleptic fit caught Ace and snuck another several minutes out of him, the night dragged on.

Watching him from the bed where he'd ended up once more after joining Ace in looking through the room, Sabo sighed. "Ace."

"What?"

"Can we talk about it now?"

"Talk about what?"

Sabo fixed him with a look. "The time travel."

"Now's not the time."

"We're stuck here until the guards change and you've made it clear you've got nothing else to do. No one's around to hear."

Witnesses didn't matter. He hated thinking about it in the privacy of his own skull, much less voicing it to the brother he'd thought he'd gotten killed while he sat over the one he'd died to maybe save.

A choked-off laugh broke out of him. He had no idea if Luffy had gotten out of there. If anyone had. In his good moments he chose to believe they had, that his sacrifice hadn't been pointless.

He wasn't having a lot of good moments lately.

"What do you want to hear, Sabo? Someone I cared about died, I chased the murderer, and I got caught just before all this," he waved at their surroundings, at Luffy, "happened. My tour of Impel Down was pretty fucking limited, and most of Marineford I saw from on top of an execution stand while my family fought and died. What else is there to say?"

"Ace, I'm not asking as a revolutionary." His voice softened. "I'm asking as your brother."

Ace flinched.

Sabo leaned forward. "You said Hancock helped Luffy. Was he there, then? At Impel Down? At Marineford?"

A warship crashing down from the sky, a log hurtling through the air, a voice stretched so thin it was breaking: I'M YOUR BROTHER!

"Yeah." Saying it felt like a betrayal. An admission that he wasn't strong enough to keep Luffy out of danger. No, that he was so weak he'd dragged Luffy into danger. "Yeah, Luffy was there, even though I told him a hundred times to leave."

"With your usual delicate touch, I'm sure. Do you want to sit down? You're pacing again."

"No."

Pacing was good. Pacing helped distract him from the void where his thoughts had tried to go in the span between hearing Luffy had vanished and finding him here on Amazon Lily.

"I don't know how they knew," he finally said. "Who told them, or how they figured it out. Maybe they knew my mother's name and just put it together. They couldn't just kill me, they had to make it a show.

"They revealed my parentage for the whole world to hear while I was up on a platform even higher than his. Gol D. Ace," he spat the name. "Even if I'd gotten out, my mom's name would've been erased."

"If?" Sabo repeated. "What do you mean, if?"

Ace's throat bobbed but he couldn't force the words out. Sabo's voice cracked.

"Ace, what happened at Marineford?"

He brought a hand to his chest—to the scar going through it. He didn't want to say it. Didn't want to explain. Didn't want Sabo to know how badly he'd failed when it mattered most.

But Sabo—alive—was staring at him, and Luffy—alive—was softly snoring behind him, and Ace couldn't bear the weight of keeping this to himself anymore.

"Luffy came to get me out, and I—all I had to do was stick with him. I just had to keep running. That was all I had to do." He swallowed. His chest was burning and the faint smell of smoke tickled his nose. It wasn't real, he knew that, but he couldn't stop himself from tensing. "Akainu insulted Pops. After everything—my family was dying for me, they took on all of Marineford, and he thought Pops was a loser? A relic? I couldn't stand it. I tried to fight him, but he was stronger. And then he went for Luffy."

Sabo sucked in a breath.

"I couldn't let him. I—I didn't think, I just moved, put myself between him and Luffy, and…" He trailed off, staring down at the scar, trying not to blink because he knew what he'd see when he did. "I woke up here."

Fingers wrapped around his wrist and Sabo gently tugged him toward the bed. Ace fell onto it next to him and put his face in his hands, the shame of it all bowing his shoulders. "I don't want him to know. Sabo, he can't know. That failure—he gave everything he had and it wasn't—knowing would kill him."

"Like it killed you?"

He flinched, then flinched again when Sabo's hand came to rest on his back. Slowly, that hand moved in comforting circles. Ace felt even worse.

"After we lost you, I promised him I'd never die. I promised, and I—" his voice broke.

Sabo reached around and pulled him into a hug. "You're alive now. You can keep your promise." He carded his fingers through Ace's hair. "I'll help you do it, you know I will."

"I know," Ace managed. For a minute, neither of them said anything, and Ace was able to get himself mostly under control. Only then did Sabo break the silence.

"I won't tell Luffy, but for what it's worth, I think he'd understand."

"Won't tell me what?"

"Ah!"

Ace and Sabo sprang apart as though shot. Luffy, sat up on the bed, stared at them. At Sabo.

And then he was glomming onto Sabo with a yell, tears and snot all but exploding from his face. "SABO!"

Sabo tumbled off the bed and smacked against the floor while Ace found himself impressed by the number of times Luffy had managed to wrap his rubbery arms around Sabo in that one brief moment.

For another moment, he just looked on, the sight of a blubbering and basically incoherent Luffy trying to communicate to a relieved and winded Sabo unwinding something in his chest. It felt like he could take a full breath again.

Then he realized Sabo had worked one of his hands free and was holding it out. Ace took it and joined them, wrapping both his brothers in a hug.

Both of them. Alive.

He buried his head in Sabo's other shoulder so neither of them would see the tears.

Sabo's soothing words eventually helped calm Luffy down. Unable to completely detangle his brother, Sabo awkwardly got up and got them all on the bed again.

"At least you'll be easy to carry like this," he said.

Luffy cocked his head. "Carry? Wait—what're you guys even doing here?"

Scowling, Ace thumped him on the head. "We came because we were worried, you idiot!"

"Ow!"

"We're getting you out of here, so put your sandals on. The guards are gonna change soon."

Rubbing at the fresh bump, Luffy asked, "How'd you even find me?"

"It wasn't easy. C'mon," Ace yanked him off Sabo, "sandals."

Luffy didn't move.

"Lu, sandals."

"Why do we need to sneak out?"

Ace looked at him askance. "Because you're a prisoner?"

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Now that I think about it," Sabo mused from where he'd wandered to the window, "all those guards are positioned more to keep the Kuja out than Luffy in. It's not like there's anyone outside his door, just the main entrances, and he's not restrained."

Ace lowered the hand he'd been about to bonk Luffy with. "If you're not a prisoner, then…then what are you?"

"I dunno. A guest, I think? Hammock's giving me a ship in the morning to get back to Sabaody."

"Hammock. Hancock? Boa Hancock? The Warlord?"

"Yep."

How did she not kill him? Ace marveled at his brother, probably the only man in the whole world who could call Pirate Empress Boa Hancock "Hammock" and get away with it.

"Maybe he doesn't call her that to her face," Sabo offered, reading Ace's thoughts from his expression. "But if Luffy's not a prisoner, we should rethink our strategy. You said she's offering you a ship to go back?"

Luffy nodded emphatically. "I'm going back to Sabaody and I'm getting my crew and we're going to the New World."

Ace and Sabo exchanged a look, the both of them thinking about what they'd heard of the confrontation at Sabaody and Ace in particular thinking about the crew he'd met in Alabasta. Even if they'd gotten stronger since then, it hadn't been that long, and he felt pretty confident in saying:

"They'll die."

Luffy froze. "What?"

"They'll die," Ace repeated. "All of them, and you."

Shock turned to anger. "You don't know that."

A light touch on his shoulder from Sabo stopped Ace from snapping out a response. Sabo was from his coat producing a newspaper a news coo had managed to deliver while they were blazing across the Calm Belt. On the front page, the main article detailed the fall of the Straw Hats in retribution for harming some Celestial Dragons.

"Your whole crew was defeated," Sabo said softly as Luffy took the newspaper and stared at the headline. "The rest of the supernovas were scattered. Luffy, you're strong, but the New World isn't just an extension of Paradise—it's exactly what the name sounds like. And you haven't trained for that. The fact you're here alone is proof enough."

Luffy's lip trembled, and Ace realized—Luffy wasn't stupid. He'd seen his crew fail, he'd failed himself, and he'd been stewing in that grief from the moment Kuma launched him out of Sabaody. He knew. But he, same as Ace, hated feeling weak, hated doing nothing, and hated—above all—failing to save his crew.

"Hey," Ace said, pulling Luffy close, "they're okay. Sabo's got his friends searching for them, and the ones we know about are just fine."

Luffy's arms wrapped around Ace, then wrapped again, and Ace's chest was feeling damp where Luffy's face was pressed against it. "I—I couldn't save them, Ace. I wasn't strong enough! We went through everything together and when it mattered I couldn't do anything!"

That wail pierced straight through Ace's heart. He knew that feeling of helplessness all too well. "I know, Lu, I know. Like you were there just to watch."

"I should've saved them. I should've saved them!"

"I know."

Sabo scooted closer and laid a hand on Luffy's shoulder. "Lu, I misspoke, and I apologize for that. You're not here alone. You have us."

Luffy peeled his face away from Ace's chest and blinked watery eyes at Sabo. "Wha?"

Seeing exactly where Sabo was going with this, Ace grinned and nodded his heartfelt approval. Sabo smiled back.

"We're here. Me 'n Ace. Whaddaya say? It'll be just like old times."

Luffy blinked again, eyes getting huge, and then he grinned from ear to ear with a smile as bright as the sun threatening to break over the eastern horizon. "YEAH!"

They left Luffy in his not-prison. With the threat of the coming dawn and the brief window as the guard changed, they moved fast, descending the wall, sneaking through the waking streets, and picking their way back down the mountain and through the forest as fast as they quietly could.

During the journey, Ace kept to himself, mind caught up in all the things he'd have to settle before taking the time to train up his brother. He'd have to call Deuce, see if his second could handle tracking Kimei alone. Then there was finding someone to head up the second division in his stead…maybe Bront, or Deuce and Bront working together. The second had been without a commander for a while before Ace showed up, they could handle it again. Then there was Wano. Couldn't just leave Tama and Yamato to fend for themselves for years. Maybe he could convince Sabo to take over for a month while Ace went on a trip.

Thankfully, their ships were as they'd left them. Ace cleared the fronds and then helped Sabo drag them back into the water, and then they both erased all signs of their tracks from the sand. Then, they dropped anchor just off the coast and settled on the deck to wait.

"So," Sabo began.

"So."

"He's alive."

Ace huffed out a laugh that was part amusement and mostly relief. "Yeah. He's alive." He leaned on the railing and stared up at the mountain. "Odds he sticks to the script you gave him?"

"Low. I'm mostly hoping he sticks to the idea that we're probably chasing him and she should look around for us on the water. If they look on the island, they'll almost certainly find our tracks."

"Not my fault that boar decided to charge us."

"It is your fault that you almost used your fire."

"I didn't!"

"Only because I got to it first. Honestly, you are not cut out for subtlety."

"Oi, we pulled plenty of subtle shit growing up."

"Remind me, how often did that end up with us throwing off our disguise and braining every witness with our pipes?"

Ace grumbled and refused to answer. Sabo leaned on the railing next to him and nudged his shoulder.

"You doing okay?"

"Fine. Like you said, he's alive."

"You were ready to burn the world down for him."

"And you weren't?" Ace dropped his gaze to the forest. "I'm fine, Sabo, really. I just needed to see that he was okay. The time travel shit, I've had months to deal with. Even had Marco teach me to meditate about it."

"You? Meditate?"

"Shut up, I'm decent at it."

"You mean, all those times while we were traveling together, it wasn't just a narcoleptic attack you'd had while sitting down?"

"Fuck off."

They shared smiles that died when something pinged off their observation haki. Sabo reacted first, and then Ace a second later. Kuja warriors, scantily clad but sporting weapons aplenty, emerged from the trees and stepped onto the smooth sand of the beach.

"Who dares trespass on the territory of Empress Hancock?" their apparent leader, a brunette with waist-length pigtails, demanded.

"Portgas D. Ace and Sabo," Sabo called. Unlike Ace, he'd stopped leaning on the railing when the new arrivals showed themselves. "We're looking for our brother. We hear he's somewhere on this island."

"You'd know him as Luffy," Ace added. "Straw hat, big smile, makes all kinds of trouble."

The Kuja exchanged looks. The bows and spears lowered.

"Tell her," the leader ordered another woman, who produced a snail and said some quick words to it. To Ace and Sabo, the leader said, "Stay where you are. You are not permitted to come ashore."

Ace must've grinned a little too wide at that because Sabo kicked him in the shin. He cursed and eyed his brother balefully. "What? Luffy did it. Hammock's on her way."

That comment, quiet as it was, earned him a hearty whack on the head. "Don't you dare say that to her face or I'll kill you before she gets the chance."

Hancock made her appearance a few minutes later, but not by land: by sea. Fitting, all things considered. Ace doubted someone like her would ever hitchhike through a forest. Her pirate ship dwarfed Sabo's small craft, making it look like a dinghy by comparison.

When Hancock stepped up toward the bow and Ace got his first look at her in person, he couldn't help the way his heart skipped a beat. In the two-piece red and white outfit, with that raven-black hair waving in the breeze and those golden snake earrings catching the sunrise, Hancock was every bit as beautiful as her bounty poster showed and then some.

The longer Ace looked, though, the easier it was to get himself under control. She was beautiful, but it was the kind of beauty that was so all-encompassing it crossed over into intimidating. Even without her Devil Fruit, she seemed perfectly capable of killing with her gaze alone. If he thought of her as a bejeweled dagger or a sword, something ornate but still kept razor-sharp, he could ignore the rest of himself too distracted to be useful.

It was a little gratifying to see a bit of a blush on Sabo's face too. Neither of them was immune.

"Ace, Sabo!" Luffy, who was apparently completely immune, popped up next to Hancock and waved.

"Luffy, good to see you!"

"Gum-Gum—"

"Oh, shit." Ace hit the deck. Sabo frowned at him.

"What are you—"

"ROCKET!"

A blue and tan blur slammed into Sabo and sent him careening into the aft cabin wall. The wood splintered and both Luffy and Sabo collapsed in a heap. Ace picked himself up, dusted off his hat, and replaced it at a properly roguish angle on his head.

"That," he explained. Sabo groaned.

"Hi, Luffy, good to see you too."

Luffy just laughed. Ace chanced a look at Hancock and shivered; she was looking at them with murder in her eyes. "Uh, Sabo?"

Clearing his throat and getting to his feet, Sabo chivvied Luffy up next to Ace. "Pirate Empress Hancock, it's an honor to meet you." He swept down into a bow, one hand reaching over to yank Ace down into a bow as well.

"It is," Hancock agreed. "You're Luffy's brothers?"

"Yes, we are. I'm sorry for any trouble he may have caused you; he can be quite a handful."

"Hmph."

With how hard he was straining against Sabo, Ace nearly stumbled when the pressure keeping him bowed vanished. He and Sabo both straightened. Some of the hostility had left Hancock's gaze, but it was more than made up for by the suspicion in all of the Kuja women on her ship and watching from shore.

"Hey, Hammock!" called Luffy. Ace and Sabo both winced, but Hancock just smiled at Luffy, a bit of color dusting her cheeks, and Ace had to catch himself before his jaw could hit the deck. "Can my brothers stay here too? We're gonna train together!"

"I guess he already explained he's not taking that ship anymore," Sabo muttered.

Hancock bit her lip, her aura at once shifting from intimidating to damnably cute. Ace pressed his nails into his palms and demanded he get ahold of himself. One day ago, he'd been fully prepared to kill her if she'd hurt Luffy.

Stoking the embers of his rage helped more than he thought it would.

Unaware of his internal struggle, Hancock put a hand on her hip and frowned. "I cannot."

"Aw, why not?"

"Men are forbidden on this island. Though you," warmth stole over her voice, "are welcome, anyone else," the ice was back, "will be tossed into the sea as food for the fish. At most, I would let them stay on the beach out of respect for their ties as your brothers."

Luffy crossed his arms. "There's not enough room to train on the beach."

"Train?"

"Yeah, I gotta get stronger, and they're gonna help with that."

Taken aback, Hancock put a delicate finger to her chin and thought for a minute, eyeing Ace and Sabo with an intensity that made them both shift their weight with discomfort.

"Rusukaina," she finally said.

Exclamations of surprise rose up from the Kuja tribe, of which Sabo took note.

"It's a nearby island we often use for training. You'll find no shortage of ferocious beasts and unforgiving land in its borders."

"Sabo?" Ace muttered, and he replied in kind.

"It's ideal; staying in the Calm Belt, and in this vicinity in particular, is about as close to off the radar as we can get. Any complaints?"

"No. An island full of wild animals sounds perfect, actually."

"I was thinking the same. Right, Luffy? It really will be just like old times."

Luffy practically bounced on his feet. "I'm gonna finally beat Ace! And Sabo!"

"Don't bet on it." Ace raised his voice so Hancock could hear. "We accept! We'll do our training on Rusukaina."

Hancock nodded. "I'll have my people prepare some supplies for you." Ace was under no illusions that the you encompassed anyone other than Luffy. "In the meantime, your brothers are to stay on their ship. I'll have my people show you the way when the supplies are ready."

Sabo sketched another bow. "You have our thanks, empress."

Chapter Text

"That'll probably be enough, right?"

"Probably."

"I can hit it again."

"Hit what? There's nothing left. That giant rubber fist of yours turned the whole auction house into splinters."

"He's right, Lu. Though, I can still burn it."

"Fine, fine, I know you want to. But make it fast—the marines are coming."

"I thought we want to be seen."

"You do. I don't. It's for the best Luffy isn't associated with the revolutionaries right now. Even if…"

"If what?"

"Never mind. I'll tell you another time."

"Suit yourself. Hey, Luffy, check this out!"

Back on the shores of Rusukaina, Ace laid out on the sand with a pleased sigh. Overhead, the afternoon sky was light on clouds, and for now none of the beasts that prowled the island's inner recesses had taken notice of him. They'd apparently made landfall during one of the island's nicer forty-eight seasons, too. Honestly, for all the island had been hyped up, Ace had yet to even see snow.

Sabo jumped from the ship and landed nearby, then sidestepped as Luffy rocketed by and slammed into a tree, sending a half-dozen coconuts raining down. Ace caught one and popped it up at Sabo without looking. Sabo caught it, cracked it in two, and passed half back to Ace.

Sipping a coconut on the beach. Not bad at all.

He finished with the coconut and tossed it aside, then sat up and brushed the sand from his hair. "Any news yet?"

"There's a coo coming this way."

Ace squinted and, sure enough, there was a bird slowly dropping from its sky route thanks to Sabo waving it down with some beri in his hand. "They're really fast."

"Well, we did kind of wreck several slave operations in Sabaody right under the marines' noses, pose for pictures, and then hightail it out of there before an admiral could get there from headquarters. They had plenty of material and witnesses, and it's been over a day."

"Luffy and I posed for pictures. You skulked in the shadows."

"I did not! I was securing our way out."

"Skulking, skulking, Sabo was skulking!" Luffy sang and then laughed as he dodged Sabo's halfhearted attempts to hit him with his pipe. With the news coo taking up his other arm, he couldn't exactly give chase.

Bird gone, pipe planted in the sand, and newspaper in hand, Sabo examined the front page with a critical eye, then nodded. "They used a good picture."

He flipped the paper around so Ace could see. Luffy bounded up next to him and they both took in the image splashed over the front. In the picture, he and Ace were back-to-back and facing down a bunch of marines. Ace was on fire, his left arm and its ASCE tattoo clearly visible to the camera. And there was Luffy, his right arm equally prominent, along with the temporary tattoo that branded it: 3D2Y, with the 3D crossed out much as Ace's S was. To anyone looking, it just looked like Luffy had gotten a tattoo to match Ace's.

Over the image was the big headline: "STRAW HAT LUFFY, FIRE FIST ACE CLAIM BROTHERHOOD, WREAK HAVOC IN SABAODY."

Man, Ace thought with a grin, Akainu's probably steaming right now.

'Course, the marines had probably already known about that little family fact thanks to Smoker in Alabasta, but they'd been keeping it to themselves. The list of bounty hunters willing to go after a rookie pirate was often as long as the bounty was high; the list of bounty hunters willing to go after a rookie pirate with ties to Whitebeard was, no matter how high the bounty, significantly shorter.

"You said you didn't find all of them?" he asked Sabo, who passed off the newspaper to Luffy so the kid could read the whole article and see more of the pictures they'd printed.

"No, but definitely Robin and Sanji. The rest should see this newspaper, and if Luffy's right, they'll understand what that tattoo means. How did Whitebeard react when you told him you were staying here?"

"He took it well, I think." Ignoring the subsequent calls from Deuce, Thatch, and Marco, which were all variations on the theme of could you at least warn us first. Deuce in particular was more than justified in that, but at least he now had plenty of time to wrap up everything he wanted to do with the medical division. "I'm pretty sure they're all hoping you'll be a good influence on me."

Sabo laughed. "Only because they haven't met me yet, I think."

"They'll figure it out when they do meet you. How long until you have to leave, by the way?"

"They're still shuffling around some mission assignments, but I have a month at least. I'll do everything I can to be here as often as possible, but—"

"I get it, I get it. Thought Luffy knocked that guilt out of you on the way here. Luffy—"

"No, no, it's fine, Luffy, you can keep reading." Sabo sighed. "I'm gonna collect some wood for a fire. Mind getting Hancock's meals from the ship?"

"Sure." Ace stretched his arms over his head with a groan, then let his hands fall. It felt good to be healed. The burn scar on his arm would never fully fade, and he had spots all over his body from other burns, but they didn't hurt anymore. Next chance he got, he was getting that tattoo. Maybe there was a good artist on Amazon Lily willing to put ink on a man, if Curiel wasn't going to be reachable.

He wandered down the beach to the waterline. Hancock had prepared some meals and then, upon hearing Luffy would be detouring back to Sabaody for a minute, had taken it upon herself to quadruple the amount of food she'd have ready on his return. Ace didn't delude himself into thinking any of the food had been made with him or Sabo in mind. He could see two of the overstuffed backpacks peeking over the railing even from down on the beach.

Well, at least the food tasted good.

"We'll start training tomorrow morning," Ace decided over dinner that night. "Tonight, we'll camp on the beach and take turns chasing away any animals that get too close. Eat as many of Hancock's meals as you want; from tomorrow on, the only food we get to eat is what we catch ourselves. Feel free to use it as bait, though."

Sabo and Luffy nodded agreement.

With their bellies stuffed full to bursting on the free food, it wasn't long before all three brothers were fighting drowsiness. Luffy succumbed first, curling up under the small shelter he and Ace had built and snoring away. Ace yawned wide, blinked his eyes clear, and knelt next to Luffy to drag his blanket back up over his shoulders.

Luffy mumbled and turned over, forehead creasing. Ace smoothed it out with his thumb, then let his touch linger.

Arm slipping from Luffy's shoulder, strength fading, can't feel him anymore, can't feel anything anymore.

"Ace?"

Ace gently flicked Luffy's forehead over his half-lidded eyes. "Go back to sleep, idiot."

He stood and walked back to the fire with Sabo, Luffy's snores resuming behind him. He dropped onto the log they'd dragged over as a bench, rested his elbows on his knees, and sighed.

"You could sleep too, you know," Sabo pointed out. "Only one of us needs to stay on watch."

"I'll let you handle it once the dinner drowsiness goes away. Don't need you nodding off."

"You're one to talk."

They both watched the crackling flames for a minute, lost in thought—but neither was so lost they let their observation haki slip. They were both firmly attentive toward the island. If anything lurking in the forest got too close, they'd know. Faintly, they could hear some sea kings fighting in the ocean, but they were safe on shore and could ignore that.

If not for the haki, though…

"It's like old times."

Sabo hummed his agreement. The fire crackled and then released a shower of sparks as one of the logs split and tumbled into the center. Sabo winced and leaned back, reminding Ace of decade-old guilt—and more recent guilt, too.

"Hey."

"Yeah?"

"I…I was outta line in Sabaody. I was worried about Luffy, but I shouldn't'a taken it out on you when you were feeling the same way." He licked his lips, the fire having dried them out. "I thought I'd gotten a better handle on myself since we were kids but I guess not."

Sabo was quiet for a moment, then offered, "I accept your apology, Ace. Like you said, you were stressed. It happens."

"It won't happen again."

Sabo clapped him on the shoulder. "You really have grown up, huh?"

"Guess so. Guess you have too."

Mutual guilt simmered in the air between them before it broke up into mutual forgiveness. Sabo squeezed, Ace smiled, and Silvers Rayleigh walked out of the ocean.

Ace froze. Sabo froze. Rayleigh, oblivious or uncaring, merely sluiced off some of the water coursing down his bare chest and then wrang out his shirt while a puddle steadily grew under him.

"R-R-Rayleigh?" Sabo stammered.

"Ah, Sabo. Good to see you again. I guess this means I was right to change course. That must be Luffy over there, then."

The fire next to Ace leapt and danced in time to Ace's shock-scattered thoughts. Rayleigh. Rayleigh. Dark King Rayleigh. Roger's first mate Rayleigh. Wasn't he puttering around Sabaody pretending to be a coating craftsman? What in the ever-loving fuck did a monster like that want? Why was he here?

There could only be one reason.

A burning arm went up between Rayleigh and Luffy. "What do you want with our brother?"

"Ace, he's not here to fight. You're not, are you?"

"Not exactly. I suspect I'm here for the same reasons you are."

"I don't want your help and Luffy doesn't need it. He has us."

Sabo placed a calming hand on Ace's shoulder, the fire reflexively going out where he touched, and got him to lower his arm. "For my brother's sake, can you explain exactly why you're here?"

Rayleigh, after a lingering glance at Ace, nodded. "You noticed it too, but Luffy isn't equipped to handle the New World right now. I've decided to offer my help in getting him to that point, if he wants it."

"Who says he does?"

"Ace, please."

"No, why the hell are you even talking to him?"

"Because he helped Luffy!" Sabo exploded. "Stop letting your grudges get in the way of helping our little brother!"

"Grudge? Are you ser—"

"I don't mean to cause trouble." Finished wringing out his shirt, Rayleigh slung it over one shoulder with a wet slap. "However, I'd appreciate if you let me stay the night. I stopped by Amazon Lily and then heard from Hancock that you were here. They didn't have any boats prepared, and mine was already destroyed in a storm, so a quick swim was the fastest way."

"Then…those sea kings fighting…that was you?" Sabo sat down, rubbing at his temples. "Legendary pirates are something else. Feel free to have some of that food; Hancock made it, and it's too much for us to finish tonight."

"You intended to eat all of this in one night?"

"Starting tomorrow, we eat what we catch. Right, Ace?"

Ace crossed his arms, scowled, and refused to say another word. He hated the way Rayleigh looked at Luffy, hated the fondness in his voice, and above all, hated how he kept looking at Ace with unabashed curiosity.

Really, he wanted him to say it. Just speak the words, please, give me the reason, but he won't actually ask. He'd been spoiling for a fight for days now but he wasn't about to start one with his brothers right there when they were supposed to be doing all of this for Luffy.

But if Rayleigh started it…Ace just needed the excuse. He could probably goad the man into doing it. Yeah, that was the best play.

Thud.

In retribution for the understandable but inconvenient hostility Ace had been spitting all over the place, Sabo made no move to catch his brother when he fell onto the beach. Rayleigh paused in the middle of unwrapping one of Hancock's packed meals.

"Is he alright?"

"Fine, just asleep. He's got narcolepsy." Sabo knelt next to him and rolled him onto his back so he'd quit breathing in sand. "Only time he's slept in the last few days was when an attack hit, so I'm not surprised it caught up to him again." After a beat, Sabo picked him up and carried him over to Luffy, then spread the blanket over them both. Even asleep, they immediately began a slow tug-of-war over it.

He smiled fondly at the sight, then stood straight and faced the Dark King.

"Do I need to pretend I haven't realized you've figured it out, or are you going to be honest?"

Rayleigh bit into a rice ball and chewed for a moment, then swallowed. "The resemblance is uncanny."

"Why do you think he shaves?"

"It helps Roger didn't become infamous until he was older."

"First thing, you do not say that name around Ace. Don't bring him up in conversation, and if you can help it, don't even think about him. It won't do anyone any good. Do that, and I might be able to convince Ace that letting you train Luffy is a good idea."

"His hatred runs that deep, does it?"

"Deeper."

"Hm. And the second thing?"

"If you hurt my brothers, I will tear down every brick of the life you made after leaving his crew and I will salt whatever's left when I'm done."

Rayleigh's eyebrows crept up, but so did a corner of his mouth. "Noted, but you realize I won't go easy on Luffy or the rest of you in training. That would defeat the point."

"You know that's not what I meant." Sabo frowned. "Ace and I don't need training."

"Turning it down?"

Sabo narrowed his eyes while Rayleigh sipped from a bottle he'd had tucked into a pocket. His time with the Revolutionary Army had given him a plethora of skills. He was, he knew, one of the best users of observation and armament haki in the Army and probably above the vast majority of all haki users in that respect. There were, however, still plenty of people in the world who were stronger than him.

One of them was sitting across the campfire.

"I didn't say that."

Rayleigh smiled into his bottle.

In the morning, it took the combined might of Sabo, Luffy, and an entire hour to wear Ace down into agreeing to accept Rayleigh's help. He was, of course, not happy about it. But he was willing.

By noon, no one was happy. Except maybe Rayleigh, who wore a pleased little smile while Ace, Sabo, and Luffy lay groaning in the dirt, each of them sporting a healthy bump on their head.

"Sabo?" Ace muttered, right eye just barely able to see his brother over a tree root. Sabo shifted his head just enough to look back.

"Yeah?"

"I hate you."

Sabo closed his eye. "Me too."

Rayleigh trained them in the mornings. In the afternoons, once they were physically recovered enough to do so and had each taken down their own local beast or foraged for food, Ace and his brothers squared up for a sparring routine they hadn't done to its fullest in a decade.

"C'mon, Luffy." Ace raised his hands and beckoned his brother to attack. "Let's see you get that first win against me."

Motivated both by the need to be stronger for his crew and the desire to finally surpass Ace, Luffy took to the sparring matches with gusto. Ace got a rapid tour of the various gears Luffy had developed, all of which he had vague memories of from Marineford. Gear third in particular was impressive; Luffy had demonstrated some of it at Sabaody when they were destroying those auction houses, but it was hard to appreciate just how much offensive power it granted until he was facing it down himself.

He still won, though. Luffy's grasp of haki was weak, meaning Ace's logia gave him a truly unfair advantage, for now. And Luffy shrinking down to toddler size wasn't exactly conducive to a Luffy victory.

Sabo was another story. Ace's over-reliance on his logia meant Sabo landed several nasty hits, putting him decisively in the lead of their overall totals early on. Each time, Ace picked himself up, spat the blood out of his mouth, and never made the same mistake again.

He made new ones.

Sabo punished him accordingly, but Ace kept getting up. He'd claw his way back to the top; the sting of defeat was too painful to let stand.

Within a week, he'd dragged his daily win-loss ratio with Sabo back to even. Within two weeks, he was eking out more wins than losses, much to Sabo's irritation.

Even when their totals were nearly tied again, though, Sabo still took time after their spars to show Ace and Luffy more about armament and observation haki that Rayleigh either hadn't yet or wouldn't cover. Neither brother could imitate Sabo's dragon claw style, but gaining a similar level of control over their haki was a solid place to start.

In the evenings, they went out and hunted again, then dragged their winnings back to the sanctuary clearing: a break in the forest marked by a large, smooth rock, the only place on the island the vicious wildlife wouldn't go. Half the time, the small shelters they'd made were destroyed on some level thanks to the insane weather patterns that plagued the island and they had to spend a while rebuilding them.

The one small mercy was that, as long as Ace was around, they didn't have to worry about snow.

One morning, Rayleigh asked Sabo to train on his own, leaving just Ace and Luffy under his tutelage.

"I'm sure Sabo can teach you both plenty about armament and observation haki," Rayleigh explained, "but you and Ace possess something he doesn't."

Ace frowned. "Pirate crews?"

"Black hair?"

Rayleigh chuckled. "While it can crop up without warning, some think it's often hereditary. It wasn't that long ago Shakky heard a rumor about a Whitebeard Pirate knocking out a whole castle's worth of opponents with a single look."

Ace tsked and looked away with a scowl. "That's exaggerated."

"What are you talking about?" Luffy asked.

"I'm talking about the rarest form of haki. Anyone can learn armament haki, and with enough training, even observation haki. But not this one." Rayleigh leaned forward, and as he did, an invisible pressure bore down on both Ace and Luffy, making them squirm. On reflex, Ace resisted that pressure, and Rayleigh's grin widened. All around them, faint flickers of red-rimmed black lightning sparked through the air. "I'm talking about conqueror's haki, or color of the surpreme king. Both of you have it."

Ace spun to look at Luffy. Sure enough, some of that lightning was coming from around him. That moment at Marineford…

"I didn't know about Luffy for certain, but what I saw of him made me suspect he had the potential. I'm glad to see I was right. It suits you."

"And me?" growled Ace.

"I leave the exact mechanics to people smarter than I am. Wouldn't you agree what matters is that you have it? Everyone in the New World knows most of what you can do with armament and observation. But very, very few know all the ways you can use conqueror's. Would you like to learn?"

"Yeah!"

Ace didn't match Luffy's enthusiasm. Hereditary. Most likely, he'd gotten this power from his deadbeat father. He'd bet all his beri that Roger had been one of the most powerful users of it, possibly ever. Just one more ability he could learn to get even closer to the man he hated, whose cursed blood flowed in his veins and gave him such aptitude for everything he tried. Only in his logia fruit was he distinct.

But…this power had let him protect Luffy when they were kids. It wasn't just Roger who had it; Whitebeard did too. So did Shanks. And if Ace was ever going to surpass the legacy of Gold Roger, he'd need the strength it offered.

He set his jaw and glared at Rayleigh. "How do we use it?"

"That's probably good enough."

Sabo stepped away from the ancient tree, which released a stuttering groan that broke up into several sharp cracks before its battered trunk, easily several yards in diameter, finally gave way. It fell to the ground with a boom and impact that shook the ground under Sabo's feet.

Behind Sabo, the boar that had been trying to sneak up on him while he practiced the technique for injecting his haki into the tree to destroy it from the inside froze at the sight of the tree falling, stared down at the tiny human who'd unleashed that destruction, and then fled.

"Aw." Sabo tipped up his hat and turned to watch it sprint through the underbrush. "That was going to be dinner."

Oh, well. Boar meat was pretty tough anyway. There were better options roaming around the island, even if Ace was doing his damndest to singlehandedly cull the bear population.

Movement in the sky caught his eye and he glanced up to see a news coo circling uncertainly. They knew someone was on this island—the birds had a remarkable memory for paying customers—but not where, and it was too dangerous to get close while still uncertain.

"Here!" Sabo called, producing a little more beri from his jacket. Within a couple minutes, he was several bills lighter and weighed down by fresh bounty posters. Seeing the faces plastered above the new numbers, he grinned and jogged toward the clearing.

He found Ace and Luffy facedown in the dirt a few feet away from their respective shelters. Rayleigh was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's your teacher?"

"Gone," Ace said to the earth. "I hope."

"Ow," Luffy moaned.

"What happened?"

"Conqueror's haki training." Ace spat out a bit of mud and rolled onto his back with a great groan, arms flopping out to either side. "I don't even know how to explain how shitty I feel right now."

"I have something that might cheer you up."

"Food?" Luffy sat up, hope sparkling in his eyes.

"Unless you want to eat paper, no. But how do new bounty posters sound?"

Ace sat up, then winced and clutched his head. Taking pity on him, Sabo sat in the no man's land between his brothers and spread their posters out on the ground. All the posters for other pirates got weighted down under his pipe to be glanced at later; their might have been something there of note to the Revolutionary Army.

Crawling over on hands and knees, Luffy sat back on his heels next to Sabo and stared out at his poster in wonder.

"What's mine now?" Ace asked, still on his back. Last he'd heard, it was floating around six hundred million.

Sabo took some satisfaction in reading the whole thing. "Wanted dead or alive: Portgas D. Ace, nine hundred million beri."

"What? Why that much?" Ace demanded, pushing himself up so he could stare at the paper and confirm it for himself. "I haven't even done anything!"

Sabo gave him a hard look. "You wreaked havoc across the world with your division, fought an admiral to a stalemate and destroyed an island in the process, and then assaulted a whole group of nobles at an international conference with a known revolutionary before wrecking up Sabaody and declaring Luffy's your brother. I'm honestly surprised it's not higher."

"Whoa," Luffy said. "You did all that?"

"Akainu was the asshole who destroyed the island, but fine, maybe I did some things. I might even get higher than Marco soon. Bastards are being stingy with a billion, though." He grinned at Luffy. "You hear that, Lu? Nine hundred. You're never catching up."

"Hey! I'm up to 300 million."

Sabo cleared his throat. "Actually, you're at 400 now, on account of the Celestial Dragon punching and havoc wreaking. Nice job on that first one, by the way."

"He shot Hachi."

"Trust me, you don't need to give me any reason to punch one of those bastards."

"Next time I go to the Archipelago," Ace muttered. "They weren't around the first time I went through, and I didn't want the Spades caught up in anything when we were still just getting started. And when we went there this time we had a mission. But now? I'm tempted. They've got it coming."

"You just don't want me catching up," Luffy said mulishly. Ace whacked him upside the head.

"Don't act all high and mighty when you're 500 million behind, you brat!"

"Owww, you hit like Gramps!"

"It's haki," Sabo said absently while Ace and Luffy wrestled. Evidently, they were recovering quickly from Rayleigh's training that morning. "Gramps was using it on us all along." He rubbed the back of his head. Ace likewise shuddered at the memory of those "training" sessions. Funny how they were always the most punishing whenever Garp heard them mention dreams of piracy.

"Hey, Ace!" Luffy sounded very chipper for someone whose rubbery limbs were currently pinned under Ace's legs while Ace pressed his head into the dirt.

"Yeah?"

"Did you ever think about what your poster says?"

A warning light entered Ace's eyes. "My name?"

"Shishishishi, no! What it says."

"Dead or alive?" Sabo quoted with a raised eyebrow.

Confused, Ace had eased the pressure on Luffy's head, and so the younger brother lifted his head with a bright, cheeky smile. "Wanted!"

For a second, it didn't land. Then Sabo groaned. "Lu, that's—"

"What's he talking about?" Ace interrupted, adrenaline still running a little too high for him to put it together as fast.

"What the poster says. What most of them say: 'Wanted dead or alive.' I'm guessing he means that first part."

"Yeah!" confirmed Luffy. "Ace has always been wanted!"

Ace's eye twitched and he slammed Luffy's face back into the ground. "That's so stupid."

But he was smiling when he said it.