A little one-shot based on my fic called Ace of Spades. It takes place later in the plot of the story in its current state. Some of it may not make sense if you haven't read at least the first 4 chapters of Ace of Spades but I hope you enjoy it ^^.
Disclaimer: I own my OC's and other unfamiliar things, the rest belongs to Eiichiro Oda or should I say GOda
The crimson silk of her cheongsam shifted with her every step, the soft swish of its thigh split skirt was accompanied by the slow rhythmic click of heels against stone. Though it was similar in cut and fit to her usual attire, this dress was special and she treasured it as such. He had bought her this dress almost 4 years ago. In a loving gesture, she made sure to wear it on New Year's Eve and his birthday to show him how much it meant to her. She remembered he had hated shopping and buying presents even more so. The fact that he did things he normally wouldn't do just for her was heartwarming and a present within itself. She even recalled how surprised and touched she had felt as he presented it to her with pink tinged cheeks. A soft chuckle escaped her rouged lips at the memory. Her former captain and division commander could be so cute at times. Once she had even voiced that thought to him and said he was really cute. She received a sharp red-faced reply that men, especially pirates, were not cute and that being called cute was embarrassing. In her opinion, that snarky reply reinforced the idea that the words Ace and kawaii were meant to be used in the same sentence.
Ah but those moments were far memories now. She would not be able to see his freckled cheeks flare red anymore or his awkward gestures of affection. Eyes cast down, she followed the ornate stone floor as it guided her to his memorial. Sakura petals danced in the gentle night breeze, some brushing through her sun-bleached waves. The phenomena of blooming cherry blossoms on New Years was not lost to her but such odd occurrences were second nature for an veteran pirate of the New World. Clutching a small bouquet of hibiscus flowers and a bottle of well-matured sake, she made the journey to her lover's grave reliving their short time together, nostalgia at her throat.
The staccato of her heels died down as she came to a halt before two towering gravestones. Her dry eyes moved over the familiar headstones, an amber gaze that had long lost its light. She had been here twice before: at the funeral and on the last New Year. If fate would have it, she would be here on this night for years to come. It was something she vowed to make tradition, spending New Year's Eve here. This night would be spent with him like always, she would stay until the dusk faded into the dawn of his birthday on New Year's Day.
With a soft sigh, she moved towards the larger of the gravestones. The looming silhouettes of the late Edward Newgate's bisento and captains coat casted shadows on her made-up face as she paid her respects to her late captain. Briefly placing the bouquet on the ground, she opened the bottle of Whitebeard's favourite sake and poured it over his gravestone in offering. The old man had loved sake more than his health, always sneaking the drink behind the nurses' backs. He would then justify his actions saying he wouldn't mind dying if it was caused by the thing he loved most. In reality, sake was not what Whitebeard had loved most nor was it what had killed him. His love for his misfit family and his sons had ended his life. For such a cause, she knew Oyaji didn't mind death.
Picking up the hibiscuses, she rose to her feet and moved towards the other grave. The hana kanzashi in her tan hair swayed as she walked, its strings of miniature red roses amongst tresses of blonde and brown. She settled down in front of the gravestone, bringing her solemn gaze to rove over the pristine engraving marking the resting place of one Portgas D. Ace. Atop the marked slab of marble, she could make out the shapes of a cowboy hat resting on a pistol and dagger. No one would ever understand how painfully familiar and nostalgic those items were to her. She let out a shaky breath, holding back the stream of tears that threatened to spill. Shifting her thoughts elsewhere, she arranged the flowers at the base of the headstone, the tropical bloom's peach-coloured petals a stark contrast to the white stone.
The hibiscus had the meaning of delicate beauty or consumed by love. In her situation it was clear that the flower was supposed to signify the latter. If the pain deep in her chest was not the feeling of being consumed by love then she feared she was suffering from angina. It was because she loved him that it hurt this much. Her love for him was consuming her from the inside out. Little did it occur to her that the hibiscus was the flower adorned by the mother her commander had never met. To her knowledge, the bloom was a symbol her feelings, not a symbol of the delicate beauty that was Ace's mother. It was but a coincidence that the two women who loved Ace most would find meaning in the same flower.
Her moistened gaze moved up from the neatly arranged hibiscuses to rest upon those items she had seen so many times. The pistol and dagger, always at her captain's waist. The green dagger she remembered well, she had bought it for Ace at an old weaponry store on her home island. Since then, the antique blade had come a long way from the East Blue right into the New World. The sea stone coated blade had gotten them out of lots of tight spots. The pistol, she recalled, was seldom used. Ace had bought the pistol so he could work on his pistol based attack, Higan. However he always carried, saying that one day it would come in handy. Up until this day she didn't know if it had ever been of use. She could now feel the tears as they moistened her cheeks, rolling down her face to fall on her lap. The memories were too much for her.
A quivering hand muffled the sound of her sobs as her blurred gaze took in the sight of his trademark hat, its horrendously bright shade of orange as clear as day even in the dark night. How many times had she seen that hat perched on his head of unruly dark locks? That hat was always on his head whether he was grinning beneath its brim and offering his hand to her or wearing a pensive expression and leaving her to pursue Blackbeard. It was always there, through all his moods. She would sometimes playfully push it off his head or even smash it into his face when he was being a total goof. There were times when he would place his treasured hat firmly on her head and leave it with her in an unspoken promise that he'd return safely before heading out on a task. But that one time he didn't.
Maybe it was because of the shock of losing Thatch, or maybe it was the anger he felt at Teach for betraying the crew. For what ever reason, Ace had forgotten to give her his hat. He did not return safely. A part of her seemed to suggest that Ace didn't forget, that he didn't give her that hat because he couldn't promise that he'd return safely or that he wouldn't return at all. She shut off those painful thoughts at once but the confusion remained. There were so many things she wished she could ask him, ask Ace. She had barely had the chance to reunite with him before he was ripped from her life. She missed him so much.
Asuna could no longer hold back the emotion, her shoulders shook violently as she poured out all the hurt and tears. From the black tears she could tell that the make up she had put on for the occasion had already gone to waste. If Ace was there she was sure he'd tease her about how she looked like a raccoon, she'd probably end up laughing too. That was just how he was. Bringing her hands up to cover her miserable face, she cried her heart out so hard that she was sure even Cassiopeia could hear it from her throne in the heavens.
Amongst the black tears and smeared make up, she felt a consoling hand on her back. Two muscular arms encased her convulsing body as she was pressed against a firm, masculine chest. The tears came harder as she recognised the man embracing her, a certain cowboy donning pirate that she had never thought she'd see again. She wrapped her shaking arms around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder only to be met by more familiar faces that were tear streaked like hers. Their old crew. Ace's Spades were here.
Asuna pressed her quivering lips to Taylor's neck, a sweet greeting to the cook. She felt him squeeze gently on her waist in reply. Beyond his shoulder she could see Hamish, their old sniper, holding his top hat his chest. The ship doctor, Khaled, wept on his knees and the stoic swordsman, Abbas, buried his katana in the ground. His large frame bowed for their fallen captain, his expression one of intense grief. Their old shipwrights, Crowe and Miller, held arms to their faces as they bawled. Tears and chocked sobs filled the night air just as the fireworks began. Sparks of every colour painted the night sky, the deafening pops and crackles drowning out the sounds of their sorrow. It would be another year without their beloved captain. Life was ever so cold without the warm and lively flame that Ace was, metaphorically and literally.
The new year was upon them and they welcomed it with grief. Together, the Spades mourned for their Ace.