The tiny pile of ash taunted her.
This is my fault. Moda thought. I let you leave. She gently dabbed the soot with her fingers, the coldness of the dark particles once again mutilating her grief-coated heart. You idiot. He isn't coming back. Moda chastised herself harshly. The embers of the burning vivrecard had long flickered out. She knew this. Still, she couldn't bring herself to concede the game she'd been playing these past few months. Deluding herself into hope, no matter how unrealistic or farfetched, was much easier than coming to terms with what the ash pile was shouting at her.
If only she hadn't been so naïve. Moda smiled weakly at the thought. I still don't get, she thought, shaking her head, how you always loved that about me. Memories of him laughing at her farm girl's innocence brought a rare smile to her face, if only for a fleeting moment. "Ace." Moda whispered. His name hung in the air like smoke from a snuffed out candle, five months' worth of suppressed sadness expanding into the room like an overgrown Sabody Archipelago bubble.
The tears were coming again. She could feel her battered floodgates swinging open, her festering wound of a soul spilling out her sleep deprived eyes. She longed to feel his hands, fingers calloused from years of conquering the unruly seas of the Grand Line, gently cradle her blonde curls. She ached for the unlikely placement of those eyes, perfervid coals of fiery passion and love of adventure, with the soft cheeks of childish freckles beneath them. She didn't even try to wipe away her tears or stop herself from thinking of him. She just sat, slumped in her chair, hoping the ghosts of the past would not torture her too much.
How long had she been sitting there? An hour? Two hours? Three? Irrelevant. No amount of time, long or short, could sew up the rips in her heart. Ace, are you watching? It must hurt to see me like this. You want a strong woman. But I can't be that for you right now. Being strong was always your thing.
Moda remembered that day so clearly. All of Terra-Terra Town, the entire world for that matter, had been shaken by the headlines surrounding the Battle of Marineford, what pirates and marines alike called the 'War of the Best'.
"EXTRA! EXTRA! Read all about it!" An excited paperboy shouted at the top of his lungs.
"I've got the latest on the recent conflict between the Whitebeard Pirates & the Navy at Marineford!" Another belted.
"Both Edward Newgate and Portugas D. Ace are dead! Read it here first!"
"Hot off the press! The Strongest Man in the World, the Great Emperor of the Sea Whitebeard, and his second division commander Fire Fist Ace, the son of Pirate King Gol D. Roger, ARE DEAD!"
But Moda already knew. Ace's vivrecard had burned up five days earlier, and with it, the milkmaid's cheeriness. When her mother Koda, asked her what was wrong, Moda had forced a smile, blaming her change in demeanor on a long day of work on the ranch.
Koda never questioned her or her husband Kyuji's jobs as the two head cooks at Navy Base G2. They were well paid and, while they had to leave Moda behind on the ranch for weeks, sometimes months at a time, they never had to worry about their little MoMo going without. She'd never felt as much shame and disgust as she did holding the newspaper in her hands and seeing her little girl's spirit so broken.
"Absolute Justice? Hmph!" Kyuji snorted, his nose wrinkling as he read the post-war interview statement from Akainu. "Countless young lives snuffed out, never to dream again. And for what? Admirals who are nothing but puppets for our greedy World Government?"
"Kyuji!" Koda pleaded, darting a stern glance in Moda's direction, hoping her husband would get the hint.
"Sorry." Kyuji sighed, realizing his daughter was within earshot. His voice lowered. "You know what I'm saying's true though. Whitebeard & Roger may have been pirates, but they were honest. They had values. Codes. That's shit this 'Worst Generation' of pirates knows nothing about. The seas aren't going to be safer. They're going to get worse!" He took an angry bite out of his bagel. "Hmph! I used to think the Marines were heroes, only working towards the safety of those who couldn't fight. Now, this entire town is drinking and carrying on, hailing our navy like they're something special. But not me. Not us!" Kyuji slammed his fist on the table in disgust.
He thought back to the little girl who used to dance and sing, wild blonde curls bobbing to and fro, as she played with the cow calves on the farm. He looked at her now. Kyuji turned back to Koda. "KoKo, it's because of him we still have MoMo. He saved her life. He made our little girl happy. I will never forgive Sengoku for this. "
Koda nodded, her eyes as fierce as her husbands.
"MoMo." Moda looked at her father. "I've been thinking about something."
"Yes, daddy?"
"Do you want me to stop cooking for the Navy?"
Moda's eyes widened with shock. "Daddy!" She frantically shook her head. "You love that job. I would never ask you to quit just for–"
Kyuji gently put up his hand, motioning for Moda to let him finish. "Moda. I know all of this is hard for you. I don't want you to answer this as a good daughter. I want you to answer with what you really want."
Moda slumped back in her chair, eyes closed, thoughts racing. A voice whispered in her ear, a sweet reminder from days long gone, a relic from happiness she no longer knew. "MoMo." "A real pirate never keeps those around him from following their dreams."
She smiled. "No, daddy. Cooking is what you love. I'm not going to ask you to give that up for me. I'll be okay. I promise."
A knock on the door brought Moda out of her retrospection. "Yo! Is anyone home?" A man's voice called out.
"Just a minute!" Turning on the room's lighting and covering the vivrecard ashes, She trudged to the door. "Can I help you?"
A lean, muscular, twenty-something looking man with a tuft of wild dirty blonde hair shooting out like crown leaves on a pineapple stood at the door. "Are you Moda Malon?"
Moda waited a long time, before nodding apprehensively. Could she really trust this man?
The man's mouth curved into a smile. Slight, like that of a man worn out from a long journey. "Don't worry. Ace said I needed to find you." Moda froze, her heart palpitating wildly at the mention of him. "My name's Marco. Marco Alvarias. I'm the first division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates." Moda could see the pain in his face as he spoke his captain's name. "May I come in?"
Moda nodded sympathetically. As he stepped closer, Moda could make out the Whitebeard Pirates tattoo on his chest in the room's lighting. "So Ace sent you?"
Marco laughed. "There were two things Ace couldn't shut up about. His straw-hat wearing little brother. And you."
Luffy. Moda's mind drifted. That's right. Did she really have the right to grieve the way she had been? After all, she wasn't the only one who was mourning the loss of Ace. Monkey D. Luffy, a young pirate from Ace's native East Blue, had tried and failed to save his big brother in the climax of the War of the Best.
"Hey." Marco gently tapped her on the shoulder. "That was rude of me. I know this must be really rough on you and Ace'd kill me if he knew I made you feel guilty for what Luffy's going through."
Moda smiled, blushing slightly. "That obvious, huh?" Marco nodded, flashing his pearly whites.
"Oh yeah." Moda laughed. Somehow, she felt safe around Marco. Ace, he's as calm as you said. "Hey, I know. I have some stuff I want to talk to you about. But, before that, can you tell me how you and that hothead met?"
Moda giggled. It'd been a while since she let herself do that. "Well, it's kind of a long story…"