Author's note:

The chapter was beta'd by the wonderful Gerbilfriend who helped me a lot with grammar and paraphrasing and general ideas and choosing the Title. (*Ace's deep bow*)

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Warnings:

English is my fourth language. Warning may change in the future.

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Please read the notes in the end, QUITE IMPORTANT!

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So this was how he would leave this voyage. Seeing his son dying in front of him without being able to do anything to protect him. The strongest man in the world failing to protect his family as he had never failed so miserably before.

His youngest son, the one he longed so much to protect, to embrace, for him to feel real joy and acceptance, dying in front of him, was the last nail in the coffin, he was old and tired. He felt his own power, the same power he prided himself in wielding to protect his family waning, slipping from his fingers like sand.

Blackness was all around him, trying to swallow him, devouring him but it couldn't stop the memories from filling his head.

Thanks to his sons and daughters, he lived a life of joy, no, he lived his dream every day, hour, minute.

They sailed with him in this voyage, giving him all he ever wanted. Yet he left them in the midst of a battlefield, to face the uncertain future alone. His sons and daughters were strong but …, he sighed in wariness and concern.

He lost friends, enemies, sons and daughter who left his sanctuary, home, willingly or were slain in battle defending it, but this wasn't the end he wished for. Not for himself, but for his sons, this wasn't what he wanted them to have to deal with after his departure.

Blackness swallowed those memories too.

He knew his voyage was coming to an end for a while now, he couldn't ignore the signs that his body was sending.

But not like this.

The blackness was clearing a little bit, or maybe his eyes were getting used to it, yet his body refused to relax.

"One piece exists, isn't that a little lame for your last words, old man. Really, you couldn't find anything more creative and exciting to say as the words you would be remembered by."

He reflexively tried to clutch his bisento, to find it not at his side as it should be, it wasn't there to begin with.

He knew that voice but he hadn't heard it in more than 22 years.

"Roger, you're not the first face I wanted to see in the beginning of this new voyage."

"Tough luck," the voice answered amused, a smiling face appeared shimmering in front of his eyes. The smile reminded him of Ace, the son he failed.

Roger stood before him, exactly like he membered him in their last conversation, down to the white cravat around his neck, in his hand was a bottle of sake (as per usual) written on it, 'winds of change'.

Hmmmm, interesting.

"Did you meet …" he began and stopped.

"Ace," continued Roger for Whitebeard.

His smile disappeared, he shook his head, "his mother."

And that was all needed to be said about that.

Whitebeard nodded and mused to himself that was the right person to welcome his son in the beginning of his new journey. The question was why was he stuck with Roger as his welcomer?

"That one of things I wanted to speak to you about," Roger said solemnly after a long pause.

Bowing his head, he continued, "Thank you for taking care of him, for giving him the opportunity to call someone father willingly, to have a real family. To know that he was loved for being him. Rogue and I are eternally grateful."

Pain and sorrow was apparent in his voice and face. Roger was never able to hide his emotions. No. he didn't ever try to or care to (if he ever tried it meant trouble was around the corner).

"You should have brought him to me," there was no accusation in his words, but this was his answer. Ace was his son, a thank you wasn't wanted or needed.

Those unsaid words seemed to cross to Roger, because his next words were, "Maybe I should have," he paused looking quite thoughtful, "but then he wouldn't have met his younger brother."

"Your successor," said Whitebeard as matter of fact.

"It seems so, doesn't it? Shanks approves of him; he did give him my hat. Ace loved him to pieces and believed in him completely, Rayleigh also approves, and so do you," He stated, waiting for a denial that never came.

Whitebeard couldn't help but remember him, as he last saw him, his anguished cry resounding in his head, his grieving figure full of sorrow and denial in the same time, was engraved in his heart.

He heard himself ask, "will he survive?"

Roger had a distant look at his face that vanished quickly, he shrugged his shoulders as he said, "if he is the carrier of the true will of D, then he will."

Whitebeard nodded, then he will indeed. It wouldn't be easy, it would be heart wrenching, but he would, Whitebeard was sure. Teach in the other hand was no true D, he would get what was coming to him.

Roger motioned for him to sit, and as they did the blackness cleared around them. The place, whatever it was, seemed a bit friendlier than before.

Roger took out cups from his pockets, huge cups. This place was different, he couldn't put his finger on why, but he could feel it in his old bones. He had seen and experienced different and weird places on his own voyage but this place was more than a bit eerie.

Roger poured from the bottle into the two cups, and offered one to him.

Whitebeard eyed his reflection in the cup, he looked the same as he did the morning before the battle. He just realized he doesn't feel any pain at all from his scars and many old wounds, it was as if he lost all sensation in his body.

They both drank in silence, he enjoyed his drink (it was somehow familiar), yet missed the sensation of his throat burning as he swallowed, this place was truly eerie.

Roger holding his cup near his face, after small pause to gulp from his cup, said.

"I wanted him to have the choice to choose his own life, his own journey, like we did."

He added looking at him in seriousness that was strange on his face.

"I wanted him to taste the freedom from his own choices," and gulped the rest of his drink in one go.

Whitebeard did the same, he would drink to this. The freedom to choose your own fate.

Roger added, his signature smile back in his face, "still he did find his way to you, didn't he?"

They both laughed at the irony.

"What is this place?" asked Whitebeard eyeing the blackness all around that was somehow a bit farther now, he felt as if his depth perception was screwing with him. It somehow looked clearer yet everything seemed to have blackness in it, even he himself.

Roger stroked his beard and said, "it's hard to explain, this place is no place, it doesn't exist."

Whitebeard stared at him while raising his eyebrow, telling him yet here we are.

"It's here but not here, hmmm, I am not making much sense am I?"

Whitebeard snorted, "when did you ever?"

Their last conversation came to mind, Roger never knew how to moderate things, it always was all or nothing, literally and metaphorically.

Roger ignored him, "let's say it's a crossroad."

"To where?"

"To everywhere, of course!" said Roger quite pleased with himself.

Whitebeard sighed, shaking his head in weariness, why did he even bother to ask, he should know better, some things never changed.

"I assume that isn't what you wanted to speak to me about," asked Whitebeard after some time passed with only the drinking sound disturbing the silence.

Roger get busy, pouring more sake to both of them. He seemed like buying time for himself. Why?

"No," he said looking at him straight in the eyes, and paused.

Whitebeard was going to open his mouth to demand an answer when he heard.

"If you had the choice to do your journey again will you take it?"

Whitebeard took the cup from his hand and drank, he frowned, the taste brought feeling of nostalgia, but even after drinking more than few cups, he couldn't pinpoint what was its origin was or where he tasted this kind of sake before. Strange, He could usually tell after one taste!

"You are talking about a second chance? living my life again? redoing my adventure?" he asked with skepticism while raising his eyebrow in time with his cup.

He took another sip of the sake, and Roger poured him some more. Was he trying to make him drunk? He needed at least 20 barrels. Maybe, just maybe it would work then. Whitebeard snorted inwardly, the idiotic brat, what was he trying to do?

"It is simple question; would you do it or not?"

The question was anything but sample.

"There are things that I regret, but don't we all."

He paused deep in thought taking another gulp.

"I didn't wish to leave my sons and daughters in their hardest hour, some of the things they will face are because of me and my choices..." he trailed off.

"You are saying you wanted to die of old age while your sons and daughters surrounding your soft death-bed," asked Roger in a mocking tone with a raised eyebrow of his own.

"Gragragragrara, fighting is the way to go, you brat." He laughed, "defending my family, my dream. There can be no better death." But he wasn't able to defend them, like he should have. Did he?

He took another gulp and eyed Roger, "I don't need to explain this to you, Roger."

"No, you don't," agreed Roger, looking thoughtful again.

They both made similar choices. Their makeshift families were important.

Whitebeard saw him like this handful of times, usually before he announced a bomb in both the figurative and literal sense. This should be good, he thought but a faint feeling of dread wouldn't leave him alone, and with time and experience he learned to trust those feelings, especially when Roger was involved.

Roger poured him more to drink, the small bottle seemed to contain unending amount of a sake. If this was what the afterlife was like, he could get used to it. He still couldn't pinpoint the origin of this sake, and it was grating on his nerves, and he refused to ask the brat Roger, he would only laugh knowingly without answering, infuriating him.

"To answer your weird question no," said Whitebeard in decisive finality.

He regretted many things, many decisions that he should have taken or not taken. But in the end, he gained from those decisions much more, more sons and daughters, he gained a family, a true one.

He could never regret that; his family was everything he ever wanted.

Roger nodded and drink from his cup, his playful smile was back in vengeance and his eyes were twinkling (his gut was screaming at him that this was not a good sign).

Whitebeard eyes narrowed, the feeling of dread was intensifying. He wanted to demand to know what was Roger planning, or to flatly tell him that he wanted nothing with whatever he devised because he knew from hard earned experience it was never anything good (especially if it began with I want a small favour).

Whitebeard was still trying to decided which approach was the best to handle the scheming Roger when he heard.

"Too bad."

Absolute darkness swallowed him.

He wasn't sure if what he heard was Roger's advice or his imagination, but he would swear he heard those softly spoken words.

"His time wasn't over yet … May the sea wind make your voyage a wild one."

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This story wouldn't be updated as regularly as my other fics. Here is the deal. I am posting three other awesome stories, that I try to update regularly. But I have this awesome plot planned (if I do say so myself ^^) for this story and I began writing this story back in July of last year, and I am stuck, I hardly ever open the file to work on it.

So I am posting it to make it an "official" story and to pressure and motivate myself to write more of it (to put my ass in gear and began writing it, dammit), feel free to help motivate me too.

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Awaiting your motivation speeches ;)

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Some mistakes corrected by the amazing Black' Victor Cachat :)