Hey everyone!

Thanks for the reviews, follows, and favourites. I'm glad this fic took off to a great start. I'm quite sure you guys know what's in store, seeing as it's written quite clearly on the story summary.

Whether or not the following is predictable…well, you can let me know. I've just been thinking of writing certain scenes out (not all of them are here; very few, in fact) and I strung them together into Perception.

For one of you who asked, no, I don't have an Ao3 account. Should I be branching out into that site, though? I'm not quite sure myself.

Do enjoy Chapter 2 of Perception.

Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or any of its characters.

Chapter 2: 79 Days

Ace came to with a groan. His head pounded, and there was a steady, throbbing ache across his entire upper body. He couldn't feel his legs, but his mind was too far gone at the moment for him to even think to worry about that. His heartbeat, loud and sluggish, seemed to echo in his ears, a faint ringing that went higher in pitch when he unconsciously moved.

"..ce?"

The pirate struggled to open his eyes. That was bad…right? Somehow, he couldn't think of why.

"Ace."

He let out another quiet groan when there was another sharp stab in his head. Black and greyish shapes blurred in his vision as his head rolled forward, and he thought he saw a somewhat huge white figure in front of him. The thing seemed to move, and foreignness of the shape sent an uneasiness clenching in his gut. What the hell was going on?

"Ace!"

"-wha..?"

His vision finally focused. "Tha-tch..?" he slurred.

The man in front of him looked relieved. "Took you long enough," he said, though the light undertones didn't match his terse features.

Ace blinked slowly. He dragged his head up (why was it so heavy?) to peer at the fellow pirate. "Wha..?" he repeated, his brain apparently unable to process anything beyond 'it hurt' and 'it hurt'. He moved to rub at his eyes, only to find he wasn't able to. A vice-like grip wrapped around his heart, and he could have sworn the stupid organ began to race, when his gaze followed the length of his arm to meet a steel cuff clamped around his wrist. Attached to it was a long, thick metal chain that dragged from the ceiling. He knew he didn't have to turn to know his left arm was bound just as tightly.

For a moment – for a short, heart-stopping moment – he thought the Whitebeard pirates had betrayed him (though how that was possible, he didn't know. They were enemies, but his mind was quick to label them traitors), for a rush of memories flooded him then. Leaving on the 'small' ship (he had considered lighting it up, the bastards. His ship had been smaller than this; they must have thought his tiny!), the fourth commander by his side. How only a few had cared to see him off despite their very loud declarations that they cared about him. How the journey away from what he had known for almost 79 days had gone in utter silence. According to Thatch, he had sulked.

But, then, he also remembered a faint shout just before the ship shook violently. Recalled the commander telling him to stay put as he rushed out onto the deck. The memories seemed to jumble up then, and he struggled to fill in the blanks before his mind came to a complete blank. Though, a voice in his head darkly supplied, it might have been an elaborate ploy by the Whitebeards to punish him for putting them through his assassination attempts for almost 79 days. Maybe simply beating him up or executing him wasn't enough.

The thought, however, drained from him the moment he fully locked eyes with Thatch.

To put it simply, the man looked terrible. His pompadour hairstyle had fallen to way past his shoulders (and weren't you curious how he'd look like then?), a messy tangle of brown locks that didn't match the chef's penchant for order and cleanliness. His white uniform was streaked with dust and what appeared to be black markings (from soot, perhaps, but the idea was ridiculous). Parts of the fabric were torn in places, revealing bloodied skin. Worst, though, was the large gash on the side of his head. It was, Ace guessed, about five to six inches long and almost an inch wide. Some of the horror must have shown on his face for the older pirate chuckled.

"It's not that bad," he said soothingly. A warm smile crinkled at the corners of his lips, which the fire-user absently noted was cracked and bleeding. "They just got a nasty hit in and I went down like a lightbulb."

The teen scowled. "Who says I care?" Ace shifted and winced, finally realising why his legs felt numb. The chains that shackled his arms had enough give that his body rested most of his weight on his lower body, and with the way he must have been slumped over…And not to mention the tight clamp of metal against his ankles too.

"Yeah, that's gonna hurt," Thatch commented.

The fire-user ignored him and shifted to allow for better blood blow. He looked back up, his face drawn. "You're tied up," he said instead. Looking closely, the teen realised the other man wasn't bound the way he was. Thatch was seated, cross-legged, with his back against the wall. Thick – no, thicker by perhaps three inches – manacles cuffed his arms directly to the wall. Unlike Ace's, the man couldn't move the slightest bit, with the exception of his legs, which he suspected were cuffed as well, if the peek of metal from beneath the man's pants were any indication.

"Well," the commander was saying. "What can you do? I woke up to this a few hours before you did." His gaze sharpened. "How are you feeling?"

Ace scowled and attempted to bristle at the question, though really his legs were beginning to hurt now and grimacing in pain was not an option. "Now's not the time for casual talk, Thatch. What the hell happened?"

The pirate shrugged, but his eyes remained cautious. "I can honestly tell you I don't know. We were ambushed, we were taken out, and next thing I knew, we were here." He shook his head when the younger opened his mouth to speak. "Let me brief you first, Ace," he said quietly. His voice fell to a hushed whisper and, as if the very air understood the severity of the situation, the darkness of the room seemed to press in on the two occupants, oppressing and heavy. "I woke up about what I believe to be two to three hours ago. We are in a cell, about three metres by five. Your back is facing the door, which occupies the entire length of the wall. They are floor-to-ceiling steel poles, kairoseki, if I had to guess. No one has been by to see us. We don't know yet who they are after – you, me, or my family."

As the man rattled off, Ace couldn't help but feel surprised. It was practical, he knew, for both pirates to be fully aware of their circumstances to best deal with it. Piracy was one of the most dangerous lifestyles, and in a world where everyone, including pirates, were enemies, learning how to survive was a priority. That Thatch told him the situation without question, as if it was expected, sparked in the fire-user a warmth he longed to hold on to, especially in this dank, cold place.

"Hey," Thatch interrupted his thoughts. His dark eyes softened when the younger pirate met his gaze. "It'll be alright."

Ace just shrugged. "We're trapped in a cell with no idea who caught us, and for what reason." He laughed tiredly. "Of course it'll be alright."

The answering response was firm. "They'll come for us, you know."

"You," the teen corrected. "They'll come for you."

"My family will come for the both of us," Thatch insisted. "Whether you like it or not, we'll never be enemies, Ace. Our crews will forever be on neutral ground, even if you refuse to accept us as allies."

Ace frowned. "Allies? You never offered to be allies with me."

"Not yet. I was going to, on behalf of Oyaji, but this -" he jerked his chin at their general surroundings "- kind of ruined my plans."

The freckled pirate stared at the offending brunette with wide eyes, feeling quite sure he should be feeling insulted. In its place, there was this odd warm ache in his chest that the Whitebeards didn't completely want to cut him off, but that wasn't right either. They were his enemies. He didn't care about them. (He didn't, he really, really didn't.)

"And what?" he asked instead, trying hard to inject venom into his words. "You thought I'd go along with it just because you asked? How arrogant of you."

He was met with a wry smile. "I never said I'd ask only once."

Suddenly, Ace was angry. "Shut up," he demanded. "You didn't want m-"

Soft footfalls interrupted him mid-word, and Ace snapped his mouth shut. He turned wide eyes to the Whitebeard commander, who now appeared disconcertingly relaxed, though his gaze remained trained on the cell entrance. He must have felt Ace's attention on him, for he flicked the younger an assuring look before looking away.

The jingle of keys and then, a coarse, grating voice: "Finally."

Thatch tensed when he sensed a quickly approaching presence. The man, whoever he was, had a powerful aura, not unlike one of his fellow commanders. He shot a glance at kid, unable to stem the worry the coiled in his gut. He tried to look reassuring, but judging from the guarded look that clouded those grey eyes he sorts of liked, he didn't think he did very well.

His mind rushed through a list of possible suspects. His family hadn't engaged into any significant battles recently. But then, he knew how hard people could hold on to grudges. Whoever their kidnappers were, they weren't happy. Just his luck to run into someone strong enough to up his game, really.

Several damp locks of brown hair plastered itself to his skin and he attempted to blow them out of the way. It was at this moment that a man with startlingly light blue hair came into view. Thatch's gaze sharpened. Approximately seven and a half feet tall. Lanky, but appears muscular. Tight formal tux with black and grey stripes. Arms more toned than legs; probably choice of weapon when in arm-to-arm combat. Walks lightly on his feet, probably agile and swift. Bulky object in left front pocket. Dark sunglasses, probably an arrogant bastard.

He watched as the man languidly pulled out a key from his breast pocket and then insert it into the keyhole. A twist, and then long fingers dragged the steel poles to slide to the left, leaving a large enough gap that allowed him through.

An ugly, scratchy voice spoke: "Finally."

Thatch felt his insides bristle. "How kind of you," he forced through gritted teeth. "To finally greet us when we've been here hours."

The blue-haired man raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You have been awake that long?" A genuine look of discontent appeared on his somewhat handsome (if the pirate really had to admit it) features. "My apologies. I must speak with my subordinates about this lapse. We could have started ages ago."

The Whitebeard had a sinking feeling. Over-formality. Real dissatisfaction over something trivial. He was that kind of guy.

The commander had met all sorts of people in his line of work. Heck, he had already seen a lot before he had accepted his father's name. And this guy, this type of person, while not common, was not rare either. He came by them every now and then. And he absolutely loathed them.

"And who might you be, exactly?"

A small smile graced the man's lips and he bowed just slightly. His hair fell in curled waves and just brushed the tips of his right shoulder. His left sported an undercut, so trimly shaved it almost looked like art. "I go by the name of Kai," he answered primly. He paused for a while, and looked searchingly at the brunette. A look of disappointment flashed through his features. "I suppose from your lack of reaction that you do not recognise me, Fourth Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates. But then," he said as he stepped directly into the chef's line of sight, "your father often stations you on the Moby Dick. I admit I was fairly surprised he sent you, of all people, on some trivial errand I have yet to understand." He glanced at the surprisingly quiet fire-user, his gaze piercing.

The uneasiness in Thatch's gut twisted at the same time that relief rushed through him. Whatever the heck the man – Kai – was saying, Ace was likely just collateral damage. If he tried hard enough, he was sure he could steer his attention away. That is, if he wasn't dealing with a lunatic in a formal suit.

"Why did you take us?" he asked, before the blue-haired guy could even think of getting anyway near Ace.

Kai returned his attention to him. "You really don't remember," he said, almost sadly. "Call it cliché, Commander, or whatever you will. But I'm here to exact what most people attempt to do at least once in their lifetimes: revenge." He moved away and began to prowl around the cell. Unfortunately, with one tense fire-user taking centre-stage, that meant the kidnapper circled around him.

The commander narrowed his eyes. "Revenge for what?"

Blue eyes, as startlingly bright as its owner's hair, met his. "For your rejection, of course." Before Thatch could latch onto that statement and demand for a deeper explanation, Kai moved to what appeared to be a circular instrument he had earlier noticed, but disregarded, at the corner of the room. He raised a hand and turned the wooden device.

Neither pirate – Ace or the brunette – needn't worry about wondering what man was doing for long. Their unspoken question was answered when the chains linked Ace's arms began to lift into the ceiling, dragging Ace along with it. For his part, the teen didn't struggle, only glared helplessly, as he was finally left dangling in the air, his knees barely brushing the floor, his arms pulled taut. Thatch darted a quick look at the kid's wrists, worried that kid's weight would become too straining if the cuffs were too tight.

"Whatever it is you're doing, or for whatever reason," he said carefully, "the kid has nothing to do with it. Let him go."

He felt a pair of grey eyes rest heavy on him, but he refused to look. Best if he kept the guy's attention on him.

After the pregnant pause, Kai gave the device one more nudge before moving to stand between Thatch and Ace. He eyed them both, expression unreadable. "I would suppose an explanation is in order," he mused. "After all that I will put you both through."

The commander tensed.

"My name is Kai," the man said again. "I've sailed the Grand Line for over a decade now. As a pirate, of course." He paused, as if contemplating how to answer. "It's been years now, so I won't get into it-"

"Thank small mercies," Ace interrupted. His boyish features sported a thoroughly bored look that Marco would have been proud of. Thatch, however, threw him a warning look, which the teen promptly ignored. The stupid brat went on, "Frankly, nobody cares."

Kai seemed not to breathe. A sort of tension built in the air as grey eyes locked on blue orbs, both narrowed into sharp slits. It did not last long.

The kidnapper chuckled, as if amused. "I would suppose you are right, Fire Fist," he agreed. "Even so, I must tell you, even if a little bit. My vengeance wouldn't be right without it." A look not unlike resigned discontentment crossed his features. It was if an unpleasant thought entered his mind. "I came across your family over six years ago, Commander. You clearly don't remember, but till today I remember clearly how I had asked of your father to be put under his protection, under his wing. I had asked of him to allow me to join his family, who are known to take in anybody in need of help. In need of a home. And he turned me down."

He stared at his open palm. "He turned me down," he repeated, "and turned me away. My crew wanted to leave me then. They thought it was my fault. Before we could part, we were attacked by other rival pirates. We were not a very strong crew, you see. We thought ourselves ready for the New World, but we were not. And we paid for it dearly. Only I, along with my cabin boy, survived." He looked proud then. "He helped seize you, in fact. I'll be sure to have him make his formal acquaintance with you both soon."

Thatch's heart tightened at the mention of his crew. Ah. Loss. That makes everyone go crazy. He said quietly, "You blame us. You feel your crew – and yourself – could have been protected, if only my Captain took you in."

Kai inclined his head at the Whitebeard pirate. "I lost everything I could have hoped for. Your father-"

"-didn't want you. So now you're blaming it all on him," Ace finished loudly. He glared at the offending pirate. "Boo-hoo," he sneered. "Such tragedy. Should we cry for you now?"

"Ace," Thatch hissed.

The idiot snapped back, "Shut it, Thatch." He turned and fixed the man with a heated glower. Under the dimness of the cell, a sort of fire seemed to light up the kid's suddenly dark eyes. His lips parted in a low snarl: "You have us now. You can spare us your sob story, and get on with it. Either way you aren't letting us go, so if you're waiting for him to cry out for your forgiveness, you have another thing coming. So, again, get the fuck on with it."

"And how would you know he wouldn't?" Kai said slowly.

A smirk. "I've been stuck with him for 79 days now. If I know anything about the Whitebeards, they aren't about to fall on their knees and beg."

Kai hummed under his breath. He eyed the fire-user, and began to circle around him again. "You are…not one of them," he said in apparent realisation. He slid the tip of his index finger against the kid's back, pressing against hardened skin from his left to right shoulder. The teen shuddered. "You don't have their mark. I wonder why."

A saddened look entered the man's eyes. A second later and he was standing before the fire-user, the latter's chin gripped lightly in his hand. In a soft voice, he asked, "Did they reject you too?"

Ace spluttered. "W-what? No!" He tried to drag himself away from the close scrutiny.

"It is alright to admit it. They did not want me either."

Dark splotches of red dusted the kid's cheeks. "I don't care! I don't want to be part of their stupid crew!"

"Does thinking that truly make you feel better?" Kai asked. From the serious tone of his voice, Thatch could tell the man was genuinely curious. And apparently, so could the loud teenager. If it weren't for the circumstances, the commander would have laughed at the kid's childish indignance, or the way that blush seemed to darken when Kai yet again insisted he was in denial.

"I don't- They didn't reject me! They grew sick of me and didn't want me anymore! That's the fucking dif-" Ace's mouth shut with a snap, as if then truly aware of what he had said. He looked at Thatch with wide eyes and winced when the commander met his gaze straight on.

Huh. So I had a bigger chance than I thought I did, he thought distractedly.

Kai sighed. "What a shame. We are in the same boat, but I cannot help you," he said to Ace. "I have discovered a great deal about the Whitebeards over the years. One of them is how they cannot stand to have those close to them hurt." His hand snuck into his pocket with the bulky object. "Unlike me, this Commander here cares for you. At least, for my plan to work, he has to."

Part of the object he took out slithered to the floor with a snap. Thatch felt himself pale in dread. Shit. No. "Don't," he said, not completely conscious that he was speaking. "Don't do it! He has nothing to do with this!"

Kai ignored his interruption. "But, I suppose we could test the theory and work from there." He cupped Ace's jawline (with his filthy, filthy hands, the commander's inner voice raged) and rubbed at a spot. "Collateral damage. They happen, after all," he said absently.

"Take it out on me!"

The grip on the whip tightened.

"I'm the Whitebeard pirate! Not him!"

Ace simply looked resigned when then the man walked to stand behind him.

"Kai!"

"Could you repeat that, yoi?"

Haruta looked grave. "We lost track of the Mini Moby at approximately 2348 hours yesterday. My navigation team tried to establish contact when Thatch missed the first hour of morning report, but no one picked up. We just received word from one of my division members stationed on Tokei Island – that's the island they were closest to – that there was an unmarked ship heading in their direction shortly before their disappearance."

Marco narrowed his eyes. "Gather the commanders and a representative from navigations. We meet with Oyaji in ten minutes."

The twelfth commander nodded and ran off. For his part, Marco had to take a moment to calm the building anger that thrummed in his Phoenix. The zoan part of him nipped at his consciousness, quietly demanding he do something immediate to neutralise the threat to that which belonged to him. He breathed heavily.

He had to warn Oyaji.

A heavy, pressuring weight rested on the present commanders. The rest of the crew, as ordered by the first commander, were absent, each filed away from the deck as a tense silence hung in the air. The main navigator, Hoshi, couldn't help a fidget now and then, though his own sharp features were just as angry.

"Could there have been a technical issue?" Rakuyo asked.

Marco flicked his gaze to Hoshi. That had been one of his first thoughts. The Mini Moby Thatch and Ace had taken were one of their newer and more advanced sea vessels. It wasn't huge, and could maybe house, at any one time, twenty people at most. If Oyaji was on board? Cut that down to seventeen.

He hadn't wanted them to use that ship. The vessel had been created by the shipwrights at Water Seven with the hopes that it could be steered and kept run by only one person. He remembered sitting through an entire crash course on what made a ship run, and how it ran. Even then, he didn't fully understand how this ship worked, simply that it required very little manual labour to keep it going. He hadn't wanted one for his family, but…

"You…fell asleep?"

Members of the second division laughed. One particularly loud one waved – or attempted to – his concerns away. "It's nothing to worry about, Commander!" he insisted. "All of us bear Oyaji's mark. And the ship too! No fool would be brave enough to challenge us, even when we're as high as kites!"

Marco pinched the bridge of his nose. "All of you passed out from drinking, yoi. If anyone came by your ship, or if a storm came..." He took a heavy breath. "Could you please be more careful?"

Another bout of laughter. "You worry too much, Commander!"

A glare.

"R-right. We'll be more careful next time. Promise!"

…but his family was arrogant. They have grown used to holding one of the strongest powers on the ocean. Though he himself couldn't understand it, he knew many of his brothers forgot that their greatest strength was their Captain, and that many of them…were weak in power. He was glad they bore their mark with pride. Yet many have yet to realise that there was only one purpose behind that symbol: it was to protect. Whitebeard wasn't a proud man, after all. He didn't care for the fame, especially not enough to have his name plastered around the world.

Our arrogance could well be our undoing one day, he thought. And it might just start with this darn ship he had never liked.

The only reason he had allowed it – heck, suggested it – was Ace. Because the brat couldn't stand the crowds and he still held to a glimmer of hope Thatch would bring him back.

"It is possible," Hoshi answered. "But that wouldn't explain why Thatch isn't picking up the den den mushi."

"Maybe Ace lit it on – the den den mushi, not the ship! – on fire," Vista hazarded a guess.

"Not that that isn't far-fetch, but we have two back-up snails on that ship," Namur countered. "Have we tried calling them too?"

"Of course we have," the navigator snapped, eyes narrowed dangerously at the implied slight. He sighed when the fishman raised his hands in apology. "We tried contacting them with every way we know possible. We couldn't reach them."

The Yonko frowned at the implications of his words. "Was there anything odd in Thatch's report last night?"

Marco stepped in. "No, yoi. The only highlight of the report stated that Ace was sulking and was refusing to speak with him. An outcome he had anticipated."

Whitebeard raised an eyebrow at the description, but nodded. The blonde commander knew, had the situation been different, his father would have found the idea of Fire Fist sulking amusing.

"We have no leads then," Vista said.

"Actually, we might just do," Haruta interjected. He flipped through the notes in his hand. "Our brothers at Tokei Island reported seeing a ship heading in Thatch's direction about an hour out from where they are approximated to have disappeared. Fairly small ship, can host at most ten to twelve people at the max, and sailed at about three quarters of Mini Moby's speed. We wouldn't think much of it, except the ship was unmarked."

And that was the crucial difference, the Phoenix thought as he waited for his family to process the information. In this part of the Grand Line, only fishermen went out in unmarked sea vessels. Leaving their boats unmarked signified they were not an enemy to Marines, and posed no threat to pirates. The key detail, though, was the size of the ship. No fisherman in his or her right mind would get a ship that small. As far as he knew, the waters off Tokei Island were surrounded by large sea kings. A vessel that size couldn't hope to trap one without considerably damaging its structures – or worse, its keel.

However…

"Maybe," Namur mused, "it wasn't a resident of the island."

Haruta smirked. "That's right. Our informants investigated this morning –" at their questioning looks, he explained, "They had a bad feeling about the ship. Anyway, from their poking around, they discovered no one, except this fisherman who had just left an hour before they asked and returned before they were done, on the island were away."

"That means," Marco added, not wanting to prolong the delay any longer, "we have ourselves a lead, yoi. Even if that ship's occupants have nothing to do with our brother's disappearance, there is a chance they might have witnessed something crucial." He turned to his Captain and awaited instructions.

The Yonko didn't disappoint. "Commanders, inform your divisions of the situation. Ensure everyone is up to date and understands we may be in for a battle. Haruta, have your siblings who are not home to keep a careful watch out for Thatch and Ace. Hoshi, son, get navigations to move towards the position the Mini Moby was thought to disappear-"

The blonde interrupted, "Already done, Oyaji. Our ship is heading there as we speak."

An approving glint twinkled in his father's eyes and Marco smiled lightly in reply. "Good. The rest of you, provide hourly reports, and keep attempting to reach Thatch. The best we can hope for is that brother of yours playing another prank of his."

"Got it, Oyaji!"

The heavy feeling in the blonde commander's chest lightened. This wasn't the first time one of theirs had been taken – or, well, presumably taken. But this was Thatch. Thatch, who hardly leaves the Moby Dick, and whose experience in combat for the past decade been largely confined to friendly spars and attacks on their home.

And Ace, the twitchy, teenage boy he still hoped would join their ranks. He didn't care for the teen like he would a brother, but he had personally watched over the kid for almost 79 days. He couldn't help but notice the wounds the fire-user licked in private, the stark despair in his eyes. They – his family – could heal him the way they healed Marco. He knew they could if only they were given a chance. The thought that Ace would likely go on suffering in silence once he left their umbrella of protection left a bad taste in his mouth.

But it would be alright now. His family were on the move to get them back.

It was time to remind the world why no one touched their own.

Ace panted heavily. The pounding in his head had worsened to feel like repeatedly sharp and consecutive stabs at his consciousness, and if he could, he would have slammed his skull into the nearest wall to knock himself out. He could feel the blood congealing on his back, the wetness of it pooling at his knees. Seriously, Jinbei, Whitebeard, and now this? He couldn't catch a break.

Cold sweat fell into his eyes. "That-" He had to swallow the bile in his throat. "That all you've got?" he asked mockingly when Kai frowned at him.

The blue-haired pirate dropped the whip (who used a whip anymore anyway?). His fist shot forward and slammed into the teen's stomach, forcing a gasp out of him. Before he could take a breath, there was a hand around his throat. It squeezed, hard, and he felt his eyes roll back for a second.

"You are…" Kai seemed to work to find the right word. "Stubborn."

Ace couldn't help but try to grin. He must look creepy, if the expression on Thatch's face was any indication. Stubborn? Heck yeah he was.

"Let him go," Thatch was saying for the umpteenth time the past hour (or was it hours? He loses track of time so easily now). His voice was firm and strong. Unbendable. Not quite unyielding like Marco's, Ace noticed, but he could see how this usually jovial man became a Commander. Part of him almost reflexively demanded he obey, despite the words not being directed at him.

Kai ignored the chef, though he did let the teen go. The freckled pirate heaved in deep, gasping breaths. "You are not reacting the way I need you to, Fire Fist," he scolded.

The fire-user snorted. "I just recently graduated from an almost 79-day crash course on persistence and its ensuing failure. Guess I learnt something worthwhile there, huh?" He pointedly ignored the choke from the other side of the cell.

The man before him regarded him for a minute. "I see. Even so, I need Commander Thatch to feel extreme guilt. For that, you-"

"No, you don't," Ace interrupted. "You want him to feel what you think they made you feel. You want him alive to feel this aching pain that never left you, and you want him to return to his crew like that. So they'd suffer by association." A disdainful smile revealed his bloody teeth. "Not sorry to burst your fucking bubble, Kai," – he dragged out the word – "but if I lived like you had, I'd have offed myself a long time ago. They don't care about you. Deal with it, you fucking wimp."

The punishment was instantaneous. He caught a flash of rage and then he was being pummelled by fists and- and kicks to his abdomen and his upper torso. Pain swept through his body, sharp and swift, and he was sure he had let slip a moan once or twice. He could hear someone shouting above the assault, but heck if the person could shut up for a minute and not attack his ears too.

When Kai finally stopped, Ace's head was ringing (not that it wasn't already before, he thought bitterly) and his body was slumped heavily, his weight fully relying on the chains that bound him to keep him up.

He chuckled breathily. "F-feel better?"

The kidnapper must have missed the sarcasm behind his words, for his answer was serious. "No," he said. "I do not."

Ace spat out a glob of blood. "Too bad then."

Kai bent down to pick up his early weapon.

Guess it was Round two then.

(He wondered if it was terrible that he was almost looking forward to it.)

If Thatch had been free, the first thing he'd have done is beat the blue-haired guy within an inch of his life (he'd leave the spares for his family) and then launch into a very long tirade on how absolutely crazy and insane Ace was.

His heart had ached the entire time the kid was being tortured, for every lash on his back, for every hit he had to bear because of some stupid six-year-old grudge that had nothing to do with him. He didn't know what he had expected, but it sure wasn't how loudmouthed the kid became. The more he was hit (and the more Thatch protested), the more he hit back at Kai with goading challenges and insults. For Whitebeard's sake, was he trying to get killed?

Thatch was, by no means, advocating that Ace give up, but there was a time to fight, and this wasn't one of them.

He could only count his lucky stars Kai had finally grown weary of whacking the stupid idiot and decided to leave.

"Are you crazy?" he hissed once he was sure their resident lunatic was out of earshot.

Ace raised his head tiredly. His voice was somewhat slurred. "W-what?"

The commander inwardly cursed. He gave the kid another onceover, not liking the quickly purpling bruises on his lean (or thin?) frame. "How are you feeling?"

The teen gave an almost quiet snort. "Fantastic," he answered. His body then shook in silent laughter, only to freeze when one of his many injuries must have snapped to attention.

"It's not funny," Thatch snapped. "What were you thinking, challenging him like that? He could have decided to kill you."

From the faint twitch on Ace's lips, he could only assume the kid was still amused. "He wouldn't have. He needed me in his, uh, grand plan."

Thatch shook his head. "You have nothing to do with this, Ace. He wanted me to feel guilty. Don't give him another reason to hit you harder!"

"Sure. Not like you seemed all that guilty anyway," the kid muttered under his breath.

The Whitebeard was sure he wasn't meant to hear it, but he did. The ensuing shock slammed into his gut, sending him reeling at the idea that- that he didn't- "What?" he choked out, his eyes wide. "You think I don't feel guilty?"

For a moment, the fire-user seemed surprised at the outburst until realisation caught up with him a second later. Instead of the defensiveness most would have expected, the kid looked resigned. "Forget it."

Thatch balked at the idea. "No! How can you say that? You think I enjoyed watching him treat you like a piñata? Because of my family? The whole time I was trying to get him to stop!"

"Sure." A sliver of derision entered Ace's voice. "That sure took lots of effort."

"I couldn't do anything else!"

"J-just forget it, Thatch."

"No! I'm not going to!" the chef snapped back. He glared at the freckled pirate. "I care about you, Ace. I care for you as much as I would any other good person on the street, only so much more because you're more than a stranger to me now. Hell, I've known you for 79 days now. I don't care what you think or feel about it, but you can't change it." Remembering the kid's own words, he added, "Deal with it."

Ace opened his eyes when it became clear Thatch had fallen asleep. He suppressed a sigh. He wanted to shift, to ease the ache in his wrists but he knew the futility of trying. He glanced at his knees. If only they could rest on the ground. He wasn't by any means heavy, but he felt his arms might just snap if the weight didn't let up soon.

It didn't help that his body ached. He was exhausted, starved and all he wanted was to lie in his bed and sleep this all off. He couldn't sleep even now; he'd wake up every time his head rolled from his perch on one of his shoulders.

His body should hate him, he thought absent-mindedly. It had been 79 days since he was robbed of his freedom, after all. Goodness knows he hadn't done it any favours during this time.

He eyed the unconscious commander. Unable to help himself, Ace couldn't stop remembering the chef's earlier words. He wondered if the man was right. Maybe he was crazy. How else could he explain the strange light-hearted lift in his chest whenever Thatch yelled at him? Even through the hurt and the pain, that odd feeling never failed to stand out amidst the overwhelming 'sensations' he was being put through.

Ace rested his chin against his chest. Weariness warred against the climbing feelings of upset.

How do you know if you're crazy?

That's all for this chapter!

I realise the introduction of an OC wasn't that great, but it was needed to keep the story going. I contemplated using Teach as the main antagonist, though I quickly scrapped the idea since this should follow the canon timeline. Or I didn't really stop to think how Teach's earlier betrayal could be explained.

Oh well. Do leave a review and let me know what you think! :)