Strong language going forward; Ace is not a happy boi.

Ace shades his eyes with his hand and looks around. The town square is a bustle of chaos in the bright sunshine and it could be any large island in East Blue.

It's not, though; it's the first time his boots have hit dirt in the Grand Line, and that makes this island special. He's gonna explore it and eat everything, talk to everyone, and see if he's got himself a Wanted poster yet.

It's probably a bit early for that but there's something about the air, the sunlight, the noise that's making him a bit paranoid. It doesn't feel like he's being watched, not exactly, more like there's something just a bit off.

There's a scent in the air, though, of cooking meat, and he follows his nose to the market square. The object being offered is some kind of meat-onna-stick, and despite his time in forests and with Luffy, he can't quite identify what kind of animal it's from.

He gets one anyway. It's delicious.

There's a lot that's familiar here; he knows villages and markets, after all, but there's a lot that's new, too. A flower booth is selling blooms he's never seen and one plant turns to watch him pass by.

He walks with his hands in his pockets, looking but not touching. It's all new and interesting, but also he's getting twitchy and thinking about leaving. Which, why? He's only just got here, after all-

The creeping feeling of wrong that's been slowly edging up his spine is now flooding his mouth with a bitter taste, like bile and black coffee, and he swallows on the urge to retch. There's something wrong here. He spins in place, looking around, but no one else seems to notice that there's something off, something badwrong-

The roar shakes the walls, and for all the feeling is stronger than ever, Ace blows out a breath in relief; having a target always did make him feel better.

He orients on the sound and there's a-that's-it's kinda...it's like a tall, spindly creature made of smoke, darkness and horrors rising above the houses on the other side of the square. It's screaming in a voice of nightmares and the sound of it pins Ace in place.

"It's a youma!" someone's yelling, and that word clicks in place in Ace's heart even as he spins.

"A what?!" he yells, dodging some kind of dark beam thing that the youma is scattering.

"A youma, it's a-" the guy is stuttering, and Ace grabs his arm and drags him along to the side of the street. "Youmas are-they're like-"

The youma roars again and the guy drops, cowering and wrapping his arms over his head. Ace huffs and paces back out into the square. The thing roars, which means it breathes, and if it breathes, Ace can kill it.

He lights his arm with fire and braces his feet.

"Duck!"

Ace doesn't duck; he turns and has to flinch back from a shattershot of golden beams, one of which passes so close it singes the brim of his hat. "Hey! Watch it!"

"Crescent Beam!"

Ace falls back to avoid the next barrage and lands on the ground at the same time as orange kitten heels touch down. His gaze travels up past the frankly alarming amount of leg on show, the remarkably short skirt, bow, sailor bib, and gold tiara.

It's an outfit he knows intimately, though not in quite this color.

"What the hell?" he says helplessly. "Why? What? Why?"

The youma lights up gold, limned in power, and shatters in a way that's not quite real. There's a person behind the monster, and they fall to their knees and collapse in the middle of the road.

"What," Ace says, "the fuck was that?"

The Sailor Scout-Venus, something in him knows-sighs and steps forward, nudging the person with one sparkly shoe. "A youma," Venus says. "You must not be from around here."

"No," he says grimly, "I'm not."

"It's not your problem, yoi," Venus says, crouching to check on the person, then standing up and wiping one hand on the skirt-is it shorter than his? It looks shorter than his. "Fighting youma is the duty of the Sailor Scouts. They'll never go for a civilian when there's a Scout around. No need to worry, yoi."

"No need to worry?" Ace repeats incredulously. "You've got to be kidding me."

The look Venus tosses him is unimpressed. "Gotta go. Oh, and next time?" Ace looks up just in time to meet a pointed gaze. "When a Sailor Scout yells duck? You should probably duck."

And with a flounce and a jump, Venus is gone, leaving Ace on his butt in the middle of the street with what he's rapidly coming to suspect may be an actual corpse.

"I hate the Grand Line," he says blankly, and gets up.

"Captain?" someone asks, and he turns to find Masked Deuce. "You okay?"

"No! I mean, yeah, just-I'm not hurt, just angry," Ace says. "I don't understand. Am I some kind of Sailor Scout magnet? The last thing I want is to see another Sailor Scout as long as I live. Why are they always showing up around me?!"

"There, there," Masked Deuce says, grabbing hold of his elbow and towing him out of the square.

"Especially Sailor Moon!" Ace yells, waving his free arm around. "Why even is there moon magic? Why are there planet warriors in short skirts? Why is this necessary? No, really, I wanna know! Why! Is! This! Necessary?!"

"It's okay," Masked Deuce says soothingly. "C'mon, Saber heard something about the Red Force-"

"Who decided this was a good idea?!"

"Okay, okay, captain. Breathe, please. Let's go chase a yonko for a while, that always cheers you up…"

Ace yells incoherently and only doesn't throw fire 'cause his first mate is so close.

They do get back to the ship without incident, though, and Ace goes straight to his bunk and screams into his pillow for a while. It's not very helpful in solving any of his problems, but it sure does make him feel better.

What also makes him feel better is that Saber's information is pretty recent and seems to actually be right. The port's not even that far away, even if it is a winter island. He drags his crew there anyway, all the way up a mountain, and finds Shanks, after all these years, sitting around a bonfire in a cave, completely drunk.

"Hi," he says, stepping forward to bow. "My name's Ace—"

"Princess!" Shanks cheers, raising a toast, and everyone in the cave freezes.

"What…?" Ace grits out, and Saber and Masked Deuce are there, tugging at his shoulders, even as Benn sighs and says to Shanks, "You can't just—"

"Nah, it's okay," Shanks says, waving him off. "Hey, Princess! Long time, no see!"

Ace stares at him, fists clenching, and then he sighs, long and loud, and sits in place. "How'd you know?" he asks plaintively, and his crew hits the floor behind him.

"Makino said you'd left," Shanks says, and Ace squints at him, then past him, and lets his eyes go just a bit unfocused—

"Oh no," he says, and now he can see it, the smugness and the hedonism and the massive, terrifying power like barely sheathed claws, and the barely-there tail. "Oh no. You're the other cat."

Shanks doesn't agree, but he doesn't deny it either. "It's been so long since we've had a proper Princess," he says instead. "Hey! Hey Benn! Benn, hey, bring another barrel! This calls for a party!"

"Everything calls for a party," Benn mutters, but he makes a gesture and the rest of Shanks' crew cheers wildly and starts rolling barrels up from the back of the cave.

"Princess?" Masked Deuce asks beside Ace, and he can feel his hands clenching into fists again.

"He, uh," Ace answers, and then thinks, to hell with it. "Shanks saved my little brother's life. As far as I'm concerned, he can call me anything he wants."

"Little brother?" Shanks says, leaning up just a bit. "The lineage never throws spares—"

"Luffy," Ace says determinedly right over him. "The little kid who stole your your devil fruit and stabbed himself in the face."

The entire cave grinds to a stop and Shanks actually sits up properly. "Luffy?" he asks. "But he's—well, that's an interesting turn for that relationship to take; don't think it's ever been siblings before." There's a weight on him, like Shanks' gaze is pressing down with the ineffable feeling Ace always ascribes to moon magic bullshit . Then he blinks and laughs and says, "But Luffy! Wow! How's the little anchor doing?"

Everyone crowds around close and Ace relaxes a bit, grinning. Finally, he gets to indulge in his favorite pastime—bragging about his brother.

"Hey," Saber says, leaning cautiously into the room. "There's a Marine? On deck? For you?"

"What?" Ace says, scrambling up. Why would the Marines be here? But wait, only one? The only Marine he knows who'd dare to come alone—but no, there'd be more screaming if it were Gramps—

It's a single guy, blond and bland, and no one Ace recognizes at all. His eyes flick to the guy's face, then his jacket cuffs, then his shoulders, and then he takes a step forward, lights one hand up, and says, "Can I help you , Petty Officer?"

The poor Petty Officer shrinks back. "Uh," he says, eyes stuck on Ace's flaming fist, and then he quickly reaches into a pocket and pulls out—well, it looks like a sheaf of papers.

It looks like the enrollment form Gramps has waved at him several times over the years. Ace's eyes stick to it and he takes a step forward. " What ," he grits out, "is that?"

"On—on behalf of the Marine High Command," the guy says, and he's maybe babbling a bit but Ace doesn't care. "I am authorized to hereby extend the offer of a truce in the capacity of a shichibu—Ouch!"

The yelp is more of surprise than pain because the papers in his hand just ignited and burnt themselves out so fast and bright they may as well have been flash paper.

"Get out," Ace says, shaking in place with barely contained rage.

"But I'm to—"

"Get. Out," Ace says, and takes a single heavy step forward.

The Marine eeps, breaks, and runs.

"Where's the Moby Dick?" he asks no one in particular, and there's a short, vicious fight behind his back as to who gets to tell him.

Masked Deuce loses because he really has the worst luck. "It's," he starts, then swallows. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

There's rage rising in him like the tide, like magma, and Ace is looking at the deck, he knows he is, but all he can see is red. "I'm sure I need to murder something right now," he says, and entirely without his consent, his shoulders burst into flame.

"We—we don't know," Masked Deuce says, shrinking back from the heat.

"Then who's the closest Shichibukai," Ace demands, and Masked Deuce says, "Well, uh, actually—"

"Hello," says a polite voice, and Ace turns around slowly. "As a current shichibukai, I've been asked to discuss the offer with you," the well-dressed fishman states, setting foot on Ace's boat.

He looks vaguely familiar and Ace squints at him. "And who ," he says slowly, "the fuck are you?"

"Ah, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Jinbe, formerly of Fishmen Island, shichibukai, and current holder of the power of the Jupiter line—"

Ace's scream comes bubbling up from the depths of his hatred, and he attacks.

Everything disappears in a swirl of fire, then water, and then, of course, superheated steam. Jinbe is strong, he's fierce, and he's got some serious moves, but Ace has stamina, and if he can't beat the guy, he can sure as hell outlast him.

"You are a worthy opponent," Jinbe says, somewhere around day three. "Are you sure you won't come be a shichibukai?"

"Shichi go die," Ace spits back, chest heaving with the effort of breathing.

"Very well," Jinbe says, stepping back. "Allow me to show you my true power!"

He raises his arm and opens his mouth, and Ace knows what's about to happen like he can see it coming in slow motion. "Nope," he says, and dashes forward. "Nope, no, we're not doing that." It's close, but he gets there in just enough time. He charges, left shoulder forward, and goes straight for the reaping sweep.

Jinbe falls backwards, arms flying up, and Ace follows him down to slap a hand over his mouth. His other hand starts prying at the wrist the fishman had raised earlier til his fingers hit metal and he scrabbles for it. Bracelet? Bracer? Some kind of metal, and he scrambles back off of Jinbe, taking the object with him.

"What—"

Ace retreats as far as he's willing to, then looks down. It is a bracer, a large metal one, all fancy with sigils and symbols and the sign of Jupiter front and center. "Can't transform if you don't have your transformation item," Ace snarls, clutching it tightly.

"How did you—"

Ace drops it on the ground behind him and Jinbe gasps and lunges. Ace and kicks it backwards, out of range, and says, "Don't worry; I won't break it. Besides, transformation objects aren't that fragile."

"And how do you know this?" Jinbe says, back in stance and watching him warily.

"A drunk moon cat told me," Ace lies, and charges back into the fight.

He wakes up on the shore. There's no telling how long he's been out, or even how long he fought Jinbe, really, but he's damn sure it wasn't him who passed out first.

He's sore, empty in a cold kind of way, and blinking hurts. He feels better, though; calmer and less unbalanced.

It's nice to just lie there and breathe for a bit, right up til someone pokes him in the side and says, "You dead?"

Ugh. He flips over, curling away from the foot, rocks back on his spine and pushes up into a jackknife jump that puts him on his feet.

The person who'd poked him has fallen back a step and gone glassy. Literally, his skin has gone hard and white and reflective.

Ace blinks. He's never seen anything like that before, but then his eyes fall on the tattoo and that he certainly has.

He growls, turning to look around, and sure enough there's a small fleet of landing boats coming from the absolutely massive ship in the distance. And there's Whitebeard himself, standing proud on a flat-bottomed landing boat, so Ace backs up, takes a few running steps, and leaps.

The boat is too far away for a single jump, even from someone like Ace. Luckily, he doesn't have to rely only on that; he leans forward and lights up his arms, using the heat and momentum to give himself an extra boost.

He lands hard, in a crouch, and doesn't bother cutting off the fire to his hands. Whitebeard's turned to look at him, though, and Ace grins, a wide slash of rage across his face.

"All right," he says, raising up from his crouch, fire rising around him and in his eyes. "I am having a very bad day. Week. Life, whatever. And I've got some stress that needs working out." He cracks his knuckles and saunters forward, leaving fire in his wake. "And the thing about my bad days? They're contagious."

And he slams his fist down, setting the entire dingy on fire, and he laughs and laughs and laughs.

He laughs all the way up til talons wrap around his arms and haul him straight up, and then his laughs turn into screams and threats as the big blue fire bird carries him away to the Moby Dick proper. There's a booming laugh following them, and Ace looks back to see Whitebeard, still standing tall on the flaming boat, laughing as they go.

Ace sets himself on fire again and yells to be let down, flailing upwards with flame. The bird ignores him,, circling lower and does drop him, just a bit too high for a safe descent.

He sticks the landing anyway, turning to scream more obscenities at the sky, and the bird circles around, coming in low and hitting the ground as a person. He's an oddly familiar man, Ace thinks, squinting; he's sure he's seen this guy before.

"You," the guy says, straightening from his landing, "are more trouble than you're worth, yoi."

"Thanks," Ace says, and spits on the deck.

"Why would you set fire to the boat you're on when you know you can't swim?"

"Because fuck you, that's why!"

Blondie throws up his hands and walks away, and a tall guy with a truly ridiculous hairstyle pops up next to him. "Hey Marco, what—oh, new kid. Hey, new kid! What's your name?"

"Don't bother," apparently-Marco says. "He's not staying."

"Damn right I'm not," Ace agrees. "I'm just here to kill you all and then I'll be on my merry way to anywhere but here."

"Kill us all?" the new guy says, and a third person pops up, lanky and dressed in oddly old-fashioned ruffles.

"Yeah," she says, "this is that new rookie that's got everyone in a tizzy, remember? Fire Fist Ace. He's apparently aiming to kill Pops, though the whole mass murder thing is new."

"Yeah, well," Ace says, standing up and cracking his spine, then flicking one hand into fire. "I hadn't planned on it, but then I met you, so…"

Marco turns and leaves, and the redhead with the hair as long as his shoulders are wide, makes a quiet noise in his throat. "I'm Thatch and I'm reluctantly charmed," he says, sticking out his hand.

Ace looks at him, looks at his hand, and then looks down to his own hand which is still on fire. Whitebeard laughs at murder attempts, Marco grabs people who are on fire, and now this. Does no one on this ship have any sense of self-preservation?

"You're all mad," Ace says blankly.

"Probably," the other person says, and she's laughing at him, he can tell. "Don't worry, you'll fit right in."

"You'll fit in a coffin when I'm done with you," Ace answers. "I'm gonna kill your Captain if it's the last thing I ever do."

His pride is on the line, and his crew, and if there's one thing Ace can't do, it's give up.

He's been on this ship for too long, he knows, because he's starting to do dumb things like actually learn people's names and, like, care and shit.

This isn't the first island they've docked at since Ace has been aboard, but it's always a good distraction. The Moby Dick is out in the harbor, half the crew is ashore, and it's a perfect time for a spot of murder.

He's tried straight-forward and he's tried subtle; time to try sneaky.

So he helps himself to the biggest axe he can find and comes at Whitebeard from behind, screaming loudly.

Marco's there, suddenly, because Marco's always there. Marco catches the axe blade in taloned feet and wrenches it out his hands, dropping it to the deck and landing on the back of Whitebeard's chair. "Really?" he asks. "Just—with the axe? And the ambush? Really?"

A month ago—a week ago—he might has screamed with thwarted rage, but now he just sighs and skulks off around the chair. He has to rework tomorrow's plan, then, if—

Someone on the island screams.

Ace's head jerks around, and the way the horizon's just a bit darker has his eyes flickering and he draws in a deep breath. Yeah, it's there, just subtle—like copper and smoke.

"Pops," Marco says, and Ace looks back.

"Go," Whitebeard says, and Marco takes a few running steps, jumps for the railing, and leaps off and away, wings already spread.

"That's a youma," Ace says, watching Marco fly towards it.

"Yeah," Thatch says, and sighs. "I'm gonna go make some cinnamon muffins; he's always in a bad mood after these."

"After these…?" Ace repeats, and Haruta leans against the rail next to him.

"Yeah, he hates killing people," she says, shading her eyes with one hand. "Can't be helped, though, until we find the Moon Princess."

Ace freezes. "Moon….Princess…?" he repeats.

"Yeah, she's the only one who can heal," Haruta explains. "All the Scouts can fight the youma, and they can break the curse, but only the Princess can heal them of it. Marco knows it's necessary but he still hates it. Guess that's what makes him such a good Venus."

"Venus," Ace says flatly. "Marco. Is Venus."

"What, you didn't know? It's only the worst kept secret on the Moby Dick. Hey, wait, where are you going?"

"I think I need to go for a swim," Ace says woodenly.

"But you can't swim."

"Yeah," Ace says. "I know."

Marco set the bowl of stew down, and Ace doesn't look up from where his head is buried in his knees. He certainly doesn't say thanks, but he's been starting to feel bad about that.

The stew smells great, though, and Marco turns to go, to let him eat in peace. Marco, who's Venus. Marco, who has the heritage of a Sailor Scout and yet also has a family. His crew knows everything about him; isn't that dangerous?

"Hey," Ace says, and Marco looks back. "They-your crew. They don't care? About the whole…magic thing? About you being…different?"

Marco looks back and smiles, and there's an uncomplicated kind of joy there that Ace isn't ready for. He looks away. "No one cares about secrets here," Marco says. "We're family, yoi. We support each other, no matter what."

Ace swallows, and then he asks, "Why…why do you call him Pops?"

Marco turns fully, and Ace looks up at him. His smile is gentle and happy, and he says, "Because he calls us his sons."

Ace looks back at that painful happiness, then down at the bowl of stew. "Okay," he says, and swallows. Then he closes his eyes, lets his head thunk back against the railing, and says, "Yeah, okay."