Chapter Eleven: Empathy
Many a pirate claimed their only love was the sea. It was a place of great beauty and mystery, adventure and discoveries, giving many who set out into it a feeling of freedom that could elsewise never be achieved. The ocean was also a monster, untamed and deadly, pretty when it was calm but prone to lashing out to snap up unsuspecting travelers without the slightest warning.
Only the foolish set out to sea without preparation of some kind. Surviving the ocean involved strategy, planning, and accounting for potential problems far out of their control. Danger could pop up out of the depths, storms could form in an instance, usual places to fish could be lifeless and empty. It was not always pirates or Marines that killed the rookies of the sea, though manmade forces could be just as deadly as natural ones.
That was why even the veteran Whitebeard Pirates were careful. That was why— as much as they wished to— the chosen Commanders and Bay did not rush out to chase after their quarry. There were supplies to load, maps to carry, Log Pose and Den Den Mushi to assign, and intel to pass on, and so it was not until dark that they set out to find Portgas D Ace.
As Izo manned the helm and Thatch whipped up a meal, Marco, Bay, and a reluctant Haruta pored over maps in the lower decks. Four small stones meant for such a purpose held down the corners of the unrolled parchment, and a series of lanterns lit the page. Bay had glared fiercely at Marco when she saw him squinting, so another two were added to illuminate the series of lines and names that showed them the way.
"Okay." Haruta said, tracing a random pattern on the map. "If I were an escaping teenaged fire brat, where would I go?"
"Nowhere in particular, unfortunately." Marco said, ignoring his brother's tone. "Ace doesn't know these seas. He has no map, no navigator, no Log Pose to guide him…" He dragged his fingers through his hair. "He's running blind into a monsoon."
"Hopefully not literally." Bay murmured, gaze never lifting from the map laid out in front of them. "But you are correct: Ace is in a place mostly unknown to him, and may have no idea where he is going. I can, however, guess where he is not headed."
Marco inclined his head, silently urging Bay to continue, and the doctor did so, jabbing a rough shape etched in crisp black ink. "Ace knows the direction of the island the Moby Dick is headed to, and will avoid it at all costs. He knows we would ask after him there and could potentially track him, so he'll risk skipping that stop and will try to reach the next closest island." Bay moved her finger west, tapping a nearby island lightly.
"But he won't know that island exists." Haruta objected.
"Maybe, maybe not." Bay demurred.
Her previous words clicked and Marco blinked. "You think he knows the area, yoi?"
"The kid has known many things we did not expect him to." Bay said vaguely. "He's also had an uncanny knack for finding things."
Her blue eyes flicked to Haruta before meeting Marco's. Even without a jerk of her head or a movement of her lips, he clearly saw the message she was trying to convey: Later. The Phoenix let the matter go, trusting Bay to come to him when she felt the time was right. That did not stop the suspicion from stirring in his chest. Did she know something he didn't? Had Ace said something to her? He pushed his questions to the back of his mind and looked back to the map.
Thatch chose that moment to pop his head through the door leading to the kitchen, his usual grin on his face. "Dinner is ready. Sorry it took so long." He apologized.
The chef walked over to the table and squeezed next to Haruta, their shoulders touching. The other Commander stayed where he was, not minding his brother's close proximity.
"Any luck figuring where Ace went?" Thatch asked.
"As far as we can guess, he's headed west, to this island." Marco poked the spot on the map.
Thatch leaned closer, inspecting the island critically before looking up at Marco. "Why here?"
"Because that's where the next closest island is other than our territory and Bay believes Ace knows of it." Marco said.
"Fair enough." Thatch agreed readily. "Want me to tell Izo?"
"We both can, yoi." Marco said, rising. "I'll replace him at the helm."
"Do you want to eat first?" Thatch asked.
"I will later." Marco promised.
The chef's eyes narrowed suspiciously but he said nothing. The two Commanders headed out onto the deck, the warmth of the lower levels giving way to cooler air. Although the temperature was not that cold, Marco shivered slightly, grimacing as the chilled night wind struck his face. Thatch grabbed his arm before he could take a step towards the stern.
"Sooooo, I know your habits." The chef said before Marco could speak. "You're not doing that thing where you skip meals because you're focused on a task or worried, right? Because then I'd have to scold you."
His tone was light but Marco could hear the hint of concern and severity underneath. If the Phoenix gave an answer Thatch did not like — verbal or otherwise— he'd find himself with a cheerful, unyielding shadow until the chef believed he was taking care of himself. Thatch would not get in his way, would not try to tear Marco from whatever task had taken his full attention, but would remain a constant, hovering presence until the Phoenix took a hint and remembered that he was supposed to do things like eat and sleep. Thatch was very good at seeing the signs of Marco running himself ragged, often long before the Phoenix even knew he was headed down that path. And if Marco took the hint and ignored it, well then the chef got a little insistent.
"I promise I'll eat dinner." Marco said, knowing what the chef wanted to hear.
"Once we talk to Izo I'll bring it out." Thatch decided for him. He raised an eyebrow. "And if I come back to find food on your plate, I'll bring out Bay."
That startled a not-quite mirthful laugh out of the Phoenix. "You're already threatening that, yoi?"
"Yep." Thatch said, popping the 'p'. "She's here, so I might as well use her. Sometimes it's the only way to get you to listen, bird-brain."
The term— said with endearment instead of as an insult— reminded Marco of their quest. "You pick that up from Ace?" he asked with a chuckle.
Thatch waved a finger. "You should know better. He probably picked it up from me." His waving finger darted forward, jabbing Marco in the chest. "You will eat."
"I will eat." Marco promised.
Thatch nodded and the two headed to Izo. The okama nodded as they approached, hair neatly in place despite the slight wind. Marco scanned him for signs that he was cold or uncomfortable, but he looked as collected as ever. Even his cheeks were unflushed from the chill.
"Is it time to switch already?" Izo asked.
"Yes. Dinner's ready. And Marco will eat out here." Thatch said.
"I already agreed that I would." Marco sighed, rolling his eyes.
Izo relinquished the wheel to the Phoenix, brushing his hands down his kimono. "Did you have any revelations about the whereabouts of the child?"
"Bay believes he will avoid Oyaji's island and head to the next island." Marco informed him.
"That makes sense." Izo said after a moment's thought. "He would hate to go to a place where the locals would willingly tell us he passed through there." He frowned and crossed his arms, drumming his fingers on his forearm. "Where is it located? I do not clearly recall."
"It's a few days to the west." Thatch said.
"West?" Izo frowned. "Isn't there supposedly a slave ship that way? I saw it in the latest reports."
Silence fell, broken only by the waves and wind. Even in the darkness, Marco could see Thatch's face drain of color. The Phoenix spoke before the chef could. "Thatch, its unlikely Ace will run into them—"
"Yes he will." Thatch said.
"No, you're overreacting—"
"I don't think I am."
"Yes, you are—"
"See, here's the thing. Ace's middle initial isn't 'D'. It's T. Stands for Trouble. With a capital."
"Thatch—"
"That kid is a magnet for danger. If there is a bad thing within a hundred leagues of him, it will find him."
"For goodness—"
"Slavers will find him. He's injured. He doesn't know where he's going. With his luck he's going to stumble on them and they'll see he's just a kid, an easy target, and God dammit we're supposed to keep him safe from things like that—!"
"Thatch!" Marco snapped. "Calm. Down."
Thatch subconsciously reacted to the order in his tone and clamped his mouth shut. His eyes failed to lose their distressed light, and Marco expelled his ire— and the irrational fear that gripped his gut when Izo said 'slave ship'— with a breath. When he spoke again, he was calmer, controlled. As he should be.
"You're fretting over nothing. The seas are wide. It is highly unlikely Ace will come across the slave ship that is rumored to be in nearby waters." He emphasized that the ship's existence was not confirmed in the slightest.
"I know. I know." Thatch repeated. "But…" His agonized eyes met Marco's stern ones. "Ace was already captured once, Marco."
The Phoenix refrained from wincing. "We don't know that for certain, yoi." He said steadily. "Ace has proven himself to be resourceful. If he does manage to come upon the slave ship— which may not be there— I'm certain he will find a way out of the situation. He can take care of himself."
"Not all the time. That's why we're out here." Thatch reminded him pointedly.
Marco hummed vaguely, looking to Izo. "Head inside and eat. Tell Haruta his shift is after mine. We should be able to sail a few more hours tonight."
"Understood." Izo said.
The okama grasped Thatch's arm and firmly guided him back inside. The chef hesitated a bit but relaxed, releasing a low sigh. Then he straightened and called to Marco as he was dragged inside. "I'll bring your food!"
"I know, moron!" Marco called back irritably.
He heard Thatch laugh before the door shut, cutting him off from his brothers. Marco looked up at the starry sky, briefly wondering who else was out there, gazing upon the same stars as he. Then he shook himself and gripped the helm firmly, bracing himself against the cold.
OPOPOPOPOP
Ace startled awake. Though his body remained lax and at ease, his mind jolted into consciousness, abuzz with panic even as he forced himself to appear unaware. He was laying in an odd position against something hard, the clear scent of ocean air tickling his nose, and it was only that— and his freed hands— that made him risk opening his eyes to take in his surroundings.
He was leaning against the steering wheel of a boat, a small one. Had he fallen asleep here? The thought made his heart sink into his shoes. Since he was neither bound and surrounded by enemies nor facing an agitated and concerned family member, that meant… It meant…
I failed again.
Ace took a shuddering breath, and forced himself onto his feet. He ignored the tiredness draining the energy from his muscles and the despair threatening to throttle him, shoving both deep into the back of his mind where they could stew until they inevitably overcame him. He'd like to think he was on a Whitebeard-sanctioned mission but knew better than to hope. He never pushed himself to exhaustion on normal missions, he never woke against the helm when someone was still around to care, and oh Gods he couldn't even remember what had happened this time, or who he was headed to kill.
He glanced up at the open sails, trying to remember. The wind would have carried him along even while he was oblivious to the world. Was he far off track? He hated missing his target by that much, forcing him to stay longer in a world without those he had lost. Had he been present when they all died this time? Or had he heard of their deaths through the news, like he so often had before?
He found out Luffy died through the newspaper.
Ace had been laughing at Thatch's stunned face, his chortles loud and jubilant as the chef futilely tried to wipe off the marker etched around his eyes. Haruta laughed with him even as he bolted past Vista and out the door to escape the chef's inevitable wrath. Ace had smiled at the Fifth Division Commander, but the grin died in an instant when he saw Vista's solemn face and teary eyes.
"Ace…" Vista whispered, gripping a newspaper with both hands.
Ace gently took the newspaper from him and set it on the table, smoothing out the crinkles.
His little brother's body was on full display on the front page.
Ace did not rage or cry.
He did not collapse or sink into a stupor.
Instead he stoically read the article, taking in every detail.
He read about the time.
He read about the place.
He read about the other casualties— the Straw Hats all died together this loop. Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji, Chopper, Robin— all gone, only remaining as a cliffnote in the tale of the son of Dragon's death.
He read about the murderer.
Ace did not ignite in fury as the World Government praised the murderer for killing the son of the Revolutionary Dragon.
He did not recoil when he read the gruesome details of his brother's demise.
He did not shed a tear as he comprehended that Luffy was gone gone gone again.
He picked up the paper from the tabletop, idly noticing the hall was silent. That everyone was looking at him, waiting for a reaction, ready to console him and swear vengeance or whatever he wished.
He did not want their help.
He did not need their help.
It wasn't arrogance. He knew the future. He knew his goal. He had done it before.
"I'm going on a mission, Oyaji." Ace said stoically.
Whitebeard let him go.
Whitebeard tried to get Marco to tail him.
Ace lost the Phoenix after a couple days— easily, too easily, he knew all of the Phoenix's patterns and tricks by now.
Then Ace planned.
Ace hunted.
Ace found him.
There was no battle.
His brother's murderer deserved no such thing.
Crocodile turned to glass at his touch, all except his eyes. Eyes that went wide with pain and agony as Ace punched him through the heart with a superheated fist, gaze never breaking away as the life and the pain— Had Luffy felt pain as his lower half was turned to arid dust? He had. Ace knew it. Ace hated it. He wasn't there he wasn't there HE WASN'T THERE TO SAVE— faded from the Warlord's cruel features.
In a previous life, Ace would have burned the site of Luffy and the Straw Hats' deaths to the ground. Not anymore. It would be a waste of energy.
But not time.
He had all the time in the world, after all.
And yet his time was so limited.
It didn't matter anyway.
Nothing mattered in this loop anymore.
Luffy was dead.
Ace was still alive.
But this life would certainly not be his last.
Ace dragged himself out of the memory, wiping his palm over his sweaty face. He knew the memory was not a recent one, a fact that heartened and infuriated him all the same. He still didn't recall how it happened. Since he didn't know the circumstances, he'd have to go through the default mission until he remembered.
Ace had lists and plans. Lists of events. Plans for how to save people. Lists of people he would kill, where, and when. It was rarely difficult for him to locate someone. He had intelligence people like CP0 and the Revolutionaries would kill and die for. Locations. Allies. Powers. Moles. If he wanted to, he could make an information network using nothing but his previous timelines and statistics.
Through trial and error he had devised multiple courses of action to take in order to deal with each threat and failure, even if he was uncertain what the threat or failure was. At times, his memory was his worst enemy—
No, not his worst enemy. Never his worst enemy. That title belonged only to the bastards that had taken his family this time, that had snuffed out their lives and left Ace with another hole in his heart and the bitter abyss of failure that was threatening to swallow him whole—
A bark yanked him out of the darkness, depositing him back into his body. Ace blinked uncomprehendingly at Stefan, who bounded up to him and gave another, cheerful yip. The dog paced back and forth in front of him and tipped his head, whining in confusion.
Stefan is…?
Ace remembered where, when, and what timeline he was in.
"They're alive."
He crumpled to the deck, fingers gripping his hair as a hysterical laugh ripped past his lips. He was not alone, on this small ship, wearing himself out because he needed to chase down a murderer. He was alone, on this small ship, wearing himself out because he was trying to outrun his well-meaning and ignorant family.
Not my family. Not this time. Not ever.
Stefan nudged his face, licking his wet cheek, and Ace gave a watery laugh. He stood up, wiping at his eyes, and breathed, counting to eighty. Once the shaking stopped and his vision stopped wavering, he looked at Stefan.
"Sorry I conked out on you." He apologized. "I'm surprised you didn't jump on me to wake me up."
Stefan tipped his head innocently.
Ace chuckled. "You were thinking about it, weren't you? Don't pretend." He glanced back out the door, at the sun. "I must not have been out very long. Good. I need to stay ahead."
Stefan snorted. If Ace didn't know better, he'd swear the dog was glaring at him disapprovingly.
Ace pinned him with a look. "How very Marco-like of you. I'll sleep when I know the Whitebeards aren't on my tail."
Stefan nudged him in the back of the knee. Ace barely staggered, though the move did unbalance him slightly.
The teen scowled at the dog. "It's too early in the trip for you to start this. If I smack my head on the floor and get knocked out, your food is going to be even later. Don't you know that?"
Stefan ignored him and trotted into the lower deck, sitting next to the cabinet that held their stash of food. If Ace weren't aware the dog was trained not to go into food storage and steal it, he might be worried. The fire-user knelt and opened the cabinet, making a note to buy a lock just in case.
He handed Stefan some meat, took a piece for himself, and headed back out to the steering wheel. The dog followed him and settled next to his leg, not laying on his foot but close enough that his fur brushed against Ace's calf. He didn't mind. It was nice to have something warm and alive there to remind him everyone wasn't dead for once.
What would I have done if Stefan weren't here?
Ace pushed such thoughts from his mind even though he knew the answer.
He would have hunted.
Stefan finished his meal and decided to thank Ace by giving him a slobbery kiss. The fire-user wrinkled his nose and pushed the dog away from himself— and the piece of meat still in his hand.
"Nice try."
Stefan rolled onto his back and wiggled.
"That doesn't work with Marco, it's not going to work with me." Ace informed him. He shoved the rest of the meat into his mouth and looked at the clear blue sky. "How long do you think this'll keep up? I hate having to face a storm in these boats."
Stefan growled.
"And you hate thunder, don't you buddy?" Ace reminisced. He patted Stefan on the head. "Don't worry, I'll keep you safe."
Stefan licked him again, nuzzled him, and stayed present and there and solid as if to say 'You aren't alone. I'm here. You're okay.' as a thank you—
Ace shoved him back down, rolling his eyes. "I'll try to, anyway. I'd hate for you to get hurt while you're with me."
His guilt and doubts tripped over themselves as they reentered his waking thoughts, but Stefan's nuzzle— warm alive safe fine fine fine breathe— pulled him out of his funk before it could drown him. Sinking would only distract him and might allow the Whitebeards to catch up. Besides, Stefan needed him to be as stable as possible. He needed to be present in the present, not despairing about the mistakes of the past.
He's relying on me to have enough awareness to feed him and bathe him and make sure he's not sick.
I have a living thing here I need to take care of and keep alive.
…Well, shit.
"You're really going to regret coming with me, buddy." Ace murmured as he absently stroked Stefan's head. "I have problems. I forget things, freak out, sink into my own head when it becomes too much…" He sighed. "I'll try not to let you down too, I guess."
Stefan pressed against him, tucking his tail and lowering his head. His chest vibrated as he rumbled lowly, the sound not quite a growl or a whimper. Ace could not say whether it was the sound or the contact that made something in him ease and his lips twitched, inching up into what the unaware might call a smirk.
"Thanks, buddy."
Stefan barked once, tail wagging. Ace blinked.
"I'm holding a conversation with a dog like he understands what I'm saying." He realized.
Then he shrugged. He'd done crazier things.
OPOPOPOPOP
A/N: I was going to wait until Tuesday to post but nah.
Thanks to everyone who read, commented, favorited, followed, etc! You're all so amazing. I never expected this story to get so much attention and support.
Oh, and since a couple people have asked, my chapters are usually 3500 words or above. The range can vary by a lot which is why some chapters seem short while others are extremely long. It all depends. (shrugs)
Please review! Updates are still going to be weird. There are some life things I have to do that I didn't account for. (internal screaming) You know what? I think I'm going to say "updates are random" until further notice. (more internal screaming)
