Warnings: nothing explicit, violence and cursing
Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece.
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sorry this took so long to update! Been busy. Review replies are at the end. Also, yes leo is an OC, no he doesn't stick around for very long. If you can't deal with that, you can't deal with that.
Chapter 11 – Chips for Breakfast
The revolutionary medics let Ace out after a week, and through that week, Marco stays near his bedside without complaint. It isn't nearly as awkward as Ace had expected it to be. Marco mostly reads, or makes quiet conversation, and he never acts like he's being forced to stay here at all. More and more frequently, Ace asks himself if this is what Luffy felt like, having an older brother who looked after him without complaint and without agitation.
But the week comes to an end, and Ace walks out of the infirmary marvelling at how much healthier he looks. His skin, once pulled taut over his bony wrists and knees, has a new healthy colour, and he low looks gangly and not just plain emaciated. His hair is still sun-bleached, his scalp browning and lightening, but he's been told that it'll fade and, to be completely honest, he doesn't particularly care. There's a scar on his hip and one on the sole of his foot, as well as the burn scar on his chin, but apart from that, his skin is unblemished and back to its healthy tan.
Ace emerges from the white-walled prison on a Saturday morning, and Marco tells him that he'll be joining a group of trainees first thing on Monday. Ace can't wait but for now, he can settle for Marco's offer to introduce him to the other commanders, and teach him about the hierarchy of the Revolutionary Army that he hopes to climb. Being lead down the corridor with Marco walking unobtrusively to his side, the teen feels excitement curling in his stomach. He's going to be the youngest recruit in the group by four years, but he'll smash them into the floor.
As they walk through the door into the manic front room again Ace finds that, again, it's bursting with activity. Sun filters through the messily arranged windows above, spanning across the wide ceiling, and it covers the floor with patches of light. Before Ace can fully take it in, his self-appointed caretaker steers him over to the table where he listened in a week ago. There are three people sitting at it – the man in the kimono, who gives Ace an elegant smile, a man with a moustache who seems to be polishing a very long, deadly-looking sword, and a girl with wavy, light blue hair who looks like she's about to fall asleep on the table.
"Morning, yoi." Ushering Ace into a high stool, Marco sits down and stretches. The man in the kimono reaches out to shake Ace's hand, and the black-haired boy takes it before he realises what he's doing.
"I'm Izo," the older revolutionary says, not unkindly. "You're Ace?"
Ace nods. "Y-Yeah," he manages to force out, suddenly feeling like if he says something wrong he'll get shot in the face.
"We've heard a lot about you!" Suddenly Thatch is there, dunking his back with a grin. "From Marco, I mean. He's a sap. Completely and utter sap, I swear- Argh!"
Withdrawing his foot from where he lashed out at his subordinate at the speed of light, Marco yawns, raising an eyebrow. "What am I?"
"A strong revolutionary, my boss," Thatch mutters, peeling his face off the floor where Marco kicked him. "Sorry Marc'."
"It's Marco, yoi." Rolling his eyes fondly, the Gift user turns to Ace. "This is Izo, Vista and Bay. They're all commanders, except for Bay, who is the commander of the civilian branch of the Revolutionary Army." All three wave, Bay looking like she's trying to become one with the table.
"Hi," Ace says, voice stronger now. They aren't all quite as invincible or… Cool as he thought they would be. In fact, they seem like normal people. If Ace couldn't see the guns holstered under Izo's skirts, or the huge sword in Vista's hands and Marco's strong, nimble limbs, he would think that was the case.
Thatch disappears into a door to the left for a few minutes and while he's gone, Marco and the other revolutionaries make small talk. The sun continues to rise, and the thick smell of coffee and whiskey fills the room. Soon, Thatch returns balancing trays of food and grinning widely. He's armed with a spatula that he swipes at Marco with, missing pathetically, and he drops a plate in front of Ace with a grin. It's piled high with some kind of weird fried sticks, covered in a brownish sauce.
To his side, Marco tucks into something Ace thinks is eggs (maybe?) and Ace mutters, "Sorry, but what is this?"
Thatch stares. "Those are chips. You know, fries?" Staring blankly, Ace shrugs, and Thatch grabs him by the shoulders. "THE POOR BABY DOESN'T KNOW WHAT FRIES ARE!"
"Cut it out, Thatch, yoi!" Marco snaps without any real bite, as the other man starts to ruffle Ace's hair almost violently. "You might as well let him try some if you care so much about it."
The next few minutes consist of Thatch therapeutically feeding Ace fries, which really don't taste too bad, actually. Marco and the auburn-haired chef exchange casual banter, jibing at each other about everything and nothing, and the activity in the hall soon picks up. Ace gets a few more curious looks – he figures it's because he's new, and he's sitting with the second in command and a handful of commanders – but aside from that, it's pretty enjoyable.
Once Thatch has deemed Ace to have eaten enough, Marco pulls the teen off to take him around the island. Ace learns early on that the Revolutionary Army doesn't have a hierarchy quite as complex as the navy has. You start off as a division member, going on different missions or helping with rebuilding and recovery, before rising to vice commander, then commander. There are only three ranks, but less than forty people have risen above division member. Marco is commander of the first division, while Thatch commands the fourth, Vista the fifth and Izo the sixteenth.
"I bet I can make it to vice commander in a year," Ace says confidently, drawing only a raised eyebrow from his companion.
"Oh really?" remarks the blonde. "Reckon you're strong enough?"
"You haven't seen me fight," Ace replies cheekily.
Though the island is cold, Ace finds the tangible energy in the streets addictive, and spends most of the day exploring while Marco goes back to the base to catch up on work. Ace sticks to rooftops, as he's used to, and when people catch sight of him they don't yell, they wave and one woman yells to be careful. Does everybody here act like this? Is this how normal people are meant to act, and is Ace just unused to everyday customs? Ace supposes that he'll find out.
The evening is just as eventful as breakfast. Apparently it's the anniversary of something or other – Ace doesn't really pay attention – and the whole island lights up with fireworks as soon as night falls. The dark-haired teen hangs back as the music starts, sitting in the shadows as figures dance and sing around the large bonfire and content to just soak up the atmosphere alone, before somebody tugs him to his feet and pulls him to dance with them in the fire's golden glow. Feet stirring up dust, Ace lets himself be whirled from person to person in a wild mess of bodies.
Luckily, Marco rescues him with a laugh before he can panic. Letting the older man lead him to a quieter spot, Ace glances around. The smell of grilled onions is slowly filling the air, and a few feet away, Thatch is tapping his feet absentmindedly in front of a barbeque. Sitting down on a log near Marco, Ace watches as the party picks up on the other side of the clearing, joyous cheering filling the air. The boy tries to imagine what a party like this would look like in Edgetown. Maybe he can-
Fire, smoke. A body of fire hovering on the page of a newspaper, whispers. Temper tantrum.
"Ace, yoi?"
Ace flinches violently, staring up at Marco in shock. After a second or two, he manages to pull himself together. "Sorry, I was thinking."
"You look tired, yoi. Should we head back to headquarters?" Marco says quietly.
"Don't you want to stay at the party?" After the sudden onslaught of sour memories, Ace's skin is crawling and his mind feels tainted. All he wants to do is sleep, and hope that Edgetown doesn't waltz into his dreams. He can feel Sabo's muted concern, but the blonde seems too exhausted from training to be able to focus on anything, really.
"These things happen all the time, yoi. I'm not even sure what we're celebrating, to be honest. Standing, Marco stretches and before Ace can open his mouth, before his sluggish mind can begin to process what's going on, the blonde man swings him up onto his back. Letting out a small yelp of alarm, Ace wraps his arms tightly around Marco's neck to keep from falling off, blushing deeply. Waving goodbye to Thatch, the older Revolutionary starts off into the darkness, breathing steady against Ace's front.
There are a few minutes of comfortable silence before the man says, "Want to talk about it, yoi?"
Ace shakes his head into the back of Marco's shirt. "All of this happiness, how good things are here… I just wish Edgetown had gotten a chance to see something like this. This place is the complete opposite of that."
"How so?" asks Marco, seeming genuinely curious.
"I mean, in Edgetown, you only ever cared about yourself. I remember when I was three or four, one of the Hyumangoddo came to inspect the island and crushed one of his slaves right there in the street. Nobody took care of his body for days; he just lay there and lay there until god knows when." Ace's voice is muffled, arms looped over Marco's shoulders lightly. "Once Blackbeard took over, things got even worse. I mean, my brother was Marked, so us three lived in a trash heap outside of the city for four years – it sounds crazy now that I say it, huh?"
"Completely," Marco murmurs absentmindedly. "Have you had any contact with either of your brothers since you left Edgetown, yoi?"
Ace hesitates. "No, not really," he answers eventually. Marco probably knows that there's something more, but doesn't push. The conversation tails off into silence for a few minutes, before Ace mutters sleepily, "You know I saved this one village?"
"Oh yeah, yoi?"
"Yeah. It was this place called Kaira in the north-east, and I helped start a revolution. I didn't really save them save them, but they all acted that way after." Ace can feel his eyes drooping, and smiles. "I don't want anywhere else to burn, Marco."
"I know, yoi." Marco sounds impossibly sad for a moment. "Go to sleep. Nothing else is going to burn."
Warmed by both Marco's body against his own and his words, Ace lets himself fall into the darkness, and the world dissolves.
The next morning, the day before Ace formally begins his training, the teen walks in on a world of hangovers and tired eyes that is the mess hall. Apparently, last night was as wild as it was enjoyable. Thatch, in a similar manner to Bay yesterday, looks like he's trying to melt into the table. Only Marco looks as unruffled as always, pushing a glass of water and some toast across to Ace without looking up from his paper when the boy sits down. Pidge flops into the seat next to him.
"Sleep well, yoi?"
Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Ace yawns contentedly. "Yeah. I can't wait to start training tomorrow. I'm gonna kick their asses!"
Thatch raises his head slightly, exchanging a look with Marco. "Ain't he adorable?"
"Yep," Marco teases lightly, sipping a mug of black coffee. At Ace's betrayed look, he rolls his eyes and reaches across the ruffle his wayward black hair. "I was just kidding, yoi. I'm sure you'll do great."
"Sure, sure." Feeling Sabo wake up from across the bond, Ace tunes out the sound of conversation around him to check in on his brother. About time, sleeping beauty.
Shut uppp. Sabo sounds like death warmed up. What happened last night…?
Don't ask me, I'm on the other side of the world, Ace jokes, half-serious. What did you do last night?
Some of the guys in my group of trainees were passing around a bottle and I think… Did I get drunk?! A horrified pause, before Sabo sighs in relief and says, No, one of them cracked the bottle over the back of my head. I might be a little bit concussed.
How is that any better than getting drunk?!
Anything's better than getting drunk. Sabo groans, and a surge of pain slips along the bond unheeded. Ow.
Get a doctor, will you?
Nah. Gotta train. Sabo closes off the bond from his end, muttering something about getting stronger, and Ace lets worry consume him for a few seconds before realising that Marco is calling his name, and has been for a good few minutes.
"Sorry, what?" Ace jerks his head up.
"I asked if you wanted to come with me and Thatch to swim with a couple of the division members, yoi?" Marco stays patient, even though it's obvious that Ace zoned out.
"Sure, I guess." Ace stretches. "When?"
"We usually leave to go to the south of the island by lunchtime." Thatch gives a tired, pained grin; but it's a grin nonetheless. "Fair warning – it's freezing."
A few hours later, Ace decides resolutely that Thatch wasn't fucking around when he said that it was freezing. Marco doesn't seem to have a problem with it, swimming lap after lap in the large lagoon, but tends to stick to shallower waters for reasons unknown. Most of the division members seem to be close to getting terminal frostbite, and Ace, used to the warm waters of the southern east, feels like his skin is going to freeze off.
Still, the water is refreshing if nothing else. Ace improves his technique a little, pumping his arms until they burn pleasantly in their sockets, and they leave feeling cold but well exercised. Ace clambers onto Marco's back again on the way back, and though the others tease Marco for being a sap, neither Ace nor his companion particularly care. It's all in good humour, after all.
After they're back and dried off, the nurses pull Ace back to the infirmary for a few minutes just to check with him that he's eating enough of the right stuff, and he's happy to find that he's starting to recover. None of the medics are all that happy about his scars – he counted them the other day, and there are a lot more than Ace thought – but there's nothing to be done about that. As well as the ones on Ace's chin, foot and hip, several speckle his shins from an unfortunate meeting with the edge of a cliff three or four months ago, and there are a few faint white blemishes from Ace's years living rough, but things could be far worse.
On the last night before he starts training and moves to the barracks, Ace sleeps on a blow-up mattress on the floor of Marco's room, and when the nightmares come – and they do come, without a doubt, because when don't they? – the man is there to convince Ace that he's still alive, that the fire at Loguetown didn't take him too, that Vivi isn't pouring dirt onto his grave. None of Ace's dreams make sense anymore; but when did they in the first place?
Early the next morning, after a night filled with light conversation and not much sleep, Marco leads Ace to the barracks and drops him off with a reassurance; he'll always be there if Ace needs him, and he'll be fine. Ace will be fine. He's fine. He's fine.
"Of course I'm fine." Ace grins, regaining some gusto, and turns to face the wooden cabin with a determined grin. Pidge is perched on his head, strangely energetic considering how early it is. "See you, Marco." When he marches up to the door, Ace doesn't look back.
Inside, there are seven or eight boys from about eighteen to twenty sleeping in bunk beds perpendicular to each other. It's still too early for training to start, so Ace flops down on an empty bed and stares up at the ceiling, waiting for the rude awakening he knows is on the way. "I'll definitely make it in a year, Marco," he whispers into the dark, and gives a very wide, very real grin.
"And Portgas takes the victory again!"
Lurching backward and sweeping sweaty hair out of his eyes, Ace raises his fists as his opponent, one of the other trainees, crashes to the ground. His legs are shaking with exhaustion, arms burning, but he won. He's winning a lot nowadays. It's been three weeks since training started, and it's taken long nights of sneaking out of the barracks to train in private and longer days of gruelling training, but Ace is close to the top of his class.
Scowling, his previous opponent – a dark-haired man with pale skin and biceps for days – stumbles to his feet and limps off, nursing his right leg. Ace cups his rapidly forming black eye and walks lopsidedly over to the benches, collapsing onto his seat beside Pidge and watching as the next spar starts. There's a completely logical explanation for why he's excelling, Ace realises with a jolt as he watches the older teens spring into action. These people have grown up in the north, where they've never really had to fight for their lives before. They lack the street smarts, the ingrained instincts, that Ace has honed throughout his life.
The blonde man sweeps his leg into a roundhouse kick but he's obviously not thinking fast enough; he's dwelling on aim too much when it should be a point-blank, so he's close to losing his balance and his kick lacks force. The other man is a marginally better fighter, if for nothing more than age, but even he has a stance that puts too much attention on brute strength and not on the ability to get the hell out of the way if shit hits the fan. These people might survive sparring sessions, but there's no way they could survive out in the east.
Shaking himself out of thoughts that are growing progressively darker, Ace wipes some sweat off his face and leans back, closing his eyes against the midday sun. Just as he can feel consciousness slipping out of his iron grip, however-
"Teach me how to fight."
Ace starts, staring around wildly before his eyes land on the older teen he beat only a few minutes ago. He raises an eyebrow, trying to look nonchalant. "Why?"
"Because you're half my age, and you knocked me flat on my ass! Everybody keeps saying you're from the east. How are you so much stronger than most of us?" The dusty-haired man looks desperate.
Ace's eyebrow stretches higher. "I'm not that good."
The man lowers his voice. "A lot of people are even saying that you're the second-in-command's son."
Ace chokes out a gasp. "What the hell?! No! Why?!"
"Well, you do have one of his weird bird things with you all the time." From Ace's side, the 'weird bird thing' gives an indignant squawk. "And you sneak out to see him every night."
"You know about that?" Ace shifts uncomfortably.
"You're a good fighter, just not good at sneaking out." The other man gives a small grin, and extends his hand. "So, will you help me?"
Sighing, Ace glances around. While the rest of the fights go down, he will be bored for the next few hours… "Alright, fine. But if you suck then I'm not going to try."
"That's the spirit," the other man mutters with a sigh.
Ace feels his head snap back as another punch powers into his jaw, making his head spin. Finally - an opponent who can hold his own. Not letting the darkness filling his vision sway him, the teen darts forward and moves to sweep his new opponent's legs out from under him – he stumbles, but regains his balance and ducks around Ace to take a swing at his back. Ace feints lunching forward before spinning back around and swinging his foot into his opponent's stomach with a sickening crunch.
The man, one of the trainees from the other barracks, allows Ace to pull him to his feet with an approving smirk. "You're good."
"You too." Ace, four weeks into his training now, extends his hand. "I'm Portgas D. Ace. It's good to meet you."
The light of sunset on his face, the other man shakes his hand firmly. "Leo. How long have you been training?"
"Four weeks, but I've been fighting my whole life." Ace stretches, massaging his jaw. Leo can pull a mean punch.
"Likewise, cousin."
Ace flinches at the very familiar term. "East?"
Sweeping ebony hair out of his eyes, Leo raises an eyebrow. "Yep. You?"
"Same… Which island are you from?"
"Conomi Island," the man says flatly, taking the offered seat beside Ace and wiping his forehead. He looks about nineteen, with black hair falling messily into his dark eyes, and he wears the same leather-collared jacket that Ace and all the other trainees were given on their first day.
Ace winces. Conomi was blown up a week and a half ago. "Damn, I'm sorry."
Leo waves him off. "Got nobody there to mourn for. What about you?"
"Edgetown." This time, no words are needed. Leo doesn't give him a pitying look, but it isn't scornful either.
After a few minutes of silence, Leo stands and stretches. "I've gotta get back to my barracks. But it was nice meeting you. Reckon we can spar again sometime?"
Ace stands, clicking the bones in his fingers that have gotten stiff over the hours. "Sure. You're one of the only trainees who can actually fight."
Leo gives what Ace knows is probably a rare laugh. "Heh. I could say the same thing to you." Turning on his heel, the older teen says, "See you."
"Yeah, bye." Making his way back to his own barracks in the darkness, Ace yawns and considers the last few weeks. They certainly have been… Eventful, at the very least. The Revolutionary Army is churning out recruits at a rate that Ace marvels at, and he hopes to make it to the rank of division member as quickly as he can in order to rise to vice commander by this time next year. He's the top of his class at hand-to-hand combat, relatively high up in knife and dagger handling and failing miserably at swordplay and marksmanship. Still, he's defending champion despite his failings in certain areas.
A few hours later, Ace finds himself stumbling back out of the barracks, hugging his arms to his chest and trying desperately not to shake. These nightmares are pushing him to the end of his tether. This time, though, he can't go to Marco. Ace can't grow dependent on him. He can't grow dependent on anybody.
Sabo? Ace tries, leaning against the outer wall of the wooden cabin. Sab, please.
There's no answer. The other fourteen-year old – no, Ace realises with a start, fifteen now – is dead asleep. Ace is completely alone.
As he calms his breathing, back pressed against the cold wood of the barracks, Ace wipes his watering eyes and vows not to do this again. That's that. That's all. There's no time for crying when you're a revolutionary, much less when you have two brothers to take care of. He needs to bury this, shove it down deep enough so that he can't see it anymore. Let it burn with the same flames he burns his enemies with.
Ace doesn't know it, but this is the last nightmare he's going to have for four years. When he does have one again, there will be no Sabo there to call to at all. For now, though, he can tell this blonde brother that he slept fine and get up in the morning without fear, throw himself into his training with reckless abandon and rise to the top.
He's Portgas D. Ace, and he's going to make it.
review replies!
Jess: ahh yess! I was cheering him on too, our baby has a will of steel and made it. And thatch! Adorable, lovable dork. He was obviously able to make Ace feel a bit more comfortable just by acting like an idiot. It's like his superpower. And that was a little sad, huh? But I'm glad you found it heartwarming too! And Pidge isn't going anywhere anytime soon ;) Anyway, thanks for reviewing, I hope the next few chapters live up to your expectations!
UnderTakerxXxMadnesS: ohh gosh sorry, but this is the Ace!Centric part of the story. Sabo's part comes in in quite a while, but he is still a really big part of the story, so please stay tuned until then? *whispers* sorry
Vertschl: that was just a result of my being tired and stupid :P and I fixed it now. I'm glad you loved it! And yes, Shanks does come back in and it's fucking heartbreaking
zoewinter1: I succeeded in melting your heart yay! And im so glad you liked it! *clutches heart* your reviews make me cry thank you fren
Friendly Reader: *bows* a friendly reader has visited my fic…im so honoured…. And im so glad you liked it! Yeah, I did fuck with canon a lot didn't i? im happy you think it worked, tho. As for your question, a lot more is to be revealed about Ace and Sabo's… situation. it's actually pretty complex, but basically, they can't both use their fire at the same time, and in order for Ace to use his, Sabo needs to help force it out. The reason for this will be revealed in the future. And noooo, I won't abandon this! It's one of my favourite fics to write, and I anticipate that it's going to get a lot longer before it ends ;)
ScandinavianTrash: *marco voice* I never take over a week to update, yoi~
