-peeks over corner- Hello? This story isn't dead, see? A chapter –hides again-
As always, beta-read by Aerle.
Chapter 12
If someone had drawn a sword and started swinging it around, they would most likely have been able to cut the threads of tension holding the whole crew by every single nerve. There were practically no islands left to search, and they still had two missing brothers to find and. If they didn't find them in the next few hours, they were out of ideas on what to do afterwards.
But Thatch wasn't thinking about that, because if he did then he wouldn't be able to resist the urge to punch and kick everything that came into sight. He was a commander, and as such he had to stay in control for the sake of the rest of the crew
Sometimes, he hated having responsibilities.
Thatch really wanted to kill something.
Booze was one of the material things Whitebeard valued the most in this world, but in that moment he didn't give it a second thought when the bottle he had been drinking from fell from his hand and crashed into the floor. He stood up, not answering the concerned questions of his children, and walked closer to the railing, where he could see the small and slowly approaching island.
"Marco," he said, and just like that the depressed mood that had possessed the crew for the last couple of weeks was replaced by excitement, as the news that Pops had felt Marco's presence spread through the ship. Soon, other haki users could feel him too, and games, that in many cases developed into fights, broke along the deck to decide who would go into the island. When it became clear that nobody was willing to stay back, the results of the games be damned, Whitebeard laughed and said they could all go; it was a deserted island, after all, and there were no other ships around to worry about.
By this point, someone had already called the other ships to give them the good news.
As soon as they were in swimming distance, people began to jump overboard and heading to the beach. Others went to lower the boats, for those who weren't as good swimmers and for the Devil Fruit users.
Ace was abruptly woken up by the feeling of over a hundred presences approaching the island. He sat up on the grass, body tense and prepared to fight.
"What the fuck?" he muttered, turning to Marco, intent on discussing what to do. He blinked when he saw the man still sound asleep, one arm moving closer to Ace as if intent on reclaiming the lost heat. Huh. Ace would have sworn Marco's Kenbunshoku Haki was better than his. He swallowed. It looked like he already knew who their visitors were.
Of course Marco wouldn't wake up just by feeling the presence of his crewmates; the man knew them, was used to them and knew they weren't a threat.
Suddenly nervous –he doubted that what was about to come would be pretty for him—Ace placed a hand on Marco's shoulder and shook it.
"Oi, Marco." The man groaned, and Ace had to dodge the far too agile hand that tried to pull him down. "Wake up, your crew's here."
And just like that, Marco's eyes were open. A second later he was sitting next to Ace, and a wide grin stretched his lips.
"About time those idiots found us." Despite the words, Ace could tell the man was both happy and immensely relieved to finally be in the presence of his crew.
Ace himself felt conflicted about the situation. He was glad for Marco, he really was, but he wasn't looking forward to the encounter. Aside from the fact that he was a marine, he knew it was likely that someone would recognize him –because he had been a little fire-happy back during the battle, and as much as he sort of hated this small boring island, he would miss it, too.
"Ace."
"Yeah?" He turned to look at Marco, who had leaned closer to him while he had been distracted.
"I'm not asking you to decide right now, but what about a ride to the next island?"
Oh, Ace wasn't refusing that. Not only wouldn't he mind spending more time with Marco, no amount of possible future glares or awkwardness, even violence, would convince him to retake his attempts at building a raft.
"And I guess you'll use the time to try to convince me, right?"
Marco grinned.
"Good to see you know me."
Ace chuckled and, just because he could, pulled Marco in for a kiss that soon turned heated. Of course, that was the moment the first group of pirates choose to walk into the clearing.
"Son of a bitch."
They parted, a clearly amused smirk on Marco's lips, and turned to look at the men. There were some pretty amusing expressions amongst them, but the man at the head of the group, the one who had let out the above sentence, sported an impressive combination of extreme relief, anger and annoyance.
Thatch, Fourth Division Commander, Ace's brain supplied.
"Hey, guys," Marco greeted them, standing up as he did. He offered Ace a hand, who took it because he would have if they had been alone and he wasn't about to let their company affect them.
"What the fuck?" Thatch demanded, anger taking the lead in his emotions. "We've been worried sick about you, and you've been fucking pretty boy over there," Ace growled at the description, but was ignored, "all this time?"
"Not really," Marco said, and Thatch blinked, caught off guard. The blond let the other's anger abate slightly before adding, "the fucking part is fairly recent."
This time it was Thatch who growled, throwing his hands up in the air. The other ten men or so in the group looked mostly relieved, though some were amused as well and others had an expression that could be read as something like 'everything is right in the world again.'
Ace feared an awkward silence might fall, but Thatch took care of it by pointing out something that would have ensured an awkward situation for most people.
"You two could get dressed."
As things were, neither Marco nor Ace cared about having been caught naked and making out, and none of the pirates seemed to particularly mind, either. Ace went to where their clothes were discarded and put on his pants, ignoring his shirt because after the nice days of nakedness he couldn't see himself withstanding that confining fabric pressed around his torso, and then went to pick his boots from where they had been thrown to at some point in the day.
By the time he was ready, Marco was putting on his unnecessarily complicated sandals and his crewmates had wandered around their improvised camp, peering at what they had managed to put together.
Thatch looked at him, and gave a curious look at his clothes.
"You a marine?"
"Nah, I lived here alone till Marco landed his ass on the beach," he deadpanned because, really, it wasn't like there had been anybody else but the marines and the pirates who could have landed here after that storm.
Thatch raised his eyebrows, but before he could come up with a response of his own, a new group of pirates burst through the trees. This time, as Marco wasn't naked and wrapped over someone as hot as Ace, there were a lot of happy and relieved greetings, and the commander was soon surrounded by relieved crewmates.
It wasn't until a couple of minutes later that any of the newcomers noticed Ace.
"YOU!" A man in his middle thirties and one arm held in a sling yelled, pointing his good hand at Ace. The glare the man sported was explanation enough of where they had met.
That yell, of course, drew everyone's attention.
"You know him?" Someone asked the obvious, dumb question.
"That's the fucking fire brat!"
And the pirates from the ship the marines had fought must have talked about him, because just like that the easy atmosphere was gone, replaced by wariness and some hands drawn closer to weapons. Ace noticed Tharch, still standing close by, rested his right hand on the handle of one of his swords.
"Oh, come on," Marco scoffed, and rolled his eyes in what could only be a deliberately exaggerated way, "he's fine. Stop being idiots."
Marco walked closer to Ace, ignoring the dubious looks directed his way, and placed a hand on Ace's shoulder.
"Guys, this is Ace. Ace, these idiots are my brothers."
There were no acknowledgements to Marco's half-assed introductions. Instead, a man a couple of years older than Ace spoke.
"Marco, you realize who this guy is, right?"
"Yeah, of course. He's a marine and fought us. Nothing new, how many of our allies started off by trying to kill us?" Ace wasn't sure if that question was a statement to how incredible the Whitebeard Pirates were or how crazy they were. Probably both.
The pirates looked at each other, and it was clear that wasn't what they meant.
"He's Garp's grandson. It was in the newspaper." One said.
A scoff from Thatch made it clear the commander didn't see that as a problem. Probably because, being stronger, he wasn't scared shitless of Ace's grandfather like most pirates were.
"Oh, that." Marco shrugged. "So?" Then he turned to Ace, and the boy froze for a moment at the look the man gave him. They may not have known each other for too long, but they had spent most of the time together, and Ace was pretty sure he had learned to interpret the man's expressions well. That look was a question, as if asking him permission for something, and it didn't take a genius to know what would Marco ask him permission to do.
Ace swallowed. It was a matter of time, he thought, before that cat would be out of the bag. He wasn't an idiot, he didn't like the government and knew eventually he would drop out of the marines, even if –and it wasn't very likely, if he was honest with himself—he finally decided to refuse Marco's offer. Better to get it out of the way as soon as possible.
He nodded.
"Ace is also Roger's son."
To be continued
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