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September 19th Part Two

Marco knew Ace and Thatch were dumbasses. Even if Ace knew physics and chemistry and engineering and even if Thatch could figure out the slightest of details about a person by just looking at them, they were still both goddamn idiots, and Marco, caring big brother that he was, felt a completely rational need to check up on them whenever they were away from the Moby Dick. They'd also been giggling about something before they'd left, and if they giggled about a single thought for longer than fifteen seconds, it was probably something stupid and objectionable.

It wasn't until his personal Den-Den Mushi went off that he realised how lightly he had been taking the whole matter, and how serious it actually was. Thatch had a ring on his thumb that he had gotten programmed ages ago to send two messages – or rather, the same message to two locations, one to Marco, and one to a remote Den-Den Mushi that usually went with whoever was next in the line of command of whatever unit Thatch was accompanying. In this case, that was Ace. The message was encoded and simply was meant to convey that Thatch had fallen into a trap and was meant to inform everyone else to run like hell. For Marco, though, it was a distress signal. The idea was that for everyone else, if Thatch was too weak, they wouldn't stand a chance, but since it was Marco, he was invited to attempt to give Thatch all the help in the world. The ring also had a homing device built into it, so Marco could always find it. The receiver was always on him with that very purpose in mind. He had nagged Thatch to get the ring when he'd first seen such a thing for sale three years ago… just after Holli had retired. The look in her eyes when she saw Thatch just before she left still haunted Marco's memory. He knew what it meant. For years, he'd been telling himself that he imagined it, or that he was making a mountain out of a molehill. Surely it wasn't as bad as he thought it was, being the mother hen he was inclined to be, all bird jokes aside. Thatch had only used that damn ring signal once since he'd gotten it, and then now. The message filled him with just as much cold terror then as it did now. All Marco could think was that maybe… maybe this was what Holli had seen. Maybe the day had finally come when Marco would lose one of his dearest brothers and there was nothing he could do about it. In these moments, he always saw with amazing clarity just what a terrible thing foreknowledge was.


"So, are you going to tell me anything other than this 'brother of a brother' shit? Gonna tell me which brother?" Thatch asked his fellow prisoner.

The young man shrugged. "It wasn't in the plan, no."

"Have it your way, Mysterion." Thatch was not a man to take no for an answer. If the blond man wasn't going to tell him anything, then he'd just have to figure it out for himself.

Normally, Thatch liked to pretend he was an idiot. It was more fun that way, when he didn't pay attention to anything or anyone, unless of course that attention brought him some form of entertainment. Whenever he went into his professional mode, though, his powers of observation were limitless. It was good for when he was cooking and needed to add an ingredient, although he wasn't certain exactly what to add. It was good for when there was an enemy he needed to understand how to beat, or at least how to throw off his guard. It was also good for pissing people off, and that was exactly what he needed it for now.

Hands. Soft. Smooth. Slight calluses on the tips of fingers and on the inside of the furthest knuckles. Had he held pliers? Wire-cutters? Also along the inside of the flesh between the thumb and forefinger. Middle finger on both hands slightly squared. Conclusion: ambidextrous, well-educated, possible work as an engineer. Jeweller was also a possible occupation, but he did say he had connections with the Revolutionaries, so engineer was much more likely.

Clothes. Blue, blue, a little white, and more blue. Didn't go with his colouring well, so sentimental value? Posh styles, but tattered. Wearing Sea Stone shackles, but appearing unaffected. Practical shoes, made to grip well in wet weather, but just about everything else was a bit impractical. Conclusion: birthday in early January, probably New Years' Day, previously a rich boy, probably a nobleman, but estranged from his father for ten or so years. No Devil Fruit abilities.

Well, it was better than nothing.

"He's not your biological brother, is he?" he asked.

The man looked up. "Hm? No. But then, he's not related to you by blood, either, now is he? I thought one of Whitebeard's crew would be the last to call me on such a thing and pretend as though it mattered," he said. He sounded a little put out.

"I'm just saying, I don't think any of my brothers are the sons of noblemen, is all."

The man froze and went a little paler than normal. Thatch grinned a little inside. Mission accomplished.

"Who the fuck told you that?"

"You did just now," he said.

"That's not an answer. How did you know?" he hissed again.

"I didn't know; I noticed. You've got hands like a nobleman, you talk like a nobleman, and you dress like a nobleman who hasn't had access to his funds for many a year. Piss off Daddy, eh? Or, since you're a Revolutionary, I imagine Daddy did something not-quite-politically-correct to piss you off?"

The man bristled. "That's one way to put it. And there is nothing wrong with the way I dress."

"You're wearing a cravat and a waistcoat."

"So?"

"…Never mind." Something floated on the edge of Thatch's mind. It was ridiculous, but he couldn't help asking. "You wouldn't happen to be around 18 years old, would you?"

"Perhaps I am. I assume you've assigned some significance to that number?" he said.

Thatch breathed deeply. "Are you and your brother twins in age? Same birthday?"

"…Yes. From that, I think you know who my brother is now?" the boy asked.

No.

Not 'the boy'.

Sabo.

"He made a promise to his brother."

"Luffy?"

"Nope. Other brother."

"Shit! How many of them are there running amok? The world was scary enough with just the two."

"Still just the one. This brother died a while back."

"Tell him you're alive."

Sabo heaved out a sigh of his own. "It's more complicated than that."

"Not really. He damn near tore himself up because of you."

"Yes, and that's exactly why I…" Sabo took off his hat and ran fingers through his curly hair. "…I just don't want to kick up dust that has already settled. He doesn't need me. He's got Lu- er, he's got his family still."

"Why won't you say their names? They miss you, you know," Thatch said.

"If the Navy has listening devices, I'd appreciate it if they don't figure out who my family is. I told you. I like anonymity. It keeps people from going after the people I love."

"And so what happens when somebody comes after you?" Thatch wanted to know. "What happens when you're in trouble and you need help, but everyone who would come to your rescue thinks you're dead?"

"…Exactly," Sabo muttered. "Nobody will get hurt because of me like this."

There was nothing Thatch could say to that.

Sabo wasn't done. "Just please… Don't tell him I'm still alive. If I ever tell him, I'd like it to be on my terms. Can I get that promise from you?"

"…Well, then, you're going to have to promise me in turn that he won't die thinking you're still dead. Are we clear?"

"Yes."

"Then I promise not to tell him."

"Thank you."

The iron door to the prison hall slammed open, light flooding the holding cells.

"Why, hellooooooooo there, Thatch, my dear little fucktard," cooed one of the most annoying, smug voices on the face of the goddamn planet.

"Doflamingo," he said cooly. Of course. Antonio wore feathers everywhere. He had wires and string everywhere. He was a Doflamingo fanboy. He must've called him in that secret room back on the ship. No wonder he ended up dead. Doflamingo killed people who liked him for fun.

"Getting comfy, are we? Making fwiends~?"

"Yup. Grown some IQ points since I saw you last?"

"Suck my dick."

"I'll take that as a 'no'."

"Just stand the fuck up. I brought you a present." Doflamingo tossed Thatch's swords through the bars, smiling widely as ever.

"And it ain't even my birthday!" Thatch said. "What's the occasion?"

"The Marines are cute and all, but I'll never get off fighting such fuckin' pansies as are on this ship. Now you and me? We can dance. Nobody else seems to get it quite like you do. So now, why am I required to sit on my hands when there's somebody as fun as you around, hmm?" Doflamingo unlocked Thatch's cell.

"Aren't you kind required to keep me locked up, though? I can't see the Marines being overly happy about you letting me roam free."

"Oh, they'll shit bricks," the gaudy man assured him. "That'll be almost as fun as killing you."

"Oh, don't think I'll make it easy for you," Thatch growled. He had already cut through his shackles (they used plain ones on him – what idiots) and unsheathed his swords.

"Oh, Thatch, m'dear," Doflamingo said, "that was rather the point."


Three Days Later

"So, what you're saying is that Thatch fought one of the scariest damn Shichibukai in existence and escaped on his own without your help?" Marco confirmed.

"Yeah. That's about the size of it," Ace said. "We were all set to raid the Navy ship and take him back, but… I guess we underestimated Thatch a little."

"Eh, everybody does."

"Sometimes I forget that Thatch is the Fourth Division Commander and not…"

"A child stuck in a man's body?"

"Yeah," Ace said.

"Thatch can be pretty damn awesome when he wants to be. He wouldn't be a Commander for Whitebeard if he didn't know how to handle himself. We just tend to forget that oftentimes because Thatch spends so much of his time being…"

"…being Thatch?"

"I was going to say 'being a fucking dumbass', but I like yours better. More diplomatic."

"So… do you know how exactly Thatch managed to fight Doflamingo and come out just fine? From what I've heard, nobody actually knows what his Devil Fruit powers are, but whatever they are, they're supposed to be able to cut through people and control their minds and all sorts of other weird shit," Ace said.

Marco snorted. "Oh, it's pretty easy to figure out if you're a goddamn detective like Thatch. He figures that Doflamingo is a String-type. He's not sure if it's a Logia or a Paramecia, but the concept is the same. Or, I guess, maybe 'Wire' is a better term than 'String'. He can use it to cut through people, or he can wrap them around people and move them like puppets. That's why he can only control people after he's gotten above them at some point – he has to attach the wires from above. Thatch used to put on puppet shows for his eight-odd siblings – remember I told you about them ages ago? He can counter-attack anything Doflamingo does just by watching the way his fingers twitch. The rest of us? Not so much. Thatch is one of the only guys in the world who can fight toe-to-toe with Doflamingo. The rest of us just do what we can to either stay out of his way, or make sure he never gets above you to turn you into a puppet. It's all you can do with him, really. I swear, if they didn't keep trying to kill each other and if Doflamingo weren't a psychopath, they'd be good friends. Same mental age," Marco said.

"Ouch," Ace winced. "I promise not to tell Thatch you said that."

"Thanks. You know, sometimes I can't tell which side you're on; Thatch's or mine."

"Whichever seems like it'll be more fun, usually," Ace said.

"…Right, then. Send Thatch in. And by the way, you're both grounded for eternity, according to Oyaji."

"Fuck, wait, what?"


(A/N): Okay, yeah, I know I got a ton of reviews asking for Sabo to meet up with Ace. I can't do it in the course of my head-canon, but next chapter, I'll be doing a series of requested shorts that I just couldn't flesh out into full chapters. Make your suggestions now! They will all occur outside of fic-canon, so… Go nuts. Seriously.

Doflamingo's powers? Yeah, I know they haven't actually revealed them yet, so there's the possibility that I'm wrong, but I am dead certain I'm right. Watch the footage of his and you'll see I'm right - every time he controls someone, he's gotten above their heads at some point prior. How did I notice that? ...I have no earthly idea.