I don't know when (or IF) SOPA goes into effect, but if they shut down ffnet, shit is getting real. If you still want updates for this fic, whether they shut down ffnet or not, you can send me your email in a PM (I would not suggest doing it in a review, seeing as those are not necessarily private), and it may be that ffnet will remain untouched… but I doubt that, since the entire site is based off of copyrighted material.

This being said, I'm trying very damn hard to get this written before midnight this time, so that maybe people will have a chance to see it just in case the whole site crashes like a bullet through wet toilet paper.

EDIT: If you send me your email, don't just type it straight. Like they do with direct links, ffnet censors email addresses. You'd have to format it like "nadeshikotenshi at yahoo dot com" or something to get it to go through.

Day 50

Joshua looked up from a sheaf of paperwork on his desk to see something rather unusual: Thatch and Ace came into the infirmary together, holding a stumbling, complaining Marco between them.

"I'm fine!" he was saying. "I'm sure this shit will wear off in a few hours, max, so if one of you could just help me to my room without tripping over any loose shit, that would be stupendous!"

"Look, Marco, we're sure you're fine, but we just want to be triply sure. There's nothing wrong with that, right?" Thatch said.

"Honestly. What if it wasn't what you thought it was, or what if it was something nastier, you know? There's no harm in being sure, and since none of us is a professional at any of this medical crap, why are you taking chances?"

"Haven't seen you in my sick bay in recent years, Taichou. Or, you know, much at all," Joshua said. "I was under the impression that very little on God's green earth could put a dent in you. What's the problem?"

"It's not a wound. I'm not hurt. Wounds aren't a problem, trust me," Marco said.

"But there is something wrong." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah. Can't see a damn thing."

Joshua sighed. "No shit, Sherlock; your eyes are closed."

"Not that!" Marco snapped. "Even when they're open, I can't see fuckin' anything, but right now, they're burning one whole hell of a-" He bent over, coughing.

"Shit! What happened?" Joshua asked, putting a hand on Marco's back. "I mean, it's sounding like pepper spray right now, but…" He stopped when all three started nodding. "…Seriously?"

"Me 'n' Marco and some other guys out of First Division and a couple from Third are raiding one little merchant ship. One! Marco goes around the back. I don't see what happens. Next thing I know, he's stumbling around with his hands over his face and looking pissed as hell!" Thatch said.

"Lady," Marco got out. "Asked to see crate behind her. Thought it was valuable. Crazy bitch thought I was-" he coughed a bit more and Ace looked at him with concern "-thought I was trying to hurt her or something. Whips out a bottle and fucking maces me."

"Well," said Joshua, "women tend to be like that. Guys quietly wet their pants when under pressure and fear, but women, instead of lacking reaction, overreact and then it all just goes to hell. They also think men are pigs with no morals."

"And most of the time, they are arguably correct," Selma said in passing. "Hey, Josh? I'm going for food and rigorous gossiping about Marco Taichou here screwing up like a rookie on his third day. Can I get you anything while I'm there?"

Joshua just put on his best poker face (which still wasn't particularly good) and just shook his head. She left, humming something or another. They just sat in silence for a few seconds before resuming.

"But, as I was saying, women are easily excitable. As the locals term it, 'bitches be crazy'," Joshua said.

"Yeah, you'd know," Thatch said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You have a crush on a veritable dragon, Josh."

"Don't say shit like that. Selma's not a dragon."

"And yet you know exactly who I'm talking about."

"Oh, shut up, Taichou. Er, Thatch Taichou. Not Marco Taichou. Sorry."

"I'm blind, not deaf. I can follow a fucking conversation," Marco said, impatient.

"Right. Sorry. Anyway, how long ago did you get sprayed?"

Marco sighed. "I don't know. Ten minutes ago, tops? Thatch got me here pretty fast, and then Ace saw us… Is that sounding about right, guys?"

Thatch checked his pocket watch. "Eight or nine minutes, yeah."

Joshua cleared his throat. "Well, I'm sorry to say, the effects could take a few hours to vanish completely, depending on what ingredients were in the pepper spray in what concentrations. Every company's formula is ever-so-slightly different, so there's really no way to tell. The blindness, though, should wear off anywhere from half an hour to forty-five minutes. You don't have long to worry about that. If your throat feels like it's swelling up, it's not. Just try to take deep breaths. Any upper-body spasms should be gone any minute now, so your breathing should improve soon. Just try not to piss off any more women, okay?"

"I can try. No promises," Marco said.

"Not on this ship, huh?" Thatch laughed. "Women will always find men offensive. They just take it upon themselves to keep us in the dark about those opinions."

"Don't you pretend to understand women!"

"Never. That would be incredibly ambitious of me."

"Come on," Ace said. "We should probably get you to your cabin, huh?"

"I like my cabin. I know where shit is in my cabin. There's no loose shit on the floor in my cabin. There's very little I can trip over in my cabin."

"Uh, hey Ace?" Thatch said. "Can you handle Marco? I've gotten in the first aid and obligatory heckling, and I am kind of helping oversee a small heist, so…"

"Got it. Crime to be done?"

"Yeah. Thanks, man!" Thatch called over his shoulder as he darted up the stairs.

"Don't let his attitude fool you, Ace. He didn't come to help with the first aid part – he lives to heckle."

"I might have noticed, given… well… the jello thing?"

"Yeah. Don't remind me. Besides, I'm still blaming you for part of that. You aided and abetted that ass. And after all I did for you, too."

"Wait, you did stuff for me?"

"Yeah."

"Like what?"

Marco chewed his lip for a few seconds. "Sanderson wanted to throw you overboard when you first started trying to kill Oyaji. I kicked his ass. Well, not really. More like bitched at him for two hours."

Ace regretted asking. Okay, so maybe he should have seen that coming. He should have known that there was no way no-one in the crew had any resentment at all. What surprised him was the sequence of events. He hadn't actually been any semblance of nice, or even amiable, to anyone on the crew for… It had been a few weeks, if memory served. But Marco defended him from the beginning? It didn't make much sense. Why?

He looked down at the man leaning heavily on his shoulder, one hand out patting the wall to try and steady himself, eyes roaming for any possible flicker of information it could send to the brain, feet only moving forward with considerable trepidation and searching for a path clear of obstructions.

Marco was feeling vulnerable right now. Very vulnerable. But he wasn't saying anything. The ways in which he asked for help were subtle, but he still voiced them. Marco knew his own limits well and didn't let something stupid like pride get in the way of the smartest course of action. That trait, combined with his unerring loyalty, was probably what got him his post as First Division Commander. Ace knew that those personality traits also made Whitebeard tend to run everything by Marco before he did it. Even if he didn't get Marco's approval, it was always discussed. Marco was never left out of the decision-making process entirely. In this way, Whitebeard had probably taken Marco aside when Ace was still unconscious and told him what his plan for the young man was. If Marco had agreed, that was that. If Marco had disagreed, Whitebeard might have made a convincing argument that swayed him. If Marco had disagreed and Whitebeard hadn't been so convincing, but went ahead with his own plan, anyway… Well, Marco would never speak out against his Captain and adopted father. His loyalty came into play in that scenario.

Ace looked down again. Which had it been? Did he defend Ace because he liked Ace or because he loved his Captain?

Well, whichever it had been at the time, no amount of love for Whitebeard could have ever convinced Marco to show vulnerability to someone he disliked. Whatever had happened in the past, he trusted Ace now.

He didn't know why that one thought made him so incredibly happy.

"We're here," he said, stopping.

"What, really? It felt a lot longer than it normally takes to get to my room," Marco said.

"Yeah, I suppose it would. Normally, you don't have to map every square inch of the hallway with your foot, though, right?"

Marco grinned. "Guess that's true." He loosed a small cough, which Ace was pleased to note sounded much less like a clogged airway and more like one of those annoying little tickles in the back of one's throat.

"Hang on; I'll get the door for you," he said.

"I can get my own damn door, Ace," Marco muttered. Okay, so maybe pride had a home in Marco, after all.

Ace grinned and let go of the door handle. "By all means!" He backed away from Marco as a whole, hands in the air with the palms showing, not that Marco would know that.

He had to admit (although not out loud because, of course, he didn't want to die just yet) that Marco looked both awkward and funny as he groped around blindly for the door. He was a good half a metre away from the actual door, instead patting around the wall next to it and getting irritated when the didn't find anything.

"It's to the right," Ace said.

"I know that, asshole," Marco growled.

"Hey, it's only for half an hour."

"Yeah. Go around blind for half an hour and see how optimistic you feel."

The door was open and the room was every bit as tidy as it had been when Ace saw it over a month ago. He also noted that everything had been cleaned of jello. He vaguely wondered where all of it had ended up, or if it had just been emptied into the sea in one of Marco's fits of rage. The fish had to have had a field day if that were true. He didn't imagine fish had access to anything like fruity gelatin in the deep places of the ocean.

"So… Marco, are you gonna be okay?" he asked.

"You heard Josh."

"Yeah… But are you going to be okay?"

Marco smiled wryly. "...I think so. Any chance you could stay here until I can see again? Just in case I need something?"

"Yeah, sure. Fair warning, though: I'll talk your head off the whole time."

"Oh, I expected nothing less."

(A/N): Because bitches DO be crazy, and these days, they're carrying all sorts of dangerous shit they don't know how to use.

Yes, I know the blindness actually wears off more quickly than do the other symptoms. Shut up. Maybe this chick emptied the whole canister into his face. You just don't know.

THIS STORY HIT TWO HUNDRED REVIEWS. I JUST STARED AT THE COUNTER AND GIGGLED FOR TEN MINUTES STRAIGHT. NO LIE.