Hi everyone,

It is over midnight and I am tired out. I have barely finished writing this chapter, but I will be busy the next few days, so here it is, in all its glory, mistakes and all.

Thank you, everyone, who has reviewed, favourited, followed this story, and even those who had dropped me a personal message. Your support has been great and I am only sorry I took so long to return to this work. This is the second half of Chapter 13, so do feel free to read that first again if you need to.

There are a few, uh, hidden meanings in this chapter. They are meant to highlight the differential traits between Ace, Marco and Thatch. See if you can spot them and let me know your thoughts, okay! Hope they make sense to all of you!

AND, the chapter is full of angst and all that comes with it. I just felt like writing something sad today. So fair warning to all of you if you were hoping for a cheery, happy chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or any of its characters.

Chapter 15: When Ace says he hates the cold II

Thatch stood in the shadows by the door, watching in silence as the inn's elderly owner fussed about his newly imposed upon guestroom.

His gaze darted about to the single lone flower in the vase by the floor-to-ceiling mirror to the king-sized bed to the firmly closed windows. The flooring was made of hard stone, its surface polished enough that what would have been jagged bumps had been evened into smooth, flat ground. The night was all but slowly thawing into dawn, and what bit of light filtered through the drawn curtains did little to illuminate the darkness of the room. As it was, the innkeeper was already bustling about the fireplace, his aged hands sharp and clear in their movements, as if he had done so many times before during his whole life. It would be a surprise if he had not.

Thatch knew the only reason the once boisterously loud man was keeping to himself was the watchful – and piercingly cold – stare from the first division commander.

Marco himself was seated cross-legged on the bed. The only signs that indicated his well-hidden anxiety were in his fidgeting hands and the way he kept flicking his gaze between the innkeeper and the unconscious fire-user next to him. Not for the first nor the last time, the commander sank his fingers into the thick blanket and patted it over their younger's prone form once more.

"Thank you, Mister!" Thatch said cheerfully, though his voice was quiet amidst the stillness of the room. The innkeeper looked up from the fire roaring in the fireplace. "We'll let you know if we require anything further."

Like the professional he had consistently proven himself to be, the man took the hint and nodded. The door closed with a soft click as he led himself out.

The chef returned his attention to his elder brother. He did not miss the way the latter had marginally relaxed at the stranger's leave, fully knowing how the Phoenix felt easily threatened when worried.

He stepped forward. "It's late. You should try to sleep."

Marco only blinked in response. His shoulders were hunched, as if weary.

Thatch's lips thinned at the sight. It had only been two mere hours ago, when his four brothers had burst into the inn, cutting into the night's merry party in seconds. At least, three brothers had burst in, with one completely dead to the world in the first commander's arms. His division had fallen into defensive stances at the sudden intrusion, but it had taken precious time before Marco had forced the present commanders into action. The chef had immediately called for the innkeeper's assistance. They had obtained a nicely furnished room (the only one left, in fact) big enough for three large men. When they realised there were no medical professionals available, Marco and Jozu had taken it upon themselves to treat their youngest brother as best as they could. He knew the blonde doubted himself, but the only obstacles that prevented him from being a certified doctor were his own responsibilities as first commander.

Both Jozu and Marco had concluded that all would be well. It was likely that Ace would suffer through a few days of fever. They only had to watch out for any breathing difficulties or chest pains that may arise within the next 48 hours. They were also bringing the kid straight back the moment the weather permitted their return.

"He was displeased, yoi." Marco did not look up as he spoke. His hand smoothed over the blankets once again, as if the repetitive action would induce warmth in the unconscious pirate. Or perhaps to soothe in himself that all was well. "He had wanted to walk ahead so he could melt the ice for Jozu and Namur. They would have been able to walk easier, he said."

Thatch did not have to ask to know what was coming next. "You said no."

There was a long moment of drawn out silence, but the Phoenix' chin dipped in acceptance. "It was dangerous, yoi," he said, his voice almost robotic, as if it were words he had said before not long ago. "It would be safer if the commanders walked ahead. They would be able to deal with any danger."

The fourth commander was careful to remove all emotion from his features. He strode forward and sat himself at the chair placed conveniently next to the bed. He studied the pirate sleeping under the covers. The most prominent – and concerning – attribute about the teen was how pale he was. His freckles only made clearer the change in his pallor. Yet, his features seemed flushed, as if a fever was gathering storm beneath his skin. His lips were also almost tinged with an unpleasant blue, screaming to all that would see how close he had come to…

The crackle of the flames was a welcome distraction from where his thoughts were drifting to. Life was terribly fragile. Had Namur not been with them… The chef closed his eyes, as if that would help to banish the thoughts. However, it seemed, the same could not be said for Marco.

The Phoenix was pinching the bridge of his nose. His muscles were stiff, and he had yet to look up from the blanket.

"Marco."

The pirate in question slowly let out a breath. "I know, yoi. It could have happened to anyone. We were only trying to protect him." His hand moved to cover his face.

Thatch's chest ached at the self-reproach belying those words. Marco was always hard on himself. It was a running joke in the ship that he exhibited his overly protective traits as a result of his zoan form. He was even affectionately nicknamed their local 'motherhen'. But, what many did not know was how deep and true those instincts ran. His brother was so afraid of losing someone in his charge that he took each failure to protect them personally. It did not matter how often his family were injured. The terrible thing about Marco was his inability to even learn to manage his darkest fears.

The chef took care to hide his own worry when he responded, slow and careful. He knew how a stray word could rattle the other's nerves. "If anything, it's my fault. All of you braved the cold for me and my division. You – him – wouldn't have been out there if it weren't for us."

Marco merely sighed. "Thatch, you did the right thing. You saw how a storm coming and you took your men to shelter to protect them, yoi. I know you feel I shouldn't be blamed. But I was there. I was right there and he wasn't even taken down by an enemy, but some twist of-"

"- of fate," the brunette interrupted, ever calm and patient. "Maybe even his own luck." He bit the inside of his cheek to perhaps soften his next words. Perhaps the blonde had guessed or knew him well enough, but he already seemed to pull away. "You can't protect everyone, Marco. Stop trying to do the impossible."

The first commander returned to looking at his unconscious brother. "I know, yoi," he breathed. "I know. It just never gets easier."

"I don't think it ever will. But, if he were awake, I'm sure he would have shouted at you to leave the room by now. He never appreciated any mollycoddling."

A ghost of a smirk tugged at the older's lips. "He's so young, and yet he seems to want to grow old quickly. I would be concerned, but that is how he is."

A snort. "Please. You are concerned. You're just glad he's not making more trouble than he is."

Marco finally gave in to a small smile. He flicked the chef an amused glance. "He's a handful now, yoi." He seemed to recall something exasperating, for he huffed in what might have been mild annoyance and a little tinge of fondness. "Imagine my surprise when he refused to wear anything thicker than his usual get-up in this snow. I almost wanted to leave him with the others."

Thatch grinned at the image that thought conjured. "He would have thrown a fit. And Oyaji would have told you to let it go."

Marco rolled his eyes. "Of course he would have. Oyaji is worse than all of us, yoi," he muttered. "He's enjoying having such a young kid to look after."

A muffled cough. The zoan user looked up sharply when the chef looked at anything but him. "What?"

The fourth commander's smile morphed into a smirk. "Pot kettle black. You're just as bad. At least Oyaji doesn't fret over his every move."

Marco shot him a stern glare. It would have scared the lesser man, but Thatch was far from the average citizen. The light flush that coloured the zoan's cheeks did not help either. "I do not, yoi," he muttered.

Thatch's answering smile was enough for the older pirate to grumble under his breath in response.

Both pirates soon fell into companionable silence. The chef watched as his brother fiddled with the blankets but showed no inclination to comment on it. Rather, he took in the sight of his old and new family members, breathed in the way he felt so comfortable in their presences. The soft blue light filtering in from the windows casted them in an almost ethereal glow, as if highlighting for the pirate how precious they were to him. Though he loved the chaos and merriness that his family brought him, he appreciated even more the rare moments of quiet they sometimes shared with each other. Well, he could do away with one of them having nearly drowned to his death.

Marco moved just then, having seemed to have enough of sitting in the same position for the past hours. He stretched his feet out next to Ace as he leaned his upper body against the headboard. He allowed his head to drop onto the wooden appendage as his gaze darted back to the fire-user.

"How do you think we should handle it when he wakes, yoi?"

Thatch lifted an eyebrow. Marco was asking him? "How did he fall down the slope again?" he asked instead, as if he was not just taken by surprise.

"Jozu and Namur were walking in a straight line before him. I was flying overhead. He must have slipped and fallen about a ten minutes' walk from here. The snow was too thick, yoi. It would have been difficult to notice how precariously close he was to a steep slope. The rest is rather self-explanatory."

The brunette hummed under his breath. "You wouldn't want to scold him for following instructions," he pointed out.

"I did tell him to be careful, yoi." Despite his words, the blonde grimaced at his words.

"And accidents happen."

Marco frowned but did not deign to answer to the remark. He blinked. "He's just so impressionable, Thatch," he said, his voice just barely above a whisper. "We promised him a family, and our protection."

With a start, the chef realised the first commander was answering his unasked question.

The blonde continued, seemingly for all appearances oblivious to the other's mulling thoughts. "It's only been a few months, and yet he has encountered danger again and again, yoi. He has been injured, been hurt by our words, and…" He hesitated. "We all know he struggles with himself inside."

Silence descended between them once more. Thatch regarded his older brother. He made no reply as he knew the blonde was contemplating how to give voice to his thoughts.

When he did, Marco did not look at him. "He's so impressionable, yoi," he repeated. "What if we inadvertently teach him the wrong things? What if we become one of the burdens he has to bear in his life?"

All at once, a rush of sympathy swept through the fourth commander as he realised his brother was more than a little confused as well.

"Marco," he said as he leaned forward. "W-what are you thinking of? He's not going to leave us."

Marco kept his head down. In a way, it was worse than when the man was frustrated with the family's antics. This painted a picture of near resignation and defeat. "We have failed him multiple times, Thatch. We – most of us – feared he'd leave when I avoided him for weeks. The way he looked at me…" He lifted a hand to hide his grimace. "I can still see it, yoi. And now, now he was hurt in the presence of three commanders. I don't even have to list the many other smaller incidences which had him storming off. If not for our companionship and protection, what have we to offer him, Thatch? Why would he stay?"

Thatch gaped at his brother. His throat clenched painfully at the underlying fear in the other's words, but another growing part of him burned in indignation.

"Why would you stay with the family?" he answered, voice sharp.

Marco heaved in a deep breath. "Thatch…" he said tiredly.

"No!" the brunette snapped. "You're the first commander. What can we – the rest of us – offer you? You're the one doing a large part of the protecting. And I'm sure you can find other intelligent people to mingle with, other than us miscreants, right? So, tell me, Marco, why do you stay?"

When Marco merely frowned at him, he continued. Words flowed to his lips and he let them. "So we've hurt him. He hurt us too. That's what happens when we get to know someone better. We learn about each other. All these incidents are a steep learning curve, but that's fine, because that's what draws us closer." Thatch leaned forward, as if the closed distance would hammer some sense into the blonde. "Marco, you know this. What are you thinking of?" he asked again.

"Because he's impressionable, Thatch," Marco repeated, fists clenching. "He doesn't have much to compare his experiences with, yoi. He wouldn't understand what is permissible and what is not in a family, especially for one as large as ours. Yes, this is how we learn about one another. Would he know that?" He lifted his gaze to look the chef in the eye. "He could decide our reality is not worth the pain. Because we have brought him pain, Thatch. That's why he refused to join us for so long. Because he knew we would hurt him, yoi."

"So you think he'd give up," Thatch said flatly.

Marco shrugged. "Not now. Maybe someday."

"So what did you think we'd do until that 'someday'? Throw him into another lake? Maybe have you ignore him for a year next time?"

The ensuing silence did little to soothe his anger. "What did you think would happen, Marco?" Thatch demanded. When there was still no answer, he took a moment to calm himself down. Logic always worked best with this particular brother. "What would happen," he said, his voice even and controlled, "is that we would make more mistakes. But we would also learn to accept and live with one another. Are we not worth it?"

Marco winced.

The fourth commander ploughed on. "Me? Oyaji, the rest of us? Are we all not worth it?" Thatch regarded his quiet brother with an earnestness that the older refused to see. How could he allay his fears? What else could he say to appeal to the blonde to regain his sense?

"I know that," Marco finally said. "I hear what you're saying, yoi. It's just…"

"You're afraid," Thatch finished. "You're afraid our fickle-minded little brother would change his mind one day and that he'd leave us. You're afraid we'd make an even bigger mess in that head of his, and he won't allow us to help anymore." His narrowed his eyes. "And you're afraid now more than ever because, now, you already care for him."

The Phoenix let out a breath. His shoulders lifted into a shrug. "Never said it wasn't a selfish reason, yoi."

The brunette crossed his arms, waiting for an answer he knew would not come. When another ten, fifteen minutes passed in another bout of silence, he knew he would not get another word out of the man tonight. Marco rarely ever gave into his fears, but when he did, Thatch always felt exhausted and tired by the end of it. It looks like the blonde had chosen to seal his thoughts away for the night, if the way he stared outside, utterly downcast, was of any indication.

With those thoughts in his head, Thatch rose to his feet. "Get some sleep, brother. You'll have a handful of teenage angst in the morn." He headed to the door. "If you aren't careful, you might have double that angst if you don't get some rest."

And if he did know his brother well – and Thatch liked to think he did – the man needed a bit of time alone to regain his bearings.

[The next afternoon]

Ace lunged across the bed to grab at the box of tissues by the bedside table. He had barely shoved a tissue up his face before he sneezed. He sank back into the bed, body limp and tired, when the bout of sneezes died down for the moment.

"I hate this," he groaned into the blankets. "Someone put me out of my misery."

Namur smiled into his hands. "I don't think Oyaji would appreciate us doing that, Ace."

The fire-user lifted his head to glare at the fishman. True to their predictions, he had developed a fever just as dawn broke. It was only unfortunate that he had woken at about the same time. Well, unfortunate for him but a relief for the others.

"Thanks," he muttered. "Your concern warms my poor little heart."

"I'm glad it does, kid. You caused quite the ruckus with your fainting spell."

Ace jerked at the words. His glower would have deepened had he not succumbed to another round of sneezes. He sighed when it was over. "How as it a fainting spell?" he rasped. "I almost drowned!"

Namur shook his head in apparent amusement. "And not for the first time. You really should be more careful. We're starting to think you like to take a swim."

Something heavy and cold dropped in the teen's chest at the thought. He was careful to wipe out all expression from his face when he turned away from his ship-brother. They were not aware, after all. They were only kidding.

Instead, he dragged a pillow to cover his head and mumbled something incoherent under his breath. They seemed to expect such behaviour from him anyway.

Ace supposed he should feel so lucky. He was told, as his ship-brothers teased him about his own carelessness, that he had very nearly drowned. That the shock of the freezing water had nearly sent his body into total shut down. If it were not for the commanders' quick thinking, he would have been an ice corpse by now.

He bit the inside of his cheek. Yet, the thought did not seem to bother him as it appeared to unsettle the other pirates. Life was unpredictable. And it was unlike them to forget that piracy was not the safest pathways life had to offer. If that was the end of his journey (he grimaced at the thought of dying in such conditions), then well, that was it. Although, he mused, he would have been terrified had it been someone he cared about. Perhaps that was the reason for their concerned looks?

But it's not like they've known you long enough to care that much anyway, he thought next. There were so many of them here, and most of them he had hardly spoken with. Maybe Marco and Thatch would be sad for a brief moment. But the others? It was odd.

His inner musings were interrupted when the pillow was lifted from his person. He reflexively fixed the culprit – ah, Thatch – with a glower. The man only seemed amused, not appearing even a little ruffled by the nature of greeting.

"Hey there, little bro," he said cheerfully. "And how are we this morning?" The commander did not wait for an answer. Instead, he reached out and pressed the back of his hand against the fire-user's forehead. He hummed. "Looks like you're still running a little hot, eh?"

"I am feeling fine, thank you very much," Ace retorted. He raised his hand to shake the band attached to his wrist pointedly. "I would feel even better if you removed this."

"No can do. Your natural temperature is high with your Devil Fruit. We won't be able to tell if your fever's gone." Thatch rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Huh. We should have thought about keeping records for your baseline temperature for comparison. Could have avoided this trouble."

The teen rolled his eyes, dropping his arm in resignation. There was no point in arguing it further. They would just ignore him (Namur) or try to distract him (Thatch) or just attempt to reason with him (Marco). As if it was unreasonable to not want to be tied with seastone.

"And besides," the chef was saying, "you wouldn't want to give Marco a heart attack with a temperature that could boil water, do you?"

Ace ignored his question. "Where is he anyway? I haven't seen him since…"

Something odd crossed the commander's features. He and Namur seemed to exchange a glance before the latter shrugged.

The teen narrowed his eyes. "What?" he demanded. Concern bled into his voice. "Is he okay? What's going on?"

Thatch offered him a warm smile. Genuine. Not at all as if he had another brother about to kick it. "He's fine, Ace. Actually, it's kind of cute how quickly you get riled up at the thought of him not at his best."

"If he destroys this place, I'm blaming you," Namur said dryly.

The brunette waved the words away. "But he's fine. Marco stayed up all night to monitor your condition. He's getting a little rest right now."

Ace did not realise how much he had stiffened until his muscles relaxed at the assurance. He eyed the two pirates with a suspicion he was sure they did not deserve, but he had also learnt that they had the annoying habit of keeping things from him for 'his' sake. It was more frustrating that it was appreciated.

He almost wanted to protest and demand they bring Marco up, or to get out of his way so he could go down and find the man himself. But, but again, they were a family first before him. There was no reason to distrust them when it came to their crew's well-being.

"Fine," he huffed. He lifted his palm in demand. "Pillow. Give it back."

Thatch snorted. "Here you go, little prince. Now little boys should get ready for bed so-" He yelped when the fire-user suddenly swiped at him. "What the- He tried to bite me!"

Ace snatched the pillow away in triumph. He wiped the sweat on his forehead absently as he grinned at the incredulous man before him. "That's what you get for coddling me. Now go away. I want to take a nap."

Thatch pointed at him in accusation, trying hard to hide the plain amusement in his voice. "See?" he said to Namur. "He says he's not a kid but he wants to take a nap!"

Namur merely ignores him and smiles warmly at him. He strode forward and, with a firm but gentle grip, pushed at the fire-user to lie down proper on the bed. It was an unconscious reaction, but Ace's immediate scrunched nose had both commanders fighting a smile.

"You should get some rest, Ace. Bay will arrive some time this evening. Until then, I'd say you should catch a little wink of sleep before she begins haranguing you for being injured once more."

Ace let out a pointed sigh. "Fine. But only because you asked nicely."

Namur grinned at him. "Of course."

"Hey! What about me?"

"Thatch, get out."

Namur was right, Ace thought glumly, as he watched Bay make a decided fuss over keeping her medical kit proper once she had completed her check-up on him. Unlike on the Moby Dick, this check-up had various brothers and sisters popping in and out in curiosity, as if his plight was something amusing to see. To be fair, he supposed, they had nothing to concern themselves with at this far-out inn other than him.

"Ace, can you give me a run down of what I told you?" she asked him as she brushed some of his unruly hair behind his ear.

Ace's boyish features knitted into a frown at that affectionate action. It was a rare occasion where Bay demonstrated the more caring side of hers. Even so, with an obedience quite unlike him, he began to list the string of instructions the doctor had lectured him on earlier.

"Be on bedrest until we return to the Moby Dick," he said aloud. He used his fingers to count. "Two, I can stay in my room so long as I voluntarily send myself to the infirmary three times a day- once in the morning before breakfast, once after lunch, and another at 10 in the evening. Three, I am to take these" – he used his left hand to point at the bottles on the side drawer – "once after every meal until I run out or unless you say I can stop. Four, I can only remove the seastone bracelet when you say I can, unless there is an emergency in which my fire is needed." He paused when the doctor raised an eyebrow expectantly. "Otherwise you will take away the key and remove my miserable life from existence," he finished, voice ever polite and cheerful.

The corners of Bay's lips twitched. "Otherwise I or another commander will take the key, and then subject you to another lecture you will never forget," she corrected.

Ace pretended to consider her words, taking care to furrow his eyebrows as if in deep thought. "And isn't that the same thing…?"

Bay lost the fight with her smile and she tapped him on his shoulder in admonishment. "Alright, you've had your fun. I'll be heading back first, alright."

"Who are you bringing with you?"

"Just a few of the boys. And probably a few of the commanders too. There are too many over here. The villagers will get too nervous."

The fire-user nodded. He forgot sometimes that his new crew were also part of a Yonko's crew. He did not move from his sprawled form on the bed as Bay hefted her medical kit onto her shoulders. His grey eyes tracked her every move, knowing full well that she was aware of his attention. He kept his silence as she headed for the door, and it was only until she reached the doorknob that he spoke again.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Bay looked over her shoulder. "What for?"

His gaze drifted to the ceiling. "For coming all the way out here. I heard you came alone."

The older pirate did not say anything for a short moment. When she did, she laughed. "Any time, little brother. Any time."

[The next day afternoon]

Ace kept his footsteps as silent as he could, his feet bare and probably dirty from trekking across the inn. He poked his head out from the corridor that led downstairs. There was no one around. At least, no one from his crew. The odd looks he received from passing strangers were easy enough to ignore if he focused on his self-given mission.

He knew he would be in for quite the lecture should he be caught. He had only been cooped up for a day and already he wanted out. He should have known Bay's mirthful glee had been borne of knowing he would fail. She was too vicious sometimes.

The fire-user slowly made his way down the stairs. He kept an ear out, in case of any surprises. It was a near definite that he would get caught, but there was no need to cut the trip short so fast.

A deep part of him – the part that ran by logic – knew he was being a right idiot by sneaking out of his room. Yet, he reasoned that the crew were ridiculously overbearing in their treatment of him. He was a Devil Fruit user, and yes, he cannot swim. He would sink to the bottom of the sea faster than he could inhale his food. That just gave everyone even more opportunity to practice saving him as well as all the other users on board the Moby Dick. They had not failed him even once when he was attempting to assassinate their Captain. He doubted they would let him die now.

His lips thinned at the thought. He did not understand why they made such a fuss over a simple incident. The only consequence was a low-grade fever.

Yet, the oddest and most confusing turn of events was not their overprotectiveness. That, he was slowly becoming used to. The most alarming was how he had caught no hide of the first commander at all. He had expected to see Marco when he woke up (if he did not end up dying). When he had not, he thought he would see the man soon. But an entire day had passed and still there were no signs of the blonde even being remotely close to where he was.

Ace knew he was around. Just as he knew that the man was deliberately staying away. He had heard the whispered conversations how Marco would linger around the inn, as if waiting for something, all the while lost in thought. His throat ached at the reminder of what had occurred weeks ago. He remembered the hurt of being ignored by his newfound family, and there was the creeping anxiety that it was about to reoccur.

Never again.

Ace heaved in a deep breath. He clutched at the purple jacket he was wearing. It was a little long on him and a little too large, but it smelled of the sea and of family. With his nerves slightly eased, he told himself that Marco had promised not to do it again. He had to trust in that. At least, until the man broke that trust himself.

The fire-user ducked into the first corridor on the ground floor and darted his way towards the backdoor he caught at the corners of his eyes. He had heard there was a nice greenhouse out back that was protected by the wintry elements. It would be warm enough for him there, he should hope. Contrary to what appeared to be popular belief, he was not stupid enough to prolong his enforced bedrest any longer than he had to.

Neither did he like the shivers that rattled his lean frame nor the urge to curl under several layers of thick blankets.

To go out back, Ace had to walk by the kitchens. He had no intention to pause and it was a mantra he repeated to himself in his head in an attempt to ignore the divine smell that wafted out to him. Despite himself, his body froze as he passed through, though not for the reason he had expected.

Ace spun around to stare in awful curiosity at the kitchens' door, that was just the slightest bit ajar to allow the whispers of quiet conversations to drift into passer-by's ears. No, what had caught his attention was his name.

"- crew, they don't seem that scary."

A sharp, high tone joined the conversation. "Of course not. The way they look after that boy is just like how old Mister Tippy cares for his grandchildren. Kinds of dulls the scary factor, eh?"

"I don't understand why they make such a fuss. He's just another member, isn't he?"

A snort. "Haven't you heard anything, Dahlia? He's that uppity Captain that's been in the news all this while! Uh, what was it? It had something to do with cards."

"Spades Pirates!"

A gasp. "He was a Captain?"

"Yes!" A pause, as if afraid others would overhear. "They say he abandoned his crew to join Whitebeard."

"Oh, I heard that too!"

"Didn't you! I also heard that he tried for a hundred days to get Whitebeard to accept him. It was only his determination that swayed the Captain to agree."

"Oh that's terrible! What happened to his old crew?"

"Heard they were absorbed into Whitebeard's crew too. The man couldn't bear to leave them without a captain."

There were a few sighs. "I can believe that. Look at the crew here. They are so kind to him. I can't imagine them leaving an entire crew to fend for themselves."

Outside, Ace clenched his fists. The dark, hollowness of a deep hurt churned inside him. He was tempted to dig into his own chest to relieve himself of the growing anguish, but he could not. There was nothing he could do but listen to his own failings in mortified horror.

"I also heard the Whitebeard crew making comments about him."

"What is it? Tell us!"

"Shhhh. Don't be so loud!" A pause. "Apparently he doesn't even call Whitebeard 'Oyaji'. I think Whitebeard had accepted him for the sake of the Spades Pirates but had refused to allow him that privilege."

Another loud gasp. "Oh! Whitebeard must have felt sorry for him too. He is only a child."

A sneer. "Oh, Dahlia, stop with your nonsense! They should know better than to accept a brat like that. If he can abandon his crew, what's to stop him from moving to something better?"

Ace swallowed painfully. He felt no desire for the reprieve of the greenhouse anymore. No, he wanted to return to bed. Preferably the Moby Dick, but he had lost that option for the moment, had he not? Best he return and not create any further unnecessary fuss.

He turned back the way he had come. He told himself the trembling in his arms was from his illness. It had nothing to do with what he had heard.

Thatch had learnt that, when it came to his newest and youngest brother, it was best to keep an open mind. This meant he should refrain from casting quick judgements and to, well, prepare for the unexpected. This was the only reason he had not done more than stiffen when he entered Ace's temporary room in the inn.

He heard as clear as day his sharp inhale as his gaze zeroed in on the figure leaning against the half-opened windows. Snow was slowly drifting in. He could already feel from the door a waft of cold, crisp air.

Ace was already turning to see his visitor. "Thatch," he said, his voice soft and slow. His cheeks were flushed from the cold.

Thatch let out a breath and strode forward. "Ace…" He nudged the young pirate away from the windowpanes. He grabbed the edge of the window and slid it shut. Without pausing, he hurried to drag the strewn blankets from the bed to wrap it around the shivering teen.

"What were you thinking?" he asked, voice softened in concern. "You haven't recovered yet."

Ace looked at his feet. His dark hair – part of it damp and some soaked through – fell over his eyes, hiding his boyish features from view. "I just…" he trailed off.

Thatch decided to keep his silence while he waited out Ace's inner struggle. He arranged them such that he kneeled by the fire-user's feet. He was thankfully tall enough that his eye level came to the younger's shoulders. He rested the palm of his hand on the latter's knee.

"You're cold," he remarked, noting the way the pirate shivered beneath his touch.

Ace shrugged. "There's not enough blankets."

The corners of the chef's lips twitched. "And you solved that by opening the windows?" he said lightly. He tugged the ends of the blanket to cover the teen further, enough that only his head poked out from the white fabric. His tone turned serious. "What's going on, Ace? You look upset."

The fire-user glanced at him. In that second, the chef caught a flash of sorrow before the younger quickly looked away. "I just wanted to see a little freedom," he mumbled into the covers.

Thatch waited for the teen to explain himself further. When he did not, he nodded, as if he understood whatever cryptic message that was. "And freedom," he said slowly, "is the world outside?"

Ace did not turn to face him again, his gaze fixed on something beyond the brunette. Perhaps the windows. Perhaps the snow. "Yes."

The chef swallowed the insides of his cheek. Ace was absurdly transparent at times. But he could also be so difficult to understand. He tried to think of something to say. "Then, can that wait, Ace? Until your fever has died down enough for you to brave the cold?"

The fire-user let out a soft, tired sigh. "I am well as I could ever be, Thatch. Why does it matter if I feel a little cold?" Before Thatch could answer, he continued, voice subdued and utterly miserable, "Why does it matter if I have a fever or a cold? I'll get better. Even without all of you."

Thatch jerked at the words. He recalled Marco's concerns and, though the windows were closed, he felt a certain coldness sweeping through his person. He forced himself to express a semblance of calm. There was no need to jump to conclusions. "Because we don't want you to go through any unnecessary suffering. Why go through them if you don't have to?"

"Because—"

"No," the chef cut in. This was eerily becoming a conversation he felt he had just gone through before. "Think about it. Would you have left your younger brother alone when he was ill?"

Ace's stormy grey eyes widened at the sudden subject. "Of course not," he said quickly. "But that—"

"Would you not check in on him?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Would you tell him to rest?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then, what is the issue?" Thatch asked. "We care for you the way we do the same way you did for your brother. That's all there is to it, Ace."

Ace regarded him, eyes wide. The sorrow he had earlier seen became more pronounced, and Thatch felt something catch in his throat at the sight. It was more than mere sorrow. There was an uncharted grief warring with the sharp sting of anguish, as if someone had shoved the end of a rusty knife into his metaphorical heart. It hurt to see such pain in one so young- no, Thatch had seen worse. No, it hurt to see such a look on someone he cared about. It would have hurt just as much had it been on another sibling.

"I don't understand why you care so much," Ace said. His voice was but a mere whisper. "I've only been here a few months. Everyone knows I don't belong."

Thatch took care to remove all traces of emotion other than openness with the teen. He filed that last sentence for further thought later on. "It takes but a moment to connect with someone, Ace. We decided to build something on that. I do it because you've grown on me. Maybe some of them do it because they feel obliged to, but that feeling of obligation can easily turn into genuine concern over time."

"That's because you spend time with me."

The brunette chose not to answer, instead lifting an eyebrow pointedly at the teen. The fire-user returned his look with one of confusion until, moments later, a dark red flush spread across his cheeks.

"T-that's stupid."

"Then I guess all of us who spent time with you are stupid, since we all decided you're worth the trouble, eh?"

Unfortunately, the sombre air descended upon the two once more when both fell silent. Ace appeared contemplative, as if pondering on some complex subject the chef could not even begin to understand. That aside, there was a tiredness that seemed to cling onto the fire-user's lean frame. Though the blush had faded, the flush of illness still dotted his cheeks. The older pirate also knew he was not imagining the poorly concealed tremors beneath the blanket.

He licked his lips and prepared himself to ask the question he had been thinking of, above all else. Ace would not be getting any rest tonight until then. "Why did you open the windows, Ace?"

Ace appeared to startle at his words. He looked about to hesitate, but then closed his eyes briefly. "The freedom outside drew me," he answered, quiet and still.

"Why freedom?" Why now?

There was a significant pause. "Because freedom makes me happy."

"And…are you unhappy, Ace?" With us?

Ace turned to him once more. The edges of his lips were turned down. "These days, it feels like I always am."

Thatch breathed heavily at the admission. Perhaps, perhaps Marco was truly on to something. He disregarded the disbelief and… He disregarded his feelings for the moment and focused on the fire-user. "What do you want me to do?"

Ace bowed his head. "You could stay with me. I'll be better when I wake."

Without further comment, the two pirates slowly moved from their positions. Ace rolled back to his side of the bed, not appearing at all bothered with the dampness in his hair. Thatch took Marco's place. He sat cross-legged next to the fire-user, close enough that the latter could feel the heat radiating off his person.

"Thatch?"

"Yes?"

The subdued remark was soft as a breath. "I haven't seen Marco since the incident. Is he mad at me?"

Ace tried hard to show he did not care. That he was indifferent to the answer. But Thatch knew better.

"Don't worry about it, kid. Marco just needs a little time."

Both of them were too frighteningly similar. It was not even funny anymore.

When Ace woke next, he was awakened by the casual shuffling of papers close to his ears. He grimaced at the soreness in his body. It was probably time for his medication again.

He accidentally kicked the person next to him as he got up. "Sorry," he said absently as he turned to see Marco peering at him above the day's papers.

Marco smirked. "Thanks for that, yoi. Dinner is on its way, so don't bother getting up."

Ace stared at him for a long, drawn-out moment, before shrugging. "Okay."

Do leave me your take on the chapter! Till next time.