Baterilla was a nice place. Between tropical and temperature but a few degrees closer to tropical, the port overflowed with merchants looking to buy fruits and flowers. The economy revolved around the annual fruit harvest with constant business from the fauna. Daily entertainment came from the fruit and flower farmers, who were always at each other's throats about having the most beautiful and potent flowers or most bountiful and ripe harvests. A healthy betting pot over who would win what at the annual fruit festival and seasonal flower festivals livened up the bar. The bet management had been handled by one family as long as anyone could remember, handed down from one generation to the next. A tradition so strong that the family name was passed down from eldest child to eldest child regardless of the child's gender and marriage (barring extreme circumstances, such as elopement). That name was Portgas.
Portgas D. Rouge was a woman who made her ancestors proud. She had a silver tongue that led the smarter of the islanders to bring only the amount they intended to bet when casting their lots. A well-behaved woman most of the time, she also held the blame for several broken tables when smart-alecks thought to swipe some of the pot – not the bill, though, because those idiots really should've known better. She preferred to keep things fair, keeping the 3% tax the Portgas family received instead of attempting to haggle for more, as some generations had tried, and not letting anyone put IOUs in the pot. She liked a good bar fight yet could spend most days tending to her herb and flower gardens, from which she crafted teas, tinctures, scented candles, and other goods to sell on the island and to a few merchants she'd selected herself.
Garp first met the little bugger when she was just a newborn infant, hardly off her mother's breast. She'd next met her as a strong-willed teenager just shy of fifteen, having used her leaves between those times to visit her son until he decided to fight the Government. The last time had been shortly after she turned twenty, right before Roger reentered the Grand Line. Melinda, her mother, had passed about two years before but Rouge had both her business and her livelihood already well established.
With first impressions, it was easy to imagine Senny doubting she was related to Garp, much less that she was a D. Tsuru would get it right off the bat, though, and smile a secretive smile because she knew the most dangerous women didn't show their thorns but hid them beneath their skin. She world didn't know of Portgas D. Rouge because she didn't want it to know of her, being that special kind of D whose dream did not require unleashing a storm.
It did not mean she wasn't a storm. When Garp arrived, bearing a secret the Government would unleash armadas to destroy if only it knew, especially with the onset of the new age formed by Roger's words, she laughed, delighted, and gladly welcomed the older woman into her home.
. . .
It was always jarring to travel between the Grand Line and the Blues. While it wasn't as bad as East Blue, those living in South Blue knew only the minority of what happened on the Grand Line. Accounts of storms so volatile they appeared sentient, of cities built under water and in the sky, and of men who could part the heavens, while not dismissed as fantasy, were as good as fireside stories of far-off kingdoms, dreams only indulged by the young. Names like Whitebeard and Roger were tossed around on the gossip of wives' gatherings and drinking buddies but no one knew much else about the major players. Even with her previous visits, the townspeople knew her as a marine with blood connection with the Portgas family. Only Rogue knew her as the Hero of the Marines.
It was the perfect place to hide in plain sight.
After hearing of her plight – a touching story told by Rogue of reuniting with an old spark only for him to be killed a few months later, left by herself and with a baby on the way – the islanders accepted her with open arms. They reached out, scheming with Rogue to drag Garp to different events or explore the island. The mothers were patient with explaining things Garp hadn't learned the first go round and very opinionated on what she needed to buy for when the baby arrived. Those expecting were ecstatic when they learned she could tell them their baby's gender using haki. She helped out where she could, chopping wood and building houses (Senny would never believe her); the townspeople, especially the men, worried about her hurting herself and the baby until she lifted a cart filled with wood singlehandedly without any strain. They didn't worry after that.
Somehow, Garp fell into a niche on Baterilla. She became a common sight among the laborers, though avoided the ports given she'd started to show on the journey to the island. Merchants were by nature more informed about the world's going-ons than islanders. She got closer to Rogue, the women possessing a spine similar to her own, even if she lacked the fists to match. Garp watched as she worked, the delicate mixtures she compounded and artistic shapes she formed from wax, unlike anything that could come from Garp's hands. It was like watching Tsuru rule the courtroom and Sengoku grapple with being the Fleet Admiral and being the Fleet Admiral he wanted to be, the sight of someone doing what they did best was fascinating. It was why Garp's blood called for the sea, she was best when she hunted or fought. When nothing else drew her attention, for a small Blue island could only offer so much for someone who'd seen the Grand Line, she trained.
"So," Rogue liked to make idle chatter when Garp watched her work and suffered through the daily paper (she needed to know, how Roger's death was changing the world and what she and her baby would have to deal with when she returned; the temporary effort was inconsequential). "Have you thought of a name for him yet?"
"No," Garp hummed, because she'd considered a few but chosen none (she knew, she knew exactly what her baby would carry as his name, but had yet to admit it even to herself).
"How about Morise?" Rogue offered innocently, like that name wouldn't condemn a child to a fate worse than death.
"No."
Comfortable silence fell between them, the only sounds the gravel of Rogue's pestle and the rustle of the paper Garp battled with.
"I met Roger once before, you know," Rogue said, voice slightly quieter than normal, caught between wanting to whisper and needing to speak. "Oh, about six or so years ago, just as my mama's sickness was gettin' close to takin' her. He walked into the bar and ordered somma the good stuff for his men like he didn't have the whole island on right edge. I 'member starin' at him sumthin' fierce cause he had those little ones toddlin' after him like sheep. Told him if I saw so much as a drop of booze on them, he wouldn't haveta worry 'bout the marines catchin' him. He laughed and agreed, though said to watch out for one a' them cause he liked to sneak some when no one was watchin'."
"Sounds like the red brat," Garp remarked, eyes on the paper but not seeing any words.
"Aye, t'was that one," Rogue agreed. "Had ta take the bottle right from his hand twice that night. The otha one was much better behaved, cleaned the regulars outta their poker cash like a normal kid."
"Sounds like the blue brat," was her response.
"Have ta say, the thing I remember most is that he smiled a lot. As he drank, as he ate, as he chatted and tussled with his men, and as his eyes followed tha little ones with a softness. I remember thinking that this is a man who's living life right, just as he wants."
"Sounds like him," she choked out.
"I know ya don't wanna talk about him right now but I just want ya ta know I'm here to listen." She put some more dried herbs in her mortar and continued the gentle scrape of her pestle. Garp didn't say anything but she knew Rouge knew she didn't have to.
"How about Martin?"
"You're really in an 'M' mood today, aren't you?" Garp turned the page she'd finished five minutes ago.
Rogue shrugged, "I had marmalade for breakfast."
. . .
The children of Baterilla had avoided Garp at first, intimidated by her size and etc. Then, she'd yelled at a group of boys who had been telling a girl she couldn't play with them. The boys had ran off and, panicked by the girl's tears, Garp had resorted to narrating a story to get them to stop. The cries quieted down as Garp spun her own memories, heavily edited to downplay the blood and violence and sheer depravity, and nearly forgot about her audience of one until she finished to polite but enthusiastic applause.
"So cool!" she crowed reverently, looking at Garp with a face she'd seen on many a new recruit.
Garp cleared her throat into her fist and told the girl, "There's more where that came from."
The girl seemed on the verge of asking for an encore when her face fell into a pout. "But momma wants me ta clean tha dishes."
"I'm here a lot," Garp offered, just to see the girl smile again.
When the girl ran into Garp again and demanded a story, she brought a small group of curious children with her. The next time those children brought more. Garp shared her life through stories, careful to keep names out of them, and slowly the ache every time she mentioned the Smiling Pirate lessened.
. . .
A bad storm hit the island toward the end of spring, brought by the last of the cold winds. Ships were tied to port, windows covered, and everyone bunkered down until the rain passed. Sixteen houses were destroyed beyond repair, displacing ten families, three couples, two unmarried folks, and a group of farmers. Rogue welcomed two families and a couple into her home until their houses were rebuilt. The couple was older, all their kids already grown and building their own lives on merchant ships. "Called to the sea, all of 'em," the woman laughed, leaning into the embrace of her husband who chuckled at her words with understanding in his eyes. His hands held the marks of growing up amidst sails and wood.
Garp kept out of the house more than in, helping rebuild the houses and clear the damaged fields and orchards. Their temporary residents were nice people but spending too much time around them made her think too much about how she would never have that forever, how she could never proudly claim her son as her own. It was easier to carry wood and hammer nails, and the displaced families returned to their new homes faster than any other storm before.
. . .
As she set flower-scented candles, Rogue asked about Dawn Island. She had never felt the need to explore the world beyond the horizon like so many other D's but that didn't mean she wasn't curious. Garp was more than happy to talk about the lush forests and quaint village that had been her childhood. She described a salt and beer stained bar ruled by a steel haired woman with a fiercer glare than most pirates, in whose steps followed a slip of a girl with green hair and easy smiles. She spoke of a man who loved the people, who served loyally as sheriff until he was too old and worn, then served loyally as mayor. She told of a curly haired girl who carried herself like a man and kept her family safe just as easily as she swung her axe. She depicted a picturesque village separated from a glistening city whose glitter hid the rot beneath and a dense forest that was home to beasts of unimaginable size. She smiled as she spoke of a sister-in-arms whose word was as trustworthy as her mind and who had helped her raise her eldest son as much as Garp herself, somehow managing to impart a brain in the young Monkey D. Fondness shone in her eyes as she regaled of visits to her growing boy, watching as he grew older and taller and into a man she was so proud of even if she was endlessly frustrated with how he made her worry.
Rogue listened and laughed and asked her own questions. What do the windmills do? How do they work? How stupid do the nobles look? How big is the Mountain Lord? Everything about Dawn Island seemed to fascinate her.
"So what's the plan after the baby's out?" she asked suddenly after a listing of the times Garp blackmailed Dadan.
"Huh?"
"Ya have ta return ta duty if ya wanna keep the little one a secret, so who're ya planning on leavin' 'im with?"
Garp realized that she'd only asked Rogue for a place to stay. She had thought to leave her baby on Baterilla in the care of her cousin but hadn't actually informed her of those plans. Whoops!
"I was thinking you could look after him for me!" she admitted.
"I figured," Rogue deadpanned wryly. "Ya plannin ta visit yor 'relative' as oft as isn't suspicious?"
"Course!" Garp laughed. She had long realized that Rogue's brain ran among the likes of Senny and Silvers, always catching onto plans before they were even out of the net. But she also had that edge that came from it being her only weapon. The others had physical prowess to fall back upon when plans failed (or were ripped to shreds by certain D's) but Rogue instead planned deeper and with more fail safes. It was the kind of intelligence that made Tsuru respected and Dragon feared.
"It's sound," Rogue remarked, with a blatant tone of 'but' in her voice. "I only wonder if it's not already suspicious, given that yuh've only spent ya vacations at Dawn. If ya suddenly not there cause ya here visiting the little one…"
The chunk of wood Garp had been idly carving fell into her lap. Rogue was talking the same sort of stone cold logic Tsuru did, the kind she couldn't punch her way through. Where she went on her own time hardly mattered to most of the Navy, maybe not even the dragons' eyes with Bogard still laying down false reports, but Senny might get curious enough to check. And Senny would know, somehow she knew he would, who sired her little boy. To avoid that, Garp would have to visit Dawn as well. She already couldn't take as many breaks as she had with Dragon, not to mention it would be suspicious as (2)ll, but if she had to split the ones she could get between Baterilla and Dawn… her own son might be as good as a stranger to her. Garp… didn't think she could take that. But if she didn't, she might get him killed.
Her eyes burned, just like the life inside her, and Garp realized that right now, when she had yet to know the name of her own son, might be the closest she ever got to him.
"-that's why I should move to Dawn!" Rogue had still been speaking but Garp had stopped listening long before. How much time had passed since fate dealt its final blow? It felt like forever.
"Oh, Auntie," that was what Rogue called her, especially among those of Baterilla to whom the mental association of her as the Portgas's seafaring aunt was an extra attempt at anonymity should they ever hear more of the Hero of the Marines, or so Rogue had explained after she gleefully introduced Garp as such to her neighbors. It wasn't much of a stretch anyway, just a generation less than their actual relation. Why did Rogue sound so sad?
"Listen to me, Auntie. Ya're still gonna see ya little one just as much. I'd nevuh take that away from ya. But ya couldn't think of anyone on Dawn who coulda take care of ya baby so I'll come ta Dawn. Problem solved!"
"But… you like Baterilla." The last time Garp visited the island, she had expected only to see her cousin, Rogue's mother, and for the younger girl to be long gone on her own journey. Before Rogue, Garp had assumed all D's felt the call to the sea, that a single island could never satisfy their restless, hungry spirits. But Rogue never looked down the harbor like she had before joining the navy or like Dragon had before she left. She seemed content with her herbs and flowers and with the small time drama of a town in the Blues.
"Sure, it's nice," Rogue agreed. "But the part I really loved was my family. I thought about keepin care'a their land but I'd much rathuh stick with tha family I've got left, ya know. I don't really got any close friends here. And Dawn sounds like a mighty fine place; that forest's gotta have new plants in bunches! What daya say?"
Garp pushed back the eye leaks that came with her pregnancy. She smiled, "When you put it like that, how can I say no!"
"Great! I've already got Old Man Raymond ta promise ta take us ta Haypora once the baby's here."
Garp blinked for a moment, then gave into the laughter bubbling from her stomach. Really, that was so much like her cousin.
Rogue only chuckled and returned to her candles. Garp returned to her carving, something that looked passably like a tiger but that Garp knew with the Tiger Lord she had grabbled with in her youth, and thought the sun looked a little brighter. For the first time since Roger walked away in chains, she thought that things might just work out.
. . .
Typical of the child of two D's, the baby was impatient and decided to arrive a month early. It was the morning of the new year, dawn just beginning to lighten the sky, and the entire island was sleeping off their hangovers from last night's flowing taps and revelry. Rogue had manned the island's pot masterfully, showing her younger cousin Louisa the ropes while also keeping Garp from getting a single glass when she tried to join in or when her thoughts slipped to similar parties she'd had with a certain pirate crew or new years a year ago. They'd gotten back late and collapsed onto couches, not even bothering to find their beds, only to be awoken far too soon by Garp's water breaking.
Rogue set up her cousin-once-removed on a bed then went to find the midwife, rousing her from sleeping off her own inebriation with a mouthful of bitter hangover herbs. She found it humorous that Rogue's relative would go into labor at the absolutely most inconvenient time. The sun rose and what had to be the entire island stopped by with well-wishes. The sun moved across the sky and the contractions got closer. The sun was at its highest when the small, wriggling, crying boy was placed in Garp's arms by Rogue, the midwife crumpled in a corner from an inadvertent pulse of Conqueror's Haki.
He was bald, though the lightest of fuzz indicated darker hair. His skin was red and wrinkly, prompted a smile as she remembered more than thirty years ago when she'd panicked at Dragon looking much the same before Tsuru told her it was normal for newborns to look like prunes. His face was scrunched up even more as he released piercing cries, definitely taking after both his parents in lung capacity. Little dots decorated his skin, a Portgas gene that seemed to have skipped Garp over. Later, she'd be thankful for them, because while it would be dangerous for Baterilla to realize she's the Hero of the Marines, it would be dangerous for Dawn to realize this boy is hers. She and Rogue had discussed this, with occasional calls to Tsuru as well (it made Garp sweat, when she first called Tsuru and she and Rogue got along swimmingly), and resolved to let her home island believe Rogue was the mother. It probably wouldn't even take words, their ages alone would lean to assumptions.
But right now, Garp was too busy soaking in the sight of her son, her little fire that she'd carried for eight months and loved so much already. He wailed and cried and Garp held him in her arms, gently swinging him back and forth in a rhythm she'd never forgotten. It matched her own stride, ensconcing her baby in the familiar sway of her movement until his discomfort from the unfamiliar motions of labor and stillness diminished. His small mouth pouted, like he wanted to cry again, and his tiny brow furrowed, precluding little flutters of his eyelids as her son opened his eyes.
They focused on her for a few moments, before unfocusing as his unused eye muscles tired out. Garp's arms continued their ingrained motion as the rest of her froze. Her treasure's silver eyes looked just like his father's.
The last four months, Garp had pushed away all thought of what had happened, immersing herself in getting to know Rogue and in all the little ways she helped around Baterilla. She had her treasure to protect. Now, with her son slowly nodding off to sleep in her arms, she finally allowed herself to grieve. She cried, ugly sobs that rolled down her cheeks as she grieved the friends she had made of Roger's crew, who were now alone and left to face the world's wrath. She cried for Red and Blue, who lost their father just as her son lost his. She lamented the secrets she had to keep from her brother in all but blood and the world that made her unable to trust him in this. She thanked in turn for the circumstances that made her able to trust her sister and cousin. She let herself worry over her own ability to be a good mother and be grateful that Rogue was so willing to help her, even move to a completely different island and sea so Garp can visit without suspicion. She cried that her son was born healthy. She grieved that Roger was dead, that she would never again fight his sword or feel his embrace and that he would never be able to watch their son grow, that their son would never know his father. She grieved all she lost in the same breath that she thanked for all she gained.
Rogue let her grieve until her baby dropped off to sleep. With her baby's peaceful breaths, she felt her tears slow and dry, eyes never moving from her baby's perfect, wrinkly face.
"He's healthy," Rogue remarked. Garp hummed in agreement, well aware of that herself from how loud he cried and from the tight, little muscles she could feel.
"Ya got a name?" she asked. Rogue had never pushed for the baby's name, though provided many alternatives herself, but Garp hadn't been able to tell her, hadn't been able to tell even herself. Now, after seeing the sharp silver of his eyes, she finally could.
"Ace," she said, keeping the importance of the name to herself. She had given Roger polish for his sword the day he told her how he felt, a year and a day ago from today. No other name could encapsulate how her world shifted, first with a kiss on her hand and now with her son in her arms. "Portgas D. Ace."
A/N: Haypora is a fictional South Blue island I made up; it's only significance is that it's the closest port to Baterilla that handles long-distance ships. Also, please note my experience with pregnancy and childbirth is limited to internet research. I humbly ask you excuse all inaccuracies, or chalk them up to D nonsense :P