The rickety barstool creaked with even the slightest movement as Ace chewed his food slowly. He eyed the bartender intently as the floppy haired man—if he was even old enough to be called that—looked over the wanted posters in front of him. He made a few thoughtful noises and rubbed his scruffy chin before shaking his head.
"Sorry, shirtless dude, I haven't seen either of 'em," The bartender told him.
"Don't worry 'bout it," Ace muttered in reply, trying to remember his manners in the face of this new disappointment.
As the bartender walked away, Ace sighed and took a large gulp of his drink. The alcohol blazed its way down the fire user's throat, but soon only numbness was left in its wake.
Thatch was completely numb now, wasn't he?
The sudden thought didn't startle Ace in the slightest. He had been having them since he set out on this god-forsaken mission. But it was still true. Thatch was stone cold dead; literally stabbed in the back by his own nakama. Ace's stomach churned in a tumultuous blend of anguish and anger. Thatch had been one of his closest friends since he set foot on the Moby Dick. One of the most accepting men in the world and always ready for a laugh, especially if it was at Marco's expense, that was Thatch. The idea that someone would kill Thatch for something as petty as a Devil Fruit was infuriating at the least and maddening at the worst. The fact that it was a trusted comrade that did it made Ace seethe and his blood boil.
As Ace chewed on his food a little more vigorously, an image of Whitebeard crossed his mind. The corners of the fire user's mouth dropped slightly. He could still hear his father's voice in his head, telling him that this time was an exception: no one had to go after Teach. Ace knew very well that Whitebeard may have been right, but he didn't care. He hadn't been able to avenge Sabo's death all those years ago and he certainly wasn't about to let it happen again with Thatch, dangerous or not. How could Thatch ever rest peacefully otherwise?
Finishing off his rather unsatisfying meal, Ace waited until the bartender had disappeared into a backroom before slipping out the front door and trudging away. He doubted that he needed to run. It would probably take that bartender ten minutes to realize that he was even gone, let alone that he hadn't paid.
The cool air outside was a stark contrast to Ace's burning skin. Sucking in a deep breath, the brisk air filled his lungs, having roughly the same impact as a bucket of ice water to the face. He continued to breathe deeply and soon enough he felt his temper simmer down somewhat. With his newfound clarity, Ace decided he needed to get more information. All the burning desire for retribution in the world wouldn't help him if he couldn't find that damned traitor.
But how would he do that? He had asked every bartender and regular on every island since he had left and found neither hide nor tail of Teach. It was like he had slipped into the shadows and ceased to exist.
"Fuffuffuffuffu."
The eerie laugh reached Ace's ears unexpectedly. Whirling around, Ace found that the street was quite empty, save for a figure that appeared to be perched precariously on top of a barrel sitting beside a tavern door. In the limited light of dusk, Ace could see that the man was wearing a garish pink-feathered coat and had a scruff of blond hair. A nearby streetlight flickered on, casting a lurid glare on the man's fiendish grin.
Don Quixote Doflamingo. Ace had never met the man, but he had heard plenty of stories. They weren't pleasant.
"What are you laughing at?" Ace asked gruffly, clenching his fists and squaring his shoulders.
Doflamingo's grin widened impossibly. "You," he replied, voice dripping with mirth.
Deep down, rage began to bubble up inside of Ace, eating at his newfound calm and clarity like a vile, vitriolic acid. Knocking a few of this guy's teeth out sounded like a great way to blow off some steam right about now.
Which is probably exactly what Doflamingo wanted him to try, he cautioned himself. Besides, he had something important to do and using one of the Seven Warlords as a punching bag wasn't it.
With a very conscious effort at maintaining his composure, Ace turned to walk away.
Doflamingo's lilting voice floated to his ears. "You're an awfully long way from home. Did you come all of this way to get revenge on Marshall D. Teach?"
Ace's foot froze midstride. As far as he knew, Thatch's death hadn't been made widely known yet. Only a few of their closest allies had been told.
"How did you know about that?" He probed, focusing a sharp glare on Doflamingo. He didn't bother denying the claim. Doflamingo had the air of a man who knew all too well that he was right. And knowing this man's reputation, Ace had a feeling that air wasn't just a front.
Wicked grin still prominent on his face, the Shichibukai leaned forward and said, "Pirates are the worst gossips. You never can trust some people. But you already knew that, didn't you? Fuffuffuffuffu "
Rage kicked in before logic did. Ace lunged for the infuriating flamingo, fully intent on incinerating him, beating him within an inch of his life, anything to inflict a fraction of his pain onto this man. Pain from losing Thatch. Fury that someone had betrayed his father from directly under his—
The belligerent youth froze mid-stroke before flames could even form on his hand. Ace's gaze whipped between his arms and legs, which seemed to hang immobile in the air.
"Ah, ah, ah," The blonde haired demon taunted, "Let's not be too hasty now, Firefist. If you try to kill me now, I won't be able to help you."
"I don't need anything from you," Ace asserted gravely, fighting with all of his will to regain control of his body, but to no avail.
"Are you sure? You seem to be painfully alone in this little stretch of the world. If Whitebeard really wanted Teach caught, would he have sent just you?" Doflamingo questioned, a mocking lilt in his voice.
Ace ground his teeth, absolutely seething as this damned government dog laughed in his face. He could feel white-hot rage burning away the last struggling remnants of his reason.
"I'm all that's necessary," Ace stated, a deadly calm to his voice.
"Or maybe," Doflamingo leaned back against the wall casually, as if he were discussing dinner plans with an old friend, "he's losing his touch. Someone commits the greatest possible sin right in front of his face and he only sends one man to exact his revenge? Pathetic, if not cowardly. If you ask me, Whitebeard's Age has ended! This is the start of a New Era and your precious, decrepit father has no place in it."
A shout of sheer rage exploded from Ace and flames erupted from his fist, aimed directly at Doflamingo's face. For a moment, his field of vision was filled with a fiery blaze. When the flames cleared, he found the barrel reduced to charred chunks and the wall behind it painted with a mural of scorch marks.
No sign of Doflamingo, though.
As this sunk in, Ace suddenly became aware of feeling very loose. Not expecting this new freedom of motion, he stumbled forwards.
An infuriating laugh—which was becoming all too familiar to Ace—resounded behind him and he whirled to meet it. His eyes landed on Doflamingo, who had found a new perch on the edge of the roof of the opposite building. Ace readied himself to attack again.
Once his laughter died down, Doflamingo's grin closed into an evil smirk. "My, you do have quite the temper, don't you? Since you've made tonight so much more entertaining, I'll tell you this: the turncoat you're so sensitive about goes by the name Blackbeard now. He's building a crew and making quite the splash while he's at it. Thanks for livening up my night, Firefist."
Night fell with an abrupt finality and the rest of the street lamps flickered on. When his eyes adjusted to the new light, Ace found the damn flamingo's perch occupied by nothing but air.
"Figures," The young commander muttered, digging his hands into his pockets and trudging away into the night.
Fuffuffuffuffu
That damned laugh still buzzed in Ace's ears like a bloodthirsty mosquito.
As he walked it occurred to Ace that Donquixote Doflamingo was not the type to go around giving out information for free.
The night sky was clear of clouds and littered with stars. Beneath it, colorful banners and twinkling paper lanterns dangled above a raucous festival filling the streets. Brightly decorated stands boasted intricately painted skull masks and fragrant fried foods to passersby. Tables and chairs had been dragged into the areas in front of the restaurants, where citizens of all ages ate and drank together merrily around sugar skulls and candles. Groups of colorfully dressed people danced about in circles in the center of the avenue, switching partners gracefully as they went. A ragtag band of villagers had set up their instruments in front of a large fountain, fueling the scene with their music.
Ace trudged through the crowd, shrugging off drunken partygoers as he went. The entire scene seemed to be thrumming with life. Ironic, he decided, since one of the locals had told him that the purpose of the festival was to celebrate and honor the dead. It was very easy to tell that the woman was right though, as he had passed a large memorial wall bursting with portraits and candles and countless skeleton related decorations.
Despite all of the liveliness and warmth around him, Ace couldn't help but feel bogged down by a sense of hollowness. Weeks had passed since his run in with Doflamingo and still he had found barely more than whispers about Teach and his whereabouts. His anger and thirst for revenge had not waned, but had worn him down enough for apprehension and doubt to sink their claws in. He couldn't save Thatch and, at this rate, he wouldn't be able to avenge him either.
Ace was broken from his dejected train of thought when he realized that he was no longer weaving through a crowd. Looking around, he found that he had wandered into one of the circles of dancers during a lull between songs. The villagers were joining hands in preparation for the next dance. The pink haired woman next to him held her hand out to him expectantly. After a moment's deliberation, Ace took it. It may help him loosen up a little, he decided. And he really did love a good party.
The dance started at a reasonably slow pace and was easy enough to pick up. He copied the other men around him until he had gotten the hang of spinning and then changing partners. When the tempo began gaining speed, he picked up the pace along with it. He couldn't help but crack and smile and laugh along with the cheerful dancers as he made his way around the circle. For a brief second, he thought he spotted a familiar face, but shrugged it off. The chances that someone he knew was here were impossibly slim.
Ace's gaze was pointed elsewhere when the next girl in the circle caught his hand. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registered that the girl was a fair amount shorter than him. Following the usual pattern, he brought his hand up to rest on her back and was met by the feeling of a strange shape. It felt like there was some kind of rod strapped to the girl's back underneath her shirt.
Wait.
Ace's head snapped to the girl in front of him just as she looked up. Cheery violet eyes met his from under a mess of loose black curls.
"Emi?!"
The girl's eyes widened in surprise and a huge grin split her face. "Ace! Great party, huh? These guys know how to have a good time!"
Even if shock hadn't stolen Ace's voice, Emi had flounced away to the next man in the circle. Ace stumbled briefly before falling back into step with the group, keeping his eyes trained on Emi until the end of the song. When the music stopped, he marched straight to her through the applauding crowd.
Emi saw him coming over her shoulder and turned to beam at him. "Figures that I'd find you as soon as a took a break from looking. How's—whoa!"
Ace swept Emi up and flung her over his shoulder all to easily, causing her face to collide with his back from the excess momentum. She propped her head up on her elbows and chattered erratically as he carried her through the bustling crowd.
"You know, as much as I adore seeing this side of you—literally or metaphorically, take your pick—is this really necessary? Oh! I have to tell you about this bear I met! He—"
"Emi, what the hell are you doing here?" Ace demanded, unceremoniously dropping Emi at the opening of a darkened alley next to a restaurant. She regained her footing without so much as a wobble.
"I was looking for you! Newgate wants you to come home," Emi deadpanned, a sudden, unsmiling contrast from her previous cheerful blabbering.
Ah, of course.
"Sorry, Emi, no can do. I have to go after Teach, even if Pops said not to. Marco knew that when he sent you."
Emi's serious expression broke into one of flustered confusion. "How did you—?"
Ace crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at her. "Seriously? Who else would ask Jiro to send you half way around the world after me?"
"Touché. And there's nothing I can do to change your mind?" She pried, rocking onto the balls of her feet. Ace could see the conniving wheels turning in her head, weighing different options on how to persuade him.
Ace allowed his expression to darken, mustering the sternest frown he could. It wasn't difficult; thoughts of Thatch and Teach still swirled turbulently in the back of his mind.
"Nope," he stated.
"Beg and grovel?" she suggested.
"No."
"Puppy dog eyes?"
"Pathetic."
"Threats?"
"Seriously?"
"Clinging to your leg and making you drag me around until you change your mind?"
"Don't even think about it."
Ace waited for her next attempt, staring down at her gravely. She looked back up at him pensively, narrowing her eyes into a piercing stare. He could have sworn he saw a devious glint in her eye before she shrugged and began walking away.
"Hmm.. Alright then," She said over her shoulder airily.
"Huh, that's it? You came all this way just to give up?"
If it weren't for that look in her eye—the one that he had learned to recognize as the precursor to some kind of chaos—a wave of relief would have washed over him. Instead, he followed her to a table outside the nearest restaurant and warily watched her flop down into a chair and prop her feet up.
"Give up? Hell no! I'm going with you," she replied, plucking two pints of ale from a passing tray and sliding one towards Ace.
With how carelessly she said it, she could have just reminded him that the ocean was wet. Ace couldn't keep his jaw from dropping.
"Going with?" he sputtered, still standing in front of the table, "No way! It's too dangerous."
Emi frowned at Ace over the top of her drink, unmoved by his protests.
"Don't square your shoulders and flex your muscles at me like that! My mind's made up. You're stuck with me. I can help you find Teach."
Ace's first reaction, though he wouldn't dare let Emi find out, was relief. He hadn't realized how painfully lonely he had been on this venture until Emi had appeared in front of him. Maybe letting her tag along wouldn't be such a bad thing. She could be helpful when she wasn't getting into trouble. And surely he could keep her away from anything too serious.
A sudden image of Sabo flashed through his mind, quickly followed by one of Thatch. Two loved ones he had failed to protect. He looked at Emi again and instead of the ridiculous, stubborn girl sitting in front of him, he saw her lying on the ground, frail and small and beaten. Her skin was devoid of any color where it wasn't splattered with blood and, perhaps most unnerving of all, her usually vibrant eyes gazed back at him, hazy and pained. She raised a weak, shaky hand out to him, face crumpled into an agonized, wordless plea for help.
No. No. He could not let that happen.
"Emi, no," Ace insisted, keeping his voice cold and firm to make it clear that he wouldn't budge on the matter. "Go back to your crew. You're sixteen. You'll only be a nuisance."
"Seventeen," she replied, meeting his gaze evenly.
Emi's face was unreadable. Ace hadn't quite wiped the image of her maimed form from his mind, which rendered him utterly baffled at her response.
"Huh?"
"I'm seventeen, not sixteen," she elaborated, expression unchanging.
Ace felt his stomach sink a little. Seventeen: the same age he was when he went out to sea. No age or experience related argument would get through to her now, especially not one coming from him.
His voice still held a tone of surprise. "When did you—?"
"A week after Thatch was killed."
Emi looked down, fixing her gaze on her drink.
"Oh..."
Guilt crashed into Ace with the force of a charging elephant and this time his stomach dropped all the way through the floor. Ace slumped into the chair opposite Emi. He remembered Thatch promising Emi that they would go to this famous zoo that occupied an entire island for her birthday. Ace had teased her for wanting to do something so childish for her first birthday as an adult, even if he thought it sounded like fun himself. Emi had protested loudly while Thatch just laughed fondly.
The two sat in silence. Ace took a long swig of his drink. Neither made eye contact.
"Ace?" Emi probed, her voice timid and very tiny compared to the party raging around them.
"Hm?"
"I miss him."
The simple, strained statement forced Ace's full attention up to Emi. She had removed her feet from the table and sat stiffly in her chair, drink clutched in her slim hand. Her lips pressed together in a tight-lipped frown. The circles under her eyes made him wonder how much sleep she had gotten lately. She looked exhausted and, if he wasn't imagining that slight tremble in her shoulders, close to tears. Her wide eyes bore into his, holding pain, loss, hopelessness, and some inexplicable sort of fear. For a moment, he couldn't tell if he was seeing her emotions or a reflection of the ones churning inside him. The thought made holding her gaze unbearable. His eyes dropped down to the table.
"Me too," he admitted, hoping to soothe her a little, "He didn't deserve this. That's why I have to avenge him."
Emi scrunched her eyebrows together and shook her head, more in disbelief than disagreement.
"But he was always so happy," she reasoned, "I can't imagine him wanting you to risk yourself chasing revenge of all things."
She had a good point. Thatch had never made much of a fuss about settling scores, even if he was the one getting the short end of the stick.
"I… I don't know." Ace sent her a desperate, frustrated look before slouching back into his chair, looking up at the sky past the glowing lanterns overhead. He wondered if Thatch was up there, looking down on them. "But if I don't go after him, no one else will. Its like saying Thatch meant nothing to us. I can't let his memory be disgraced like that."
Emi huffed and leaned back in her chair as well.
"There's no right answer, is there?" She mused.
Ace knew she was hoping for an answer that neither of them had. One that would bring this whole mess to an end. He wanted it too, but knew all too well that they wouldn't find it.
The two sat like that for a long time, both staring at the stars, undisturbed by the exuberant crowd around them. The isolated silence broke only when they ordered some food, though Ace couldn't remember a time when he had felt less hungry.
Halfway through eating, Emi spoke first.
"Everyone's worried sick about ya, y'know," she told him around a bite of mashed potatoes.
Endless shouts of 'worthless' and 'devil child' echoed in his ears.
"They shouldn't be. I'm not worth it," Ace's reply was blunt, but he couldn't keep the bitter tinge out of his voice. Emi blinked at him, confused.
"Eh? That's a stupid thing to say," Emi's words were equally frank. Ace tried not to flinch. Of all the people who might understand his feelings, he thought Emi would—"Of course you're worth it. Being a scum pirate or the child of a demon has nothing to do with it. Your nakama, me, Luffy, we care. We're your family, and that's all there is to it."
Emi nodded to herself curtly as she finished speaking, punctuating her words with a huge bite of a roll. Ace couldn't help but stare at her, dumbfounded. Years of doubts and questions about his existence, and she had explained them away as nonchalantly and effortlessly as she could give a rundown of how to unfurl a ship's main sail.
Ace thought back to when they were kids causing trouble back in East Blue. She had made casually grand declarations back then too, though he had often written them off as the words of a reckless runt who didn't understand how the world worked. Now, he could barely fight the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, heart warmed at her words.
That was the last thing Ace remembered before Emi woke him up some time later, snickering at him for falling asleep with his face in his food.
