Chapter 4 (At this point, I'm going to assume you know it's AU. Thanks to any and all reviewers, your comments really helped me get this chapter in the works sooner as opposed to later. I'm kind of surprised I haven't gotten any anonymous reviews yet, but feel free to drop them off if you don't have an account. I'll write you a reply in the author's comments, if you do. This chapter is probably going to be shorter, but it is still part of the plot, and something important is going to happen either in this chapter or the next, based on the word count on this one. Thanks to all of you who have read the story up to this point! It's good to see that other people like the idea and where I'm going with this story. I was surprised to see how many readers came from foreign countries. You all rock! Sorry, I'm probably wasting way too much of your time with this, and so, on with the chapter. Oh, for those of you actually bothering to read this, could someone please tell me how to make those lines that go across the webpage? I've tried a bunch of different things, but nothing seems to work. Thanks!)

Ace stretched in his chair. His back and neck cracked several times, and he looked out the window at the currently rising sun. During the remainder of the night he had completely cleared his desk, as well as read over all the new reports. Rubbing his eyes, he stood up with a groan and made his way towards the door, pausing only for an instant to check his appearance in the small mirror beside his bed. He had mild dark spots under his eyes, but the whites weren't bloodshot, which was good. With a sigh of annoyance Ace opened the top drawer on his desk. It contained a variety of creams, pastes, powders, pencils, liquids, putties and artificial facial hair. Ace reached in and pulled out several skin-toned powders and pastes. He generally saved this stuff for the disguises he liked to use during low-profile missions, as high quality stage make-up could be pretty damn expensive, but he didn't want everyone making a fuss over the fact that he hadn't slept last night. Honestly, it wasn't the first time he had survived on less than 3 hours of sleep. He rubbed a combination of creams and powders under each eye, using his fingertips to blend it in. Each eye took about 3 minutes, and after he was finished he put the cases back in the desk, wiping his fingers on a small cloth also kept there. Ace rechecked his appearance to make sure the make-up was undetectable, and them pushed his way through the hidden door.

There wasn't anyone currently in the hallway, and Ace made his way towards the deck in silence. Once outside, Ace gave a shiver at the cold temperature. He raised his body temperature slightly to make up for the chilly air and walked towards the bow of the ship, staring out at the rising sun. The sea was calm right now, and as the sun rose, its reflection seemed to shine even more brilliantly than the sun itself, reflected as it was in the mirror surface of the sea. The sky was painted a gentle peach, but the water, with its darker hues, was a deep orange that nothing could ever capture, orange so vibrant the sun seemed almost pale in comparison.

Ace smiled at the beauty of the image, and took a deep breath of the salty sea air. This was why he had always wanted to be a pirate. Freedom. No one to answer to except the sky and the wind. The aroma of coffee surrounded him, and he turned his head, smile still spread across his features, to see Thatch approaching with a steaming mug cradled between his hands. Thatch hated the cold and was currently wearing a turtleneck sweater and had a scarf wrapped around his neck and chin. Ace raised an amused eyebrow.

"Hello there, Mr. Penguin. You sure you want to be out on a day with such terrible weather as this?" He said it in a friendly, sarcastic tone, and couldn't hold back the chuckle that escaped when Thatch merely glared at him over the scarf.

"Good morning." Thatch mumbled it around the scarf. The smile stayed on Ace's face, but the corner of his eye twitched slightly. "Good morning" Ace's own voice echoed the same words inside his head, and in his mind he again saw the image of Sabo's peeled-off face, the eye sockets deeper than the pits of hell, dragging Ace forwards and down, down, down into their abysmal depths. Ace forced the image from his mind.

"Good morning to you too."

Breakfast that morning consisted of waffles and sausage. Ace grabbed a plate and put on a veritable typhoon of syrup. The sugar would help keep his energy up.

And waffles tasted better that way anyway.

Ace sat in his usual spot, with Marco and Thatch. Their table was one in the right hand corner on the wall with the door leading to the main deck. It was a rectangular table, about the size of your average picnic table. Like all the tables in the room, it was well used and looked a little worse for the wear.

Ace was sitting with his back to the majority of the room, and across from him, with their backs to the wall and a clear view of the full room were Marco and Thatch. Marco sat that way because it was basically his job to make sure the entire mess hall didn't explode into a massive food-fight whenever the opportunity presented itself. Thatch sat that way because he generally liked to face the person he was talking to, and he spoke to Ace more during meals as Marco was busy making sure nobody was making a mess of things. It also made it easier for him to swipe Marco's food at every possible opportunity.

That morning, as usual, they were chatting about everything and anything. At the beginning of the meal, Ace had shot a meaningful, if slightly imploring look at Marco, silently asking him not to speak of what happened the night before. Marco had given a tiny nod, and Ace had sighed in relief, hoping to get back to business as usual aboard the Moby Dick.

Thatch was partway through a story about his first solo mission as a member of twelfth division. Like everything with Thatch, it was humorous and had Ace laughing for what felt like the first time in an eternity. Ace felt some of the weight lifting off his shoulders. Marco was looking behind Ace as usual to monitor the room. His eyes were calmly roving over the entire space, always moving, doing his best to keep his eyes on all his little brothers at once. Thatch was getting to the part where he entirely blew his cover and ended up being chased out of town by an angry mob, when Ace noticed something. Marco's eyes had stopped moving. They were fixed on a single point, and his eyes showed mild alarm. Less than a moment later, he put his usual calm façade back on, but Ace saw through it. Marco had a damn good poker face, but Ace knew him well enough to read him like a book.

When Marco quietly nudged Thatch, Ace knew it was something really serious. Thatch had then snuck a subtle glance over Ace's shoulder to look at whatever it was Marco had seen while pretending to pause looking for the right word. After that he had resumed telling his story with new animation, the gestures were wider, the words more passionate. He was desperately trying to hold Ace's attention without it being too obvious, and on anyone else it would have worked. Ace supposed Thatch wasn't made commander of fourth division for nothing, but Ace had grown up weaving webs of lies for his own safety, hiding his identity from everyone he met, and he recognized a decoy when he saw one.

Ace glanced between the two of them. Marco was making a farce of pretending to be surveying the mess hall as usual, and Thatch was still trying to keep Ace from looking at whatever Marco was really looking at. Whatever it was, it was getting closer. Ace knew the layout of the tables, and based on how Marco's eyes were tracking it, it was weaving between them and making its way closer, and at a fairly fast pace.

Marco seemed to be growing more desperate, and Thatch noticed. He took another glance over Ace's shoulder and even his eyes widened slightly. Ace felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He felt something brush against his right arm and knew someone had sat down next to him. He kept his face totally calm, still smiling from a funny part of Thatch's story, but his heart was beating wildly and fear was writhing like a black worm inside his stomach. Fuck you, you old bastard.

"Good morning, Ace, Thatch, Marco." Hare said it with a nod to each in turn. Ace's digestive tract was trying to shrivel up and die and his lungs were seeing exactly how small they could make themselves. Breathing regularly was becoming a task, but Ace was determined to keep a placid face. Ace could feel the anger still burning in him, and used that energy to help regulate his breathing and keep a cool demeanor. I must not fear, fear is the mind-killer. I will face my fear and I will stand against it and it will pass through me, then there will be nothing left. Only I will remain.

Ace's face betrayed none of what he was really feeling, and he was keeping his body almost completely relaxed. Even Marco and Thatch couldn't see through it, and both looked confused. Well, he couldn't really blame them, seeing as the last time they saw him in contact with Hare had been when Ace was doing his damndest to kill the man. The tension around the table was tangible, and the silence began to stretch. Ace was the first to speak.

"If you will all excuse me, I've lost my appetite." Ace said it in a calm voice, and his movements were as even as ever. Hare looked up at him.

"Why? Are you sick?" Ace's mask of calm smiled down at Hare.

"No. You see, we've had a recent infestation of vermin, and the smell puts me off."

"Ah. Rats can be quite the problem at sea. I can see how they could make one lose interest in meals."

"Exactly. So if you'll all excuse me." With a polite smile, Ace took his dishes and left the table, bringing the plates back to the kitchen and then exited back out on deck. Marco and Thatch watched him go. Thatch had almost smiled at Ace's concealed insult, but since it would be impolite towards a guest, kept a calm face.

Out on deck, Ace had retreated back to the prow of the ship, hoping to find serenity and solitude by watching the sea. It took him a while to regain emotional peace, but seeing the sky and feeling the fresh wind and sea spray helped enormously. Maybe half an hour later, Ace was still seated on the railing near the very front of the ship, and had finally begun to relax.

"And here I thought you had lost all the fear I worked so hard to put in you. But now I see. It was just hiding." A hand had been placed on Ace's right shoulder.

Any peace Ace might have felt, burned. The dread returned, full-force. No one really came out to this part of deck, so they were alone. Ace was completely frozen, his body so tense he thought he might snap like dried wood.

The grip on his shoulder tightened suddenly, and hard pressure was put on Ace's shoulder so that he bent over. Ace gasped and felt another hand press itself over his mouth so he couldn't cry out. Hare brought his face down next to Ace's, and the next words were but a whisper.

"You are mine. The government will simply be overjoyed to see Roger's bastard returned to them. When the time comes, I'm taking you with me again, and there's not a damn thing you or your friends on this ship can do about it." Hare smiled. "I'll probably be taking one of them too. I had hoped to be able to get Whitebeard, but since your little stunt" at the word, the pressure on Ace's shoulder intensified, and he winced, feeling the bones in his shoulder creak "yesterday, he's been watching me closer." He turned Ace's face to look at him. "So which should it be? Marco or Thatch?" Ace's eyes widened, but Hare released him and punched him hard in the solar plexus. The air rushed from Ace's lungs and he was left doubled over, gasping. Hare stepped away from him, regarding him coolly.

"You know, it's really a pity you don't scar. But I'm sure one of them will. Savor your freedom, Ace. You haven't got much of it left."