Closure

Shanks organised the funeral; Marco really couldn't face it and didn't want to ask any of his brothers and sisters to do something he himself couldn't. Ace made himself scarce and hid in Swift Hunter, which had been hanging around since Marineford. Fox also retreated to her ship after handing over Ace' effects to Shanks, but rather than join Ace is the bedroom where he was thinking –fine, moping– she raided the wardrobe and locked herself inside the dojo for hours. Ace kept his distance, both physically and mentally: now she was no longer absorbed in healing him and making sure he was healthy the deaths she had caused at Marineford had come home to her and she was mourning them.

Fox was the only person Ace knew who mourned for the enemies she'd killed as much as the allies she'd lost. She held private memorials for her victims and did special or unusual things at them, to lay them to rest. She claimed it was so they didn't stay with her, which was a deeply creepy idea he could have gone without learning. Ace suspected Marineford was harder because she'd known some of the people she'd killed personally. He knew her work involved frequent trips to Marine Headquarters and she'd been tolerated there by most, if liked by only a few. Ironically, Garp was one of the few who didn't hold her parentage against her; Ace was a little bit sorry he couldn't tell Gramps he wasn't dead.

Ace had only witnessed one memorial, almost a year ago: Fox had bought a bottle of very expensive sake and spent the evening singing songs, telling stories and naming every single one of the dead in turn. Each person she'd killed had gotten a cup of sake that she'd sipped before tipping it onto the memorial bonfire, followed by a story or a song. It had gone on for half the night and by the end she'd been tipsy but utterly at peace. Ace had carried her back to the Moby Dick afterwards slung over his shoulder and she'd slept like the dead and been hung-over but cheerful the next morning. It astounded Ace that Fox always knew exactly who she'd killed, but chalked it up to her Devil Fruit. If that was part of her Ability he could understand why she'd make a point of honouring all of them.

From talking to Fox and unintentionally wandering across her thoughts in the evenings before bed he knew that the better she knew the people she'd killed, the more significant her offerings were. It also had something to do with how she'd killed them, but he was fuzzy on that part. He had picked up that her choice of offering this time made her feel deeply conflicted. She also wanted to do something for Pops, as a goodbye present, and her tangled feelings of pain, distaste, determination and exhilaration had made him feel so queasy he'd had to distance himself as strongly as possible. Those emotions did not belong together. Neither did he feel happy about accidentally eavesdropping on her memories of the people who he had last seen falling off the execution stand in more pieces than could ever be put back together. He didn't want to know that guy had a girlfriend, or that other guy could be bribed into letting her raid the archive of confiscated goods if she brought him fresh sushi and pouted winsomely.

His connection to Fox was stretching his mind in all kinds of ways, but the one that hurt the most was how her way of seeing everyone as people first and Marines, pirates or whatever second was wearing down his innate fury and violent temper and making him see that people were just all people. Some were stupid, some were thoughtlessly cruel and some were genuinely evil, but most were just trying to make the best of things and a scant few threw themselves into making the world a better place in the best way they could find. Some of these last were pirates and some were Marines. They were all good people though and Fox felt terrible about having deprived some of those precious few of a chance to go on living.

Ace had woken in the middle of the night a few days previously to soothe Fox as she cried bitterly over a Vice-Admiral she'd decapitated who had a wife and two kids back in South Blue and had always done his best for the people in his care. Ace had hated that dream; the Vice-Admiral had been a genuinely good man and Fox had killed that same man to protect Ace. He felt sick and guilty and horribly conflicted about the whole thing and not knowing who he was anymore made it all worse.

When the actual funeral came around Ace had properly fitting clothing shoved at him by Fox, who then promptly vanished again. He had finally stopped growing, but considering he was eight foot two and rather more solidly built than previously none of his old clothes fitted. None of the clothes he'd worn even five days ago fitted either; Fox had been adjusting his shirts or making new pairs of trousers sometimes twice or three times a week. Once dressed he had been dragged out of the cabin by the newly-arrived Tempest, who had taken him down onto the beach where nine other mermaids were waiting; actually seven mermaids and two fishmen, he realised, taking a second look. The youngest mermaid was being carried by one of the fishmen and looked about nine or so; three appeared teenage or possibly in their twenties. The remaining three all had split tails and looked mature, if not exactly old.

"My brother, sisters, nieces and nephew," Tempest said gravely. "We are gathered here for the funeral of our father, who acknowledged us before his death that we might carry his name into the new age. We are also gathered to welcome our newest brother and uncle by blood, who has died to his former father and taken ours as his own in flesh and blood. Who welcomes him?"

"I, Edward Miranda, welcome him," said one of the older mermaids instantly.

"I, Edward Medea, welcome him," another of the older ones agreed.

"I, Edward Sycora, welcome him," the third of the mature mermaids added.

"I, Edward Cori, welcome him," the older fishman echoed.

"I, Edward Mermera, welcome him," agreed the oldest-looking of the younger mermaids, clueing Ace in that they were responding in age order.

"I, Edward Fera, welcome him," another of the younger mermaids recited, watching him inquisitively.

"I, Edward Kani, welcome him," the younger fishman juggling the squirming younger mermaid said.

"I, Edward Iris, welcome him," the youngest of the teenagers agreed.

"And I, Edward Symphia, welcome him also!" the youngest mermaid chirped brightly.

"Then as eldest I, Edward Tempest, do declare Edward D. Spadille part of our family, our blood, brother and uncle to those present who will bear the news to those who had to stay behind," Tempest said firmly. "He bears the name our father bestowed upon us, the D that is his birthright through his mother and the name Spadille in recognition of his past."

Ace blinked back tears as the younger fishman –Kani– carried the smallest mermaid –Symphia– forward and lifted her up so she could tip the shell full of sea water she was holding over his head. "Weclome to the family, big brother!" she said happily, dropping the shell to launch herself at him. Ace –Spadille, he had a new name now– caught the slippery armful and managed not to drop her as she hauled herself up his shirt to kiss him on the cheek.

"Fia, be careful," the mermaid he thought was called Sycora said reprovingly.

"Big brother won't drop me!" the little blonde insisted, tugging on his hair as she twisted in his grip.

"Perhaps not on purpose," the older mermaid agreed, "but you are a slippery armful even for those who are used to you."

It suddenly hit Ace that he had a whole lot more family including at least one little sister. He had a little sister. Having a little brother had been challenging enough!

"Fia-chan, I think Spadille-kun needs to sit down," Tempest said gently, gripping his elbow and lowering him onto a nearby boulder.

"Is big brother okay?" Ace blinked at the transparent concern in the round yellow eyes suddenly inches from his own. They were so like yet so unlike his Pops' had been that his breath caught in his throat.

"I, I think I will be, Fia-chan," he said faintly, not daring to look away.

"Do you miss Whitebeard-papa?" she asked innocently.

Ace' throat dried up. "Yeah," he agreed. "I really, really miss him." Pops would have been over the moon at having so many pretty daughters to spoil.

"Would he have liked me?"

Ace smiled even as a tear escaped and trickled down his cheek. "He would have loved you, Fia-chan."

Ace wasn't terribly coherent when Tempest handed him back over to Izo for the funeral itself, but managed to keep himself together despite the fact it was also his funeral. He wasn't Portgas D. Ace anymore, he was Edward D. Spadille; he'd have to get used to the name. Tempest had named him 'Spadille', which had to be a joke and an acknowledgement: Ace of Spades, the Death card. He had died, but it hadn't stuck. That suddenly struck him as being hilarious and he had to clamp a hand over his mouth and close his eyes tightly to stop his hysteria from escaping. A few deep breaths later he was calm again, but it still felt incredibly strange to see his hat, beads and knife on the gravestone next to Pops', which had his bisento, flag and coat decorating it.

He suddenly decided he wouldn't get Pops' mark on his back again. He had Pops' name and that was enough. It wouldn't be right to mark himself as a Whitebeard Pirate when the Whitebeard Pirates didn't really exist anymore. Maybe they would be the Phoenix Pirates; once they'd finished mourning and decided what to do, anyway.

He still wasn't sure what he was going to do, but for now he would stay with Fox and find that deserted island she'd promised him so he could work out what was wrong with his Devil Fruit.

It hit him then, staring at the flag flying over the grave, that Pops really was dead and wasn't ever going to come back. He didn't even try to stop the tears.

Fox didn't join the funeral; she couldn't. Just could not do it. Her memorial was going to be difficult enough without having an audience of thousands. So while everyone else was away she unloaded all of her things and Ace' things onto Swift Hunter so that they could stay behind when Shanks left and collected the things she needed for the three offerings she had decided upon.

One for the Marines she had killed, one for Whitebeard…

… and one for Portgas D. Ace. Luffy's brother might still be among the living, but the Pirate King's son was not. She wasn't sure how much of Rouge's son survived, either. Ace had never been the normal kind of D and his despondency worried her.

Landing on the far side of the island from the rest of the fleet of Whitebeard's sons and allies, Fox found an isolated stretch of beach and set about her preparations. For her dead, these dead to whom she owed far more than any save her first dead, she would dance.

Putting on the tiny top, shorts and silk streamers that ran from collar to wristband and waistband to ankle cuff, all in dark turquoise, followed by the heavy jewellery that mimicked the weight of the shackles she had once worn and that the dance routine could not be completed without, Fox wondered again why she'd ever accepted, bought or stolen these outfits in the first place. It wasn't like she'd ever worn any of them before now except that once on Whitebeard's birthday when she had been nineteen and he seventy. She hadn't even so much as removed this particular one from the wardrobe before today.

Shifting so as to get accustomed to the unpleasantly familiar weight around her neck, wrists and ankles, Fox paced across the sand, smoothing it under her toes and testing the surface. Damp but firm; good. Closing her eyes, she let the memory of a lone drum beat carry her away as her body moved in ways that would never be forgotten.

A dance for sorrow, for betrayal, for loss and for difficult choices. For the men she'd killed and those they'd left behind. For making a choice she did not regret, though she mourned those who had died as a result of it. An apology and a plea for acceptance.

Tears ran down her cheeks unchecked though her movements remained precise and her rhythm perfect. So much had been lost, but the world would not stop for it. Life would go on whether she wanted it to or not. Better to recognise it, accept it and let it slowly ease her pain than to cling to her hurts and die of them, but letting go was the hardest part.

She danced for a very long time, until the sun sank towards the horizon and her body ached from the unaccustomed movements. Then she washed, ate, changed and headed up the hill to the gravesite: the Whitebeard Pirates and allies had moved down to the beaches by their ships to drink and remember the Yonko who had led them for so long. There wouldn't be anyone to see her dance for Edward Newgate in the dying light of the evening.

Goodbyes are always difficult and funerals hurt.