Ace was sleeping soundly in his soft, new, comfy bed. Admittedly, it had already been a month since he's agreed to be a Whitebeard pirate, but he still couldn't get over the cushiness of his new sleeping quarters. Perhaps it was because he'd spent the last year refusing any sort of hospitality from the Yonko. Granted, he'd slept on hardwood floors as as a child, but he and his brothers had always shared a futon. Now that he had a proper (as well as comfortable) resting place, the crew found it nearly impossible to shake him out of bed. The one exception being Thatch, the rest of his new Nakama would get a fiery punch in the face if they woke him up before noon. As was such, his days weren't very productive. However, today he had to wake up early. So, the crew sent up Thatch to wake the birthday boy.

Now, Thatch was a bit nervous to be waking up the 'Fire Fist'. The crew had been celebrating at midnight for the New Year, and not only was the other commander exhausted, but he was also hungover, which made for a rather nasty combination. Thatch shifted his package to his left hand to quietly knock with his right on the door to Ace's room. When no one responded, he quietly turned the knob and entered. Thatch cringed at the sight before him. To Thatch, a naturally organized person, Ace's dumpster site of a room was a nuisance to enter, and ever a thing for Thatch to pester him about. Honestly, the boy's excuse of it being 'comforting, like back home' made Thatch wonder if the fire-user actually used to live in a dump. As Thatch picked his way through dirty underwear and busted weapons, the item he held in his hand wobbled as he tiptoed through the mess. He steadied himself, and finally made his way to Ace's headrest. The boy was drooling all over his pillow, and Thatch made a mental note to tease him about it later. As he looked over the fire-user's peaceful face, he began positioning himself for the first shot in what was to be a long fight. He held his package over Ace's face, and just as the boy breathed in, the pie went slamming down onto his face. The commander awoke with a start, and the pie dropped off his face, leaving a trail of cream and cherries. Thatch held his stomach in laughter, and would have started rolling around on the floor in hysteria if not for the fact that the floor was filthy and probably infested with a family of cockroaches. Ace snarled at the bread-haired man, and jumped out of bed.
"You think it's funny?!" He half slurred, pointing a finger at the still-hysterical Thatch. "I'll kill you!" He yelled as he prepared himself to pounce. Thatch, sensing the attack, figured he'd done his job, and raced out the door. Ace snarled and raced after him. The two's footsteps pounded through the hallways, and eventually reached the stairway to the main deck. Thatch raced up the stairs, and the rest of the crew prepared for the signal. When Ace finally reached the main deck, he looked around him to see his new Nakama holding cherry pies in each hand, ready to throw. Even Whitebeard himself was armed and ready to attack. Ace looked around him, stunned. The only thing he remembered was Whitebeard mock-saluting him before the insanity began.
"Sorry bout' this, brat," the great man said as he whipped his hand into a thumbs up. As their father gave them the signal, all hell broke loose on the Moby Dick.

Tens upon hundreds of pastries hit Ace all at once, some incinerated by his flame of rage, but most hitting various, un-ignited parts of his body. He was being bombarded, and he couldn't do anything about it. As sticky pie remnants hit the deck, Ace couldn't help it feel sorry for the poor fellow who was going to have to clean it all up. He scraped a bit off the deck to throw back at his attackers, but it did little good, as Whitebeard just deflected it back at him. He couldn't set himself completely on fire because he risked sending the ship up in flames, so all he could do was stand getting hit, and pray that his crew would suddenly be struck with a curse of terrible aim.

Hours after he'd cleaned himself off, he was summoned to Whitebeard's main office. He swung open the door, and strode in.

"Yes?" he asked, leaning on the chair in front of Whitebeard's desk.

"Watch your manners, boy," Whitebeard snapped, reaching over and giving Ace a conk on the head. "Sit down, fool." Ace obliged, and pulled put the chair to sit down. He couldn't help but wonder what this was all about.

"Now look here, son," Whitebeard started, pointing his finger at Ace, "why didn't you tell us it was your birthday?" The still slightly hungover Ace frowned, and tilted his head. It was his birthday? Oh yeah! New Year's Eve.

"Right, right," he muttered to himself, holding his head up with one hand.

"We had to find out from the Marines!" Whitebeard exclaimed, "Marco had to destroy a poor old captain's base for that little gem of information." Ace looked at him, his eyes drooping.

"You didn't have to go through all that trouble, Newgate," he drawled, slumping forward in his seat.

"I told you to call me 'Old Man' you lazy ass," Whitebeard retorted, "and as for trouble, it would have been way less if you'd just told us!"

"Would you not have thrown pies at me?"

"We'd have prepared even more. Ship tradition, first birthdays are pie days."

"Second birthdays?"

"You'll have to wait and see," Whitebeard said with a wink. "But why didn't you tell us?"

"It wasn't important," Ace said his eyes now drifting.

"Of course it's important, idiot!" Whitebeard boomed, "Now, I don't know how you used to run things on your old ship, but here, we're all family. We stand by each other, and celebrate accomplishments together."

"What's so great about living another year? Just more time for people to realize I'm not needed in this world." Ace hesitated a bit, sharing his biggest insecurity with his new captain was daunting, and he was afraid how he'd react.

"Your crew needs you," Whitebeard said, his eyes sad and his heart large for this son of his who'd never known parental love. "Your father needs you."

"Roger is a despicable, impulsive, dead fool" Ace spat, his eyes cold.

"Roger is not your father, I am," Whitebeard said, touching the desk with one finger. "You are my son. You are all my sons and daughters. We're family, Ace. You'll accept that with time, but right now, you need to know we all support you."

Ace's mouth trembled, and he looked down. Whitebear saw tears fall from his face onto his hands, but he decided not to say anything about it.

"Thank you..." whispered Ace, his words strained and quiet. Whitebeard placed a hand on the boy's head, and they sat there, taking comfort in just each other's presence.

A.N: As requested by frappyrouge123, a follow up to yesterday's post. I think if I'm asked to do follow ups, I will, because I enjoy placing characters in different situations, but I can only write if I have time. Reviews, Subscriptions, and Favourites are much appreciated. Thank you for you time, and see you tomorrow for Iceburg and Aisa!