Hi everyone!
I hope everyone is doing well from your part of the world :) Thank you for all those who have left your lovely comments. I always appreciate the time you took to send me your kind words.
Here's the next chapter!Do leave a review if you can, okay! :)
Chapter VII: The Looking Glass
"I'm screwed, aren't I?"
Cerulean eyes flicked towards him, cool and composed, as they always seemed to be. Marco must have caught the genuine hints of worry in his own eyes as his lips curled into a soothing smile. There was something about the way the older man regarded him that sent a gentle twist through Ace's insides – a faint ache that urged him to reach out, to touch Marco's hand or arm, anything to dispel that feeling of discomfort within. Yet, another part – a larger part – longed for escape, to close his eyes and just not exist for a moment.
Maybe that would help him forget how, just hours ago, this same man had crushed another man's jaw so easily. How these same blue eyes were shadowed with an unspeakable rage that made the teen want to wither where he lay still on the infirmary bed.
It wasn't fair, Ace knew. Marco had shown him kindness, yet the juxtaposition of that warmth and his lethal potential left him feeling unsettled.
"You'll be fine, yoi," Marco replied smoothly. His touch was gentle as he pressed the palm of his hand against the younger pirate's forehead, a likely futile attempt to gauge Ace's baseline temperature.
None of the thermometers on board had worked, much to the head doctor's earlier dismay. Ace still vividly remembered the rare look of frustration that had crossed Marco's usually impassive features, as if his inability to measure the teen's gradually rising temperature was a personal failing.
How strange it was to see that side of him. It stirred a nagging curiosity in Ace about just how much he didn't know yet about Marco – and the rest of the crew. The thought was sobering. It served as a reminder that he had yet to truly grasp their true strength. If he had any inkling at all.
Ace sucked in a deep breath that left him feeling more drained. He nudged Marco's hand away from his forehead tiredly. "Just leave it," he muttered, his voice barely above a rough whisper. "If it worries you so much, just put me back in the seastone cuffs and see if my temp drops." He felt his eyes droop.
The sharp grip on his shoulder startled him, and he blinked up at Marco, who frowned at him.
"You need to keep yourself awake, Ace," the man chided gently, his brow furrowing. "We don't know yet what's causing your ill symptoms, or if it has something to do with that device that pirate used on you. We're still figuring it out, and we need your help to do that."
Ace felt the urge to lash out, to tell the pirate where he could shove his concerns. But even in his fevered haze, he knew he didn't have the heart to do it. The Whitebeards – and Marco, in particular – had taken his humiliating defeat as a personal affront. He had overheard the whispers of the medical team while he drifted between the waking world and unconsciousness, how he had passed out like a princess in the man's arms. How the Whitebeards had moved him to another infirmary to shield him from the wreckage of the previous room.
An unnecessary attempt to preserve his mental wellbeing, yes. And suggested how poorly they perceived of his strength.
(It felt nice, though, to be regarded with such concern, even if it made Ace feel rather pathetic.)
Marco himself had worked tirelessly to rouse him, becoming increasingly frustrated when he couldn't identify what went wrong as he agonised over it with Thatch and Izo.
It made sense now why someone as skilled as Marco would feel inadequate by some perceived failing of his.
Ace shifted to sit upright. He closed his eyes against a wave of nausea at the movement, forcefully tamping down the desire to throw up and lose the remnants of what little dignity he had left. He let out a sigh when the feeling subsided, only to look up to catch Marco watching him with an unreadable intensity.
He bit his lip, a flutter of worry gnawing at him. He couldn't understand the scrutiny. The teen would forever deny it if asked, but he preferred when Marco was friendly to him. He wasn't sure what troubled the man, but the resulting uncertainty pricked at him, a growing discomfort at possibly witnessing that familiar fury flicker back into his eyes.
"I think it's safe to say that thing – whatever it was – has something to do with…this," Ace said while gesturing vaguely to himself. It was hard to voice the next truth, though Marco had likely already pieced it together: "I can't use my fire. And you took off the cuffs a while ago."
"We'll figure it out, yoi," Marco assured him. "How about some soup Thatch made? It's important to get your strength up while you're awake."
Ace imagined that jumping overboard might be a more appealing option. His throat felt parched, and his insides twisted with a discomfort that made swallowing seem impossible. And yet – and perhaps partially due to his weakened state – he felt guilty for keeping the commander in the dark about his narcolepsy. He could see the concern etched on Marco's face, the unspoken worry of Ace possibly passing out again without warning.
Ace threw the blonde a grumpy look. It wouldn't do to give in to his fears now. "Fine. I will. Can you leave me alone then?"
Marco rolled his eyes, but the younger pirate was sure he looked pleased. "I'll be right here if you need me, yoi," he promised instead.
As the commander stepped away to fetch the meal, Ace felt his thoughts wander back to the recent skirmish. He struggled to piece together the timeline — he had been unconscious for about four hours, and this felt far from a typical narcoleptic episode. While he sometimes shifted from an attack to regular sleep, he shouldn't have had any issues with waking up after the first 30 minutes.
His train of thoughts broke when Marco returned with the promised tray of food. On it, Ace could see an enticing spread of colourful cut fruit alongside the soup. Ace shifted to help place the tray on the moveable table beside his bed.
"Guess you got what you wanted, after all, huh?" he said absent-mindedly. "Look at me being so obedient."
Marco froze for a heartbeat. A shadow passed over his brilliant blue eyes.
"Marco…" Ace ventured, sensing the weight of something important having occurred between them, but unable to pinpoint what it was.
A moment passed and the blonde blinked. Marco offered the teen a soft smile that seemed to lift the heaviness in the air. "I apologise. I got lost in thought. Drink up, yoi."
Ace let the matter slide, not wishing to pry. Everyone deserved their space, and knowing himself, he'd likely find a way to ruin Marco's mood if he persisted.
Unfortunately, that inevitability struck moments later when Ace threw up the few bites he had.
He grimaced as he braced for Marco's reaction. Part of him didn't want to, dread pooling in his stomach at the vague thought of being the subject of the commander's ire. "Oops?"
As he had thought, the older man's smile was gone.
It took Ace a while to figure out that there was still something wrong.
The Whitebeards flitted in and out of the infirmary – Marco, most of all, being the head doctor. Each time, they always put up an air of cheer and put up with the young Captain's practised scowls and snide comments.
When it finally hit him, Ace just allowed himself to slump into the bedsheets as he worked his way through resigned acceptance.
That was okay, he told himself. He had always known he was on borrowed time, and he hadn't felt terribly attached to his life as of late, anyway. It made sense that his life was to be cut short because good things only came to those who deserved them, right? This was fate righting itself for the good of the world – a world where his living brother still remained.
It was apparent in how the Whitebeards were incredibly gentle with him despite his pitiable state. His fever didn't break, and he could barely keep anything down. Just taking a shower made him want to buckle to his knees in fatigue. And all this because he couldn't defeat a common pirate, and yet had big dreams to take down a Yonko.
They probably felt obliged to care for him till he kicked the bucket. Or worse, they felt pity for him.
Ace decided to be brave the next time Marco came to visit him. It wouldn't do to spend his last days feeling sorry for himself too.
To his surprise, it wasn't the blonde commander who walked into the infirmary, but Whitebeard himself. He watched with wide eyes as the much bigger man carefully manoeuvred himself around the room to avoid breaking the walls in accident.
"How are you, my boy?" The Yonko asked once he had settled down at the foot of the fire-user's bed.
"Trying to make sense of why your own ship can't better accommodate your size," Ace said, somewhat distracted as he wondered what this visit meant. "And I'm not your boy."
Whitebeard spared him a look of amusement, before he turned sombre. "I need to tell you something, Ace. It will be hard to hear, but you have the right to understand and decide for yourself."
Guess he didn't have to worry about bringing it up. "I'm dying, aren't I?"
The Yonko drew back in surprise. "Who told you that?"
"Isn't that what you're here to tell me?" The younger Captain didn't wait for an answer, impatient to get the conversation over with. "I see how your children look at me when they come over."
Whitebeard blinked, his golden eyes looking somewhat confused yet curious. "How do my children look at you?"
"I don't know." Ace shrugged. "They're just weirdly nice to me. Most people are nice to people who are dying, right?"
"Yes, most people are," Whitebeard acknowledged slowly. "I'm happy to announce that you are not, in fact, dying, Ace."
"I'm not?"
"Does it feel like you are?"
"I'm not getting any better. I feel worse every hour that passes. And I can't feel my fire at all." Ace shifted in discomfort at the admission, not quite sure why he mentioned it at all.
The older pirate nodded, but the teen had the faintest feeling the former was only humouring him. "I can see how you reached that conclusion, Ace, but I'm happy to share that you're not dying." Despite the alleged good news, the Yonko continued to gaze at him solemnly. "Two days ago, an enemy pirate crew attacked our ship and used a Fruit Extractor on you. I believe you understand by now that it is meant to extract your Devil Fruit power into the device, where it can be stored and used by other non-Devil Fruit users."
He paused and waited until Ace nodded for him to continue, as if worried that the younger man needed more time to absorb the information. "Your fire should have returned to you as the Fruit Extractor would need to restore its…supplies in time. My commanders and I have tried our best to understand why your fire hasn't returned to you, and if it has contributed to your sickness now. We believe that something went wrong when the extraction process was forcibly stopped, and that the initial seastone cuffs you were already wearing might have further affected the process. There is a possibility that we can reverse the harm. We will need to use the Fruit Extractor on you again to restore your Devil Fruit power to its rightful place. From there, Marco and his team are hopeful that your recovery will come more easily as well."
Ace felt a feeling of dread seep into his bones. He had an inkling of where the other man was going. "And if I don't go through with it?"
The Yonko's features turned regretful. "These powers are also often strongly tied with our wellbeing, which is why we feel so weak when in contact with seastone. We have reason to believe that you may never recover your Devil Fruit power and, in turn, your full health as well."
"Right. But I won't be dying," Ace said in slight confusion. "So, what's the issue? Is the Fruit Extractor gone?"
"We have the Fruit Extractor in our custody," Whitebeard clarified. "But we understand it was very painful for you to go through it the first time, Ace. We cannot promise it will be without pain."
Oh. Alright. Ace tilted his head. This wasn't what he had envisioned, but it worked for him. "Okay…? Then what's the problem?"
There was a brief pause. Something unreadable crossed the older man's features, but he only smiled thoughtfully at the fire-user. "I take it you are agreeable to give this a try."
Ace shrugged. A thought then occurred to him, and he bristled. "I'm not a coward!"
Whitebeard's resulting laughter made him grit his teeth in annoyance. He would have thrown something at the other man, had he not felt tired enough to sleep for the next decade.
Marco and his team were incredibly proficient, their years on the seas apparent in how they arranged for the reverse extraction with Ace's wellbeing in mind. It was comforting to be regarded with such concern. At the same time, their kindness grated on him. He was undeserving and they didn't mean it the way he wanted them to.
It was already alarming how he could no longer summon genuine ire at their attempts to endear themselves to him. Perhaps, it would not be a terrible fate if he didn't survive today, would it?
For all his bravado, the teen was a bundle of nerves as the Fruit Extraction device was carried into the infirmary. Only some of the commanders were present, with their Captain and father sitting cross-legged beside the entrance.
Part of Ace instinctively tensed at their presence, not understanding the need for such firepower, when his gaze was drawn to the shackled pirate – Ugly – that was just shoved into the room. Unlike the day of the attack, Ugly looked pitiful. His jaw was a right mess, swollen and twisted– it was unlikely that he had received the same medical care that the fire-user had.
"Don't worry about him," Haruta said when he caught Ace's frown. "He's here in case we need further clarification regarding the extraction device."
Ace considered the commander's words with scepticism. No amount of effort could help Ugly speak with his broken jaw. He doubts cleared when he saw the notebook and pencil held tightly in Ugly's hands.
Marco entered his line of vision, effectively cutting off the younger pirate's train of thought. "Are you ready, yoi?"
Ace drew in a deep breath and nodded. Pain was just pain. Nothing hurt more than being lonely. With that logic, this would be a breeze to someone like him.
Like the first time, Ace was made to lie down, but comfortably. Marco stood steadily at his side as his team guided the device closer. He felt a warm squeeze on his shoulder, and his gaze darted up to see the blonde commander sparing him a strained smile that was meant to be assuring.
His thoughts faded when, just as before, an overwhelming wave of pain slammed into him. This time, instead of a sense of hollowness dragging his insides into a vacuum, he felt a surge of blinding white flames lighting his veins ablaze. He could feel his muscles seizing up, could feel his lips part to let out an agonised scream.
Oh. It hurt so much. Why did it hurt so much?
He could hear voices from around him, but it was difficult to make out what they were above the roaring in his ears. Panic rose in his throat as he felt his body grow hotter with every passing second. He was blistering and melting from the inside, wasn't he? Why was he not unconscious?
His heels dug into the bedsheets only to drag back down. A scream rose in his throat again, only to die off when he realised he couldn't get a breath in. He choked on a moan as his eyes rolled back into their sockets, writhing as he helplessly tried to get away from the flames that burned him from the inside.
Just as the next wave of pain threatened to wipe all sense of sanity from his mind, Ace felt the phantom touch of something blissfully cool settling at the core of his chest. He gasped, a ragged breath of gratitude for this small mercy. Clinging to what scant coherence remained, he focused on that soothing touch, desperate for some form of respite.
Then, just as the lack of oxygen nearly pushed him towards unconsciousness, the pain relented, leaving him wide-eyed and gasping for breath.
Hours or mere seconds could have slipped by, but it was utterly inconsequential to the dazed teen. It was only when he noticed that the smooth, cool sensation hadn't faded that he stirred from his state of catatonia.
He blinked wearily as he took in the blue flames across his chest. Oh. Part of him jolted in panic. His mind couldn't help but recall how those same hands had been violent and aggressive. They weren't safe, were they? His hands, which had unwittingly migrated to keep the wings there, jerked away.
"Are you alright, yoi?" Marco's voice interrupted his jumbled thoughts.
"W-wha?"
"Deep breaths, yoi," he instructed softly. "Take a deep breath. You're fine now. You're okay."
"Y-yeah?" Ace managed, his voice breathy. He blinked a few times, then breathed in deeply to reorient himself to the present. Right. His grey eyes slid to his hand, and, with quiet resolve, familiar orange flames flickered to life at the tip of his fingers. The familiar warmth draped over him like a blanket on a cold day, soothing and comforting as it gently quelled the earlier searing blaze.
A warm chuckle had Ace returning his attention back to the blonde commander. His hands were no longer transformed into blue flames and were now carefully tucked away in his pockets.
"You did very well, Ace. You should be proud."
"Yeah? Okay." Ace nodded at him in thanks. Great. "I'm going to pass out now."
Ace didn't think his predicament could get worse. He was wrong.
Getting a panic attack on deck was bad enough, but nothing could prepare him for the aftermath of his recent recovery.
Was he supposed to continue attacking Whitebeard? Pretend to be friends with the Whitebeard pirates? What if they thought he meant to join them instead?
Another part of him also wondered how they would respond if he continued being cold to them. He owed them now. It would be understandable if they turned against him the way they did Ugly and his crew.
More than a day has passed since his Devil Fruit power had returned to him. He still didn't know what to do. There wasn't enough rage or bitterness left in him to fuel his antagonism towards the Whitebeards anymore. If he were honest with himself, he'd even admit that he didn't want to fight them anymore.
He was beginning to think he never truly wanted to in the first place.
That could only mean his next choice was clear. He should leave when his three months were up. Return to his crew, disband them or continue with them. Whatever his decision was, he had no place with the Whitebeards.
His gut ached with a pang of discomfort as his thoughts circled back to the Yonko crew. He'd known from the start how dangerous they were. How they'd tried to appeal to him through their acts of kindness and warm smiles. He'd known none of it were real and was confident he wouldn't fall for it.
Why, then, did his heart sink at the thought of leaving now? He didn't need them to survive. But he felt…different when they laboured over his care. As if he were a worthy recipient of comfort and concern.
The rumours were right. The Whitebeards weren't bad people. But joining them was impossible. They were only good to him because they felt obliged to after he was attacked on their ship.
It was unlike anything he experienced before. Sabo had tried, he thought, to care for him in that way. But Ace was a lot more self-centred as a child. He only caught it when his brother was taken from him.
Ace had everything to lose – especially now that he had stupidly allowed himself to get attached.
His lips curved into a bland smile.
(It hurt, being alive.)
"Why did you join the Whitebeards?"
Thatch perked up at the question. He seemed to consider teasing the fire-user for his question but thought the better of it. "That's a long story, kid," he answered. "I came from a long line of bakers in the North Blue. Decided for a long time that I wanted to see the world, especially after my village was wiped out by some bandits and I didn't know what else to do." He shot the teen an assuring look, as if worried for the younger pirate for his own suffering. "Met Oyaji along the way. I needed family – people to anchor myself to – and he gave it. He has a knack for knowing these things, somehow."
Ace turned his gaze to his food. Did that mean Whitebeard had seen something in him too?
"Don't think so hard on it," Thatch added. "We aren't offering you a crew. We are offering you companionship and safety for the rest of your life. So maybe you won't like everyone here, but we have over a thousand of us. There must be some you'd get along with."
Ace was many things, but he was not a coward. He lacked the grit needed to continue lying to himself. "Does he accept everyone?"
"No one knows how Oyaji can tell, but he has good judgement on who'd fit and who wouldn't."
"Right. So not everyone."
"Not everyone," the chef confirmed. "Just like we would never have considered the enemy pirate crew that gave you such a hard time."
"You mean to say that your crew won't accept anyone whose values are don't align with yours."
Thatch looked impressed. "You can say that."
Ace breathed in deeply. "Then, let me give you an extreme example. Hypothetically, you met the child of your sworn enemy, and he has all these values your family prides yourselves in. Would you consider him or her a place in your crew?"
The commander listened to him attentively. Ace didn't miss how his dark eyes had sharpened at the question, but the man only hummed as he mulled over his words with care.
"That's hardly extreme. I also don't see how his or her parentage would matter. We are all children of the sea."
Ace's hands curled into a fist on his lap. He struggled to swallow as his considered his next words. "An extreme one then," he heard himself say again. "What if it were the child of Gol D. Roger? Would you extend the same invitation for him?"
The teen watched the older man without any hint of expression on his own. He could pretend all he wanted that the chef's words would have no effect on him, but he knew the next words would forever imprint themselves in his mind, come what may.
Thatch himself must have already put the pieces together– not of Ace's parentage, but of the symbolic meaning this conversation would carry for the younger pirate. "We are all children of the sea," he finally said. "The circumstance behind our existence is out of our control, but each of us have the agency to make our own decisions. It is those decisions that make us who we are, and what we are worth. If Roger's kid came to us and is cool to be around, then I would be happy to welcome another sibling to the family." The faintest hints of a smirk pulled at his lips a moment later. "Bet Roger would roll in his grave if he knew, but the Pirate King wasn't that bad himself."
Ace bit the inside of his cheek as he struggled to maintain his composure. Despite his recent suspicions, he didn't think… This was…
"When I said it was an extreme example, I meant it," he said, somehow pushing his emotions to the side. "You know what the World Government would do if you harboured the Pirate King's child. They'd go after all of you to reach that person."
Thatch looked at him with more focused intent. "None of us are meant for this world forever, Ace. I'm more than happy to part ways with this life if my death kept my family alive."
"And if it meant the deaths of most of your siblings for the sake of one person?"
"We make our own choices," the chef repeated, as if it were the most obvious answer. "It would hurt, but it's also proof that we were loved in life and in death."
Thatch hummed under his breath as Ace fought to maintain his air of indifference. He put his head in his hands as tears shone in his eyes. He wanted to tell the chef that he was wrong. That no one was worth dying for someone so cursed and unworthy.
A tear slipped down his cheek just as the commander tenderly slid another bowl of soup toward him.
"Why did you join the Whitebeards?"
"Why did you join the Whitebeards?"
"Why do you see them as family?"
Why?
Why?
Why?
"Thank you for loving me."
Ace watched in silent horror at his brother's devastation, as he held onto the remains of his deceased brother and wailed his grief to the skies. Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes at the sight.
His heart lurched when Akainu didn't falter and went straight for the kill. To take not only his life but his dear little brother's as well. No no NO-
A familiar burst of blue flames shot forward to block the attack. It was Marco. It was another side to him again, this time his expression was a conflicted mix of grief and determined resolve.
Oh. He saved Ace's little brother. Why?
The battlefield changed.
Ace whipped around to see Whitebeard ordering his children to retreat. Why were they fighting?
"You may eradicate their bloodline, but their flame never dies."
Dread filled him.
"Forgive me, my sons."
It was because of him, wasn't it?
"Farewell, my sons."
Why? Why?
WHY?!
Ace woke up to wet eyelashes and a grief so profound he could hardly breathe.
Was the price to his fleeting happiness so steep?
It was hard to remember a time before the Whitebeards.
Maybe it seemed extreme, if he took the time to consider the very brief two months on the Moby Dick against his 17 years away from the crew. But as the days blurred into weeks into months – having met the minimum condition to turn the word into its pluralised form – Ace couldn't help the gnawing feeling of restlessness chip at his very bones. Nothing he did meant anything. And nothing he thought could soothe the chaos inside his mind.
It only hurt his head when he tried to remember himself pre-Whitebeard – to a time when he surely had greater ambition than going after a Yonko fruitlessly and aimlessly.
Maybe that Ace had never existed, he thought as he stared at the vast ocean before him. Up high on the crow's nest, it was easy to see himself in the little waves that crashed into the sides of the ship. A gradual rise in the waters, and then in a bold surge of energy, a rapid descent and crash into solid hardwood. The cycle would repeat itself, forever stuck in this meaningless loop, again and again and again.
Just like Ace.
We make our own choices.
The idea that he had ever had a choice was almost funny.
There was nothing but the waves and the heavy weight of his cursed existence.
Nothing but the bittersweet surge of confusion and dreams.
Nothing but the inevitable crash.
Ace wondered if anyone would hear him scream when he eventually stopped coming up for air.
It hurt to breathe these days.
It hurt to see the Whitebeards get along with each other. It made Ace wonder how it would look like if he were one of them. Would they accept him as he is? Or would they eventually be disappointed that Fire Fist Ace wasn't what he was made out to be?
It pained him to see the crew treating him with such careful consideration, as if a harsh word might send him crumbling to the ground. The awareness of their caution filled him with a deep sense of shame, a reminder of the vulnerability they must have glimpsed in him during those delirious moments of agony.
Whitebeard himself kept casting the teen thoughtful looks. It made something in the teen wither when he thought of his conversation with Thatch. What if they knew he was the dreaded Devil Child himself?
Being lonely is more painful than getting hurt!
Ace knew better now. The sting of being turned away by those he held dear cut deeper than the ache of solitude itself. It was a pain he never wanted his little brother to be intimately familiar with.
It was a pain that–
It was a pain that he never wanted to experience himself.
His thoughts shattered when a familiar pair of sandals came into view. Another bowl of steaming soup was gently nudged toward him, and for some inexplicable reason, this warm offering had become the go-to remedy for lifting his spirits.
Marco turned to walk away, probably believing that Ace wished to be alone. The younger pirate couldn't blame him. He had all but evaded anyone's attempts to reach out to him, fearful that a single kind word might unravel him and send him crumpling into a mess of emotions.
Ace was ready to let him go, yet his heart ached too fiercely to allow it. "Why do you call him your father?"
Marco's footsteps halted, and he turned to give Ace his full attention. "Because he calls us his sons." A bright smile broke across his typically stoic face. "It's just a word, but it makes us happy!"
He buried his face between his knees. He no longer doubted the truth of it. The Whitebeards regarded each other as family out of the simple joy it brought them. The same way Ace loved his brothers and needed them in his life to keep him happy.
But what did it mean for those outside their family? Would Ace be regarded as someone other once he leaves?
As an other who was undeserving?
...
Someone like Gol D. Ace.
(These days, it only hurts when he breathes.)
Can you believe it? A shorter chapter than usual! I was going to add another segment to it, but I figured that would blend in more nicely with the next chapter.
I have mixed feelings about this current one. I wanted to highlight the juxtaposition of the Whitebeard's strength and their responsiveness towards Ace himself, and how Ace struggles to make sense of a world where people would choose to be kind to him despite being strong. Ace grew up without any unconditionally committed parental figure, and it's really hard for him to get a good sense of what he needs and why.
Also, I heard many of you have requested for the POV of other characters, especially Marco's. I'm really digging this idea but let's see how it goes. Here's a very brief excerpt of what's in my head:
Marco felt a sharp pain in his chest when his ears registered the scream of torment from the direction of the infirmary. He sucked in a deep breath when he recognised that voice.
This shouldn't have happened, he thought as wild fury coursed through him. His sandaled feet shot him past his siblings and towards the corridors. A moment later and he burst into the infirmary, his arms already a blur of flaming motion.
All at once, his sharp eyes zeroed in on the two figures on the bed. Ace was lying flat on his back, his grey eyes wide in agony, and his head tilted higher as if making room for another scream that wouldn't come. His trembling body spasmed under the enemy pirate's bulk and–
The Phoenix inside him trilled in mounting anger as he registered what he was seeing.
How the enemy pirate's eyes gleamed in perverse pleasure as he leaned towards Ace. How his smile seemed to widen that little bit more when Ace's involuntary movements brought them closer together.
Marco felt no remorse when he grabbed at the pirate's head and slammed him through the opposite wall. Ace was not the Whitebeards' – at least, not yet – but he was a good kid. Impulsive and hot-headed, but kind. He didn't deserve such treatment, especially after the crew themselves promised to watch over his safety while he sailed with them.
They weren't brothers yet, but no Whitebeard enjoyed seeing a kid suffer.
"Ace, yoi," he said urgently as he darted towards the wide-eyed teen. "Are you alright?"
Ace shot him a dazed look, his stormy grey eyes clouded still with residual pain. "Marco…" he breathed, seeming disoriented.
"Ace, are you okay?" he asked again as he gently guided the kid to sit up. He kept track of the way the teenager tried to regulate his breathing into more even breaths- of the way he failed miserably.
"Y-yes?"
Marco's hands drifted to where the extraction device had been, careful in his touch, to ensure no traces were left behind. His insides clenched when, for the first time, Ace shuddered away from him. As if he would ever have the heart to genuinely harm the kid for trying to find his way.
"I'm fine," Ace went on to the Phoenix's astonishment. "He just took me by surprise. Is–" The young Captain's words ceased when his gaze settled on Hoshi across the room from them, his shoulders slumping in released tension.
Marco spared a moment of impressed amazement at the kid's capacity to care, at his natural talent for being a Captain. The next, and he stepped away towards the enemy pirate Jozu had brought back for judgement.
"How dare you, yoi," he said, his voice quiet and cold.
The unnamed pirate's eyes widened in terror. It was a stark contrast from the way he had towered over Ace's vulnerable form. Marco inwardly sneered at the pathetic display. He had immense dislike for those who were brave only when they had power in their hands.
"He's not one of yours," the pirate pleaded as he struggled against his captors. "I didn't do anything to you!"
Marco's hand snapped forward to grab at his face, hard. He thought of handing him over to Oyaji, but he found he wanted to carry out the punishment himself more. "Yes, he is, and yes, you did." He relished the feeling of the pirate's jaw being crushed underneath his grip and the sound of his agonised scream.
He would have appreciated it more but a soft gasp had him turning towards Ace in concern.
"Ace?"
The teen in question had paled and already his form was sliding off the bed, only to collapse in Marco's arms when he reached him.
"Ace! Focus on me, kid. Look at me, yoi," Marco urged. He watched in dismay as the younger pirate's chin dipped to his chest. The last thing he caught was the faint distress in those grey orbs as they fluttered close.
Damn it. What had they done?
That's all for now!
Please leave a review or comments if you have the time. I'm also open to any suggestions if you have any :) Till next time!