Thatch's Instincts

Marco the Phoenix, commander of the first division of the Whitebeard Pirates and also the first mate of Edward Newgate, also known as the Yonko Whitebeard, had to admit that the stubbornness of Portgas D. Ace and his Spade Pirates was something to take into account. The pirates who had fled followed the Moby Dick at a decent distance... one had to admire that pair of guts carried by the rookies, and, on the other hand, Ace was more stubborn than a mule. The boy kept trying to kill Pop, refusing to acknowledge him as his father. Marco found it amusing, his husband Thatch not so much. Marco was an Alpha Daddy, an Alpha cursed to never have what his own biology craved. And Thatch wasn't any better; Thatch was an Omega Mother, his counterpart in the world. But just like Pop, neither of them would ever have what their own biology craved.

"Oh come on, the boy is practically begging for it," Marco smiled, enjoying himself as he hugged Thatch from behind and kissed his neck, looking over Thatch's shoulder at what he was doing. The commander of the 4th division of the Whitebeard Pirates and head chef shook Marco off before giving him a deadly look and continued cooking. "For the rookie?" he asked, looking at the dishes his partner was preparing.

"They're his favorites," Thatch assured.

"Oh come on, Thatch, Ace isn't the first one to resist, but it's for his own good. For the kid, it's better to go crazy under Dad's flag, otherwise, the New World will eat him alive."

"I know, it's just... I feel so anxious every time I see him, I can't explain it," Thatch denied with a shake of his head.

"It's your instincts kicking in because Ace looks damn young. When he yelled that he was 18, I almost called him a liar; he looks like he's 14," Marco smiled. "But he's not a Little, no matter how young he looks, he's already a man," he wisely reminded him.

Thatch shook his head. It didn't make sense to explain what he himself didn't understand. He plated everything on a tray and went to find the newest member of the Whitebeard Pirates. He knocked on the door of the room where the little troublemaker slept, or rather, the storage space the kid had claimed to avoid sharing space with others. He knocked and entered without waiting for an invitation; the kid was awkwardly tearing the sheets from the corner where he slept and trying to hide them from Thatch.

"Get out!" the kid yelled. Thatch left the tray on the table without being bothered by the shouts and approached Ace. The kid tried to block his way, but that didn't work with Thatch, who noticed the sheets in the corner.

"Oh," he sighed, "I thought it was another one of your plans to kill Dad, and you had found some weapon lying around," he downplayed it, "come, sit down to eat, it's your favorite meal," he patiently pushed him towards the small table. He heard the kid audibly gulp at the sight of the food... Ace was a glutton.

"Ace... where's the wet clothing? I'll take it to wash with the sheets," he said gently, not wanting to embarrass him. It was good that Thatch had discovered it; the others could be a bit heavy-handed from time to time.

"No need, I'll do it," the kid protested.

"Sit down and eat; I'll take care of it," Thatch ordered calmly, leaning down to pick up the sheets and wrap them up.

"I don't want the others to know" Ace said uncomfortably, not knowing where to look.

"No one will know" Thatch promised, nodding "Ace" he suddenly looked at him "Does this... happen often?" Marco was the ship's chief medical officer; if Ace had any issues besides his narcolepsy, which they had already discovered, it was better for the medical team to know to take care of Ace.

"No!" Ace denied forcefully "I'm not a child" he protested, and Thatch could see the freckled boy's eyes welling up "sometimes, I just get too stressed, and I forget to go to the bathroom before bed" he whispered.

"It's okay" Thatch reassured him maternally, approaching him, stroking his hair "eat" he said, relishing how the young one almost drank in the attention Thatch was giving him. His damn instincts were kicking in like they never had for Thatch when it came to Ace. "Accidents happen even to big kids" he assured before restraining himself "I'll remind you to go to the bathroom before bed, okay?" he asked gently "now, go ahead, eat; that way, you can sleep better".

"Why are you treating me well? I'm not joining you guys" Ace asserted with cheeks already filled with food "I'll be the strongest man on the seas" he promised.

Thatch smiled patiently, touched by Ace's dreams.

"Well, strong kids have to eat, Ace" he cajoled before realizing it. Damn, Marco was right... his damn instincts were just going along with the beta's apparent youth in front of him.

-o-o-o-

This was probably the 100th time Ace tried to kill Pop, before falling into the water Thatch intercepted him, catching him mid-air.

"Gotcha, hothead" he smiled, putting him back on his feet. Ace looked at him with those big sheepish eyes on his freckled face. If it had been anyone else (usually, Namur was the one who brought him back every time he fell into the sea), Ace would have resisted, but this was Thatch, the person who had been the most patient and kind to him since... he could remember. The boy looked at Thatch, bit his lip, sniffed, and before anyone, even Ace himself, knew what was happening, the raven-haired teen was crying in Thatch's arms. "Ace!" Thatch startled, feeling his heart squeeze, surrounding the teenager with his arms and lifting him easily "Are you hurt?" he asked anxiously, glaring at everyone around for making the brat cry, including his husband, who had been watching amused, and Pop.

Ace couldn't answer, feeling aggrieved; he just cried louder. Marco hurried over, knowing he was in the doghouse tonight. Thatch was fiercely protective of Ace, in a way Marco had never seen him be with anyone before.

"Hey, calm down, hothead" Marco spoke to him, trying to approach. "Are you hurt?" he asked unsurely. Pop hadn't gone overboard with force; Marco was sure of that. It was nothing the rookie couldn't handle; he had until now.

"That just sounds like frustration crying" Pop stood up with a sigh, approaching his sons. "Ace" he called gently, but Ace buried his face in Thatch's chest, refusing to look at anyone. "Ace, it's okay, look at me."

"No!" Ace yelled in complete frustration.

"Don't be a baby, Ace" Haruta said, amused. Maybe he shouldn't have said that to the little hothead. Thatch barely managed to grab his tearful hothead before he tried to lunge at Haruta. In the struggle to prevent Ace from making the mistake of going after Haruta, the latch of the bracelet Ace always wore broke, and it fell to the floor. It was just a second, but too many things happened in that moment: a light blinded them all, a strong electric current touched everyone near Ace, forcing them to step back, while a strong scent of hibiscus and sea emanated from Portgas D. Ace.

Pop was the first to regain his vision, perhaps thanks to being taller than the rest, and when he did, he was dumbfounded. When Thatch could see again, he fell to his knees, fearful. In front of all of them was a miniature Portgas D. Ace, a child who shouldn't be more than four years old, a face red from crying, eyes filled with tears, freckles all over his little face, and a congested nose.

"Ace," Thatch called gently. The little one looked at him with big lamb-like eyes, reaching out with his hands. Thatch crawled toward the child, taking him reverently. Marcos, Pop, and Thatch, all three of them, understood it at the same time, even without fully processing it. Little, that was the scent they had never smelled but always needed and longed for; it was the scent of an Omega Little. Ace clung to Thatch's shirt, crying loudly. Thatch rocked him gently.

"Okay, okay, my little troublemaker, I'm here, it's okay. Let out all those big and uncomfortable emotions from your chest," he whispered, soothing him. He felt something wet on his chest, and at first, he thought it was Ace's tears until his chest ached. Thatch was well aware of his own biology, but despite that, his body had never produced colostrum or milk because he had never been close to a crying Little before. Now his body was producing what Ace needed. Confused, he looked at himself and the crying child in his arm before opening his shirt with trembling hands. A second later Ace was attached to his nipple sucking hard, his cries gradually silencing although there was still the occasional sob as he suckled from Thatch's breast.

The omega looked bewildered at Marcos, seeking an explanation, still not fully processing everything that was happening, and that he was feeding and nursing an Omega Little right there on the deck of the Moby Dick in front of the eyes of all their companions, Marcos moved bewildered when Thatch felt the massive cloak of Papa covering him, providing some privacy.

"Circulate, guys, you're going to overwhelm the kid and Thatch", ordered Whitebeard.

"Dad..." Marco looked at him bewildered. "It's Ace a..."

"A Little" nodded Edward Newgate. "I have no doubt about that."

"But how?" Thatch asked, cradling Ace with one hand and caressing his milk-swollen cheek with the other. Ace's eyes were beginning to close between his warm belly of milk and the exhausting task of having cried so much.

"I think this has a lot to do with no one noticing", he said, lifting the bracelet that was still on the floor. Marco looked at the offensive thing with displeasure.

"Now everything makes sense", said the medic, referring to how protective Thatch was with Ace, the things that seemed so confusingly childish in Ace. Ace wasn't an adult being childish; he was a Little, a child playing at being an adult.

"Bring the Spade Pirates... I suspect Some of them must know something", ordered Pop, staying close to the Omega Mother of the pack and the Little to protect them.