I'm uploading this chapter early to celebrate Ace's birthday :)

Chapter 9: Let Him Eat Cake

May 8th, 1522

Was this right? Ace tugged at his sleeves and rolled his shoulders. It was tight. Not uncomfortably tight, but noticeably. Thatch had said that it was supposed to be snug, that that was the whole point of getting it tailored. But, now that he was on his own and not groggy in a menswear shop, he was starting to question Thatch's taste. Maybe it was his own fault for letting Thatch make the decisions.

The man himself knocked on Ace's door. "C'mon, you'd better not be asleep in there! The party's starting."

"I'll be up in a minute!"

Thatch retreated. Ace took a deep breath and smoothed out his jacket. He looked himself over one last time in the mirror just to make sure nothing was obviously out of place. Thatch had talked him into a crimson suit with black patterning, lapels, and lining. The jacket rested over the crispest and cleanest white shirt Ace had ever worn—a shirt with the top couple of buttons undone and its accompanying tie left hanging over Ace's chair. Gold cufflinks matched tasteful gold accents lining the cuffs and lapels in patterns reminiscent of flames, a pattern mirrored on the belt he had purposely left loose in the same style as he wore his other belt.

He set his shoulders. Even with the buttons undone, the shirt hid his scar completely, though its ridges showed through if he pulled it tight against his chest. He could do this. After a nod to his reflection, he turned on his heel and headed out.

There was no one in the halls. The only people he saw on the deck were the person manning the crow's nest and the helmsman—both of whom looked less than thrilled to be left out of the festivities during their shifts. The one on watch called for Ace to send him a beer, but the helmsman swiftly shut him down before Ace could even get a word out.

Ace gave the sentry a helpless shrug, the sentry heaved a sigh visible even as far away as Ace was, and that was that.

He'd half-expected Thatch to be waiting outside the doors to the mess hall, or even to burst out onto the deck to greet him, but no. Though noise bled out from every gap in the woodwork, the door remained closed. Even Thatch would have a hard time noticing his arrival with so many people around.

Ace took a deep breath. His right hand rubbed his left wrist where the sea stone bracelet rested, innocuous and awful. His new nervous habit pushed the sleeve of his suit up, exposing the bracelet, and he tugged it back down with a frown before heading in. He'd have to stop doing that. Problem was, he didn't notice until it was too late, like poking at a bruise.

A sense of déjà vu washed over him alongside the wave of noise and life that the door had been holding back. He stepped all the way through, letting the door to the mess hall close behind him, and took in the sights. His memory of this party from the first time around was fuzzy at best, and so he spent a second reacquainting himself.

Tallie of Izo's division had gone all-out with decorations, stringing lights and banners and even a disco ball up on the ceiling and along the walls. A banquet piled nearly as high took up the left-hand wall while a dance floor ate up the center. Whitebeard himself was set up in a chair on the right with a couple of nurses at his side to supervise his drinking. A separate squad of nurses stood in the far corner on alcohol poisoning duty.

The musical members of Vista's division had taken up residence on the stage against the far wall, their backs to the kitchen while they carried the room to the tune of Binks' Sake.

It was loud, it was packed, and it was undeniably a pirate party. A smile spread over Ace's face—a smile that dimmed slightly when he saw what everyone else was wearing.

Oh, they were dressed nice. For pirates. But all the suits had rolled-up sleeves, tears from battle, weapons attached, or had any of a hundred other unsubtle signals that the wearer was not really part of what their dress indicated. Plus, no one else was in a full, coordinated, pristine suit.

The only one matching (and surpassing, if he was being honest) Ace's level was Izo, who had gone all-out with kimono bedecked in flowers along the seams and some actual flowers embroidered along its bottom edges. Gold thread shimmered in his hair.

God, Ace had even showered and let Thatch style his hair with that flower-smelling gel for this. He should've been far more suspicious of the man's glee when Ace agreed to that proposal.

Damn that Thatch. He'd made Ace one of the best-dressed idiots here, drawing entirely too many eyes Ace's way. And as those eyes arrived, they didn't leave. Elbows were thrown, shouts tossed, and soon, the whole room was convulsing and turning on Ace like a living thing. The collective inhale of every pirate was all the warning Ace got before Whitebeard raised his sake dish and a deafening shout rang from every throat in the room:

"CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR RECOVERY!"

Ace actually backed up a step from the sheer volume. When the ringing subsided, he flashed a sheepish grin to buy a second for the lump in his throat to shrink. He blinked a few times just to be safe and said as levelly as he could, "Thanks, you idiots. You're too loud."

Whitebeard's laugh spurred the party back into full swing. The crowd swelled and swept Ace up into the thick of it. Someone shoved a drink into his hands, someone else nearly spilled theirs on his shoes but didn't thanks to someone else accidentally getting in the way, and no fewer than six people slapped him heartily on the back. The last of those slaps came from Jozu who, judging by the flush to his cheeks and the way he was smiling ear to ear, was himself several drinks deep.

Back stinging, Ace stumbled to the edges of the crowd and found himself in the banquet line. It was the closest thing to reprieve he was going to get, and just the sight of the food back from the door had been enough to set his stomach rumbling. Now close enough to smell it over the beer, he found his mouth watering.

He loaded up a plate with as much as he could fit and then a little more that he started eating before it could tip everything over. In the middle of the second steamed bun, though, someone threw an arm around his shoulder. He turned as much as their shoulder permitted to find Thatch grinning at him.

The man had a suit of his own—white with yellow accents along the edges, a yellow pocket square, and the sleeves rolled up. He also still had his yellow sash and swords tied around his waist, making Ace wish he'd rebelled against Thatch's advice and thrown on his dagger. He felt like a stooge.

"I've never seen you slip out of the spotlight so fast," Thatch needled. "Did the food smell that good?"

"Mmphy," Ace managed around the bun. He swallowed the rest, chased it with a swig of his drink, and then tried again. "Maybe."

"You know, you looked like you were about to cry when you first walked in. Get a little sea in your eyes?"

Ace shoved him off, losing a roll from his plate that he neatly kicked up and into his mouth, holding it in place with his teeth. "Shut up," he said around it.

Thatch raised his eyebrows at Ace's trick, but before he could say a word, a different voice cut in.

"Thatch, Jiru and Haruta say you've been intentionally avoiding me."

"What?" Thatch, unlike Ace, refused to turn around and acknowledge Marco, who had his arms crossed and a very satisfied twist to his lips. "That's ridiculous. We're pals. I'd never." He took a bun from Ace's plate and proceeded to examine it closely. "You know what, Jeremy is burning things again. I should go supervise his next batch—"

Marco took Thatch by the shoulder. "It's almost like"—he tightened his grip to prevent escape—"there's something"—and forcibly spun him around—"you're trying to claim you didn't see."

Ace watched with bemusement as Thatch shut his eyes and slipped out of Marco's grasp. Clearly, he was missing something, and it probably had to do with Marco's outfit. It wasn't the suit Ace usually attributed to Marco dressing up, and this new jacket's level of detail screamed Izo's intervention.

"You probably want to see this," he chimed in.

"I absolutely do not," Thatch moaned.

After a glance at Marco and a nod of approval from the bird, Ace balanced his mug on a cleared section of his plate and snatched the bun back out of Thatch's hand. "I'm about to smudge the filling all over your shirt," he warned.

Eyes still closed, Thatch fidgeted. "You wouldn't."

"I'll be warning him how you're going to move-yoi," Marco added.

"That's just unfair!"

"So is refusing to admit you've lost your bet."

Thatch drooped and opened his eyes in time to see Ace lick his fingers clean. "You just ate the bun, didn't you?" He heaved a sigh and looked to Marco. "Your suit looks amazing, you asshole. Izo outdid himself. How'd you find out?"

"You're not subtle-yoi."

"You're not going to tell me."

"Why would I?"

"A fair playing field?"

"So I should knowingly let you go behind my back and let myself be used for your own little schemes?"

"Yes?" Thatch tried.

"No."

Ace finally cleared off his plate and finished off his beer. "Did Thatch bet on your clothes or something?" He maybe remembered something like that.

"One hundred thousand beri that I wouldn't wear something new," Marco clarified with a heavy dose of satisfaction in his tone as he sounded out the number. Each syllable had Thatch sinking even lower. "Like an idiot." He glanced towards the dance floor. "Haruta just noticed us talking, by the way."

Ace glanced behind him. "Jiru's blocking the door."

Cursing, Thatch shoved past Marco and made a beeline for the galley and his only chance of evading his debt collectors. Movement out of the corner of Ace's eye drew his gaze upwards to where Haruta was using the ceiling decorations like ropes to swing in hot pursuit. It was impossible to tell from where he was standing whether Thatch made it through the galley doors before Haruta dropped down.

Marco crossed his arms with a sigh. "He never learns-yoi." His gaze slid to Ace. "How are you feeling?"

No point in lying. "A little overwhelmed."

"Are your injuries bothering you?"

"Not really." Ace worked his jaw. He couldn't exactly explain that the last time he'd seen his family gathered together like this was his own execution and he'd never thought he'd see any of them smile again. "It's complicated. In a good way, I think."

"I'll take your word for that, then."

A shout went up from the center of the room. Someone dimmed the lights and someone else fixed a spotlight on the entrance to the mess hall. Jiru was nowhere in sight—probably working with Haruta to corner Thatch in the kitchen.

Ace tried and failed to peer over the more massive of his brothers to catch a glimpse of the person coming through. "What's going on now?"

"The main event-yoi." Marco pushed off the wall. "I should join Pops before Vista starts getting nervous."

"Vista?"

"His second-in-command is marrying one of the nurses. He's been fretting over this for days."

So that was why Ace hadn't seen him since their mission. He made a mental note to lead a toast just to make sure Vista knew he held no hard feelings. "I guess he does like to stand on ceremony."

"And thus the de facto first mate must assist in the vows," Marco sighed.

Deciding to stay by the buffet table—the spot past its end was pretty clear of people and gave him room to both breathe and continue sampling the food—Ace watched the wedding play out. He must've been drunk or distracted the first time around, because everything about this felt pretty new. Although, maybe the bride's elaborate dress that managed to still feature fishnets rang a bell or two in his memory. He was too far away to hear everything that was said during the actual ceremony, but there was a moment of silence, a kiss, and then an uproarious cheer that rattled the nearby plates.

The new couple got the dance floor to themselves for a song before the band switched back to an upbeat jig and the party resumed.

At one point, Vista stopped by the banquet line. Ace got his reassurances out then and somehow ended up joining him in the crowd overlooking a drinking competition between Jozu and Blamenco. Whenever Jozu was focused on his own glasses, the contents of Blamenco's vanished into his face pocket, much to the entertainment of the onlookers. Too buzzed to notice he was getting played, Jozu just kept soldiering on. Ace broke off before it ended, but when a cheer went up soon after, he could guess the winner.

He spent a while mingling and, once he saw Haruta and Jiru rejoin the party, tracking down Thatch. His flight from consequences had been entirely in-character and neither Haruta nor Jiru would actually cause lasting damage, but Ace at least wanted to make sure he hadn't gotten himself into a mess he couldn't escape alone.

He walked past Thatch three times before realizing that the sad pile of discarded ribbon in the corner had a prisoner wrapped up within it. Thatch's loafers and nose were the only things poking out. Even his hair had been flattened.

Crouching, Ace tossed aside the excess ribbon and pulled down the cloth over Thatch's mouth. "What did you do?"

"Ace?" Thatch wiggled a bit, but with his arms and legs thoroughly tied together, that was all he could do. "That you? Could you get me out of this? I'll grill you a whole steak."

Glancing over his shoulder, Ace caught a glimpse of Haruta looking his way. "I'll think about it."

"Come on, don't be like that. Two steaks. We're friends, right? Friends help each other."

"They're supposed to," Ace acknowledged aloud while he silently grabbed and held onto the lighthearted atmosphere of the party for all he was worth. He was not thinking about that now. Not here. Not when this was supposed to be a happy memory. "What did you do? I can see Haruta wanting to get back at you for trying to get out of this, but Jiru's not the type to take it this far."

"Maybe he had a change of heart. Can you at least get it off my eyes? I can't see."

"Haruta's watching."

Thatch stopped his fruitless fidgeting and let his shoulders slump. Given how he was completely covered in decorative ribbon, his pout was more funny than sad. "Tell him I'm sorry."

"You wouldn't apologize just for trying to get away or you'd be doing it all the time." He checked to make sure Haruta was looking away before he started work on untying the big bow behind Thatch's head. Haruta had done good work with it. "Haruta's not wearing the same jacket he started with." The first one had been a glittering and ruffled sight to behold while Haruta swung across the ceiling. This new one, while still unequivocally Haruta's style, lacked the same punch.

Thatch heaved a sigh. "Okay, maybe I got a little desperate in there. And maybe I started grabbing and throwing everything I could reach. And maybe one of those things was a tub of frosting."

Part of the knot gave. Ace started work on the next level. "You're a treat, Thatch."

"Thank you. But I didn't know the lid was loose—I honestly didn't." Ace hesitated, vague memories of stealing into the kitchen in the middle of the night for a snack surfacing. Most of the time he was in a fugue and didn't really remember what he ate, and it was worse than ever after his injury, but he had woken up with frosting on his fingers a couple days ago. He decided to keep that to himself. "Izo's gonna kill me for ruining his work when he finds out."

"Probably."

The last of the knot gave. Once Thatch could see and Ace got his arms free, the cook was able to extricate himself from the rest. "I appreciate the help, but why didn't you just burn it off?"

Ace stared at him, but Thatch was too distracted with fixing his hair to notice. Ace sighed. "I didn't want to set your hair on fire."

"You know what? Thank you for not using your powers. Now, it sounded like I missed the ceremony." He did his best to peer over the crowd. "Have they already brought out the cake?"

"As if they'd do that without you. They're probably waiting."

Thatch huffed. "Knowing Vista, he'll blame me even though I was tied up. I'll cut you an extra big slice as thanks, by the way."

Next to the bride's entrance, the cake appearing was the biggest moment of the night. It was so large that Thatch had to wheel it out on its own cart. White with gold and silver accents, it towered over everything else in the room save Whitebeard himself. The wheels squeaked over the wooden floor before falling silent in front of the dumbfounded new husband, who had lost his wife during the party.

For a moment, the entire mess hall was silent. The groom opened his mouth to ask if anyone had seen his wife—only for the woman herself to erupt out of the cake and slam the entire top tier into her husband's face. Frosting and cake flew over the cheering audience. Whitebeard's laugh was the loudest of all.

The newlyweds devolved into a vicious scuffle on the floor while, behind them, Thatch expertly set aside two portions for them and one extra-large for Whitebeard, and then began serving everyone else with characteristic flair. A jostling line quickly formed—Thatch's special-occasion cakes were not to be missed—but Ace hung back. His stomach was rumbling, his eyes glued to the cake, but seeing the chaos of the line made him wary. He could just wait until it was shorter.

His hand drifted once more to his wrist, and he squeezed. He was…he was feeling okay, right? Right now. In this moment. He was feeling pretty good, even. It was noisy, but it was a familiar, comfortable kind of noisy. The kind of noisy that had been all too common in Dadan's hideout.

It would just be for a minute. Just a test. With that promise to himself in mind, he produced the key from his jacket's inner pocket and carefully removed the sea stone from his wrist. He balanced the stone circlet on the sleeve of his jacket and let his hand hover over it, ready for the first sign of trouble. Like every time before it, the removal of the sea stone brought an immediate wave of relief. He let out a breath.

The noise of the room washed over him anew. He weathered it, trying to find in it the same comfort as before—but now, it wasn't just a background buzz. He couldn't get it out of his focus. And it was only getting louder. The room, too, no longer felt grand. It was pressing in close, the shifting bodies a few paces away threatening to crush him.

He slammed his hand back down on the bracelet. The numbing effect took hold instantly, but he still couldn't get enough air. Securing the stone back onto his wrist, he dove into the crowd with his eyes fixed on the exit. He just needed some air, and then he'd be fine. Just a little bit of space to himself.

Throwing himself into the sea of pirates was an invitation for people to try talking to him. He brushed them off, knowing he was being rude but unable to stop himself. His vision tunneled to the door and the narrowing stretch of floor between it and him.

And then a body bigger than all the others cut that tunnel short. Ace barely stopped himself before he ran into the new arrival, fumbling out an apology that died on his lips the instant he raised his gaze past the man's chest.

Teach.

The bastard had a plate of cake in one hand and a wide grin on his lips. "Been meaning to say this for a while, Commander Ace, but congratulations on your recovery! We were all worried for ya."

His words devolved into nothing but a shriek in Ace's ears. He couldn't drag in enough air. He had to speak, had to say something, but the only thing that would come out if he opened his mouth would be the furious howl bubbling in his throat.

"Commander? Something wrong?"

He was either going to throw up or lash out, his whole body shaking like it was going to snap—

And then a new figure slid between them. Ace's vision went white until he backed up a single unsteady step and realized it was the back of Thatch's suit.

No, part of him whispered as he felt the thread of fate winding around his neck like a garrote. He didn't hear what Thatch said to Teach; everything was devolving into a blur that didn't resolve until he was heaving his guts over the side of the ship. Gagging and coughing out bile, he squeezed his eyes shut and dragged in a breath, only for it to get interrupted by another heave.

The wooden railing pressed into his arms while he stared down at the waves lapping against the side of the ship. They weren't moving fast, and the New World sea was mercifully calm for the moment. Right now, he doubted he could stop himself from getting thrown overboard if a storm struck. Salt-laden wind slowly teased his hair out from Thatch's styling to hang over his face.

When the next wave of nausea passed, he let his head fall. He'd gotten complacent, focusing so much on his own injuries and letting the days slip through his fingers. Thatch's life was at stake, and he was out here going to parties and pretending like things were normal. Wasting time.

His lungs shook on his next inhale, and slowly, more than his immediate surroundings filtered into focus. Some of the party had spilled out onto the deck and a few people were drifting closer to him. Fossa was asking if he was okay.

He didn't want to wait until Thatch found the fruit on that fateful raid. He had to start doing something now, find a way to keep Thatch from ever facing that danger. If there was anything that could help him do that, it would be hidden in Teach's room. But right now—as Fossa's gentle hand on his shoulder and the forest of eyes at his back showed him—he couldn't go anywhere without being the goddamned center of attention.

For the second time this night, Thatch came to his rescue, shooing away the onlookers while Ace offered halfhearted reassurances to Fossa so that his fellow commander would return to the party. That done and now with a little cleared space around them, Thatch blew out a breath. He had two mugs with him, and he set one of them next to Ace's arm before leaning against the railing just as Ace was, eyes looking over the moon-touched waves.

"You don't need to worry," he said lightly. "I just told Teach that you're still recovering a bit, not to take it personally, that kind of thing."

Ace counted himself lucky that he'd turned away from Thatch so the cook couldn't see the snarl on his face. That expression vanished when another dry heave hit and his whole chest clenched from the force of his body rebelling against him. Its only upside was that it spared him the need to respond to Thatch's words, something he wasn't sure he could do right now.

Gentle pressure on his back. Thatch rubbed slow circles through Ace's suit while Ace gagged and spat, then offered the mug Ace hadn't touched yet. Ace took a drink, swished it around, and spat that out too.

"I saw you suddenly disappear instead of fighting your way to the cake. Figured something was wrong."

"So you gave up on the cake?" Ace managed. "I'm honored."

"I'd do anything for you, Ace," Thatch replied softly. "You're my brother, more important than any cake, no matter how objectively amazing."

Ace's eyes widened and then watered. He swiftly ducked his head.

"Marco? You alive in here?"

A chorus of pained groans and a few slurred shouts answered Thatch's call. Drunk pirates, most semiconscious at best and losing the fight to stay that way, were spread out all over the Moby Dick's mess hall. Even Whitebeard was out, much to the consternation of his medical detail, who had no hope of getting the snoring man to his quarters on their own. The only ones left standing were a handful of his own fourth division dutifully collecting the remnants of the buffet and making preparations for what was sure to be a subdued breakfast the next morning.

Thatch nodded to those he passed while he picked his way through the bodies. "Marco?"

"Over here-yoi."

Tracing the sound to the wall behind Whitebeard's chair, Thatch found his friend pulling Jozu out of a new hole in the wall. The large man was snoring away, completely oblivious to Marco's efforts to get him out of the way so the damage could be assessed. Thatch swiftly lended a hand.

"Thanks," Marco said, wiping off his hands, only to frown at them. "I swear, everything in this room has a coating of beer. Especially our family."

"Aw, cut him some slack. He had a good night."

"For the parts he was conscious, I'm sure he did. Was there something you needed?"

"Yeah, actually. It's…" Thatch hesitated, then glanced around. He couldn't see all of the mess hall from where they were standing—Whitebeard's chair was in the way—but instinct begged caution. "You know what? Let's take this to the kitchen. I'm sure these idiots want some peace and quiet."

More groans, now interspersed with marginally more spirited insults.

Down to a skeleton crew, the kitchen was mercifully quiet with only the occasional bustle of Thatch's division members going in and out. The sloshing of the sinks provided a good bit of white noise to cover up Thatch and Marco's conversation in a neglected corner.

"How's Ace?" Marco asked.

Thatch leaned against the wall and crossed his arms with a sigh. "I took him back to his room. He seemed all right, all things considered."

"What happened?"

"Not sure. He helped me get free, seemed more than interested in the cake, but when I caught up to him by Teach…" He let out a slow breath. "You should've seen his face, Marco. When I was coming up, I've never seen him so angry, not even when he was trying to take Pops's head. But after I got there? Pale as a ghost. I thought he was going to be sick—well, he was, but he got to the deck first."

"Did he have his bracelet on? He's had that kind of reaction a couple of times."

Thatch pursed his lips and thought back. "No, I think he had it on. Maybe he took it off for a second and got overwhelmed, and Teach was just…in the…way…"

"Talk to me, Thatch. I can see your gears turning-yoi."

"No, it's just—remember the breakfast before Ace went on that mission with Vista?"

"I recall."

"Yeah, right before you showed up, he had some kind of reaction. Not the same. The look on his face—I lied, I've seen him that angry before, and that was it. Swear the whole place would've been ashes if he hadn't had that stone on his wrist."

"And the connection here is…?"

"Well, I can't guarantee it—it might just be sheer coincidence—but I'm pretty sure Teach rolled in for breakfast around that time."

Marco's brows furrowed. "And then he headed over to us-yoi."

"To greet Ace, exactly."

Marco brought his hand up to his mouth while he thought, eyes fixed on the floor. "He never mentioned Teach while unconscious."

"No, just his brother, Pops, and some character named Blackbeard."

"I've looked into the name Blackbeard because of Ace mentioning it, but even though it's apparently been invoked in some underground circles lately, there isn't anything concrete. It's just a rumor."

"Okay, if Blackbeard's a dead end, then in the meantime we can try to keep Ace away from Teach. I don't know what's going on there, but clearly it's not good."

"That seems like a good step one," Marco acknowledged. "I'm working on a theory of my own but I need time to see if it's accurate-yoi."

"If it's time you need, it's time you'll get. I'll make sure they stay apart."

"I might be able to do something about that too."