Chapter 20: Aftershocks

In the wake of the storm that had battered the Moby Dick the previous night, the following morning was markedly calm, not a single cloud in the sky and a breeze that was both light and refreshing. The sun was shining, the fish were biting, and Thatch was happy he was around to witness it.

"So you've said-yoi," Marco replied when Thatch gave voice to that thought, not for the first time that morning. While Thatch was sitting cross-legged on the railing, Marco was leaning with his elbows on it, his gaze directed at Thatch's fishing lure bobbing in the gentle waves but his mind elsewhere.

"I'll keep saying it." For a second, he thought something was biting at his lure, and he tensed himself in preparation—but the tug on his line went away, and he sighed in disappointment. Correction, the fish were biting for seemingly everyone except him.

"The last time you went fishing while sitting on the railing like that, you got yanked overboard."

"If I sense it's a big fish, I'll move."

"I'm sure you will."

Thatch frowned at his friend, and of course, a big fish—probably the same one that had been taunting him for several minutes—chose that moment to chomp down and yank. He pitched forward with a yelp of surprise and only Marco's lightning-quick grip on his wrist kept him from taking a morning swim. Marco braced himself with one foot on the railing wall while Thatch hauled mightily on his fishing rod with his free hand.

The battle between man, fish, and fishing line raged for several seconds before the weakest link gave out. The line snapped with a deceptively innocent plink noise, and then Marco was getting bowled over by his friend.

"Oof," said Thatch.

"Off," groaned Marco, pushing him none-too-gently so he'd get the message. Thatch inelegantly rolled off him and, with a disappointed sigh, set his fishing rod aside. The blame was at least partially on him; he'd been meaning to replace that line for a couple of weeks now.

"There goes my excuse."

"Trying to avoid questions-yoi?"

"As if you're not. I could at least pretend to need total focus for fishing. Now what am I supposed to do?"

"If we look serious enough while we talk, we should be fine."

Thatch laughed and once more hopped up to take a seat on the railing with one leg folded over his knee. "All right, fair enough." He sobered, and not just in the interest of putting up an act of seriousness to deter interruption from nosy crewmates. "I would've expected you to be left alone after Pops addressed the fleet."

"I thought the same, but something like this…it's no wonder people want to make sure-yoi."

"I guess." Thatch spun where he sat to look over the water while Marco once more leaned on the railing next to him. Fukistune island was on the opposite side of the ship, and while it was arguably more interesting to look at than calm ocean, Marco had always preferred the sight of open water to land, even after eating his devil fruit.

"I'm going to be getting even more questions after I send out the bulletin," Marco mused. "The questions after we told every ship to scour itself for hidden explosives were bad enough."

"At least something good came out of that."

"Hm." Thatch had a point; so far, no explosives had been found anywhere except a handful on the Moby Dick. Teach must've smuggled them into the cargo hold one of the times he volunteered to help organize and inventory it. "The marines are going to have a field day with this. They're always salivating at the chance to point out how our family is nothing but opportunists, backstabbers, and traitors."

No one was naïve enough to think word wouldn't get out, if it hadn't already.

"They'll report on it," Thatch mused, "and they'll be right to. It's not just Teach—or, I guess, it is, but it isn't. Something big changed last night. You felt it."

"I did-yoi."

"Pops said it himself. He's getting old. His condition's getting worse. He won't be around forever."

"He won't."

"Not that I want him to go," Thatch hurriedly added, and Marco waved a hand in an of course gesture. "But everyone does, eventually. He's the last great pirate of his era, y'know? What comes next?"

"I don't know," Marco admitted. "Maybe a rookie fills the void. Maybe the World Government makes a move. Maybe nothing really changes at all. The ocean is too big for us to know everything."

"You're getting philosophical in your old age."

Marco snorted. "I'll push you overboard-yoi."

"I'll take you with me." Thatch rubbed at his goatee, trying to articulate what had kept him up all night as effectively as the memory of Teach raising that knife. "It feels like there's a storm waiting just over the horizon, and we're sailing straight into it."

The ocean lapped against the hull of the Moby Dick, smelling of salt and bringing with it a renewed cool breeze. Marco closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of it. Even after so many years at sea, he could never fail to appreciate calm days like this one. They were a rarity in the New World.

"It was the same all those years ago, you know, back when the Pirate King was executed."

Marco sighed, his sense of serenity slipping away. "The era's changing again."

"I wonder what's going to be happening this time. I hope some of those infamous new rookies raise hell; that'll be interesting."

"Seems like they're moving too fast. Pops keeps calling them impatient brats."

"Ha! He said the same about Ace. We were all impatient brats, one time or another."

"I won't argue that."

Boot heels rang against the deck and both commanders glanced over their shoulders to see Ace approaching. The kid still looked…tired, but better than he had the previous day. The dark circles were fading, and he'd even taken the time to shower and clean himself up that morning.

"Missed you at breakfast," Thatch noted, while silently noting that Ace was without his usual jolly-roger-embroidered shirt. His scar was on full display. It could mean any of a dozen things, but all of them were good. Unless all the shirts had been destroyed and Izo was about to go on the warpath. "Did you get that plate I sent down?"

"I did, and it was delicious. Thank you." Ace bobbed his head in a quick bow, which Thatch paid him back for by flicking his forehead.

"How many times do I have to tell you that's not necessary?"

"It's habit. And what happened to teaching me how to say thank you?"

"I hate when you remember what I say."

Ace picked a spot to Thatch's left, leaning against the railing much as Marco was—but not before he clapped Thatch on the back, just once, as though making sure he really was there.

"If you fall in, I'm not fishing you out," Thatch warned. Ace offered a wan smile that had Thatch instantly worried. "Something wrong? If you're about to say Teach had an evil twin brother and the real one's still out there—"

"I wouldn't be here," Ace said, apparently unaware of the flames that licked at his shoulders for a second. "I'd be out there—"

"Repeating your mistakes-yoi," Marco finished wryly. Ace chuckled, acknowledging the point.

"Yeah, maybe. I won't fall in." His wry smile took on a darker twist. "I've got a promise to keep."

Thatch's heart skipped a beat. Marco's did too, apparently, from the look they shared. Was that really all that kept Ace from—from that? A promise?

But Marco shook his head, a silent signal to see if Ace would keep talking on his own. Him opening up at all was a small miracle, and to do it unprompted? Thatch would comment on him making history right now if it wouldn't make him clam up faster than a braggart pirate captain seeing Whitebeard arrive in port.

Heedless of his brothers' thoughts, Ace continued to stare over the water, the ocean breeze tousling his hair. His hat was absent, probably left in his quarters.

"I checked on Tasuka," he offered after a minute. "She's okay, just some broken ribs and bruises."

"I'm glad-yoi. That was brave of her."

Thatch sighed mournfully. "I always thought those syringes of hers were for show. I never would've antagonized her so much if I'd known."

Marco chuckled, the bastard, probably imagining Thatch getting struck with all kinds of unpleasant afflictions delivered by needle. In the interest of preserving his dignity, Thatch didn't deign to respond. Instead, he let himself enjoy this moment of camaraderie. In the wake of Teach's betrayal, he was never taking anything like this for granted ever again.

Teach's body had met a watery grave while Haruta and Fossa worked to unravel every knot in his network. Thatch planned on coincidentally hanging around Marco's office every night when the day's report trickled in, complete with a report on the latest damage to Teach's grubby legacy.

There was a point in his back, just between his ribs, that wouldn't stop itching. Maybe it was fanciful, but he imagined it was where the knife would've plunged into his flesh if he hadn't felt Teach trailing him from the moment he left the kitchen.

"You know," Ace said softly, pulling Thatch from his thoughts, "for most of my life, I didn't know if I deserved to be born. No one in this world wanted me here; any of them would've stopped it from happening if they could've."

Thatch bit down on his denial of that; Ace wasn't done. Besides, he'd said believed. Past tense.

"Marineford was…bad, but it did that one thing for me. It showed me the truth." He shifted to pillow his chin on his stacked forearms. His eyes shone but no tears fell. "There are a lot of people in this world who want me to live. Who think I deserve it, even though—even though I'm a monster."

Another denial Thatch bit back. If Ace was a monster then he was on a whole crew of monsters, part of a whole family of monsters—but that was something they could get to later, if Ace ever saw fit to open up like this again.

"Then there was this." Ace's voice softened further even as it thickened with emotion. "Coming back. Trying again. Even I can't deny getting a second chance like this has to mean something. Last time, I couldn't speak loud enough for you to hear, but now I can." He swallowed, then pushed off the railing and turned around to look at both of them. "Even though I'm a reckless good-for-nothing, even though I've been a burden, you've always been here for me. You trusted me when you would've been justified in throwing me out, or letting me drown any of the times I tried to kill Pops and he tossed me overboard."

He bowed his head, and Thatch was pretty sure he did it mostly to hide the tears spilling from his eyes that were still audible in his voice. "Thank you. Thank you for letting me make this right, and—and thank you for letting me join your family, even after I…"

Moving on an unspoken signal, Thatch wrapped an arm around Ace while Marco moved to do the same from the other side. Ace's voice broke and didn't mend, and his shoulders shook.

"You're always welcome, little brother," Marco said.

"Maybe you don't need more lessons on thank-yous," Thatch added, his own voice wobbly.

A little ways away, a few members of Ace's division paused in their work; Thatch jerked his chin and they resumed what they'd been doing.

Before too long, Ace dragged in another shuddering breath and pushed away to collect himself. Marco and Thatch took up spots on either side of him, and when Marco judged Ace was more or less collected, he asked,

"What's next-yoi?"

A broken little laugh escaped Ace's throat before he caught it. "I don't know. Part of me really didn't think I'd make it this far. Maybe I was going to disappear the second we dealt with Teach."

"Well," reasoned Thatch, "you're still here, so you're probably stuck with us for the long haul."

"You did volunteer for shoring up our territories-yoi. Still interested?"

"I thought I was too injured."

"The old bird was just worried you were taking on too much. With Teach taken care of, I think we can all agree you've got room to focus on other things again."

"Are you sure there's not something here I should—"

"Ace, buddy." Thatch put a hand on his shoulder. "I say this with all the love in my heart, and I say it for your sake: go away. You've been caught up in this Teach plot for weeks, and as long as you're here waiting for the other shoe to drop, you're not going to be able to relax. Get back out on the ocean, remember why you've put a truly stupid amount of money into that fancy banana boat of yours."

"Fuck off, it's not a banana."

"I'm not hearing a no on the rest of it."

"I don't—it hasn't even been a day."

"Go away tomorrow, then. I'm not trying to get rid of you, but I do think you'll feel a lot better in the long run if you get some distance from here. Right, Marco?"

"I agree-yoi. Besides, the rest of us will also be traveling to reinforce our territory soon enough. Take today if you need it, but tomorrow, your next assignment starts, on one condition."

"I'm not doing daily check-ins."

The snark brought a smile to Marco's lips. "No, I wouldn't expect you to for this. The condition is that you bring some of your division with you. The ones who won't stab you in the back-yoi. And I'll be adding one other person on top of that."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"That's not a condition, I would've brought people with me anyway."

"Then you have nothing to worry about-yoi."

Ace sighed and pushed off the railing. "Fine. Is Pops in his room?"

"Last I heard. He finally agreed to the medical equipment."

Ace's shoulders dipped in relief. Every time Pops went out without that equipment, they knew, he was taking a risk.

They watched Ace make his way across the deck, knock on Whitebeard's door, and—after a brief pause to scratch under Stefan the dog's chin—head inside. Thatch leaned his elbows on the railing and side-eyed Marco. "So, gonna explain that crew stipulation?"

"He's been distant from his division ever since he traveled back-yoi. Teach's betrayal did more than I think Ace knows, but his division members have noticed. It's good he was already planning on doing it, I was just making sure. They could all use a reminder of what it means to be on this crew together, and as for that last person…Ace could use a reminder of how far he's come."

After Whitebeard's "Come in" carried through the door, Ace patted Stefan on the head one last time and then headed inside, closing the door behind him. Instantly, the background noise of the open ocean grew muffled, and with Whitebeard sprawled out on his massive bed with a jar of sake in one hand and a newspaper in the other, the largest cabin on the Moby Dick was left feeling quite small.

Ace, really, felt quite small.

"Something to say?" Whitebeard prompted after Ace took a seat on the footlocker at the end of his bed. A smile played on his lips. "Something important?"

Would time travel qualify as important to Whitebeard? He was the type of man who'd already seen everything. If Ace's birth father wasn't enough to stun him, then Ace didn't know what was. He sure seemed to be trying to find out, though. "Pops, do you…Do you know why I didn't trust Teach?"

That smile fell away. "Marco was convincing with his proof." He sat up a little, his bulk making his bed frame creak and groan. "Enough that no one asked why he thought to look in the first place. You told him to?"

"Not exactly. He did it himself, I just—pointed him in the right direction." The unspoken question, how did you know, lingered. Ace licked his lips. "Do you remember that day, when I was training and somehow got a hole punched through my chest?"

Whitebeard frowned. "I remember."

Bringing a hand up to his chest to trace the rough contours of the scar, Ace continued, "Admiral Akainu gave me that wound. He was going to hurt Luffy, and I got in the way." He let his hand drop. "'Course, neither of us would've been in danger if I'd just kept running. I've never been good at running away."

Whitebeard's reflexive anger made the air tremble, but it was undercut by suspicion. They both knew Akainu hadn't been anywhere near the Moby Dick that day. "I wouldn't have welcomed you as my son if you'd run that day we first met."

"What if I got you killed?" Ace tipped up his chin, heart slipping out onto his sleeve. "What then, Pops? Do I still deserve to call myself your son then?"

Whitebeard eyed him for a few seconds and then sighed. "That day, your injury—was it a devil fruit? I know of one that can manipulate time, but I don't see how it would've reached Marineford."

"You knew—"

"Marco and I spoke of you while you were recovering in the days after. I was worried."

Ace bit his tongue and forced himself to relax with marginal success. "It wasn't a devil fruit, I think. I don't know for sure. I went from dying there to dying here, only here, there was just enough to keep me alive."

Whitebeard grunted. For a minute, they sat in silence, Whitebeard nursing his drink and Ace trying to figure out what else he should share. In the end, it came down not to what he should share but what he was left wanting to know.

"At…at my execution," he started. "You were willing to give your life for me. I—we both know I'm not worth that."

"Do we?"

Under Whitebeard's unwavering stare, Ace tried to be patient, he did.

He failed.

"You were going to do it, weren't you? From the moment you set a course for Marineford, you knew how it could end."

Despite his best efforts, it came out petulant, almost accusatory. Shame flushed his cheeks but, before he could walk it back, Whitebeard spoke.

"My era is over."

It was all too similar to what Akainu and Teach had said and Ace reacted without thinking. "What? No, you're—"

"Old, and getting older, which the nurses won't let me hear the end of." He laughed as he took another drink, probably as a slight against those nurses who kept trying to take his sake away. "Every battle could cost my head, but there's too much I care about to stand aside. I know you feel it too."

"Why? I'm not—I'm not worth you."

"We're all children of the sea, but you're my son. What father doesn't want to see his children live?" In the time it took him to drink, Ace's thoughts spiraled toward the man who probably wouldn't.

Seeing that, Whitebeard softened his expression. "I don't know who he became to you, but Roger and I were more than rivals. He valued his crew differently than I valued mine, but he valued them all the same. I don't doubt he would have seen a son as a treasure more precious than any other."

"Easy to say," Ace managed.

Whitebeard conceded the point with a tip of his head. "When I look at you, Ace, I see you. Roger might be in your blood, but he's not why you're here."

Ace blinked, then blinked again, then quickly wiped his eyes. Whitebeard sat back, nothing but warmth in his gaze.

"I don't know the thoughts I had in a future that won't happen, but I can say without a doubt that I did those things without regret. The rest doesn't matter to me." He grinned. "No matter what the world thinks, you'll always be my son."

If there was a faster way to take a knife to his heart, Ace didn't know it. This time, he didn't bother trying to wipe away the tears before they fell.