Some of you may recognize this from my Luffyko WIP Running Up That Hill, but I've always loved this particular bit of writing, so I extended it a little, edited it to the best of my ability, and now I'm posting it as a separate fic.

I'm sure there are Marco/Ace fans out there who don't want to dig through 50k of genderswap to find the good stuff.

sun comes up

(the family you're born with, the family you choose)

"Marco," Whitebeard said, glancing at a tall blonde man with horrible color coordination, "take care of your new brother until he settles in."

Ace bristled as the man sighed and looked at him, taking in his torn clothes and the bruises marring his skin, mouth set in resignation.

"You give me the worst orders, yoi."

The old man laughed. "Because you're the best man for the job. This job in particular."

Ace remained rooted in the doorway, taking in the sparsely furnished room. The oddest thing about it was the large wooden platform protruding from the far right wall, piled high with blankets and pillows, yet there was also a bed.

One bed.

"We'll be sharing, yoi," Marco said, striding towards a dresser and pulling out a box of matches to light the slender blue candle. Without conscious thought, Ace flicked his fingers so the candle burst into flame before Marco even had the chance to get a match out. He raised an eyebrow. "Useful."

Ace flushed, not having meant to be in the least bit helpful to anyone who sailed under Whitebeard. "What the hell do you mean, sharing? I hope you don't mean we'll both be sleeping in that bed."

"I could just give you the floor, brat." Marco turned to give Ace a once over, face shadowed by wavering candlelight. "But you look like you're about to keel over so I'd say you need a good night of rest. Which you certainly won't get on the floor, yoi."

"What about that?" Ace pointed to the platform. "What's it for?"

"Sleeping."

"Then why don't you just go up there?" Marco ignored him, shrugging off his shirt and folding it over the desk chair. When he began tugging loose the blue sash around his waist, Ace had finally had enough, stomping inside and letting the door swing shut. "Hey, answer me!"

Marco didn't stop removing his clothes, but said, "It's easier to keep an eye on you if we're sharing, yoi. Though if you have any common sense in that spoiled head of yours, you'll give up on trying to kill Pops."

"I won't stop." Ace said, reluctantly beginning to peel away his own sweaty, ragged clothing. He was in desperate need of a bath, but damn if he would ask where he could take one. Either he'd figure it out on his own or he'd go without.

Marco took him by the shoulders, hands gentle but unyielding as he steered Ace towards the bed, pulling back the sheets and shoving him down so he bounced on the firm mattress. He following Ace in, crowding him against the wall so there was almost no space between their bodies. Ace scowled and tried to push at the other man's chest, but Marco couldn't be budged, even when he pushed at him with all his - admittedly flagging - strength. He couldn't remember ever being so exhausted in all his life.

"Not used to sleeping with someone else, yoi?" Marco asked, watching Ace struggle with an expression of distant amusement that grated on the younger pirate's nerves. Fine, if that's how they were gonna play, so be it. Ace hadn't been planning on using his ability, but he grit his teeth and forced his tired body to produce fire enough to threaten, expecting Marco to at least shift away and give him a little room to breathe.

But he almost choked on his own tongue as red flames were met with blue, Marco taking Ace's burning hand and not smothering his fire but letting their flames twist and mingle together. No matter how hotly Ace raged, he could not extinguish the dancing cerulean.

"What are you? What Devil Fruit do you have?" There couldn't possibly be another Mera Mera user, so where did Marco's flame come from?

"I'll tell you in the morning if you stop squirming and sleep like a good brat, yoi," Marco smirked. Ace allowed his fire to die out, but there was no way Ace would do what he asked. He snarled and managed to get an elbow in Marco's ribs.

"At least move over a little! I barely have space to breathe." To his surprise, Marco seemed to relent, scotching closer to the other side of the bed. What Ace wasn't expecting was an arm thrown around his waist as soon as he shifted onto his back.

"H-hey!" Ace protested, but there was no real anger behind. He was realizing just how soft the mattress felt beneath his aching body. Unconsciousness tugged at him.

"Just making sure you stay where you are. Pops will still be here in the morning if you feel the need to go after him again, yoi. One night of peace won't make any difference."

Ace frowned. He really didn't want to lie under a pirate who would likely kill him in his sleep if he so choose. Before he could try protesting again, that godforsaken narcolepsy crashed over him. Ace ended up passing out, more warm and comfortable beneath Marco's secure weight than he'd ever admit, even to himself.

"Why don't you just give it up, yoi?" Marco asked a week later, dabbing at Ace's dripping cheek while the other pirate absolutely refused to hold still or stop grumbling and growling threats under his breath.

"I have my reasons," Ace snarled, and twisted his face from between Marco's steadying fingers. "Stop it already. I don't want your help!"

"Too bad," Marco said, calm and unflappable as always. "You're going to get it, yoi."

Ace made one last half-hearted attempt to escape from the gentle attention to his wounds, the result of yet another attempt to end the old man. His clothes were soaked with water from being thrown overboard. Sea salt streamed from his hair and stung his eyes.

Every time he was saved by one of the men on this ship, he hated himself that little bit more.

"Why don't you bastards just lock me up? Wouldn't it be easier for you?"

"And ruin our favorite entertainment?" Marco smirked. "I don't think so, yoi."

Ace hissed as Marco swabbed a cotton ball full of alcohol across a deeper cut. "Aren't you at all worried that I might actually succeed? That somehow I may end that old man's life?"

"No," Marco said simply. "Pops is too strong to be killed by anyone. Especially someone who doesn't really want to hurt him in the first place, yoi."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ace asked as Marco smoothed a plaster across the last of his injuries. "Of course I want him dead."

"Really?" Marco lifted his lips in a half smile that was becoming disturbingly familiar to Ace, for all that he hated it, and ruffled a hand through Ace's wet hair. "To Pops, to everyone on this ship, it seems more like a beloved son going through a rebellious phase, yoi."

"I am not his son! I'm not any man's son!" Ace snarled, and finally managed to shove himself clear of Marco's grip. The first division commander continued to watch his tantrum with amusement.

"Calm down, brat. I was just telling you what Pops thinks of all this."

"Well, I don't give a fuck. That old man can think what he wants, but one day I'm going to surpass him. I'll do what my pathetic excuse for a father couldn't!" Ace froze, the fingers of one hand digging into his lips as if to seal away the spew of words that desperately yearned to be set free.

That piqued Marco's curiosity, but he wasn't going to ask. He wouldn't get a straight answer out of the mistrustful pirate anyway.

At least, not yet.

"I don't know what sort of past you have, or whose blood flows through your veins," Marco said, choosing his words with the utmost care. The way heat spread across Ace's face told him he'd hit the nail on the head. "We all joined Whitebeard's crew looking for a fresh start, a place where no one would judge us for whatever sins we committed…both real and imagined. We serve Pops because he gave us a home, yoi."

Ace seemed to curl into himself, eyes squeezed tightly shut and body suddenly pliant beneath his touch, and when Marco wiped at a stray trail of blood with the pad of his thumb Ace did not pull away.

The twinge in his stomach was growing nearly unbearable, but Ace would wait until late, when everyone but the drunkest of the crew were sleeping or otherwise occupied in their rooms to steal anything to eat. He sure as fuck wasn't going to ask for food.

The stars were out in full force tonight. Ace tried to distract himself from the hunger gnawing at his gut by counting them or playing connect the dots or searching for whatever pattern crossed his mind: meat; Luffy, huge smile firmly in place; the beautiful and brilliant extended wings of a bird soaring undisturbed through the sky, master of all it surveyed…

Marco had told Ace his Devil Fruit was a Zoan, one that allowed him to turn into a phoenix of all things. Yes, Ace knew about the legendary birds that burned across the world until they burst into flame and were reborn from their own ashes. He just couldn't believe Marco had that sort of power - the older pirate had refused to show him anything but those mysterious flames that raged while harming nothing, warm to the touch but not unpleasantly so, even for an ordinary human.

Not at all like Ace's fire, which seared a path of destruction whenever he used it. Marco could heal. Ace could only harm.

His stomach growled raucously, straight up demanding to be fed, and soon. Ace pressed a hand to his abdomen and cursed under his breath and hoped to heaven and hell no one was around to pity him.

But God hated him, utterly and without remorse - Ace felt a quiet displacement of air, and when he turned to look Marco stood not five feet away, arms crossed. He hadn't heard any footsteps.

His stomach, useless chunk of digestive system that it was, decided now would be the perfect time to gurgle as nosily as possible.

Marco said nothing, simply observed Ace's black eye and bleeding arm and swollen lip in silence. Ace let the so-called phoenix do as he wished - he'd been trapped on the Moby Dick for a month now, and though it stung his pride something fierce, Ace had to admit there was nothing he could do if Marco wanted him to do something. The way he'd been living had never allowed him to fully recover from his fights with Jimbei and the old man - he ate only what he could steal, spent all his energy attempting to end Whitebeard, slept only when his narcolepsy hit.

Except the nights Marco pinned him to the bed and demanded, voice low and dangerous, that he get some rest; those times, Ace slept the day away.

"Come here, yoi," Marco said, breaking the stillness. Ace wasn't sure how long they'd simply watched each other as exhalant sounds of revelry rose and fell in the background, but it was long enough that he stumbled to Marco's side, not bothering to protest when he slung an arm around Ace's shoulders for support. Anyone else and Ace would have pulled away. But Marco was…Marco was…

Ace refused to think about what Marco was.

Marco steered them away from the deck and inside, where the roars of laughter rang out unhindered. Ace resisted for a moment - he had no desire to join in the festivities - but Marco squeezed lightly at his ribs and directed them instead through a door. As it swung shut all the shouts were abruptly muffled to the point that Ace could tune them if he chose.

They were in the kitchen. A few chefs still milled about, occasionally adding spices or whatever to a bubbling pot but mostly taking long pulls from their mugs of ale. One hard glare from Marco had them scattering like leaves in a storm.

"I'm not hungry," Ace muttered as Marco began laying out a bowl and plates laden with bread and butter and jam. He tasted whatever was cooking in the pot and apparently found it to his taste because he ladled a considerable serving into one of the bowls.

"I am," Marco said, settling himself on a stool and reaching for a spoon. "But eating alone is no fun, yoi. Even if you don't want anything, would it be too much trouble for you to keep me company?"

"…I guess not." Ace seated himself across from March, ignoring the mouth watering scent of the soup and how soft those bread rolls looked. Marco tore one in half and dipped it into the butter - honey butter, Ace could damn well smell that too - eyes closed as he chewed.

The bowl was nearly empty when Marco said, "There's too much for me," and pushed the plate of bread towards Ace. "You know it's irresponsible to waste food on the sea, yoi. Help me finish this so I won't get scolded."

Ace just stared blankly at the pile of bread sitting in front of him until Marco said, "Please?"

…It was different if someone else asked him. Right?

So he took a hesitant bite, and then another and another and another until the plate was bare and Marco had refilled the bowl and offer that to him too. It wasn't until Marco gently pressed a cool, damp cloth to his puffy eye that Ace realized his cheeks were wet.

"Why am I crying?" he asked, too shocked to censor himself. He paused with a spoonful of broth halfway to his mouth, both dreading and hoping Marco would answer.

Marco guided the spoon to Ace's mouth with his fingertips. "Only you can know that, yoi."

Ace came awake slowly, cozy, limbs weighted with the satiation of a good night's rest. Eyes half-lidded and blurred, brain groggy and sluggish in its attempts to fire up, he didn't at first notice that he was not alone in the bed. Marco sat on the edge, smoke curling from the cigarette dangling between his fingers.

This was unusual, a deviation from their normal routine - Marco slept beside him at night but left long before Ace woke in the mornings, sheets gone cold - and Ace could only stare dumbly at the first division commander and wonder why he was here now.

Marco's gaze swiftly relocated from Ace to the window when he realized the younger pirate was awake.

"What is it?" Ace asked softly, nothing but genuine curiosity behind the question. His fuzzy mind was still struggling to get itself going; he couldn't really work up the coherency necessary for indignation and anyway, he kinda liked Marco. A little bit. A really very tiny bit, unassuming understanding and steady patience and easy smiles notwithstanding.

…Oh, fuck it.

Marco turned back to him, eyes coming to rest purposely on Ace's exposed bicep. Ace looked too, at the stretch of marked skin and the four letters inked there, only one of which held any meaning. "Drunk, yoi?"

"Completely sloshed," he said, and then it occurred to him that Marco was referring to the crossed out S, what would appear to be an alcohol fueled mistake to anyone but himself and a rubber boy on the other side of the world. Ace lay there, surrounded by warmth and the acrid smell of tobacco and said, "But deliberate."

The phoenix raised an eyebrow but didn't ask and for that reason alone Ace open his mouth and let the words spill off his tongue like blood from a wound. "I had a brother. By oath and not blood, but my brother nonetheless, a boy I knew for years. I can't count the number of times he kept me from killing myself." Ace took a deep breath. "Sabo was…he came from a noble family, but that way of living was full of misery and loneliness and one day he reached his limit - even though Sabo was only ten years old he set sail as a pirate, searching for a better life."

Here, Ace struggled to continue. Marco snuffed out his cigarette, lay next to him, and in his silent show of support Ace found the strength. "He died in the attempt."

Marco was gentle as he traced the crossed out S with a thumb wreathed in blue flame. Heat radiated from the place he touched, a soothing fire that burned though Ace knew it could not hurt - his body prickled with the urge to answer that flame with his own, not out of fear or anger but something else entirely. Ace grit his teeth and hid his reddening cheeks in the pillows.

"Everyone on this ship is family. I consider all of them my brothers, yoi," Marco said. "No one can replace the brother you lost, but what Pops offers is a chance to make new ones."

"Brothers are fine and dandy. It's a father I don't want." Ace huffed and rolled to face the wall, determined to go back to sleep and pretend this conversation never happened. It had nothing to do with how close Marco was, how dangerous and immediate it felt. Nothing at all.

It's a father I don't want Ace had said, but as time passed Marco could see that was becoming less and less true. The ferocity with which Ace first set out to take Whitebeard's life was flickering like a candle out of wax, nothing left to burn but still stubbornly waiting for the last puff of air that would, inevitably, blow it out.

Now, when Marco held Ace's face between his hands to check the severity of whatever wounds the younger pirate had managed to earn himself, Marco could see uncertainty in his eyes.

All he needed was that last push, and Marco would be the one to give it to him.

Marco took the chance presented to him after yet another failed attempt. Ace was tired - he'd refused to sleep in the phoenix's bed last night, which he seemed to be doing more and more often these days though Marco couldn't for the life of him understand why - bruised and beaten and looking more thoroughly defeated than ever before. Glad he'd brought food with him, Marco set the steaming bowl next to him, and when Ace asked why do you call him Pops Marco knew this was it. Not even a push; all Ace needed soft prod in the right direction.

Perhaps he should feel guilty for seizing on Ace's greatest moment of weakness. But stay or go he had said, and Marco wanted…no, needed this man, overflowing with youth and a type of passion Marco wouldn't ever possess to remain where he was gradually coming to belong: at Marco's side, as a part of the family he prized and cherished above all else.

As Whitebeard's newest son.

(Ace hadn't meant to say it. He'd spent the afternoon watching, just sitting high in the rigging and watching as the crew interacted with their captain and called him Pops, every single one of them, watched Whitebeard smile and chat with anyone who approached no matter how low their rank. The word son floated up to him frequently.

He watched Marco climb carefully to perch on a giant knee as if it were the highest privilege, and while Ace could appreciate that using the strongest man in the world as a chair took balls of steel it wasn't until Marco called the old man Dad and raised his head to look Ace straight in the eyes that he realized Marco was making a point. See how kind he is. See how much he loves us.

He hadn't meant to say it. Ace opened his mouth and the word simply tumbled from his lips, both accident and unwitting experiment.

"Pops," Ace said, so loudly he startled, and as Whitebeard's pleased laughter rang out, as Marco continued to gaze back at him, Ace couldn't find it within himself to regret.)

The next day passed without an attempt on the captain's life, as did the next. And the next.

A week went by, and when Ace climbed into bed that night and left only a scant few inches between them, Marco knew it was only a matter of time before Ace was theirs.

Before Ace was his.

When reports of a string of islands came in and plans were made for shore leave, Ace wasn't sure what to do with himself. This was the first time the Whitebeard flagship had docked since he'd been taken aboard. He could run. He should run.

Even if for some mad reason he decided not to get the hell away (which he would, far far far away, though the other side of the whole damned world wouldn't feel far enough) what exactly was he expected to do? Stay on the ship like the prisoner Thatch insisted he wasn't? Maybe they'd put him on watch duty or something equally ridiculous just to keep him busy. Well, Ace wasn't having any of it. First chance he got, he'd slip into the crowd, never to darken Whitebeard's doorstep again. Hopefully.

He was sitting on Marco's bed, craftily planning a master escape that involved less stealth than it probably should, when the phoenix leaned through the open doorway and said, "Oi, let's go."

Ace frowned, suspicious. "Go where?"

"To town, yoi." Marco rolled his eyes, grabbed Ace by the wrist and hauled him from the room. "There's somewhere I want to take you."

"You're interrupting my escape planning," Ace complained, ignoring Marco's unimpressed snort and how feebly he resisted as they emerged on deck. It was bustling with activity, eager pirates dashing every which way in an effort to finish their duties that much more quickly. "Who says I won't run?"

Marco stopped then, laid a hand on Ace's chest and bent down to whisper against his ear, in full view of everyone, "You can't get away from me, Ace. Not even if you wanted to."

Goosebumps on his arms and neck, cheeks growing hotter by the second, Ace breathed deep and had himself a moment. God, did Marco realize what he was doing to his poor body? For a moment, he wondered; then Marco slung an arm around Ace's shoulders and steered him down the dock, lazy half-smile back on his face, and Ace let it go. Marco loved picking on him, after all.

"I bet your fire isn't stronger than mine," Ace said, crossing his fingers that the older man hadn't noticed him reacting. "It's not even hot."

"Perhaps not. But healing isn't all I can do, yoi."

"Right. Your supposed birdie form, which you still haven't shown me. I don't believe you."

"Patience, brat," Marco said, patting Ace briefly on the head simply because it drove him crazy. He was rewarded with a petulant glare. "You'll see soon enough."

"What does that mean?" Ace asked. Marco refused to answer, but then they entered the town proper. It caught his interest, so Ace would forgive him just this once.

Less than the town itself, it was what the villagers were wearing that Ace found so fascinating. Some were in plain clothes, nothing you wouldn't see anywhere else, but the vast majority were decked out in brightly colored yukatas - the patterns were varied and lovely; koi and dragons and blossoming flowers, sharks and lily pads and swirling stitches of blues, red, white - and Ace stared openly as Marco continued to guide him through. They passed a stand from which the mouth-watering of takoyaki scent emanated, but Marco wouldn't stop, even when Ace dug his heels in for real this time and his stomach grumbled loudly.

"I'm hungry, damn it," Ace whined. "Can't we eat before you drag me wherever it is we're going?"

"You'll get food there, and it's not too much farther. Just hold your tongue for five minutes, yoi. Unless that's impossible for a brat like yourself," Marco smirked.

"I'm not a goddamn brat!" Ace growled, and maintained a pretentious silence as they walked, eventually leaving the small village behind them, just to prove he could.

They found themselves on a path surrounded by trees, paved with smooth, in-set stones of differing sizes and shapes. Ace trusted Marco enough that he didn't think even for a second that the first commander was leading him somewhere secluded to do away with him; his mind helpfully supplied images of what else they could do away from prying eyes, and Ace pinched viciously at the skin of hip to banish them. The chances of Marco doing those sorts of (naked) things to him were even less likely than being strangled in the middle of a forest.

Ace could accept his attraction to the older man, and didn't bother feeling guilty for it. He loved sex, just like Luffy - both had come to crave close physical intimacy, which wasn't entirely unexpected for a couple of teenage pirates - and while a large portion of his heart would always be exclusively Luffy's no matter what life served him, they'd seen no harm in sharing their bodies with others if the desire was there. Even Marco being twice his age had only earned a short, mild freak out.

No, what worried Ace had nothing to do with his body and everything to do with that part of his heart not tattooed with Luffy's name. The part that had, in a magnificent display of subtlety that Ace hadn't known he was capable of, become attached. Emotionally. To Marco, to the goddamn Whitebeard Pirates…it was the part that ached when Marco smiled at him, or as he became aware of all the reasons Whitebeard deserved the nickname 'Pops'.

It was the part - that treacherous part - which whispered maybe you should stay as Ace lay awake at night, Marco breathing softly at his side.

The more he wanted to stay, the greater his determination to escape…

…was what he'd like to say. Ace never really had been one for drawn out denial.

Except staying meant having a father.

And he just…he couldn't…

Could he?

Half an hour later, the trees began to thin. They emerged into a clearing on what Ace assumed was the other side of the island - he hadn't been paying much attention to their arrival, but his initial impression of the place was that it was one of the smaller New World islands. Ace promptly stopped wondering about sizes and pretty much everything else too when they climbed over a small rise and a quaint wooden building came into view.

Ace felt the stirrings of a vague memory, one stretching all the way back to East Blue and a time when he was new to the deep waters; a building similar in design, set on the outskirts of what he could only describe as a tourist dependent town. He'd spent three days there without being aware of passing time, the warmth and smells and food luring him into a state of constant half-sleep - he'd left relaxed, truly relaxed, for the first time since telling Luffy goodbye.

"Please please tell me that's what I think it is."

Marco smirked, a satisfied quirk of lips and a slight narrowing of the eyes. "That's exactly what you think it is."

Ace hardly cared what Marco made of him then, tearing towards the hot springs with a loud whoop and his arms swinging wildly in childish abandon. He thundered up polished stone steps and through the sliding door, badly starting two women chatting behind the front desk with his sudden appearance. They stared at Ace, one girl's hands fluttering about her face in shock, until Marco stepped in behind him, entrance downright regal in comparison.

"Oh," the second, aging woman sighed in relief, "Marco-chan. Welcome back."

Ace glanced between Marco and the woman - the owner, if her fine silk kimono was anything to go by - with curiosity. The phoenix must have visited often to be greeted in such a way, considering he was a pirate from the world's most infamous crew.

"It's been too long, Kimiko-san," Marco said, holding out a hand as she approached. Kimiko took it in both of her own and squeezed, a gesture so familiar Ace couldn't help but wonder exactly how long Marco's been coming here…and whether or not it was as Whitebeard's first division commander. "And I apologize if this brat frightened you, yoi. He's easily excited."

"Don't worry yourself about that." With laugh lines carved deep by age and the gentlest eyes he's ever seen, Kimiko felt like an old friend's grandmother; when she smiled at him Ace could only grin back, sheepish and contrite.

"I must apologize, ma'am." He bowed so low his hat nearly slipped off. "Sorry for the intrusion."

Kimiko clapped her hands in glee and cooed something complimentary about his manners while the younger woman, still hovering behind the desk, peered at Ace with new interest. Yet it was Marco's expression Ace delighted in - the man's brow was lightly furrowed in confusion, but Ace knew that beneath his nearly impassive features Marco was utterly baffled. There'd been neither occasion nor desire to show off the politeness Makino had drilled into him onboard the Moby Dick.

Honestly, Ace just wanted Marco to stop thinking of him as a brat. If his reasons had less to do with putting an end to Marco's teasing and more with making Marco possibly consider engaging in acts one would most certainly not try with a kid, well. He couldn't be blamed.

"Let me show you to your room." Kimiko led them down a curving hall lined with painted walls. A particular section of panels was swallowed by a massive bird of blue and gold flame, and Ace paused to trace a finger around the shape of it, gaze drawn to Marco as the man spoke quietly to Kimiko. They stopped at the next door down. With a last nod to the owner, Marco toed off his sandals and disappeared inside.

When Kimiko shuffled past, Ace asked, "Is this newer than the other murals? They're faded, but this one is still so vivid."

"Most of the artwork hasn't been touched since this place was built over a century ago," Kimiko said, gesturing at the opposite wall, adorned with a prancing fox. "But the phoenix was added only ten years back, when Marco-chan protected the hot springs from invading pirates."

"You saw it? You saw Marco's phoenix form?" Ace turned to the painting, absolutely fascinated. "This is what he looks like?"

The old lady cocked her head. "It is indeed. You haven't seen him for yourself?"

"Not yet," Ace muttered.

"Then I'm sure you will someday soon, because Marco-chan must be very fond of you." Kimiko patted his shoulder comfortingly. "He's never brought anyone here before."

Ace perked up at that. "Really?"

"Really," Kimiko agreed. A shrill voice called for her, and she gifted Ace with another smile as she left. "Take care, Ace-chan."

"You too, obaa-chan."

The door Marco had used earlier was cracked open, and Ace stuck his head through the gap to take a look around. In the tatami-floored room were two folded futons, a chabudai, and, most importantly, a back door from which Ace could hear the sound of running water.

Since there was no Marco in sight, Ace left his own shoes at the door stepped out onto a porch, the smooth wooden boards nearly frictionless under his feet. Marco's clothes lay neatly folded on the floor, and the man himself slumped loose-limbed against the rocky side of the hot springs. Gently steaming water lapped at his chest. Wet tendrils of blond hair curled around his ears. With Marco's eyes closed, Ace took his time appreciating the view - it wasn't right that, while the older pirate's shirt hid nothing, seeing him without it still felt like a rare pleasure.

Having looked his fill, Ace stripped off his clothes and scrubbed clean beneath the small spout set off to the side, a sign requesting customers kindly keep their dirt out of the springs nailed next to it. He turned to find Marco watching him, eyebrows raised.

"Having fun, yoi?"

"Not yet," Ace said, flicking the last few soap bubbles from his arm. He entertained the idea of cannon-balling into the spring but thought better of it when Marco glared as if he could read Ace's mind.

"Don't you dare," he growled, prowling toward Ace, seemingly intent on wrestling him to the ground to halt any mischief in its tracks. While dragging Marco into a naked tussle could be potentially hilarious, Ace decided it was a bit too risky, considering, and put his hands up in surrender, sliding into the spring without so much as a splash.

Heat caressed his skin, and Ace groaned in approval as four months of tension melted away all at once, leaving him pleasantly fuzzy. In a haze of relaxation, the filter between his brain and mouth crumbled to pieces as it had that nicotine stained morning weeks ago, and he asked, "How long have you been with the old man?"

Marco hummed in surprised, but seemed pleased to have Ace asking questions about Whitebeard with no ill intention. "Since before you were born, yoi."

"…How old are you?"

"Brat." Marco smirked, making it clear he wouldn't be answering that particular question anytime soon.

Ace stuck his out his tongue in response. "Geezer."

Marco chuckled, and a companionable silence settled over them. Ace gathered the strength to flop down beside his friend - there was no point in pretending Marco was anything else, Thatch a close second - and found a comfortable groove in the rocks shaped as if made to cradle his back. Lethargy licked at the edges of his consciousness. With Marco warm at his side, their bodies pressed together shoulder to foot, Ace welcomed his narcolepsy - for perhaps the first time - and let his head loll into the curve of Marco's throat.

When he woke, Ace was sprawled across the rocks, a towel draped over his hips and his skin dry from the sun now sinking below the horizon. He admired the delicate hues of pink and orange shading the sky until his stomach gave a rather obnoxious rumble.

"Finally awake?"

Marco sat on the porch, a crinkled newspaper spread open on his lap. He'd changed into a loose blue yukata, silhouettes of birds in flight painstakingly stitched across the expanse of cotton in gold thread . Ace had a gibbering moment where Marco's bare knee, peeking between thick folds of fabric, was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. He swore then and there to thank Kimiko for what must have been her personal handiwork. It suited Marco far too well to be anything but.

"I had to drag you out of the water or you'd have drowned, yoi." Marco held up a wad of black. "There's food on the table, and Kimiko-san asked me to pass this on to you."

Ace rose slowly - his limbs were still sluggish from the potent combo of hot water and a nap in the sun - and took the yukata as he passed into their room. At first glance he'd thought it was just a plain yukata Kimiko had dug out for him, but as he unfolded it a white pattern stood out against the black. And what a pattern it was.

Though hardly strange for the kind old woman to assume he was part of Whitebeard's crew, Ace scowled on principle before pulling it on. Today had been good, really good. He wouldn't ruin it by fussing about something as petty as wearing Whitebeard's mark for one night.

The food set out was hot and fragrant and exotic, traditional dishes of the island, he guessed. Delicious as it was, he scarfed it in a rush - managing, somehow, to stop from planting his face in a bowl of rice - to join Marco outside. Now that he was paying attention, Ace noticed Marco's yukata also bore the mark.

The older pirate watched with heavy lidded eyes as Ace took a seat beside him. He was quite for long minute, and then his lips pulled back in a smugly satisfied grin.

"Tea?" he asked.

As the sky gradually darkened, Marco shared stories of his time with Whitebeard, the battles and drunken escapades and the warmth of gaining new brothers, new family.

"- of course Pops wasn't happy to wake up with an unexpected beard. Thatch and Haruta were on bathroom duty for six months, yoi."

Ace howled, clutching spasmodically at Marco's sleeve with shaky fingers. "I can't believe they painted the old man's face! In rainbow."

"Quite the troublemakers, those two. I expect you'll be recruited for their next stunt."

Sides aching from an overdose of laughter, Ace collapsed onto his stomach and pillowed his head on his arms. He was growing sleepy again, the food in his stomach taking it's toll. But there was one thing Ace felt he needed to ask.

Before he got any more comfortable.

"Is it nice, having a father? Are you happy?"

Nimble fingers carded through his hair. "…Brat."

He'd take that as a yes.

Ace slouched his way across the deck of the Moby Dick, rubbing his itching eyes and muttering unpleasantly under his breath. Marco'd left on business yesterday afternoon and failed to return before nightfall, leaving Ace alone in his bed and uncharacteristically sleepless. While Ace hadn't spent every night with Marco - those first two months he'd avoided sleeping with the man as often as he could - it'd become something of a routine, and he'd never used the bed unless Marco was there too. After all, the bed truly belonged to his friend.

He wondered what Marco would think of Ace drooling on his pillow and twisting his sheets into knots while he was away. Ace was a fidgety sleeper when in bed by himself but slept like the dead when sharing with another person, a habit he'd acquired from Luffy and continued with Marco.

Last night Ace crawled beneath the covers, hoping Marco would come home during the night and be there when he woke. Marco hadn't shown. Ace slept in fits and starts, restless without the comforting weight of Marco's arm thrown casually around his waist to pin him in place, body refusing to settle into deeper unconsciousness and instead encouraging him to wait. Wait for Marco, who'd gone god knew where and forgotten to tell Ace when he'd return.

So now he had no choice but to skulk across the ship, searching for a place he could nap in peace and coming up short. There was only one spot he'd not tried yet.

He approached the area swallowed by Whitebeard's enormous chair and collapsed beside it. The old man wasn't here, happily sleeping like Ace should be. It was obscenely early, the sun only a slowly spreading splash of orange on the horizon, and Ace sighed, tucking his arms under his cheek and shutting his eyes in defiance of the agitation preventing him from his sorely deserved snooze.

And somehow, for some reason, the long shadow cast by Whitebeard's seat provided the consolation he'd been seeking. Not two minutes later, the steady sound of his snores were there to greet the rising sun.

He woke to the sensation of being smothered by something large and soft and warm - all in all, not the most reassuring feeling to find oneself experiencing while still dizzy from being pulled abruptly to awareness. Dim light filtered through whatever it was covering his body. A brief session of curious prodding revealed it to be heavy material, and Ace wormed his way across the floor, lazily attempting to locate the edge of the massive blanket he'd been covered with.

Upon finding it, Ace warily inched his head outside, blinking as bright light assaulted his eyes. The sun hung high in the sky. Rumbling laughter from above had Ace craning his neck, only to see Whitebeard smiling at him in delight.

…Right, he'd managed to fall asleep next to the captain's chair. Ace grinned back sheepishly. On closer inspection, he realized what he'd been using as a makeshift blanket. The flowing white material was a jacket decorated with golden tassels; the sheer size meant it was Whitebeard's captain coat Ace had draped over his shoulders. The realization only made Ace tug it more tightly around his body as he shifted onto his knees, a spreading sense of easy content stopping him from tossing the coat away.

"How long have I been out?" he asked. His earlier fatigue was a distant memory. Energy hummed through him, and Ace wished there was an enemy to fight. I'd been far too long since his battles consisted of anything but Whitebeard soundly kicking his ass.

"No clue. It's been six hours since was found you , but we've got no idea how long you were out here before that." Thatch crouched next to Ace, laying one friendly hand on his shoulder and squeezing, obviously entertained by Ace passing out wherever he pleased. "Pops was kind enough to sacrifice his coat so you wouldn't burn."

"But I can't-" burn, he almost said, but Whitebeard knew that. This wasn't about the sunburn his Devil Fruit naturally kept him from suffering. This was a father showing affection for his child.

Whitebeard reached out to carefully muse Ace's hair. Ace marveled at it, how a single finger of the old man's was larger than his head, and giggled at the gentle, ticklish pressure. "We haven't had much of a chance to talk, son. Tell me how you're getting along."

Ace drew a wavering breath. That word - son - still caused a fierce ache in a part of his heart Ace walled off over a decade ago, but it was time to admit that wall had been reduced to rubble since meeting Marco and Thatch and yeah, even the old man. It was time to stop teetering on that precipice of indecision and leap. No looking back.

"I'm fine," he said, smiling first at Whitebeard, then Thatch. It felt genuine and right and good on his lips. "Just fine."

His choice was made. But before he took that final step, he wanted to see Marco.

He wanted to see the phoenix.

Marco will be back tonight.

So Whitebeard had said, yet it was nearing midnight and still there was no sign of him. Ace stood propped against the railings, eyes fixed on the sea, straining to spot a boat looming in the black water. It was nearly impossible to see and the tension was giving him a headache, so Ace took a break to watch the stars instead.

The tiny points of lights shone so brilliantly in the middle of the ocean; living in the mountains had not lessened the glare of Goa at night, and their view of the dark sky was murky at best. There was an odd one low in the sky, pulsing blue-gold and widening as if coming closer. Ten minutes later it became clear that the blue light was not a star but an object approaching at speed, burning brighter than even the moon.

If they were in imminent peril, surely the men on watch would sound an alarm, but the object was nearly at the ship and no one seemed bothered. In a swirl of what Ace could now see were flames, it landed not two feet away.

Ace forgot to breathe.

He knew immediately that this was it. This was what Ace had been yearning to see since first learning of Marco's Devil Fruit: the phoenix, talons scuffing the railing and strange golden tail feathers brushing his hip when Ace stepped closer, flames dazzlingly intense in defiance of the night and elegant neck arching towards him in invitation. Even if Ace hasn't acquired the abilities of the Mera Mera, even if he was unaware those flames posed no threat, he'd have touched anyway. Every elemental instinct he possessed screamed at Ace to toss himself into the enticing warmth of blue and gold.

Ace never denied his instincts.

Marco had meant to allow Ace a chance to stroke his flames and feathers, to get a feel for this part of him Ace had never experienced before. As usual, Ace had to go utterly overboard; unsatisfied with just the delicate throat Marco offered for exploration, he threw himself at the phoenix's body, shuddering at the feel of being surrounded by the blue flames that enthralled him so. This was Marco finally, finally letting Ace see all of him. This was Marco sharing his last secret.

Ace's arms clung to the burning bird, hugging with all his strength and silently begging Marco to let him, to just let him have this moment. Everything had fallen into place; he was Whitebeard's man, yes. But he was Marco's as well.

Something pointed prodded insistently at the base of his skull, and a fraction of sanity returned to Ace. He realized he'd crushed his face to Marco's feathers, was rubbing his cheek against them and doing his best to soak the fire into his skin. They were pressed so tightly together his chest tickled with every shift of fiery plumage as Marco breathed, the rhythm of inhale-exhale oddly hitched.

Reluctantly, Ace released his friend, a creeping sense of embarrassment heating the tips of his ears. But after ending the battle he'd been fighting with his pride and distrust for so long, witnessing the phoenix was a bit too much for his unraveled heart to take. If Marco hadn't suspected Ace wanted him before, he certainly knew now.

"Sorry," he muttered, and smoldering ringed eyes held his own as Marco shifted to human form but for the wing on which Ace had kept un unconscious grip. The man wasn't frowning or scowling or broadcasting any hint he was angry. Instead, he looked at Ace with an expression one might describe as awe.

"Something's different, yoi. Something about you has changed." Marco cupped Ace's cheek, sweeping the rough pad of his thumb over the high bone in a gesture dangerously close to a caress. For the second time in three minutes, all the air was stolen from Ace's lungs. "What happened?"

I'm going to join the crew is what he meant to say, but it came out as, "I couldn't sleep while you were gone. It was so empty, your bed-" Ace choked on the words, not sure how to continue or if he even wanted to. Any second now, Marco would call him a brat, maybe cuff him around the head and tell him to find another place to sleep tonight. But with his head such a mess of emotions, he didn't know if he could bear being turned away.

Marco pried his wing free of Ace's grasp and lifted it so he could hold Ace's face with both hands. His eyes were searching, sharp and serious. Ace stilled beneath that weighted stare and hoped.

"Hn. Seems like my brat finally grew up."

And then Marco kissed him.

Frozen by disbelief, Ace did not immediately respond. Marco seemed to expect this, nipping softly at his lips and flicking his tongue out to taste, patiently coaxing Ace to kiss back, keeping it chaste until Ace got with the program and threw his arms around Marco's neck, fisting his shirt to yank him closer. The older man nudged Ace's legs apart, stepping between them to bring their bodies flush, bare chests brushing and setting each and every one of Ace's nerves alight.

"Marco," Ace moaned as their mouths separated. He tugged at blond hair, trying to kiss Marco again, but the phoenix clapped a hand over his mouth to shush him.

"My bed won't be quite so lonely now, yoi." Ace was surprised to see pink staining his cheeks. "And this is no place for the things I want to do to you."

His gruff tone left Ace shuddering and doing his best to stand on legs shaky with desire. They made it to Marco's room, though not without Ace sporting a new hickey and finger-shaped bruises on his bicep. He'd lost his belt along the way. Marco's shirt had disappeared and Ace couldn't resist tracing his tattoo, accidentally catching a nipple with his thumb and repeating the motion on purpose when Marco hissed between clenched teeth and shoved Ace against the nearest wall, pinning Ace's arms to his sides and desperately wrestling for his nonexistent control.

And Marco had been right; the bed was far from empty with Marco laid flat upon it, Ace straddling him, keening as Marco scratched blunt nails over his back, marking him. Claiming him inside and out.

Every member of Whitebeard's family bore his symbol in permanent ink. As the welts from Marco's nails stung, as he bent Ace on all fours and sucked aching bites onto his sweat slick skin, Ace knew where he would take his.

Sunlight streamed through the porthole, stirring a lone figure from rest. Marco sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes and smiling affectionately at the space next to him. The empty space.

When Marco touched them, the sheets were cold. No one had been here for hours.

He squashed the disappointment and hurt churning in his stomach; honestly, what had he been expecting? With whatever curiosity he'd held in Marco appeased, Ace was free to shift his interest to someone else, and Marco wouldn't blame him for it. He was twice Ace's age, after all. A certified geezer.

But last night he'd been so certain. A drastic shift in Ace's behavior, the way his brat had trembled while embracing his phoenix form, as if in that second everything suddenly clicked and he was happy at last. Marco could have sworn his choice was made: the choice to stay, as Edward Newgate's son and as Marco's…

Sighing, Marco pulled on the pieces of clothing he could find scattered around the room, hesitating as he spotted one of Ace's boots. Surely he wouldn't run off without his shoes?

His shirt was long gone. Marco vaguely remembered Ace tearing it from his shoulders somewhere in the hallway, so he decided a search was in order. His neck and chest were dotted with bruises from Ace's mouth - if Thatch saw him, he'd be in for relentless mocking - but though he could erase them with a small burst of healing flame, he couldn't bring himself to do so. If he couldn't have Ace, he'd accept the fading marks as keepsakes.

His shirt wasn't anywhere in the hall. He took to the deck, wondering if he'd misjudged where Ace dropped it. He sprinted around the entire ship without a single sign of it, and he'd finally decided it blew overboard when he turned a corner and there it was: wrapped snugly around Ace's shoulders.

The boy had his face curved towards the sea, head tilted back to let the breeze wash over him. "Take it off," Ace said without looking at him.

Marco did so, heart pounding as hope flooded his veins. Could it be?

His shirt slithered to the deck as Marco smoothed his hands over Ace's arms, revealing a swathe of loose bandages. They came away easily, and Marco was floored by the rush of emotion that surged through him at the sight of Ace's new tattoo. Their father's symbol swallowed the expanse of his back, huge and unmistakable, a thing to be worn with pride and faith in a man he would never betray.

"Welcome home," Marco whispered, taking Ace's mouth in a deep, devouring kiss that said all those things he couldn't put to words. By the end of it, Ace was clawing at his shoulders, red faced and panting and frantic with lust as Marco stroked his fingertips across the tattoo over and over and over again.

"Can we go back to bed?" Ace scrambled to kiss him again, artless and sloppy but still so perfect. "Please?"

"I suppose so, yoi." Marco smirked, taking Ace by the wrist and leading him back to his - their - room, their bed. And it was theirs, had been since that first night months ago when Ace struggled and swore yet fell asleep so quickly in his arms.

He felt a pinch on his ass. Ace, cheeky grin firmly in place, kept his hand where it was.

"Damn brat."