Hey everyone!

So I've been cooped up at home and suddenly I'm churning out 15k chapters, apparently. I would say this is one of my best works, but it's not. It's a little sad that, when I finally have the time to focus on this, my ability to really write decides to take a hike.

On that lively note, this is (YES, I DID IT!) the last chapter of Perception. Curious question, though, after reading this chapter, are you guys able to determine why this story was titled 'Perception'? Just would like to hear your thoughts, if you'd want to share.

And...above everything else, I hope everyone one of you - reader / non-reader - anyone who happens to cross this page: I hope all of you are safe, that you are taking good care of yourself, that you are doing what is necessary to keep yourself and the people around you safe. We live in tough times, but it is my fervent hope that this will blow over soon, and that once more we can all return to reading and writing fics because we want to/can, and not because there is nothing else we can do with our time.

Keep safe, no matter where you are and who you are. I don't know you, but I love you all just the same. I hope this chapter may bring about some joy in these troubling times.

Fair warning: Chapter consists mostly of Ace's own warring thoughts. Expect no drama but that from within himself.

Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or any of its characters.

97 Days

It was an unfortunate development, Ace mused tiredly, but he should have learnt by now to grow used to waking up feeling as if he had been through the grinder.

There was something about being unconscious that somehow dragged the pain into temporary remission. It was there, at the very back of his mind, as his body sank into restless sleep. All that relief went straight out the window the moment he woke, as if his nerves went into overdrive to send alarm bells ringing through his poor, worn physical self.

Speaking of alarms…Ace resigned himself to ride the first waves of pain out, the light but persistent throbbing in his thighs, the faint pulse shooting through his brain, and the various little hurts that lay scattered across himself. But, the worst – the absolute worst – was the horrible pain that might as well have been branded into the very skin on his back. It clawed at him, mauling him all over again, and it was all he could do to keep from crying out loud.

There was truly something uniquely painful about regaining consciousness from his dreams.

Ace kept his eyes open, fixed on the dusty ol' wooden ceiling of his safe place, as he breathed in and breathed out. His chest rose with every inhale, fell with every exhale, trying to keep as still as possible to avoid jarring the healing wounds on his person. It was difficult and exhausting and, sometimes, he was tempted to become a whirl of movement just to trigger the pains, to show he was not afraid, that he was brave. To get it over with. But he knew from experience, once when he had accidentally stretched, that it was not worth the fallout.

It was almost peaceful, all things considered. The ceiling was not that dusty anymore (he suspected Marco had cleaned it out himself while he was out cold. The man had been covered in dust when Ace had jolted awake). The mattress beneath him was hardly new, but it was springy and sank beneath his weight so comfortably he could have cried in gratitude. He did not want to imagine how the Whitebeard pirates had somehow shoved this life-savour into this tiny part of the ship while he was gone. It was too kind of them.

More like insane, he thought instead to distract himself as another wave of agony shot through his body. He could stay here for forever and still not understand them.

It was fairly amusing – and almost endearing, if he would ever admit it – how the crew of a Yonko fell over themselves to ease his obvious discomfort at his return. They went to oddly confusing lengths to avoid him in the halls, with some turning straight around and sprinting off when they caught sight of him, while a few others immediately ducked into the next available exit. Ace still remembered his bewilderment when some pirates completely froze in place, their eyes comically wide even as they averted their gazes, refusing to move as if that would render them invisible. The fire-user had inched by them in confusion, wary as he was by their odd reactions to his presence. It was only later that he discovered it was the pirates' attempts to give him the space he sorely needed. It was appreciated, truly, but the accompanying heart attack they near gave him when they shrieked at his arrival was not. He had almost sent himself to the ground in alarm.

That was not the only odd behaviour.

Inexplicably, they left clothes on his bed when he left for the infirmary instead of handing it directly to him. They changed the bedding into the comfier one instead when they discovered how badly his back was hurting. They dropped instructions for his medication, checked in on him, provided a private shower as he was a 'guest', fed him (and this was, Makino had said, the most important of all. A host should always ensure the guests are fed) foods that were not hard on his body.

...And they gave him space. They treated him with the same obnoxious respect, though they were gentler with him now. He wondered if it was a result of his experiences with Kai or if it was his lack of hostility that led to this but figured it did not matter. They did not show him pity. That, he would have hated most of all.

Ace exhaled slowly, carefully. He had hoped for release from that hellish prison just a few days back. He had even prayed for freedom from his shackles so he could once more pursue the dreams on his shoulders. He bit his lip hard enough that the soft skin broke. But now that he was on the Moby Dick once more, he found himself at another conundrum, at another crossroad.

Last he left, Ace had been weary and exhausted. He had accepted that he would not win, knowing that escape was his only option left if he could not bow to Whitebeard's offer. Now…well, he was still weary and exhausted, but it was different.

He cared about Thatch. And, in a strangely odd way, he liked Marco too. He was drawn to his weird, warm aura that projected a quiet strength that was not to be underestimated. There was a sharp intelligence in his cerulean eyes, tempered though it was behind cool smirks and calm silence. It was easy to drop his guard in the man's presence, as if a part of him had accepted the man as trustworthy and…comforting even. He wondered if this was how Luffy felt like around him. Remembering how the rubbery little brat would seek him out and instinctively relax as if he was shielded from the entire world, just because 'Ace was there and Ace would protect him'.

Shishishishishi. If you're with me, then I'll be safe! I won't have to worry!

Ace drew another shallow breath as he banished the thoughts of his brother. It was painful, going through this every time he woke (and he fell asleep too many times to count). Sometimes, it was so agonising he wondered if his back was so scarred and damaged that the pains would stay with him till the end of his life. He was no coward – at least, he liked to think so – but…the thought sometimes left him with his eyes red and wet with unshed tears.

He curled his fingers into fists. Life could be really hard sometimes.

Marco was careful to keep his features blank when he entered Ace's safe space, which he dubbed 'Fire Haven' in his head. It was always a good idea to visit without any traces of emotion on his face, despite the popular belief that he was only capable of looking stoic or annoyed. He had learnt early on that Ace was as quick to conclude he was angry or to think him open and calm.

The first thing that caught his eye was the odd manner Fire Fist was lying on his back. The teenager was too still to be comfortable, seemingly frozen in place other than the occasional twitches in his fingers. His somewhat glazed eyes were fixated on something on the ceiling, but with how unfocused his gaze was, the blonde man would not be surprised to discover if his attention was elsewhere.

Marco's brows furrowed. He could not put his finger on it, but something told him the teen was either in pain or spent his free waking hours imitating a tree.

"Ace, yoi," he ventured, careful to keep his voice low to avoid startling the other pirate.

The effort was in vain. The boy jolted upright with a speed that startled even the zoan user, back erect and shoulders stiff in tensed anticipation for a fight. His face twisted into something agonised in the next instant, as he let out a strangled gasp and crumpled to his knees.

The blonde hurried over. "Ace, relax yourself. Take deep breaths."

It was a small change, but Marco felt the faint vestiges of gratitude that the kid attempted to follow his advice without complaint or hesitation. His hands hovered over the other, ready to catch him should he fall over, observing in silence how the other drew in quiet, shallow breaths.

"Marco," Ace said quietly after a long drawn-out moment. Shuttered grey eyes met his. "You came," he said after another beat.

An unsettling concern rested in the pit of Marco's stomach at the discomfiting response. Ace was no longer hostile to the crew, yes, but his uneasiness and wariness towards them had shot through the roof, a courtesy of his treatment at Kai's hands. No one blamed him for his refusal to be around them, and not even Marco was exempted from that rule, no matter how Ace appeared to prefer him over his family (at least, that was what Thatch had told him). For the kid to skip through the 'formality' of suspicion at this arrival and straight to acceptance (perhaps even relief) was enough to send the alarm bells ringing.

"Where are you hurt?" Marco heard himself say, not caring that his firm demand could push the younger away.

Again, in another example of odd behaviour, Ace only closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if gathering what energy (or courage?) he had, and his arm was reaching out for the blonde's shoulder, slow and painfully hopeful. His grip was strong and not at all like the kid was about to collapse at any moment.

"M-my back," Ace whispered. "Hurts."

Marco's left hand shot up to encase the younger's with a warm, reassuring grip. He was on both his knees before he knew it, body already curving around Ace's to tug the loose shirt away so he could peek at the mentioned area. The familiar burn of anger at the sight of the still-black and blue marks almost jarred him in surprise, not quite expecting the steep rise in emotion but he tamped it down in impatience. He poked a finger in and lighted it up with a spark of blue flames as he tried to catch what it was that had the teen hunching into him so.

The wounds were horrifying and still very much unhealed, and Marco would not be surprised to find that they still caused Ace a terrible pain to deal with. His eyes narrowed in thought.

A quiet, pained voice called out to him. "Marco…"

Marco rubbed at the hand he was still holding. "Shhh. It's alright, yoi. I'll make it better," he soothed with little thought.

Were the continued pains over the days made it too much to bear? Had Ace finally reached his limit to tolerate the slow healing of his wounds? He could spot no infection, no new worry to have the young one struggling to breathe while in agony. Not unless-

Oh.

Marco carefully leaned back and lowered his head to stare the pirate in the eye. "Ace. I'm bringing you to your old room, alright? The one you stayed in before you moved in here, yoi."

Ace nodded, his movement slow and almost sluggish, and yet not losing his grip on the commander at all. The pitiful look the young pirate made was only eased by the faint question nestled within his dull grey eyes. Marco smiled despite himself, unable to stop the unexpected fierce ache in his chest at the sight. This brat was going to make a fine man one day, once he started moving forward again.

"I'm sorry, it's our fault," he immediately said as he coaxed the teen onto his back. Warm arms circled around his neck and he tugged the boy closer to keep him comfortable. "Bay said the wounds on your back could get aggravated if we neared places with extreme weather conditions." He let out an aggrieved sigh at his words. Hooking his hands beneath the teen's legs, he stood up in a swift motion and began for the exit. "I'm sorry," he said again. "We are nearing one island that's known for its crazy low temperatures. I should have remembered, yoi." A thought occurred to him and Marco felt like stabbing himself in his ridiculous, sandaled foot. "You've been hurting for a while, haven't you?"

For the longest moment, Ace seemed to only breathe on his back. Marco began to worry the kid had fainted when a soft whisper broke the silence. "Not your fault," Ace muttered, confirming his suspicions. "I could have said…something. And, I'm not in your c-crew. I'm not that important."

Marco's lips thinned at the remark. "That's not the point, you brat. You may not be a member of the family now, but your life is as important as any of ours," he returned. He wondered then if it was only his imagination, but the boy on his back became rigid for just a moment, long enough to make him rethink his words.

The two fell into silence as the commander made his way first to the infirmary. He knew enough to understand that such wounds needed a certified doctor to look over it to best decide how to ease the pains. It was likely they could reduce the damage in the long-term, but Marco somehow knew the likelihood of ridding it completely was close to zero.

"Where's the head doctor, yoi?" Marco asked quickly as he stepped into the infirmary.

The bustling medical staff paused from their conversation at their desks to look at him in mild alarm, spotting the rather limp form on his back.

"Bay will be back within the next five minutes," one of them said, brisk and quick. Her gaze darted to the younger fire-user once more. "Report?"

"His back is hurting him. I suspect it's our arrival into the winter island's waters that's doing the trick," Marco answered. "I'm taking him to his old room. Please send Bay there as soon as you can."

"Sure thing, Marco. Make sure you don't lay him on his back. Leave the windows slightly open and have him take off his shirt!"

Marco nodded without question. "I will." He moved to leave but then paused, as if in afterthought. He tilted his head to peer at Ace as best as he could from his position. "Ace, yoi? Is there anything else you need them to know?"

He would have worried again that the teen might have fallen unconscious, but the light tremble in Ace's arms were indication enough that the kid was powering through as best as he could. The young pirate only buried his face further into the blonde's shoulder, shaking it slightly

"Alright then." Marco nodded to his siblings and then moved for the unused cabin.

He strode up the stairs to the main deck, eyes squinting as the morning sun beat over him in earnest. He flicked his gaze back to his passenger, momentarily worrying over the sudden brightness on the teen, though there was no need to. The kid's face was still pressed into his jacket as if his life depended on it.

Pirates stared at them as he brushed through. It was only his narrowed eyes, a warning, that had them faltering in their steps before turning the other way. Not that he blamed them for their curiosity.

Ace had left the Moby Dick with a sudden departure that had surprised most of the family. After his persistent refusal to join their ranks, none had predicted his assassination attempts to stop so abruptly. And to leave right after? Now he was back after weeks of manhunt, looking markedly delicate as he was on the commander's back, when weeks before he would have turned into a fiery spirit of vengeance at a simple touch… Of course he would draw curious stares.

Marco was heartened, however, to catch a few concerned looks thrown their way even as various crew members hastened to pretend to not see them.

"Just a bit more, Ace," the blonde murmured. He slipped inside the empty cabin and shut the door with his foot. As advised, he jerked the windows open, enough to let a slight draft in without compromising too much of their privacy. He eyed the filtering sun rays that soothed the room in warm, amber colours, wondering if getting curtains were due. It would be an assurance to have the option to choose to block the world out, he thought to himself.

The room had been bare since Ace had, for all intents and purposes, left the ship. The bed remained made, the desk and chair untouched, and the drawers and bookshelf were empty save for some books and maps they had tried to give him. The items were rare enough to capture any sailor's heart, but he supposed Ace was more interested in fighting Whitebeard. Now that he thought of it, Ace had hardly used this cabin back then, despite their attempts to usher him to a safe physical space with the amenities he needed. The more they tried, he mused, the more he dug his foot in in defiance. The difference now was jarring.

Marco tried not think of what came next, tried to think of anything else that needed to be done, before pragmatism took over and he gave in.

"Ace, yoi. I'm going to lay you down on the bed, alright?"

The pirate in question shifted until tired grey eyes peeked at him.

Marco returned the stare, brows furrowing. "You doing okay?"

Ace moved to speak, when his features scrunched in that familiar expression of pain. His shoulders seemed to droop. "Fine…" he said wearily.

The blonde accepted his answer. He turned his back the bed and started to lower the teen onto the mattress. He tried to keep his movements gentle, locking in his muscles hard enough to ensure he did not lose his grip and end up sending the pirate tumbling to the floor. Ace, it appeared, did not approve. The little brat pushed at him shoulders hard and his legs flailed enough that the commander was surprised into letting go. A light thud and a sharp gasp met his ears.

"Ace!" Marco swivelled around to see the kid lying on his back. His legs dangled off the side of the bed. "What were you thinking!" he scolded.

Ace's grimace only deepened. "I can handle it," he forced through gritted teeth. "Don't treat me like a princess."

"Is that why you look like you're about to faint any moment now?" Marco shot back in exasperation. And he was not even kidding. What colour the kid had managed to regain had drained from his features like a sponge squeezed dry. He was noticeably breathing sharp and quick pants, as if he were unable to take in enough air. Ace seemed aware of the sharp attention on him, for he quickly threw an arm over his eyes.

"I'll be fine soon," Ace choked out during what must been another bout of pain. His whole upper body became even more rigid. "It fades…after a while."

Marco pushed away the instinctive urge to reach out to the teen to offer what comfort he could. Instead, he leaned forward to gently push at Ace's arm. "Come on, yoi. The nurses said not to lie on your back. You should take off your shirt too."

To his pleasant surprise, the younger pirate spared only a few seconds of unmoving reluctance before he finally raised his hands towards the commander. A silent plea for help. His grey eyes were averted, fixed on something beyond Marco, as if that would distract the blonde from the sudden light flush blooming on his cheeks. Marco bit back his smile even as he took the younger's hands in a firm grip to pull him up to sit.

"You're the ones who made me wear the shirt," Ace was unnecessarily commenting as he began pulling it up. Marco was quick to lift the cloth at the back so it would not drag against the wounds. "Now…I have to take it o–" the brat's voice was lost as his head disappeared into the cotton material. His hands tugged at the shirt in oddly angled ways.

At that, Marco gave into a burst of laughter. "You look ridiculous," he commented as another round of chuckles escaped him. He slapped the waving hands away. "Let me, yoi."

When the shirt was dragged off to reveal the tussled-haired youth, Marco smirked when their eyes met. "You still look ridiculous," he said as he smoothed the raven strands poking messily into the air.

"Shut up. You're mean."

"Yes, yes. Now could you please listen to the mean, mean man and lie on your front?" Marco said with just a hint of seriousness. "You need your rest if you want to get back on your feet quickly."

Ace lifted his eyes to the blonde's. There was the sliver of caution in them, reminding the pirate once again that the teen did not trust them yet. It was…difficult, in its own twisted sense, for the crew. It was hard to be concerned over another and to spend time with them to make them better and…to know that they were not truly on the same side. The thought of becoming rivals put a sour taste in his mouth.

Marco was jarred out of his thoughts when Ace quietly lowered himself onto the bed, his exposed (damaged) back on full display. The commander's eyes instinctively zeroed in on the black and purpled marks that decorated that once proud back. Wounds that were inflicted from the cold end of a sharp knife, whips or chains even (Thatch had said both), the ends of dull objects. A faint sense of nausea churned in his gut. The poor kid must have been in terrible pain. He was only a teenager, and to be thrown into such helplessness, such powerlessness… And to be subject to a prison of pain for no conceivable reason… And that amount of harm alone within a few weeks- he did not even have to reach out to feel the bumps and ridges across the once pristine back.

The even bigger crime – if one could call it that in their line of work – was the place of damage. It was his father's sacred belief that avoiding scars one's back was tantamount to protecting one's pride as a pirate. It meant they never turned their back from what was important, never ran away when it mattered the most, never left a crew mate behind. It was symbolic, more than anything, but to be cut down without the means to escape…

Marco drew in a deep breath to restrain the building surge of residual anger at the thought. As if to mask his sudden ire, he dragged over a chair to sit next to the teen. Ace had gone through enough. He did not need him to externalise his own feelings and ruin what attempted illusion of peace the kid had going.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he murmured, reaching over to fluff the pillows as best as he could with the younger's head resting on it. "Blankets?"

"I don't get cold."

"You didn't answer the question either, yoi."

There was a soft sigh. "A blanket would…be nice."

Marco made no comment as he unfolded the blanket from the ends of the bed, draping it over the kid until his waist. Ace turned his head to peer at the commander, his features almost unreadable if it were not for the pained twitch every now and then.

"You can rest, Ace. No one will harm you here."

Ace blinked at him. "Still mean," he said, almost petulantly.

Marco snorted.

98 Days

Ace played with the edges of the well-worn blanket, pretending he was not at all confused by the other pirates in the room with him. He absent-mindedly pulled at one of the loose threads; he had torn it off by accident before the whole…thing had happened. He was not sure how they knew he preferred this old thing than the new one they had given him, but the switch had been made quick and without question the day before.

Across from him were Marco, Thatch and Izo. He knew, deep inside, that they had stationed the three most familiar commanders in the room with him was no coincidence. No pirate crew worth their salt did anything without thought, not when their very lives were at stake, and this Yonko crew were far more intelligent than they let on with their never-ending parties and strange customs.

It had been three days since he and the fourth commander had been returned to the Moby Dick. He had since discovered that Kai – that wretched scum – had not survived the brief tussle with him. Marco had found him with his neck well and truly broken. There was no saving him even if they had wanted to. What was most surprising, though, was the news about the cabin boy. Or the lack of.

"Cabin boy? Ah, I heard from Thatch. We found no sign of any other lifeforms on board that ship with you. Other than the three of you, that ship had been lived in by that one man only."

It became clear then that the cabin boy had either been a figment of Kai's imagination to cope with his losses, or the boy had once been alive but had already perished. Despite himself, Ace could not banish the faint brushes of guilt. Kai had tortured him, yes. He had made him feel legions of pain he never thought possible, had wanted to see him cry. But, above everything, he was a victim of circumstance. He could not pretend to understand why Whitebeard had turned him away (things were never that simple, after all), but…Kai had raged at the world for what he had lost. The family and friends he had lost. That was something he could understand. When Sabo had been killed, he had been ready to lash out at anything that came in his way. He had been lucky enough to have Luffy to ground him. Who did Kai have?

Who pulled him from his sudden world of darkness and kept him in the light? Did he live all those years, alone and mourning for what he once had? For the voices and the comforting touch of his dear ones?

Ace finally tugged the loose thread free of the blanket, with its other end breaking off in two from his avid ministrations. Nothing lasted forever, he thought dolefully, as he twirled the string around his fingers.

"Ace," a voice called out to him. "Don't do that. You'll end up with holes in the blanket."

He turned to see the pirate in the kimono standing over him from the side of the bed. He tilted his head up to meet the commander's frown, then to the blanket, and up again. "Oh," he said after a long moment. "Oops?"

Izo regarded him with narrowed eyes before deciding he had done enough to deter any further mutilation of the blanket. "Good. Now, how's your back?"

Thatch perked up from where he had seated himself on the couch across the other end of the room. "Does it hurt?" he piped up. "Does it hurt anywhere else?"

Ace took the questions in stride. Speaking of 'lasting forever', he was quite sure this one would. He didn't think he'd ever understand them and their whimsical decisions. Whitebeard had turned away Kai and his pleas for help, but had embraced a cocky teenaged rookie with open arms. When said rookie had challenged him for his title. What was that, where was the logic in that? What did he have?

And, to deepen his own confusion (and his very soul, might he add), they took his capture so personally. Yes, he had been taken with Thatch, but he survived. They were both fine. Why did they treat him so carefully, as if his every pain was an insult on their name? Did they forget that he had tried to assassinate their Captain every day before he left? Before they kicked him out? He would survive, why waste precious resources on a pirate they were going to aban- leave anyway?

What was their game? What was it?

Because! Because you were strong and arrogant and yet so stupidly loyal you'd die for your crew!

Because he didn't want you to die so pointlessly.

Ace struggled to pull himself together when he became aware of the three stares drilling into his person. Even Thatch's countenance had turned pinched with…worry, he guessed. He attempted a shrug. "It's not as–" he coughed into his hand– "as bad as it was," he offered.

Marco was suddenly next to Izo, his head cocked to the side in thought. "Do you mean when we brought you to this room, yoi?"

"Yes," Ace answered dutifully. Other than his own flagging strength to refuse cooperation, he had begun to understand why the Yonko crew endearingly nicknamed the blonde 'mother hen'. Once he had his talons stuck on a potential injury, he only dug deeper and didn't let go till he was satisfied.

"Aches as much?"

"No."

"Does it react badly to movement?"

"No." A pause. "Only a bit. If I stretch too much."

"Alright. I know Bay said to stretch your muscles, but don't push it, alright?"

Ace almost lost himself in that moment of exhaustion, almost reacted with a sarcastic salute, before he caught himself. This was not his family. They were not his crew. Since when had he felt comfortable enough to be playful with them?

"That's good news," Izo mused from his side. "It means our hypothesis about the weather should be correct." He traded a look with his brothers. "If we are right, we could isolate this as one sure symptom."

"We can't be sure about the other extreme end though," Thatch pointed out. He gestured at the staring fire-user, as if that explained everything.

Marco rubbed his chin, nodding as he clearly understood what was being discussed about him over his head. "That's an important consideration, of course. We can't avoid all stop points, regardless. If we could pinpoint the ones that do, I could inform Navigation and we could come up with a new sail plan as soon as we can."

"There are another two along this route that we could avoid," Izo offered, "and a spring island up ahead after that."

Thatch nodded along. "Or we could send in a small team like we did today. But we won't be able to bring in much stock. There's too few to feed a crew like ours for weeks on end. I checked with my division." He frowned. "I don't think we can go another week without touching on our emergency supplies."

"Maybe we should…test it out?" Marco turned to Ace then, his brows furrowing almost in consternation. "I'm sorry, yoi. Only if you're willing. It might make it easier for you, but we don't know for sure if the risks would…outweigh the attempt."

Ace looked between them, feeling utterly lost and even more confused than he was. The headache he had felt building all day sent a light throb through his brain. "W-what?" was the most intelligent reply he could think of.

It was almost wretchedly endearing to witness how all three commanders sported a look of concern (presumably for his welfare, he supposed), before their expressions faded into sheepish grimaces, as if only then realising their misstep. Once again, Ace could barely believe these were commanders of what might as well be a fleet of pirates. They were at the top, and yet here they were. In his room. Talking about…?

As always, Marco took the responsibility to explain to him. "We shifted the Moby Dick's course a little away from the winter island I was telling you about, yoi. Bay and her team predicted that your back would give you trouble if you wandered too close to places with extreme temperatures, and this recent incident proved to us that yes, winter islands are not a good place for you right now." He proceeded to rub his hand at the back of his neck, as if that look of contrition had any place on the commander of Whitebeard's first division. "We are sorry for putting you through that without warning. We should have remembered Bay's warnings, but it slipped our minds."

His cerulean eyes (which reminded Ace of the sea somehow, despite it looking so much like the sky on a quiet morning) met his, apologetic and almost imploring even, before he nodded again once he was sure he still had Ace's attention. "If the wounds on your back don't hurt as much, it means we did the right thing by steering clear. But like my brothers said, we're not sure if your back would react the same way at desert islands, and Navigation needs to plan a new route for resupply and emergency stops, if needed, yoi."

Ace hummed under his breath. "I'm okay," he said after a lull. "To test it out. The desert islands." He had to be, no matter how discomfited he felt at the threat of his back acting up. An entire ship depended on those supplies.

Marco smiled at him with such warmth the teenager had to look away. That was, until the words caught up to him. "Wait. What do you mean you steered clear of the islands?"

"The winter islands, kiddo," Thatch answered this time. He got to his feet and walked over to join his brothers in hovering over him. His expression was earnest and yet firm, as if he was preparing for this moment. "We heard of the…incident with your back. We turned the ship the other way, so it won't be so hard on you."

The moments the words sank in, he turned wide eyes to the Whitebeards. "What?" he said in disbelief. "You what?" he said again because this was clearly the best time and place to lose his ability to articulate his thoughts. Not that he was thinking much in the first place because what?!

Marco must have finally caught on to his confusion as he plopped himself on the bed next to him. "Your back was hurting you, yoi," he answered his unspoken question gently.

"W-what about resupplying?"

Izo shrugged. "We sent in part of my division to help the fourth restock."

"You said it wouldn't be enough for the entire ship," Ace reasoned.

When the three older pirates just stared at him, as if confused by him (again!), Ace drew back to lean against the bedframe. His fingers clenched into fists before he opened them, only to tighten them again. "So, you're telling me," he said, taking care to enunciate his words precisely as he meant them, "that you shifted the course of an entire gigantic ship, because I – a non-member of your crew – felt extra sensitive near a winter island."

The kimono-clad pirate tucked a stray hair behind his ear. For some reason, he looked displeased. "First off, you're not just a non-member of the crew," he said as he reached over to flick the teen on his forehead. To what would be his utter embarrassment, Ace instinctively grabbed onto Marco's arm (it happened to be the nearest to him, he would mentally argue). "You have been with us for over two months as our guest," Izo continued, ignoring how the young pirate had reacted and suddenly looking quite indignant. "Secondly, sensitive? You couldn't even walk. You had difficulty breathing. Bay told us you shouldn't even have been conscious!"

"That's enough, Izo," the chef stepped in when the sixteenth commander looked about ready to launch into another tirade. "Let him breathe."

Ace's frown remained on his boyish features. "I just…I just don't understand," he muttered. He gestured at the three of them. "You lot are confusing."

The commanders traded looks. "Or maybe, you're just confused because you've never met people like us before," Thatch offered. He gave the fire-user a pointed stare and instantly the fire-user remembered the whiff of stale air and the clink of metal against concrete floor. A raspy whisper drifted into his ears.

Because it was the only way we knew you'd live.

Ace's features drew a blank. "No," he said, voice flat. "Pretty sure you guys are just crazy."

Maybe 'crazy' was not the most accurate word to describe the Whitebeards. Perhaps 'insane' or 'mentally off their rockers' would be more apt. Ace should really do the world a favour and build the world's biggest asylum to throw them in. It would at least repay his debts to them. And he could walk away with a reasonably guilt-free head.

…right?

True to the Whitebeards' words, the temperature had gradually increased again, enough that the aches in his back did not send him curling into a ball on the floor. They had tried to wrap him up in blankets like a burrito but it had become apparent that nothing short of moving away from the wintry island itself would stop his injuries from acting up. Ace still was unsure how to respond when the supply team returned and left right after for another supply mission, saying they could not bring back enough to last them even four days.

And that was the hardest thing: the same swirls of confusion never stopped plaguing him. How was he to act now? They had saved him. Thatch had been unbearably kind and thoughtful for him, going so far as to withstand torture in his place. Given that he had challenged Whitebeard first, that this had started because of him… It did not help that his…experience at Kai's hands had markedly reshaped his perspective of 'captivity' and 'ruthlessness'. It was almost odd, he thought, how differently he viewed the Whitebeards now. Before, he had seen them as authoritative figures who sought to bound him to their will, no matter their persistent claims on family. Their every offer to help him, to feed and clothe him, to listen to him, to invite him in – their outstretched hands to claim him as their own. How could that even compare to his time with Kai? Ace knew he could be a real stubborn, jerk, but he was not so cruel he would discredit them for their kindness towards him.

To add to the whirlwinds in his head, Ace found himself treated unbearably well now. No one seemed to resent him for Thatch's capture. The crew had since ceased their avoid-Ace-at-all-costs behaviour after Marco happened (yes, because his name was explanatory enough). They now always caught him out, always dragged him into conversations that asked after his well-being, if he needed anything, or heck, if he was feeling fine. They took note of his mannerisms and took extra precautions so he would feel comfortable. This was far beyond anything he had expected (he had waited for imprisonment, sneers and mocking laughter at his return). He felt, dare he think it, looked after.

Maybe their benevolence was in reaction to his own lack of hostility. Perhaps this was what they had offered to him all along and he was too blind to see it. Heck, it could be plain ol' sympathy. But…he was not oblivious enough to miss that they were treating Thatch the exact same way, only with less caution.

"Hey, Commander Thatch! You feeling alright?"

"The hell you calling me commander for?"

A bark of laughter. "In case you forgot you gotta cook for us soon. Your division's good, but you've gotta come back and pull your weight again, eh?"

"Hey, I trained those guys myself!"

"Yeah yeah. So commander, you feeling alright? You filled up good with lunch today? We set aside your favourites for you, so you better not have wasted our efforts."

Another round of laughter. "I'm so full I think I might need to sleep it off for the next week. So enjoy the kitchens being commander-less for a week more, you slave drivers!"

"What? That's- wait, you know what? That's good. No sparring, no pranks, no running around for a week, gotcha, Thatch!"

"Wait wait- No!"

"Hey guys! Let's appoint a new fourth commander!"

Ace remembered watching them horsing around on deck, painfully reminded of his own brothers, that he was on this ship alone. But more importantly, he saw the similarities with how they engaged with him. It was plain mystifying.

He knew he couldn't raise a hand towards any of them anymore. There was no point lying to himself anymore. He cared– not for all of them, sure, but he did for the select few who had somehow clawed their way in (through extraordinarily creepy ways, but the fact remained true).

So what should he do now?

"No."

Izo traded an exasperated look with Thatch. "He said no," he said, voice flat.

The chef's lips quirked into a wry smile, as if unsurprised by the immediate refusal. He turned to the glowering fire-user with his hands on his hips. "Really, Ace? After all we went through together, you're going to stomp on my heart like this?"

The response was instantaneous. Ace narrowed his eyes into slits, and the brunette could almost swear those charcoal grey eyes were smouldering with flames. "No," he snapped. His already thinning frame (not for long, if he had anything to do about it, and he did) was hunched over, his right hand placed protectively over his left arm, fingers digging so hard soft skin the chef almost feared it would bleed.

Thatch raised his hands. "I think you misunderstand," he said carefully as he made his way towards the teen. As it was, the kid was seated cross-legged on his bed. He looked almost harmless in the too large sweater he had been loaned and his bare feet poking from beneath his legs only added to the image of youthful innocence. Too bad that didn't match the scowl on his pissed off face. "Remember what happens when we misunderstand each other?"

Ace's whole body went stiff, as it was now prone to do whenever the topic of his capture was raised. His gaze darted away before returning to meet his. "Fine. Explain then."

Thatch grinned and gestured at the sixteenth commander to elaborate. Izo, for his part, just looked upward as if praying for the patience he didn't have. He raised the toolbox in his hand to pull the fire-user's attention towards it. It was fairly plain-looking, as if it could belong to the average farmer or shipwright. But this, the chef knew, contained the tools that he was sure the kid would appreciate for the rest of his life.

"This," Izo began, "contains some tools we would need for later, so don't go panicking on me when you see them." He fixed the kid with an appraising look. "Thatch tells me that jerk marred the tattoo you have on your arm. He said it became near unrecognisable due to the scarring." He paused when an unpleasant twist of upset crossed the kid's boyish features. His voice gentled. "I can't promise you the scars will be completely gone, but I'm sure I can find a way to make your tattoo more pronounced and the scars less visible to others. If you want me to."

Ace gaped at them. His lips parted in surprise, and his earlier fiery grey eyes had morphed into watery grey. He looked to struggle to get himself together, his gaze flicking between both commanders again and again, until Thatch took mercy on him.

He dropped the palm of his hand onto messy black locks. "So what do you say, kid? Think you'd want to sit with this brother of mine for hours to get it done?"

It was near hilarious how the kid tried to look at him without moving his head. "But…why?" he whispered, his voice full of puzzlement and sounding pitifully lost.

"Because we like you."

99 Days

It would not be a stretch to say Ace was about to tear his hair out into clumps, shove it in his mouth to possibly choke himself, and maybe find the answer he was looking for when his vision would fade into darkness.

His head felt heavy, so full with his thoughts and worries and what-ifs and whatever other crap he could fit into his brain. He wanted to run into the nearest wall, break it, and let it all gush out because this headache would end him before anything else could. It did not help that he had – of course he did – taken to arguing with himself about all the things he should not have done and should do. Like all arguments with one Portgas D. Ace, it involved a lot of SHUT UPs and STUBBORN JACKASSes in painfully loud voices rebounding within the confines of his poor skull.

The only thing that made it worse were the accompanying poor temper and living with the wonderful creation that was himself.

The Yonko crew must have noticed his inner frustrations for most left him relatively alone, except for the occasional smile (of concern?) and nod (why?). Even Marco gave him room to breathe while he traipsed all over the ship in utter defiance of the nurses' orders. At least, he had after that brief check-in in the morning:

Marco regarded him with that same calm look, that same quiet strength that could have anchored an entire ship in a storm. He must have seen something in Ace then for his lips quirked into a wry smile, almost accepting, almost resigned. "Whenever I am lost, yoi," he had said, his smooth voice low and soft, "I turn to the one man I know would hold me up without question, complete in my faith that he would not let me fall. I turn to his strength, his wisdom – no matter his mischievous streak – his understanding and acceptance."

"You mean your…Captain."

Ace could almost swear the corners of the blonde's eyes crinkled in mirth. "My father," he corrected.

"Why not your siblings? You have hundreds of them."

"The love of a father is far more dangerous, far more powerful than any between siblings. In his hands, I feel at home."

To be frank, Ace felt it was ridiculous. He felt at home with his own brothers too. Why would their sentiment towards one another pale to that of a parent's simply because…well, one was a parent? A flash of strawberry blond and a gentle smile in his mind's eye. His mother had died for him, yes. But he supposed- no, he would not tarnish her memory and her decision by thinking so poorly of himself then. But the late Pirate King? And where was Luffy's father? Luffy was abandoned to live in a village, alone, until he was brought to the bandits' hideout. He lived without the shelter of a father, and without even knowing who his mother was. If parents were so great, why had Sabo too been subject to such tremendous pain?

Ace was not going to be fooled into believing in the inherent powers and feelings of parents just because Whitebeard was unbearably kind with his adopted children. Any guy could pretend to listen with avid attention the long, arduous stories of a drunken sailor. A smart enough guy could memorise all the names of the Whitebeard crew and where they were stationed at any one time. What? Whitebeard protected and avenged his hurt and fallen crew members? Any Captain worth his salt would do that. It certainly helped that Whitebeard had the strength to do it too.

Asking another how their day was, how they felt, what their plans were- showing an interest in the lives of his children were no big feat. Sure, he had seen how Whitebeard had squished himself into one of his lower ranked crew member's dormitory, plopped himself onto the floor, and all that just to speak to the crew member's little sister, who had wanted proof that 'her big brother was a Whitebeard pirate'. It had taken the giant man near an hour just to get out. And he had seen the Captain pause in his duties (or drinking) to attend to an upset son or daughter, somehow knowing how to soothe them. They walked off cheerier and…No. Whitebeard was just another man. He did not have some superpower that being a father gave him. He had already eaten a devil fruit so that ruled that out anyway.

But Ace refused to believe the man. There was nothing good about fathers. Parents were hurtful, vile creatures who went to great lengths to hurt the children they bore into this world. Whitebeard was no exception. This was all probably to fool him, yes. Even if it was impossible for them to have planned all the little incidents where-

YOU'RE BEING STUBBORN AGAIN, JACKASS!

SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!

Ace wanted to groan into his hands. No, done that. He wanted to crawl into a hole and not leave till someone solved this for him.

"Whenever I am lost, yoi, turn to the one man I know would hold me up without question, complete in my faith that he would not let me fall. I turn to his strength, his wisdom…his understanding and acceptance."

A thought occurred to him. He could not…could he? He internally shook himself in exasperation. Of course he couldn't! The moment he had regained a semblance of coherency since his return to the Moby Dick, Ace had been all too keenly aware of his attempted assassination attempts on the Yonko. It was almost hilarious how pathetically he had failed, and it was even more kill-him-now-funny now that he was back and infirmed under that very same man's care.

Life was a joke. A pathetic joke at his expense because why why why!

One moment he wanted to walk onto the deck and demand an explanation (because heck, he can't be the only one confused!) and the next he wanted to roll into a ball and beg them to leave him somewhere so he would not have to face them till the end of time.

What should he do? What should he want to do? What was the right answer?!

…you were misguided, you thought you could gain something you wanted by defeating him, but you were wrong.

Oh, darn it all to hell. He wanted to drink himself dead.

Marco's eyebrows twitched as he stared, expression blank, as the scene played out before him.

It was almost worthy to be a show in a theatre, except he was an unwitting viewer and he had turned just as his sharp eyes focused on source of all his problems leaping into the air, an axe in hand. It was comical, even, how time seemed to slow down as his siblings all caught wind of the change in atmosphere, how his father lit up with mirth as he pretended not to see the impending attack on his person.

Ace, in all his glorious glory of bandages and dark circles, was still going higher, higher, higher, until he was level with Whitebeard's shoulder. His face was set in an expression of hyper concentration, though the commander was sure he would fall onto his butt if he was distracted only slightly. The axe (really?) was gripped tightly in his (trembling?) hands, raised high above his head, and then thrown towards the irritatingly amused Yonko. At least, that was what the kid must have intended to happen, except his throw was off and the axe went whipping through the air to land at Whitebeard's feet.

Ace of course did not let it end there. He pulled his fist back (his arms really did look thinner) and then let loose a ball of flames towards Whitebeard. Who, with a flick of his hand, extinguished the fire as if swatting away a flea. Being the persistent little dumb idiot that he was, the kid continued on his merry way to attack the Yonko with his fists, promptly ending up on his butt on the deck when he failed his third spectacular attempt in ten seconds.

A dead silence swept through the deck. Then, as if the skies itself was mocking him, the once bright sky darkened as dark, roiling clouds swept through the very heavens. A streak of lightning zipped through the air to touch the growing waves as rain began to pour, sending pirates fleeing left and right to secure their ship. Marco raised his hand to keep the water out of his eyes, his gaze searching for the fire-user who surely must have been the reason for the temperamental weather.

"Ace, yoi! Are you alright?" he asked quickly as he ran towards the soaked teen. The pained grimace on the kid was answer enough, and he was already turning to glower at his captain. "Oyaji!"

The giant man had the audacity to look sheepish as he leaned over the kid with poorly disguised concern. His words, however, were completely unrepentant. "Who am I to stop such an ambitious young man from carrying out his dreams, Marco?" he said amidst rumbling laughter.

Marco shot him an unimpressed look. It was ridiculous, he thought as he knelt next to their unusually quiet guest, that a man of his size could look endearing in his unapologetic self. "Ace, you alright?" he repeated.

The incessant downpour fell into his eyes, making to catch the growing redness in the younger's cheeks. "I'm fine," Ace was muttering. He watched the kid slap the palms of his hands on the ground, as if preparing to push himself up, when the kid's face scrunched into another grimace and sneezed. Ace looked as surprised as any of them, his eyes comically wide. "Oh."

Marco resisted the urge to look heavenward. Of course.

"You should warm yourself up, my boy." Whitebeard's voice was unusually loud behind him, and Marco did not have to turn to know the man had moved to lower himself next to them. Ace's features was already shifting into reluctant bewilderment (and was that fear?) as the man towered over him.

"Yes," the blonde agreed. He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the kid's shoulders. It was not waterproof but it managed well enough in such inclement weather. "That goes for you too, Oyaji. You shouldn't be out in this weather. You know what the nurses said."

Whitebeard only response was the familiar sound of grumbling, similar to how one would think an earthquake would sound like. Only warmer and endlessly amused.

Marco was not surprised in the least when the man made no sign of moving. "Stubborn old pirates," he muttered. Another sneeze caught their attention. The commander tried to coax the teen onto his feet, but for some reason or other, the young pirate only kept his wide-eyed gaze fixed on the Yonko, his mouth slightly parted, looking awfully baffled. Weary concern surged through the blonde. Oh, the kid could fall more ill, couldn't he? He already looked to have a fever.

Whitebeard did not seem to suffer the same muddling thought processes as his son. The man went ahead to pluck the teen like a disobedient cat, his large hands enveloping the pirate so easily that Marco was reminded again how young the kid was. The muffled squeak was not missed. The Yonko proceeded to hold his hands together, one pirate nestled in them, as he stood. He turned to look at Marco, gaze expectant.

Marco shook himself. Right. An assassination attempt, a storm, and now his father was holding the rogue pirate like one would tenderly hold an almost drowned bird. The man must find this hilarious- yes, he did, the commander confirmed, judging by the delighted grin and fond look in his eyes.

"Right," he said tiredly. He turned. "Come on then. He can dry off in the infirmary before returning to his room if that's what he wants, yoi."

He was not going to think about what an odd trio they made. A normal person and a giant holding a suddenly mute kid in his hands.

"Oyaji?"

The pirate in question turned to see Vista standing at his door. In his hands were the axe he remembered Ace had used in his earlier attempts to normalcy. He grinned at his son. "My boy, what brings you here tonight? You know Marco would fuss if you keep me up too late." He let out a laugh at the thought. Oh, Marco. That boy was always a balm to his aging heart.

The corners of Vista's moustache twitched, clearly as amused as his old man was. He came forward to hold the axe to him. "I thought you might want this."

Whitebeard lifted an eyebrow, his amber eyes shifting from the weapon to his commander. "I see," he said as he took the proffered item.

Vista smiled, knowing and a little bit mischievous even, as he turned to leave. "Don't throw it away, Oyaji. You'd be surprised at what you could find." He paused just as he crossed the doorway. "Or maybe not, since it's you."

The Yonko snorted. Those brats. Contrary to popular belief, he didn't know everything. "Good night, son. Don't let Marco catch you."

A chuckle. "Rest well."

Whitebeard studied the weapon in his hand, not taking long to catch whatever it was Vista had wanted him to see. Attached to the haft was a tiny white cloth tied near the throat of the weapon. He cursed his large fingers when they struggled to loosen it enough, distantly wondering if it was worth getting his children to do it for him. Before he could, the item came loose to fall onto his lap.

He picked it up and spotted dark ink staining parts of the cloth. Oh?

Whitebeard, he caught as he began to smooth the cloth open.

Whitebeard. I don't know if you'll catch this. Or if you could even open this, with how ridiculously large you are (the brat). But I hear you're a great listener. Marco even says you are his home (that brat…). Which is ridiculous because you're just an old man with a weird name and- okay. I'm not doing this right.

Whitebeard. I don't know if I could say this to your face right now, or ever. I know you came for Thatch, but I guess, I want to thank you for coming for me too, despite all the trouble I have given you. You could have left me on that ship with Kai. I was no different from him, you know. If I had been stronger and smarter, I could have really hurt you and your crew. The only reason you don't hate me like you did Kai is because I'm too weak to be threatening.

I don't know what will happen in the future. All my plans have been derailed. It's confusing, but Marco also says you're his guidepost. If anyone could be weird enough that even that guy would turn to him, then I suppose you're not so bad. Well, it's all been plain confusing. I don't know how else to describe it. Guess you being some lighthouse can't even help me here, huh.

But what I'm sure of is: I am sorry for my repeated attacks on you.

Thatch was right. It was selfish and unkind of me. I hope you won't take it against me. Even if we were to become enemies in the future, I hope it would be because of something future me will do, and not for what my dumb old self had done.

You know what. I don't actually feel better. I'm writing on a stupid towel. I don't even know how to give you this. Yeah, well, cheers. Thanks and sorry, I guess.

Ace.

The old pirate felt his lips widen in a grin. That cheeky little brat. All he needed was a good bottle of liquor and a good ol' hug to feel better. Whitebeard could never understand why these kids always complicated things.

100 Days

"Are you feeling alright?"

"I don't know."

"You don't look well."

"I don't know."

"Do you want something to eat?"

"I don't know."

"Do you want to change your name to 'I don't know'?"

"I don't know."

Ace pressed his right palm over the back of his left hand, rubbing at it absent-mindedly, the faint generated warmth dragging at his attention like a whirlpool in the sea. It helped to clear the clouds of oddness in his thoughts. It was something he desperately needed because, as far as he knew, he was not made for complicated thought processes. He was not like Sabo that way, but he was too realistic and sombre to be like Luffy either.

He was the in-between, a distant part of his mind mused. He was neither here nor there.

"Are you hungry?" the same voice called out to him.

"I don't know."

"Are you even listening?"

"I don't know," the same words rolled off his tongue for what might be the thousandth time. Ace dragged his feet up to sit cross-legged on the infirmary bed. He had decided, to his ever eternal surprise, to remain there after his brief breakdown on deck- after his body had somehow shut down into inconvenient paralysis when that giant moustached man had towered over him like a skyscraper to an ice cream truck. He had lost his ability to speak, to even react when the man had carried him like an infant to the infirmary. Why did he do that- why? Why did he give himself more reason to be embarrassed and ashamed of his very existence?

And he was. The tell-tale curl of discomfort in his chest – that became heavier by the hour – was the same shame and guilt he felt whenever he hurt people who were good. This was not like before. Before, he had resented them for holding him captive, for making him choose between the impossible. Now…now he could see that he had an option all along. He had been captive in a cage of his own making.

But it was still so difficult!

Ace was startled out of his inner musings when a rough hand grabbed at his arm, that he had been using to pound the top of his knee without much thought. He raised his head to meet Marco's stern face.

"Stop that, yoi," the man said once he had the freckled pirate's attention. "You'll hurt yourself."

Ace almost said 'I don't know' again before he caught himself.

There was a long pause before Marco continued, voice even: "You've been ignoring Thatch the entire time he's been here. What's up with that? I thought you both were alright."

This time, when the teen answered, the words were honest and true. "I don't know," he said, shrugging. His gaze fell to his lap. "I don't know anything."

There was another beat of silence. "Thatch cares for you deeply, even if you refuse to see it- even if that doesn't matter to you. He went through something traumatic with you, yoi, and it hurts him to know you were hurt when he felt he could have prevented it. You don't have to be so unkind to him."

Ah. There it was. Ace wondered if his own voice shared that tinge of big-brother disapproval when Luffy was hurt because of someone else. He began to pick at the fabric of his borrowed sweatpants. "You should have left me there," he muttered. "Would have saved you all these problems."

"Have you considered that that wasn't an option for us?"

"Thatch would have fought to bring me back, I know that much," Ace admitted quietly. "I know all of you wouldn't deny him that. But you have to admit, I am a lot of trouble. More than you expected. The super rookie from East Blue. Shot to infamy even in the New World. You probably thought I was some powerhouse that could bolster your strength or something. I don't know." He shrugged. "Thatch is better off away from me. He'd fight too hard for no reason."

"And you think the rest of us wouldn't? That I wouldn't?"

Ace only sighed. "I don't know," he said again. This should become his go-to phrase. If he survived this ordeal with his head.

Rough fingers tugged at the knots in his hair, pulling at the tangles he knew were there. "You are trouble, yoi," Marco said in the same quiet voice. "But whoever comes without it? It makes you human." A pause. "Just, if you're going to leave, don't let us part on a bad note."

Ace let his eyes slip shut. They were already giving up on him, weren't they?

As the hours dragged on, too worryingly fast and yet too unbearably slow, it began to sink in that near the entire crew thought he was going to leave. The pirates still shot him kind smiles and some even stopped him in the hallway to give him their best wishes. Ace could not deny the lurch in his heart when Jozu, the bulking diamond-turning pirate, stood over him to drop a logpose in his hand.

"The seas can be rough, Fire Fist. This logpose is not new, but it has served me well enough all these years. I hope the luck it has brought me will ring true for you."

He told himself the sheer size of the man was intimidating at best. There was no way his insides had seized at what could only be a parting gift for his impending departure.

They didn't have to do it so quickly though, did they? Marco had offhandedly mentioned that he was doing well enough to walk around the ship, so long as he did not overexert himself, but that he needed at least another two months before he would be cleared by their head doctor. That could only mean they intended to keep him until then, right?

But they were withdrawing from him, he realised with an unexpected drop in his stomach. Even the commanders kept their distance. They stopped asking after details in his personal life, stopped asking him to join them for a game or two (he remembered Rakuyo being given a stern talking to by an incensed first commander when he had invited Ace for a drink), stopped dropping by the infirmary to visit. They were…treating him like a guest.

Which was good. He was a guest. Lucky enough to receive medical assistance from the strongest crew in the world. So why was this change making his heart hurt? It meant…it meant he wanted them to treat him more familiarly than this, right?

These troubling thoughts accompanied him as he approached Haruta with a request in mind. The commander seemed to consciously restrain himself from acting his usual cheerful self and politely led him to the communications room. The room was, to his dismay, full of the twelfth division members, scattered across the den dens as they worked on their duties. Haruta must have sensed the change in his moods for he coughed into his hands, gaining the full attention of the other pirates. He eyed his subordinates with a pointed look, before jerking his chin towards the door.

When the room was cleared, Haruta offered him a kind smile and pointed at one of the den dens at the first table lining the wall. "You can use any of them. Let me know if you need anything, alright?"

Ace mumbled his thanks, suddenly feeling quite ashamed at having caused the man more trouble. They were ridiculously kind. And for what? He waited for the door to close before slumping into the seat furthest from the exit. With another heavy breath and a short prayer to above, Ace's fingers danced across the den den mushi, pushing the numbers he held so close to his heart.

There was a click and for a moment, Ace nearly froze when he heard the quiet breathing at the other end.

"Hello?" the voice asked when he remained silent.

Ace felt something sting in his eyes when the word was closely followed with his name. Oh, no matter how much he doubted in himself, she somehow always knew it was him.

"Ace?" Makino's kind voice was saying. "I know it's you, sweetie. Speak to me. Let me hear your voice."

He exhaled almost noisily as he hunched over the table, pulling the phone closer to himself. The bartender only called him that when he was truly upset. It was almost ironic, how he hated such soft names when in control, but longed for a touch of affection when in distress. "How did you know it was me?" he asked, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

"Few would call my private number at this hour, Ace," she said, almost amused. "I have waited to hear from you for a while now."

"I'm sorry. I only worry you."

The answering silence was telling. "It's only natural we worry about people we care about. I would worry about you even if you were here with me, right now. The same way you worry about Luffy."

Ace felt the smallest of smiles pull at his lips. "Who says I worry about that little imp?"

To his surprise, there was a note of mischief colouring Makino's words. "Oh? Your grandfather came to visit yesterday. I'm almost sure I could hear screaming late into the night."

Alarm shot through the fire-user. His back straightened as he imagined all the horrors that Vice-Admiral could bring to children's nightmares. "What? Is he okay? Oh seas, he's dead, isn't he!"

Makino's ensuing laughter stopped him in his tracks. "See?" she said when she calmed down. "Big brothers worry. And don't you get yourself in a twist. Luffy's fine. You know he would be."

And just like that, it occurred to Ace Makino had taught him in her own way what it meant to be concerned for another's welfare. The earlier sobriety returned to him.

"Makino," he complained feebly.

"Alright, alright. Are you ready to tell me why you called now?"

"What makes you think there's a specific reason for it? Maybe I called because I missed home," he challenged. It was almost sad that it was no lie.

"We missed you too. And you know we would do anything within our power to keep you safe and happy."

Ace lowered his head to rest on the top of the desk. The communication device was pressed against his ear, the snail dragged closer to his chest. "I know." He swallowed. "I just…"

Makino's lilting voice was encouraging. "Talk to me, sweetie."

And just like that, the fire-user began to pour out his concerns and troubles and worries and everything in his mind. The words rolled off his tongue, disorganised and confusing they may be. He shared his hurts, his pains, and his confusion, spoke of his indecision and the sudden fear that he may have been too late to save himself.

To her credit, Makino listened with rapt attention, not once interrupting to even ask him questions. She was magical like that. She always knew what he meant without a second explanation. It was only until the last few words escaped his parted lips did she speak.

"The Whitebeards hurt you, didn't they?"

Ace jolted at the displeasure in her voice. "Makino? Didn't you hear what I said?"

"I heard what you said. They kidnapped you, a young teenage captain, and asked you to join their ranks. They kept you isolated from the friends you had chosen for yourself by yourself for the first time in your life." Her voice lowered and Ace was startled to recognise it as tightly restrained fury. "But they were kind to you. They smiled at you, gave you gifts and their time, invited you in. They were interested in you. They protected you when you were harmed, cared for you when you felt hurt. Now that they have moved a step back, you feel this loss because you did lose something. You lost that sense of being sheltered, a feeling that you've been without most of your life." Though she had softened near the end, her voice hardened again just as quickly. "So, yes, I believe they've hurt you. They've forced on you a taste of what you've always wanted. And now they are dangling it before your eyes."

For the longest moment, Ace could only stare at the den den mushi he was hugging with slack-jawed disbelief. This was not what he had in mind when he called her. "I…This is not something I've always wanted," he choked out. "I already have a family!"

Makino's voice turned abruptly turned incredibly kind. It was almost scary how she could shift between the emotions without a beat. "Yes. Your younger brothers." And it never failed to tie his heart into knots and yet be a balm on his wounded heart when she always acknowledged Sabo still. "But you were always the one who looked out for them. No one has ever truly watched over you the way you did for them."

"Makino… I… What are you saying? I don't get it."

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm only confusing you," she said, sounding apologetic. "Though they disregarded your will and your feelings, I'm glad the Whitebeards were there to look after you. I'm glad they protected you. I'm glad they made you feel cared for. And you! Don't go around challenging big-name pirates! I can't even be mad at them properly!"

"Um. Sorry?"

"Are you?"

Ace sighed. "I don't know. What makes you think they aren't out for me anyway? I've nothing to offer them. They're stronger, they have a reputation, they have everything I don't."

Makino did not seem surprised at his obvious self-depreciation of himself. If anything, her response was swift and firm. "Ace, sweetie. I don't pretend to understand how you feel. You've always had good instincts. Trust in your actions and that is enough."

Ace felt his eyes water again. How could it be enough? He had only made mistakes again and again since he set sail. How could she be so confident in him? He gave voice to his thoughts.

"If there is anything I learnt from this, Ace, it is that the Whitebeards have shown you a new purpose in your life: and that is to be loved. Though I disapprove of their methods, I like this better. Luffy, Sabo, Dadan, your grandfather…even myself. Our love has never been enough for you."

"What? Of course it is!" Ace shot back in disbelief, ignoring the fact that the topic would have sent him careening off the ship in embarrassment at any other time.

Somehow, he knew the bartender was smiling that sad, wonderful smile she reserved for him when she thought he was not looking. "You deserve more than our fleeting moments together, Ace. Most times, you only had Luffy. You raised him. You deserve to be loved too."

"Makino!" he hissed hotly. "I'm not- that's not- You just said they were hurtful to me!"

"Yes," the bartender agreed with such speed it almost floored him. "They were. I don't know if I could ever forgive them for that. But, Ace, what would you if you leave?"

Ace bit his lip at the question. That was truly it, wasn't it? What would he do? His primary purpose in life was to become the Pirate King (what a joke), to prove that he was better than his real father ever was. It was a goal so driven in him he had forgotten to live along the way, only briefly engaging in fun times with his crew as he raced forward to shed the burdens of his name off his shoulders. Huh. He could see why Makino preferred this one.

He let out a soft chuckle. "I'm really sad, aren't I?" he muttered.

Makino was quick to correct him. "You are living, Ace."

"Tough. I didn't ask for this."

"No one did." A pause. "Listen to your heart's instincts. Listen to what it says. Do what you feel is best, Ace. Trust in your actions and it is enough," she repeated.

"What if…" He blinked at the now pulsing ache in his chest. He swallowed. "What if they don't want me anymore?" he asked, voice small.

"Then they are undeserving of you," Makino said tightly. "If that happens, get off that ship when you've recovered and find a new purpose. Your own purpose."

Despite himself, Ace smiled at the well disguised threat colouring her words. It felt nice, knowing that someone out there cared for his happiness. It was an odd feeling, almost mysterious, even though he deserved none of it.

That made him selfish, he knew. He was evil incarnate, but he wanted to be loved anyway. It was good that pirates were selfish.

"I'll think about it," he promised.

The answering response was infused with warmth. "Good. Now, tell me of your adventures if you still have time to spare."

If there were words to describe what was happening, it would include a variety of languages that pointed to the same meaning: he had royally screwed things up.

For all his eccentricities and weird habits (Deuce never seemed to understand him, for some reason, so he had long accepted that his way of life was slightly different. Living in a forest would do that to you), Ace was sharp enough to understand he didn't want to leave. The thought of bidding goodbye to this stupid crew saddened him in a way he had never felt before. Not jarringly heart-wrenching as sitting at Sabo's grave, nor was it the same soft yearning he felt for Luffy's companionship on the seas. But this odd feeling that twisted the ache in his head was…startling in its strength.

What was it that kept him here? He had wondered as he walked about the whale ship.

He thought of Marco treating him a stranger. To have those sharp cerulean eyes regarding him with cool disinterest made his heart sink.

That Thatch would no longer ply him with pitiful jokes with that warm expression on his face made him feel sad.

Imagining Izo no longer nagging at his poor choice of attire (the clothes weren't even his), seeing the kimono-clad pirate treating him with the same coldness he treated strangers made his shoulders droop.

Picturing Whitebeard dismissing him as unimportant, as another cocky rookie on the seas, as a kid not worth thinking about, sent a clench through his sad, little heart.

Ace visualised every picture of every possible future he could think of. The crew's lack of acknowledgement should they ever cross paths. The watchful stares and the whispers, the absence of kind, concerned smiles. It was nothing, he told himself. Such gestures did not make him feel that his feelings were important. That he was significant.

He saw himself reading the news about another of the Whitebeard's exploits. He wouldn't wonder how it would have been like, to be caught in the middle of that revelry, as one of their own.

It wouldn't matter to him. He would just go on his way, sailing the seas for… Waiting until Luffy set sail. Maybe he would go home a while. Perhaps, I may never leave home again. He sure as heck he wouldn't become Luffy's subordinate. A guest, maybe. But to sail under Luffy? His pride would never stand for that.

So much for sentiment.

Though the answer to his solution was as clear as the sky, it was hardly cloudless. Beyond his own misgivings, Ace was terrible at asking for things.

He was certain he wanted to stay. The crew was convinced he was going to leave.

How on the four seas was he ever going to ask to join their stupid family?

Drowning really seemed like a good idea right now.

"He's been acting strangely all day," Blamenco remarked. He was seated along one of the smaller dining tables in the kitchens, accompanied by most of the other commanders for their routine weekly get-together to catch each other up on their respective divisions.

Marco licked at his finger before using it to flick the page of his book. He hummed in acknowledgement.

"Kid's weird," Vista grunted. "Tried to attack Oyaji when the wind could throw him off his feet."

"He's not weird," Izo chastised. His eyebrows were furrowed in disapproval. "He's young. Teenagers are fickle at the best of times. He doesn't understand what he wants yet."

"Do teenagers walk around a ship as large as ours again and again when they are confused?"

"He needed a walk, I would think. Some fresh air," Izo readily answered.

Namur looked between the gathered commanders in mild interest. "Oh? You folks walk about 67 times – and counting – of the Moby Dick's parameters to feel better? I did not know that."

"It's the same way you go for a swim when you need a break, Namur," Vista clarified. "Except we can't breathe underwater, so we settle for walks on land instead."

Marco chose that time to interject. "Wait, yoi. 67 times?"

The fishman nodded. "I was bored. The poor boy looked troubled. I figured I'd keep watch over him."

"67 times?" the Phoenix repeated in disbelief. He dragged the palm of his hand over his face in tired exhaustion. "Why didn't you stop him? He should be resting."

"Oyaji didn't stop him! No other commander did!"

Haruta piped up, "He came to me earlier. He wanted to make a call. Ace was inside the comms room for almost 30 minutes, though he had fallen asleep when we came in."

Marco shook his head as he downed the rest of his coffee, standing up as he did so. "I'll check on him, yoi," he muttered.

Rakuyo watched his retreating back with a resigned sigh. He wagged his finger after the man, saying, "We should get Oyaji to sit that boy down so he wouldn't go running off after that kid all the time. Marco's going to grow grey hair soon enough."

"Not if his Phoenix powers heals it though," Blamenco pointed out.

Izo tucked a stray hair behind his ear. "Grey hair is a sign of aging, you moron. It's not an illness or an injury."

Haruta shrugged. "Blamenco's right," he said anyway. "But what's up with Ace? He seemed pretty down today. He barely smiled at anyone anymore, and he's only just begun to do it too."

"Yeah," Vista agreed. "My division were going to invite him for a game of Catch the Sea Kings, but they were worried they would upset him, so they left him alone."

Jozu, who had been silent most of the conversation, eyed his fellow brothers carefully as he folded his large arms across his chest. "Maybe he decided to leave."

At once, an air of disquiet fell over the pirates as they considered the possibility. The sudden wide eyes and crestfallen features were enough to show they had not thought of it.

"Oh," Haruta muttered. "He's going to leave?"

Izo's serene features did not falter, but he did close his eyes for a brief moment. "I see."

And as one, all of them kept in silence, firm in their knowledge that they have done all they could. If Ace decided to leave, they were not going to ask him to stay.

When night fell, after hours and hours of alternating between agonising over his options and giving up on life entirely, Ace rolled to his feet from the bed he had been lounging on. The feelings of frustration and utter irritation warred within him. He couldn't help but feel he would have a solution by now if one stupid turkey had not had the nerve to approach him to drag him to bed.

That darn-awful pinch in his face and that sharp disapproval in the very twitch of his pursed lips. "You are injured. You need rest. Stop walking!" the man had said in such clearly enunciated words, as if afraid Ace would wilfully pretend to misunderstand.

He was not wrong.

He bit his bottom lip, wondering, wondering, wondering, and finally, threw his hands in the air. Fine, he decided. He would throw it all out to fate. The fire-user squared his shoulders and headed out onto the deck, straight towards the only one person who held his future in his hands.

Whitebeard was still awake and alert despite the darkening sky. His back was straight and proud, and Ace could almost feel the thrum of sheer power radiating off the man in faint waves, even as he found himself slowing in his approach. The Yonko's silhouette was sharp against the background of his ship, and the fire-user was not the least surprised to find the outline of a tankard in the former's hands.

Ace swallowed as his heart began to race a mile a minute. Breathe slow, he reminded himself. The man would have killed you a long time ago had he wanted to.

In his growing anxiety, it was perhaps life's next laugh when he kept his eyes fixed on the strongest man in the world, completing missing the ropes that had been carelessly strewn on the deck. His foot hooked itself onto the cables and with that, his balance was promptly lost to send him careening to the floor.

For the second time in two days, Ace was off his feet on the deck. An aching pain shot up his back (which was just silly because he had landed on his front) and it took more than a breath to keep himself from crying out. Damn it damn it damn it. Was this an omen? Before he could get himself together, there was a brush of displaced air above him and suddenly two powerful fingers were hauling him to his feet.

"You alright, my boy?" the deep voice of the Yonko rumbled.

Ace's body stiffened with a rigidness that surprised him, even as his head lifted, robotically, to meet concerned, amber eyes.

The corners of Whitebeard's eyes crinkled in what looked to be quiet contemplation. "Still not speaking to me yet?" he asked when there was no answer.

Ace's countenance tightened to keep himself from becoming slack-jawed. His lips parted, closed, then parted again, presumably to choke out some words because he was not scared, but the thrumming, churning, gut-wrenching ache in his chest was quickly overpowering his senses.

The muted silence persisted. Somehow, the older man's features turned somewhat sad. "Please, at least tell me if you are hurt."

"N-no," the teen somehow gasped out. His hands shot to his mouth, his eyes wide. "No no no no no no no no…" No! How could he ask to become his son when he was this afraid of him? Was he crazy?

He watched as Whitebeard drew back and shifted. One of his knees was on the ground and he still yet towered over the teenager, but somehow the man was sharp enough to move himself such that the moonlight lit up the space between them, chasing the shadows that had engulfed the teen by the man's looming form. He had the oddest sense that the older pirate was uncertain even as the latter attempted to make himself look smaller.

He realised he was stilling mumbling 'no's under his breath and his jaw clicked shut. Oh. This was too much, he internally moaned. This was embarrassing and humiliating and he could not do it. He would die if he was rejected, he knew it.

"I saw your letter, my boy," Whitebeard said in a hushed whisper to keep any prying eyes from listening. Not that it mattered. Ace's attention was only on him. A small grin lit up the Yonko's face, barely visible under his moustache. "You are welcome."

The words were delivered with such sincerity Ace was almost stunned. It took him a short moment before his brain recalled what exactly he had written to the man in the late hours of that night. A hint of red spread through his cheeks at the reminder.

"I-it was-" He cleared his throat, his ability to speak returning to him. A miracle, was what it was. "You managed to open it," he said lamely.

Whitebeard's smile transformed into a large grin. "Took my old fingers a while, but what do you know? Even an old man like me can learn new tricks."

It was not funny at all, but Ace found himself playing along, albeit hesitant in his approach. "It's hardly new," he muttered. "It's just opening a stupid letter."

"Hardly stupid. It gave me another reason to smile before the day ended. And what's living without happiness, eh?"

Ace dropped his gaze to the floor. He was being mocked, wasn't he? Because he did not smile. But the fondness in that voice almost fooled him. Maybe…it really just meant the way it was. Could it?

"Tell me, Ace. Why did you come out tonight?"

An overly large finger nudged at his chin. It was almost absurd how one so huge could be so gentle, and once again Ace was staring up at him in awe. He saw an old man with an obsessively trimmed moustache, lines carved in his forehead, the crinkles beside his eyes. He saw a worn bandana worn to hide the loss of greying hair. And in his amber eyes, Ace saw the softness of compassion. Not once did he catch sight of the expected and familiar intimidating form of Yonko, the glowers and the sneers. Or had the veil finally lifted and he truly saw what had been there all along?

And suddenly, like metal to a magnet, Ace was spilling everything. How Marco and everyone else were confusing him; how they were trying to be nice to him when he was only causing them trouble, but then feeling guilty because they suffered because of him; how the crew members were giving him gifts for no reason at all and he felt he had to do something in return, but they always seemed upset when he voiced his intentions; how they reminded him of his own family, but they were different because they had no reason to want more company in a fleet as large as theirs; how he liked the idea of staying and that confused the heck out of him because he had never wanted to be around people much; how he felt utterly pathetic here and he hated that; how Whitebeard himself scared him because he had no beard but called himself Whitebeard, so that must mean the Captain was just plain weird and, by default, the crew was too; how he thought he was just going crazy because he was kidnapped and wanting to stay was definitely a symptom of madness, he was sure.

By the end of it, his voice had grown hoarse and his face so red he was going to combust anytime now. His eyes darted from the quiet Yonko to his feet to his twiddling thumbs to the man again to the side of the ship and- hey, now was a great time to take a swim, right?

A sudden huff and Ace abruptly found himself enveloped by two large hands. They did not touch him, but they hovered around his person, as if protecting him from view (or preventing him from escape, his mind whispered evilly into his ear).

He chanced a look up at Whitebeard.

The older pirate was regarding him with an odd look, the only reaction he had given so far. There was a slight furrow in his eyebrows and the lines of his mouth almost looked grim. A long moment later and the expression cleared, to be replaced with a grin that held a hint of mischief.

"Looks to me you just need a nudge in the right direction, eh, my boy?" he said, eyes twinkling. Then, as if it was that simple, the man asked the very question Ace discovered he had been waiting to hear again. "Would you like to become my son, Ace, and sail the seas free under my flag?"

Ace had imagined this moment. He once thought he would set the world ablaze in anger. He would sooner put a bullet in his head before he ever accepted a father. Then, he thought he would accept with practised grace. Calm. Collected. Instead…

A film of something wet slipped into his eyes, and soon Ace was rubbing his face roughly into the back of his arm. "Damn it, damn it, damn it," he swore as frustration and relief ballooned inside him. "I hate you I hate you I hate you! You made me like this!" he cried. He looked up to glare wetly at the stupid, stupid moron. "I wasn't like this before," he mumbled, sniffling. "I wasn't, I wasn't."

Whitebeard only drew his hands closer. It was like a promise, somehow, to safeguard him from the world, to keep him annoyingly confused till the end of time.

"Become my son," the Yonko- Edward Newgate said again, his voice powerful and yet so kind.

And just like that, Ace crumbled to his feet and to the demand.

And that concludes 'Perception'. I should feel triumphant really. I rarely reach the end of my stories. And well done to everyone who made it here too! Thank you for your support 3

Do leave a review, let me know what you think. Oh, and any ideas for new fics? I'm foreseeing quite a lot of time at home so...keep me entertained!

And, once again, do you know why this story was titled 'Perception'? Putting this here in case you - for those who might possibly want to answer - forget.

Keep safe, everyone. Please, please be mindful of your health and hang in there!