A/N: HEY YOOOOO! Sorry for the delay everyone, I've been a little haggard these last few weeks and couldn't find the motivation to write anything. That...plus I've recently re-joined the My Hero Acedemia fandom sooooooo maybe look out for a one-shot of that some time in the future? Even though I've never written for MHA ever?

ANYWAY! This chapter was freaking hard. I wanted to get so much crammed in but then deleted parts because then it got too crowded and I want to get them t Sabaody dammit! Sorry, but this is still kinda fillery, BUT, don't worry! Next chapter, we finally land on Sabaody, where shenanigans ensue and we meet a few familiar faces... :)

First things first, a few mentions!

Nido - hello there! Thank you so much, i really appreciate your comment! I'm hardly the best AU out there, trust me, but thank you!

DetectiveBiggs98 - YEAH HE DOES! Also I love Sabo and Koala, the best duo!

Ella - ZOMG! I'm so honored? Thank you!

phoenix - Thank you so much! And funny you should mention Luffy. He and Marco are gonna have a lil 'chat' next chapter :3

Rein - thank you, dear! As for whether Ace will dance again...well, wait and see :)

Andy - *is shaken* I tried to run but you SHOOK ME LIKE A DOLL XD Hopefully this chapter will cool your rage down about Teach XD This is gonna be another fillery one, but there is SOME DEVELOPMENT! FEAR NOT!

Llama - The Luff is growing up big time! Look out for some more growing sooooon! Thanks for the review!

Jennifer - Thank you so much I don't deserve this praiiiisssseeee!

CheshirePirates - I gotta say, writing the Jaya callback was much harder with Luffy being mute, but it was easily the most fun for me to write! Thanks hon!

JustCallMeCookie - Thank you! Updating regularly is a challenge, I'll tell you that, but reading reviews like yours makes it a little bit easier :)

That's all for now, if I missed anyone I'm sorry, but I appreciate every single one of you! Now, on with the chapter!

I OWN NOTHING. WARNING FOR MINOR MANGA SPOILERS FOR WANO ARC.

Enjoy :)

Chapter 29

Izo flops across his bed in an undignified heap, groaning into his pillow; a rare moment of gracelessness, but today he's allowing himself the luxury. Thatch, leaning against the door-frame, chuckles at the sight. Poor bastard must be exhausted. So is Thatch, but alas, he can't properly unwind quite yet unlike the rest of his fellow commanders; lunch is around the corner, and no way in hell the chef is going to pass out here so carelessly unless he wants to wake up with painted nails or something equally as horrifying.

But he does have time before he's needed in the kitchen. And the sight of Izo so thoroughly miserable, face down in his pillow, stirs up old feelings he's not had in a while. Feelings that have been building and building since the trouble trio arrived and nestled themselves neatly into every heart aboard the Moby. He smiles, arms crossed against his chest. "You good, Iz?" he asks.

He gets a muffled grunt in reply.

Chuckling again, the chef shuffles into the room proper and shuts the door behind him. The bed dips under his weight as he sits on the edge next to Izo's limp body. Izo doesn't move or bother to so much as lift his head, not even when Thatch takes a lock of his long, long hair and twirls it between his fingers. When Izo still doesn't react, Thatch lifts his other hand to gently card his fingers through the dark tresses nearer his scalp; it'll have to do, since Izo's favorite brush is across the room and Thatch is too comfy to bother fetching it.

It seems to do the trick. Izo slowly relaxes, sighing into his pillow. Fighting a stupid grin – he's just like their resident feline, easily susceptible to pets – Thatch starts to hum softly; a tune they know well, soft and soothing, slow and lulling...

Izo turns his head to glare at Thatch with one amber eye. Thatch stops humming, meets his gaze. Izo arches a neat brow. "Are you actually trying to put me to sleep?" he asks.

Thatch's answering grin is deceptively innocent. "Whatever do you mean?" he chimes, once more stroking Izo's hair despite the glower he gets in response. "Can I not ease the stress of my dearest brother after such a burdensome day? Coddle that whom is never coddled? Sooth that whom is never –"

"You want something," Izo snaps, though the upward tilt of painted lips gives him away, "and I'm telling you right now, all you'll get is the barrel of my gun up your ass."

The brunette cackles, teasing a full grin from Izo at last, however reluctant. "Alright, alright, I'll stop," Thatch says, raising his hands in mock surrender and shuffling backwards just a bit. "I don't want anything, not this time. And I wasn't actually trying to put you to sleep –"

"Good, it nearly worked."

"Oh, really? Sweet, better try that on Luffy next time. But, and please take no offense to this –"

"Already am."

" – you look like you're in desperate need of some shut-eye after all that. Hell, if it weren't nearly lunch I'd follow Sabo's lead and take a nap in the rigging."

"He'd better not be taking a nap in the bloody rigging again," Izo sighs, rolling onto his back and massaging the space between his brows as if warding off a headache. It's mostly for show – the only one who actually gets headaches over the brats and their antics is Marco. "He'll get hurt if he's not careful. It's not been nearly long enough since he was shot and we've already one boy to worry about."

Thatch flaps a careless hand. "Ah, I say let him do it. He's proven he can handle heights, and the kid can back-flip like nobody's business –"

"Jealous much?"

"Hell yeah I am! Besides, if Marco's gonna complain about it then he's a hypocrite. He loves the heights as much as Sabo, considering he roosts in the crows nest every other damn night. Freakin' feathers get everywhere and I'm the one who has to clean it up."

It's Izo's turn to chuckle, and he reluctantly sits up with a groan that's half feigned, shuffling until his feet hit he floor. He presses close to Thatch and lays his head on his shoulder. "God, it's been a morning," he mutters, lips twitching into a tired smile when Thatch throws an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

And yeah, Thatch has to agree. His brain, filled to the brim with a dump of too much information to process in the wee hours of the morning, is ready to implode.

Otherwise occupied with dinner and clean up in the galley after said fiasco – seriously, all that over cherry pies? - the Fourth Commander was unable to bear witness to Ace's supposed 'death sentence' in the infirmary last night. Granted, it's not every day you get diagnosed with narcolepsy, but it's hardly anything quite that dramatic. Or, so Thatch thought. This morning changed that swiftly.

From what Thatch understands, Ace's condition triggers sleep. That explains why the kid keeps passing out, be it at dinner or in the middle of a conversation. It might've been funny. But the meeting this morning, coupled with Whiskey's thunderous expression, quickly proved it to be anything but. Narcolepsy can be dangerous, and, now that Thatch thinks about it, scary.

(Thatch remembers, with a shiver, the last time it happened. Homeward bound after the disaster that was the now infamous Shopping Run. Watching the freckled teen collapse to the deck like a puppet cut loose from its strings, still as death, had been terrifying.)

Of all the things Ace could've developed, it had to be this; a disorder that triggers sleep, among other things that could stem from it. Like cataplexy, sleep paralysis, hallucinations. And how ironic that one of the leading triggers of this condition is psychological stress. Because of course it is.

Finally free from that hell, the chains rusting and crumbling with every passing day as they grow stronger, braver, better...and yet those bastards still managed to land one final blow, even from beyond whatever grave they'd dug for that waste of flesh of a King, that Ace will never heal from. As if they've not suffered enough.

Another unfortunate setback is that Ace can't overexert himself lest he trigger an attack, hence the snag the Commander's and their captain have hit with the boys' requests to train their Haki; a notoriously taxing mental, physical and spiritual ordeal. Thatch doesn't regret braving it, of course, but certainly doesn't envy the poor newbies who have no idea what they're in for. Whiskey, the saint, is already on the case whipping up treatments and a schedule that might help, for all that it's put Ace in the foulest of moods since yesterday.

To top it all off – oh lord how exhausting it is to even think about – they're getting closer to Sabaody. Less than a week left until they reach the bubbling verdure of the groves, where they'll drop anchor and tend to the damages left from the storm, let the crew stretch their legs, pay a few faces a visit...

Less than a week until the boys are to make up their minds. If they're to stay with the Whitebeard's, or venture off into the world on their own. For good.

Thatch frowns, sullenly glaring off into nothing, his arm tightening around Izo's shoulders. It's a subject they've discussed time and time again, and it never gets easier.

The boys have been through worse than what anyone deserves. Things members of this crew, his family in every way but blood, had suffered through once upon a time until they found their chance or fought their way out...until someone, a stranger who had made their business his, reached out and plucked them from their hells, made them an offer, and welcomed them home with open arms.

Ace, Sabo and Luffy deserve the world. They deserve a chance to grow, to sail the seas and embark on wonderful adventures. They deserve true freedom. If that means stepping into those same open arms as they all had once upon a time, or leaving the Whitebeard's behind altogether, well...it's their choice. And it's the Whitebeard's job to accept that choice, to wish them every happiness and all the luck in the world.

Doesn't mean it'll hurt any less to watch them go. Let them slip out of sight for the last time and not let themselves worry, force themselves not to scour every grove or forest or village or island just to make sure they're still alive...

A finger, quick as a whip, flicks Thatch right between his eyes.

"YEOW!" Thatch rears back, pressing a hand over the growing red spot on his face and blinking away reflexive tears. He whirls on Izo, glaring. "What –?"

"You were thinking too loud," Izo says, raised brow and lips taut; a very unimpressed look, but hardly anything new. "It's annoying."

"What the hell do you mean I was thinking too loud?!"

Izo folds his arms into his sleeves, the gesture as habitually regal as it is playfully condescending. "You've got that same look on your face as you did when Pops explained to us yet again about the boys' situation," he says. His features soften, then, and he looks down at his lap instead. Indignation fades as Thatch watches him, tilting his head in an effort to catch the other man's eye and failing.

He doesn't miss the flash of pain in them, though, familiar and sharp. An ache only an older brother can feel...

Thatch's heart clenches. Oh, Izo...

Whatever look the chef has on his face, Izo notices it from the corner of his eye. He bristles, as he always does, but deflates just as quickly when he remembers where he is, who he's with. One of the few – or perhaps many – who'll understand.

He draws in a long, long breath that trembles with his frame. "I don't like it either. I hate it, actually," he admits, swallowing hard. His arms are unfolded now, fingers fiddling with one another on his lap like he's not sure what to do with them, to go for his guns or pick at the skin of his knuckles. "I love them, as I'm sure every idiot on this ship does. And I understand what everyone's saying. But I...I don't –" He stops himself.

But Thatch hears it anyway. Hears it in the aching song of his Haki flaring off him in jaunty waves, sees it in the way Izo stares hard at his hands, fingers laced, knuckles white. Sees and feels it in the way Izo's eyes fill up but no tears fall. Like Ace, he won't let them fall.

I don't want to lose another one.

Thatch says nothing, for all that he feels he needs to – 'it's different than back then,' 'you'll see them again,' 'it won't be forever,' 'you won't lose them,' 'what happened to her wasn't your fault,' – all useless drivel that'll only ring empty in Izo's ears.

Then again, they've never really needed words.

So Thatch shuffles closer, laying his hand over Izo's pallid knuckles. Izo starts, only slightly, and meets Thatch's eyes. They stare at each other for what feels like a lifetime, together in the silence filled only by the groaning ambience of their floating home, the distant clamor of their family milling about in their daily routines, no doubt disrupted or accommodating to fit the three blooming, untameable youths.

Thatch smiles, patting Izo's hands. Izo smiles back, a wobbly thing, but there and genuine even as a single tear slips down his cheek. He's quick to wipe it away.

"You good?" Thatch asks.

Izo chuckles around a sigh, and it sounds real. "Yeah," he says, sniffling a little, but Thatch believes him. "Yeah, I'm alright. Damn, I hate talking about this. I hate –" he gestures wildly at nothing, "– this. How does Marco deal with it all?"

Thatch shrugs as he stands, stretching out the kinks in his back and the tingly numbness in his legs. "No idea," he grunts, letting his arms flop back to his sides. "Pretty sure it's bird seed, though."

Izo wheezes, an undignified sound coming from him, but wholly welcome and delightful in the aftermath of old aches. "Bird seed?" he snickers, hiding a massive grin behind his hand.

Thatch grins back. "'Course! I mean, cats have catnip – gets them high as a kite! So maybe Marco has some bird seeds to mellow him out, bring him down, y'know? And I mean the good stuff, like sunflower seeds but, like, sprinkled with weed or something –"

And then Izo's cackling, head thrown back and all, until he's toppling backwards onto the bed. Thatch joins in, basking in the warm glow of his siblings' unbridled delight.

There you are, brother.

Then there's a knock on the door. The laughter stops and the pirates freeze, look at each other, then the door. A hesitant but familiar voice filters through the wood – "Izo? You in here? It's Sabo. Haruta said this was your room but he's kind of a bastard sometimes, so..."

Thatch can't help but snort. Izo shrugs in a 'well he's not wrong' manner, standing up from the bed, dabbing at his face once more to check for tears (of laughter or otherwise) and gliding over to the door. He doesn't have to do it, but he enjoys how his robes twirl about him every step, because he's weird. They all are, to be fair, but still.

Izo opens the door wide, a cheerful greeting promptly swallowed with surprise. He blinks once, twice, looks the smaller blond up and down. Thatch is similarly baffled.

Sabo must've gotten out of the shower recently, patches of his shirt damp around the shoulders, but otherwise he's no different from the norm; dressed in a new dark blue, long-sleeved button-down, baggy blue pants held up by a modest belt, and the new calf-high black boots to replace the old ones he'd gotten bloody after Tundra (they're glad for it, the stains never went away and they were a constant, horrid reminder of their failure as a crew.)

Thatch has no qualms admitting that Sabo looks downright adorable, like a boy trying his hand at dressing like his father for the first time and half succeeding, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, shirt untucked...and a towel draped over his head?

Thatch stares. Izo stares. Sabo shuffles awkwardly.

"...Sabo, dear," Izo asks slowly. "What on earth are you doing?"

Sabo peeks up at them both through the cottony fabric, his grin a bashful thing. "I...I think I kinda sorta need your help," he stammers, gesturing the towel with a flap of his arm. "With my hair. 'S not...cooperating."

It takes everything in Thatch not to crack a grin. Izo doesn't share the sentiment. "So you decided it was a good idea to walk around the ship like a nun cosplayer looking for me?" he probes, leveling Thatch with a Look, meaning he'd not been successful in fighting a chuckle, but can you blame him? The image of Sabo wandering the ship like a lost child on Halloween is the cutest damn thing.

"What exactly is wrong with it?" Izo continues, electing to ignore Thatch. Rude. "Can't get a comb through it? Brittle? Split ends?"

Sabo shrugs helplessly, tugging the towel off his head, and –

Oh. Oh. Oh nooo.

The poor thing's hair has been reduced to an untamed frizz of blond, like an afro without the volume or shape. It's a mess, and Sabo knows it, if the defeated look on his face is anything to go by. "My hair hates me," he drones. "Pretty sure it's sentient and it wants to eat me."

That does it.

Thatch is on his knees, hugging his gut and howling with laughter. "You – you poor bastard!" he wheezes, wiping his eyes and gulping greedy gasps of air in an effort to quell his mirth, but one look at Sabo's face – like he's ready to welcome darkness, his old friend, with open arms – sends the man right back over the edge.

Izo almost laughs, looks like wants to so badly, but thinks better of it. He does smile, though, and shakes his head with a sigh, kicking Thatch in the ribs. "Get up, you idiot," he says. When all Thatch does is sit on his ass and giggle, Izo rolls his eyes and hauls the other man to his feet by the arm, sharp nails easily pinching through the fabric and eliciting a wince from the chef. "I believe your presence is required in the galley. Get going you useless oaf, I'll take care of Sabo."

Knowing a dismissal (and a hidden heartfelt 'thank you') when he hears one, Thatch simmers enough to step out of the room and into the hallway proper, ruffling Sabo's mess of hair as he does so. "Alright, alright. I'll get started on lunch and work out the kinks of Ace's new diet plan while you work your witchcraft on this little misery."

"Will you stop?"

"Yeesh, tough crowd."

With one last salute, Thatch spins on his heel and starts down the hallway. He feels Izo's eyes on him, feels his smile, and allows a victorious grin that'll look stupid to anyone crossing him.

Less than a week. Not enough time to prepare for the final decision. Not nearly enough time to say goodbye. But damn Thatch if he'll fall into the same hole Izo nearly did, let melancholy of any sort take him under. Rather, he'll make sure this week is the best these kids have ever have. It's hardly enough, but it's the least he can do, for all the light and cheer and love they've gifted these sea weary pirates.

0o0o0

"Come in, you poor thing," Izo says once Thatch is gone, ushering Sabo inside before anyone else comes through and sees him – lord knows anyone's yet to fully get over the whole 'girlfriend' debacle. Not that Izo has by any means – he will get those details – but he'll spare the lad further humiliation at the hands of his siblings.

He shuts the door behind him, and only when he turns to address Sabo does he realize that this is the first time any of the kids have been in his cabin, in any private quarters save for their own and Whitebeard's. Looking at Sabo now as his eyes drink it all in, it's as if he's entered a different world. Izo hardly blames him. Compared to most of his brothers and sisters (or sailors in general), Izo likes things. Likes collecting, jewellery, clothing or fabrics for whatever garments he wants to try his hand at, useless little trinkets that look pretty...he can't help himself.

From growing up with nothing to sailing the seas with a man who'll gladly give you everything... one can go a little mad with the allowance.

With what he's accumulated over the last decade or so, he's transformed what was once a drab but spacious cabin into a treasure trove; his wardrobe packed to the brim, scented candles on his bedside table, a rainbow of fabrics hanging over his bed like a canopy, glittering in the lights cast by the bulbs decorating his vanity, the desk cluttered with cosmetics in organized chaos.

Izo's room is an explosion of color and beauty, and he's proud of it.

"Whoa," Sabo breathes, his smile bright and wonderfully young as he spins on his heel to look at Izo. "Your room's beautiful."

Izo shrugs, belying the flush of tender warmth. "Of course it is," he says. "You are looking at the one who redid your entire cabin. Now shut up and let me take a look at the mess you've made of yourself."

He gives Sabo a light shove, and he falls back to sit on the bed with a bounce and a snicker. Izo inspects the damage, taking a frizzy lock between his fingers, pulling it and letting it bounce back, making a show of scrutinizing the calamity of gold. Sabo squirms restlessly, idly kicking his legs back and forth.

After a moment, Izo stands back, painted lips spread into a cat-like grin. It's a simple fix, nothing he's not done a thousand times over. But Izo hasn't had an opportunity quite like this in so long. And though Thatch had succeeded in banishing his earlier melancholy to some degree – memories and lingering pains hitting too close to home – an alternative outlet is in order to truly cast the dreary clouds away. Sabo just so happens to be the perfect candidate.

"I have a solution," Izo says. "And an offer, but only if you choose to accept."

Smiling, Sabo shuffles closer to the edge of the bed, hands on his lap. "Go on," he urges.

Izo's grin widens. "I'll do your hair for you...and, I'll give you a full makeover!" he declares, throwing his hands up with enough dramatic flair to give Thatch a run for his money.

Sabo blinks. "...a makeover?" he parrots. He doesn't seem disturbed or put off in any way. Rather he's curious, as he is with all things in the world; it's a quality Izo admires and fears.

That aside, Izo clasps his hands and nods. "I've wanted to do this for a while, actually," he confesses, coming to sit on the bed beside the teen. "Hair, make-up, clothes, nails, the whole nine yards! I wanted to ask earlier, I just didn't want to push any buttons or bring up bad memories, but I figured since I'm doing your hair anyway –"

"Yes."

Izo's jaw clamps shut. Sabo is beaming, excited and every happy little thing in-between, and Izo's dazzled for a moment before he's matching Sabo's grin. "Really?"

Sabo nods, cheeks burning as he averts his gaze instead to his lap. "Yeah. I mean, why not, right? I'm always down for trying new things and this is...certainly new. Plus, I am kinda curious about how you always look so..." he gestures all of Izo with a flap of his arm, "...so you. Beautiful a-and confident no matter what you're wearing, no matter who's looking or watching..."

Then Sabo looks up, eyes bright, his smile a shy but wonderful thing across his face. "I wanna know what that's like. If I can brave a Paradise storm, I can brave being different. I want to be different. That's part of what it means to have true freedom, right? Expressing yourself no matter what anyone else thinks or says."

Izo could cry. He wants to, could, but won't, because he's shed enough tears for today and mascara is an absolute bitch to put on as is. He does allow a delighted whoop, and plants a kiss on Sabo's scarred cheek before bouncing off the bed with juvenile fervor. "Excellent!" he chimes. "Sabo, you're a delight and wonder forever and I love you. You won't regret this, I promise!"

Sabo, cheeks tinted crimson from the smooch, eventually returns Izo's grin. "Of course I won't," he quips. "I'm looking at the man who redid our cabin, after all."

"Damn right you are. First things first, let's get you back in the shower. Commanders have personal bathrooms and showers, so you can go ahead and use mine. I'll pass you what gels and shampoos I have for your hair and get everything else ready in the meantime." He claps his hands thrice rapidly. "Now mush! We've little time to waste, up with you!"

Snickering, Sabo shimmies off the bed and trots off into the bathroom, leaving Izo to giggle to himself like a felon in the center of his room. It's been so long since he's had a willing subject for his craft, since he's had the opportunity to guide a young soul on a journey of self discovery. This is going to be wonderful!

While the blond is in the shower, Izo flicks through his wardrobe, determined. The boys are still on the short side for their age, but they've shot right up in the last few days, surprising everyone; Thatch nearly had a heart-attack in realizing the top Ace's head now reached his chin (Izo thankfully had the foresight to add extra inches to all their clothes). Sabo just might be able to fit into one of Izo's older outfits that he'd held onto for nostalgia's sake, a gift from Haruta –

Izo freezes. Tilts his head and listens. There's...humming coming from the bathroom. Soft, melodic, beautiful humming followed by a murmured string of lyrics, like they can't quite remember all the words.

But it's enough, more than enough, that it takes every ounce of Izo's self-control to keep him from squealing. Sabo is singing. Sabo is singing. In the shower. And despite his uncertain mumbles, he sounds beautiful.

And he knows this tune, Izo realizes, knows it well. One of the many he and his brothers have sung together, be it in drunken bouts, rapturous chorus or in mourning – they've lost plenty of their own on these waters, a pain that lingers even today. And sure, many of his siblings have voices to die for, Marco included, though he seldom does due to all the songbird jokes he's subjected to. But Sabo...with a voice like that, the boy might as well be of siren descent, or perhaps an angel.

'I want to tell everyone' he thinks, but knows he won't for the sake of privacy, something the boys have only just gotten accustomed to again.

(But the first chance he gets, Izo is so getting this boy to sing for him.)

He fishes out the garment and accessories to match just as Sabo steps out of the bathroom. He's still got his pants and socks on but forwent the shirt, hair properly wrapped up in the towel as Izo had shown him. And judging from the sheepish look on his face, flushed in a manner that has nothing to do with the shower – "You heard."

It's not a question, but Izo answers anyway with a grin a mile wide. "I did. You've been holding out on us, dear." He beckons Sabo over to the vanity, and Sabo takes a seat on the stool, hands fisted on his lap in a show of nerves. Izo pulls up another stool and sits down in front of him, toning down his excitement for the sake of the twitchy teen. "When did you learn how to sing like that?" he asks. "You're really wonderful."

Izo didn't know it was possible for a human to turn such a deep shade of crimson, but Sabo manages it from the roots of his hair to his collarbone. "I, um...I took lessons, before we were...y'know," Sabo shrugs awkwardly, head down so his chin meets his chest. It's unfairly cute.

"And the song?" Izo prompts, reaching up to undo the towel and let Sabo's hair loose; no longer an untamed mess, thank the seas, but a little long, nearly down to his shoulders. Probably time for a cut. "It's a lovely tune. We used to sing it all the time."

"I, uh...I learned it from...from a barmaid back on our home island," Sabo replies, shaking his hair out freely with the towel gone, shoulders not quite so taut once he's rolled them out. He keeps still as Izo starts to pin his long bangs out of his face, his mangled scar on full display. For once, he doesn't seem to care. "She'd sing it under her breath while she was cooking or hanging up the laundry in the front yard. Said she learned it from a pirate that she...um...l-likes."

Izo hums nonchalantly to hide a knowing smile.

Paired with what they all know of Luffy and his relationship with Shanks, why said Red Haired pirate's route always looped back to East Blue every few months, it's not hard for Izo to put the pieces together. It's sweet, straight out of an old sailor's tale like the ones Pops likes to indulge in. Izo's never pegged Red Hair as the romantic type though, nor the sort to settle down in one place too long. One can only hope he's not leading this poor girl on.

He won't pry. He'd promised he wouldn't out of respect for the boy's privacy. Their past is theirs to keep or to share if they choose. Even so – "What's her name?" Izo asks.

It's a testament to how much he's grown, how much he trusts Izo, that Sabo hesitates for but a moment. "...Makino."

Makino. A lovely name for no doubt a lovely young lady, if the warm gleam in Sabo's eye is anything to go by. It'd be nice, one day, to meet the people who'd raised these boys first. The people who'd loved them first.

He puts that in the volt for later and settles back on the stool, facing Sabo and drawing a breath to stave off the thoughts skirting the fringes of his brain. Time for that later. Right now, it's about time they had some fun.

"Right, let's get down to business," he says. "I'll let your hair dry out a bit on its own. In the meantime, I'll get started on your face." At Sabo's anxious twitch, Izo chuckles and lays a hand against his scarred cheek, thumb gently stroking the ruined flesh. "Don't worry, it won't hurt a bit. Well, maybe the plucking might, but nothing else, I promise!"

Sabo balks, but only a little. Eventually, he smiles back with a chuckle, leaning into Izo's palm readily. "Okay," he says. "I did ask for this. Work your magic, then, Commander."

Izo beams, releasing Sabo's cheek and brandishing his brushes and primer like an assassin would a set of honed blades. "I shall indeed!"

0o0o0

"I come bearing good food and good news!"

Ace can't help it. He rolls his eyes to the heavens, praying for patience, and lifts his head from where it's been perched on the table the last fifteen minutes just as Thatch reappears from the kitchen, carefully balancing two heaping plates of food, as promised. More than enough to satiate the littlest bottomless pit sitting on Ace's right, but not nearly enough to banish the older teen's befouled mood. The chef's jaunty nature does nothing to help the fact, either, for all that it's usually endearing.

And while Ace does like Thatch – a lot, despite every warning he gives himself against the idea – and loves his food to boot, he only feels a twinge of regret when he mutters a bitter, "Thanks, Thatch, but I'm not hungry."

Thatch freezes mid-way through setting down Luffy's plate, him and the boy whirling to gape at Ace like he's grown a third eye. Ace rolls the two he's got. Good lord.

On his left, Marco, the only other Commander or pirate in general allowed near their table purely due to the intense heat the teen emits in his frustration, lets out a whistle. "That pissed, yoi?" he asks.

"Can you blame me?" Ace snaps. He doesn't mean to, and has enough grace to wince at the unimpressed look Marco levels him with. He sighs, ragged and thoroughly nettled, and lets his head drop back down to rest on his crossed arms, scowling. "Freakin' narcolepsy. All this time and it happens now? And there's no cure?" he snarls. Bites his lip, hard. "This isn't fair. This – this sucks."

A familiar sting behind his eyes. Ace gives in to the impulse to bite his lip a little harder, piercing the skin. It's been a while, and he'll regret it later when Sabo sees (because he can always, always tell), but dammit...it's stupid to say, almost childish with all they've been through, but...

Luffy's chair scrapes against the floorboards as he shuffles close enough to wrap an arm around Ace's shoulders, an effort to comfort his older brother. Might've worked, if Ace wasn't so busy digging holes into his lip. Luffy tilts his head to try and catch Ace's eyes. Ace doesn't let him, turning his head away, thus blind to the wilting look on Luffy's face that Ace just knows is there.

That's surely going to bite him in the ass later. For now, he continues to stew.

Marco sighs, and taps Ace twice on the head with a finger. Ace doesn't lift his head, but he does lift his eyes because he respects Marco enough to do that much. "Look, Ace," the older blond says, "I know you're frustrated, but you're not gonna fight us on this, yoi. You need help, and we're here to give it to you; the meds, the schedule, the naps, all the things Whiskey recommended sound like a pain in the ass, but if it's gonna help, you're better off listening to her."

"No joke," Thatch sets Ace's plate on the table – both plates are untouched, Luffy's yet to even look at his food in the light of Ace's despondency – and sits on Marco's other side. "The last time I argued against her, it damn near got me killed. Not because of any major injury or illness, mind you, but because that woman –" He shivers dramatically, "–is ruthless."

Marco nods with Thatch solemnly – the horrors one see in the infirmary are not to be taken lightly, so Ace has been told.

Ace's frown doesn't go away, but it does soften. He finally lifts his head, quickly licking the drops of blood off his lip before Luffy can see. "Yeah, but...it's just gonna keep happening anyway, isn't it?" he mutters, slouching in his chair. "I'm still gonna pass out at random during the day and not sleep properly at night. So what's the point?"

It's Thatch's turn to roll his eyes. He reaches over, fingers curled in a loose fist that Ace has learned, through weeks of trial and error, not to flinch at.

"The point," the chef says, and bonks Ace's head, earning a squawk from the teen and a giggle from Luffy, "is that if we can keep track of your attacks-" another bonk, "–keep you awake –" bonk, " -healthy, and preferably alive –" bonk bonk, "– then you're damn well gonna listen to the nurse, you stubborn little misery with no self-preservation." Bonkbonkbonk!

"Stop doing that!" Ace swats at Thatch's hand like a cat. Thatch dances out of reach, twirling and all, bowing to the few across the room who noticed, clapping and whistling. Luffy teeters sideways into Ace's side as he laughs himself silly.

Fed up, Ace throws his hands. "Fine, fine, whatever," he grumbles, slipping an arm around Luffy's scrawny frame out of habit; the kid readily burrows against him and sighs happily, blinking big, baby brown eyes up at Ace, a silent plea in them that cuts deep, without mercy.

Ace melts.

The reluctance fades in the face of his brother's smile and in the genuine worry, the care, in the gazes of two Whitebeard Commanders who...just want to help. Because they want to, for him, for all that he's been making it difficult for them to do even that for the longest time...

"I'll...I'll try it out," he relents with another sigh. "I guess."

Marco smiles, all warmth and poorly hidden relief, reaching out to ruffle Ace's hair. Ace lets him, pouting in mild displeasure. "That's all we ask, kiddo," he says. "Thank you, yoi."

Ace tries not to let that – Marco's gratitude, their patience and their overbearing but real desire to help him – warm him up from the inside out. He can't quite hide the smile, though.

"There he is!" Thatch cheers, plopping back down in his chair to reach out and slap his palm over Marco's still on Ace's head. Again, though it's a little heavy, Ace lets him, but not without a scowl that goes ignored. "That's the adorable pyromaniac we know and love!"

Ace splutters. "Adorable -?!"

"And now that he's back to his wonderfully cheery self," Thatch carries right over Ace's outrage because he's a prick, "I can finally share that good news I brought along with the delicious food I oh so lovingly prepared."

Oh yeah, the 'good news'.

Ace wriggles from under the chef and the Phoenix's hands and sits back, absently picking at his food (to Thatch's delight) while Luffy unlatches himself from his brother and digs into his own lunch with his usual enthusiasm; that is to say, his rubbery cheeks are stuffed, and food is flying everywhere. It's gross, it's messy, and it's unapologetically Luffy. "Okay, so what's the good news?" Ace asks, automatically ducking his head to dodge a flying chicken bone.

Thatch cracks his knuckles with a flourish. "Strap yourself in, pups, it's a three parter!" he says, gracefully ignoring Marco's eye-roll, and clears his throat. "Number one – Whiskey's deemed you – well, all three of you but you especially, Ace – healthy enough to start training your Haki, granted you stick to your new schedule and take your meds like a good boy."

For the first time since yesterday, Ace's freckled face lights up like a sky full of fireworks. "For real? Hell yes!" he cheers, uncaring for once of the curious gazes sent his way – he can tell without looking that each one of them is fond. Cheeks bulging with food, Luffy throws his hands up with a muffled whoop, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Marco chuckles. "Well, someone's finally happy, yoi," he teases, but his tone is light and barren of malice so Ace lets it go. So long as he can train his Haki, get stronger, Marco can tease as much as he pleases. So long as he's fine with having his possessions singed later.

"Oh, but he hasn't even heard the second part," Thatch says, and puts up two fingers. "Number two – we're only a few days out from Sabaody, and for all that place is all the of shades of grey, I guarantee you kids are gonna have the time of your lives! It's got restaurants, gift shops, roller coasters, games, you name it! Takes up most of the damn island."

Ace's eyes go wide. Luffy even pauses midway through shoving a chunk of...something into his mouth. "The whole island?" Ace parrots. "Seriously? Just how big is Sabaody?"

"Pretty damn big, yoi," Marco says. "The Sabaody Archipelago is the final island in Paradise, close to the Red Line; a massive mangrove forest growing out from the middle of the ocean, each tree serving as an 'island' with roots thousands of feet deep, and no magnetic pull to affect a Log Pose. So, you technically can't really call it an island. We just do because it's easier."

Thatch stares at Marco. "Pretty sure most of that went right over their heads, Marc," he deadpans, and...he's not wrong. Ace gets it, kind of. Luffy is always a lost cause, explaining anything complicated away by declaring it a 'mystery'.

Still, Ace can't deny that he's wonder-struck, fascinated and curious of the final island of Paradise. He's certainly heard of amusement parks, but never in his life has he actually seen or been to one. Dawn is only a small island in the East Blue, hardly anything special save for the jungle filled with bandits and oversized animals that try to kill you on the daily. High Town is just an eyesore, and after that is the humble Windmill village and the vast green farmlands and fields.

But an actual amusement park, big enough to take up most of the island or 'grove' or whatever the hell? Count Ace in!

Swallowing his final heaping mouthful and wiping his greasy mouth with the back of his hand, Luffy turns to Thatch, eagerly leaning forward. 'So what's number three?' he signs, leaning in close enough that he knocks Ace into Marco's side. The man doesn't seem to mind the close proximity, smirking fondly at them both. Ace fights a blush, and as usual, fails.

"Number three," Thatch raises a third finger, his other hand over his heart, "is that I, Fourth Commander of the Whitebeard pirates, am personally giving you kids free passes to do whatever you please for the next week! Wanna sneak some goodies from the kitchen? Go for it! Wanna prank every single Commander on board the Moby Dick and not get chewed out? Absolutely! Wanna screw around in the weapons cabinet or fire a canon for the hell of it? No problem! Wanna bungee-jump off the crows nest – ?"

Marco's sleepy eyes grow wider and wider with impending dread as Thatch's outlandish list goes on, listing things off that the boys aren't typically allowed to do for all that these pirates seem content to let them have their way. Ace won't pretend to know why Thatch is telling them this, or how any of these things would fly by the rest of the Commander's or the captain by any stretch of the imagination...

But a free pass is a free pass. Certainly wouldn't do to put it to waste, would it?

Ace grins, slow and evil, deliberately eyeing Marco from the side to catch the older man's horrified gaze – "So," the teen says slowly, turning back to face Thatch, "you're saying we can do absolutely whatever we want for a whole week?"

Folding his arms over his chest with all the pride a pirate can muster, Thatch nods. "A-yup!" Marco buries his face in his hands and groans.

Ace nods back. "Okay, okay, cool. Soooo...I could switch the sugar with the salt in the shakers before every meal?" he asks, grinning harder.

Another nod. "A-yup!"

"Sabo could take a dip in the sea?"

"With Fishman supervision, a-yup!"

'I can paint Vista and Jiru's clothes in pretty colors?' Luffy signs.

"A-yup!"

"I can shave off Whitebeard's mustache while he sleeps?"

"A-yuno!" Both Commanders whirl on the teen, rightly mortified. "No, no. Nonononononono, that's, ah – that's a no-go, little dude."

Ace tilts his head innocently and smiles real nice, just like Sabo taught him, batting his eyelashes. "But I thought you said we could do whatever we wanted, Thatch-y," he sing-songs. Luffy giggles manically like the devil he is and mimes snipping scissors with his fingers across his upper lip.

"Yes, yes, I did indeed say that," Thatch nods sagely, hands together as if praying for patience, "but I also want you to live, and for all that Pops is a sporting guy, I very much doubt he'll take that lightly. Last time we messed with the tash we got toilet cleaning duty for a month. That's a glorious mustache he's got there."

"Hear hear!" someone hollers from the table over. His chums raise their tankards in kind.

Thatch rolls his eyes at them, turns back to the boys. "Seriously, though, no snipping of Pop's glorious man beard. Because, as I said, we very much wanna keep you alive. Anything else is, for the most part, all yours for the taking."

"Does Pops know of any of this, Thatch?" Marco drawls, though going by his expression the man already knows the answer.

"Of course not! Y'know he loves a good surprise!" The chef presses a finger to his lips, winking and grinning like a fiend. Marco groans into his hands a second time, a murmured insult going ignored.

"Does that outrageous list of yours possibly include dazzling the masses with a stunning display of beauty by any chance, Thatch dear?" a familiar voice croons from behind as two presences enter the galley and approach their table. Ace doesn't need to look to know who; their auras are aglow with familiar happiness and pride respectively, and it warms Ace up some in a way his devil fruit never could.

Thatch does turn, smiling automatically. "Why yes, oh splendidly beautiful brother of mine, it certainly doooooooooooes what the HELL –?!"

The man's ascending screech has every head in the galley whirl in search of the source and thereafter the cause, commanders rising from tipped chairs, fingers twitching for weapons on instinct. And then every jaw in the room promptly drops. Ace chokes. Luffy gasps until he's squeaking.

Fidgeting beside a radiant Izo in the center of the galley is Sabo – or Ace thinks it is, because the blond standing in their midst, shuffling under dozen of bulging eyes and gaping maws, looks distinctly feminine.

Ace's twin now dons a billowing, pastel blue dress that cuts just above the knee, shoulders covered under a white cardigan, heeled sandals in place of his wonted boots, bejeweled with fake daisies along the side to match the ones woven into his hair on the left side, pinning back the bangs that usually hide the scar marring his face...the scar that's no longer there, covered in blush and primer to match his natural tan, like the mark was never there at all. Mismatched eyes shine bright under the intense blue shadows his lids cast, smiling lips painted a bold cerise.

Ace blinks. Blinks again.

Flashes of tortuous, humiliating nights spent in a cramped dressing room with frigid hands,

lingering touches and leering eyes, momentarily blind him.

His eye twitches, flames flickering beneath the surface of freckled skin, an old flavor of rage sitting heavy on his tongue.

What the hell...

Sabo lifts one hand, nails painted the same blue of his eye-shadow, and waves to the gaping mass. "Um...hi."

And then noise, better suited for battlegrounds or a festival, erupts within the galley as men and women alike holler and cheer and point, everyone talking all at once. Sabo jumps a foot in the air, rocking back on his new heels. Izo throws his head back with rare, manic laughter.

"Holy stinkin' crap, kid!" Haruta squeals – freaking squeals – from the other side of the room, only to trip over himself in his mad scramble to reach the Sixteenth Commander and a red-faced Sabo. The redhead is utterly beside himself. "Dude – look at you!" he crows, throwing up his hands to gesture Sabo's person wildly. "You look – you – you're –"

Ace swears if the next word that comes out of his mouth is anything at all like the foul things he and Mei had been subjected to back there, words that made Ace shake with fury, reduced Mei to little more than a shell of herself, nothing will keep him from roasting every single –

"You're adorable!"

...oh.

The rage leaves Ace as quickly as it had come, flames literal and figurative sputtering and dying in the face of the crew's delight and awe. A crowd gathers around the flustered blond, Thatch among them once he's collected his jaw from the ground, cooing like a doting mother would her daughter, until Marco ambles up from his chair and cautions the bunch to "give the kid some air, yoi!"

"But look at him, Marc!" Thatch whines, both arms flung wide to gesture Sabo still shuffling awkwardly in place.

"Yeah, look at his face! Look at his dress!"

"He's freakin' cute!"

"Yes, yes, we've established that, Jonny, but you're gonna trample him – back it up, yoi."

"You really outdid yourself this time, Commander Izo!" another voice calls over another's piercing whistle.

Izo flicks his hair back with dramatic flair, feigning nonchalance for all that he's fooling no one. "What can I say? I'm a genius."

Laughter abounds, Sabo's among them at last as the jittery nerves and awkward hesitance fades, a giddy sort of mirth quickly taking its place. He grants the crowd a little twirl on the spot, the skirts fluttering nicely about him without revealing a thing underneath.

(Nothing at all like the garments Ace was repeatedly forced into every other night, if they could even be called that much. Those...things were designed to expose, draw eyes to places no one should ever see on a child, to glitter and flow and impress and attract, inspire loathsome thoughts, foul feelings and intentions...

But Sabo's dress is nothing of the sort. It's bright and cottony, soothing to the eye and...and cute. Something anyone could comfortably wear in public.

Ace can't deny it. Sabo looks beautiful. And if the dimpling smile splitting his face in two is anything to go by, he knows it, too.

And he's enjoying this. He'd wanted this.)

The blond finally catches Ace's stare and grins wider, slipping through the crowd that easily parts for him, thick heels clicking atop the wooden floorboards. He stops about a foot away, one hand propped on his hip as he shifts his weight and yeah, he's definitely enjoying this.

"Soooo...what do you think?" Sabo asks, tilting his head to one side. His slanted grin is cocky as anything, but his eyes seek his approval. "Am I as pretty as you, Ace?"

The spell breaks, and Ace snorts. He really is, pretty in every way that Ace wasn't and should have never been to the eyes of older privileged men and woman who saw him as little else but whatever they'd wanted. But Ace is and always has been a bastard, so – "In your dreams," he says instead.

But Sabo knows him better than most, so all that gets him is a laugh. It quickly turns into a yelp when Luffy launches himself at Sabo, ignoring Izo's warnings to mind the make-up, he'd spent ages on it! Sabo staggers, several hands already reaching out to steady him, but he's quick to find his balance on his own and reach up as much as he can to hug the giggling idiot back. "I take it that means you like it, Lulu?" Sabo grunts. Luffy can only nod, arms otherwise occupied, and buries his grin into the crook of a laughing Sabo's exposed neck. "Stop, Lu, that tickles!"

Behind the pair, Ace just catches Izo swallowing hard, his smile thin, his eyes shining. Thatch slings an arm around his shoulders, whispering something that has Izo crack a watery grin and pat the chef's hand in silent gratitude, leaning into him.

Ace sits back and thinks.

Thinks of the servants back there, how they'd grinned and basked in their King's praises like starving vultures, how they'd boasted and prattled and discreetly dug their nails into Ace's shoulder, all arctic smiles and hateful whispers as they demanded he 'smile or else.' He thinks of them, watches Izo watching Sabo with approval, pride and...love...and finds there's no more room for rage.

Ace settles back, and lets himself smile, soft and real, content to watch Sabo strike pose after pose, Luffy giggling as he attempts to mirror the blond. More laughter, whistles and cheers. Not a speck of lust or malice among a single soul.

These pirates aren't saints by any means. But they're nothing compared to the devils and demons of that wretched place. They're not heroes or villains, not angels or demons. But they're...good. The Whitebeard's are good, decent people...

Ace likes them.

He likes the Whitebeard's. Admitting it isn't quite so scary now. Hasn't been for a while.

For the first time, Ace willingly, forcefully, silences the ever clamor of shrieking warnings that've held him back in an effort to shield and protect his bruised heart. Instead, he basks in the joy and laughter around him in the galley of a grand pirate ship, which grows tenfold when Whitebeard enters, takes one look at Sabo and cackles - "My, what a beautiful young man!" he bellows. Sabo's cheeks burn, but his smile is all teeth and cheer even as he ducks his head and offers the captain a curtsy. Whitebeard offers a gentlemanly bow in reply.

Thatch finds Ace's gaze from across the room and winks. The teen grins back, slow and wonderfully heinous.

If Sabo's dramatic entrance is only the beginning, Ace has a feeling this is going to be a very good week.

0o0o0

Edward still isn't rightly sure how this happened. Or better yet, how he'd allowed this to happen.

He hadn't given Thatch any ideas, nor permission to grant the three little scamps a – what was it, a 'free pass'? Whatever it was, Edward Newgate did not endorse the idea nor did he in any way encourage it, and yet it happened. It's still happening, and the saner of the crew have had more than enough of the madness.

If he were a harder man, Edward would probably have the chef behind all this keelhauled or some ilk of dreadful punishment that would have lesser men shiver. As an indulgent father, however, he does what he does best, to the chagrin and despair of his children.

He laughs.

The last few days have been, in Edward's opinion, by far the most exciting this crew has experienced in quite a while.

The meeting concerning a good number of tender subjects had left most of his commanders exhausted, rightly conflicted and, in Thatch and Whiskey's case, determined. Not only to ensure Ace's continued good health and well-being, but to also to make the last few days "the best damn days these pups ever have!"

That, Edward recalls agreeing to, more than willing and wanting to give the boys what they can with what time they may or may not have left. He hadn't agreed to the subsequent attempt at crew wide homicide via the limitless destructive power of three teenage boys.

The day after Sabo's rather stunning entrance to the galley, the Twelfth Division was given a rude wake-up call – in that a certain rubber ball of sunshine and a (until recently) blue eyed angel had slipped firecrackers into the dorms and set them off. Poor sods damn near pissed themselves in fright, though Edward commends them on just how quickly they readied themselves for an attack only to find two cackling boys fleeing the scene like the devil himself was on their heels.

Not long after that was Ace's daily routine of being launched into the sea via Edward's fist, though more than the usual once per day. Needless to say, Namur was in quite the sour mood after Ace's sixth failed attempt. The freckled lad, however, was positively beaming even as he dripped seawater onto the deck, shaking himself out like Stefan to the indignant ire of passer-by's and then trotting off in search of his brothers after waving Edward a cheery farewell.

Of course, once he'd found said brothers, things went straight to hell.

The Second Division's shower gels had been replaced with a rainbow of dyes, leaving every member looking less like pirates and more of something out of a pride parade – "Fifty Shades of Gay!" Izo had crowed in delight at the sight of them, only to soon discover that Sabo had confiscated all of his garments to try them on for himself in their own cabin. The man couldn't decide if he was pleased or pissed.

Ace had slipped into the kitchens during lunch and switched the salt and sugar around. Luffy had wrapped one leg around the mast and bungee-jumped off the rigging, inducing several heart-attacks. Sabo secured a rope to a railing and took a dip in the sea, inducing several more heart-attacks and disturbed the dragon from her dwelling as Whiskey stormed onto the deck, demanding to know why so many men and women were being carted to her infirmary with symptoms of shock. Three little devils remained suspiciously silent.

Needless to say, their Armament Haki training was rigorous later that day, courtesy of a very eager Marco and Jozu, two of the best in that field who were more than happy to volunteer for that day's lesson. The Whitebeard Pirates were spared that evening from any further shenanigans once the little ones trudged their way to bed early, sore and well and truly bested.

Only for it to begin anew the very next day as payback. Starting with Marco waking up to find an egg in his bed, one of which the poor fool truly believed he'd laid in his sleep until Edward had accidentally cracked the chocolate treat open.

Thatch was thrown overboard that morning. After careful consideration, Sabo was dunked, fully clothed, into an ice bath. No one can decide which fate was worse.

Every other hour of every day after that was pure insanity. Chaos everywhere one might look, the little devils fleeing their latest scene with squawking pirates at their heels, their laughter ringing loud in the air, delighted and wonderfully boyish.

It's that alone – their contagious joy, their wide smiles full of mischief and freedom and the childlike innocence Edward thought was lost to them – that keeps the veteran pirate from putting his foot down. While Thatch certainly shouldn't have given them such outrageous ideas, Edward knows his son only meant well, doing what anyone on this ship would do. Giving three boys a good memory, something they can look back on and want to, for once, and smile.

Give them something to remember the Whitebeard's by.

It's only when the gremlins somehow manage to stick a note reading 'Make Way For Man Beard' on the back of his coat, leaving many a pirate snickering in until Blenheim takes mercy on him, that Edward decides to retaliate.

By hunting them down and stuffing them, kicking (Ace) and biting (Sabo) and shrieking with laughter (Luffy) into his pillowcase.

Their muffled laughter and pleas for mercy – "we'll call a truce! We'll stop, let us out! Don't you dare throw us overboard old man!" - are drowned out by Edward's booming cackles as he throws the squirming sack over his shoulder and hauls them away from the galley where he'd ambushed them, grin widening at the looks he receives from his sons and daughters, incredulous and fond alike.

Oh, how he'll miss this, Edward thinks. He'll miss the way Luffy's whole being lights up at the very scent of adventure and the promise of joy that comes with it. The way Sabo cocks his head and grin like the cheeky brat he is at any new challenge, how he soaks up every inch of the world and the people around him like a sponge, never truly satisfied, his yearning to learn far too great for that...

...the way Ace will sometimes glance at Edward, a question in his eyes that's desperate to be answered but never asked aloud, hidden under a smile that's unsure, but bright as any star.

Yes. Edward will miss this. He'll miss his boys.

0o0o0

Night has already fallen by the time Sabaody finally comes into view. The crew have elected to wait until morning before shoring up proper, dropping anchor a ways off from the archipelago.

Luffy wants to be disappointed – so close, so close, can't they just sail all the way? – but the moment he and his brothers lean over the railing to get a look, the pre-teen can't find it in himself to be anything but enthralled.

Even from here, he can see what must be the park, glittering lights of every color bright and soft against the night sky like fireflies, bubbles floating from every green surface and into the heavens, twisting roots bigger and thicker than anything Luffy's ever seen delving deep into the inky abyss; Marco had said they go down hundreds of feet, far deeper than any human can go. That, along with Fishman island, is something Luffy would love to see with his own eyes.

For now, he'll settle for this wonderful sight beheld to them, sighing softly as he rests his chin on his crossed arms, atop the railing. Sabaody looks like a dream, the kind Luffy dimly remembers from the years before; soft and full of wonder, another adventure just within reach. Luffy's heart aches for it.

"Beautiful," Sabo breathes on Luffy's left, staring across the expanse of ocean at the marvel of Sabaody. He's not quite grinning, but his eyes are bright and dancing with mirth and yearning. "I've never seen anything like it. The final island before the New World..."

On Luffy's right, Ace hums and nods. "Guess all those lights must be from the amusement parks," he muses. Then he grins, quick and sharp, and looks at Sabo. "A hundred Bellie says you'll pussy out on riding the roller-coaster."

Sabo, of course, takes that bait and scowls. "Two hundred says I won't and you'll scream like a little girl," he counters.

Ace opens his mouth to retort, but Luffy silences them both with a pat on their shoulders. They look down at him, and the boy beams. 'Five hundred says you'll both scream like little girls and puke your guts out,' he signs with a devilish snicker. And because he knows his brothers better than anyone on these seas, he knows the second they bristle like irate cats that they'll take this bait –

"Fine then! Get ready to be proven wrong and broke, though!"

"Challenge excepted, rubber boy."

They shake on it. Luffy, though by no means the gambling sort, snickers to himself again and eagerly awaits his riches.

Easily riled up and competitive brothers = easy money.

Behind them, the Whitebeard's are treating themselves to their booze and games once more – not quite the loud, crazy celebrations Luffy has grown used to (grown to love), but still full of merriment and drunken laughter of carefree buccaneers. Well, most of them anyhow. At least half of the commanders are still sober, keeping their eye on the rowdier bunch and merely hanging about the ship, some idly watching the waves, chatting to one another or whoever among the crew aren't completely sloshed, or following the boys' lead in staring off into the distance at the glowing archipelago. Even Whitebeard has only had a tankard or two thus far rather than the usual six it takes to get him tipsy.

Seems everyone is relishing in the rare bout of peace before the oncoming rush dawn will bring...

Luffy's smile falters.

It's been a fun week – less so for their many victims – but the countenance of the Whitebeard commanders hasn't completely escaped Luffy's notice. While Luffy and Sabo have been stealing socks and switching gels with dye, and Ace taking several dips in the sea and setting pirate's pants on fire, the commanders seem to have been...preparing themselves. For what, Luffy wasn't quite sure at first. Not until he recalled a conversation he'd had with Whitebeard weeks ago, before Tundra.

Sabaody is their last stop before the Whitebeard's set off for the New World again. They can't turn back once they disembark for Fishman Island, hundreds of feet below. The time to decide whether they stay or leave for good is almost upon them.

Luffy's given it plenty of thought. He wants to stay. Not permanently – he has his own crew to gather, his own dream to chase and achieve, something he can't do under the flag of his future rival – but long enough to get stronger, put the pains of the past behind him and grab the future with both hands. He loves the Whitebeard's, all of them. Well, Teach is a mixed bag, but he's faced worse; he'd hate to leave them so soon. Sabo has plans to join Koala's team in the next year or two, but until then he'll likely stay aboard the Moby with Luffy.

Ace, however...

Luffy can feel Ace's longing, his desire to stay warring with every instinct instilled into them telling him to run. Those instincts, doubts and fears, have slowly begun to fizzle away, the walls breaking down little by little, letting himself believe and want for something he'd never thought possible. But some fears, all encompassing and crippling, that have haunted Ace even years before their enslavement, still remain. Fears based on nothing but lies and ignorance, but have rooted themselves so deep into an aching heart...

Luffy's not sure what it'll take for Ace to see the truth, to understand that this crew – the captain himself, the man Ace respects, admires, fears – won't give a damn about the blood running through his veins, the ties binding him to Whitebeard's long dead rival...but he prays it doesn't take too long.

Luffy has always followed his older brothers, be it across untamed jungles or pristine streets claimed by nobility. He's never once questioned their decisions, their motives – everything they've ever done has been for the sake of each of them, out of love. He'll always stand by his brothers, no matter what.

But...if Ace wants to leave, for stupid untrue reasons, while Luffy and Sabo want to stay...what will happen then? Will Ace leave without them anyway? Leave them behind? Will their bond be tested, fractured, broken? Will he expect them to just let him go when it's obvious he doesn't want to –?

Luffy shakes himself, careful not to draw his brothers' eyes, banishing the swirling thoughts. Time for that later. They've a few days yet. They still have time. Ace still has time.

Here's hoping his big brother isn't too blind to see that the answers he's been looking for are, and always have been, right in front of him.

For now, Luffy is content to lean against the railing, his brothers' warmth at his sides an instant comfort, the Whitebeard's soft but jubilant chorus like music to his ears. For now, Luffy allows himself to exist in this moment. To close his eyes and just be.

To smile to himself and dream of what adventures awaits them on the final island.

Reviews are writer chow :3