Hi everyone!

I have done it again. Avoided updating my fics in-progress to write an entirely different one instead. In my fair defense, this is the result of sudden inspiration, and you get a short story too! Yay..? Let's go with yay!

This series will feature short one-shorts. It will be updated only when inspiration (or ideas from you, if I find them feasible) strikes. I thought of lumping these under Snapshots of Familial Ties, but figured that series should only feature the longer one-shots. This makes things neater and I'd also then have someplace to dump short one-shots too.

Therefore, I welcome you to...Mini Snapshots of Familial Ties. Aha. I am not that creative when it comes to titles, apparently. :( Enjoy, everyone! And once more, stay safe!

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

Social Learning – Part One

"What are you doing?"

Thatch tried to lean away from the sudden closeness of his youngest brother so he could meet the other's gaze. Ace met his eyes with a frown, seeming oblivious to the other's confusion.

"Your food," the fire-user said, as if that cleared everything. "I'm sorry this happened."

Huh?

Thatch didn't bother to look at the scattered remnants of his dinner around him. It was his own fault, and it wasn't the first time it had happened. He had been run ragged the entire day when the Moby Dick had been attacked by a rogue pirate crew intent on Oyaji's head. The assault must have been planned, for his home was suddenly surrounded on all sides by a fleet of ships (nothing to compared to theirs, but it was a mighty number still). It had taken the crew hours to wipe them clean out, with Marco taking the lead to leave a few alive to spread word of their triumph.

Needless to say, dinner had been delayed that night. It took every ounce of his skill and willpower to throw something together with his division to ensure everyone was fed within the hour. Seas above knew they'd just up and crash without food if he took too long. And, as head chef, Thatch decided to have his last, after ensuring that none of his family members had been left behind.

Alas, as fate would have it, he tripped over his own feet as he made his way to the kitchen tables, sending the last of his prepared foods skidding across the floor. Already his shoulders were drooping in disappointment at the waste (at his loss). He knew he was too tired to cook something else up, so he guessed cleaning the kitchens and then a night's rest on an empty stomach was how the rest of the evening would go.

At least, until he was suddenly accosted by the heated yet fresh warmth of one fire-user, who was presently holding the commander against his chest like a half-grown kitten trying to hold a lion cub within its still tiny paws. Ace was on his knees, one of his arms wrapped around the brunette tight, and his other free hand was ruffling at his let-down hair roughly. Thatch tried to think back to the last time this had happened since the kid joined the crew months ago, but he came up empty.

"Uh, Ace?"

The pirate in question blinked at him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, thank you," the commander couldn't but say with a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard something crash as I was walking by." The younger pirate's grey eyes turned sad. "Was that your dinner?"

Thatch inwardly snorted. Trust the kid to look utterly pathetic at the thought of wasted food. "Don't worry about it, kiddo. I was careless. It happens."

To his surprise, the kid didn't bristle at the endearment (and yes, it was a fine endearment, no matter how many times his youngest brother protested). Ace instead dragged him closer, enough that he could smell the fresh scent of green tea mixed with the freckled pirate's own distinctive earthy smell of crushed pine. When the younger pirate started rubbing at his arm, Thatch decided to try again.

"Ace."

The answer was sombre. "Yeah?"

"This is where you explain what you're doing," he said, taking care to infuse his words with as much gentleness as he could because the kid was (terribly) prone to misunderstandings.

Ace looked at him in what might have been curiosity, before some sort of realisation dawned on him. "Oh, I'm doing this wrong, aren't I?" he muttered. Then, as if a light bulb lit up in his head, the kid groaned to himself. "Why am I so stupid? It's because you're still on the floor, isn't it? And the floor's dirty too. I'm so sorry, Thatch. I'm not used to this yet. You could have said something too! Come on, let's get you off the floor."

Thatch allowed himself to be pulled to his feet before he was dragged over to the kitchen tables. Like earlier, the fire-user immediately curled into his side the moment he was seated.

Alright then. This was fine. This was not at all weird. Except it was.

"Ace?" he tried again, still feeling completely and utterly lost. "I appreciate the affection, but I kind of need to clean the kitchens."

"You have to feel better first!" There was a pregnant pause. After which the kid straightened to look at him worriedly. "Am I still doing this wrong? That's it, isn't it? You haven't relaxed since we sat down either." Ace let out a sigh, his boyish features twisting into a disappointed frown. "I'm sorry. I'm no good at this. I've never been good at things like this."

Thatch took the opportunity to pull himself away when the teen loosened his hold. He studied the somewhat downcast look on his brother's face intently, as if trying to unravel the newest puzzle presented to him. But, for all he tried, he couldn't make heads or tails out of it. How did he explain why he was suddenly accosted with a half-hug by a brother who had never once reciprocated any form of physical affection since his initiation into the crew?

"I'm sorry," Ace was saying again. He was now staring at his lap. "You'd always hold me that way whenever I'm upset. When I heard the crash and saw the food…I know I would have been really upset if I were in your shoes, and I'm always told that I should try to be more empathetic…? Is that the word? And, anyway, I wanted to make you feel better, the same way you've always done for me…" he trailed off. His voice lowered into faint mutterings near the end. "Figures I can't even do that much."

Thatch felt his eyes widen as the words sank in (into his darn heart too). Ace wanted to…? Understanding flooded him and the commander could have hit himself for missing the gestures the kid was trying to imitate. Whenever an incident happened and he was around, he always tried to cheer the kid up. And it became increasingly clear how the teen thrived under physical affection, how his eyes lit up whenever someone dragged him closer, how he would eventually relax under their watchful eyes. Not that he made it easy. He'd always grumble and complain that they weren't respecting his boundaries.

"You were trying to cheer me up," he said slowly, tasting the words in his mouth as if to see how that made sense, "the same way I do for you."

Ace nodded glumly. "I always feel better when you do that arm technique thing. Guess I'm not practiced enough to make it effective for you."

A sudden wave of warmth swept through the fourth commander. 'Arm technique'? 'Arm technique'? The kid honestly thought it was a strategic move to calm another. Did he have not the faintest inklings that how he was treated was largely a result of his tender age? How could someone be so obtuse and yet so terribly charming? Thatch wanted to hide his face in his hands. He was going to melt into a puddle of goo if he wasn't careful.

"Thatch? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he choked out. "I'm completely fine. I'm perfect."

He gestured at the teen to come closer. "Come on, you aren't done making me feel better."

Ace tilted his head in adorable confusion. "But I'm not good at it," he protested weakly. "It didn't work. You don't have to force yourself to…"

"I was too tired for it to work properly," Thatch said without much heed. "Come on. I need it."

And yes, he did. Because if he didn't get that side-hug now, he was going to drag the unwitting fire-user into a bone-crushing embrace that not even Marco would be able to extract him from.

Ace just managed to escape that fate when he inched closer, his arm circling around the commander in slight hesitation. "Is this better?"

Thatch leaned his weight onto his youngest brother. "It's perfect," he murmured.

Damn, the kid was right. No one was prepared for him to join the crew. Thatch thought his heart might just die.

That's all! Can you believe I already have some ideas for the next chapters? Stop me! I need to update my other fics too.

Do leave a review! Feedback (please be kind), comments, encouragement etc. always drive me to get back on the keyboard as soon as I can.