So this is part one. I decided to post it now since I've started working on part two. Anyone who's read Skip doesn't have anything new to read, but I promise to try to get the second half done as soon as possible :) For everyone else, I hope you enjoy~

Shit.

He didn't know where he was or why he was there, but fuck if he cared. There was a searing pain in his chest, leaving him in disrepair as he curled unto himself. What he was doing before then was a mystery, mind fuddled by the hurt that spread from that spot in the center of his chest. He could feel his flames soaring to life as the mess of a pirate tried to return from the disarray his thoughts had fallen to.

It was a while before he realized that his eyes were closed, but he wasn't sure he wanted to open them. As isolated as the darkness made him feel, it also gave him a sense of false security. With it, he didn't have to think. But he knew it wasn't for the best—that he had to get moving. Whatever he was doing before he went to sleep was important. He couldn't just continue on, blissfully unaware; he had to remember and then…

Then he could decide what to do next.

Fluttering eyelids warned of the brightness of the room. He winced, reluctant to attempt another try at waking, but his internal battle was short and soon he was staring at a wooden ceiling. The scent of the sea wafted his nose, mixing with the smell of the wood. As he laid there he allowed the swaying to send his thoughts adrift. He was on a ship, no doubt, but it wasn't the Moby Dick.

Another wave of pain surged through his torso and he gripped his chest, shocked when fingers met unmarred skin. He blinked, wondering why he wasn't wounded. It felt like he should be—at least a little. Where was the pain coming from?

…Why did he expect to find a hole where there was flesh?

Taking a deep breath, he tried to concentrate his thoughts, focus on the memories from before he woke up. He remembered something—a pale sky, hoards of people gathered beneath it, fighting. That's right… he was to be executed. Oyaji, he—

"Ace! I've come to save you!"

The pirate clenched his jaw as a jabbing pain shot through his skull. Luffy was there. That damned, stupid little brother… tried to save him. He looked so beaten and battered by the time he got to the platform—the stand his big brother was deemed his deathbed. The boy should have died twice over with how hurt he was, yet still… that smile…

Pulling his hand to shield his eyes, he let out a few deep, shuddering breaths. They all wanted to save him. His friends were dying right before his very eyes yet he couldn't help but cry tears of joy, knowing how much he meant to them—that they would go to such lengths to save someone as worthless as the son of the pirate king.

And then—

He froze, recalling that last piece of memory. Hadn't he… died? Akainu took a shot for Luffy and the pirate acted on instinct, taking the blow in his brother's stead. He felt a fist of magma tear through his back, destroying Oyaji's mark as it tore through his insides, coming clean through his chest. When the admiral retracted his limb, he fell into his sibling's arms. As he took his last few breaths, he thanked his family—thanked them for loving him, even though his life was worthless. Because that was the happiest he'd ever been.

Bolting upright, he patted his chest, searching for some remnant of the war. No sign remained. Unscarred and uninjured, it was like the happenings of Marineford were all mere figments of his fevered mind. But he couldn't have imagined that. He just couldn't have. So then, was he dead? Was that the afterlife? It seemed pretty dingy for a supposed paradise—not that he was really one to believe in heaven or hell. There's a thought—maybe it was hell. For being a place where he was to be eternally tortured, it was pretty cozy.

"How you feelin'?"

The pirate turned towards the unfamiliar sound, met with a broad grin. At first his mind flashed to Luffy, but quickly he dismissed the image in favour of the unknown boy seated beside the bed. Beneath his hat—one that held an uncanny resemblance to his brother's—was a mess of red hair, framing the carefree look held on his tanned face. Where had he seen him before?

"Where am I?" he asked, ignoring the question.

The boy didn't seem to mind, though, as he just allowed his words to fall unnoticed, opting to respond instead. "Our ship," he answered simply. "We found you adrift a few hours ago and Captain had us pull you up."

Adrift? Why was he in the water? Last he remembered, he was taking his final breaths at Marineford, saying goodbye to Oyaji, his crew and… Luffy. How would he have gone from there to being picked up by a random pirate ship?

Actually, it was better not to question it. He had enough of a headache as it was.

Slouching as he accepted what the teen said, he allowed a small smirk to pass his lips. "I see. And to whom do I owe my rescue?"

The boy opened his mouth in reply but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Both occupants turned to watch as the slab of wood creaked open, revealing a blond man with a scar on his eye. He had a lax air about him, calming in a way. Ace was assured by what he saw of the crew so far; they didn't seem so bad, so it was unlikely they had some ulterior motive for saving him. Why they would save the son of the pirate king was beyond him, though. After the world-wide declaration Sengoku made about his lineage, everyone knew. He would remain wary for the time.

"You're awake," he stated, a relaxed smile passing over his lips.

"Yes," the pirate replied, bowing his head politely, "thank you for saving me."

"Not at all," the man said, waving his manners aside as though the rescue was just an everyday thing for the crew. Maybe it was; people got thrown off the Moby Dick quite often so it was possible that other crews experienced the same. "So, what's your name?"

The youth blinked. "You don't—" He stopped himself before he could continue the question. They didn't know? So they didn't recognize him from the broadcast? Maybe there were some people still out of the loop, he supposed. It was recent news—only a day old—so it must have needed more time to circulate. He was thankful for that. If they knew… what would they have said? "No, never mind. It's Ace."

"Ace, then." Shutting the door behind him, the blonde moved to lean against the wall, arms folded leisurely over one another. "Where are you from?"

Ace blinked, not entirely sure how to answer that. Did he want his home sea or his crew? And why didn't he give his name? When asking for someone's identity, don't you normally state your own?

"You're a pirate, right?" the man asked when he realized he wasn't getting an answer, eliciting a nod from the other. "What crew do you belong to?"

"I've never heard of you before," the redheaded boy stated offhandedly as he waited for a reply.

"Whitebeard pirates," he said simply. Normally when he mentioned Oyaji's name he'd be met with shock, terror and then treated with the utmost care. That was in response to the weight that name carried, being identified as the world's strongest, and the knowledge that Whitebeard would overturn the sea if any harm came to one of his men.

Instead, there was laughter. He raised his eyebrows and blinked at the two very amused pirates. That reaction was pretty original, he admitted.

"So you're one of Newgate's boys?" the blonde questioned, though it was obviously rhetorical. "We'll be running into them sooner or later—always do. You can reunite with them then."

Always…? But wait, that wasn't true. Forgetting that he wasn't sure what ship he was on exactly, he knew he never saw those two before. If they regularly crossed paths with the Moby Dick he would have known them.

Wait. That kid did seem kind of familiar…

Turning from the resting pirate to the redhead, the blonde pushed off the wall and turned for the door. "Shanks, it's about time for you to return to your duties."

Ace's face turned a pallid white. What did he just call him?

"Alright," the boy responded, hopping off his chair and following suit.

As they both exited the room, Ace's mind filled with an insurmountable amount of questions. That… Shanks… That wasn't Shanks. No, no, no… couldn't be. Did he have a kid or something? The man was pretty laid-back… it was possible… right?

The door closed, but just before he heard the latch click, something else met his ears—loud and booming, full of excitement. "Ah, Rayleigh!"

That voice, there was something about it that knotted his stomach into an uneasy mess. But ignoring that, he focused on the name: Rayleigh. He knew that name. While he never met the man in person, he was well aware of the pirate king's first mate, Silvers Rayleigh. The one who responded to that name was the blonde, though—far too young to be the same person. Unless…

No. That was impossible. Ridiculous, even. He couldn't be. He wasn't. But…

Rayleigh.

Shanks.

Going with that flow…

Ace tore the sheets from his legs and jumped out of bed, bolting straight for the door. He flung it open and stared wide-eyed at the sight that befell him. There were a large amount of pirates, each going about their day as usual, none paying him any attention, but the bold red captain's jacket worn by one caught his eye. The man's back was facing him as he chatted with the blonde from before, a captain's hat atop his head.

Turning from the bold figure before him, he gawked at the crimson sails above, met with the stark-white image of the most iconic Jolly Roger in the world.

Swallowing, he once more faced the man clad in red, eyes wide and disbelieving. It made no sense. It shouldn't have happened—he was supposed to be dead. So was Ace! He was supposed to have died, too, saving his brother from having a fist of magma shoved through his chest. So why, exactly, did he now find himself on the Oro Jackson with a crew that should no longer exist?

"Ace!" called the boy's voice from earlier, though it went unheard.

The youth clenched his fists. It had to be a dream, a hallucination—something else. The wood he was standing on, the people he was with… they vanished over twenty years ago. The crew disbanded, the ship retired and the captain was executed. So why was he was seeing what he was?

A loud, booming laughter brought him away from his silent breakdown to look once more at the jacketed figure of the captain. He pulled his mouth into a taut line, brows furrowed.

"Is that so?" the man asked, laughing once more before he turned around, his eyes meeting Ace's without waver. "So you're finally awake, boy!"

Fire Fist felt his heart sink as he stared into those dark eyes that he would never admit reminded him of himself, looking over his wide grin and dark hair at the man who he despised more than anything else—whose lineage he was ashamed to be a part of.

"Fuck," he muttered, face downturned as the captain approached, talking to Rayleigh all-the-while. At that point, Ace passed his stage of disbelief and was fast approaching anger. The supressed emotions he buried away after becoming a commander of the Whitebeard pirates were bubbling to the surface. His childhood memories clogged conscious thought as he recalled the venomous words that spewed from the mouths of anyone who heard the pirate king's name. Now, that very same man was standing before him, inching closer as each second ticked by. He couldn't believe his rotten luck.

"Well," began that deep voice, "who do we have here?"

When Ace looked to him once more, it was to glare his hardest. Both Rayleigh and his captain were unaffected by it, though Shanks, who was now beside the Whitebeard commander, grew confused. "You damn, dirty bastard."

The muffled voices surrounding them quieted, all eyes turning to their leader and the one across from him.

Ace let out a jaded, broken chuckle. Fate hated him. Instead of dying, he was facing the most famous pirate in the world. Bringing a hand to press against his forehead, he heaved a breath of exhaustion. "I don't know how the hell this is happening and I don't care," he stated. "But you and I, we're going to stay far away from each other. You're going to drop me off on Oyaji's ship and we're never going to see each other again."

He was doing his best to stay calm, he really was. In reality, he wouldn't have minded attacking the man—giving him a good punch to the face. But after Marineford, after Teach, he knew better than to let his anger and pride sway him into such an unfavourable situation. And, as much as he hated Gold Roger, he missed his family more.

The crew was clearly shocked by the tone Ace took with the man—he was the pirate king, after all. Or was he? Had he obtained that title yet? Either way, it was probably a big insult to many, but no one said anything.

And then he laughed. That bastard actually laughed away the heavy atmosphere. It was infuriating. When someone came aboard your ship and ordered you around, weren't you supposed to stand up for yourself and prove a point? The only one stupid enough to brush it off like that was Luff—oh god, he did not just compare his little brother to that man. Nope, never happened.

"Alright, then!" the man bellowed after his laughter settled. Did… did he just comply with Ace's demands? He was pulled away from his wondering when the pirate king, completely ignoring what he just said, patted him on the back. "You're Newgate's boy? We'll hand you over when we run into him. Shouldn't be long now," he said, grinning.

Ace took a deep breath to keep his hotheaded nature in check. Before their journey was through, he was sure he'd kill the man, intentionally or not.

His tolerance ran thin and he slapped the captain's hand away. "Don't touch me," he spat, turning to enter the room he just came from. There was no way he could remain on deck with… him.

"Boy," Roger called once more, eliciting a pause and glare from the youth, "what's your name?"

The freckled youth clenched his fists as he recalled what Sengoku called him at his execution.

Gol D. Ace.

That wasn't his name. He wasn't that man's son.

"Portgas D. Ace," he answered after a long stretch, slamming the door behind him immediately after.

The crew returned to their duties and Rayleigh faced his captain, noting the contemplative look and slight smile gracing his lips. "What is it, Roger?"

The captain chuckled, scratching his head. "Forget it; it's nothing."

Ace had to admit that staring at the ceiling could amuse him for only so long. He'd been in that room with nothing to do for all of twenty minutes before his patience ran thin. Were it not for the bastard strolling about the deck, he wouldn't have trapped himself in there. As it stood, his only choices were remaining in solitude or giving in and accompanying the pirate king and he was not willing to do that. So he was left in silent contemplation.

At first he thought it best to try to figure out what was going on. Somehow he ended up in the past, but that really didn't seem possible. He should have been dead. Maybe he was dead. Maybe that was hell. It certainly made sense, what with being trapped in the presence of Gold Roger—that was definitely suitable as some sort of punishment—but somehow he thought it unlikely. He didn't really believe in the afterlife, anyways. So… he was in the past, then. But how? Why?

Groaning, he rolled onto his side, opting to stare at the wall. It was just as unentertaining as the ceiling but it wasn't like there was much else to look at. Thinking about how he ended up in that situation led to inconclusive answers and a splitting headache. For whatever reason, he was in the past. He accepted that, begrudgingly. Then… would he even be able to return to Oyaji's ship? He hadn't joined yet. Hell, he wasn't even born. Would the old man allow him to come aboard?

A knocking brought a halt to his downward-spiralling thoughts. Once more he turned over, lifting his torso from the cushion beneath him as he glanced at the door. Met with red hair, he regarded the child with curiosity. That really was Shanks, then. And the hat he wore… one day it would be Luffy's…

Damn, did he ever miss that brat.

Pushing himself up fully, he motioned for the kid to speak.

"Captain said to come get you," he explained. "Dinner's ready."

The fire user swept a tired hand across his face, wondering what to do about his little predicament. Oh how he wanted to wring the old man's neck. Going to the mess hall wasn't a smart move for either party, but… he was getting hungry. Then again, he was always hungry, having a stomach almost as bottomless as his little brother's. "Damn it all…"

Shanks blinked. "What's wrong?"

"I'm, uh… I'm not hungry, kid. Tell the captain that." He tried to hide his mocking tone, the disdain he held for the bastard all his life, but it still managed to seep through his words.

Hearing the clear reluctance in Ace's voice, the boy's face sagged and he plopped down on the chair—same one as before—giving him a knowing look. It was unnerving; that expression reminded Fire Fist of how poorly he hid his emotions. Finally, he sighed. "You don't like Captain Roger?"

"Not at all," came the quick reply.

"Why not?"

"He's the pi—" Cutting himself of, the pirate furrowed his brow. Was he the pirate king yet? "…It's complicated, alright?"

The redhead shared a pout, clearly unsatisfied with the answer, resembling a young Luffy. It was eerie how similar the two could appear. After a long stretch of silence, the boy spoke up again. "A lot of people don't like the captain, but I'm not sure why."

A snicker passed Ace's lips. He tried to suppress it, to no avail. "He's not a very good person, kid."

"Yes he is," Shanks retorted, voice more serious than earlier. With all the resolve carried in those dark eyes, Ace was almost inclined to believe it. The boy had complete trust in his captain. "He's amazing!" he stated, something akin to admiration in his tone. "He's really nice. And strong—no one can beat him, not even the Golden Lion."

Ace raised an eyebrow. Vaguely, he recalled hearing about the fight between the pirate king and Shiki, a former power, but brushed it aside. Shanks sure held his captain in high regard. "You look up to him?"

The grin on the youth's face almost rivalled Luffy's. "I want to be just like him someday."

"I'm gonna be the pirate king!"

The smallest hint of a smile crossed his face, though he remained completely unaware. Still, he hated the bastard and didn't want anything to do with him. It didn't matter what the kid said.

"So come on," Shanks urged, grabbing the pirate's hand and tugging it. "Everything's going to be gone if you keep sitting around here!"

"I'm not—" A loud protest from his stomach had him swallowing his words, turning away with a light blush.

At first the redhead just continued to blink at him in silence. Then, peals of laughter rolled from his throat, causing the fire user's embarrassment to grow. Guess he couldn't use that excuse, could he?

Dinner on the Oro Jackson was all too reminiscent of the Moby Dick; there was laughing and cheering, resembling the meaningless celebrations the Whitebeard pirates were known for. Maybe that was why Ace didn't feel out of place. Walking through the door, across the room, giving sideways glances to hearty men as he passed… it felt natural. He hated it.

Sitting at the captain's table was downright torture. Apparently it was the only place with enough room left to accommodate him, but seeing as Shanks was the one who said it, he doubted it to be true. Something told him that the boy wanted him to change his opinion of the pirate king before his stay came to an end. He was in for a heavy disappointment if that was the case. After living so many years under that man's shadow, hearing rolls of laughter whenever he inquired about Gold Roger having a son… he would never think differently.

Placed directly across from the captain, Ace decidedly stared at the table. He didn't want to look at the man, didn't want to talk to him—he just wanted to fill his stomach. If he managed to ignore the bastard's existence long enough, his meal wouldn't be soiled. Still, with how booming a voice he had, it was hard to keep from glancing his way. Something about the carefree way he spoke drew in attention.

Stabbing into the meat on his plate, Ace ripped off a bite angrily and chewed, frustrated that the most notable voice in the room was the one coming from directly in front of him. Eating seemed to quell his nerves for but a moment.

"Boy," Roger sounded, earning a steely glare from the other, "when did you join ol' Newgate?"

Ace wanted to reply eloquently—something along the lines of 'shove it, you sack of human filth'—but found that it wouldn't really be appropriate. The question was innocent enough, and he liked talking about his crew, so…

"Two years ago," he replied hesitantly, looking back to his plate to continue his meal.

"That so?" the captain questioned rhetorically, amusement clear in his tone. "I haven't seen you around before."

Ace choked, downing a glass of water to dislodge the meat stuck in his throat. Well, he wasn't expecting that particular remark. Admitting to being from the future probably wasn't the best idea. Lying… Ace was a terrible liar—not as bad as Luffy, but still not very believable. So, he opened his mouth in preparation of an excuse.

And Roger laughed. He really didn't understand the man.

"Got any family?"

The commander remained quiet, wondering why the bastard saved him from replying to that last remark, before considering his question. "A brother—Luffy."

"Luffy, eh?" the pirate king echoed, grinning as he regarded the name. "He a good kid?"

Ace sighed, thinking back to all the stunts his brother pulled as a kid. "He's always getting into trouble and I have to bail him out. I mean I even d—" His eyes widened at the realization, halting his words. He was dead. He would never see Luffy again—never see him fulfill his dream.

The table fell silent, watching as Ace's downturned face contorted, flashing briefly with anger before settling on content. He was dead but… Luffy wasn't.

"What's wrong?" Shanks asked from beside the fire user, quickly met with a look from Rayleigh that urged him not to ask.

Ace took a deep breath. "…The things he says and does are crazy and he's too stupid to think things through, but…" He risked his life for me—to save me. "…He's my precious little brother."

He failed to notice the calm smile that washed over the captain's face. "You two seem close."

The commander sheepishly scratched his head. "W-well…" And then he turned pale. He just held a conversation with the damned pirate king, the bane of his existence. That wasn't happening—it couldn't be. There was no way he was going to go along with that bastard. He may have held back on attacking him, but there was no way he was going to get along with him after the hell he lived through during his childhood.

Having finished his plate, he stood abruptly from his chair, glared his hardest at the man before him, and stormed out of the room. His stomach was only partially full and Shanks was protesting his leave but hell if he cared.

Asking about Luffy to gain his favour… that was a cheap shot!

The hours faded to twilight, finding the crew aboard the Oro Jackson drifting into slumber, leaving but one man to sit about the crow's nest for the nightly watch. Most would be content with lying in their beds, seeing that as a chance to rest after the day's labours. Ace was different; he saw it as an opportunity to free himself from the confines of his room, to roam about freely without the looming threat of encountering a certain someone.

Swinging open the slab of wood that separated him from the deck, the pirate inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the sea-sprayed air he'd come to know so well. Once more he could hear the waves roll against the ship's hull, crashing rhythmically as the vessel carried them through the waters. The sound made him feel safe, secure—told him that there was nothing to fear.

Soon his face fell, dropping into a familiar scowl as his mind began to wander. He really needed to figure out what to do from that point on. If Oyaji refused to take him in… what could he do?

A recent memory flashed through his head. Amidst the fire and carnage brought forth by his flames stood a man, tall and proud against the red backdrop of the battlefield. Strong, unyielding, he ignored the injuries scattered about his person, golden eyes meeting gray. Hard glare turning soft, he regarded Ace fondly, ignoring the stench of death permeating the open air.

"Was I a good father?"

Ace's lip quivered, eyes wavering as his father's last smile flashed through his mind, the one thanking him even though he deserved all the gratitude the fire user could offer. Oyaji gave him a family—a place to belong. How could he ever repay him for that?

What hurt most was knowing that if he returned to his time, Whitebeard wouldn't be there. Oyaji chose Marineford as his deathbed. He'd known that. That's why… he said goodbye.

He really wanted to see the old guy.

"Ace," called a deep, lax voice. Fire Fist tore his eyes away from the darkened sea, his mind from reminiscence, and looked up at the crow's nest. He was met with the laid-back smile of a notorious blond. "Getting some fresh air?"

"…Yeah," he answered, eyeing the man. Ace wasn't sure what to make of Rayleigh. The man himself wasn't hard to get along with—didn't bring out the fire user's bad side—but at the same time, he was Roger's first mate. That alone was proof that he wouldn't make very desirable company.

The man laughed from his perch, removing a gray flask from his side, opening it to take a swig of its contents. "Understandable," he remarked. "You've been locked up in there all day."

"Yeah, well, thank your bastard captain for that," he mumbled, unsure of whether the other heard him.

Again, Rayleigh chuckled. What was with that crew and brushing everything off like that?

"Roger's been gaining a very unfavourable reputation as of late. I'm not surprised you don't like him."

"…What do you mean?" He knew what he meant, but maybe he could get a clue to what part of the timeline he was in.

"Seems that ever since we made it to Raftel, the whole world's started calling him Pirate King," he stated, replacing his flask at his side.

So that was their last voyage, then. They would disperse soon and then a year would pass before Ace's conception and Roger's death. Knowing that really put everything into perspective. He wasn't particularly knowledgeable of the pirate king's reign, about the adventures he experienced or the circumstances surrounding them. Why did that man want to sail in the first place? Despite being oblivious to all of that, he was well aware of Gold Roger's infamous execution, the crowd that gathered in a Loguetown square to witness the end of one era and the birth of another. He heard it many times—that the heat was almost unbearable, parching their throats as the sun beat down, but no one was willing to leave. They had to be there—to bear witness to such a monumental occasion. The man who attained everything fell. His blood coated the platform, falling to the dried earth as cheers echoed across the world, the people's hope renewed with the prospect of attaining the pirate king's legacy as his heart beat its last, immortalizing his name and creating a throne above the stars to keep his legend alive.

He'd arrived at the peak of Gol D. Roger's story, right after the climax and before the final resolution. The man, as he was then, was what Luffy aspired to be. Ace would be lying if he said he wasn't even a little curious.

"It doesn't matter," Rayleigh stated, his voice stretching across the darkened sea as he looked to the moon. "The world may hate him and say he's a demon, but I've never seen someone that shone so brightly."

The youth didn't understand what the first mate meant by that, but maybe he didn't have to.

Maybe it didn't matter.

Chilled liquid drenched his being, his body jumping in shock. That feeling was all too familiar and he panicked, reaching out to grab whatever was an arm-length away as he opened his eyes.

He wished he stayed asleep.

Of course it was the captain's laid-back grin he was greeted with, because his life as of late loved screwing with him. When did he fall asleep? Last he recalled, he and Rayleigh were drinking… ah, that was probably it. Alcohol didn't like his narcolepsy very much.

"Morning, my boy," Roger greeted with that infamous smirk of his.

"Piss off," Ace hissed as he stood, grumbling about the captain's oh-so-subtle attempt at waking him as he removed his shirt to wring it out, freeing it of excess water.

A chorus of laughter sprung forth from the crew as they watched the events unravel. Ace really didn't understand that bunch. Pouring a bucket of water on a sleeping devil fruit user… was the man trying to give him a heart attack? He thought he was drowning!

…Could he even have a heart attack? He was technically dead, wasn't he?

Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, he continued drying himself. He didn't want to think about that; every time he did, he felt uneasy. There really wasn't any way of knowing what would happen to him after his little adventure in the past. Would he just… vanish? Would he disappear? Not wanting to ponder that, he allowed his flames to take over, washing his body in protective warmth. He could feel the water evaporate, eyes on him as he displayed his skills. Of course, he hadn't really mentioned his ability to them before. Why would he? He didn't like them—didn't like conversing with them.

…Maybe that wasn't entirely true. Maybe he just didn't like their captain.

"Logia, huh?" Rayleigh pondered off to the side, rubbing his beard in thought.

He glanced at the blond before turning away, dropping the shirt to the ground after finding no need for it. "Mera Mera no Mi," he supplied, doing his best to keep his attention from the pirate king. Ignoring that annoying face of his was getting easier as time went on. He couldn't say the same for that booming voice, though.

"Was it worth it?" Roger asked, "Trading the ability to swim for the ability to control fire?"

To be honest, Ace hadn't thought of that before. He ate his fruit on accident back when he first entered the Grand Line so he never pondered whether or not he wanted a power like that. Considering his use of it over the years, though…

"Yeah," he said with a nod, "it was." He saved Luffy with that ability back at Alabasta. He protected his crew with it. Knowing that, it was worth it. He'd do it over again if given the chance.

Roger smiled, "Good." With that one word, he straightened and stretched, heading over to two younger boys—Shanks and someone with a big, red nose—who had started fighting.

Ace raised his eyebrow as he watched the laughing captain break up their tiff, wondering about that other kid. He'd seen him before, but where? With a nose like that, he was unmistakab—

Buggy the Clown.

He snickered. So that pirate used to be on the Oro Jackson, huh? He certainly didn't seem the type. Everyone else who came from that crew was infamous. The Dark King Rayleigh was legendary amongst the pirates of his time. Shanks became a Yonko, attaining power similar to Oyaji's. Buggy, well… he wasn't so successful. He did recall seeing him at Marineford, though—leading the group of escapees. Maybe he was useful, after all.

Shanks and Buggy turned from each other sharply and childishly stormed away from one another as their captain sheepishly scratched the back of his head. He didn't seem put-off by their reaction, though. In fact, it seemed like an everyday thing. Maybe it was.

The redhead spotted him and immediately headed over, not giving him a chance to retreat to his usual room. He wasn't too fond of staying on deck with Roger, but… it wasn't like he had much of a choice. He'd go insane if he spent all waking hours in there. Maybe spending a little time in the same vicinity as they guy wouldn't kill him.

"Hey, Ace," Shanks greeted, plopping down beside him.

The fire user sent him a lopsided grin. "Hey," he replied, hunching forward as he crossed his legs.

"Why were you sleeping on deck? Isn't it uncomfortable?"

What should he say to that? Rubbing his neck, he thought of the best explanation. "I have narcolepsy," he stated, "so I just sort of fall asleep wherever I am."

Shanks hummed in acknowledgement, pondering that for a while. "You're a Whitebeard pirate, right?"

Ace nodded. That was a topic he would never tire of.

"Don't all of Newgate's men wear his symbol on their body somewhere?"

"We do," the commander confirmed.

"Then where's yours?"

Ace froze then, eyes widening. He noticed others staring at him as well, such as Rayleigh. They hadn't noticed? But it was such a large tattoo, right on his back—

…It was, wasn't it?

The pirate buried his head in his hands, hunching over in the dark of the room as he sat on the edge of his bed. Mirror shards lay shattered on the far side of the room, a testament to his anger in the moment. Frustrated shivers escaped his body as he clenched his teeth, not wanting to admit the truth—that the mark he wore so proudly on his skin was gone, leaving not a shred of proof that it was ever there. He hated it—hated that his symbol of belonging had been erased. It felt like it'd never happened—the crew, the old man, their time together.

He heard the door creak open but didn't react, remaining hidden behind his fingers as he tried to cope with what he just saw. There was a pause as the other assessed the situation. Then large, weighted steps resounded through the room, bouncing off the walls. He knew those steps—recognised that gait—but said not a word. At that point, he didn't care.

The bed sunk beside him under his guest's weight. When the man sighed, he confirmed his identity. But it didn't matter. His grudge against him ran deep, but it was no match for how lost he felt in that moment. If he no longer had that mark, did he really have a home to return to?

"It's gone," he murmured, uncaring of the one seated beside him. Releasing a shivering breath, he continued. "Oyaji's mark is gone."

He could hear the other's breaths slow and even as he thought.

"Is that so?" he questioned, his usually loud and boisterous voice falling quiet, solemn. It was strange, hearing the pirate king use such a soft tone.

"It doesn't make sense," Ace whispered, voice breaking as he fought to control his emotions. "It shouldn't have happened…" His lip quivered as he remembered the day he got that tattoo—the cheering faces of his brothers and sisters as he removed the bandages to reveal distinguished purple and white, the proof that he belonged, that he was one of them.

That he had a family. That he had a home.

That he was loved.

Curling deeper unto himself, running fingers through dark strands, he let out a strangled cry, almost inaudible. "How can I face them?"

After a long stretch, he heard Roger release a deep breath. "You never finished telling me about your family, boy."

Ace paused, his grip loosening and eyes widening.

"You have a brother named Luffy, right?"

Ace swallowed, "Yeah…"

"Who else?"

For a moment, the commander had to think. His mind first flashed to a grinning blond. No one knew about him—not even Oyaji or Marco. He was a figment of the past, a shard from his memories that stabbed at him whenever he thought about bringing him up in conversation. Still, he found words flowing from his lips like water. "Sabo," he'd answered.

"Sabo?" the pirate king echoed.

"My brother," he elaborated, feeling his trembling body settle. Warmth enveloped him as his mind got caught up in the iconic memories of his childhood, the three of them together always. "He was the smart one—the one who got us out of trouble."

"He protected you." Even without looking, he could hear the smile in the other's voice.

Ace nodded, "To the end." Sometimes he wondered if that was really a good thing, but he couldn't help but feel thankful knowing just how much his brother gave up to keep them safe. A jaded laugh escaped him then, but it held no malice. "He just wanted to be free."

"Is he?"

Ace's eyes widened. He spun around to see pure curiosity on Roger's face, nothing more. There was no taunting in his voice, no judgement in his eyes. The fire user wasn't sure how to answer that, though.

Was Sabo free?

His mind shifted to the letter, the last words his brother gave him.

"Ace, Luffy, I hope you weren't injured in the fire."

Always worrying about them, even after death—that was just like him, wasn't it? Sabo was the first friend he made, the first connection he built. After spending so many years hating his lineage, hating who he was, he found someone who accepted him. At first he stayed away, but Sabo was persistent. He wouldn't let him escape and, for that, Ace was grateful.

"I'm sorry to say it, but by the time you read this letter, I'll already be…"

He bit his lip.

"…out at sea."

Dead.

"Which one of us do you think is older?"

Ace wasn't sure why Sabo told him then how he felt, never before. Maybe it was because that was his last chance. He didn't want to wait. He didn't leave with regrets.

"It might sound strange, but our brotherhood is my treasure."

His lip quivered then and he turned away, hiding his face from his so-called father.

"Luffy is still a weak crybaby, but he's our little brother so take care of him for me!"

Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled and sat up, staring at the wood of the ceiling. "I don't know."

Then, Roger stood and spoke two words that Ace could never hope to grasp.

"Are you?"

From off to the side, Ace watched the crew's merrymaking. They drank and laughed, dancing around the deck idiotically as they celebrated. What were they celebrating? Well, Ace didn't know either. They seemed to use anything as an excuse to hold some sort of party—to get drunk off their asses and have fun. In that respect, it was identical to the Moby Dick. In a way, that scared him. Both crews were eerily similar, to the point that Ace sometimes forgot he wasn't home. Were it not for the unfamiliar faces or the captain's annoying mug, he might not have been able to tell the difference.

Turning worn eyes from the light of the fire to his arm, he bit his lip. How had he not noticed before? The iconic black ink on his forearm had vanished just like the symbol on his back. Maybe he didn't realize because of everything that went on over the past few days. Every time he thought of it, he found himself sinking deeper. The proof of his resolve was gone. The love for his family had been stolen from his back. What did he have left? Even his hat was back in his own time, likely buried in the dirt of the island where he and Teach fought, forever forgotten.

Moving to stare at the sky, he released a breath. What scared him most was that it was like none of those things were there in the first place. They never existed. When Ace thought of it like that, he wondered if his time in the future was all in his head. Did it really happen or was he losing touch with reality? In truth, he didn't know. It could have been a lie. Maybe he hit his head when he fell into the water—when Roger found him. It could just be an internal fantasy of his.

The pirate dared not to admit that theory. He didn't want it to be a lie. Luffy had to be real. Sabo was his brother. The Moby Dick was his home.

His gaze returned to the laughter and fun surrounding the crew, eyes stopping on a drinking match between Shanks and Buggy. How old were they again? Well, whatever. Maybe that explained the former's alcoholism. Roger's crew could forever be blamed for the drunkard's love of booze. Typical.

The commander grimaced when he heard someone slump down beside him, daring not to look. Maybe if I ignore him, he'll go away. Unfortunately his theory was shredded when he felt a large, muscled arm wrap around his shoulders. He had to resist the urge to set the offending limb aflame—which was hard, but… he couldn't do it, could he? As much as his blood boiled whenever the man was near, he listened to Ace's plights. He didn't turn away, didn't ignore his cries nor scoff at them. Through it all, the pirate king simply sat and listened.

How could he allow himself to hate the man?

"Acey~" the captain's voice chorused in a drunken slur. Don't set him on fire. Don't set him on fire. It's not he's fault he's an idiot like—no, no, I will not compare them. Nope. Not happening. "What're you doing over here all on your own, boy? Join in!"

The commander turned away, repulsed by the strong scent of alcohol on his—on that bastard's breath. His nose scrunched up in disapproval. Ace may have been a pirate and his crew might have replaced water with booze but that didn't mean he liked the stench. "I'd rather not."

"C'mon," Roger urged, "the boys want to meet you! It's not every day one of Newgate's brats comes to visit!" Laughter spread throughout the deck as he chugged more of his bottle, arm still held firmly around Ace's neck.

"No," he refused, "I'm fine here."

The captain let out a long, depressed sigh. "Suit yourself." As he tipped back the bottle, allowing the final few droplets of poison to trickle down his throat, he watched the skies. Amidst the dark clouds and murky depths fluttered something light. He threw the glass over his shoulder, ignoring it when someone behind him cussed, and reached out.

Ace couldn't help but glimpse at the pirate occasionally as the arm slipped from his shoulders to reach out to a gull as its talons opened, leaving a paper to drop to the captain's hand. As Roger read whatever was written in dark ink, the commander grew curious. He hadn't seen such a serious expression on that man's face yet. It was… intimidating. Worrying. Whatever that letter said, it had to be bad. Something was wrong, horribly, horribly—

He laughed.

Roger laughed.

When the freckled youth's gaze shot to his face, his features softened, seeing a wide, confident, impossible grin. The more he saw, the harder it became to deny that the pirate king reminded him of Luffy. It was strange; they weren't related, never met, yet in some respects they were so similar—so identical—that it was hard to tell them apart.

"Men!" Roger's voice boomed through the salty mist, carried across the sea. The merriment ceased, a deep silence falling as everyone turned to their leader. If possible, the man's grin widened, the red of his coat standing out more than ever against the deep, unknown abyss surrounding them. "What do you say to a little company?"

At first everything was still. Ace peered at each of their faces, searching for some clue to what was going on. He spun around in confusion, wondering what Roger meant. Were they going to battle? Did someone challenge his crew? But then, amongst them all he saw Shanks, his youthful face breaking out into a wide smile. Everyone else followed before cheers rang out into the night, fists rising into the air.

Okay, he was thoroughly confused.

The hell was going on?

The light sank behind the earth, bringing about the end of his third day on that goddamn ship. He never bothered to ask about what happened the previous night, opting to spend most of the morning and early afternoon asleep in his room. His narcolepsy was sure to keep him in there until long past noon. It didn't matter, though. Now, with the moon peeking from beyond the horizon, he knew what the fuss was about.

How could he ever mistake that whale figurehead for anything else?

Ace could feel the warm rush of blood as it circulated through his limbs and head, swirling about in response to the mad thumping of his heart. It pounded harder and harder against his chest, threatening to burst as the massive vessel sailed closer.

Panic set in. What could he do? What could he say? He was more than twenty years in the past; none of them would recognise him! He wasn't even born yet! The questions circling his head the past few days returned with a vengeance. What could he do? The last thing he wanted was to be reunited with his family, his symbol of belonging stolen from him, to not be remembered.

Hesitantly, he took a step back.

And another.

And—

A firm hand pressed against his shoulder, squeezing enough to catch his attention. His head spun around, facing the slightly taller figure of the man clad in red. Roger didn't look at him, said not a word. He simply stood there, his touch being all Ace needed to feel safe.

When did he let that man get so close?

The Moby Dick and Oro Jackson floated alongside one another, boardwalks stretching between them. Ace watched with great trepidation as the captain took long, confident strides across the deck. He found himself following unconsciously, stopping at the rail. Roger continued on, though, crossing over to the other vessel. He found his hands twitching nervously against the splintered wood of the Oro Jackson, muscles clenched tightly as he watched the pirate king stroll up to the large figure he knew as Oyaji—who could be no other. But from that distance he couldn't make out faces well. He wondered what they were doing. Would the captains fight? They were enemies, right? Rivals.

The commander swallowed. That was a fight he would never want to miss, but at the same time he didn't want a battle to break out. He was tired—far too tired for combat. After Marineford, he needed a break from it all. He didn't want to see his brothers die.

He saw Roger make random gestures, not hearing the words meant to accompany them. Then, after a few minutes, the captain turned back to his crew, waving. Immediately the atmosphere around them relaxed, but the fire user wasn't sure what to make of it. Was that it? They just wanted to chat? But then Shanks lunged at the boardwalk, running across to the enemy ship with that Luffy-like grin on his face. Others followed shortly while the remainder of the crew returned to their tasks, worry absent from their faces.

But Roger was still waving—waiting for him.

And that nervous anxiety rose up once more.

It only took a few seconds for Ace to realize that he didn't have much of a choice; the captain wasn't going to let him just walk away. No, that man was too pushy—too stubborn. It took a while for the fire user to gather the courage to cross the boardwalk. For once his impulsivity took a back seat to his apprehension and, in the most conflicted moment of his life, he decided to approach the Moby Dick.

A flood of nostalgia attacked his senses as he took in the smell of salt and wood, so alike yet unlike the Oro Jackson. How long had it been since he last set foot on that ship? Months, he realized. Not once had he returned since setting out to find Teach. If he had, maybe Marineford could have been avoided. Maybe he wouldn't have had to watch his brothers fall, all because of his own naivety.

The commander stopped after hopping off the rail, body stiff as trepidation took over. Gray eyes roved over the deck, so familiar yet unknown. He took a deep breath. Everything was just as he remembered it. Still, it wasn't exact; the ship seemed young, just as one would expect after arriving in the past. More and more one realization permeated his thoughts, drowning out every one of his musings: they don't know who you are.

"Come on, boy!"

Roger's voice snapped him away from his internal struggle and he looked up, towards the noise, eyes widening. Looking past the pirate king, his gaze fell on a tall, intimidating figure, heart swelling with fondness. Oyaji. But he was different. He had hair! Among other things…

So that was the soon-to-be strongest man in the world—Edward Newgate in his prime. Clad in white, he sat in a chair exactly as Ace remembered him. Something was different, aside from the obvious subtraction of years on his body. He felt… more relaxed. Was that because of Roger? Weren't they enemies?

Eventually he found himself walking over to the pirate king. His body went rigid when he felt the man slap his back with a hearty laugh. When an arm came around his shoulders he had to fight to not set it aflame. He hated how touchy the man was. Ace had never been one to invade personal space but apparently the same couldn't be said for his genetic donor. He felt Newgate watching him, studying him.

"Who's this?" he questioned, not holding much interest as he took a swig from the flask at his side.

Roger laughed. "This is my son."

He felt the colour drain from his face as he spun around to look at the pirate king, eyes doubling in size. "What—"

He was hushed, a grin appearing on his father's face. "You made it pretty obvious," he whispered low, close to his ear. Pulling away, the pirate grinned at his rival. "Name's Ace. He really admires you."

"Gurarara," Whitebeard laughed, the sound soothing Ace's nerves. For the moment he ignored his erratic thoughts, simply taking in the man before him. He'd missed him—missed them all. "Is that so, brat?"

Suddenly all eyes were on him. He looked around, spotting many familiar faces amongst the crowd, before turning back to Oyaji. He swallowed before nodding.

Again Whitebeard laughed. That sound brought him from his fears, making it feel like everything was going to be alright. He was home.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Please tell me what you think and I'll see you again when I post part two :)

Adieu~