Hello friends! This is my contribution for days 3 and 4 of MarcoAce week. It's not EXACTLY a modern AU so I'm cheating a little, but shh. It's very loosely inspired by a true story detailed by Robert Hare, a psychologist, though it differs greatly from the source material. Like... greatly *cough* The world itself is really weird. As the inspiration of the story happened in the 60's it's partially based in that time, but it's also a mix of a modern AU with the canon world as inspiration for how the prison works. In other words, it's a complete fuckup of nonsensical proportions. It makes no fucking sense. I'm warning you now, because I don't want you to go in and be like "This isn't accurate" because, well, it's not. It's not meant to be, and the way the prison is run and operated is completely absurd. And Marco? He's like the worst psychologist ever. This is NOT how psychologists behave, and he handles a lot of situations he's faced with incorrectly. He does a shit job XD But this is fanfiction, and it's meant for entertainment, so. Be entertained! (Before I started actually writing it I was going to try to make it accurate, but when I actually got around to it I decided I wanted to base the prison off the One Piece world and how strange and bizarre it was because it was more fun that way, so that's how it turned out this way :'D)

If you missed it, I wrote a oneshot for day 1 called Phoenix Fire. I know some people didn't get the notification, so I thought I'd mention it. Go take a look when you have time :)

Enjoy~

He took a deep breath, lungs filling with the dank air surrounding the large fortress known as the Grandline Penitentiary. With nothing but an old briefcase in his left hand, he approached the high fences where a uniformed stranger stood, waiting to escort him inside.

Marco wasn't sure how he ended up being offered the job so early in his career. At the time he was ecstatic, having a chance to practice the field he'd studied for so long. It wasn't until hours later when the excitement dissipated that worry set in. It was too late to panic, though, and he wasn't the type to be easily intimidated, so there he was.

Like with most prisons, everything just seemed lifeless and dead as he was led to the building's entrance. The cloud cover above drained the world of colour, leaving the grass a muted brown and the prison lifeless shades of grey. As he was permitted inside, a knot formed in his stomach, looking around the main lobby. The overhead lights gave the room a warmish glow, bathing everything is slight sepia. In all honestly, it was actually more welcoming than he'd anticipated.

He was led to the warden's office at the back of the administrative building. A tall, well-built man greeted him there, brimming with confidence. He was old but by no means did he look weak, though he supposed he had to expect that of a warden. Garp, he called himself, was fairly easy-going. After a short bit of conversation he led the blond to his new workplace, telling him to get settled in—that his "clients" would start rolling in sooner or later.

Having been abandoned by the warden, Marco placed his briefcase down and straightened his suit with a sigh. The room was small, having within it only a desk, filing cabinet and a few chairs. The walls were whitewashed, keeping to the colourless theme he'd seen throughout his rather short and incomplete tour. Maybe he could bring something in to brighten the place up a little—a cheap potted plant or something of the like.

Lowering himself into his padded chair, he began drumming his fingers on the wood of the desk. It didn't take him long to notice the big, white button on the underside—Garp had told him to push it if things got out of hand. Wasn't that charming? It begged the question: why had he accepted the job? From then until who-knows-when, he was going to be Grandline's sole psychologist, responsible for all of the inmates and their plights.

No, he had to stay positive. That was the profession he chose and, no matter how daunting, he couldn't complain.

With nothing to prepare before his shift officially started, Marco found himself pointlessly organizing documents he hadn't yet had a chance to look over. He hadn't been in his office for more than an hour when he heard a knock at the door. Stiffening at the sound, he pulled his mouth taut and adjusted his reading glasses, straightening to give the illusion of confidence. Here we go. He took a deep breath.

"Come in."

The knob turned and door creaked open—offhandedly he made a mental note to have someone oil the hinges—and in walked his first "client." He was a tall, toned man—no, boy, as he looked like he was fresh out of high school. With dark eyes and dark hair, boyish freckles dotting his cheeks, he grinned. The air around him seemed electrified, coming to life as their eyes met. As those grey orbs bore into his, Marco started to wonder if he'd ever truly looked someone in the eyes before. He didn't indulge in short glimpses away like most people did, leaving nothing to lessen the intensity of his stare. It was unrelenting, no attempts made to soften its force.

The inmate didn't wait for introductions, that sloppy grin widening as he stepped further into the room. "Hey, Doc," he greeted casually, "how's it going?"

Marco could tell he didn't want an answer and remained silent, retaining his usual bored expression as he listened.

"Look, I've got a problem. I need your help. I'd really like to talk to you about this."

The blond's ears perked up at this and he leaned forward, ready to begin work as a genuine psychologist. He felt his old passion flare up again with anticipation. "Go on."

In response to the command, the boy pulled a knife from beneath his clothes, waving it in front of the psychologist's face amusedly while maintaining that eerie smile and merciless eye contact. Marco didn't move, his eyes remaining half-lidded even as the weapon was teasingly pointed his way. For just a split second he caught the youth glance away, eyeing the part of the desk where the emergency call button was hidden.

He was testing him.

Determining Marco wasn't going to press the button, the youth lowered the weapon to his side, returning his gaze to the blond's face. "This isn't meant for you," he assured, dropping into a chair across from his new psychologist.

Internally the blond was relieved, but it didn't show on his face. He leaned forward to show his interest once more, the fingers of his hands intertwined on the surface of his desk. "Then who is it for, yoi?"

The boy's face seemed to darken, his smirk taking a sinister twist. He lifted one of his ankles to rest on his opposing knee, leaning back in a relaxed manner. "One of the other inmates has been eyeing my protégé. He's making a pass for him and I don't like that."

As Marco listened, the first question that rose up from his mind was 'why is he telling me this?' Something wasn't right about the whole thing—where had he gotten the knife in the first place?—but he didn't have time to wonder about that, now faced with his first task as the prison's only psychologist. First he had to get the weapon away from him, but that kid was smart; he couldn't do it in a way that made him think Marco was scared or nervous.

So, what do psychologists do best? They fish for information.

"Tell me about him."

The inmate glanced at his weapon, looking at the sheen of the blade. "My protégé or the guy who's pissing me off?" he questioned, voice remaining even and carefree.

"Whichever you prefer," the blond replied, fiddling with the cuff of his shirt anxiously beneath the desk. He wasn't scared. He wasn't. He just wanted to make sure that first task went off without a hitch. Something told him that kid wasn't going to make it easy.

Moving the knife around, watching the glint of the overhead lights reflect off of it, he thought. Then again those piercing eyes stared into the blue of the elder's, the cockiness in his grin returning stronger than before. "Lu's been with me since I first got here a few months ago," he explained. "He's in for some minor shit—didn't bother with the details." Minor 'shit' didn't land you in a maximum security prison.

Marco got up, heading to the filing cabinet as he continued to listen, hoping he could find the boy's record. He opened the first drawer, spotting the labelled dividers. Apparently whoever held that position last was organized. He was thankful for that.

"Portgas D. Ace," the inmate provided without being asked, "third drawer."

While a little unnerved that he knew where his file was located, Marco ignored the questions buzzing at the front of his mind and went to the aforementioned drawer, sifting through the papers.

"We're pretty satisfied with our relationship," he continued, tracing his fingertip along the blade's edge, "but then that little shit started bothering us."

Having located Ace's file, the blond headed back to his desk and opened it, faced with the youth's mug shot. "And who would that be?" he questioned offhandedly, beginning to glance over the thick stack of pages that culminated to form the kid's criminal record.

"Name's Kidd. I think he's in for murder or some shit."

Internally sighing, the psychologist stopped flipping through the pages; there was too much to go through. For now, he'd have to deal without checking up on the boy. Closing the folder he looked up, meeting Ace's eyes evenly, returning that unrelenting stare with one of his own. Something told him that the boy was messing with him—trying to see how far he would bend. Maybe he really had a problem with that Kidd fellow but there was more to it than that. "I understand you're frustrated and we can talk about this more at length," he stated, "but I'm going to need you to give that to me, yoi."

The brunet's grin vanished for but a moment, a more contemplative expression taking over as he twirled the knife in his hand, before returning with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"If you hand it over now I won't need to report this," Marco supplied, hoping that would help convince the youth. To put more weight behind his words, he held out his hand.

Ace's grin widened as his eyes shifted from the weapon to the psychologist before he reached out, dropping it into the open hand without hesitation.

"Thank you."

After a brief silence Ace stood, looking down at the still-seated blond. "Nah, thank you, Doc. I'm feeling much better now." With those last words he headed to the door, a guard waiting for him on the other side. As the door screeched to a close, Marco caught the kid looking at him through the thinning gap, that devious nature still hidden behind his smile.

Once alone, the blond slumped back in his chair, releasing a tired groan. It was only an hour into his shift and he was already exhausted. Well, at least things were lively. And it wasn't like he was always going to be in that high-risk a situation. Even with a knife pulled on him, he was able to keep his cool and remedy the situation.

Somewhere in the deepest reaches of his mind he knew something was wrong with that scenario. As it prodded at his thoughts he narrowed his eyes. Why would Ace tell him all of that? And then it hit: he was checking him out, trying to determine what kind of employee he was. How much of it was an act? How much was reality? Still, he seemed to have passed the inmate's little test.

How bad could it be?

"So he's already started, huh?" the warden supplied before biting into his sandwich, hunched over on the cafeteria table. Marco wasn't sure how he felt, sitting amongst prison staff and inmates alike. It didn't seem like the safest layout but he supposed it made keeping an eye on the criminals a lot easier. He just hoped nothing would happen to interrupt his lunch on his first day.

"What do you mean, yoi?" he asked, glancing around the table when he heard a multitude of sighs. Being his first day, he was invited to sit at the warden's table to help get to know his coworkers. Most were prison guards—like Smoker, for example—but amidst the crowd were also administrative assistants, secretaries, and even a doctor going by the name Crocus.

"Portgas can be difficult," the old medic stated vaguely, sipping at his drink.

"He's a problem," Smoker corrected bluntly, tapping against the wood of the table impatiently. It looked like he was in need of another cigar—too bad they weren't allowed in the building. "That boy's the reason the last psychologist left."

Well, that didn't sound too promising.

"No he isn't," another guard piped up, this one with peculiar green hair. "She had problems back home that needed to be taken care of."

Smoker snorted, "Believe what you want."

Throughout their conversation Marco remained silent, simply observing their interaction. He knew that Smoker was in charge of the division of cells Ace belonged to and took his words to heart, suddenly feeling a rise of dread in his stomach. When he let it slip that the young man had caused a bit of trouble for him, none were surprised. Garp himself made no move to punish the boy, seeming to have expected something like that to happen.

They could have warned him.

As they continued conversing, the blond looked over their heads to the series of tables the inmates ate at. There were guards stationed around the perimeter of the room, all eyes on high alert for any misbehaving prisoners. Amongst one table he spotted familiar freckled cheeks framed by dark hair. Ace snaked his arm around a small, scrawny boy, laughing as he talked to him. Was that the protégé he mentioned?

On second thought, he really didn't want to know.

"Other than Mr. Portgas," a bespectacled woman began to his left, "you shouldn't have many problems." When she caught him staring in silence she smiled, fixing her glasses, "Kalifa."

Well, that was reassuring.

"Eustass," the green-haired one, Zoro, corrected.

"Trafalgar Law," Smoker continued.

"What about—"

"I get it yoi," he cut them off, sighing as he stared at his plate. Suddenly his meal didn't look so appetizing. He knew working in a prison wouldn't be easy. He knew that there would be problematic inmates and close calls occasionally because, quite frankly, no one was thrilled to be there. But he also hoped in the deepest regions of his mind that, despite the circumstances, it wouldn't be too bad.

So much for that.

A firm hand clapped him on the shoulder and he looked to see Crocus giving him a sympathetic smile, silently telling him that things would be alright.

The shouts of a reprimanding guard and a fight breaking out in the inmates' section of the cafeteria ruined the moment. And, of course, he spotted a familiar face in the fray, being held back by staff and prisoners alike. Across from him stood a grinning redhead, tall and muscled not unlike Ace, arms folded as he watched two more guards rush over to restrain the cussing youth.

Why, again, did he accept this job?

After long, stressful days like the one he just went through, home became a safe haven. It protected him from the difficulties of life or, more relevant at the time, the trials and tribulations of working at the Grandline Penitentiary. Now that wasn't say the whole day was torture; in fact, after the excitement in the morning and lunch it had been a rather calm experience. What bothered him most were his predictions for the future.

Being his first day, he spent the majority of his time getting to know his colleagues and being showed how things were run. His office hours had been reduced from the six hours he was expected to be present on a regular day to three, allowing him less time with his clients and more in the administrative building, being taught how the prison was run. He also had no appointments or sessions with the inmates and the only one who walked in unannounced was Portgas—which he was told to expect regularly. Great.

Throwing his keys on the coffee table, the blond collapsed on the couch, sinking into its cushions. Tilting his head back, closing his eyes to allow himself a moment's rest, he took deep, soothing breaths. At least there he could be alone. No matter how bad things would get from then on out, his house would always be a place where he could just sit back, relax and—

The phone rang. Damn.

Groaning as he swept a hand across his forehead, he picked himself up and headed to the kitchen, snatching the annoying contraption from its receiver to hold it up to his ear. "What is it, Thatch?" he questioned, a slight irritation seeping through his tone.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"You call at the worst times, yoi." Actually, his brother was more or less the only person who called him lately. He'd just moved to that city a few weeks ago for his new job and the rest of his family knew better than to bother him when he had so much to do. In a way he was a bit relieved, hearing a familiar voice after so long. But he wasn't going to say that. "What is it?"

"Somebody's in a bad mood," Thatch stated, pout clear in the intonation of his words. "I just wanted to see how my favourite big brother was doing."

The blond raised an eyebrow, bringing the phone to the table to sit. "I'm your favourite?"

"At this moment, yes." What was that supposed to mean? "So how was it—your first day?"

Reminded of it, Marco dropped his head into his palm. "Before or after one of the inmates pulled out a weapon yoi?"

"Wow, already? Don't waste any time, do they?"

"No," the elder sighed, "they don't."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Pulling his mouth taut, Marco gazed out the glass doors that led to his backyard, watching as the sun dipped behind the earth, a mesh of yellows and oranges and pinks painting the sky. The more he thought about it, the more his previous courage returned. It wasn't so bad. He managed to get through the first day without incident. Sure Portgas pulled a knife on him, but he gave it up without quarrel. And yes, that same inmate started a fight at lunch but it was promptly dealt with, as well.

Maybe he could do this.

"You still there?"

"Hm?" he noised, brought back by his brother's voice. Suddenly he remembered the question he was asked. "It's fine. I can handle it."

"That's the Marco I know!" He could just imagine the grin on the redhead's face. "So you gonna be by next weekend?"

"I doubt it yoi."

"Awe, come on! We miss ya!"

The corners of his mouth curved into a smile as he thought of his siblings and aging father. Being away from them, living on his own in a different city, was hard. He wasn't used to the quiet—to staying in such a big, empty house. "I'll visit once I get used to my job, I promise."

"I'm holding you to that."

"I know." Thatch would kill him if he broke a promise.

Day two began earlier than strictly necessary. After waking at five in the morning and eating breakfast, the psychologist immediately headed to the Grandline Penitentiary to begin his first official day of business. Garp told him previously that they were working towards getting better care for the prisoners in the hopes that, after doing their time, they could return to the outside world in better condition than they arrived. The goal was to decrease the likelihood of a repeat offense and increase the quality of care they received while incarcerated. Unfortunately their budget only covered one psychologist being employed at a time. Worse still was that they couldn't afford a proper professional—someone with a doctoral in the field who could give the inmates proper help. So for the time they wanted to prove to their sponsors that having a counsellor of sorts was beneficial. If they did that, they might increase their budget to afford to employ someone alongside Marco and, eventually, someone with a higher degree of training.

That was the best case scenario, at least.

The blond liked the idea. Tossing and turning in his bed that night, he decided to base his performance on that hope. Walking up to the administrative building, he was greeted by Smoker. The man's cut-throat appearance seemed less rigid than before as he smoked a cigar, back resting against the building's bricks in a leisurely manner.

"Portgas is in the hole for the day," he stated in a tone that almost sounded pleased.

Solitary confinement didn't sound good. Was it for the fight he started the previous day? Regardless, it would give him a chance to spend time with the other inmates; he'd been told that the boy had a habit of dropping in regularly on their last psychologist… daily, in fact. Why that was, they never informed him. Maybe they didn't know. Sessions were to be kept confidential. In any case, he wanted to adhere to that rule.

Arriving at his office, he looked at the schedule Kalifa, the secretary, handed him. Each inmate was to have a twenty minute session with him once during the week. For the first six hours of his shift he would do that and the rest of the day would be kept open. He pulled out the files of each of the inmates he was to see for the day.

The first came in around eight. The man was tall and built and, looking back, was the man Ace picked a fight with the previous day. Marco narrowed his eyes, opening his file. Eustass Kidd—serving a life sentence for two accounts of manslaughter and murder in the first degree. According to the notes scrawled out by the previous psychologist, he'd caused a great deal of trouble with his fellow inmates since first imprisoned two years ago.

When he looked up from the folder he was met with overwhelming nostalgia, looking to those focused eyes. Just like the day before his client met his stare evenly, but it lost its intensity when compared with the unrelenting gaze of Ace the morning before. His grin, while malicious, didn't give rise to the same surge of emotions as his fellow inmate. Compared to Ace, he was nothing to worry about.

"Well," Eustass began, flopping into the seat a certain freckled youth sat in last, "I'm here."

Bored eyes roved over his pale skin. "You are," the blond confirmed. "Tell me, was it you who instigated the incident yesterday?"

That smile vanished. His expression darkened. Somehow Marco thought that was going to be a long twenty minutes—just a hunch.

After hours of dealing with some rather… difficult individuals, Marco was confused to see a pair of large, curious eyes staring back at him. He recognised the boy from before but, in all honesty, he didn't look like he belonged there. Then again, he thought, looks can be deceiving.

"Where's Robin?" the boy asked as he sat, kicking his legs back and forth. He hadn't bothered with introductions, though after a day of dealing with his peers Marco had expected as much.

Robin was the name of the last psychologist; he procured that bit of intel from a very compliant felon going by the name Basil Hawkins.

"She's moved on," he answered, leaning on the desk. "I'm her replacement."

"Oh," came the response as those large, owlish eyes blinked his way. After a moment of blank staring the boy reached out his hand, breaking out into the brightest grin Marco had seen all day. "I'm Luffy!"

Hesitant at first, the blond took his hand, reciprocating his friendliness. "Marco. It's a pleasure." So his guess had been right—that was the 'protégé' Ace had mentioned. He really didn't want to think about that…

The boy continued looking at him, holding tight to his hand. He pulled slightly, catching the boy's attention, but still that grip remained. Luffy looked innocent enough. He didn't look violent like Eustass or unpredictable like Portgas. Something about the vacancy in his eyes told Marco that he wouldn't be as manipulative as one Trafalgar Law he'd encountered earlier. But still there was something off about him.

He was about to speak up when the boy laughed—a peculiar, distinct sound that was pleasant to the ear. Marco just raised an eyebrow.

"You look like a pineapple!" he cheered, once more laughing in that iconic way of his.

Ordinarily a comment like that would irk him, just a little—his siblings had made fun of his hairstyle plenty of times and he grew used to it over the years—but the carefree way the boy said it had him smiling slightly. It was nice to be met with such a light, relaxing atmosphere.

Gathering the folders at the corner of the desk, he opened the top drawer and placed them neatly inside, opting for an approach that seemed to work well with the last batch he'd interviewed. "I'm going to start, alright?" He waited for the boy's energetic nod. "What's your name?"

The teen's lip protruded in a pout. "I already told you."

"Your full name."

"Oh. Monkey D. Luffy, shishishi!"

Monkey… Where have I heard that before?

"Age?"

"Nineteen!"

"And why are you here?" Were he to lie, it would be a simple task to look through his records and find out. No, Marco wanted to see what his client was willing to divulge of his own accord. Building trust between himself and the prisoners might do a little good.

"Because I got caught," Luffy said, giving him an incredulous look.

Internally Marco sighed. He couldn't tell if the boy was being difficult or just that slow-witted. "Doing what?"

"Stuff they didn't like," he answered again.

"What stuff, yoi?"

"You have a weird accent, shishishi!"

"Luffy," he chastised.

"Illegal stuff."

"Go on," he commanded.

"That's it."

…Maybe that approach needed a bit of work.

A knock at his door brought him from his thoughts. He looked up from the copious amount of papers scattered about his desk, removing his reading glasses. "Come in."

The door swung open, revealing a uniformed young man with two coffees in his hands. Zoro walked over, offering one. Marco accepted it with an appreciative smile, noting strangely that it was lukewarm. Well, he wasn't going to complain.

"Rough day?" the guard asked, leaning back against the wall.

Marco snorted, looking back on it. "I had a murderer threaten to crush my throat and a drug lord warning me he had 'connections' yoi."

Zoro chuckled, sipping at his drink. "Sounds like fun."

"Wasn't as bad as I was expecting, though," he stated. They had cooperated for the most part. Some were even friendly. He had very mixed feelings about the matter. On one hand, some of the inmates made him want to help, even if he wasn't qualified to properly treat them. On the other, some made him want to walk out and never come back. But growing up in a household as large and rowdy as he had, it wouldn't have felt right if there wasn't a little chaos.

He just wished he could do more.

"Don't give up on them." The green-haired man was staring at the wall across the room, his mind elsewhere. "You're not here to 'fix' them. They're not broken."

Marco noticed something different about the Grandline Penitentiary ever since yesterday. Despite being prided as a maximum security prison, its security was actually pretty lax. Not only that, but so far none of the inmates he'd conversed with treated it like one, either. Why was that? "Then what am I here for, yoi?"

For a second the man was quiet, arms folded as he thought. Then, "I used to be in here—B Block. Smoker was in charge of me at the time."

The blond raised an eyebrow. "They let someone with a record work here?"

He grinned, moving from the wall to the nearest chair. "This place operates a little differently than most."

"I noticed, yoi. What'd you do?"

"Gang violence, mostly," he said with a shrug. "Point is: I got out."

Black eyes met blue. So that's what he meant.

"They're not all bad. Some will get out. Your job is to steer them down the right path."

For the first time since he arrived there, Marco grinned. He was starting to see how things operated around there and he liked it. "I appreciate the pep-talk, yoi."

"No problem." Zoro headed to the door, his hand resting on the knob for a few moments, frozen. As the psychologist stared, curious of why he wasn't leaving, the guard cleared his throat. "Which way is it to the warden's office?"

He blinked. "…You're lost?"

Silence.

"Actually, the coffee wasn't for you. Garp asked for it but I ended up here instead."

"His office is on the other side of the building yoi."

"I knew that."

Heading down the corridor to retire for the night, Marco spotted the door to solitary confinement open. The heavy slab of metal screeched as he stretched, bringing him to a slow halt. Smoker was there, accompanied by a few others the psychologist had yet to be acquainted with. He heard the chilling rattle of chains, footsteps against the concrete floor before a familiar head of black waves emerged from the room. His eyes looked dead, so void of life one would think him nothing more than a hollow shell.

His colleague's words repeated in his head and he could help but feel a little bad for the boy. Still, he said nothing, yet to learn which part of the spectrum Portgas belonged.

Led by his shackles down the hall, Ace's head raised slightly, that empty look remaining until his eyes caught on the blond. His lids lifted slightly before he turned away, forcefully breaking eye contact. That struck Marco as odd; yesterday he wouldn't look away, unnervingly so. But as he got closer to where the psychologist was stopped he met his gaze once more, a smirk splitting his face. The air seemed to buzz with life, every inch of his body like it was exuding confidence as his spark returned.

All Marco could do was stand and watch as he and the guards neared. Before they passed, he heard the boy mutter something.

"See you tomorrow, Doc."

As he watched them go, he found himself wondering whether that young man was one of the 'good' ones or one of the 'bad'.

The third morning came and went, all-the-while Marco had been expecting a certain youth to pop in unexpected. His session with Portgas wasn't scheduled until the end of the week and thus far there was no sign of him. That both relieved and unnerved the blond. He kept expecting him to appear, even during the sessions he was still going through, but nothing.

At some point he'd reached the last of the day's meetings. He was faced with a dark-eyed blond, his posture proper and formal in contrast to their setting. He straightened the collar of his striped uniform, a friendly smile on his face—suspiciously friendly, like he was hiding something.

"Shall we get started, monsieur?" the youth offered.

Apprehensive at first because of his eagerness, Marco shook away the voice at the back of his mind telling him something was up and returned his smile with a nod. Beginning with the question he always did, he got his voice recorder out. At some point he started recording the sessions. "What's your name, yoi?"

"Sabo Outlook," he provided.

"Age?"

"Twenty-four."

"And why are you here?"

Sabo's grin stretched further, eerily so, as he leaned against his chair's back, hands resting neatly on his lap. Suddenly something clicked and he realized that boy had the same eyes Portgas did—eyes that never looked away, never gave you a break. They were relentless, cruel even, and promised a tough session. "Where should I begin?"

Marco's eyes narrowed, having not gotten that response before. Most of the inmates would start listing their offenses, others would refuse to say. Some criticised him for even asking. But none had taken the question with such amusement—such relaxation. "At the beginning, yoi."

"Well," he started, placing a finger to his chin, "I killed a man when I was twelve—self defence, of course."

"Of course," Marco repeated, eyes narrowing. It wasn't the murder that bothered him—he'd seen plenty of killers over the past two days—but the lax tone he used when speaking of it, as though someone hadn't lost their life because of him.

He raised his index finger as though he was counting. "I've been charged with battery, assault, three counts of attempted murder, intimidation…" His voice faded, fingers continuing to shoot up at the mention of each offence. "Last month I tried breaking into Impel Down."

Marco's head shot up. He'd been going through the boy's records, wanting to determine whether the blond was telling the truth or just trying to mess with him when that name made his ears perk up. "The state prison?"

He nodded, grin returning as he leaned forward with interest. "I bugged the outside a while back and went to collect the evidence. Don't give me that look. I'm an information broker; it's what I do."

He decided not to ask about that. "And they caught you?"

"Far from, my good sir." He raised an eyebrow, silently prodding for more. "I made it back to base, however…"

"Go on."

A thick quiet took over, the air tensing with each second.

"Let's just say I'm a little too nice when it comes to old friends."

Twenty minutes had passed since Sabo left and Marco found himself reviewing some of his clients' criminal records. That blond boy hadn't been lying about the offenses he was charged with; actually, he'd left most of it out, including acts of terrorism. All in all, it was one of the most extensive records he'd seen yet—more than enough to warrant execution, were it still allowed. That young man would never see daybreak again, figuratively speaking. Needless to say, he would never be granted parole.

The counsellor was curious: how did they all end up in there? What drove them to commit those crimes?

A knock at the door pulled him from his internal wonderings. He felt his stomach drop, a sense of déjà vu creeping into his mind as he granted his guest entry. The door screeched open—still unoiled, apparently—to reveal deep, focused grey eyes. When they came to rest on him, the man broke out into a grin.

"Hey again, Doc," he greeted with a lazy wave. "Mind if I step in?"

Damn. He knew it. He just fucking knew it.

Well, at least he was being polite.

Marco gestured for him to take a seat, pushing off the desk to slide over to the filing cabinet, immediately pulling open the third drawer. Taking that as an open invitation, Ace plopped down on the wooden chair and propped his feet onto the desk, leaning back with that same sloppy grin he always seemed to wear. Marco, for his part, decided to ignore the manners the boy clearly lacked, sliding back to his place with the client's file in hand.

Come to think of it, he hadn't taken a look at Portgas's records as of yet. The stack was thicker than the minor offenders—not that there were many of those, seeing as this was supposed to be a maximum security prison—and so he didn't go through it that first day after meeting him. As he looked at the manila folder before him, he entered deep thought. For a moment he decided to ignore the first incident between them—he never tried to attack, after all—and contemplated whether he should really open it. Other than his first session with Eustass, he had spoken to each inmate blindly, asking them to explain why they were there. In addition to that, this wasn't even his session. He had to have come to him for a reason, right?

Looking up to find those eerie eyes staring back at him, Marco pushed the folder to the side, coming to rest his elbows on the desk as his fingers tangled into a mess of digits.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Portgas?"

The corners of his mouth twitched further. "Call me Ace."

Well, he was on a first-name basis with the other inmates. But this one was different. This one was a bit of an enigma. "Ace, then."

"I came to check you out," he bluntly confessed, never once looking away—not even for a moment.

Internally Marco sighed, reminded of his former revelations. "I thought you already did, yoi." Something seemed to catch in the boy's eye but, when he didn't speak, he decided to take the conversation into his own hands. "So how'd he upset you?"

Something flashed across his face, too brief for the blond to identify. Even still, his smile fell. "You saw that, did you?"

"I did."

An awkward silence stretched as Ace's eyes, for once, left his face, opting instead to gaze at his shoes. Eventually he sighed. "The little shit made a move on my protégé. No one takes what's mine."

"Luffy, you mean." When again that freckled face turned to him, a film of surprise layering his expression, Marco continued, "We met. Good kid, though a little slow yoi. He talked about you." It was true. In fact, it took quite a bit to get him to switch to a different topic; where Ace seemed to see him as property to be owned, Luffy admired him. That didn't change how unsettling those words were. So he thought of Luffy as his? Marco really didn't like that.

"He did?" Ace's intonation was almost melodic, an excitement to it that the psychologist hadn't expected to hear from the boy.

The faintest hint of a smile crossed his face as he thought that maybe that young man harboured at least some genuine emotion for his partner. He nodded.

After a moment of thought the brightness left Ace's eyes, once more replaced with disgust. "Anyway, so then Kidd wanted to buy him off me—trade him for some stuff he smuggled. I told him to shove it."

"And then you got up," Marco finished for him, musing the thought.

The youth snorted, grinning once more. "Would've done a lot worse if you'd let me keep my knife."

He already knew that. "Which brings me to another question," the blond began.

"Fire away."

"Where did you get that, yoi?"

Ace smirked cockily but didn't speak, making Marco only more curious in the process. There was a knock at the door and Smoker's gruff voice could be heard, telling Ace to 'get the hell out before he made him get the hell out' and the boy was standing immediately, giving his psychologist a mock salute.

"'Til next time, Doc."

It looked like his answer would have to wait.

With each day that passed, lunch seemed to become more and more comfortable as time went on. By his fourth day, Marco recognised a large number of the prisoners eating in the sectioned-off area of the cafeteria. He could see that Ace's group—consisting mostly of people whom Marco had yet to be acquainted—generally sat in the same area whereas Kidd's was often a table over or somewhere in close proximity. The inmates were given a lot more freedom than one would expect: provided they didn't' start any trouble, they could move about the vast room freely. A fight led to solitary confinement; anything more serious resulted in one's lunch privileges being taken away for an allotted period of time. If it happened too frequently they would have to eat in their cell alone for so long. They tried to avoid that, though, because it meant dividing the staff just to keep an eye on whoever was stuck in their cell.

Severe punishment didn't seem to be needed often, considering the people he was warned were troublemakers were all still present.

Marco moved his spoon to his lips, taking his first taste of the kitchen's soup, having opted not to pack a lunch. His eyes widened slightly as his taste buds were assaulted by what he could only describe as flavour rivalling his brother's cooking.

"Like it?" Zoro asked with a grin, receiving only a nod in response. "Got this guy, Sanji, working in the kitchen with some of the inmates. Really great cook, even if he's got a crappy personality."

"I heard that, Marimo!" came a shout from the kitchen. How he heard that, Marco hadn't the faintest idea.

"You should visit him sometime. He likes compliments—inflates his ego."

"Oi!" reprimanded that same voice, a blond glaring daggers from the kitchen doorway before retreating once more.

Marco chuckled before grunting confirmation. Even without the inmates, the place was still pretty lively. Right now there weren't many staff members eating; apparently one of their sponsors was dropping by and everyone was freaking out. He wasn't worried about it, though.

"Shit!"

Their heads spun around to face the prisoner's section, watching as one Trafalgar Law was pinned against the table by a familiar blond. Oddly enough, none of the guards were rushing over. Marco was about to get up when Sabo looked over to the staff lining the edges of the room.

"Mind taking care of this for me?" he asked. Two men immediately rushed over, grabbing Trafalgar as he compliantly stepped aside, an unamused look on his face. "Go easy on him, s'il vous plaît."

"What?" Trafalgar spat, grin on his face, "Have they broken you already, Blue? My, how the mighty have fallen."

Sabo—Blue?—snorted. "You're the reason we're here, Traffy," he declared as he watched them go. "Au revoir, mon amor."

Marco just sat there slack-jawed, wondering what he just saw.

"Don't mind them," Zoro began, "that's pretty routine."

…He decided he wouldn't ask.

After pulling an all-nighter trying to organize the mess of documents left behind by the last psychologist, Marco was decidedly not too pleased to see his beloved baby brother at his doorstep. Actually, were it his doorstep he wouldn't have minded much, but Grandline's doorstep? Was he fucking insane? Of course, everyone there was eccentric in one way or another, so his brother probably got along well with whoever guided him to the office. Why they even let his brother into the prison was beyond him. For 'maximum security', the place seemed to be pretty lax about allowing visitors.

"Marco, buddy!" Thatch greeted, placing a steaming cup of coffee on his desk, a wet ring appearing on one of his papers. He looked up at the man from behind his glasses, glaring his hardest and earning a sheepish laugh. "Oops."

He sighed, the exhaustion of being up for twenty-six hours weighing down on his nerves. It wasn't the first time he missed sleep and certainly wouldn't be the last, but that didn't mean he was happy about it. "What are you doing here, yoi?"

"Hm?" The redhead blinked. "Oh, right. Went to your house but you weren't there, so I thought I'd check out the prison."

Marco rolled his eyes, returning to his task of sifting through the last of the files—until his eyes caught on the manila folder of one Portgas D. Ace still placed at the corner of his desk. Throughout the past few days he'd gone back and forth about opening it up but, in the end, had yet to do it. Today was the day of his appointment with the troublemaker, so he'd find out about his record soon enough.

Looking to the clock, he narrowed his eyes. In fact, he only had ten minutes before the boy was set to arrive. Better wrap this up.

"So how is it so far?" his brother questioned, walking the perimeter of the room to look at the framed pictures on the wall.

While cleaning out the things left behind by Ms. Nico Robin he'd discovered a treasure-trove of photographs buried neatly beneath her things. What was curious were their contents; each one contained the image of one or more of the inmates he'd met over the past few days. A woman was in many of them, he could only assume her to be Robin herself, smiling alongside them. She seemed to enjoy their company and they did hers. Since many of the prisoners asked about her, he thought framing some and putting them on the walls would bring them comfort. A few, like Luffy, seemed pretty attached to her.

Ace was an exception to that. He always was. The only picture he was in showed him glaring and flipping off the camera. He'd never seen a look that screamed 'piss off' as much as that one. So even the cocky brat had off days.

When had he started calling him that?

"Any more incidents like before?"

The question pulled him from his thoughts, staring into brown eyes. Eventually he deflated, running a stressed hand through his hair. "A few fights and threats, but no weapons," he admitted. Soon a hand came to rest on his shoulder, its grip comforting.

"Tired?"

"Very."

"Stressed?"

"You have no idea yoi."

"Like it?"

At that question he paused, his mouth curving into an involuntary smile. "A little."

That led his brother to grin. "And what about the guy who pulled a weapon on you? Anything on him?"

He was about to speak when a knock arrived as his door, leading heavily-lidded eyes to shift from his brother to the adjacent wall. "That would be him. Come in," he called. The door creaked open to reveal freckled cheeks meshed with a rare look of confusion on the inmate's face, eyes fixed on the stranger in room. Marco once more glanced at the clock. Eight. Right on time.

"Am I early?" Ace asked, eyes shifting between the two men. His voice carried an uncharacteristic hesitance to it, a tone that Marco was sure to make note of. "I can—"

"It's fine yoi," Marco assured, adjusting his glasses as he started clearing the mess of papers on his desk, "Thatch was just leaving."

The statement jolted the redhead from his curious observation of the boy and he left, telling his brother to be sure to visit on the weekend—that everyone missed him. It was a nice thought and he promised to try, but he didn't know if he was quite used to his job yet. Day by day he was learning more about the people around him, staff and criminals alike.

As the door shut tightly behind him, Ace invited himself to sit in his usual seat. While he slouched back and reclined like last time, his feet remained rooted to the floor. It was nice to not have a pair of dirty boots on his desk, but Marco had to wonder what caused the change.

He decidedly didn't dwell on it, reaching for the tape recorder on the righthand side of his desk. "Are you ready to begin?"

Ace glanced over to the closed door, his eyes lingering in thought as his brow furrowed. "Never seen him before. Who is he?"

Marco released an airy breath as he removed his glasses and started cleaning a smudge on the left lens, "My brother, yoi. He dropped by unannounced."

"Brother, huh?" the youth mused, a hint of a smile hidden behind an innocent facade. The counsellor wasn't sure he trusted that look—didn't like the way he saw the gears start to turn in his head. "Got any others?"

"I'm supposed to be asking the questions, not the other way around, brat."

The boy's grin widened and he chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head as the last of his anxiety floated away. "Alright, alright. Shoot."

Marco turned on the tape recorder and leaned into the back of his chair, doing his best to meet the boy's unrelenting stare with one of his own. "Name?"

"Really?" the youth questioned with a laugh. "We're really starting here, Doc? Can't we just skip to the fun stuff—like how long I've been screwing my cellmate or who's been smuggling cocaine?" When the blond didn't react, simply narrowed his eyes and stayed silent, Ace sighed with a bit of a pout, deflating. "Right. Alright, I'll play your game. Name's Portgas D. Ace. Happy?"

He offered a lazy smile, "Very. Age?"

"Twenty-two," the inmate replied, throwing his head back to stare absently at the overhead light. But then his interest returned and he glanced back, "You?"

Alright, he'd humour him. What harm could it do? "How old do I look?"

"Mmm…" The boy threw himself forward, pressing his hands into the wood of the desk as he leaned uncomfortably close, as if to analyse every line, every blemish of Marco's face. Being under such close examination felt unnerving but he told himself that he'd have to get used to it, especially if he intended to keep working there where people like that boy were commonplace. Though Ace's were the most memorable, there were others with eyes like his. "I'll go with forty-three."

When he deadpanned the younger fought to contain his laughter. Did he really look that old? Stress. It had to be stress.

"How old are you really, then?"

Marco sighed once more, setting his glasses down in front of him, "Thirty, yoi."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Oops."

Oops? That was all he had to—no, no, he wouldn't dwell on it. "What're you in for?"

The room went still, silent, and Marco had to look up to see why the younger wasn't responding. His gaze hadn't dropped, still fixed on the blond seated across from him, but the amusement had left his face.

Was that regret he saw or something else?

"Attempted robbery and manslaughter this time. I think. Been in and out of prison since I hit eighteen, so sometimes it all blends together." Perhaps he shouldn't have, but the counsellor couldn't help but feel a bit of sympathy for the convict. Sure it was his own fault, but he was still just a kid. Being an older brother, it could be… hard to see people so young stuck behind bars—and it worried him, knowing boys his brothers' ages were being stuck in solitary confinement. He knew it could be damaging to the inmates' mental health, and suddenly his mind flashed back to seeing that boy walk down the hall, chains dangling from his wrists and a dead look on his face. His stomach knotted. That was only one day—far shorter than regular punishment. "Could you…?"

He looked over to the tape recorder, immediately turning it off. Though Marco never intended to share those tapes—they were more reference for himself—he understood the boy's unease. Private matters should be kept private, after all.

"Thanks, Doc."

"Marco," he corrected, figuring that since most of the other convicts called him by his first name, Ace should, too.

"I'm still calling you 'Doc'." He rolled his eyes. "So look, Doc Marco: I wanted to ask you something."

He had a bad feeling about that. "What, yoi?"

Ace's grin returned and he propped his feet up on the man's desk, much to Marco's displeasure, leaning back calmly with a grin. "I was hopin' you could transfer me to the kitchen." When the blond didn't immediately move to question him, he continued, "I think I'd make a good cook. I like working with food, and I'm actually not too bad at it."

Immediately his head dropped and he rubbed soothing circles into his temple. He felt a oncoming headache with how enthused the boy sounded. He really wanted this. "Ace, I just started here. I don't think—"

"Please? I swear I'll be good. I won't start any fights, and I'll be good at the work, and—"

"Where do they have you now?"

Ace blinked, reeling himself back before he started to ramble. "The machine shop," he answered simply. "Kidd works there too, the shit. I wanted to transfer sooner but that bitch Robin wasn't havin' it."

"Why?"

In response the youth simply shrugged. "She never listened to me. Pissed me off. I'm glad she's go—oh! Right. You were wondering about this the other day." With that suddenly a new knife was pulled from within his boot, identical to the first, and blue eyes turned to meet unending grey. "Look, I got a new one," he stated proudly.

Marco swallowed. "I see that. Ace," he called, beckoning him nearer with an outstretched hand. He was handed the weapon without hesitation, without even the slightest pause, no resistance made. "Where did you…?"

The brat had the audacity to grin, and he suspected it had something to do with knowing that the counsellor wouldn't press the emergency call button—that his actions would go unpunished. "The machine shop. I made it. I get bored."

The blond looked it over, watching the light from above gleam across the blade. It was well done, he had to admit, and Ace didn't seem to harbour any malicious intent. But he could see now that the freckled youth was proving a point—using obscure intimidation to back up his request. Cocky brat indeed.

"I'll see what I can do, yoi."

The boy practically leapt from his seat and latched onto him, wearing the biggest grin humanly possible as he crushed the blond's bones from across the desk. "Thank you, Marco! You won't regret it!" Somehow he doubted that.

Soon he was released and before he could recover he found his guest at the door, one hand set firmly on the handle. "I'll see ya Monday, then!" And with that he was gone, Smoker's annoyed voiced muffled by the prison walls as they walked away, leaving poor Marco to sit in silence and wonder what the hell just happened.

He never pegged Ace as the hugging type.

But wait...

Shit.

He got away without answering the rest of his questions.

The kitchen was big. He supposed it had to be, to make enough food to feed such a large populace. It was clean, too, the stainless steel tools shining proudly from their places as he looked around the room, waiting for the cook to finish putting the last of them away. Sanji was a tall, lanky man with no regard for uniform. Instead of sporting the white garb customary for his role he was clothed in a slick, black suit that gave the illusion that his limbs were even longer than they actually were.

The man dropped into a chair across from him, systematically removing a pack of cigarettes, taking the end of one between his teeth and pulling it out. Marco decidedly didn't remind him that they weren't supposed to smoke in the facility. It was a bizarre rule even to him as smoking was commonplace most everywhere, and the only one who seemed to enforce that rule was, ironically, Smoker.

Sanji smiled. "So how was lunch?"

"Good, as always," he answered, returning the gesture as he leaned forward. He'd been up so long he was starting to have serious problems focusing. Hell, he'd started hearing voices not long ago, each calling his name. "So about Ace…"

"Yeah," he started as he breathed out a puff of smoke, "I'll let him. Can't be too much of a problem. I'm already dealing with those shits Patty and Carne, so I think I can handle the infamous fire rat."

He raised an eyebrow, "Fire rat?"

"You don't know?" he questioned as he leaned back, pushing off the table as he inhaled deeply. "Shitty brat has a nasty habit of setting things on fire. Don't know how but he always seems to get past us. Next thing we know, something has to be replaced."

Pyromania? Marco… hadn't heard anything about that. No one mentioned fires at all, actually, which was a bit unnerving. One would think that would be something to warn him of. Then again, he mused, he seems to cause trouble regardless of the type.

"Kid's been in the hole so many times for shit like that—gotta wonder how messed up he is because of it." His eyes shot up to meet the blond, watching as he sighed. It seemed Zoro wasn't the only one with an strong concern for the inmates. "That shit does nasty things to ya."

His eyes widened. "You have experience, yoi?"

Taking another drag of his cigarette, Sanji pushed further back, glancing periodically at the stove where a steaming pot sat, a sweet aroma filling the air and making the counsellor's mouth water. That man was a good cook, though he supposed that was expected; Sanji only worked there part time, his main job being the head chef of a high-class restaurant nearby. "Armed robbery, four year sentence, D Block." He offered the psychologist a shrug, "I was hungry—thought, even if I was caught, I'd still get food."

Hiring former inmates like that… Grandline was certainly an interesting place. First Zoro, then Sanji. Next they'd be telling him the Warden was a reformed murderer.

"I caused a bit of trouble when someone pissed me off and ended up in solitary for a few days," he explained, glaring daggers at the table. "It really messes with your head. I've only been once but that brat Ace, well. Can't say I envy him."

The weekend was nothing more than a blurred mess of sleep, rest, more sleep, and a small bit of alcohol consumption. He hadn't went to visit his family, unfortunately, as it seemed he'd overworked himself during the week, getting little rest and running around trying to get all of the files left behind in order. He managed a call to the family house, though, and talked for over an hour with his father and siblings. Even if he never got a chance to see their faces, it was nice. It almost felt like he'd never left.

But Monday came and reality hit, and he found himself seated across from a familiar black-haired youth—this one with big, owlish eyes that gave him an uncomprehending look, much as they had during their first meeting.

"Hey, Mr. Pineapple-man Marco! Shishishi!" he laughed, standing from the chair almost immediately after sitting, trotting around the room to look at the photos. "Hey, hey, I remember this!" he said, pointing to one of the photos he was in.

"Oh?" Marco noised with a smile, raising an eyebrow. He didn't have to continue asking the questions from their last session as he'd already opened the boy's folder and look at his record—and what a record it was. He was looking at another eight years, at least.

Luffy grinned, looking back at him before analysing the photo closer, his fingertip pressed against the glass of the frame. "This was the day Ace came to stay with us. See?"

At the young man's beckoning Marco rose to his full height and headed over, squinting as he looked closer at the photograph's background. Sure enough he saw Ace scowling behind Luffy and a few other inmates with a look that could kill, sporting a new prison uniform. He hadn't realised before. "So it is, yoi."

The boy's smile fell, the look foreign on his usually energetic face. "Something's wrong with him."

"Hm?"

Those dark eyes turned to him, pleaded with him, and suddenly he was fixed to his spot. "Can you help him, Mr. Marco?"

He was taken aback by the question but straightened himself, pulling his mouth taut. "I can try, if you'll help me."

The grin was back with a furious nod. "Thanks, pineapple-guy!"

"Stop calling me that, yoi."

"You talk funny."

"Luffy—"

"No, shishishi!"

He sighed. That was one enigma he feared he'd never understand.

"How are you enjoying your new placement, yoi?"

"Hm?" the boy hummed, his head on the desk, blocking the light from his eyes. He looked as tired as Marco felt. "Oh. Yeah. 'S great. I get to cook 'n that dick Kidd isn't there to bother me."

"You don't sound too enthused."

The boy groggily looked up, his face pale from lack of sleep, dark rings circling his eyes in a way reminiscent of one Trafalgar Law, and he had to pity the kid. "There uh, there was a bit of a disagreement in the cell next to mine 'n Lu's. Went on pretty late and I couldn't sleep. If I had my knife—"

"You what, yoi?" he interrupted, staring down at the boy. "If you keep talking like this, you're going to have trouble getting out once your parole hearing comes around."

"That's not for another year and a half," Ace reminded as his head hit the desk with a thud. "And aren't these sessions private?"

"They are."

"Then there's no problem, right, Doc? You won't tell."

He sighed. That boy was too lax around him—perhaps because he thought he could walk all over the nice, new counsellor. That needed to change, but he wasn't really sure how to go about doing it. "Why'd you want to see me, Ace?"

"I just wanted to see you," he stated simply. "We're friends now, right?"

Friends? Since when did they—no, he wouldn't bother questioning it. Instead he sighed and rubbed his temple. "I have work to do, yoi. I'll have to ask you to leave if you don't need me for anything."

The boy looked up, the pout on his face morphing into a malicious grin. Marco thought he'd be met with protest but instead the inmate rose from his seat and headed for the door, dropping into a playful bow. "'Til next time, then." But he stopped before he left, never looking back. "And… thanks, I guess."

He still didn't know what to make of that kid.

Marco found himself entering his third month working at the prison. He'd fallen into a bit of a routine, coming to get to know the staff and inmates rather well. There were some problems—Ace's constant demands on his time were tiresome, even if he was happy the kid came to see him as someone he could trust—but for the most part, he was enjoying himself working there. At that moment, however, any joy he usually felt had left.

He was pissed.

Today he found himself striding quickly down the long, narrow hall between the cells alongside Smoker and Zoro, fists clenched and eyes sharp as he came to stop in front of a familiar cell. Two sets of dark eyes immediately snapped to them, wide with surprise as he retrieved a keyring from his belt and unlocked the cell door. The two beside him stepped inside and immediately Luffy was jumping up, face a mask of confusion. "What is it?" he asked, looking between them. "Smokey? Zoro?"

The pair said nothing as Smoker passed him and went straight for Ace, earning a few curses and choice words as he cuffed him and practically dragged him into the hall. As he was pulled his grey eyes met the counsellor, not receiving his usual soft and friendly gaze.

Ace swallowed. "...Marco?"

As the elder was shoved down the hall Luffy went to follow after them, stopped by Zoro's unrelenting form. The boy tried to push past, to get to his partner, but couldn't seem to find the strength. Finally his brows furrowed and he glared his hardest at the guard. "Let me go!"

"Can't, Luffy. Sorry."

"What did Ace do?! Where are you taking him?!"

"Solitary," Marco replied simply, meeting the boy's dark glower with a calm facade. Internally he was more than a little aggravated but he'd never let it show. "We found the still, Luffy."

The boy's lip quivered and he backed down, dropping onto the lower bunk with his head in his hands.

Sometime after lunch there had been a massive eruption beneath the warden's table, causing a large commotion to spread throughout the prison. Eventually the commotion dulled and settled, and Marco found himself amongst the group who investigated afterwards. When they searched they managed to uncover a very elaborate system for distilling alcohol beneath the floor. Somehow things didn't go as planned and one of the pots exploded, which led to their little adventure. That wasn't too unusual, as there was nothing shocking about finding a still in a maximum-security prison. What shook people up was that someone had the audacity to place it beneath the warden's seat. It only took a bit of investigating and interrogation to lead the group to Ace, the leader of the operation.

Marco felt a sting of betrayal as he watched the boy disappear down the hall, he and Zoro heading back the way they came. He was the one who authorised that transfer—who backed Ace's request—and the convict had thoroughly shattered that trust by pulling shit like that. Admittedly his anger towards Ace was outmatched by the anger he held towards himself, towards how stupid he'd been. He allowed the brat to manipulate him so well that he'd never considered that the kitchen was a bountiful source of ingredients that could be turned into alcohol.

That was his first big failure on the job, and just knew he'd be beating himself up about it for a long time to come.

Luffy wasn't much enjoying their session. The boy stared hard at his lap, eyes never looking to meet Marco with a scowl that rivalled his partner's firmly set on his face. His cheeks were red and puffy from crying, knowing that he wouldn't see Ace for about a week; out of everyone found to be involved he'd been the only one to be put in 'the hole' as he was the mastermind behind the distilling operation, the rest receiving much smaller penalties.

He sighed. As some point his anger faded, leaving plenty of room for guilt to take its place. He really shouldn't have expected much else; the boy was a criminal, and it wasn't like he was doing anything worse than one would expect in a place like that. And in the end, if Marco hadn't authorised it, nothing would have happened. Now he was more bitter than anything.

"Look, Luffy…" His voice faded when he was met with no response but the boy clenching tighter to the striped pants he wore.

The boy's lower lip trembled, his breath hitching in his throat as he tried to speak. "A-Ace doesn't like to be alone," he stuttered, his voice shaking slightly. Marco knew that. He'd learned that one day after stepping out of his office for a bit. Ace had stopped by for a visit, as per usual, and was visibly disturbed when the blond returned ten minutes later. It helped explain why he looked so completely broken after his last punishment all those months ago. "Can I go see him?"

Marco shook his head. "Sorry, yoi. I don't have the authority to bring you there."

"But he'll be lonely…"

"I know."

"Then—"

"I can't, yoi," he repeated. "You should be talking to your grandfather about this, not me."

The boy's eyes widened. Marco had uncovered their relations not long after starting there—that the warden's grandson was one of Grandline Penitentiary's youngest occupants. It'd come as a surprise, but not much of one, considering how unconventional that place was. Its unorthodox practices were enough to numb him to something as small as that. Still, it explained why he noticed Garp glancing over at the boy whenever they were together in the cafeteria.

Luffy propped his legs up onto the seat of his chair and hooked his arms around them, holding them fast to his chest. "You guys think Ace is so horrible. He's not. He's the best big brother ever."

Wait, what? "...Brother?" But wasn't he—

"You said you'd help him. Stupid pineapple."

The sun sat on the horizon's edge, and before Marco headed home he found his feet taking him to the solitary cell, a little out of the way. He stood outside it, his back to his wall as he listened to the silence, the breeze passing through the hall. For a while he stayed like that, internally debating with himself, going back and forth about what he should do. Eventually his resolve to leave crumbled and he found himself peeking in through the small window in the door.

Ace's form was pressed against the far wall, curled up with his knees to his chest and his head in his lap, completely still. He looked so small then, so helpless, so unlike himself that for a moment the blond had to wonder if he'd gotten the wrong cell. Ace wasn't like that—wasn't that quiet or motionless, situation be damned. He was an annoying, manipulative little brat. He was deceptive and cunning, someone who could twist any situation to his favour with an incredible, almost inhuman ability to con even the most cynical of prison staff—to convince them of whatever he wished through unnatural charm and impressive wit. He was deceitful and vibrant, full of life with a mischievous grin that lit up the dull and dreary prison atmosphere and—

He dropped his head into his palm with a groan. What was he thinking? But as he looked back up he was met with wide grey eyes watching him from within, the slight shimmer of tears rolling down freckled cheeks. They stared at one another for a long, drawn out few seconds before Ace looked away to wipe his eyes. Marco continued to look, though, to watch, his features softening with sympathy.

He was just a kid—just a boy, just a brat. Twenty-two wasn't that old.

When the inmate hesitantly met his eyes again he offered a small smile and wave, hoping to alleviate a bit of the boy's stress. It took a while to get some sort of a response out of him, but eventually he stood and walked over, pressing himself against the door. Up close Marco could see that his eyes were bloodshot, dark circles making him look older than he was. He'd been in there about thirty hours now and the psychologist guessed the isolation would have been crushing by then, with nothing to do and nowhere to go, especially for someone who hated being alone.

His attention reeled back when he saw Ace mouth something to him, as the walls were too thick to hear through: Sorry.

Marco wasn't sure how much he should believe that apology. The youth knew what he was doing when he did it, knew he was breaking the rules, that he'd get in trouble if he was caught—that he was breaking Marco's trust—but went ahead with it anyways. Still, some part of him wanted to believe the sentiment was real. So he smiled, nodded. But Ace didn't return the gesture, instead mouthing the word again and again, tears threatening to roll down his cheeks once more.

It was surreal, seeing someone like him cry.

"Ace," he called, knowing full-well the boy couldn't hear him, "stop. It's over, yoi." The boy listened, pulling his mouth tight as he looked at the blond through the glass, pressing his hand to it and looking at Marco expectantly. Reluctantly he followed suit with a sigh, leaving the freckled youth with whatever satisfaction he got out of that, mouthing a short 'goodbye' and taking his leave.

As he went he kept hearing Zoro's words repeating again and again in his head.

"You're not here to 'fix' them. They're not broken."

"Don't give up on them."

Marco found himself accompanying Zoro on his rounds after his shift. Zoro was switched to working nights and started right around when Marco was free to go home, so when asked to keep him company—though he suspected it was more to keep him from getting lost—he readily complied. He had nothing to do at home, anyway.

"Say," he started as they walked, "how'd you get out, yoi?"

"Hm?" the man grunted as he went to round the corner, stopped by a hand gripping his collar as the blond steered him in the proper direction.

"After your sentence," he elaborated, "how'd you keep out of trouble?"

"Oh, that. There was this guy in here with me—one of the older inmates, 'bout forty or so. Guy never caused any trouble for the guards, didn't mess with anyone. It was weird; even when people tried to start something with him, he just laughed it off.

"I asked him about it one day. He said he just wanted to get home to his family. I guess everything just felt real after that."

Marco smiled. Yeah, he could see how that would have a big impact. If he were in there he knew he'd do everything he could to get back to his father and brothers—to make the old man proud. He wouldn't want to disappoint him, wouldn't want to mess up and end up in there in the first place.

How many of the inmates had people to go back to?

"What happened to him?"

Zoro's smile faded as he opened the door into block A. "He was executed."

On the day of Ace's release from solitary confinement, Marco was worried. He waited and waited for the brat to step in unannounced and when he didn't he chalked it up to him wanting to spend time with his protégé—or brother, whatever the case may have been. But when the next day came and went and then the next, and Ace missed his session, he grew concerned. That was honestly the longest he'd went without seeing the boy even without the time he spent in the hole, so after he was done with his other clients he went to the young man's cell personally.

Ace was seated on the top bunk with Luffy in his arms, the boys whispering back and forth into one another's ears until they saw the blond and both went quiet. After a stretch, Ace cleared his throat, "Yeah?"

"You didn't come to your session, yoi."

"I wasn't feelin' too hot." What an obvious lie. Marco was disappointed; he was normally so much more convincing.

"Don't give me that, brat. Come on."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

His grip around Luffy's waist tightened and he pressed his chin into the crook of the younger's neck. "I'm not leaving. You can piss off."

Marco narrowed his eyes but stepped aside, allowing Smoker to near, looking up at the boy with clear disinterest. Ace immediately stiffened, the air around him seeming to chill as his confidence was smothered and drowned by the mere presence of the guard. The blond assumed that had something to do with Smoker being the one who locked him up whenever he pulled shit. It wasn't long before the inmate was reluctantly walking down the ladder and heading for the door.

They were left alone in Marco's office. This time he was standing, leaning against the wall beside the entrance and watching as his client plopped down onto the seat behind the desk—Marco's seat, but he didn't really care—and crossed his legs atop the desk as per usual, his heel digging into a manilla folder the counsellor left out. He was just lucky there was no mud on them, or he'd have Marco's foot up his ass. He could be a bit anal about things like that.

"Well, here I am, Doc. Right where you want me." He raised his arms in gesture to back up his words before allowing them to drop limply to his sides, their eyes locked. The air seemed to thicken, and not in the way it usually did when he was around the boy. This was a lot darker, something akin to what he felt when he saw him in solitary. He had to wonder about that. "You gonna punish me? Still pissed about that little mishap last week?"

He folded his arms one over the other and closed his eyes, trying to think. Ace had two sides: smartass and scared brat. He had to wonder what it took to get him to switch from one to the other. "Don't be stupid." He'd gotten tired of keeping up face with that one. Maybe showing him he wasn't as much of a pushover as he thought was stupid professionally-speaking, but well, he didn't particularly care. "You were a complete wreck when I last saw you; I think that was punishment enough yoi."

"Shut up," Ace snapped, glowering at him as he snarled. Marco went unperturbed.

"You've lost my trust, though, using me like that."

"Shut up," he repeated, a temper Marco knew well flaring to life in every muscle of his body, spreading like wildfire.

"And you left Luffy alone—"

Suddenly the boy sprung to his feet and charged at the older man, his fist pulled as far back as he could manage. His arm thrust forward as he neared but Marco managed to step forward to meet it, latching onto his wrist as it launched and tripping him, simultaneously spinning him around and twisting his arm behind his back, slamming his front against the desk. He bent forward with him, pressing the weight of his torso against the boy's back as he writhed and wiggled beneath him, cussing and growling animatedly as he fought to free himself.

Eventually Ace's struggle ceased, his body going limp beneath the blond as he panted and tried to catch his breath. The harsh impact knocked the wind out of him.

"You done with your fit, yoi?" A nod. "Alright. I'm going to let you up. If you attack me again you'll end up right back here. We can do this all night if you want. Understand?" Another nod. "Good."

Before he released him he snaked a hand down Ace's leg, feeling his body quiver at the touch before he reached down into his boot and removed a knife, staring at it as he rose to his full height. "Another one? The guards need to be more thorough with their inspections, yoi."

Ace rose and spun around, his face flushed with embarrassment as he rubbed his sore wrist. "The fuck? I didn't know…"

"That I could fight back?" he finished. "I wouldn't have accepted the job if I couldn't. You need to work on that temper of yours."

Ace snorted, staring at the elder's chest—one of the rare times he refused to meet his eyes. "Who cares? You were asking for it, anyway."

"I care," he replied simply as he seated himself on the edge of the desk beside the boy, staring out into the room at all the smiling faces hung on the wall. He barely noticed the way the boy's eyes shot up to him. "You're gonna need better control if you wanna get out of here."

"...Out?"

"You're a good kid, Ace," he explained, raising a hand to pat him on the head and quickly second-guessing himself. Maybe that wasn't exactly accurate. "At least sometimes, yoi. When you get out, I want you to stay out. You're too young to be stuck in prison the rest of your life—" He turned to face the boy, jaw going slack as he saw the boy's expression, not unlike the one he wore back in that isolated cell. He almost missed the feeling of a hand gripping his shirt, and as he watched the boy lean closer he was starting put something together in his head—he wasn't sure what, though.

"...Yeah?"

Marco swallowed, "Yeah." Suddenly Ace's head was pressed into the crook of his arm and he found himself unsure of whether or not he should pull away. On one hand it was against regulation, on the other… "You confuse me, yoi."

Ace chuckled, wiping his eyes with a soft smile. His mood change was a bit uncomfortable but Marco didn't address it, didn't pull away.

"...Thanks."

Clinginess—that's what it was, what bothered him. Right from the start Ace had demanded his time and attention and over the past few months those demands just seemed to rise. And Marco hadn't even noticed. "Do you have a family, Ace?" he found himself asking.

"Lu, now," he pointed, "but… no one's waiting for me outside."

"Right," the blond started, his memory jolted, "what's this I hear about you being brothers?"

A tint of red arrived on the boy's cheeks but otherwise there was no visible reaction to his words as he continued looking on ahead. "Lu kinda decided that on his own. I started fooling around with him when I first got here, but the kid's so dense he didn't really understand what was going on, and I felt bad, so. Brothers."

Marco grinned. "And you kept calling him your protégé to keep people away from him. What a protective big brother you are."

"Shut up."

Marco had spent their sessions trying to keep Ace from losing his temper. He thought that the best way to make use of their time was to stop letting that specific client go on about whatever he wanted and to instead focus in on something—well, that and trying to get his pyromania under control—and, for the most part, it seemed to work. In the ensuing weeks there hadn't been any fires or fights, Ace hadn't been punished for anything very serious—which was great, because Marco wasn't sure how much more sensory deprivation the kid could handle. He'd been… different since then. Not entirely, of course, but just… more easily intimidated? The blond suspected it had something to do with that innate fear of loneliness he held, and with whatever it stemmed from. Ace said there was no one waiting for him; maybe that had something to do with it.

Of course, the inmate could only put up with so much work before protesting, and that day he found himself with a lapful of Ace.

He sighed. "Get off, yoi."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

The boy pulled back to trap him beneath his smoky-grey stare, a clear pout on his face as he hooked his arms around the elder's neck. "I'm sick and tired of this 'anger management' shit, Marco. Give me a break."

He raised an eyebrow, ignoring the hand currently playing with his tuft of hair. "What happened to 'Doc'?"

"Fuck 'Doc'; you're 'Marco' now."

"Oh?"

The boy rolled his eyes in exasperation, much to Marco's silent amusement, and sat back to glare at him. Sure the counsellor knew what he wanted, how he felt about him—he'd had his suspicions since that one day months ago—but he tried not to bring attention to it both because it was against regulation and because he wasn't sure how he felt about it himself. But apparently Ace had decided the subtle approach was too, well, subtle. "Don't 'oh' me. You've gotta be fucking kidding me. There's no way you don't know what I'm getting at. You're not as dense as Luffy."

Marco didn't reply right away, just stared into those unending grey orbs, just as intense as the day they first met. Then he tilted his head and watched in perverse satisfaction as the youth let out a frustrated groan. Still, he almost liked that short distance from the boy—liked how he could count every freckle on his face, could see the flecks of blue and brown in his irises. But he wouldn't say that to the brat no matter how true it wa—

His mind stopped when Ace roughly forced their lips together and he tensed, a rush of warmth spreading out from his core as the boy sucked and pulled on his lips before finally reeling back to look at him. "You get it now, you stupid old man?"

"I…" He blinked a few times to shake himself back to reality, to fight off his the stirring within him that he refused to admit might be excitement. "Why me?"

No sooner than those words left his mouth had Ace dropped his forehead to his palm with a grunt of irritation. He wondered momentarily how well his anger management sessions would hold off his temper when sexually frustrated. He hoped very well. "You're thirty, not three! Use your fucking brain a little, Doc!"

"So now it's 'Doc'?" A glare had him shutting up.

Eventually the intensity fell from Ace's stare and he sighed, dropping his head onto the elder's shoulder. Marco could feel the youth's body heat radiating off him in waves, felt the hard bulge pressed against his midsection as the boy's legs hooked around him and pulled them flush.

He felt Ace's gorge move against him, bobbing up and down as he swallowed. "...You fucking care, alright?"

His eyes widened.

"You pay attention to me. And you listen to me. And help me. I know that's what you're paid to do, but…" He felt the other's chest inflate with a large breath, arms wrapping tighter around his neck. "...Can't I pretend?"

Marco bit his lip, immediately regretting it as he returned the boy's embrace and wrapped his around around his back. "I can't, yoi," he stated in contrast, causing the one in his arms to tense and latch on tighter. "I could lose my job."

"So?" the boy spat venomously. "Who fucking cares? Sounds like a shit job anyway."

"And if that happens you won't see me anymore. Come on, Ace, you know this."

It took a long while of sitting in one another's arms for the inmate to finally push off him, head hung low and bangs draping over his eyes as he stood and seated himself on the chair on the opposite side of the desk. "...Sorry, Doc."

...Fuck, he couldn't believe what he was about to say.

"When you get out," he started, hating himself more with each passing second, "you can have me, alright?" He didn't say that. He did not say that. Why did he say that? He hated himself for saything that.

The boy gaped, looking not unlike a fish before a nostalgic, mischievous grin slowly crept onto his face. "All of you?"

Fuck. How did he let this happen? He'd completely ignored his advances before today.

...But he hadn't pushed them away, either.

"All of me."

The boy's eyes flitted over his figure as his grin stretched, trying to suppress the childish excitement in his eyes. "I better get out soon, then."

Most of all, he hated that he didn't regret it.

Marco really hated that they installed a couch in his office.

"I suppose I was acting out," stated the blond currently lying on said couch as he stared blankly up at the ceiling. "I had a bad relationship with my parents, as you know, so I often tried to do things they would deem unsavoury. So when I cut off that gentleman's—"

"Sabo," he interrupted, holding up a hand in pause, "why are you telling me this, yoi?"

Dark eyes turned to meet his unflinchingly, a polite smile gracing his features. He feigned perplexity as he replied, "I thought my past was something a man in your position was interested in. You wish to know how I became the way that I am, yes?"

That wasn't entirely false, but his main concern was why his client was telling him this now. He'd spent months dancing around his questions, only giving information when it suited one of his many whims, and now he was willing to divulge his life story? No, something wasn't right.

"Are you stalling me, yoi?"

"Stalling?" he repeated, faking surprise as he sat up. "Whatever for?"

"You tell me."

"I haven't the faintest, monsieur."

Somehow he doubted that.

As he listened to the youth ramble on and on about his likely made-up personal backstory, Marco continued sifting through the paperwork on his desk, his eyes catching on an envelope he received in the mail earlier that morning. Seeing as his client wasn't really cooperating, he chanced opening it and reading its contents.

His eyes widened and the first thought to cross his mind was: what would he tell Ace?

The end of the day rolled around and Ace arrived like clockwork, rushing him as soon as the door was closed and pressing his lips to Marco's cheekbone in greeting. The blond did little in response but offered a small smile. That was all he could manage, his mind a mess of thoughts that he'd gone back and forth on throughout the day.

He'd been working there seven months.

The boy dropped onto the couch, going on about how it was nice to have somewhere comfortable to sit other than Marco's lap—he didn't comment on that—and patting the surface expectantly. When the counsellor didn't move Ace simply shrugged and made himself comfortable, stretching and yawning as he did so.

"You know," he started, his eyes falling on the blond as they always did, never blinking, never glancing away, "I've been thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself."

"Ass," he shot with a glare, sticking out his tongue before returning with that devilish grin. "If I get out of here I won't have an excuse to come see you every day."

As Ace was talking, the elder retrieved a container from his bag. There'd been a disturbance earlier and he hadn't had lunch yet. When met with an inquisitive stare he answered simply, "I haven't eaten, yoi."

At that the younger hopped off the couch and headed over, hovering above the container as he opened it and revealed a fine meal Sanji had offered him after the incident—of which one Trafalgar Law escaped the prison alongside Sabo. He knew there was something up. Law had the session after the blond bastard, so he kept Marco there to keep him from calling the other inmate in.

But he forgot all of that, instead smiling at the boy eyeing his meal and offering him a leg of chicken, of which Ace hurriedly accepted with a quick 'thank you' before devouring it. His client's insurmountable appetite was no secret, nor was his lack of manners. It was somewhat endearing, actually, how excited he got when he was eating and how much he clearly enjoyed it.

"So," Ace continued, his mouth full, "I figured stayin' here a little longer wouldn't be so bad."

Marco's smile fell and he flicked the boy on the forehead. "Don't be stupid."

"I'm not," he replied with a pout. "You're here, and there's Lu, and I get food and a place to sleep… 'S not so bad so long as I'm not stuck in solitary."

He sighed, patting the boy on the head. "Scared to get out?"

"No."

"Ace," he called in warning, leading the boy to sigh and step behind him, wrapping his arms around Marco's neck.

"...Yeah, a little," he finally admitted, breathing over the shell of Marco's ear. "It's safer here. I know what I can and can't get away with. Out there? It's…"

He could understand. The real world could be harsh.

"But," Ace continued as he straightened, stealing something else from Marco's lunch, "I'll have you there to walk me through it, right? So… maybe it'll be alright."

His chest constricted painfully with those words and he pressed his lips together into a thin line as fingers tangled in the mess of hair atop his head, falling to smooth over the skin of the back of his skull. "Ace, there's something I have to tell you."

Immediately the boy reeled back, his jaw slack as he stared down at the blond disbelievingly. "You're breaking up with me?"

"What? No," he answered with a shake of his head, a question quickly coming to mind. "Are we even together?"

"Yes."

"No."

"We are and you know it. Don't deny it, Marco."

"I prefered 'Doc', yoi." He sighed, pressing his hand to his forehead as he thought of how best to tell him. The longer he took, the longer Ace stared, the pressure in the air increasing with every second those unblinking eyes were on him. Eventually he looked away and rummaged through the the top drawer of his desk until he found the envelope, handing it to the other.

He couldn't say it.

Ace looked curiously between it and the blond before taking it, removing the letter and reading it over carefully. Those grey orbs thinned, brows furrowing as he realised what it was before they widened and bulged, shooting back up to Marco's blue irises to bombard him with silent questions.

When he didn't explain, the boy chanced asking, "...You're not gonna accept, right?"

Marco couldn't look up. He wasn't like Ace—could keep eye contact with such persistence. He didn't want to see the look on his face. "...I think I might, yoi."

A pair of strong hands slammed against the top of the desk. "You can't be fucking serious! You're just gonna leave? Just like that? Fuck, Marco!"

He closed his eyes, listening as the boy continued to curse. "Ace—"

"No! Fuck you, Marco! You fucking know how I—how you—just… just fuck."

He took a deep breath, chancing a look and hating himself for it as he saw the young man's lip quiver. It was true; he knew how Ace felt, how someone he cared about leaving would be hard on him. But he couldn't put his life on hold for that.

In Ace's hands he held an acceptance letter to a university a few cities away—a good university where he could go to finish his schooling. He'd applied months ago and completely forgot, never thinking he'd actually get in. But then the letter came.

"Look, Ace," he tried again once the youth went quiet, "let me—"

Suddenly the boy leapt onto the table, sending the container of food tumbling to the floor as he grabbed Marco's collar and reeled back his fist, glaring and growling in his frustration. Marco didn't flinch, didn't react, and the punch never came. They just stayed like that, still, silent aside from the younger's heavy breaths, until the blond whispered, "Sorry."

Ace's arm dropped to his side and he pressed their foreheads together, taking a deep, calming breath as he closed his eyes. "...Fuck, Marco."

"I'm sorry."

"I hate you. I hate you so goddamn much."

"I love you."

The inmate let out a low, jaded chuckle. "...Now you say that? Now, when you're leaving?"

"...I'm sorry, yoi."

Ace sighed, opening his eyes to stare into Marco's. "...I'm sorry, too."

Eight months marked Marco's last day working at the Grandline Penitentiary. Looking around his office at the bare walls where Robin's photos were once hung felt surreal. That feeling culminated in the pit of his stomach when he saw his empty desk and he had to shake his head to relieve himself of depressing thoughts.

He didn't hate that job.

He'd already brought his personal effects to the front desk and was just retrieving a few photographs that had been taken during the duration of his employment there, some with prisoners and most with his coworkers.

One with Ace.

Marco looked everything over with fondness. That job was far from perfect. In fact at some times it was beyond stressful. Fights broke out regularly, he received constant threats from men who he knew could and would back them up. But… it wasn't so bad, even if he sometimes wanted to tear out what little hair he had.

A knock from behind had him turning and smiling, Garp standing in the doorway. Apparently they'd finally oiled the hinges, as he hadn't heard the door open. The man invited himself over, observing the room with his arms folded over his chest. "You know," he started, his mouth curving upward, "there's still time to change your mind."

He rolled his eyes. The old bastard had been saying things like that all week "I won't."

"Bwahaha!" he laughed, slapping Marco on the back hard enough to knock the wind out of him. "I had to try!"

After a bit of gasping he managed to catch his breath and straighten once more. "Have you found a replacement, yoi?"

The warden sighed, scratching the back of his head. "We have Kalifa for now. She can handle the position until we find someone new."

That was a relief. He worried he'd be leaving the prisoners without a counsellor for a while. While Kalifa wasn't a close personal friend or anything, he knew that she had the qualifications to fill the position, even if she'd rather avoid it.

As he went to leave, not wanting to linger, Garp clapped him on the shoulder and offered a smile. "You're welcome back anytime, boy."

He returned the gesture, "Thanks, yoi."

Marco had said goodbye to Ace earlier in the day, and even though he wanted to go see him one last time, he knew better. The boy had been so uncharacteristically quiet, so distant, that it threw him off. But it would be okay, he knew. He would be okay. If nothing else, Ace was resilient.

If and when they met again, he hoped it would be outside those walls.

Without further delay he headed to the front and gathered his things, a few employees stopping him to say goodbye along the way, and exited to the parking lot. Before leaving for university, he decided to take advantage of the institution's auto shop. There was a policy set in place that allowed employees to have their cars repaired and tuned free of charge. They did a good job on the surface—gave it a new paint job and replaced one of the headlight bulbs—and that brought a smile to his face, having transferred Ace there not long after the incident with the still. He'd told Marco that he thought he had a knack for it, that he thought he might be able to do something with it once back in the real world, and he'd caved.

It was hard to say 'no' to that face.

Slipping into the driver's seat, Marco turned the key and listened as the engine roared to life, sounding far smoother than it had before. Somehow that brought him comfort as he pushed his box of belongings into the passenger's seat and glanced over the institution one last time.

At that moment, he knew he would miss it.

~*Extra*~

"There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways you yourself have altered."

"No, Thatch," he started with a sigh as he slammed the car door shut, "I have an interview tomorrow morning. Stop by Monday, yoi."

A voice came from the phone's speaker, whining and complaining, going on and on before the blond finally closed the call, allowing his hand to drop to his side. As he looked up at the building before him, untouched by the sands of time, he felt nostalgia wash over him.

Five years, huh?

He approached it at a leisurely stroll, taking the time to admire the unchanged scenery of the outer walls and fences that, for a short time in his past, were like a second home. But he didn't want to dwell too long—though he'd just arrived in town the night before and had nothing urgent that needed to be done, he was too eager to remain there any longer—and arrived at the front gate. The guards stationed there were all unfamiliar but one. They were happy to grant him entry after going through the motions of inspecting visitors and soon he found himself in the lobby, bathed in a warm, sepia glow.

He'd greeted Garp first, as he was the warden. The man had been passing through when he entered and immediately invited him into the office for a short chat about how things had been. Apparently Smoker and Zoro were still working there; he'd have to remember to pay them a visit sometime.

Twenty minutes later he was back in the lobby, taking a closer look. It really… hadn't changed much, had it?

Kalifa smiled at him from the front desk and he returned the gesture warmly, about to head over when he spotted someone standing in front of her. The man looked up and followed her eyes, turning around to settle on Marco in slight curiosity.

He wondered if he'd ever see that unending grey again. Immediately his chest swelled with warmth, heart racing as his eyes roved over heavily freckled cheeks. There were more now, many more, dotting his tanned skin, his shoulders and arms…

"...Marco?"

The blond offered a grin, looking back to the younger man's face. "I told you a prefered 'Doc', didn't I?"

The moment those words left his mouth he was rushed, strong arms wrapping around his torso in a crushing embrace, the grip tighter and tighter before finally granting him release as Ace looked up with a smile before pulling away in a sudden onset of shyness.

For once he looked away. "You're back."

He shifted his stance, slouching slightly as the tension left his body. "I have an interview tomorrow so I'm staying at a hotel, yoi. Thought I'd stop by." Once more the elder looked the man up and down, pleased to see he wasn't clothed in prison stripes. No sight could have been more satisfying. "You're out."

A reddish heat filled the boy's cheeks as he looked down. Ah, but he wasn't really a boy anymore, was he? "Got released a few years ago, started my own body shop… I uh, came by to see Lu."

"You visit often?"

"Once a week, if I can," he replied, finally looking up again. A small, comfortable yet awkward silence passed between them before the boy glanced back at Kalifa. "You wanna…?"

He patted the younger on the head, messing with the waves of hair that framed his face, slightly longer than he remembered, and gave a curt nod. "Of course, yoi." Were it any other prison, neither of them would be allowed to visit the boy—they weren't family, after all—and would have had to apply and been approved, yet Kalifa was quick to show them the way to the visitation room, saying that Marco was 'trusted'.

He still wasn't sure how Grandline managed to operate the way that it did, being as lax as it was.

As they were lead deeper into the prison to visit the boy—Marco was excited to see how much he'd grown—he felt Ace's hand slip into his. He didn't protest it, internally laughing at the ecstatic way he practically skipped beside him. It was strange how it felt like that long, five year gap fizzled out and how, even after so many years, it felt like only yesterday they said 'goodbye'.

"Say," Ace started as they stopped in front of a door, "after this… wanna go out?" When he didn't immediately answer the boy pressed his lips close to the hollow of his ear and whispered, "You said I could have you."

"You figured you'd win me over with lunch first?" he murmured back.

Ace grinned, "There's a thought."

When they entered the room, met with an excited, grinning face seated at one of the tables, Ace immediately took the seat across from him, his hand slipping into the other's as they both immediately started talking. Marco looked around, recognising some of the other inmates, and smiled.

"Pineapple-man!"

He rolled his eyes, heading over to the brothers.

...It was nice to be back, if only for the moment.

Cheesy ending is cheesy. But don't complain! The last scene was actually just sort of a bonus/extra so you guys could get your happy ending. To be honest, I don't really like it. I originally planned for Ace to kill Marco at the end by sabotaging his car, as it was more satisfying for me and would have come closer to the story it was inspired by, but I decided to change that when I decided to make this for MarcoAce week, and so I changed some quite a few scenes (and cut out others because of length, which was unfortunate T_T) that were originally going to hint at Ace doing that at the end. I still think I'll write that ending sometime in the future and put it as the alternate to this one in like a 2nd chapter or something, but for now enjoy your cheesy, sappy, trashy romance-esque mess :'D

Also, the Blue Gent made a cameo because fuck logic.

Thanks for reading and I hope you liked it except the ending Please tell me what you think! And read Phoenix Fire when you have time, I'm more satisfied with that one XD

Adieu~

*Quote by Nelson Mandela