Hey all!

First of all, thank you for clicking on this story. I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

It's just another of my one-shots that I had written a few weeks back and finally finished it. (I only just remembered it. Oops?) Okay, for those of you who are readers of "Stuck" or "Bleeding through the Seams", I'm really sorry if somehow some parts are repetitive. Honestly, I'm beginning to wonder if it's a mistake to have those to fics on-going at the same time, considering Ace isn't that happy in these two fics. Not to mention "Prisoner". (Yes, I happen to love angsty fics surrounding one Portgas D. Ace.)

Please note that this is way before Ace became a commander of the second division.

No pairings. Please enjoy.

AND, I just updated "Stuck" a few days ago, so if you haven't read it, please spare some time? :)

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

Without the mask, where will you hide?
Can't find yourself, lost in your lie
…somehow you've got everybody fooled
- Everybody's Fool by Evanescence

The first time he heard it, Ace thought his heart had died and taken him with it.

He had been meandering around the deck of the Moby Dick, happily minding his own business, as he smugly watched his brothers slaving over their chores from his vantage point on a hidden corner of the ship's third floor. From his side, he could see almost the entirety of the front deck. The only downside was that his father always knew when he was there, considering he was less than a few metres from the man. With that said, he couldn't always get away with a prank or two, though Whitebeard usually indulged him by keeping silent whenever his 'victims' had tried to search for him or Thatch. Or both.

Then again, only Marco and his captain knew of this spot. He had first discovered it during his too many assassination attempts on the strongest man in the world. The first commander had seen him jump on their father from the hidden location and the spot was effectively ineffective from then on.

Still, Ace mused to himself, at least the blonde had deigned to leave the position empty, lest the fire-user needed space from his overly loud and overeager brothers. His lips curled into a smirk when he caught sight of Thatch leaning heavily on an annoyed Izo, complaining of the cold (it was snowing) and of the duties he had dumped on his shoulders.

"Shut up, Thatch," Izo was saying, rolling his eyes. "You're not the only one."

"But Ace doesn't have any!" Thatch whined. "Why can't he help out?"

Vista appeared beside them. He whacked Thatch upside the head. "Because you," – he pointed accusingly at the fourth commander – "tricked him into doing your work for a whole week. He deserves a rest from you."

Thatch looked offended. "He's good at it though!" he yelled after the retreating swordsman. "You'd do it too if you had that much work to deal with!"

Much to Ace's amusement, his head was hit again, though by Izo this time. The kimono-clad levelled a scowl at Thatch's wounded expression. "You are so lucky Marco discovered your little plan. Just because he has a stomach made of iron doesn't mean you could treat him like a test subject for your new experiments."

"Please, my food is completely safe to consume," the chef retorted.

"Oh, really? Is that why you needed a test subject?"

The pompadour-haired man scratched at his chin, looking pointedly away. He muttered, "Just being careful."

"On your baby brother?" Izo asked incredulously, emphasising the two words with an exasperated tilt.

A light flush coloured the fire-user's cheeks at that. Although he had taken it upon himself to beat the crap out of anyone who dared label him with such a childish term, he couldn't completely – or at all – deny the tiny tendrils of warmth that curled around his insides whenever he was addressed so affectionately. He was, however, unable to shake the tinge of guilt that hardly anyone called him so anymore (at least, not around him, if this was any indication). He had soundly kicked their butts off the ship whenever someone teased him so.

His thoughts were broken when Thatch let out a nervous laugh. One glance at the increasingly annoyed kimono-clad pirate and he knew why.

"That's exactly it, you idiot!" Izo was scolding the commander. "You don't think! Ace has just been initiated into our ranks just a few months ago. He's eager to be one of us and you pull that on him?"

Ace frowned at this. It wasn't that big a deal. He briefly wondered if he should jump in and make it clear he had been entirely too willing to play the part of helper for the chef. It wasn't like he had much to do on the ship. He supposed, as the super rookie (or by the Whitebeards' standards, a mere rookie), they hadn't wanted to unload upon him a series of duties that might or might not scare him away. He inwardly snorted. He would have thought they'd have more faith in his persistence by now.

"It's not like-"

Izo wasn't done. "What if he got seriously sick? Did you think of that?"

Yeap. He should really interfere before something serious happened.

"But he's fine!" Thatch defended. "It's not like he was poisoned or anything. Besides, Marco stepped in. Now Ace is forever banned from trying new versions of my food until I've tried it on myself."

Izo looked about ready to throw the pirate overboard. "Marco stepped in," he hissed, "because he caught Ace puking over the sides of the ship three nights ago, looking completely sick. For someone who's immune to the snow and cold, it didn't come exactly as a pleasant surprise to discover he had been violently sick for a whole of two nights!"

At that admission, Thatch paled. Uh oh. Ace hadn't told the chef that tiny titbit of information. He had had to plead with Marco to keep it a secret, though he was unable to stop the blonde from kicking Thatch from one corner of the ship to the other. The only ones who knew were the nurses, Oyaji, Marco and Izo, and even then the kimono-clad pirate had been too curious for his own good.

Thatch looked horrified. "He was sick?"

For his part, Izo frowned. "You didn't know? Didn't Marco tell you?"

The fourth commander ignored him. "I poisoned him?" he repeated in disbelief. "Oh fuck. Shit. Why didn't he- oh damn it." Straightening, he began to walk away. "I have to look for him," he muttered. "Have to tell him I'm sorry."

Izo must have realised for his mistake and immediately ran after him. "Thatch! Wait!"

Ace sighed. Great. Now he had to go after the fourth commander and stop him from going on a full guilt-trip because it wasn't exactly a secret that Thatch didn't deal well with his own mistakes. Even though his time with them had been brief, he was made aware of that the moment the older pirate had remained strangely quiet for over two weeks when he went a little too far pranking Haruta.

Before he could go after them, he froze when another conversation nearby filtered into his line of hearing. Or maybe they had been speaking all the while but he had been too focused on two of his closest brothers to notice.

"Gol D. Roger?" Someone laughed.

Ace's grey eyes widened.

"Oh, he's a monster, that one."

Look! Here (s)he comes now!
Bow down, and stare in wonder
Oh, how we love you
No flaws when you're pretending

Like any other pirate, Ace loved the sky.

It spoke volumes of the freedom he desired, of the dreams that he harboured, of the tenderness he felt knowing that, somewhere out there, Luffy, Dadan, the mountain bandits and Makino were under the same sky. They might even be looking at the very same star as he was now. Heck, even his grandfather.

At the moment, the vast blanket of darkness was dotted with the twinkling lights. Each was far apart. Some were smaller than the rest, but Ace knew those very balls of fire could be far larger and far grander than those whose light shone brighter. The rush of air that brushed at his form left his skin tingling. His midnight tresses fell freely over his eyes, though shadowed by the tip of his cowboy hat. Behind him, the deck was quiet; the only rustling and hushed chatter coming from the night watchers whom he knew were stationed around their posts on the ship.

Usually Ace would feel content as he sat on the flat figurehead. He was with family, he was loved – as cheesy as it sounded – and he himself loved being a part of the Whitebeards.

The only trouble was…he wasn't free.

Stormy grey eyes lifted to stare blankly at the midnight sky. His shoulders hunched even as he drew his knees to his chest, his chin resting wearily against them. Fire Fist Ace, pirate, part of Whitebeard's crew, the strongest man in the world's son. A man – or boy – who wasn't free. His lips curled at the irony. He thought, he really thought, he had it all. Yet, what was freedom if his own brothers hated the man that he truly was? Despised the blood that ran in his veins?

"You can't change your blood."

A deep, hollowed-out feeling took residence in his chest and yet he still breathed, quietly, silently. A hand lifted to touch the heated skin of his flesh and his lips curled downwards when he felt the steady beating of his heart. It was the very heart that drove his blood through his veins – that kept him alive. If he only had the option, he would have done almost anything to change who he was inside. Turned himself inside out, squeezed his life force out until he was pure, or maybe just tear his heart out.

Oh what had made him thought that he could carry this burden to the grave? Why had he been so foolishly hopeful?

"You can't change your blood," he whispered to himself. He started to rock himself back and forth, swaying in beat with the cold, cold wind. "You can't change your blood, Ace," he repeated. "You can't, you can't you can't you can't…"

Something surged in himself then and, like a dam about to break loose, an empty smile bordering on manic curved his lips and suddenly the teenager wanted to laugh. The need pushed past his throat, tickled his tongue and choked on his lips. His body shuddered. The next thing he knew he was gasping. Strangled laughter escaped his mouth even as he struggled to bite his lips hard in an attempt to smother his insane counterpart.

He briefly closed his eyes, for a moment wanting nothing more than for the waves to push him over the edge and tug him down into the watery depths until he was no more. They would hate him when they discovered the truth. The only consolation was that he would make certain he had suffered the fate of a fallen pirate before they would seek their revenge. He'd rather die than see their hatred directed at him.

Perhaps, the moment might have lasted forever until a familiar voice broke into his clouded mind.

"Ace, yoi?"

It was another stifled laugh before the fire-user recognised the wary voice behind him. His teeth drew blood as he gulped in a large breath. And just like that, the moment passed and his shoulders slumped, as if all his energy had evaporated into thin air.

"Ace?" Marco repeated. "Are you okay, yoi?"

Before the phoenix could think about moving closer, the teen in question raised a hand to stop him. Instead, he stood on wobbly knees and turned to greet the first commander. He plastered on a smile that may or may not have been in fact a grimace.

Ace pulled the tip of his hat closer, knowing it would shadow his eyes in the darkness by the dim light reflected by the moon. "Marco. What brings you here at this time of night?"

The blonde raised an eyebrow, though the younger pirate didn't miss the flash of caution in his half-lidded eyes. "I'm on night watch, yoi," he answered. "I saw you on the figurehead and thought maybe you might have fallen asleep." A wry smile quirked the corners of his lips. "I guess you're not going to listen anyway no matter how many times we tell you not to."

"You told me I couldn't if I was on my own," Ace pointed out.

Marco seemed ready to sigh. "You were on your own."

The teen shrugged, his shoulder rising and falling tiredly, uncaring. "Not anymore," he said, somehow unable to completely mask the bitterness in his voice.

There was a moment of brief silence. The crashing of the waves against their ship and the wind's ever calming whistle was a soothing lilt against the growing tension between the two pirates. Though for all Ace had cared at that second, he knew his brother didn't give a wit about tension. Marco created tension, after all. He turned his attention to nothing in particular behind the commander, feeling another wave of weariness pull at his shoulders.

"You never answered me, Ace," Marco spoke again. His voice carried a concerned undertone that sent a jolt through the younger's heart. "Are you okay?"

Ace bit the insides of his cheek. "Why wouldn't I be, Marco?" he said stiffly, his voice suddenly seeming too loud in the night's stillness.

If either pirate noticed the question still went unanswered, none of them acknowledged it.

"You're crying, yoi."

Ace started, a hand shooting up to touch his cheek. "What? Don't be-" His voice immediately died when he felt his fingers coming away wet. He stared, almost wide-eyed at his hands, this time feeling the tell-tale signs of tears sliding down his features. "I'm not," he whispered. "Why am I crying?"

He heard footsteps draw nearer. On instinct, he hastily moved back several steps. His grey eyes met apprehensive blue ones. The phoenix then slowly raised two hands in surrender.

"Ace, yoi," Marco said calmly, the frown disappearing so fast Ace wondered if it had only been part of his stupid imagination. He held out a hand. "Do you want to go to the kitchens with me? Thatch made a new batch of chocolate this morning. Whatever it is, it should make you feel better."

The raven-haired pirate only stepped back. "Make me feel better?" Ace repeated incredulously. "What the fuck makes you think I need to feel better? Just because I'm- I'm not crying!"

He shook his head and, somehow, Marco stopped in his tracks, his half-lidded eyes glancing quickly at his feet and then back at him.

Carefully. "Ace, at least come back to the deck."

"I am on the deck."

Marco narrowed his eyes. His purple jacket moved noisily as a gust of wind pushed past them. It drew the teen's gaze to his brother's chest, where Whitebeard's symbol stood proud. "Do you know where you're standing at, exactly?"

Ace's eyebrows knitted in a frown but looked at his feet. To his bewilderment, he realised he was but an inch away from the very edge of the figurehead. His heart began to pound. When had he..? One more step and he would have gone over. He lifted his head, looking back at his tensed commander with wide eyes. "I-" He swallowed. "I didn't…"

Marco held out his hand again, beckoning him closer. "It's okay, yoi," he said calmly. "Take my hand."

Feeling another bout of weariness wash over him, Ace gave out a soft sigh, wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep. He must still be crying, he thought. He could feel his lower eyelashes film with something wet, could feel something sticky on his cheeks. His nose felt clogged up, even. Nodding meekly, he took a step forward. His own fingers reached for the proffered hand.

Perhaps it could be traced back to his own unlucky stars. Ace had never been the overly lucky child – at least, not like Luffy. In that moment, something large must have crashed into the side of the ship, sending a colossal jolt across the Moby Dick that both of them stumbled. Someone shouted in the distance. The teenager, so near to the edge as he was, pulled a foot back to grasp for some form of purchase but came up empty. With a loud gasp, he lost his balance as he fell backwards, his grey eyes locked on Marco's the entire time, feeing his heart sink at the alarm on the usually stoic man's face.

"ACE!"

His back hit the water at the same second a flash of blue flames shot out from above him. Marco? He heard a faint, distressed trill before the same flames eventually vanished and left him to sink like the anchor he was. Of course he couldn't have saved you, a sinister voice whispered in his head. He's an anchor too. Least he tried, Portgas. Not many could have said the same.

Shut up! He shouted in his head. Shut up!

Not worth saving.

He clenched his eyes shut. His hands clutched at his ears desperately.

Not worth dying for.

His strength began to fail. He knew, of course he fucking knew that, deep down, he wasn't worth dying for. He had lied to them. Pretended nothing was amiss while they trusted him, of all people, to watch their backs. Trusted that he wouldn't stab them while their guards were down when he had been lying to them from the very beginning.

A large shadow loomed over him. Ace realised with resigned acceptance that it was the Moby Dick. He had fallen from the figurehead, after all; the ship would have continued on in the direction from where he had fallen. No one would come for him. Not this time. It really was too bad Marco's last memory of him would be him crying like a fool over the unfortunate fate that he had existed in the first place.

With his devil fruit powers rendered useless, the cold began to penetrate through his skin into his very bones. He shivered as his lungs began to burn. His limbs floated around him and with the last of his energy reserves, Ace parted his lips, immediately gagging as water slid into his mouth and into his throat.

He had promised to live without regrets.

The last bubbles of air escaped.

At least here, in the heart of the seas, he supposed he could take his regrets to the grave.

Somehow now you're everybody's fool

"THATCH!"

The said pirate halted just as he was about to duck into one of the corridors that led into the kitchen. "Yeah? Whoa there, Marco! What's-"

The blue phoenix neatly crashed into him, sending them both tumbling to the floor. Swearing under his breath, the fourth commander shoved the idiot off of him just as the latter transformed into his original form. His words died in his throat at Marco's panicked expression.

Marco simply grabbed hold of the rope in his hands and began tying it tightly around one of the chef's ankles. "Ace," he forced out urgently. "Fell. Figurehead. Beneath the ship. Now."

By the second word, Thatch had stilled. "What?" He batted the blonde's trembling hands away from his feet and hurriedly tied the rope himself. In the next moment he was airborne, Marco's talons gripped around his shoulders tightly as he was flown across the deck in record speed. As it was, he spotted crew members watching curiously and he shouted: "Stop the ship! Get Namur out here!"

He barely managed to get out the last word before he was flung violently into the air. He hit the water with a loud splash.

That stupid chicken.

You're not real
And you can't save me

"Stop the fucking ship!"

"What is going on, Marco?"

"Oyaji! Ace, he- Where the fuck is Namur? Drag him out if you have to!"

"Yes, commander!"

"And someone get the fucking doctors out here before I-"

A large hand on a flaming blue shoulder. "Marco."

"Ace fell overboard, Oyaji! I tried to, I swear I did but I couldn't get to him in time."

The hand tightened. "How long?"

…

"Two minutes now."

Perfect, by nature

Thatch could swear Marco was losing his touch as a commander. How the fuck was he supposed to find anything in this utter blackness? Tiny bubbles escaped his mouth and he looked around wildly. He knew his attention to detail was fantastic – heck, that's why he was a commander himself, probably – but this was insane.

The first strikes of fear thrummed in his veins and he dived deeper beneath the Moby Dick. He couldn't see Ace. Couldn't see anything. He tried waving his arms about, hoping he would brush against his brother somehow.

Come on, come on. I can't last much longer.

The fourth commander tried to use Haki to sense Ace's presence nearby but came up empty. The fear began to morph into panic. He struggled to keep the feelings down, knowing otherwise his heart would beat faster and make him pass out that much sooner.

Ace, where the fuck are you?!

More bubbles left his parted lips. His lungs burned and his strokes through the water became more sluggish but he determinedly pushed forward. Just a few more seconds. Come on, Thatch. Come on. Just then, his fingers bumped into something soft and solid and instantly he pumped more strength into his legs. His arms came around a body. He confirmed it was Ace by touching the bare torso and loosely tied belt.

Noting the shadow above them, Thatch knew with dread that there was no way he'd make it up there. They were too deep and he was losing air as it was. He brought his knee up and tugged hard at the rope around his ankle, then proceeded to slowly make his way up. His vision blurred. He made it as far as two metres before the final set of bubbles escaped. Stopping, Thatch pulled the fire-user across from him and hugged the fire-user tightly, silently hoping his brothers would find them in time.

He closed his eyes and tugged at the rope again.

Icons of self-indulgence
Just what we all need, more lies about a world that
Never was and never will be

"Gol D. Roger?"

Ace's grey eyes widened and he froze from his safe, hidden haven.

"Oh, he's a monster, that one."

"The only man who could go against Oyaji, really," one of the older and rougher looking pirates said excitedly. A group of younger pirates sat around him, greedily taking in every single word.

Every word that Ace dreaded to hear.

Inhuman strength and dexterity. Tendency to fall asleep anytime, even in the midst of a battle.

"Oh, like Ace?" someone had asked.

The group guffawed as they slapped their knees in mirth. "Yes! Just like that idiot Ace!"

The said fire-user barely dared to breathe at this admission. His heart began to pound nervously, as if awaiting judgement, and from where he stood, he was sure that was exactly what it was.

"You know, there were rumours that the Pirate King had a child before they executed him."

Loud exclamations ensued, and the speaker had to threaten to throw them overboard before they shut up. "It's true! The Marines went crazy going around investigating and searching for any poor woman who had had contact with the man." He shook his head. "I just hope those pretty ladies weren't foolish enough to get trapped by Roger's fame."

At that point, Marco had appeared, his half-lidded gaze concealing a very heated glare. "What, exactly, is so interesting that you aren't tending to your duties?"

"Yuri was telling us about Gol D. Roger!"

"Yeah!

"Did you know he had a kid, Marco? That poor woman."

Marco raised an eyebrow. "Gol D. Roger?" He paused, looking thoughtful. "If I tell you, will you please disperse and do your jobs so I can do mine in peace?" At the vigorous nods, he knelt at an open space beside the circle, smirking when the group opened the circle wider in invitation. "It's true," he said after a moment, "that the late Pirate King had a relationship that was more romantic than advisable with a woman. It's mostly rumours but I doubt the Marines would go after so many leads over mere gossip that that line continues.

"Some stories said he had a boy who looks just like him but hadn't dared to sail out to the seas in case the Marines catch on to his existence. But if he holds even an ounce of blood from Gol D. Roger, that isn't even worth thinking about. Some say it's a girl, but the mother couldn't protect her on her own so she took herself and her daughter to a cliff off her village and fell to their deaths." Marco shrugged. "Stupid rumours, really. If he really had a kid, everyone should have known by now."

There was a period of silence.

"That's it?"

The first commander nodded. "That's it."

"Just stupid baseless rumours that no one has confirmed for almost two decades?"

The blonde now looked amused. "Yeap. Disappointed?"

The original speaker exclaimed, "Of course we are, commander! This is the Pirate King! If he had a kid...well, damn. I'd fear for the world about what that kid might do."

There were nods of agreement. "Thank goodness he doesn't have one then. Can you imagine if we had Roger's kid running wild?"

"We'd be doomed."

"That's stupid. Oyaji will take him out no problem. He's just a kid, anyway."

"With the Pirate King's blood. Who knows what he's capable of?"

The same crooked smirk curled Marco's lips but he shrugged at their deflated expressions. "Think about it this way, then. If Gol D. Roger had a kid, I'm pretty sure the kid would have been proud enough to shove it in the world government's faces that they couldn't bring his line down. That and his recklessness, stubbornness and utter idiocy would have been made known to the world cause hell if Roger's kid didn't set out to sea young."

One of his brothers frowned. "How can you be so sure?"

"You can't change your blood." Marco shrugged as he walked away. "Now get to work!"

Ace felt his blood run cold, when someone added, "Well then, thank goodness he hadn't been born."

The teen had to slap his hand against his mouth when his knees had hit the wooden flooring, for the group of pirates had turned upwards at the sound. Mentally cursing his inability to be stealthy, he held his breath until they eventually went back to their own tasks. Not a moment later and he was sprinting to his room, closing the door and locking himself inside for the rest of the day.

Have you no shame?
Don't you see me?

He woke up to the sounds of hushed chatter.

A muffled groan and the people around him must have fallen silent for the whispers died down almost immediately. Someone was shouting in the distance and he reflexively winced.

"Come on, Ace."

"Back away! You're crowding over him! Let him breathe!"

Something shook his shoulders none too gently.

"Ace?"

"Come on, come on."

"I said, back away!"

Grey eyes opened and he blinked at the various blobs of circles above him. Something indistinct waved in front his face while a long stick-like thing pushed the blobs back. His lips parted and he must have made some sound for a huge blonde blob immediately leaned closer to his face. Something achingly warm brushed against his cheek and he briefly closed his eyes at the touch.

"Don't fall asleep, yoi," the blob – the man – above him was saying. "Stay awake, you hear me?"

His shoulders were roughly shaken and he forced his eyes open again. His body felt heavy, sluggish, as if there was something weighing down on him. There was a sharp twinge somewhere on his torso and he grimaced. Confusion filtered through him. What was going on? His gaze looked past the blonde man to see a darkened sky.

"Something's wrong with him," a voice was muttering. "He's not responding."

Ace felt something snake beneath his knees and his back and suddenly his world tilted, the ground leaving his back. His head rolled against someone's – the blonde blob – neck, his legs dangling uselessly against the arm that was probably holding him. He let out a soft gasp when whoever was holding him broke into a run.

"That's right, yoi," the same voice murmured. "Just hang on. It'll be fine. You're okay."

Then it clicked. It was Marco. Only Marco would ever ply him with assurances that he was alright, that he belonged. Only Marco. Thatch tried, in his own way, but Ace always liked the blonde commander more.

Grey eyes opened fully to search for the familiar cerulean orbs. "M-Marco," he whispered. Blue eyes were suddenly fixed on him and he smiled weakly. "Y-you shouldn't have." He chuckled breathily at the surprised look.

"What nonsense are you saying now, yoi?" the older man muttered. He heaved the fire-user against himself, tightening his grip. "We're going to have a long talk later about you, water and devil fruit."

Ace couldn't help but laugh lightly at that. "N-nonsense," he repeated, voice faint.

Marco shushed him. The sound of racing footsteps, coupled with the blonde's steady breathing and the occasional jerks as he lolled against the man's chest, was a comforting one. Ace wondered at the additional clacking of feet behind them. Perhaps they were being followed. There was always that late-night story Thatch loved to tell; in particular, how fallen men – both pirate and marine – would haunt ships, old and new, mourning after what they had lost when they lived. The ships' inhabitants would sometimes wake only to find their crewmates dead.

For some reason, the teen envisioned the Moby Dick's deck littered with dead bodies of his family. Luffy would be near his feet and he would stand in the middle of it all, droplets of crimson red splattered across his cheeks and body – as red as his fire, but dull and cold. A knife would be in his hand. His favourite dagger. His only weapon, stained and used.

With that thought in mind, he began to laugh. He knew the moment Marco heard it, for the chest against his stiffened and the grip holding him felt almost painful.

"Ace, yoi?" the commander said uncertainly.

The pirate in question mustered up grin. "Y-you know someth-thing, brother?"

Marco must have seen something in his eyes that he didn't like, for instead of answering, he broke into a sprint.

A hand – a bloodied hand? – reached up to touch the blonde's cheek and Ace frowned, seeing the blood marring those perfectly strong jawline. When was there blood? His grey eyes trailed to his hip and he noted with vague apprehension that his favourite dagger was missing. He hazily thought back to the vision he had and he let out a pained gasp. His hand still lifted in mid-air, he attempted to reach for Marco again, only to effectively slap the man, smearing more of that ugly red on tanned skin.

When he received no response – not even a twitch of an eyebrow – he laughed softly. "I killed you," he said matter-of-factly. Then, as if taken by surprise, he repeated, this time louder: "I killed you. I killed my brother."

His head dropped against the blonde's shoulder. The sharp ache in his chest worsened, sending jolts of pain across his torso. He hid a wince. His head hurt too. His grey eyes flicked from the man holding onto him to his hip to the moving ceiling to his dangling arms and back to the phoenix.

"Marco…" he murmured. The edges of his vision were blackened by encroaching grey.

Piercing blue met his.

"You can't," Ace whispered, "change your blood."

I know the truth now, I know who you are
It never was and never will be
You don't know how you betrayed me
And somehow you've got everybody fooled

Marco's eyes widened at the words that left the stupid idiot's mouth. "Ace?" he tried. "Ace, yoi?"

Another bout of what seemed like hysterical laughter left the teen's parted lips and again he inwardly cursed at the distance from which the infirmary was from the deck. He should speak to his father about this. How the damned infirmary, where they treated their family, should be brought nearer to the upper levels, not as far away as fucking possible so their injured members could babble like a lunatic ready to embrace the arms of death.

He turned another corner and jumped down a flight of stairs, his legs already pushing them forward down the next hallway. It's just down this corridor. His gaze made his way back to the drenched kid in his arms, who was still rambling about things he couldn't understand. Or didn't want to. At least, not yet. Pushing his wandering thoughts away for the moment, he promised himself he'd dissect this puzzle that was his brother later. It didn't matter whether Ace wanted him to know or not (be damned with privacy), but he knew anything that could possibly endanger his family in any way had to be resolved. For now…he could only thank his lucky stars that they – Ace and Thatch – had been recovered.

Namur had managed to find them, following the trail of rope that was attached to the fourth commander. Thatch was holding onto Ace, both unconscious, and the fishman had been quick to bring them up to the now still Moby Dick. It had been easy to revive the chef; he hadn't been underwater for too long, but Ace… He had been unresponsive until a good last solid (read: desperate) kick to his torso had forced him to gag seawater from his throat and onto the deck. Marco knew to go without oxygen for too long could prove serious brain damage.

One minute and brain cells begin to die.

Three minutes and there is likely to be serious brain damage.

Ten minutes and the patient is unlikely to recover.

Fifteen and…recovery may be impossible.

Ace had been underwater for four minutes and a half.

Fear thrummed through him. Finally skidding to a halt, he burst into the infirmary, more or less dumping the man – kid – in his arms onto the nearest bed. The medical team immediately took over and he was promptly pulled away. When the doors to the infirmary shut, Ace's words rang in his head again.

"You can't change your blood."

His fists clenched, suddenly recalling another conversation earlier in the day.

That stupid fool.

Can't find yourself
Lost in your lie

[Two mornings later]

"You are hereby officially banned, with approval from Whitebeard a.k.a your father," Marco declared, "from standing within twenty feet of the figurehead. You are not allowed to touch the figurehead, breathe the air near the figurehead or even look at it. Do we understand, yoi?"

Ace gaped at him in shock. "W-what?" he spluttered. The shock filtered into incredulity. "Is that, is that a restraining order? From approaching the figurehead?"

Marco looked at him flatly from the foot of his bed. "Yes," he deadpanned.

"Why?"

"Because you are a magnet for trouble," he answered automatically. Ace watched as the older man flipped through some report (that he was sure was designed to scare him) languidly, his long fingers curling around the edge of each page with an air of quiet disinterest. "You do realise that you are very lucky to have escaped with nothing but a bruised chest?"

Ace frowned at the tone, knowing the older man was chastising him with something but he wasn't very sure what. He tried to shake off the uncomfortable feeling away. "How did that happen anyway? Some seaking tried to eat me?"

A twitch on Marco's forehead quieted him and he quickly looked down on his folded hands, feeling ashamed for a reason he couldn't comprehend. He darted a look at the door (the very same man who was keeping him on his toes had suggested – demanded, really – that Ace recuperate in his room, of all places) almost desperately, hoping Thatch or anyone would come in and pull the blonde's attention away from him. He resented the way the man observed him, as if he was peeling layers off of him and seeing more than he should.

There was a shuffling of papers before the commander's flat voice carried across the room again. "We couldn't revive you so Jozu decided maybe a good kick would motivate you into breathing, yoi."

Ace paled. "Jozu?" Were his feet coated in diamond or something? His freaking ribs broke. A thought occurred to him and he backtracked hastily, completely forgetting that he was pretty nervous of the pirate across from him. "I stopped breathing?"

The answer was clipped. "Yes." Marco returned to staring at his report.

Ace held back a pout. He wasn't allowed out of bed and was already beginning to regret his insistence in not staying in the infirmary. Now he was stuck in this room with a brother who seemed outright pissed at him for unknown reasons. He rubbed at his bandaged torso. It wasn't like he asked to be dumped into the seas. Bitter resentment pierced his chest then, and he wondered vaguely if the pain was the result of his injury or if it was only imagined. He was so sure it would be the end…

A sharp order invaded his thoughts. "Stop sulking, yoi."

The teen looked up in surprise to meet intense blue eyes. His own eyes widened and he unconsciously edged away from the now very pissed off pirate, the edges of the blankets clenched tightly between his fists. The older man must have noticed, for he visibly softened, his half-lidded gaze looking away for a brief moment.

Instead of the berating that Ace expected, Marco continued as if nothing had happened, confusing the younger one even more. "I must also add that you are not allowed anywhere near the sides of the ship unless accompanied or given permission by any of the fourteen commanders, minus Thatch, and Oyaji."

The bitter resentment burst into disbelief. "What? And why not Thatch?"

"We won't risk him giving in to you. Breach these rules, Ace," Marco began but paused, his gaze drilling into the freckled youth's with a severity that made him hold his breath. "You break these rules, yoi, and I will personally tie you to the mast for weeks. And if that doesn't work, trust me we are not above getting Garp here to beat some sense into you."

Ace gaped in shock at the barely veiled threat. No, it wasn't veiled at all! Not for the first time that morning, he spluttered again, fishing for an argument against such… "That's unreasonable!" he shouted. "And why the hell are you bringing that old man into this?!"

A hard look crossed the blonde's features. "Unreasonable?" he repeated. "Think about why it's necessary in the first place."

"We live on a ship, Marco! How the hell am I supposed to stay away from every corner of the ship?"

The answer was flat. "If it means you must remain below deck for an infinite amount of time, then so be it."

"You are such a jerk!"

"Name-calling is hardly going to make your point, brat."

Ace was seconds away from tearing at his hair in frustration. "We're in the middle of the fucking sea! Accidents happen, okay?!"

Finally, the self-control that kept the first division commander together fell apart. The blonde all but dropped the papers in his hands and marched forward to shove his head inches from Ace's own. The teen's words died in his mouth. He looked up, wide-eyed, at the furious man above him.

"I watched you fall into the water, yoi," Marco hissed. "I watched Namur pull you and Thatch on deck, unconscious and unmoving. I watched as one of my brothers woke up while the other remained as dead as dead could be. I," – he pointed a finger at his own chest, almost shaking – "watched as you failed to resuscitate, watched as you didn't fucking breathe. And you," – at this, the finger turned to Ace – "are the reason I had to watch.

"Because of you, I thought one of my brothers had died for something so ridiculously petty. If you have a problem, you fucking come to us, Ace!" Marco glared at him. The ends of his hair turned into wispy blue flames. "You don't go and sulk like a child, making us worry for you, and then fall overboard because there is nothing in the world that is more hurtful than to see your family close to death when you could have done something about it!"

Ace swallowed, releasing the breath he wasn't aware he had been holding. His fingers moved to grasp at the closest solid material, which just happened to be the ends of Marco's purple jacket.

"You don't get it," he said quietly. He looked down at his hands. "You shouldn't have to worry about me. I'm just- I'm just me." He was only Ace, after all, son of the late Pirate King. He shivered as he remembered the words of his crewmate a few days earlier: "Well then, thank goodness he hadn't been born."

A growl made him wince. "Are you saying you're not important enough for us to worry about you? You're our youngest brother, Ace. How can we not care?"

"You're right, you know," he went on. "I am a magnet for trouble. I only cause trouble for all of you. Why would you want that?" Then, as if realising what he was saying, he froze, then hurried to add, "Not that I mean anything by that! Just that, you shouldn't go to such lengths for someone like me. It would only wear you out and-"

"Shut up, yoi," Marco snapped. "How would you feel if it was your little brother, Luffy, that lay dying before your eyes, Ace?"

Ace gasped. His insides curled at the very thought. "That's not the same!" he insisted.

"How would you feel?"

At the silence, Marco continued harshly: "Say you were speaking to your brother and he seemed out of sorts. Say you were speaking to him and you let him fall into the seas and he drowned. Tell me, Ace, would you ever forgive yourself for that? Despite knowing you could have done something to save his precious life?"

"I-I…" Ace trailed off, unable to find the right words. He felt a part of him shrink under the older's darkened look. He was already feeling the beginnings of guilt tug at his heartstrings. "I'm sorry," he finally whispered.

The blonde pulled back slightly, though not enough that the younger had to let go. "You better be."

Ace hung his head. His lips trembled and he felt almost the urge to cry though he rapidly blinked his eyes to prevent even the remote possibility of that happening. Stupid Marco and his guilt-trips. Stupid family who worried for all the wrong things. A sigh above him made him feel even smaller.

"Ace?" Marco murmured. The phoenix sat on the edge of his own bed (he had adamantly insisted – ordered, really – to take the floor until the "brat recovered enough to take on onion duty for three months"). The tense air about him had eased into wistful resignation. "I know," he went on when the teen remained silent. "I know we're being a little too careful, maybe too overdramatic even by our standards. But you have to understand that we are a family. I don't think you understand what that truly means yet."

The freckled youth glared at him, albeit weakly, at the barb. "Of course I know what that means!"

The blonde shushed him. "Listen to me, yoi," he said in a gentle voice that brooked no argument. "Family will always be there for each other, no matter the pains, the irritation, the anger or the self-righteous ire we all know and feel. Ultimately, we forgive each other. That's what family does. Most of all, Ace – and this you must understand – we accept each other."

Ace's grey eyes widened.

"No matter your past, your sins, your flaws," - at this, the commander paused and looked the fire-user straight in the eye – "or your blood, we accept it."

The youth in question felt like fainting. His heart beat hard in his chest and it wouldn't surprise him in the least if the other heard the frantic pounding. Marco was looking at him knowingly and he just knew that his brother had discovered his innermost, well-kept dark secret that he kept guarded within the recesses of his heart. But then, the blonde continued speaking, as if this temporary intermission was only to allow Ace to get over his mini heart attack.

"Beneath all that, you're you. That's what we like each other for. For who we are and what we feel towards each other. Nothing else matters, yoi."

Ace was very sure his brain had malfunctioned for his ears were ringing and his chest started to hurt and, and-

"Breathe, yoi," Marco cut in gently.

The teen gulped in deep breath. "H-how did you know?"

Marco gave a small smile. "You said a few things when I was taking you to the infirmary."

Ace wondered if he should panic then, but the same weariness that he felt two days back pricked at him and he just slumped. "I suppose everyone knows now?"

"No," the commander said carefully. "We were the only ones there, yoi."

"And…how do you feel about that? Marco?" he whispered, voice faint.

A curled fist knocked him on the head gently. Ace looked up to see Marco smiling at him. "Surprised, yes, but beyond all that? Nothing much." At the teen's shocked look, he smirked. "What? Did you think you'd get special treatment cause you're the son of the late Pirate King? We're still going to work you just as hard as any member, yoi."

The commander stood up, out of reach and moved towards the door.

"And until you realise that you are as important as any member on this ship, you are indefinitely banned from railings, figureheads, anything to do with sea water and pranks."

Ace looked at him blankly. "And pranks?"

Marco snorted. "Lest I kick you across the ship and you fall into the water, brat."

"Oh."

"Get some rest, yoi."

With that, Marco left the room, leaving Ace alone to sort out his thoughts.

Without the mask, where will you hide?

"Beneath all that, you're you."

Ace gripped the door handle tightly.

"That's what we like each other for."

"I'm me," he whispered. "That's what they like me for."

He twisted the handle, willing the shakiness to leave his arms. "They like me for who I am," he said under his breath. "For what I think, for what I do. For who I am."

The door opened and the bright sunlight that filtered in through the opening gap made him squint. His family who spotted him waved and smiled brightly at him, yelling at him to come hurry for lunch 'cause damn he must be hungry for missing breakfast. He felt the corners of his lips curl upwards.

"I'm me," he repeated, eyes on the nearest railing. He took in a deep breath. "Nothing else matters."

He stepped out onto the deck.

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