Hi everyone!

Look, it's me posting another story even though I haven't completed my other stories yet! That's right. No discipline at all.

Regardless, my mind has been brimming with ideas for this new story, and it's not so much a story but drabbles, really. I had to write it out. I could do little else.

Just a note, this explores Ace's difficulties as he traverses his initial 100 days with Whitebeard. I just find the whole idea of him joining them to be slightly unrealistic. Why did he join them? What was the turning point? What drew him to them? For someone who hated the very idea of a 'father' to join what could have been the only crew in the world to have a shared father figure was a little confusing.

So, be warned. Angst, a little humour and sarcasm, and more angst. The forging of nakama-ship, of acceptance, and of the connection between people. Chapters may be short or long, it really depends. I have specific scenes in mind, you see. I foresee this having about 3 to 4 chapters, maybe. We'll see how it goes!

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

[Three weeks in]

No one had told him how utterly difficult (impossible) life could be. How complicated and warped and absolutely frustrating, so much so he could not comprehend how anyone could derive any joy from this twisted thing called life.

Or maybe it was just his life, to be specific. That, he did know. Whichever path he chose to walk was one riddled with strings of bad luck, bad choices, bad bad bad. Not to forget his cursed fate to be hated and executed upon sight once his darkest secret was out.

Ace may be one unlucky poor soul, but he was no fool. His lineage could only be kept for so long. It was only a matter of living his life the best he could before he reached its end. The only problem was: how?

The teenage pirate was left in a room on a ridiculously gigantic ship that looked part whale and part, well, ship. He had (bad, bad choices) chosen to take on the fishman Jinbei, ended up fighting for five days straight, and then his body conveniently chose to collapse just as Whitebeard came for his head. Ergo, strings of bad luck. For the record, he was not stupid enough to challenge Jinbei for the sake of fighting against Whitebeard. He had only sought a way to approach the Yonko to issue a formal challenge. It was just pure (bad) luck that he had few options to reach the giant man. He could have attacked the territories under the Whitebeards' protection, launch an assault against his allies, or practise a little self-preservation and approach an ally for information. Was it really his fault if said ally immediately took up arms and swore to never allow 'someone like Ace' to get anywhere near the Yonko?

Yes, he had wanted to challenge Whitebeard. The strongest man in the world. If he lost (…), he would hopefully be allowed to leave to lick his wounds, both real and metaphorical, and then… And then he would once again be wandering the seas for another quest to take. If the Yonko had decided to end his miserable 17 years of life, well, he would be dead and he would not be able to care anymore anyway.

He threw his hands up in the air and all but fell into the bed the room had. It was not his room, per se, but they had implied it was empty for him to use freely. It was the room he had first woken up in on this ship and had been quick to morph into his only private space here.

He covered his eyes with his arm. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered under his breath.

What was he to do now? The stupid Whitebeards wanted him to join their crew, of all things. As if his post as Captain himself held little significance. As if his own crew meant nothing. But, no, the worst of it was the accompanied idea of family. They offered a whole shipload of brothers and sisters and a damned father to boot. If he had known they were out on the prowl to adopt random murderous morons, he would have booked it first chance he got. Heck, he would have avoided all the territories under the man.

His life was hard enough, for seas' sake! He did not need to go through another unnecessary build-up of stress at the whim of some stupidly strong pirate!

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

How was he to tackle this? What was he going to do? Why was there no handy guide that told him what to do when a giant Captain insisted on adopting him as a son and he did not want to say yes?

A quick series of knocks interrupted his rambling thoughts. He shot up just as the door opened to reveal the first division commander. Cool blue eyes rested on him, but Ace knew the man had already catalogued all and any dangerous item in view, and was as ready to tackle him to the ground as he was to offer him a hand.

"What do you want!" Ace snarled, voice harsher than he had expected. But that was fine, seeing as these people had kidnapped him and he was not at all happy about it.

The blonde did not seem fazed at the greeting. "Thatch will be coming by with your lunch in about fifteen minutes," he said calmly. "I came to tell you in case his arrival startles you, yoi."

Ace sneered, "How thoughtful. Did he send you to tell me that?"

"Yes," Marco answered. His face remained expressionless, but the teen could have sworn something had flickered across that blank countenance. "Last time he came with food, you barrelled into him and sent the food flying."

Ace watched with narrowed eyes as the blonde seemed to come to a decision, one that was a second later made known when he stepped foot into the room and shut the door behind him.

The words 'get out' were at the tip of his tongue, but the younger fire-user barely managed to restrain himself at the last second. This was not his ship. This was not his room. It was not his place to decide where and when the Whitebeards could impose themselves upon this space. That heightened awareness would only exacerbate his shame if he pushed them to highlight that titbit of information.

Instead, he threw out the next thing that came to mind: "Is there something else you need?"

Marco leaned against the wall. His arms were crossed. "No, yoi," he said simply.

Ace clenched his teeth, trying hard to rein in the desire to hurl a fireball at the pirate. "You mean to say you wanted, for no reason, to stand in this room to stare at me?" The next thought sent a twisted feeling of anger mixed with petty satisfaction through him. "Or," he continued with a sneer, "you thought I'd hurt your precious chef when he does come knocking."

The first commander's eyes, at first impassive and guarded, turned cold. "You may want to take greater care to watch your tongue, Fire Fist."

Ace refused to admit the words had sent a chill down his spine. He had heard before how the commander had spoken with his comrades, knew for himself how calm and yet disturbingly warm he seemed to his crew. This, though- this reminded him again that this man held one of the greatest powers across the New World.

Not that it should matter, his thoughts went wild, seeing as you are trying to attack his Captain.

Before the teenager could shoot back an acerbic response, the door opened once more to reveal a grinning head chef. The fourth commander barely glanced at his ship-brother and went right in with a tray of food balanced precariously on his shoulder.

"Food's here!" he announced cheerfully. He set the dishes onto the nearby dressing table. He clapped his hands when neither pirate answered him. "Am I interrupting something," – at this, he turned his attention to Ace – "or do you want us to leave you in peace for your midday meal?"

Ace hated the way the brunette appeared to pretend everything was alright. As if anything here was normal. His jaw tightened. "I didn't ask for your food," he said, voice flat.

Thatch looked unperturbed. "You did not," he agreed. "But how long do you intend to refuse food from us?"

The young Captain ignored the logic behind the Whitebeard's reasoning. He pushed away the reminder (both verbal and in mind) that he had eaten close to nothing the past week. "That's my problem to solve, not yours."

"I'm the head chef. It's my responsibility to ensure everyone on board is fed," Thatch answered evenly. "Regardless of how they may feel about it."

"Strange how you offer your generosity so freely with one you seek to imprison."

"I'm the head chef," came the repeated answer. A pause. "Besides, if we wanted you dead, there are other more effective and efficient ways to do it."

Ace offered him a sardonic smile. "I did say you sought to imprison me, not kill me. But thank you for the kind clarification."

If the chef was fazed by the teen's words, he did not show it. He drew back to stand beside his crewmate. Marco, to his credit, only observed their exchange with an air of disinterest, as if his previous coldness had all but been imagined.

"You're a tough piece of work, aren't you?" Thatch remarked.

"Must have been quite the surprise when I didn't just roll over. I wouldn't take it to heart if I were you."

Thatch raised an eyebrow at the response. "The food's not poisoned, you know. I can take a bite out of each dish first if that helps."

"It really wouldn't."

"Or if it's not to your liking, I could whip something up more to your taste."

Derisively. "Ah, imprisoned but with a personal chef. Do you offer this to all your prisoners?"

"Our offer of recruitment, yoi," Marco finally interjected, "is not offered easily."

Ace bared his teeth in what he hoped was a deranged smile. It would not do to have them so relaxed about him, after all. "Lucky me," he said, dragging the words out.

Marco stared at him, clearly unimpressed, but there it was again, a flicker of something odd crossing his countenance. He exchanged a long look with Thatch. As if by unspoken agreement, both turned away towards the door.

"Eat the food, Fire Fist," the chef said over his shoulder. "You will need your strength for whatever it is you have planned."

"Screw off."

"You can't avoid it forever," came the blunt response just as the door clicked shut.

Ace let out a long, drawn-out sigh. Relief flooded through him as he was finally left alone with his wandering thoughts and his own wholesome company. He fell back onto the bed, trying hard to ignore the temptation that was on the dressing table. His stomach rumbled in protest.

"Guess I'll just die then."

Ace barely made it to the top of one of the many crow's nest on the Moby Dick. Dark had fallen, making it dim enough that he was almost a silhouette against the sky. He held back a relieved sigh as he dragged his worn body onto the safety of the lookout point. A cold wind brushed through his surely tangled locks. He considered putting on his hat but decided not to. There was no reason to draw more attention his way.

It had already been three weeks into his 'stay' with the Whitebeards'. He was tired and hungry, and there was nothing he wanted more than to curl up into deep sleep after a hearty meal. An image of a campfire and a treehouse flashed through his mind's eye, sending another deep tug of longing through him. He had never missed the safety of home more than he did then.

All he could feel now was the constant tired exhaustion that pulled at his limbs. His muscles felt strained, as if dragged by a heavy weight that never eased. While once he would have been able to easily run long distances, every step now felt like wading through mud. It did not help that Whitebeard could pack a punch as hard as Garp. Ace went down like a sack of potatoes every time.

The only thing that worsened his situation was his lack of food. He ate what he could (and his hatred towards himself grew each time), but refusing entire meals was taking a toll on his health. His stomach hurt. He was losing body mass. And there were times his vision became riddled with black spots, as if the very idea of fainting was even close to acceptable at a time like this.

The fire-user rubbed the back of his hand against his neck. Why did this have to happen to him, of all people? Why could he not have gotten a pirate crew that did normal pirate things and duelled him to the death? That made sense. This did not. This only confused him and forced him to make a decision about something he did not even ask for!

Ace sighed again. He dragged himself to his feet, wanting to see the night sky. He had been holed up in his room when not attacking Whitebeard this whole time. He wanted – needed – a little air. A little touch of freedom.

He stared and stared, his gaze traversing across the endless expanse of darkness above him. He studied the twinkling lights that dotted the sky, searched out the moon, and remembered once more how this had been his favourite act as a child. The world up there was not beholden to the laws on the ground. It whispered a promise of freedom that he could never have.

Perhaps it was a calmness he had not felt in the past three weeks, but Ace did not react when he felt a brush of displaced air behind him.

"I don't suppose you'd mind a little company, yoi?"

"If I said I do," Ace answered evenly, "would you leave?"

A pause. "No."

"Then why bother to ask?"

The soft sound of footsteps answered him until he felt the strong presence of the Whitebeard's first division commander stop next to him. "It was only polite."

Ace snorted. "And polite will convince me to join your crew," he said, sarcasm layered thick over his words.

As always, Marco's answer was smooth and not at all taken by surprise. Ace almost hated it. "It takes more than that to show you your place here with us, but it is a start, yoi."

A scowl twisted the younger pirate's features. He turned to glare at the commander, though the effect must either have been lost under the dimness of the sky or the man was just immune to it. "Sometimes, I can't tell if you're making a mockery of me, or are just deluded enough to believe I will eventually join your crew."

"Would it help if I told you neither?"

Ace narrowed his eyes. "What do you think is going to happen?" he demanded. "That I'll eventually succumb to your kind generosity? That I'll fall to my knees and beg to accept your invitation? That I'll just shed whatever" – he waved his arm at the air, almost violent – "dreams I've ever had before meeting all of you, drop them, and just find my place here? What the hell do you expect?"

Marco seemed to consider him, his cerulean eyes twitching only slightly to indicate he had heard. His eyes were half-lidded as they ever were. But Ace knew not to underestimate that. This man had a strength that could possibly rival Whitebeard, if anything he had heard about him had an ounce of truth in it.

"Rather than answer that," the blonde said quietly, "answer me this, yoi." He leaned forward to rest his elbow on the railing, his chin on the palm of his hand. "What do you expect from this? You know you won't succeed. Even if you do, you will have the entire fleet of this crew after you. Either way, it's a lose-lose situation for you." He turned to regard the younger pirate with a piercing stare. "What do you hope to gain?"

Ace returned the stare, but with one that is wide-eyed and almost cornered. He swallowed. He almost felt sick. The heavy sense of loss and confusion within him stirred to life once again. He wanted to know the answer to that too.

"You wouldn't understand," he whispered.

"Try me."

Ace shook his head. "No!" he snapped. "You don't get to turn the interrogation on me, Whitebeard! You kidnapped me and you're keeping me here against my will. Isn't that good enough!"

"I know this isn't in the name of revenge."

The Spades captain tried hard to keep from shaking. It might be from anger, confusion, or even plain lethargy. He did not know. You don't know anything, a voice whispered in his head. "Shut up!" he hissed, drawing back to put more space between him and the other intruding pirate. "Don't pretend to understand!" He himself did not understand anything. "I don't know what you're up to, but I can tell you I won't miraculously form some kind of kinship with you or anyone from your crew. I don't know how you can even think that! That it would work out somehow!"

If Marco was displeased with the outburst, he did not show it.

"And!" Ace continued in his tirade, unheeding that the commander was only listening to him in silence. "What makes you think this is good for your crew? I attack your captain every day and your response is not to withdraw your damned offer to join you?!"

"Oyaji" – the teen flinched at the word – "wishes for you to join the crew, yoi," Marco responded, shrugging as if that was the only thing that made sense in the world. As if the young pirate had not just snapped at him.

"And if he asked you to die, I suppose you'd follow his every order blindly? Is that it?"

"I would trust that he would never have asked me to unless he had no other option. So, yes, I would heed his command."

Ace did not step back as much as he recoiled. The commander only regarded him with a continued seriousness. As if he was waiting for the next rebuke to answer to. When he saw that the younger pirate only gaped at him in silence, he tilted his head. "I imagine you must have been quite the Captain, for your crew to have come after you, yoi. They refused to stand down until we promised no harm had come to you," he commented. "For you to have such a crew, it must be that they trust in your judgement and decisions, that they trust in you." He paused, seeming to weigh his next words on his tongue. "So what has you so surprised, Captain of the Spades Pirates? The idea that one could trust so unreservedly in another person, or the idea of you joining our crew?"

Ace hitched in another breath, feeling as if he was slapped. "That doesn't even make sense!" Trust? Trust? It was his crew's choice to trust in him and look where they were now. "Your captain is as human as anyone of us! You can't honestly be saying that he's incapable of making the wrong judgement, that he could make the wrong call."

Marco remained unfazed. "If he makes the wrong call, then so be it. We will handle it together, yoi, as we always have."

"Really? Say, I join your crew right now. I join you right now, pretend to be all good and happy, and then attack your – oh, I'm sorry – our captain when his back is turned." Ace held his arms in front of him as he presented the picture-perfect image. "How about that trust now?"

Ace did not know what he had expected from the commander, but it sure was not the way the man had stared at him, eyes a little wide, before a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. A hand was quickly lifted to hide that smile – and yes, it was a damn smile! – from view.

"Ace, yoi," Marco said in the same soft but firm tone he was prone to using. There was, however, an underlying hint of mirth in his voice. "You wouldn't do that."

"Y-you don't know that!"

Marco only looked amused. "I may not know who you are, Fire Fist, or how you came to be here. But I do know you are as honest as a person could be. It shows in your attacks, in the way you carry yourself, and even the way you speak to me. You could try to pretend as you said, yoi, but I doubt you would be able to hide it." His shoulders lifted in a shrug. "If you could even bring yourself to, that is."

Ace hated the way the other man was looking at him in calm understanding. As if he knew Ace, as if he understood. "Don't speak as if you know me," he snapped.

"Like I said, I don't know you," Marco said again. He turned towards the ladders that led the way down. "It looks like you came here for a breather. I will leave you to it, yoi." Then, as if in afterthought, he added, "Don't forget the dinner Thatch left for you in your room. It's not good to skip two meals in a row."

And with that, he was gone.

…

Just to be spiteful, Ace returned to his room, took the cold food that was to be his lunch and dinner and threw them over the side of the ship. Tray and all.

The first sign that anything was wrong was the pains in his lower abdomen.

Ace woke up with an alarming ache in his stomach, interspersed with a sharp tug that seemed to dig into his insides and twist it until it bursts. What was it now? He could not catch a break, could he? He held back a whimper when another searing throb shot through his already weakening body.

He struggled to sit on the bed. He hunched in on himself, hoping the slight movement would ease the pain. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Was this- was this the after-effects of eating little to nothing over four weeks? His body had probably burned up whatever energy it could to sustain him (and his consistent attacks against Whitebeard). Maybe, he thought, almost delirious, this stupid 'iron' stomach is eating me inside out now.

The pirate forced in a ragged breath. He wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep the pain away. He wanted to be warm. He wanted to be alright.

He must have sat there for several minutes, lost in his own world of staggering pain, until something wet touched the corners of his eyes. He blinked rapidly. Great. He was crying in pain now. In absolute agony and alone in a room that was not his, in a ship that was foreign to him, amongst strangers.

Freedom.

Ace heaved in a stuttering breath. He clutched at his stomach as he stumbled to his feet. Maybe a breath of fresh air would cool the contracting pain. He leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to curl up and die, and timed his breaths.

1…2…3…

1…2…3…

1…2…3…

He did not know how long he stood there, eyes closed, but the sharp spasms appeared to take a momentary recess. He could have cried more, but the dried tear tracks reminded him how weak he was. What hope had he if he could not even stand a little bit of pain?

Ace blinked tiredly against the black spots dancing in his vision. It was unlike another narcolepsy attack. Though that, that was another pain in the ass in recent weeks too.

Just as he thought his luck could not have gotten any better, the door to the room shook in a series of sharp knocks.

"Ace! Got your lunch, I'm coming in!" came the cheerful announcement from what could only be the fourth commander.

Ace jerked back just as the door opened. And, wait, what was that? Lunch? Did he sleep through the morning?

Thatch strode in with all the confidence of a man set at home. Just as he always did every day, he placed the tray of food on the dresser. "I tried a fusion of West Blue and Grand Line food for you to try today, seeing as you probably didn't enjoy yesterday's," he was saying. "Is West Blue where you're from? It'd be much easier to cook for you if you'd just tell me what you liked, but if it's not West Blue, there's only three left to try."

Ace tuned out the expected tattle. His eyelids slipped shut. Perhaps this was payback for all the evil he had done in life. And damn his very existence would have already guaranteed him a high seat in hell.

"Fire Fist?"

He was so distracted he did not notice when the prattle had stopped.

"Ace?"

Ace opened his eyes to see Thatch standing right before him. There was an odd, odd expression on his face. Almost like…concern?

The brunette pressed the palm of his hand on the fire-user's shoulder.

"Ace, are you alright? You don't look too well."

With every word, Ace felt his insides tumble again. It seemed ready to explode inside him, a build-up of searing agony within the confines of his flat plain stomach. With a gasp, he curled into himself as he slowly slid to the floor.

Thatch went right down with him. "Ace?" he repeated urgently. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "I'm getting you the medics."

Ace watched him through swimming vision, unable to comprehend the words that tumbled off the pirate's mouth. The contracting pain in his abdomen demanded all his attention.

The last thing he felt before he succumbed to blessed unconsciousness was something comfortingly warm wrap itself around his hand.

When Ace wakes, his body feels so heavy he feels he could fall asleep and never return to consciousness again.

Wherever he was, the mattress beneath him was almost unbearably soft. There was a blanket that covered him from mid-torso to his feet, though why he needed it, he was unsure. He should not be able to feel the cold too terribly.

His vision, however, did improve when he summoned enough willpower to crack his eyes open. It took him a moment, but he recognised the plain whites of the infirmary ceiling from that incident…a long while back? He decided he did not care. Something sharp pulled at him when he fidgeted, and he turned to see there was a small plastic tube jammed into the middle of his right arm. There was also a bandage wrapped around his left knee and his left hand.

Ace felt like he had no energy left and so he remained silent even when he felt a pair of eyes drill in his person from his side.

"Do you not want to hear, yoi?"

Ace let out a soft sigh. "W-" The word got stuck in his throat and he coughed. Something twinged within the regions of his abdomen and he reflexively flinched, remembering quite vividly the sudden pains that had him pass out like a princess.

Something moved beside him and suddenly there were fingers and the palm of a hand pressing against his stomach. It moved in a rhythmic motion, as if soothing the aches into silence.

Marco must have seen his look of incredulity, for he explained: "Bay, our doctor, says this would help. You have been eating so poorly that your body was close to shutting down. Your injuries from your fight with Jinbei also reopened. That, and several other injuries, your physical health took quite the turn for the worse, yoi."

Ace gaped at him, eyes wide. No, it was not weird at all to have the First Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates massaging his stomach as if he was a child with a tummyache.

"You're lucky Thatch found you when he did," the blonde went on, appearing unconcerned that the younger pirate was all but a human-shaped mess of an internal freak out. "You could have saved yourself a lot of pain had you approached us sooner."

The teen swallowed, wanting a little water to soothe his throat. So he could yell at the other man for being too familiar. And to get his bearings too. He pawed weakly at the latter's miracle hands and glared until Marco sighed and relented. He could not, however, stop him from assisting when he tried to sit up.

"I'm fine," he rasped. "Get away from me."

Marco ignored him and smoothed the blankets down.

Ace groaned quietly. "I can't do this," he muttered. "You're killing me. You just don't know it."

"To be contrary, I do believe we just saved your life, yoi." The commander pretended to think about it. "Or, at the very least, saved you a great deal of pain."

"Why…why is it always you?"

"What do you mean?"

Ace mustered what he hoped was a sharp glower at Marco. "No matter what I do or what happens, you're always there. Why is it always you?"

There was a long pause in which the blonde commander regarded the younger pirate. If Ace knew any better, he would have said the man looked hesitant.

"Because you are strong," Marco finally said.

"What?"

Marco eyed him for a moment longer and then stood to collect a mug from the near by table. "I am the First Division Commander of the crew. It is my duty to ensure everyone is safe. That includes my family and now, you too. I keep them safe from you, and you from particular overzealous siblings who may get too close, yoi." He filled the mug with hot warm water. There was another drawn out silence.

When the next words came, it sounded as if each word had been chewed and carefully crafted out. "You asked before why I trusted so unreservedly in my father. He listens to the concerns of the crew and he acknowledges them. I trust him because I know and understand that he makes his decisions in view of these concerns." He turned towards Ace, hot drink in hand, not seeming bothered by the heat that radiated off the mug. "I don't pretend to understand why he asked you to join the crew, but I trust that it was for a good reason that I don't see yet. That is also why I am here, to see for myself what my father saw in you."

The commander offered the drink to the stunned teenager. "And also because Oyaji had asked that I guide you should you need assistance, yoi," he added, casual and not at all offensive.

Ace's eyes shifted from the man's impassive features to the proffered drink. He did not know if he should feel affronted or flattered or just plain irritated at the admission. He considered upending the drink onto the pirate's lap, but the idea of defiance just made him feel more drained.

"If you spill this," Marco offered, "I'll have to tell everyone you fainted."

A dark red flush spread over the younger's cheeks. "You wouldn't!" he hissed in surprise.

"You don't know me enough to determine if I would or would not, yoi."

"So you're just going to tell everyone?!"

"There is no shame in being ill." Marco shrugged. "But I won't if you drink this."

Ace shot him a dirty look. "Fine!" he snapped. It was unfortunate his movements could not reflect the same annoyance when his hand trembled to take the drink.

Marco narrowed his eyes slightly at the sight. "Hold on." He got up again and returned a minute later with a much larger mug with a bamboo straw in it. "Here, this should help."

Ace only mumbled under his breath and took it in his hands. Marco's much larger hand guided his until the mug was nestled nicely on his lap. He ignored the warmth on his skin, and worked even harder to dismiss the reluctant warmth inside his chest. "Thanks," he muttered.

"You're welcome."

"This doesn't change anything. I may want to take on your captain, but I was taught to be polite."

"Alright."

"I'm serious!"

An amused lilt. "I understand, yoi."

There it is. Again, as it's specific scenes, there is no strong 'The End' to each chapter. Rather, each chapter seeks to show the interactions between Ace and crew members (ergo, Marco, Thatch, and you know the drill).

Do leave a review! If you have any requests, just drop me a suggestion. It might actually fit the storyline.