Well hello those of you that haven't abandoned the story! If, by miraculous chance, those that did originally plan to abandon the story are somehow here, I'd like to say a few words to you in general about the last chapter and this chapter:

I understand that tonally these chapters have been very different from previous ones. I understand where you're coming from in saying you didn't sign up for this and wanting to quit. But please consider there's almost two years between the last chapter and the beginning of the story that I'm going to go back and cover in waaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyy more detail later that will be tonally similar to the lighter chapters. So even if you aren't liking this particular story arc, please do check back in on updates – I'll post a little note at the beginning of each chapter saying if it corresponds to the unpopular plot arc or not. Please. I know you'll enjoy some of the other stuff I've got floating around in my brain, and I'd really appreciate if you'd give the story a second chance.

THAT SAID: THIS CHAPTER IS A DIRECT SEQUEL TO THE LAST AND THUS PERTAINS TO THE UNPOPULAR PLOT ARC. THE NEXT WILL BE SOMEWHERE ELSE IN THE TIMELINE, SO KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR THE NEXT UPDATE IF YOU DON'T LIKE THE ANGST AND TRAGEDY OF THIS PLOT ARC.

All right, warnings for this chapter include SADNESS, VIOLENCE, SWEARING (and SLURS), DRUG USE/REFERENCE, ABUSE (SEXUAL AND PHYSICAL) REFERENCE and SUICIDE REFERENCE. (Basically, if you're in a bad mental place, this chapter is probably/definitely not for you. This is a list of trigger warnings, if any of these topics in any way upset or emotionally hurt you, please please don't read)

ON THE MEDICAL REFERENCES IN THIS CHAPTER: I myself have never experienced the effects of drugs, and as such the information on them in this chapter is purely based on research I did. If something is inaccurate/wrong I apologize, but I did do some fairly extensive research (by fanfiction expectations, anyway) to strive for authenticity. That said, I did reduce the duration of the effects. By kind of a lot. Blame that on the reduced dose, even though in real life reduced dose affects the potency of response as well as duration, not just duration. Whatever. It's fanfiction. I did some research and did my best, but ultimately bent some rules to fit the story. Deal with it.

ON A THING THAT YOU'RE GOING TO READ AND AT FIRST BE PISSED ABOUT: Always consider the skew, source, and motive behind given information, then reassess its authenticity. You're going to read a thing in this chapter and be like, 'dude. No. That wouldn't happen.' What I ask is that you then consider where the referenced information came from and decide whether you think it's the actual truth or not.

Also I haven't finished my last input for MarcoAce week because I'm a lazy fuck. It's sitting in my folder like 1/8th done.

As said, this chapter takes place directly after the last. If you forgot what was going on, reread the last one.

The sound of some kind of commotion made it through the door into their makeshift prison. Sabo didn't pay it any mind, merely continued to stare down at Ace, speechless. Marco had fallen silent, his sobs temporarily stilled, looking up at Sabo nervously, and Ace held his smaller form protectively against him. Sabo was not on their side, as far as he was concerned.

There was noise from outside the room. Raised voices. Marco shied away, clinging tighter to Ace. Ace shushed him gently, instinctively, raising one hand to gently caress the base of Marco's hair, as the other Marco had soothed away his own panic attacks and nightmares so many times in the past.

"They said-" Sabo started.

"I don't want to fucking hear it. I don't want to hear your fucking excuse for this. Do you know who this is, that I'm holding? This is, genetically speaking, my half-brother. My mother had a twin sister, and this is her son. The only family I've got. The only family I've ever had, apparently. So if you think some weak explanation will make what's been done to him okay, then I will kick your ass so hard you'll-"

The door slammed open and when Ace saw Teach enter his mouth automatically snapped shut. Anger instantly evaporated, his strength with it, replaced with the same overwhelming horror as before. The whole situation came smashing back into focus. Ace's grip automatically tightened around Marco, and Marco whimpered against him, burrowing into his chest as if trying to hide. Ace could feel his accelerated heartbeat, nearly matching his own.

"Don't let them take me again, don't let them touch me, please, please, I can't- I can't-" Marco's speech, already weak, reedy whispers when he started rapidly mumbling, thinned out into hyperventilating pants in no time. He clung to Ace almost painfully hard, and Ace felt fresh tears dampening his hoodie. He had no comforting caresses or words to offer this time, though. The same breathless pleading was too busy streaming through his own mind.

"We're fucked," Teach snarled, addressing Sabo. He strode past him, and Ace felt his stomach curl up and die as he approached. Both Ace and Marco tried almost simultaneously to scramble backwards, but Teach was faster, grabbing a fistful of Ace's hair and dragging him forwards. Marco clung valiantly to Ace for another moment, but Teach kicked him brutally in the stomach and he autonomically recoiled. "Looks like you've screwed us over one more time, you worthless fuck." He started dragging Ace towards the door, out of the room. Ace's heartbeat was accelerating rapidly, pounding in his ears. Oh God. What now? What had he done wrong now? What fresh agony would his unknown mistake bring him? Teach yanked his hair cruelly and Ace swallowed a whimper.

"I don't unders-" Sabo began.

"He was fucking bait. This little bitch! They've been planning this!" Teach snapped.

"Who?" Sabo was following Teach, eyes flickering uncertainly to Ace and back again.

"The Whitebeards!" Teach was nearly shouting now, desperation poorly concealed under fury. "The motherfucking Whitebeards!" Ace felt his pulse stutter.

Stories of the Whitebeards were his version of the boogeyman, growing up. A ferocious, ruthless vigilante group. Merciless. Cruel. Vindictive. And they never missed a target, not once. One in each group of the attacked criminals would always be left alive, to spread the story. They stayed mainly in New York, but Ace had been told by his caretaker of the one time anyone could remember that they'd broken that boundary. The one time they'd come to Chicago.

Ace, only a few weeks old, had been the witness left alive after the Whitebeards murdered his father, the leader of the most powerful and influential gang to ever control Chicago, and his mother, Roger's wife.

That night had shaped Ace's life forever. He remembered being ten years old, sobbing in a graveyard, begging for his mommy and daddy to miraculously reappear. He remembered leaving that graveyard, heading back to his room with the jaded, disillusioned hollowness no ten year old should feel. He remembered the years of molestation and abuse, before he got smart enough to at least make people pay for the privilege. He remembered the years after that, the perverse but paid for sex that he tried to pretend he was actually consenting to. He remembered the horror of realizing he cared less and less each time, that it had become so mundane it was meaningless.

He remembered being bent over a bathroom counter and forced to watch the last shred of his soul be stripped away from him.

He remembered the first time he was held down, a needle full of a horrid combination of meth and heroin jabbed into the pressure point behind his ear, so its full effects would almost instantly hit his brain.

He didn't remember much after that, but the bits and pieces were hellish enough that he was glad of it.

None of this would have happened if, almost twenty years ago, his parents had had just another peaceful night in, no intruders, no weapons, no struggle.

All of the shit in his life could be traced back to their murder, to their murderers.

To the Whitebeards.

"They must've known we'd come for him so they've kept him close all this time, right under their fucking noses so they'd know the moment we stepped in-"

Slow realization felt like dying.

"-can't believe they were this fucking patient, though-" Ace couldn't breathe if he tried. "-and for them to even go so far as to pretend-"

"No," Ace whispered. Nausea and tears both rose unstoppably.

"I feel like I'm missing something," Sabo said. Teach looked about ready to hit someone.

"The motherfucking target! The blonde you almost killed! The one our little bitch has been playing house with!" Ace would willingly stab out his own eardrums. His heart was burning away in his chest.

"No, no, no," Ace sobbed quietly, tears dripping unheeded down his face. For all he didn't want to hear any more, his mind hung desperately on Teach's every word.

"That was the motherfucking Phoenix!" And Ace shattered. His sobs became breathless, desperate, so powerful he nearly choked on them.

"No, no, no, no, no," he sobbed, gaining breathy volume with each repetition. He wept shamelessly into his hands. "It's not true it's not it couldn't be he couldn't be-"

"They already killed Burgess which means they're only moments away," Teach said.

"What's the plan?" Sabo asked, now bearing the same intensity he always did in high-pressure situations. Teach scowled.

"We don't have time for a getaway and if we try we're fucked." Teach dragged Ace fully upright by his hair. Ace couldn't even bring himself to care anymore, he merely stared at the floor, sobbing. "It's a stretch, but maybe this bitch is worth something to them. We're fucked all around, but bargaining with him might get us an out."

"What should I do?" Sabo asked.

"If this," Teach yanked Ace's hair in emphasis, "goes to hell, we'll have to try to use the other one. The Whitebeards don't hurt civilians. Grab him, we don't have much time." Sabo shot a hesitating, conflicted look at Ace.

"…How are you going to threaten them with him? You're not packing, right?" Sabo asked.

"Easy," Teach said, reaching into his pocket. Ace couldn't see what it was he pulled out, but seeing Sabo's eyes widen, his lips part, Ace felt terror resurge. Sabo wasn't easily horrified. He felt a tiny pinprick against the sensitive, scarred skin behind his ear and completely froze. "According to our digging, the Phoenix spent quite a bit of time at the hospital watching our little bitch. He'd be sad to see his pet relapse, don't you think?"

"Please don't," Ace whispered, nearly inaudible. "Please, please, please don't-"

"Shut up, Ace." Ace's mouth automatically snapped shut, adhering to the order in some kind of effort at self-preservation. "And stop faking. You know you missed it." Ace felt bile rise in his throat.

Sabo remained frozen, the moment stretching. Ace knew it wasn't some kind of fraternal loyalty or affection keeping him there, but residual guilt from when Ace had been in a situation like this before. After only another moment's hesitation, self-preservation outweighed the rest, and he headed back into the room where Marco was.

The door wasn't banged or smashed open. The handle turned calmly, normally, and Ace heard Teach swallow nervously behind him. Three men strode in. Their clothes weren't remarkable – indeed, would have blended in on the streets, among the crowds of nightgoers – but in each case their faces were covered. Only one of the masks was singularly identifiable, as it was meant to be. A reputation couldn't be gained through anonymity, after all.

The Phoenix had gained his name in part from his mask.

The brow of it rose high and fierce, as wrathful as any Spartan hero. Blue and gold flecked the painted feathers, giving the illusion of ethereal fire. The beak of the mask was carved of bone or ivory, sharp, deadly, and hooked like that of an eagle. It added to the ferocity of the mask, the curve of it looking like a vengeful frown. The impartial coldness of his human mouth, partly visible beneath the beak, made the image all more surreal, and all the more terrifying.

It was like facing Montu-Ra, the Egyptian god of war.

Truly, as the vision before them strode into the room, he didn't seem human. The bizarre, haunting intricacy of the mask juxtaposed against the perfectly normal clothes was jarring and somehow horrifying. He felt like a nightmare, like a spirit, like some ancient deity of retribution reincarnated.

"N-No closer!" Teach managed to choke out only after the trio had crossed almost a third of the expansive room. Ace felt the needle jab deeper under his skin and squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing a whimper. The three did stop.

Here began the impasse.

Teach was holding Ace in front of him as some kind of shield, so firearms were out of the question, assuming Ace's life had any value at all. The syringe, already in place and Teach's hand ready to empty it into his brain at any moment, kept them at a distance, assuming Ace's health meant anything.

"We all know you aren't getting out of here alive. What's the point in any unnecessary death? Let Ace go, and your death will be fast and painless." It wasn't the Phoenix who spoke, but the man off to his right. "That's the best you can hope to get tonight." Ace felt Teach tense behind him. The Phoenix still had yet to speak or move, and the stillness was unsettling. He did nothing but stare, seeming not even to breathe. His eyes were more intensely focused than seemed possible for a human, and burned with the same intensity as the blue fire of his mask. The silence stretched, and in the complete quiet, Ace somehow felt it when Teach snapped.

"…The best I'm getting, huh?" he said, desperate, hysteric. "Well then, this bitch isn't getting any be-"

In one fluid, fast motion, the Phoenix drew a gun from some kind of holster at his back, raised it to eye level, and without even a moment's hesitation, fired. The bullet, shot from nearly two thirds of the way across the warehouse, caught Teach in the eye. Ace flinched, the bullet passing so close to his head he felt the displaced air as it whirred by.

He hadn't even taken half a second to aim.

At that distance, with a human shield in place? Even Sabo couldn't have made a shot like that, even given more time to aim.

The cold, impassive expression on the human mouth was as unchanging as the wrath of the bird.

It was still too late.

Teach's post-mortem grip on Ace's hair dragged him down with him as he collapsed. The fall pulled the needle from Ace's skin, and Ace felt its absence acutely. As soon as he was on the floor, he had a hand pressed to the spot, uncaring of the hot wetness of blood. His heart was pounding in his ears and he curled in on himself, clutching the fabric of his own shirt. Tears streamed down his face, and he made no effort to contain his sobbing.

The broken syringe bled the remaining, unused portion of its contents into the already stained carpet.

Ace crashed his eyes shut, feeling a simultaneous exhilarating chill and scorching burn rush under his skin. The sensation left him gasping, his pulse as loud and fast as a snare drum, beating a furious tattoo against his eyelids.

Reduced dose granted, that was still some potent shit.

Ace cried out and curled further in on himself as another wave of freeze-burn passed through his veins. He forced his eyes open, uncaring of the stabbing harshness of the light. He felt compelled to.

Teach's corpse beside him reanimated, standing up, then lying back down, over and over and over. Ace stared in horror, mouth open, brutal nausea stirring his guts. Finally Teach turned towards him, grinning, right eye shot out of his skull, no more than a vile mass of blood, brains, and optic fluid.

"Stop faking, Ace. You know you missed it."

His legs collapsed beneath him, splattering out in maggots and blood. His torso loomed beside Ace and Ace stared up at him in horror. Ace couldn't move away as Teach reached forward and, despite the fact that it should have been too big, stuffed his whole hand down Ace's throat.

Ace choked and gagged, clutching at his throat and convulsing, trying to pull away. His pulse was roaring in his ears like the din of warfare, and seemed to grow faster and faster. The lack of oxygen or the hallucinogenic affect of the drugs made the room spin, and if Ace weren't choking he'd be retching.

"You like it. Remember?" Teach asked, and as soon as the question was out of his mouth, despite the agony and suffering of the stimuli, an almost stunning wave of euphoria crashed over his mind. Teach's whole forearm was almost down his throat at this point and he still couldn't breathe, but he wanted to laugh. He tried to grin, and the movement of his face caused his jaw to tighten around Teach's arm. It popped like a balloon, a sticky mess of sugary-sweet, pus-yellow fluid exploding over Ace's face and down his throat. It spattered over his hair and face and he giggled, licking it like syrup from his own skin.

Teach collapsed backwards and Ace watched his chest inflate until it nearly touched the ceiling. His face was gone, replaced with that of a rat. Ace wasn't frightened or horrified by this, merely giggled and reached out, poking his now gargantuan torso. It had the texture and give of a rubber ball. He found it absolutely fascinating, and continued poking and prodding at it.

Someone reached out and grabbed his wrist, and for a brief instant, Ace saw his hand, covered with blood, and Teach's corpse, unmoving and completely human, beside him. Ace blinked and it was gone, the only thing remaining a small, black spot near the center of his palm. Ace stared at it, transfixed. The grip around his wrist pulled gently and he complied, sitting up and turning his body to face it, but still staring at his palm in wonder.

"Ace, can you hear me?" The voice was familiar, but Ace's attention didn't shift from his intent staring at his palm.

"Of course. There's nothing wrong with my ears," he answered absently. With his other hand, he prodded at the spot on his palm. He realized it had a slight bulge to it, and as he poked it it shifted under his skin, moving in response to his prodding.

"Ace, look at me, please." The voice was quiet, broken, and pleading. A hand pressed gently against the side of his face, and Ace turned his head obediently, reluctantly shifting his eyes off the bulge on his palm. He smiled dumbly at the masked face before him.

Marco stared into Ace's glassy, dilated eyes and fought back tears. He'd made the shot with all his usual precision, but he'd been a mere second too late. He pulled Ace forwards, wrapping his arms around him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I failed you." Ace hugged back, but the gesture felt automatic, insincere. Marco choked.

Ace stared at his palm over Marco's shoulder, at the black spot that now skittered beneath his skin without prompting. He swallowed thickly, the euphoria beginning to fade. His hand started shaking before his eyes. The bulging spot slid under his skin, moving from his palm to the back of his hand, and Ace felt his heart clench. He swallowed thickly, fighting back panic.

He released Marco's back but didn't pull away, only scratched desperately at the bulge under his skin. The spot merely skittered away, racing up his arm. Ace whimpered and pulled back from Marco, shoving up the sleeve of his hoodie and desperately trying to stop the black mass from progressing further. He was leaving red furrows in his own skin from his scratching, but didn't care. He had to get it out-

"Ace, stop it!" Someone had caught his hand as he reached again to claw at the black mass.

"Under my skin," Ace murmured breathily. "I have to get it out get it out get it out!" His words gained speed and volume as he spoke, and he tried to free his hand from the person's grip to no avail. The black mass scampered unhindered up and down his arm, not having yet gone so far as to explore his torso.

He was trembling now, panic rushing through his veins. His breathing was nearly as rapid as his pulse. "Get it out, get it out, get it OUT!" His voice rose in volume with each repetition as the spot again scaled his arm, but this time skittered across his collarbone. He tried to claw it away with his other hand, but before he could reach it that wrist was caught as well and held at bay. "NO! Let me go I have to- I need-" Ace screamed as he felt it move from his chest to his neck, climbing towards his face. "MAKE IT STOP IT'S GOING TO TAKE THE OTHER ONE-" His words, which sounded like nonsensical rambling to anyone else, made perfect sense to him.

The black spot was circling his left eye.

He was crying in his panic, he realized. He didn't care, except that his sobbing occasionally interrupted his screaming. He broke down, sobbing hysterically, trying to pitch forward so he could scrape his face along the floor and possibly rid himself of the parasite. Whoever was holding his wrists must have seen the beginning of this movement, for his hands were released momentarily in favor of arms being wrapped around him, binding him nearly entirely immobile. Ace wept against the person, writhing.

"Help me, help me, please, I'll do anything you want anything anything just please make it stop don't let it take the other one-" Ace cut off, crying out as he felt the mass dip closer to his eye.

"There's nothing there, Ace," a voice said. It sounded broken. "You're okay. There's nothing under your skin. Nothing is going to hurt you." The voice was thin, as if barely holding back its own tears. Ace whimpered, trembling.

"Please… Please… Please…" Ace didn't even entirely know what he was begging for anymore. The writhing sensation under his skin was fading somewhat, in its place a rising tide of hollowness. Despite the fading but still present sensation of the darkness under his skin, rationality was creeping back in. "…Help." The situation was returning, the removal from reality the drugs had provided beginning to fade away. Ace tried to claw through the remaining fog, to recall the urgency that had brushed momentarily against his mind. "He needs…help." Bits and pieces of reality were coming back, one by one, but more sluggishly than Ace knew thoughts could move.

The bulge had stopped moving under his skin, but he could feel it lingering there, just above his left eyelid. He shuddered, wishing desperately to rip it out. But that was secondary right now, there was something…more important…something he needed desperately to remember.

The urgency underwent mitosis. There were two things. Two things he needed desperately to recall. One was more elusive than the other, so he let it sit for now. He focused his attention, trying to get his mind to cooperate, to summon back the other pieces of whatever this essential thing was.

His eyes snapped wide and he writhed, trying to free himself of the person's grasp.

"Marco! He needs- He's in danger! And he's hurt! I have to-"

"He's fine, Ace. The others took him out of here a while ago, while you were still hallucinating. He should be at the hospital by now." The voice speaking wasn't coming from the person holding him. Ace turned his head slowly, trying not to upset the black mass on his face into skittering around under his skin again.

The voice had come from one of the nondescript figures that he had seen enter the room. In his fading hallucinogenic state, the bandana tied over the person's face looked like some kind of nightmarishly large smile that didn't move when he spoke. Ace swallowed hard, heart thudding. The person seemed to notice his resurfacing horror, for he almost instantly reached up to remove the mask. Something in Ace snapped.

"No, don't!" The person froze, hands at the knot behind his head. Ace didn't know what had prompted his desperate exclamation. All he knew was that it was essential that mask stay in place. "Leave it! …Please. I-" He didn't finish the thought. He couldn't explain why it was so important, only that it had something to do with the second urgent thing, the one he couldn't quite recall yet. Now that the first had been taken care of, Ace was picking away at this second one, trying to figure out what was so significant.

"Ace, do you want to go to the hospital? Are you hurt at all?" This voice came from the person holding him. Ace shook his head.

"No I-" something about the important thing picked at him, urged his next words, "I need to go home! I need-! I need-!" He tried to pull at it, to salvage more of whatever was so urgent. But it slipped away from him, further back into the haze and growing emptiness.

"Alright, alright," the person holding him murmured soothingly, trying to calm his sudden franticness. "We'll go home. Can you walk? We've got a car parked outside." Ace tried to stand and the person holding him instantly caught on, standing with him, supporting him. He was careful to still hold Ace's arms down, a fact which Ace despised. The black mass still hovered just above his left eye and he was terrified that at any moment, without its removal, it would smash down into his eye and take the remaining half of his vision.

With the person's help Ace staggered slowly across the warehouse-like room. Moving made the whole world feel like it was dropping sickeningly out from under him, but Ace pressed on. He had to get home. There was something absolutely essential about it.

As promised, there was a nondescript almost offensively ordinary car parked out front. Ace was loaded into the back seat by the person who'd helped him walk, and they climbed in beside him. They had to release his arms to get the two of them into the car, and Ace's hands instantly flew to his face.

"Ace, don't!" The person ordered and Ace froze. An order. That was an order. He dropped his hands even as he felt the black thing writhe horribly and agonizingly under his skin, all the conditioning of his life kicking back in.

He had to follow orders or they wouldn't give him more.

Already the hollowness clawing through his mind was becoming more pressing. So Ace clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to ignore the sensation of something burrowing under his skin.

He settled next to the masked man, biting the inside of his lip, awaiting his next order. He felt sick. He felt restless, antsy, anxious. The man needed to tell him what to do, what he wanted. He needed to, so that Ace could do his job.

But he was silent.

Ace swallowed nervously and fidgeted. Come on, tell me what to do so I can do it, so you can tell them I did a good job, so I can get more- Ace's high was fading fast now, a desperation close to starvation rushing up to take its place. The insect or parasite or whatever it was was racing under his skin, over his face, up and down his neck, around his torso, but he didn't move to antagonize it, despite the acute pain and nausea its movements made him feel. That was the one order he had been given already, and he wouldn't directly defy it.

Hesitantly, trying to prompt some kind of response, Ace leaned against the man beside him, nuzzling into his neck. The ride of the car was smooth enough it was almost undetectable. The movement wouldn't be perceived as anything but completely intentional. He felt the man stiffen, but after a moment, he relaxed. An arm draped delicately around his shoulders, almost protective. His hand brushed against the base of Ace's hair for a moment, then froze.

"Is this…Are you okay with this, Ace?" Ace resisted the urge to cock an incredulous eyebrow. Instead, he settled closer to the man, humming contentedly.

"Of course." Whatever the client wanted, of course. The man relaxed against him, caressing his hair tenderly, familiarly. The unknown urgent thing prodded again at his mind, but compared to the growing, starving void occupying his head, it became secondary.

Despite the terrifying, yawning chasm taking over his skull, Ace felt like his mind was shutting down piece by piece. After the unexpected chemical stimuli had devastated his brain with all the delicacy and discretion of a wildfire, Ace's brain was left reeling. In some kind of self-preservation tactic, perhaps to give itself the chance to attempt chemical rebalance, Ace's mind was nearly drowning him with fatigue. The smooth movement of the car was soothing, so much so that Ace felt himself dozing off, under the comfort of the ongoing caress against his hair. Semi-conscious, he only caught bits of the conversation.

"Is…asleep?" Ace couldn't be sure, but he thought that was the driver speaking. His muddled mind didn't catch all the words. A vague, affirmative noise came from the man beside him.

"…lucky…worse…reduced dose…withdrawals…" Ace only realized there was someone in the passenger seat when he heard a new voice.

"Do…he knows?" He felt the man against him stiffen.

"I don't know." Only the proximity of the voice beside him enabled him to hear what it said. The man spoke at a whisper, mindful of the 'sleeping' person against him. The urgent thing again pricked at his conscious, but was ultimately consumed by the lethargy.

The conversation fell to murmurs Ace no longer had the awareness to decipher, and he fell asleep.

Ace could only compare waking up to being in a devastating train wreck.

It wasn't, at first, that he had any severe symptoms of withdrawals or lingering, paranoid hallucinations from the destructive narcotic. It wasn't that he was in some kind of immediate, lethal danger – not yet, at least. It wasn't that the incredible rescue had been some kind of illusion or dream.

He wasn't woken by a blow. He wasn't woken by a shout. He wasn't woken by pain.

He was woken by a door being softly shut.

Sensation came back. He was lying down, still dressed. His shoes had been removed, but everything else immediately discernable still seemed in place. The weight of blankets pressed gentle warmth over his whole body. He was in a bed. A familiar one, at that. One he'd slept in consistently for nearly two years. His bed, in Marco's house.

None of these things were what made waking so terrible.

Clarity, and all the memories that came with it, were what devastated Ace.

Almost in a trance, Ace pushed back the covers and sat up. He felt lightheaded, vaguely ill, and completely terrified. He stood, swaying momentarily. He could hear voices downstairs, and movement. There was more than one person in the house, but no more than 4.

Ace passed through the doorway to his room perfectly in the center. He wished he'd collided with the frame like he used to. It would have been something familiar, something to anchor him. Everything felt wrong, felt inverted, felt strange. He felt lost.

He paused at the top of the stairs. The voices, ones Ace recognized almost inherently at this point, were coming from the kitchen.

"…hospital. Rakuuyo and Namur made sure he got there safe. There was no one in the back room with him, which was a bit odd. We were expecting a guard of some sort. Is it possible there was another that got away?" That was undoubtedly Thatch's voice, more serious than Ace had ever heard it.

"If there is, we won't find him now. He'll be long gone, probably off to another country if he still has the funds." Vista. Ace swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising tears. How far could his life burn down in one night? "He wasn't the leader, just a hitman if our informant was correct. He's not stupid enough to come after us on his own."

Ace descended slowly, taking each stair carefully. He heard the kitchen door creak familiarly on its hinges.

"Ah, Marco," Vista's voice was warm, welcoming. How Ace remembered it being, not part of this strange, dark world he'd suddenly been set adrift in. "…How is he?" Ace realized they were speaking about him now. He'd made it down the staircase. All that stood between him and the illuminated kitchen was a partially closed door. Ace felt resolve momentarily leave him and collapsed gently against the wall beside the door.

Marco sighed tiredly. "He's…He'll recover. It'll take time, but he came back from this once before, he can do it again, if given the chance. I just-" Marco sighed again, and Ace could picture him running a hand through his hair. "I fucked it up so badly. He shouldn't have to come back from this." Ace's heart clenched. So that was it, then. The shot in the warehouse just as well could have hit Ace for all Marco cared. Indeed, maybe they'd been meant to kill him there. He had no doubt he was next, though since they had gone to the trouble of bringing him back here, he couldn't help but wonder if his death would be as easy as Teach's.

The hollowness, the complete despair and agony of heartbreak, gave Ace the strength to stand again.

"He's asleep now, which is for the-"

"Not asleep," Ace said, stepping through the doorway. Three faces instantly turned towards him.

Vista and Thatch looked surprised to see him. Ace cast his eyes only briefly over them, recognizing their clothes as the same as the two other men who had rescued him in the warehouse. He swallowed thickly, turning to look at the last remaining face.

Marco, unlike Vista and Thatch, looked stricken, horrified, hand caught halfway between the table and his face, holding the Phoenix mask.

Ace's eyes lingered on it before shifting back up to Marco's face. He swallowed thickly, already fighting back tears. He wouldn't cry. Not here.

"Ace-" Marco started.

"So that's it, then?" Ace cut him off shamelessly. He was already going to die, what did it matter what he said now? "You. You're one of the Whitebeards. You're the Phoenix." Ace turned away, gripping the counter so hard his fingers ached. He couldn't look at him.

"Ace listen-" Marco tried again. Ace slammed his fists down on the counter hard enough that he was sure his hands would bruise.

"NO! I won't listen anymore, Marco! Not this time!" He swallowed back the tears, tried to make anger overwhelm sorrow. Teach's words from the warehouse came back to him. "No more pretending, Marco. You don't have to, anymore, it's okay! I know! So just drop the fucking act!"

"…Act?" Marco sounded simultaneously confused and horrified. Vista and Thatch looked as if they wanted to intervene, but were unsure of how to.

"That's right. The act. The funny little prank you've been playing for almost two years now." Ace almost choked on the words, but forced them out, ignoring the spasmodic pain from his chest. "So fucking clever, wasn't it? I bet you and your buddies had a nice laugh about how desperate and pathetic the druggie whore was, how willing he was to believe everything!" Ace was on a roll now.

"Ace that's not-" Marco sounded nearly as heartbroken as he felt, but Ace failed to hear the emotion in his voice.

"I bet you were starting to get real fucking nervous, too. You were probably starting to think you'd fucked up, that this bet wouldn't pan out, that they wouldn't come for me." Ace laughed humorlessly. "What would you have done then? Pushed me down the stairs? Had a nice, quiet execution out in a field somewhere? I was so fucking convenient, wasn't I, since nobody in their right fucking mind wants me." Ace was trying to bury his hurt, but it became progressively more apparent in his tone, the thickness of tears clogging his speech. "I wouldn't have even been reported missing. Nobody would have looked for me. I was so perfect for everything you had planned – bait that could be cut away at any time."

"Ace, no, God-" Ace wouldn't let Marco get a word in edgewise. Not now. If he stopped speaking now, he wasn't sure he'd have the strength to continue.

Ace let out a rush of air somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "You were such a good actor, too! I don't even know where reality ends and deception begins!" Ace hunched, tried to choke back a sob. It felt like everything that mattered had been torn away from him. He'd known all along that his relationship with Marco was unhealthily dependent, but only now as he felt like the whole world was collapsing did he realize how unhealthy.

Silence stretched, Marco too horrified and stunned to speak.

"…Tell me," Ace said quietly. "Which lies were the hardest to say? Which were harder to choke out?" Despite his efforts he was crying now, trembling faintly. But he enunciated each word, and his heartbreak seeped into his tone. "The times you told me I was actually worth something, or the times you told me you loved me?"

The pain was almost palpable as it hung in the air.

"…You're being cruel, Ace," Thatch said, almost involuntarily. Ace turned to face him, smiling incredulously, ignoring the tears on his face.

"I'm being cruel?" Ace spun to look at Marco. "Tell me, what would have happened that night if I hadn't had a sob story? What would you have done to me, pillar of justice, if I'd just been a defenseless whore, stranded far, far away from help and home? Would a bullet through my skull have been enough, or would you have felt the compulsion for something a little more poetic, a little more tailored to my exact crimes, a little more non-consensual?" Ace drew in a shuddering breath.

"You've used me. Right from the very beginning I never meant anything to you. I can't believe I fell for it. Two years of solid lies. My God." Ace shook his head in disbelief, tears dripping unheeded down his face. "And I'll bet as soon as you read my name on that case file you recognized me. It was Whitebeard that killed my parents, after all, and sent me careening into the shit I've been wading through for my whole life."

"Ace you've got it so wrong-" Vista tried. Ace cut him off, his attention solely focused on Marco. Realization had hit him like a truck.

"And this is the biggest laugh of all for you, isn't it? This is the fruition. This is the punchline. This is why you didn't kill me in the warehouse. Because you wanted to see this. You wanted to see my reaction to this world, this life, the best thing I've ever had shattering in front of me." Ace gave another choke of humorless laughter. "Well, congratulations. Here's your prize." He indicated himself, the mess of tears, the blooming bruise on his cheek from where Teach had hit him. Ace took a few steps forward so he stood just before Marco.

"I have one more request. Don't worry, it'll be easy." Ace sniffed, face drawn, all hurt removed from his expression.

"Hit me," Ace said matter-of-factly. Marco stared back at him, speechless, broken. "Go on. Hit me. Do it." The tears and pain were rising again to Ace's face. He shoved Marco's chest. "Do it! Go on! Make yourself just like every other meaningless, abusive, monstrous fuck in my life! Do it!" He shoved Marco again, harder. Marco still didn't respond. Ace sobbed. "Do it! I need you to do it! Do it so I can finally, finally convince myself you're just like them! Do it so I can convince myself I don't love you!" He stared up at Marco, tearstained, only as long as it took him to realize Marco wasn't going to strike him. Then he turned away once more, facing the door.

He felt empty. Spent. More broken than he knew he could be. Everything was gone. He had nothing left. No more anger, no more love excepting the heartbreak, nothing. Nothing worth holding onto, nothing worth the pain he was in, the deadness he felt. He was shaking, and his breathing was uneven. He swallowed hard.

"You've twisted it, Ace," Marco choked. Ace stiffened, hearing his voice, but didn't turn back.

"…I'll take the last remaining problem out of your hands. You guys can place bets on how I'll do it, if you'd like." Ace's voice sounded hollow. "Even I haven't decided yet. Who knows. Maybe I'll step in front of a bus, or buy a straight razor, or jump off a bridge." He heard a sharp intake of breath behind him, but he was already moving, already leaving. He was sprinting as fast as he could. He wouldn't let them catch him.

"Goodbye. Don't worry, you won't have to see me again," he called over his shoulder.

They had manipulated, controlled, and ruined his life. They wouldn't get to dictate his death.

Bitch stop callin' me,

Bitch stop callin' me.

Haruta groaned and rolled over, the phone vibrating and ringing on the small dorm-provided dresser waking her from deep sleep. She opened her eyes and squinted blearily. Her late-night ringtone would have worked better if it played for whoever was calling.

Bitch stop callin' me,

Bitch stop callin' me.

I ain' gon' pick the phone up-

Haruta's hand fumbled along the top of the dresser until she seized the offending device. She squinted almost blindly at the caller ID.

Dumbass' Boyf

Marco? What was he doing calling her at almost 2 in the morning?

She clicked the accept button and groaned into the phone to prove her identity and level of awareness.

"Haruta it's Marco." Marco's voice was desperate, terrified. The tone alone made Haruta sit up and pay attention, instantly alert. He was panting, as if running. "Is Ace there with you?" Haruta blinked, fumbling for a response.

"Uh, no, it's 2 in the morning, I haven't talked to him since day before yesterday. Why, what's happened, what's wrong?" she asked, Marco's anxiety seeming to seep into her as if it were a verbally transmitted disease. There was a long pause while Marco seemingly calculated his response.

"…We had a fight. He's- He's in a really bad emotional place right now, Haruta, and he ran off and I'm terrified he's going to do something drastic. He won't answer my calls or text messages, but I hear it ring so I know his phone is on-"

"What did you two fight about?" Haruta was already climbing out of bed, the phone set to speaker mode, her changing out of pajamas and into something more suited for combing New York's streets in the dead of night. It wasn't that she was trying to play couple's therapist right now. Depending on what Marco and Ace fought about she could deduce how serious the situation actually was.

"…That isn't important." Haruta paused, ire flaring.

"Marco, lying is probably what got you into this mess now answer the damn question!" she snapped. A small stretch of silence she used to pull on an overlarge sweater.

"He thinks I've been manipulating him," Marco said finally. "He's misinterpreted some serious information and thinks I've been using him, that I've been lying about caring for him." Marco sounded broken and terrified and alone and wrung out and for the first time that night, Haruta felt real sympathy for him. "Haruta the things he said- He's going to try to kill himself and I don't know where he is and I'm so scared, Haruta, I'm just so, so scared…"

"Where are you right now?" Haruta was pulling on her boots, tying them hastily.

"Cliffside Park."

"Alright." This was really fucking bad. She wouldn't say as much aloud, but they were in trouble. This was New York City. It would be child's play to hide among the throng of people, buildings, and streets. If Ace truly didn't want to be found, he'd picked one of the best places in the world to disappear. "I'm going to try calling Ace. Keep looking. Try to get as many people as you can looking too."

After Marco's affirmative answer she hung up only to scoop up her phone and call a different number. It rang once. Twice. Three times. Haruta held her breath, the horrible image of Ace's shoes and phone left in a neat little line on the GWB.

"Haruta." She only realized the phone had been answered when she heard Ace's broken, empty voice. "What are you doing up?" His voice was so hollow it almost hurt her to listen to it. It was like he didn't care about anything anymore.

"Working on the new song, Ace." Lie. But Ace had no way of knowing that. "Remember, you gave me the lyrics on Friday?" She spoke only a bit more gently than normal. Regardless of emotional state, Ace hated feeling patronized. "I came up with an arrangement I think you'll really like. I was hoping I could get your opinion on it, since you're up anyway?" It was stupid and a bit of a cheap play, but Haruta knew what she was doing.

She had to give him a reason to keep living.

Regardless of how tiny or insignificant it was, she knew Ace needed something to cling to, something to hold him to life. He needed a reason to keep going, some objective to strive for next in order to make staying alive seem more worth it. If she could find a reason for him to keep living, even if only long enough for her to get to him, wherever he was, she could keep him alive.

"My phone's out of memory space so I can't send you a recording. How about I come pick you up and I can play it for you here on the keyboard?"

Silence. Haruta grew more nervous, more desperate. She didn't let it show in her voice.

"Come on, Ace. Don't be mean. I need to know if I'm taking this in the direction want it to go or not, and sooner is always better than later if you want me to have a new arrangement by next week. Come on. Don't tell me you don't miss my 3 AM Kraft Mac 'n Cheese. It's my culinary masterpiece." Silence, but Haruta felt she could sense some hesitation on the other end of the line. She softened her voice. "Come on, Ace. You know it always tastes better when you share it with someone else. You'll make the chef sad if she has to eat her masterpiece alone." She heard Ace's breath shudder, like he'd started crying. She pretended not to notice.

She hated herself for it, but if she had to lie again to save her best friend's life, so be it.

"…Okay, I'll level with you. I had…I had another fight with my dad. It was the same old shit it always is about my gender and everything, and I know by now it shouldn't get to me, but I- it's different, when it comes from someone you really care about." She heard Ace choke on a sob on the other end of the line. "I…I need your help, Ace. I need you here with me, right now, to watch stupid chick flicks and eat a few pints of ice cream. Please." The plea at the end was as honest and sincere as she'd ever said anything in her life.

"F-Federspiel and English. I'm at- I'm at the bus stop there. P-Please come get me." Ace's crying was obvious when he spoke, and his voice was filled with grief and heartbreak, but the hollowness was at least temporarily gone. She smiled softly.

"I'm on my way," she murmured.

"Haruta-" he said quickly.

"Yes?" she asked gently.

"St-Stay on the l-line with me."

Because of the hour, she ended up having to drive her moped. She never really liked the thing – it felt cutesy and a little wimpy – but it got her across the city to Ace's specified location quite quickly since the traffic was nonexistent.

When she parked just beside the stop, he didn't move. She hopped off the little bike, unstrapping her helmet and leaving it hanging from the handlebars.

Ace was sitting on the bench of one of those shoddy bus stops with the peeling advertisements and leaky roofs. It did have two light bulbs attached to the roof, even if one of them flickered and guttered occasionally.

He looked like hell.

Granted, the harsh fluorescent lighting didn't look healthy against his semi-pale complexion on the best of days, but right now he looked like a corpse. He heard her approaching, for his head lifted, turning to look at her. Her eyes widened and her breath caught.

I'll kill him. I'll fucking kill him.

She raced over the last few paces, stopping before Ace, taking his face in her hands. She delicately brushed the bruise on his cheekbone. "Oh my God, Ace. Are you okay?! Who did this to you?! Are you hurt anywhere else?! Did- Did Marco-" Ace flinched at the name, but responded quickly.

"No, the bruise is from someone else. And I'm not…hurt." His voice was a little bit hoarse with the wear of tears. She mutely wondered how many times he'd cried that night.

Ace seemed unwilling to move, and now that she was here with him Haruta was okay with him wanting to stay here a little longer. So she sat next to him, her minute form dwarfed beside his. She wanted to ask about the bruise. She wanted to ask about the fight with Marco. She wanted to ask about the dried blood she could see under his hair, below his ear. But she didn't. She knew Ace needed time before those questions would do more good than harm.

It was in the few hours of the morning where the busses ran so sparsely that they only saw a few, but by the time Ace spoke again, Haruta knew it had been a long, long time.

"Haruta?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah?" she responded. He had his head tipped back, but his eyes were open, staring past the roof and into the sky.

"Am I…Do I deserve to be alive?" Christ, what did he say to him?! I swear to God, I'm going to scream Marco deaf if I don't kick his ass to hell first. Despite her immediate impulse to respond affirmative, she somehow sensed that Ace's search for validation couldn't be left to just her.

"…Do you remember that time when those assholes called me a dyke? And then you showed up and without even doing anything to them, managed to humiliate their leader so much they practically ran away?" She saw Ace's face furrow slightly with confusion, but he nodded. "Do you think that was a good deed? A good thing you did, defending my identity for me, even though you barely knew me at the time?" Ace didn't respond, merely looked at her uncertainly. She nudged him gently. "The answer to that question is yes, dummy." She straightened. "Well, that one good deed helped affirm me in who I am and who I want to be. And just that one little lingering bit of good lets me be just that little bit freer with who I am. And just that little bit of extra freedom might let me give a really good speech one day, or apply for a medical degree I wouldn't have had the courage to apply for otherwise. And say I did become a politician or a medical researcher because of that little bit of courage. And then say I changed the world for the better. That whole chain of events and all the cumulative good that comes from it is undeniably traceable back to you. Back to your good deed. I am going to change the world someday, Portgas D Ace. You better believe it. So you being who you are at that specific place at that specific time taking that specific side and position in that argument has shaped the whole future for the better. You've changed the world! Would you ask if Ghandi, or Martin Luther King Jr deserve to be alive? They changed the world the same way you did – with words that affect the hearts of other people. If they deserve to live, so do you. Even if that one moment of kindness you gave me is the only justification you have for your existence, the amount it impacted my life and altered my future means you, sir, are a worthwhile, powerful, and wonderful person. Never, never doubt that just you, as you are, are the most radiant and affirming person I've ever had the honor of knowing." A tinge of predawn light brushed the very edges of sight. Ace had his head tipped back against the plastic of the backrest, his eyes closed.

"Haruta?" His voice was thick again.

"Yeah?" A single tear slipped out from his right eye, but it was defied by the injured but glowing smile on his face.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Hey guess who doesn't know how New York busses work? So I just kinda guessed. The GWB for any of you who don't know is a bridge in New York City that's one of the most popular suicide spots in the city.

I had more to say here but I've forgotten it all. Maybe I'll come back and add to this later. Or maybe I'll still be a lazy fuck and not do any of the things I say I will.

OH RIGHT THIS IS ACTUALLY REALLY QUITE IMPORTANT: As some of you may have noticed, there was quite a break between the last chapter of this story and me writing anything on this account (MarcoAce Week 2014 was my first reappearance in a long-ass time). This is because I got some negative reviews for the last chapter of this story that actually super discouraged me and sent me into a little bit of a spiral of self-doubt. ^u^; Anyways, to cut a long story short, for the sake of my self-esteem and continued writing, please don't post negative reviews – you are welcome to have your negative opinions and even to stop reading the story if you so please, just please don't share those with me. They're quite destructive to my creative capacity, I was left with writer's block and anxiety for a few months after the last chapter's negative responses. I don't mean to sound whiny or weak, but writing is the one area where I can't take criticism because it's one of the things I really value about myself. So please, just keep negative comments to yourself for now. Thank you for your understanding and compassion.