Chapter Text
Portgaz D. Ace's plan to kill Whitebeard, one of the four Emperors, was going surprisingly well despite the hiccups. His crew was scattered amongst the Emperor's fleet but they were safe, and Ace had to trust that that was true, that these pirates who were vying to make Ace their 'brother' were not lying. Ace himself was currently flying through the air and was a few feet above the stirring ocean - the 'leaping from the top of Whitebeard's chair and swinging down an axe on his head' plan had failed.
But, in no time at all, once he had hit the water and sunk a foot or two someone would dive and lug him back onto the deck.
Ace crosses his arms, sucks in a lungful of air and closes his eyes just before his back smacks into the sea's surface.
He opens his eyes to see a shark fishman leaning over him, his head tilted so that Ace is looking directly into one eye. Ace sits up - the fishman quickly moving back - and blows air out of his nose, dispelling the water that had gotten trapped during his swim. He flashes with heat and his clothes dry out quick, leaving him cloaked in a pleasant fuzzy warmth.
With a hup, Ace leaps to his feet.
"Thanks, Namur." Ace pats the fishman's shoulder. The Commander had been the one to fish him up when Whitebeard knocked him over the side of the ship following one of Ace's numerous attempts on his life - he expected the routine to continue for as long as Ace was on the Moby Dick and aiming for the old man's head.
Namur clicks his teeth once in response, "I'm supposed to tell you that we're docking in a few days."
"Oh?," Ace turns on his heels, stretching his arms up, humming when something pops in his back. "I thought it was getting a bit cooler, is it a winter island?"
"Autumn," Namur corrects.
Ace sets his hands on his hips and looks around, "Hey, did you see where-"
"Here you go, Ace!" A Whitebeard pirate, Juli, he thinks, hands him his axe. "It flew a bit but at least it's not broken."
"Thanks." Ace would have to set it back in his cabin before he did anything else. The axe's sole purpose was to swipe Whitebeard's head from his shoulders, so really there was no reason for him to lug the weapon around now that his plan had been thwarted.
.
.
"Open," Kono presses the rice filled spoon against Ace's lips.
Ace obliges and hums when a rich taste blossoms on his tongue. He makes quick work of chewing and swallowing the soft grain before re-opening his mouth to be fed more. All of his meals had been eaten in this fashion: plated for him personally by the fourth division commander and set before him while a random Whitebeard pirate spoon fed him, and in some cases, even hand feeding him.
Drinking had would go in the same fashion, poured for him and held for him as he drank. If liquid were to drop from his mouth, or he fumbled with the food in his mouth, whoever was feeding him would make quick work of wiping it away.
"How was tonight's dinner, kid?" Thatch asks, taking the empty plate away, stacking it on a passing crewmate's own plate before sliding a platter of muffin cakes in its place. "If it was anything less than perfect, I don't want to hear it. You could stab me through the heart and it would hurt less."
Ace chuckles at the man's dramatics, "I have no complaints."
Dessert was served and fed to Ace by the Commander himself, tonight would be no different. Thatch settles beside him and picks up a cake, "I took into account what you said about last night's batch so these shouldn't be too sweet. They should be just right."
Ace bites into the offered cake and moans. It was like Thatch had said, the sweetness was toned down and the taste wasn't as overwhelming. The cake was bouncy and Ace could not get enough of it. He chewed and swallowed and accepted the remaining half, mouth closing around the chief's fingers, suckling at them unconsciously.
Thatch feeds him cake after cake until the plate is cleared. Ace pats his stomach in appreciation. His stomach had been filled each night since he had stopped denying himself the Whitebeard Pirate's hospitality, and in a similar way, his heart no longer clawed at it itself with a hunger of it's own.
It had settled into a slight ache. He could ignore it so long as his thoughts remained in the present.
.
.
"Ace.. It's time to wake up.."
Ace groans, turning over. The sun was peeking over the horizon, he could tell. His fire was flickering to life but he wanted to stay asleep a little longer.
"Ace," a soft palm rests on his shoulder, rousing him gently from his slumber. The touch was warm and inviting. So he woke up.
"There you are," May smiles down at him, untangling Ace from his sheets.
Ace rubs his eyes before swinging his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet slapping the wood. May took his hand and he gets up when she tugs gently.
They exit the room and walk through the halls to the baths, passing crew mates as they come back from working the night and those that are going to the mess hall. They greet the pair as they pass, some even placing light touches to Ace. His hair, his arms, his face.
The bath is slow and methodical. Ace is almost nodding off when May is finished. His flames puff up, drying him in an instant while the woman grabs the clean clothes that had been left outside the door for him. His dirty clothes had been taken away to be washed and dried so it would be ready for the next morning.
Ace steps into the shorts when directed, mumbling that he could have zippered and buttoned them on his own. He has no complaints when his arms are guided through the holes of his shirt. The front is left open.
These baths had become routine, although whoever bathed and dressed him changed day by day. The first time had been humiliating and Ace had burned the Commander who was handling him. He had refused to leave his room, forgoing food in order to avoid the Whitebeard Pirates. It had taken Thatch to coax him out, promising to feed him all of his meals personally for a week.
..The trade had been well worth it until the Whitebeard pirate who had come to collect and bathe him had turned out to be a woman. That particular instance had him red and flaming with embarrassment.
It was some time before Ace was able to be bathed by May or any of the other women without turning red and curling into himself.
Bath now complete and dressed for the day. Ace headed for the mess hall, breakfast on his mind.
.
.
Ace has grown comfortable on the Moby Dick, among the Whitebeard Pirates. He has friendships with nearly every crewmate, not to mention the bonds that have been created and nurtured with the Commanders, and with the recent addition of his own crew to the ranks of the Moby Dick; he is ready to take that leap, that final step in what could be the rest of his life.
He talks to Deuce first, as he had done several times before and would continue to do so even if he got the answer he so craved. Deuce was his closest friend. Deuce was the man he had survived Heaven with, and the man that he would want to have with him if they were ever to return to that island.
Deuce is waiting in his room, sitting on the bed and flipping through his personal journal - his chronicle of adventure. Ace had seen the man write in it every time they anchored at a new island, after every fight, and sometimes after he or a crew member said something particularly interesting or humorous.
Ace sits beside the man.
"I'm going to tell the truth tonight," Ace says. The statement is vague yet both men understand what is being said. A secret that had been shared when they were less than men and clinging to the last vestiges of themselves. One that had torn them apart as much as it brought them together.
"So this is the end of the Spade Pirates, of our chronicle of adventure.." Deuce opens the journal to the last entry, when they had been transferred from one of the Mini-Mobys to the main ship.
Ace shakes his head, "You'll have more adventures, I'm sure of it. It'll just be different. Your chronicle of adventure can still continue, Deuce."
"I won't keep you here." If here is where I'll stay.
Deuce scoffs, his eyes misting with emotion, "You're a bastard. You know I'm not leaving you." I swore my life to you, Portgaz D. Ace, and I meant it.
"I'll just have to write a new type of chronicle of adventure," Deuce decides, wiping the tears from his eyes.
Ace leans his shoulder against Deuce's, the man leaning back into him. They stay like that for a few silent minutes. Deuce thumbing his journal while Ace charted their future, letter by letter.
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When Marco goes to check on Pops in the early morning, refreshed from sleeping the full night rather than being startled awake by a crash that usually followed one of his littlest brother's midnight assassination attempts; he's pleasantly surprised to find said little brother curled up on their father's chest.
His sisters' insistence that Ace was 'adorable' when the boy was asleep was true, Marco had to begrudgingly agree. There were few words that could describe the sight before him, and the one that immediately came to his mind was: puppy.
"Good morning, my son." Pops rumbles, stroking a finger down Ace's back. He smiled when the boy grumbled and pressed closer into the older man's pecs.
Marco sits on the bed.
"You're in a good mood," the Phoenix comments. Eyes locked on his little brother, watching how his back rose and fell with every slow, peaceful breath. He wanted to reach out and stroke the young man's cheek, so he did. Ace twitches but stays asleep, a small smile blooming on his lips.
Pops' good mood and Ace's complete comfort atop the Emperor could only mean one thing.
"My son has come home to me."