Chapter Text
You could feel you were being watched.
Ace’s gaze was burning a hole through you from somewhere across the room but you saw no reason to lift your head just yet. Not when you were still busy flipping through the last few paragraphs of the chapter and already knew what he wanted. Mostly.
The Moby Dick creaked softly around you, wood groaning beneath the slow push of the sea while warm afternoon light spilled through the open windows. Somewhere out on deck, laughter echoed faintly before fading again beneath the steady sound of waves striking the hull.
You finished the chapter and flicked to the next page, pulling down a small bookmark before you finally glanced toward him.
Ace lay stretched across the bench with his head resting on folded arms, freckles warmed gold beneath the sunlight pouring across his skin. His eyes were only half-open beneath the brim of his hat.
“You’d make a truly dreadful spy,” you told him simply.
You could practically feel the weight of his attention leave your face only to drift lower when you finally looked at him.
Ace sighed and opened his eyes fully. “How could you tell?”
“You snore very loudly when you’re asleep.”
“Then why do you always read where I’m sleeping? Even when everybody else clears out?” He turned over to look at you, smile more playful than accusing. “It’s suspicious.”
“Is it really? Or did Marco tell you that it’s suspicious?”
“Marco says everything you do is suspicious.”
You rolled your eyes and put your book down in front of you. “I’m well aware. He’s told me that at least ten times since I arrived.”
There was a level of awkwardness that came with being trapped on a ship of this size when the second in command and chief medic didn’t like you much. Well, trapped wasn’t the right word. You could leave at any time but you didn’t turn down an important favour just because your presence ruffled some pretty feathers.
“Do you find me suspicious Ace?”
“Nah,” he said. “Kind of weird, sure, but I don’t think you’re up to anything.”
You laughed softly, finding no trace of malice in his easy smile. “Your captain trusts me. That’s enough, hm?”
“Kind of but that’s also the weird part. You’re like exactly the type Pops would want to swipe up but I haven’t even heard him ask you to stick around. And most of us really enjoy it when you visit.”
“Marco doesn’t.”
“What does he know?” Ace snorted softly. “He gets strange about you.”
You shook your head at the jovial response. “For your information, Whitebeard has asked me no fewer than four times. But all of those times came before even you joined. You forget I’ve been visiting longer than you’ve been aboard, kid?”
Ace huffed, narrowing his eyes at you. “I’m not a kid.”
“Sure.”
“Hey, look, I have a kid brother so I know what a kid is, alright?” he griped, sitting up properly and tugging his hat back onto his head.
Brilliant logic. You laughed under your breath and reopened your book. “You should go back to your nap. I enjoy that it keeps most of the crew away from me.”
He crossed his arms. “Maybe I would have if you didn’t call me a kid.”
“I’m sorry,” you said sweetly and he laughed, throwing his arms above his head in a stretch.
You took a second to glance over the top of your book and watch the ripple of his muscles against the warm sunlight. He caught your look and grinned, flexing his chest until you shook your head and went back to your book.
“You can keep looking,” he offered.
“As much as I’m sure you would like that, I’m reaching the climax,” you said. “Very important chapter.”
“Ha, sure.”
Ace did end up falling back asleep, sitting upright this time with his head tilted back and his hat dangling off. As loud as his snoring was, you couldn’t deny it did offer you some peace from the rest of the crew as they avoided whatever room he’d passed out in.
Which, on your latest arrival, had almost exclusively been whichever room you were in.
You’d originally thought Marco put him up to it but the more you considered him now, the more you saw something different lingering there.
Mainly because Izou, ever your favourite source of reasonable conversation on board, made mention of it later that night after Ace had to be dragged away from his seat next to you in the dinner hall.
“It’s like a schoolboy crush,” he said. “Even when you’re not visiting, he brings you up at least once a week.”
“How sweet.”
“I think he’s almost got it worse than Thatch.”
You snorted with laughter. “No, that’s not a schoolyard crush. That one’s because I have a pulse.”
Thatch was the one you’d been dancing around for as many years as you’d been visiting the Moby Dick. Everybody on board knew it. Your arrivals were a trigger for the chef to take on a personal mission to steal your heart with sweetened words and even better food.
But as tempted as you were – and you truly were tempted – you never indulged in anything more than flattery. You knew yourself better to try and force your heart to settle with him alone.
“If you’re sure,” Izou said.
He was far too observant for your own good and he smirked at you when you gave him a look. “Doubtful?”
“I know Thatch as well as I know you.”
“And what is it that you’ve seen?”
A strand of hair fell in his face and you had to fight the urge to brush it away. You knew how silken his hair was – having run a comb through it so many times when he asked for your assistance. Assistance you knew he didn’t truly need.
“You’ve been staying longer,” he noted casually.
“Am I unwelcome?”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
You could guess. The Moby Dick had long stopped feeling like the maze it once had on your first arrivals. You knew which parts of her creaked, which floorboards shuddered. Where Thatch kept foods you could snack on when nobody was looking and you recognised Whitebeard’s laughter from even the far reaches of the ship.
The crew recognised you too. Some far more comfortably than others.
“You’ve been looking tired though,” Izou said and his voice was quieter, conversation meant only for you despite the din in the hall.
You smiled. “I’m fine.”
He watched you carefully across the table, dark eyes steady beneath delicately brushed lashes. There was no accusation in his expression and yet somehow that made it so much worse when he checked in on you. Very little escaped him when he paid attention.
“You worry too much.”
“And you dismiss concern too easily.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then Izou sighed softly and stepped around the table, long sleeves brushing against the wood as he reached for you. His fingers smoothed lightly along the fabric near your shoulder before adjusting the collar properly into place.
His touch skimmed your skin for only a second, brief and familiar enough to make you still automatically beneath it.
“You should rest tonight,” he said.
You smiled up at him, lost in his beautiful features for a second before you responded. How enamoured you were with him. It was unfair how you looked to him regardless of your life’s problems.
Speaking of problems though, you heard your name and turned your head toward Marco with irritation already in place.
“Come,” he said. “Pops wants to see you.”
You sighed and rose, brushing your hand over Izou’s arm in gentle appreciation. “We can talk more about this later.”
“Of course.”
Marco could have let you make your way to Whitebeard by yourself but instead he followed several steps behind, steps striking steadily against the wooden floorboards while lanternlight shifted gold across the hall with the ship’s movement.
You deliberately slowed your pace just enough to irritate him, sure Whitebeard wouldn’t mind. He often laughed loudly at his son’s aversion to you.
Behind you, Marco said nothing for a long while.
“How much longer will you be on the ship?” Marco asked and you glanced to him.
“You talk to me now?”
“When it’s necessary.”
You made a point of shrugging. “I don’t know, birdy. As long as I need to be. I’ll ask him this evening, alright?”
Marco gave you a sharp look at the nickname but didn’t rise to it. “I asked Pops about it and he seems to think you’ll still be around for a while. I had thought you might have something else to do.”
“I don’t have much to do that’s better than annoying you.”
“You don’t annoy me.”
“Right.”
“I don’t trust you. That’s very different.”
There was no point in continuing this conversation, you’d already had it twice on this visit alone. You had never claimed to fully understand Marco’s distaste for you but it certainly began when you wouldn’t share your connection to his captain. Overprotective. And according to most of the crew, this behaviour was mostly reserved for you.
Which was a shame because in another life, you would gladly have tried to steal a few moments of his attention.
But one unreciprocated interest wouldn’t kill you. You had others that were far more doting.
Whitebeard confirmed, much to Marco’s annoyance, that he wanted you to remain on the ship for a few weeks longer. You hadn’t even hesitated before agreeing. You left him to debate it with his first mate while you returned to the galley, hoping to find something small to nibble and instead being presented with delicately crafted pastries.
The galley smelled faintly of sugar and warm pastry when you stepped inside. Lamps cast a soft amber glow across the counters while the last lingering heat from the ovens wrapped pleasantly around your skin.
“What are these?”
Thatch looked far too pleased with himself, sleeves rolled to his elbows and flour still dusted lightly across one forearm.
“Thought you might be leaving and I couldn’t bear you not having something to remember me by,” he said with a grin. “But if you’re going to be staying, I suppose then they’re for celebration.”
You smiled at him, not reaching for the food yet, far more interested in the rich brown eyes you were staring into.
“I don’t know why I bother moving around the rest of the ship when I can get good company and even better food here,” you said. “All my needs fulfilled in one place.”
“And with absolute pleasure.”
“If you keep spoiling me so much, I’m going to think you have a different motivation.”
He chuckled good-naturedly. “I suppose you’ve caught me though I admit, I thought I was being quite obvious this entire time.”
“You have been.”
“And yet somehow, you still haven’t married me.”
You rolled your eyes and reached for a pastry on the plate, picking up your favourite and delicately taking a bite. Thatch watched you with proud satisfaction as you hummed happily around it. Obviously, he knew it was good.
“You’re very confident for a man whose greatest competition is his own cooking,” you said.
“My cooking has already won,” he said with a lazy grin. “I’m just waiting for you to realise you need me there too.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll have to keep spoiling you until you surrender.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“For you? Never.”
Before you could decide how to respond to that, voices echoed briefly from somewhere down the hall. You tilted your head over his shoulder and Thatch sighed dramatically at the familiar sound of his division.
“There goes my peaceful evening.”
“You do have responsibilities.”
“Maybe but you always tempt me to become irresponsible on your behalf.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, lips brushing dangerously close to the corner of your mouth. “Don’t disappear before I get back.”
You watched him step out with an undeniable fondness and reached for the next pastry when the door swung open again and Marco spoke.
“I had a feeling I’d find you here.”
“Good to see you too.”
Marco ignored your sarcasm entirely. He folded his arms loosely across his chest as he fixed you with the same tired expression he always reserved specifically for you.
“Do you encourage him on purpose?”
You raised an eyebrow. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
His gaze flicked to the pastries behind you before he glanced back at you, eyes narrowed. “I need you to stop distracting Ace.”
Ace? You frowned, confused now. “What are you talking about?”
He hadn’t entered the galley properly, as though doing so would trap him in a space far too small for both of you. Ironic considering the size of the place could fit the entire fourth division with ease. You didn’t beg for a response, just watched him. Him and his unfairly nice chest that became vastly more distracting whenever he irritated you.
“If you’re staying onboard longer, he can’t be this distracted. He’s missing things. Forgetting instructions. He follows you around constantly.”
You pressed your lips together. “Maybe he just enjoys the company.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“So, what? You think I’m going to corrupt him or something?”
“I think Ace gets attached too easily.”
“He’s a grown man.”
“He’s a twenty-year-old who throws himself at things without thinking about the consequences first. And you are not the one to teach him about them.”
You put down your dessert, getting offended now at his accusation. In everything you’d argued with Marco about int the past, this was something new entirely. He’d never become this annoyed at simple attention, not even when Thatch had first started.
What made Ace so special?
“Do you think I’m manipulative then Marco?”
“Aren’t you?”
Your jaw twitched. “You seem to be the only one who thinks so.”
For a second, silence settled heavily between you and then Marco pushed himself away from the doorframe. “I mean it,” he said as he turned away. “Leave Ace alone.”
The irritation that flared in your chest rose sharp and harshly. Your responses burned in your mouth but you didn’t bother to bark something after him. What a way to ruin your appetite…
You tucked the pastries away and left a note for Thatch thanking him before you retreated to your temporary quarters, slamming the door a little too hard behind you. Sometimes Marco really knew how to get under your skin. Manipulative, really.
You dropped into your hammock and reminded yourself that pushing him overboard would do you nothing. He could fly.
By the early morning hours, the ship had gone almost entirely quiet and your stomach was awake.
Only the distant groan of wood and the steady churn of ocean remained beyond the windows while moonlight spilled silver across the empty galley floor.
The pastries hadn’t been enough.
You stood at the counter finishing something small in the pan while warmth curled against your face from the stove. The sea beyond the windows looked endless in the darkness, black water reflecting faint streaks of moonlight whenever the ship shifted.
You could probably talk to somebody about what happened later but the irritation began to ebb away as you ate and pondered your thoughts.
Thatch may have had his whole division to clean the galley (and he’d assured you a hundred times it was fine to just leave everything out after your snacks) but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave any mess in his pride and joy. So, you cleaned everything far slower than you needed to until the creak of the door turned your head.
The bright orange hat stood out against the dark of the hall and ruined any attempts at stealth; destroyed further by the way he jumped when he saw you.
“Hello Ace.”
He looked confused to see you but far from unhappy, a pleased smile spreading over his face as he stepped in. “Hey! What are you doing up so late?”
“Cleaning up after a late-night snack.”
He glanced toward the pan you were cleaning and then looked around. “Thatch still up?”
You reached into your pocket and pulled out the key to the cupboard, twirling it around your fingers for him to see before you tucked it away again. “Nope.”
“Wow, you got unlimited access to the supplies? Huh. He must really like you.”
Was that a hint of jealousy? You raised your eyebrows at Ace who must have realised something crept into his voice because he hurried to hide the flush on his cheeks. You hadn’t thought he might get jealous of your relationship with Thatch but with Izou’s earlier warning in mind…
“I think he simply got tired of me waking him up whenever I got hungry,” you said, hoping the words soothed Ace’s heart somewhat.
He grinned at you in response, pulling his hat off and tossing it onto the counter. He snatched another cloth from beside you and stepped in to help you with the remaining two dishes you hadn’t managed to dry.
“I can handle this,” you teased.
“I know but company makes everything better.”
You smiled despite yourself, shaking your head slightly as you cleaned off the knife. It was one of your favourites in the kitchen with a smooth oak handle and a tiny engraving carved into the bottom. You had no idea where it came from but ever since you voiced your like of it, you’d noticed it stayed in its own separate spot in the kitchen, untouched unless you reached for it.
Ace sidled up next to you, his arm bumping against your own as he dried the plate and when your eyes flicked to him, he was already looking at you. You smiled and he immediately looked back at the dish in his hands.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re looking at me weird.”
“You were looking at me first.”
“Yeah, well…You’re nice to look at.”
You laughed softly and turned back to the sink. The bubbles popped away as you let cool water run over them. Even if it wasn’t much, you found his help with your small domestic chore undeniably endearing.
“So how are you finding the new life as a commander?” you asked.
Ace shrugged. “It’s a lot,” he admitted. “Fun but like I think Marco is trying to kill me with paperwork. And also nobody’s listening to me properly in the division yet which is annoying.”
“They’re getting used to you,” you said. “But I’m sure you’ll whip them into line quickly.”
He dried his hands, holding the kitchen towel a little too stiffly as you reached past him to take the plate. “I feel like I’m screwing something up every five minutes.”
“You’re doing fine so far.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I have eyes, sweetheart. Whitebeard wouldn’t have trusted you with this if you couldn’t handle it.”
The moment the nickname left your mouth, you saw his cheeks flame red. You gave him a second to recover, pretending you hadn’t noticed as you tucked the utensils away where you’d found them.
“Thanks. I know I’m strong,” Ace continued, quieter now. “That’s not the problem. It’s just… Feels like everybody expects me to know what I’m doing all the time.”
The words softened your heart slightly. For the first time since meeting him, he sounded less like the invincible young commander everyone boasted about and more like a man trying very hard not to disappoint everyone around him.
You sighed and closed the cupboard.
Slowly, you walked back over to him. He turned to you, expression lighting up for a second before panic set in as you stepped into his space. You lightly caught his jaw and he froze beneath your touch, pupils flaring wide when you smiled at him.
“You don’t need to be perfect,” you said. “Okay? Stop putting too much pressure on yourself. Do you think any of these idiots know what they’re doing?”
He swallowed thickly. “Do you?”
His voice cracked around the words and your eyes fluttered to his lips for just a second. They were very kissable. If that was what he meant then, yes, you knew what you were doing to him. It was painfully obvious.
“Most of the time,” you said. “Sometimes I doubt myself.”
Ace coughed and you let go of his jaw, trailing your fingers gently over the line of his throat to feel the warmth of his body. This was dangerous. Very much so.
But you couldn’t bring yourself to take that step away.
“Is something wrong?” you asked softly. “Maybe this isn’t what you want?”
“I…”
No further words escaped him but you waited, hand resting just beside his collarbone as his brain raced to catch up. You tilted your head to the side, waiting for him to do something. He reached for you slightly before he dropped his hands back to his side as though nervous to touch.
You took his hands instead, guiding them slowly to your waist. Ace inhaled sharply the moment his palms settled against you.
“I’m going to kiss you,” you warned softly. “So if you want me to stop, I need you to tell me.”
Ace stared at you like he’d forgotten how breathing worked. The kitchen suddenly felt far too warm, your bodies close enough that every uneven breath brushed against your skin.
You leaned in, close enough to feel his breath stutter over your skin as you gave him one last chance to move away before you kissed him.
Ace’s hands tightened at your waist instantly, fingertips pressing into the fabric there like the moment your lips touched he forgot every thought except you.
Heat rushed visibly through him. For one startled second his body went completely tense beneath your hands before he kissed you back hard enough to steal the breath from your lungs.
A quiet sound escaped him against your mouth, rough and helpless.
You softened the kiss instinctively before he could overwhelm himself with it but Ace followed immediately, chasing the contact. You drew back just enough to breathe and Ace stared at you with wide eyes, flushed from throat to ears, like you’d lit something inside him. He leaned in immediately and you raised a hand to his chest, nudging him gently back.
“Oh,” he said weakly.
You laughed softly despite yourself. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Okay,” he managed. “Wasn’t ready for that at all.”
“No?” you teased.
“No.” His voice dropped quieter. “Not even a little. But I really liked it.”
Ace still hadn’t let go of your waist.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The air felt strangely heavy, the kind that settled after a storm had broken open overhead. Ace kept looking at your mouth like he was trying very hard not to.
And you… you were beginning to think Marco might have had a point.