Chapter Text
One Year After Marineford
Standing in front of his own grave was a deeply strange and unsettling feeling. He could see his old hat and knife, along with the red beads he’d worn around his neck, hanging from a pair of crossed sticks on top of the stone marker.
Someone must have restrung the beads, he realized. Of course, whoever placed them could have bought lookalikes. But there were scorch marks and dark stains on a couple of the beads.
Someone had collected them from the battlefield, restrung them, and placed them on his grave.
Someone had retrieved his hat and knife from where he’d fought Teach, or from Marine custody.
Ace reached out, his fingertips brushing the brim of his orange hat before dropping to the cool, smooth stone that marked the memorial the surviving Whitebeard Pirates had erected for him and for Pops.
Ace had known that the other Commanders loved him. He knew that his former Spades loved him.
But this grave was adorned with the items he had loved most, surrounded by soft grass and a scattering of wildflowers, at the crest of a hill overlooking the sea.
Yes, it was small compared to Pops’ memorial, as it should be, but…
He could feel love from his former crewmates, his family, in how they had set up and decorated their memorial for him.
He could feel their grief, the way they must have felt so heavy, yet so empty at the same time, as they carved the stone and placed Ace’s belongings.
It hit him, then. The Division Commanders didn’t know he was alive. Neither did the former Spade Pirates. He had known that, sort of. He knew Law had plucked him from the battlefield more dead than alive, and he knew that Law hadn’t contacted any of the others since.
But he hadn’t thought about what that meant.
That his Whitebeard Pirate family, like Sabo once had, believed he had died on Akainu’s fist. They had mourned him. They had built a memorial for him. They hadn’t hated him after his death, even though Ace had been sure that with him dead, Pops’ death would have felt like it was for nothing.
But they loved him anyway. They had loved him in his life, and they loved him even when they thought he was dead.
Even though Pops’ death was his fault. Even though so many people - their friends, allies, their family - had died to save him.
Would they still love him when they found out he was alive, in hiding, letting them believe he was dead?
Ace shook away that last thought - he didn’t want Law or the others to notice, in case someone figured out what he was thinking and tried to reassure him - and looked up at Pops’ grave.
The stone was larger, and his naginata had been buried in the stone. The Whitebeard Jolly Roger flew from the top of the polearm, and Pops’ coat was affixed just below it.
The Heart Pirates clustered around Pops’ grave. Those who hadn’t known him well touched the stone and murmured their respects before moving away, giving space to those who had known Pops better.
After a few minutes, only a handful of them were left by the gravestone. Marco, of course, with Cora, Law, Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin clustered together in the shadow of Pops’ memorial.
Bepo sat, his giant, fluffy head shoved against Law’s sternum. His shoulders shook, and Ace realized the polar bear mink was crying. Law’s head was bowed over his best friend, talking quietly to him. Shachi and Penguin leaned together, shoulder to shoulder, quiet for once.
Cora looked small, standing beside the memorial, hunched as he rested a hand on the blade of Pops’ naginata. Marco looked even smaller, standing closer to Cora than usual, close enough that Ace wasn’t surprised when Cora lifted his arm and Marco tucked himself silently against Cora’s side. Ace caught a glimpse of Marco’s face, and the tear tracks glistening on his cheeks shook Ace to the core.
Marco was the strongest person, both physically and emotionally, that Ace knew aside from Pops. Cora was an emotional anchor, not just for Law but for all of the Heart Pirates. He kept them grounded, and seeing him silently rubbing his thumb along Pops’ naginata blade while he held his husband close with his other arm was sobering.
Bepo didn’t cry like that often. He could be dramatic, and sometimes shed a tear for the effect, or cried over Law’s injuries, but the silent, body-shaking sobs that came over him as he sat before Pops’ grave wasn’t something Ace had seen before.
And Law…Ace couldn’t see his face, or hear what he was saying to Bepo, but he knew that Law had to be trying to keep it together for the others. He always put his family first, even when he was hurting.
And Law was hurting, just as much as or more than his crew members.
Ace knew how much family Law had lost. He knew that losing Pops would hit Law hard.
Law and the others had known Pops so much longer than Ace had. He’d only been with the Whitebeard Pirates for a couple of years, but Law and his closest family had known Pops for ten years. Ace loved Pops with his whole heart. He adored him, idolized him, would have died for him in an instant.
But Marco had known Pops, looked up to him, loved him, for decades.
And Ace had taken that all away from them.
Ace had wished more than once since the war at Marineford started that he could die. Since he’d woken up after the battle, he’d wished multiple times that he had died instead of Pops.
His own love and grief for the kind old man who had taken in a wayward brat who didn’t know how to love or be loved by anyone except Luffy and Sabo, who had lived out of spite more than a desire to keep existing, had been overwhelming.
Now, Ace felt crushed beneath the weight of the others’ grief.
Ace considered retreating, but couldn’t make himself walk away from Pops’ memorial.
He thought about walking up to it, laying a hand on the stone, but he couldn’t bear to interrupt the others in their mourning.
So Ace sank to the ground where he was, his knees thumping softly into thick grass that might as well have been the rough wood of a scaffold.
I’m so sorry, Pops. The words started to form in his throat, but he swallowed them back.
He couldn’t interrupt the others’ grief when he was the one who had caused it.
Ace wanted to bury his face in his hands, but the thought crossed his mind that it would feel like hiding from the grief, hiding from the guilt, from the fact that it was all his fault.
He was reckless, he disobeyed.
He had betrayed Pops’ and even Law’s trust by going after Teach alone.
Now Pops was dead and Law didn’t have his grandfather. Cora and Marco didn’t have their father. Bepo had lost Thatch forever, and Shachi and Penguin hadn’t seen Izou in a year. There was no telling if they’d ever see him again.
And it was Ace’s fault.
Maybe if he’d been stronger, or been smarter, or if he hadn’t put his own grief and fury first…
If only he hadn’t been so selfish.
He’d been so furious after Thatch’s death, after Teach’s betrayal, that he had left Pops and the others to clean up his mess.
And Pops died for it.
Ace curled forward, half because he couldn’t hold himself upright any longer and half because he owed Pops some kind of apology.
Grass tickled his forehead, and Ace wished fiercely for the rough wood of the execution scaffold.
If he could go back, trade his ego for patience, trade his selfishness for obedience to his captain, his father, he would.
If he could trade his life for Pops’, he would.
Ace’s fingers latched on to the edge of the empty square in his chest that lay beneath his shirt.
Where Law had taken his heart to keep track of him, to show his care.
Law had saved Ace’s life, even after everything, but for what? What was the point in living if Pops was dead because of him? What was the point in making the Heart Pirates put up with him when he’d taken so much from them?
Ace had wished for his own death more than once in his past, longed for it even. But in that moment, his fingers hooked in the empty space in his chest, his forehead pressed to grass that was too soft, too forgiving, too unlike the wood he’d felt while he waited for his execution, Ace didn’t just want to die.
He wanted it to hurt.
He wondered if his family would mourn him a second time.
Part of him hoped they wouldn’t.
Something warm and just slightly rough touched his cheek. Ace tensed, his awareness of his surroundings returning. He recognized the touch; Law’s hands were a delicate mix of a swordsman’s calluses and a surgeon’s nimble grace. The sensation of those fingers sliding to his chin, tilting his face upward, was unique.
Ace instinctively started to lean into the touch, then remembered his self-loathing of a moment ago and flinched, trying to keep his face down, but it was too late.
The grass wasn’t beneath his forehead anymore.
Law’s leg was. Ace blinked, surprised, and forgot to resist. Law coaxed his face upwards, and Ace realized that Law had taken a seat on the grass in front of him, one knee propped up with his arm resting on it, while the other was folded in front of him, just close enough that if Ace dropped forward, he’d be putting his head in Law’s lap.
“I’ve lost a lot of people in my life,” Law said quietly, like that wasn’t part of the reason Ace hated himself for Pops’ death so much. “And there’s one thing I learned. Grief will crush you if you let it. But it weighs less if you share it.” That sounded like something Cora would say, and it stung.
Ace hadn’t meant to interrupt Law’s time with his family.
He hadn’t meant to make Law comfort him.
And he didn’t deserve for his grief and his guilt to weigh any less.
He wanted them to crush him.
Maybe then he could stop hurting the people he loved.
“Don’t you think letting yourself be crushed by guilt would hurt the people you love?” Law asked. Ace froze, realizing he must’ve muttered some of his thoughts out loud. Either that, or Law just knew him that well. After three years, maybe he just knew without Ace having to slip up and say it. “I know it hurts me that you hate yourself for what happened to Pops and the others.”
“I didn’t mean to…” Ace trailed off as the lump on his throat felt like it doubled in size. He hated that he had given Law one more thing to worry about, hated even more that he’d managed to hurt Law again.
“Besides,” Law continued, his voice low with his own pain even as his touch on Ace’s jaw stayed gentle. “I blame myself for how badly Marineford went, too. Do you think I shouldn’t share my pain with my family?”
“What? Of course not! But that’s different!” Ace protested. He leaned forward, pressing his jaw into Law’s palm as he did.
“Really? How is it different?” Law asked, his words still heavy with grief. “Because you were the one who would have died if it had gone any worse?”
“Because it was my execution, and no one would have been there if I had listened to Pops and let it go, or even if I’d listened to you, if I had just waited for you instead of going after Teach alone like an idiot,” Ace insisted. Something shifted in Law’s expression, but he couldn’t tell what it meant.
“There is some truth to that,” Law agreed. Ace froze, guilt stabbing through him. Law was acknowledging the truth of what Ace had known, had feared, had needed others to say even as he dreaded hearing it. “Things would have gone differently if you had made different choices; if you’d obeyed Pops, or if you’d let me help you. But,” Law’s tone shifted, and Ace finally realized with a swooping feeling in his stomach that he recognized determination and maybe even affection in Law’s expression, not the hatred or blame Ace had expected - dreaded - maybe even wanted - to see. “Different doesn’t mean better, Wildfire. If it hadn’t been you, the government would’ve found some other way to get to Pops. If you hadn’t caught up to Teach when you did, maybe he would have been too far ahead of us, and you and I would never have even been able to make sure he knew he hadn’t gotten away with what he did to Thatch. And even if I’d made a different plan, played a different role at Marineford, we could still have lost Pops and Oars and the others. Maybe we could have lost you, too. So no matter how much you blame yourself, no matter how much I might blame myself, we can’t actually change it. I’ve made my peace with what happened, and that’s something you need to do, too. Maybe not today, maybe not this week or this month or even this year, but eventually, it’ll happen. You probably won’t stop blaming yourself - I haven’t, and I’m pretty sure Marco still hates himself a little bit for how things went down, too - but eventually, you’ll accept it.”
“Does that make it hurt less?” Ace asked before he could stop himself.
“Of course not.” Law practically scoffed, a hint of humor flickering in his eyes. “But it’ll make the hurt more bearable.”
“Like sharing the burden?” Ace almost smiled. Almost.
“Exactly. Now come on. Let your family share our pain with you, and let us help you carry yours,” Law insisted, shifting back and letting go of Ace’s jaw so he could snag Ace’s hand instead, pulling him to his feet, towards their closest family members, who were still clustered at the base of Pops’ grave. Ace let him, deciding to do what he’d been doing for the last year: trust Law to lead him in the right direction.
“Yes, Captain.”
“I told you it’s weird when you call me that.”
“Okay, Law. Whatever you say.”