Chapter Text
As the night wound down, the rowdy laughter and shouting on the deck of the Moby Dick began to soften. One by one, the pirates started to call it a night, retreating to their quarters with uneven steps and slurred goodnights. The remnants of their celebration lingered—empty bottles, scattered cups, and the faint hum of music that still echoed in the air.
Aria watched as Marco and Izou helped a half-conscious Thatch stumble toward his room, laughing softly at his drunken insistence that he didn’t need help. Whitebeard had long since retired, leaving the crew to their revelry, his deep laughter still echoing faintly in her mind.
She herself had planned to stay out on the deck a little longer, enjoying the rare peace that came with the end of the night. That was until she felt a sudden weight lean heavily against her side.
“Waaater Laaady!” a familiar voice slurred dramatically.
Aria turned her head to see Ace clinging to her, his arm draped over her shoulder as he half-slumped against her. His black hair was an unkempt mess, sticking out in all directions, and his face was flushed red from the alcohol. His usual confident grin was replaced by a wide, childlike smile, his eyes glassy and unfocused.
She blinked, caught off guard by his sudden proximity. “Ace... you’re drunk,” she said plainly, attempting to shift him off her.
He groaned in protest, tightening his hold. “Nooo, I’m not drunk! You’re drunk!” he declared, his voice rising in mock accusation.
Aria sighed, glancing around for someone who could help her deal with this unexpected situation, but the deck was nearly empty now. Most of the crew had disappeared into their quarters, leaving her alone with the overly clingy and completely out-of-it Ace.
“You need to get to bed,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind.
“Nooo, I don’t wanna,” Ace whined, dragging out his words like a petulant child. He pouted at her, his expression so exaggeratedly forlorn that it almost made her laugh. “I wanna stay here! It’s nice here.”
Aria pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling a slow breath. “Ace, you can’t just sleep on the deck.”
“Why not?” he asked, looking genuinely puzzled. “The stars are pretty.”
“They’ll still be there tomorrow,” she replied, trying to steer him toward the door that led below deck. He stumbled slightly, leaning more heavily on her, and she found herself bracing against his weight. “Come on, let’s go.”
He resisted again, flopping down onto one of the nearby crates and refusing to move. His hair fell into his eyes, making him look even more disheveled. “Why are you always so serious, huuuuh? You gottaaa relax, Waterrr Lady,” he said, pointing a wobbly finger at her.
Aria crossed her arms, her patience wearing thin. “Ace—”
“Hey,” he interrupted, his tone suddenly softer, almost wistful. His glassy eyes met hers, and there was a flicker of something raw, something vulnerable. “You’re... You’re really nice, y’know that? You don’t yell at me or anything. Thatch always yells at me.”
His words caught her off guard, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. He shifted, his head drooping slightly, and his messy hair fell even further into his face. He looked so much younger like this—more like the lost boy she knew from his backstory than the confident, fiery Ace he usually was.
With a quiet sigh, Aria crouched down in front of him. “Your hair is a mess,” she said softly, reaching out before she could think twice.
Ace blinked at her, wide-eyed, but didn’t protest as she carefully ran her fingers through his unruly hair, smoothing it out as best she could. Her movements were gentle, almost instinctive, as if she were handling something fragile.
As Aria’s fingers gently worked through Ace’s unruly hair, smoothing the messy strands that had fallen into his face, he fell unusually quiet. The drunken slur in his voice faded, replaced by a soft, almost childlike stillness.
His glassy eyes, slightly hazy from the alcohol, focused entirely on her. For a moment, it seemed as if the world around them had vanished—the noise of the sea, the faint hum of the ship, even the distant laughter from the crew still lingering in the hallways. Ace stared at her, wide-eyed, with a strange mix of curiosity and something unspoken glimmering in his gaze.
There was something in the way he looked at her, a vulnerability that she wasn’t used to seeing. His usual bravado, the easy grin he wore like armor, had slipped away. Instead, he looked almost... fragile. The weight of his life, the pain and doubt he so carefully hid, seemed to rise to the surface in the soft glow of the ship's lanterns.
“You’re... really gentle,” he murmured, his voice low and almost hesitant, as if he were afraid to break the moment.
Aria’s hands paused for just a fraction of a second before continuing their careful work. She tucked a stray lock behind his ear, her expression neutral, though her touch remained soft. “Your hair’s a mess,” she said simply, keeping her tone light.
The moment felt oddly intimate, and as she worked, her mind wandered to the things she knew about him—the hardships he had endured, the burdens he carried. She thought of the little boy who had grown up believing he was unloved, unwanted, and unworthy.
Looking at him now, so disheveled and vulnerable, she was reminded of that boy, the one who had spent his life searching for a place to belong, for people who would love him just as he was.
Ace’s lips twitched into a faint, lopsided smile, but his gaze didn’t waver. “No one’s ever... done this before,” he admitted, his voice even quieter now.
That made her pause. Her hands hovered over his hair for a moment, and she looked at him more closely. There was a raw honesty in his eyes, a kind of openness that he rarely let anyone see. It hit her then, the weight of what he’d said. He wasn’t just talking about someone fixing his hair—he was talking about the care behind it, the simple, quiet kindness he had so often been denied in his life.
“You probably didn’t let them,” she replied softly, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she returned to smoothing out the last of his hair. “Too stubborn for your own good.”
Ace huffed a quiet laugh, but it lacked his usual energy. Instead, he continued to watch her, his expression unreadable but undeniably softer than before. “Maybe,” he said after a pause, his voice thoughtful. “But you don’t feeeeeel like everyonee... You’re different.”
Aria froze for the briefest of moments before shaking her head slightly, a quiet scoff escaping her. “You’re drunk, Ace,” she said, her tone gentle but firm.
“Maybe,” he repeated, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “But I mean it.”
He leaned into her touch slightly as she finished fixing his hair, his gaze still locked on her. There was something almost childlike about the way he looked at her—wide-eyed and full of a hesitant, unspoken longing. It reminded her painfully of the little boy she had read about, the one who had grown up wondering if anyone in the world truly wanted him.
“You don’t have to look at me like that,” she murmured, her voice quieter than she intended.
Ace tilted his head slightly, his hair now neatly in place but his gaze just as intense. “Like what?” he asked, his voice soft but curious.
“Like you’re trying to figure out why I’m here,” she replied, brushing her hands off and pulling back. “I’m just... fixing your hair.”
Ace blinked at her, his smile returning, though it was smaller now, softer. “It’s not just that,” he said quietly. “But... thanks anyway, Water Lady.”
Aria didn’t respond immediately. She simply stood there for a moment, looking at him as he swayed slightly, his drunkenness beginning to take its toll. There was a part of her that wanted to say something—something comforting, something that might ease the weight he carried. But she didn’t. Instead, she reached out one last time and gently patted his head.
“There,” she said quietly, tucking a stray strand behind his ear. “All fixed.”
Ace blinked again, his cheeks still flushed, though she couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or something else. He gave her a lopsided grin, his usual spark returning, though his voice was softer when he spoke. “Thanks, Water Lady. You’re... you’re really nice.”
Aria’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Let’s get you to bed now.”
This time, he didn’t resist, letting her help him to his feet. As they made their way below deck, his steps unsteady but his smile lingering, Aria couldn’t help but feel a strange ache in her chest.
As they shuffled toward the hall leading to the crew’s quarters, Ace leaned more heavily on Aria, his arm slung around her shoulder like a lifeline. He was clearly struggling to keep his balance, his steps uneven and wobbly. Yet, despite his state, he still managed to cling to her like she was the only thing keeping him upright.
“Y’know…” Ace mumbled, his voice muffled as he pressed his cheek against her shoulder. “You’re… really comfy, Water Lady.”
Aria stiffened slightly, her mind racing as she tried to keep her composure. Her usual instinct was to keep people at arm’s length, to maintain the distance she believed was necessary to protect herself—and them—from the truth she carried. But as Ace clung to her, so vulnerable and unguarded, she found it surprisingly difficult to harden her heart against him.
“You’re heavy,” she said softly, her tone carrying a mix of exasperation and amusement. “If you don’t walk on your own, I’ll leave you here.”
“Nooo, don’t leave me!” Ace whined, tightening his grip like a stubborn child refusing to let go. “You wouldn’t do that. You’re too nice.”
Aria sighed, shaking her head as she adjusted her hold to keep him steady. “You’re impossible.”
Ace laughed weakly, the sound boyish and light, so unlike his usual confident demeanor. “You’re impossible,” he countered, though it lacked any real bite. After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his tone quieter now. “Hey… can I ask you somethin’?”
Aria glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “What is it?”
Ace’s face scrunched up in thought, as if he were trying to string his words together through the haze of alcohol. “What… what d’you think?” he started, his voice slurring slightly. “What would you do if… if the Pirate King had a kid?”
Aria’s steps faltered for just a second, her heart skipping a beat at his question. She quickly steadied herself, keeping her expression neutral as her mind raced. She knew the answer to his question—knew it better than anyone else on this ship.
Because the child of the Pirate King was standing right next to her, leaning on her like his life depended on it.
“I don’t know,” she said carefully, her voice calm even as her thoughts churned. “Why are you asking?”
Ace hesitated, his gaze distant. “Just… curious, I guess. Everyone hates him, right? The Pirate King. So if he had a kid, would they hate them too? Even if they… didn’t do anything wrong?”
His words hit her like a punch to the gut. There it was, that deep-seated fear that had been festering in him for as long as he could remember. The fear of being hated, of being rejected, simply because of who he was. It was a fear she knew he carried, even if he rarely let it show.
Her grip on his arm tightened ever so slightly, her usual resolve to keep her distance wavering. “I don’t think it would matter who their parent was,” she said quietly, her voice softer than she intended. “It’s not something they could control. What matters is who they are, not where they came from.”
Ace turned his head to look at her, his glassy eyes searching her face. “You really think that?”
“I do,” she replied, meeting his gaze with a steadiness she didn’t entirely feel. “You can’t judge someone for something they had no say in. It’s not fair, to condemn someone to damnation only for their blood is just cruel.”
Aria stared at something beyond him, beyond what was before her, Ace felt like she was seeing something else, like she was somewhere else, when she said, “Children should never have to bear the price of the lives lived by their parents.”
For a moment, Ace just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, to her surprise, he smiled—a small, genuine smile that carried none of his usual bravado. “You’re… kinda amazing, y’know that?” he mumbled, his voice soft and sincere.
Aria felt her cheeks warm slightly, but she quickly brushed it off, focusing instead on keeping him moving. “You’re just drunk,” she muttered, though her tone lacked its usual edge.
“Maybe,” he said with a faint chuckle, leaning his head against her shoulder again. “But you’re still amazing, Water Lady.”
As they finally reached the door to Ace's quarters, Aria felt the tension in her shoulders ease ever so slightly. Ace was still leaning heavily against her, his steps slow and uneven, but at least he wasn’t putting up any more resistance. He mumbled something incoherent, his voice low and sleepy, and she sighed as she shifted her weight to push the door open.
Inside, the room was a typical crew member’s quarters—simple and sparsely decorated, though Ace had somehow managed to make the space feel chaotic and lived-in. A few articles of clothing were strewn about, along with a pile of neatly folded paper that looked suspiciously like failed origami attempts.
“Alright,” Aria said, carefully guiding him toward the small bed against the wall. “You’re here. Time to sleep.”
Ace flopped onto the bed with a dramatic groan, sprawling out on his back with his limbs akimbo. His hair was a wild mess against the pillow, his shirt slightly wrinkled from the way he’d been leaning on her. He blinked up at the ceiling, his expression dazed and unfocused.
“Water Lady,” he mumbled, turning his head slightly to look at her. “You’re really bossy, y’know that?”
Aria crossed her arms, giving him a pointed look. “And you’re really drunk.”
Ace grinned lazily, unbothered by her retort. “Maybe. But you’re still nice to me. Even when I’m annoying.”
She let out a soft sigh, shaking her head as she moved closer to the bed. “You’re not annoying,” she said, her tone gentler now. “You’re just... exhausting.”
Ace chuckled faintly, his eyes slipping closed for a moment before fluttering open again. “Exhausting, huh? Guess that’s fair.”
Aria watched him for a moment, her expression softening despite herself. He looked so unguarded like this, his usual fiery energy replaced by a kind of quiet vulnerability. His messy hair fell into his face again, and without thinking, she reached out to smooth it back.
Her fingers brushed against his forehead, tucking a stray strand behind his ear. He hummed softly at the touch, his lips curving into a faint smile.
“Thanks, Water Lady,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re... really nice.”
She froze for a second, her hand lingering near his face before she pulled it back. “Go to sleep, Ace,” she said quietly, stepping back from the bed.
“Mmm,” he mumbled in response, already half-asleep. His breathing evened out quickly, and within moments, he was out cold, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
Aria stood there for a moment, watching him as he slept. The boyish innocence on his face, the way his features relaxed completely in sleep—it was a stark contrast to the Ace she knew, the one who carried himself with confidence and a devil-may-care attitude.
Her mind wandered to everything she knew about him—his pain, his insecurities, the way he questioned his very right to exist. And yet, here he was, a part of this family, loved and accepted in a way he had never truly believed he could be.
She pulled the thin blanket over him, making sure he was tucked in before stepping away. As she reached the door, she paused, glancing back at him one last time.
“Goodnight, Ace,” she said softly, her voice barely audible.
After closing the door behind her, Aria stood still for a moment in the dimly lit hallway, letting the silence settle around her. The heavy weight of the night, mixed with the tenderness she felt for Ace in that vulnerable moment, lingered in the air, making her feel a little too exposed. She didn’t want to dwell on it—didn’t want to let herself get swept up in the emotions that had surfaced so unexpectedly.
Instead, she turned on her heel and made her way toward the deck. The cool night air would help clear her head.
As she stepped outside, the sound of the waves crashing against the ship’s hull greeted her. The stars above were scattered across the sky like diamonds, their light glistening off the dark, ever-moving sea. The deck was quiet now, empty except for a few crew members who had already retreated to their rooms.
Aria walked toward the edge of the ship, leaning over the railing and gazing out into the vast expanse of water. The sea stretched out endlessly before her, a constant reminder of her connection to this world, this place. She had come here to escape, but the sea kept pulling her back, tethering her in ways she wasn’t always sure she wanted.
She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the chill of the night air against her skin. Despite the peace that the ocean usually brought her, tonight it felt different—more oppressive. The memories of the Whitebeard Pirates’ eventual downfall, the tragedy that would unfold in Marineford, weighed heavily on her mind. She had already seen their deaths in her mind’s eye, and had already felt the ache of losing them.
But, at this moment, with the sound of the waves and the distant crash of the ship cutting through the water, she didn’t feel the bitterness or the resentment she had begun to associate with the sea. Instead, it felt like a moment of fragile clarity.
She watched the waves for a while, her mind wandering between the present and the future. The pirates were happy now. They were alive, laughing, living in a way that felt raw and real. But she knew what was coming. She could feel it, taste it in the air, and it made the laughter, the warmth of tonight, feel like something precious—something she wanted to hold onto even though she knew she couldn’t.
The quiet of the deck stretched on, but eventually, Aria’s thoughts shifted back to the crew, to the faces she had come to know better over the past few weeks. The closeness, the family they had built, was undeniable. And yet, she knew better than anyone that such things were fragile.
She leaned her elbows against the railing, sighing softly as she let her eyes drift across the horizon. The stars, the waves, the vastness of the sea—it all felt so far away, so unchangeable. It was beautiful and suffocating at the same time.
Aria closed her eyes for a moment, taking in the cool night air and the rhythmic sound of the ocean. For a brief second, it almost felt like she was back in her own world, as if the weight of the One Piece universe wasn’t on her shoulders. But then the soft, distant sounds of the crew laughing and shouting from below deck reminded her of where she was.
And where she was going.
With a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, Aria straightened up, her resolve hardening once more. She wasn’t going to let herself get swept away. She would watch, she would protect, but she would keep her distance. Because the world she had been pulled into was no less dangerous than the one she had left behind.
Ace felt a strange weight in his chest, his breaths shallow as he tried to make sense of where he was. The ground beneath his feet was slick and wet, a shallow pool of water rippling under his every step. The air was heavy with an unshakable chill, the sound of dripping water echoing endlessly.
In the distance, he saw a faint glow. His instincts urged him forward, the ache in his chest intensifying with every step he took. As he drew closer, the glow became more distinct, revealing a small figure curled up on the ground. The figure was surrounded by a shimmering sphere of water, its surface gently rippling as though breathing.
The sobs reached him first—soft, broken, and full of despair. They made his stomach twist painfully, the sound cutting through the eerie silence like a knife. He quickened his pace, his boots splashing through the water as he tried to reach the child.
But no matter how fast he moved, the distance between them seemed to stretch infinitely. The harder he pushed forward, the farther away the figure seemed, as if some unseen force was keeping him at bay.
"Hey," Ace called out, his voice hoarse and uncertain. "It's okay, I’m here. Don’t cry."
The sobs continued, quiet and heart-wrenching, as though the child hadn’t heard him. Ace’s hands clenched into fists as frustration bubbled inside him. Why couldn’t he get closer? Why couldn’t he help?
“Please,” he said softly, almost begging. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’ll help you. Just… tell me what you need.”
Finally, as if his words had reached her, the figure shifted slightly. The child’s head lifted, and through the veil of the water sphere, he caught a glimpse of her face.
His heart stopped.
She looked so much like Water Lady—Traveler. The black and blue hair, the delicate features, the hauntingly blank expression. But this was different. This was her as a child, vulnerable and broken in a way that made his chest ache with a pain he didn’t understand. Her small frame trembled as she clutched her knees to her chest, her fingers digging into her skin.
“I’ll be better,” the child whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of her tears. “I promise I’ll be better. I’ll be good. I won’t make anyone mad. Just… don’t leave.”
Ace felt like the air had been knocked out of him. The desperation in her voice was almost too much to bear. He slammed his fists against the invisible barrier that kept him from reaching her, the water sphere rippling faintly in response.
“I’m not going anywhere!” he shouted, his voice raw. “You’re not alone! I’m here!”
The child didn’t respond. She continued to sob, her small body trembling as though the weight of her words was crushing her. “They always leave,” she murmured. “Friends leave. Family leaves. Everyone always leaves. It’s my fault. I’m not enough. I’m not good enough…”
Ace’s heart shattered at her words, his fists pounding harder against the barrier. “Stop saying that!” he yelled, his voice cracking with emotion. “You don’t have to be better! You’re already enough! You’re already—”
He faltered as the child’s blank eyes turned toward him, the emptiness in her gaze cutting him deeper than any weapon ever had. She didn’t seem to see him, didn’t acknowledge his presence. She was trapped in her own despair, unreachable despite his every effort.
“Why can’t I help you?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Please, just let me help.”
The child’s head lowered again, her tears falling silently into the pool of water beneath her. The glow around her flickered like a dying flame, and Ace’s hands shook as he pressed them against the barrier.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered one last time, her voice so faint it was almost lost to the void around them. “Don’t leave…”
The world around Ace began to shift, the darkness closing in as the glow faded. He shouted her name— Water Lady! —his voice echoing in the emptiness. But no matter how loud he yelled, no matter how hard he tried to reach her, she slipped further and further away, disappearing into the void.
The last thing he saw was the water sphere shattering into nothingness, leaving behind only silence and the unbearable weight of loss.
Ace woke with a gasp, his chest heaving as he bolted upright in his bed. His skin was clammy with sweat, his hands trembling as he ran them through his hair. The dream lingered in his mind, vivid and haunting, her broken voice echoing in his ears.
He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to calm the ache that had taken root there.
“Water Lady…” he whispered, the name slipping from his lips like a prayer.
In the dim light of his quarters, Teach sat hunched over a small, battered table. The faint glow of a lantern illuminated the room, casting long, flickering shadows across the walls. A wicked grin stretched across his face as he leaned back, the faint creak of the chair breaking the stillness.
On the table in front of him lay a map, crude but detailed, marking key locations across the Grand Line. Beside it was a worn logbook, its pages filled with notes in Teach’s untidy scrawl. He tapped a thick finger against one of the marked spots, his dark eyes glinting with a dangerous light.
“Heh, they think they’re untouchable,” he muttered to himself, his voice a low rumble. “The old man... the rest of ’em... all so comfortable, so sure of their place.”
His grin widened as he reached for a bottle of rum, taking a long swig before slamming it down on the table. The liquid sloshed inside, a faint echo in the quiet room.
“But they don’t see it,” he continued, his tone almost gleeful. “Don’t see the cracks forming... the little pieces fallin’ outta place. And that little Water Lady... what’s her deal, eh? Quiet, watchful... she’s hidin’ somethin’. I can feel it.”
Teach leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he ran a hand across the map. His fingers stopped over a name circled in heavy ink. “The pieces are all here,” he said, a dark chuckle rumbling in his throat. “Just gotta know how to play the game. And me... I’m the master of this board.”
He sat back, crossing his arms as he gazed at the map with a mixture of satisfaction and ambition. The crew, the ship, the old man himself—they were all just stepping stones on the path he’d chosen.
“Soon,” Teach said, his voice low and filled with malice. “Soon enough, it’ll all come together. Just gotta bide my time.”