Chapter Text
Sakazuki's cops scrambled around the corners of the auto shop like cockroaches caught with the lights on.
The police wearing blue demanded the police in black to stop what they were doing and surrender their weapons immediately. Some of them argued. Others were quickly wrestled into handcuffs.
There was madness.
The pipes finally emptied themselves of water and the sprinklers slowed to a stop. Marco grappled the door’s molding to get back onto his feet, catching his breath like he’d just been held under water. Every desperate, vicious body punch Kizaru landed, burned deep into his ribs while he staggered forward– towards the vehicle bay. Blood dripped down Marco’s lip. Kizaru's rifle was still warm in his hands. “Luffy!!” He called across the garage, “I’m coming! Stay there!” Kizaru couldn't get off his knees. He was more concerned with the tooth he’d just realized was rolling around in his mouth.
A young officer fresh on the scene approached Marco cautiously. Her flurry of questions bounced around in his adrenaline drunk head. All of it was promptly interrupted by the rifle he pushed into her hands. “Sir!” She looked concerned. “You need to stay where you are!”
Marco prided himself for being a realist. Even at his youngest and most reckless, he’d never been the type to let his anxiety and all its terrifying ideas get the best of him. But, he could feel the panic setting in. He lost count of how many shots he heard out of the garage and every time he blinked he saw Sakazuki emptying his magazine into Ace’s chest.
Marco was an empty handed, emergency room intern, not a miracle worker.
Unintentionally, Marco checked the shoulders of other police. The Cigar-man was built like a bull with broad shoulders and heavy eyebrows that casted a shadow over his face. “Aye! Are you one of Whitebeard’s boys? Hey– I’m talking to you!”
Marco didn't hear him. He caught sight of Ace, white-knuckling Luffy’s shoulders to keep himself upright. Marco dropped to his knees in front of the brothers far harder than he’d meant to. “Is he talking?”
Luffy whimpered, “He said I’m grounded.”
Ace’s hair hung wild and directionless in front of his eyes. There was dirt from the garage floor on his face. He looked like a feral animal that had just been pulled out of a hunting trap. He looked like Ace. Exhausted and breathing and still looking right through him with those beautiful black eyes. “Marco?”
Marco kissed him— his face, his forehead, he ducked his head just to hear Ace’s heartbeat against his ear. “I’m so sorry.”
“You need to get Luffy out of here.”
“Hey—” Marco scrambled to stop Ace from putting weight on his bloody arm. Ace struggled to leverage himself up like there weren't rivers of red seeping through to his fingers. “Easy— Easy.” Marco grabbed onto him. He got louder. “I said easy! You don’t feel that!?”
“Don’t let anybody fucking take him.”
“Nobody's taking anybody! Pop’s said you stuck to the plan! Why the hell are you hurt like this!? Sakazuki did this!?”
Sakazuki’s shaky aim might have saved his life. The bullet had been so far off its mark, it’d only torn through the edge of his deltoid. There was no lead to fish out, just torn flesh and a lot of blood.
Behind them, a team of police worked together to maneuver Sakazuki’s gurney out of the garage. The captain’s voice was devoid of its usually dark timbre. What was left behind sounded like a wail. He told whoever was closest to him that he couldn't feel his legs.
“Where’s Pops?” Ace stammered, “He’s okay, right? Tell me he’s okay.”
“He was on his feet last time I checked. He’s fine.”
Luffy’s concerns were elsewhere. He stared down the Cigar-man from over Marco's shoulder. Captain Smoker— according to his subordinate who’d joined his side with a flashlight.
Ace had reached a limit and it showed. The invincible-older-brother act he was usually so comfortable with was too exhausting to maintain. Tears made his eyes look like mirrors.
The handcuff still dangling from Ace’s wrist pulled a panicked sob out of Luffy once he noticed it, “He hasn’t done anything!”
“Marco, right?” The Captain’s yellow badge sparkled at them every time it caught the beam of a flashlight. He kept his hands visible. “You’re Newgate’s? Let’s just take it easy. Nobody’s under arrest.”
Ace’s head had grown heavy enough to rest in the crook of Marco’s neck. He spoke quietly. “You can leave me with him. Get these freaks out of Pop’s place, please… I want this to end before I get one of you killed…”
Smoker tried again, “You hear me? Your friend needs an ambulance. Take a step back from the person of interest and we‘ll get him some help.”
Marco hated how they ripped him apart. He hated the stares and the confused mumbling from the busy police, as if the brothers were a hazardous mess they didn't have the instructions to clean up.
Ace was made out of solid nerve– his spit fire. The fiercest and most selfless person Marco had ever met and these motherfuckers stripped him down to tears. Sakazuki got what he wanted; Ace under his heel, scrambling for his life. Even if it was for an hour and even if the son of a bitch was full of lead now, it still made his stomach feel cold and empty.
Marco did not address Smoker. He told Ace, “I need to carry you,” and readjusted his footing before pulling him into his arms. “Luffy, are you hurt at all?” The kid shook his head no. “Good. Get up and stay close to me.”
The rich blue of the sky was getting pale now. The sun was just barely under the horizon. Lace-colored beams of light snuck between the rows of homes lining the boulevard. It seemed Sengoku had taken notes from the infamously violent raid that tore through Gold Rodger’s home over twenty years ago. Broken glass made the asphalt sparkle.
Edward Newgate would have been driven off the property if a new wave of police cars hadn’t arrived to block the driveway. Instead, he sat in the back seat of Sengoku’s squad car and watched him argue through the window.
Above their heads, the curtains of his neighbors windows shifted around.
Newgate had the numbers painted on the side of Garp’s car committed to memory. Dumbfounded confusion suited the seasoned cop’s face nicely. Garp stepped out into the sticky august atmosphere one boot at a time and stared at the police-infested auto shop like he’d never seen the building before in his life. He looked for Sengoku.
Garp’s expression changed several times as the story unfolded. Sengoku was animated while he explained himself, the damage, the chaos. By the time they turned their attention to where Newgate was being held, Garp’s eyes had gone hollow.
The muffled grumbling that was their argument cleared up into words as soon as Newgate’s door was pulled open. “You’ve got corruption charges to worry about. On what grounds do you have to make an arrest? Explain to me why Sakazuki was holding a rifle like that in the first place—“
“From the beginning, we had reason to believe at least one of them was a dealer.”
“How much resistance did that boy put up?” Garp retorted. “It looks like a fucking war zone. The radios wouldn't stop. I knew you’d be down here— I— I thought you of all people would have a little integrity!”
The officer struggling to unlock Newgate’s handcuffs scrambled to follow him a sudden step forward. The injuries the old man sustained from inside the garage should have been wearing on him. There was still blood on his face and fresh bruises blossoming over the curve of his cheek bone. Whoever had attempted to shoot him in the back of the head missed and yet, he had a migraine. With or without his right ear working, Newgate had plenty of energy for these two. “Get the hell off my property. Look at you— You both look terrified.” Newgate labored, “Read me that search warrant again! Explain to me which paragraph gave you permission to shoot up my house and torment my boy- Ah!? Still worried Luffy’s hiding somewhere in that apartment!? You don't even know where that little kid is, do you!?”
There were winding veins close to Garp's eyes. His stare slid from Newgate to Sengoku. “What the hell is he talking about?”
Garp should have been low on his priority list. Newgate threw his hand out at him anyway. "You just got here!?”
“I didn't want this for him! He’s a product of his own decisions.”
“I understand you didn't ask for Rodger's son to be dropped in your lap—“
“That's not fair, Ed—“
“And I couldn't care less what kind of child you wished you'd gotten. That is your kid and you owe him better.”
Marco’s stomach turned while he watched a news van park on the sidewalk. “Fuck.” He descended the front steps of the auto shop cradling Ace’s exhausted body in his arms. Luffy followed, clinging to Marco's pant leg. The three of them parted the sea of police wearing the same brilliant red on their clothes.
Half the chess board had moved. One hundred eyes found them. Marco searched the crowd for his mentor.
Confused police hit him with an avalanche of questions. Most of it was indistinguishable besides a medical officer who told him EMTs were on their way. No one seemed to have the authority to arrest them but hands reached out for Ace like a hoard of undead.
“He’s bleeding!” Someone informed the crowd.
“Which ambulance do we want him in?”
“Impel Down is sending a car.”
Marco barked at them like he was steering cattle, “Back up!! Unless any of you pieces of shit have an arrest warrant, you’ll give me space!!“
“That boy needs a surgeon—“
“I’m his surgeon!”
“Marco!!” Newgate strained his voice through the dozens that polluted the air. He practically tore Sengoku to the ground to get closer. “What the fuck happened!?”
“He’s fine– He’s gonna be alright!”
No one else was familiar enough with the old man’s voice to hear the emotion choking him. "Was he shot!? Marco— they shot him!?"
“I’ll stop the bleeding myself.” Marco charged through the parking lot as if it were the hallway of his emergency room. Newgate had to jog to catch up to him.
“What do you need?”
“Thirty minutes and the kid out of my way.”
Although Luffy spared Garp a few rushed glances, there was very little that could get his attention away from Ace. He didn't respond to his name nor did he lose stride with Marco. Garp called out again, struggling to get a good look at him from behind Whitebeard’s massive body. “Is he hurt!? He looks like he walked through a goddamn fire fight! Ed, we’ll get them an ambulance! Just where the hell do you think you’re going!?”
Like hired security, Newgate shot a massive hand up, body blocking him a foot back. “Ah you want to do something now!? Get these motherfuckers off my property– I want this entire investigation shut down– and Sengoku’s hands out of my family's legal-fucking-affairs!!”
The three of them stumbled into Newgate's home like a hurricane blew them in. "Are they gonna follow us?" Luffy asked.
Unlike the auto shop and the madness outside, the little house had remained untouched. There were still a few chairs out of place and blankets draped where they wouldn't normally be; the last bits of evidence from their poker game. Newgate locked the front door with every dead bolt it had. He responded to Luffy's question but the phrasing was for Marco, "If they do, they'll have to practice some good manners. There are cameras rolling now. We can work with this."
Newgate was too big a person to be moving as fervently as he was. The floorboards creaked under him. "Now- Where?" he demanded, "Where did they shoot him?”
"His shoulder. The bullet didn't stick-" Marco said, “I can handle this.”
Ace knocked Newgate's hand away while he fussed over the blood still wet on his face. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.”
“Like hell you are!” Whitebeard spoke from deep in his chest, "I'm gonna slaughter them, Marco.”
“Pops—”
“The last two years I've tried doing things 'the right way'! All the good that's done, ah!? Sengoku needs a buckshot to the throat-" He locked the back door and pulled the kitchen window curtains shut. “He needs his fucking break lines cut.”
Marco called back to him, "Alright— One thing at a time!”
Newgate struck the kitchen faucet to begin running warm water. “You didn't see what they tried to pull back there.”
”Sakazuki's people were getting their guns confiscated inside the shop. The whole story is about to change, let’s be patient.”
“Do not trust a word out of their mouths in the meantime! Don’t talk to anybody.”
“I got it—I got it.”
The sprinklers had soaked Luffy to the bone. Ace's blood was still a blazing red all over his hands where it otherwise would have dried. His sneakers squeaked after Marco who'd begun carrying his brother up the staircase. "Where are you taking him?"
Newgate returned to the living room with a much calmer voice and a warm, damp washcloth. "Marco is gonna fix him right up, kiddo. We better give them some room."
The second floor was a quarter of the size of the first.
There were two little rooms on either side of the staircase. The right side was mostly storage; large grey plastic bins stacked all the way to the ceiling. On the left, there was a bathroom too small for two people to be crammed into. Baby blue ceramic tiles covered the walls, floor and ceiling. The skylight was littered with cobwebs and it soaked the room in the glow of daybreak.
This wasn't the first time this little bathroom had seen an impromptu surgery.
Marco lowered Ace onto the tile floor. There were still medical bags packed tight in the cabinet under the sink, still surgical needles, and numbing solution. There were still smudges of dried blood in the grout from the time a much younger version of himself ran the absolute worst continuous lock stitch up the side of Thatch’s face– it felt so normal back then. This behavior was supposed to have ended.
Had it been anyone else, Marco would have used scissors to cut off his patience’s sopping wet t-shirt. For Ace, he maneuvered it over his head as carefully as he knew how.
Ace held his breath through his discomfort, “What are you doing?”
“All this bleeding is a problem, right?”
“It’s a problem... I just thought… you of all people would want me in the back of an ambulance right about now.”
“And leave you in the hands of some— fucking EMTs I’ve never met?” Marco’s voice had heat behind it. He was unkind to the drawers and cabinets he opened– needlessly angry that the tools he wanted weren't already in his hand. “I can’t believe you’re alive, let alone talking to me right now. No more mistakes.” A tourniquet was pulled out of the largest of the medical bags. It was a black, scratchy nylon that wrapped around the highest point of Ace’s shoulder. “This isn't gonna feel good–” Marco said, “I’m sorry.” He gripped the windlass under his fist and cranked it clockwise, one forceful turn after another.
His poor spitfire. Ace did what he could to keep his head low and his eyes hidden. He lurched against Marco’s hands despite his best attempts to stay still. His voice sounded like it overextended itself a long time ago. “Fuck you–" Was the first coherent thing Marco heard.
“I know, I know.”
"You weren’t so heavy handed last night, what the hell happened to that?”
Marco grimaced at the angry, bloated wound, crushed beneath the tourniquet. He fastened it in place. “Sense of humor… I like that in surgery.” Marco was on his feet a second later, viciously scrubbing his hands under the small copper sink. Ace watched his back from the floor. “Still with me?” Marco asked him.
“Oh, sure.”
“Your right arm is about to go numb. That’s what we want. Give it a minute.”
“Don’t you think they need you downstairs?” Ace caught a glimpse of a shadow moving along the wall of the stairwell. He craned his head to see more, "Luffy's gotta be losing his mind right now.”
To that, Marco caught the edge of the door with his heel and swung it shut. As claustrophobic as things already were– It was far too easy to hear Luffy and Newgate’s worried voices below them. “I have to suture your arm and I have to do it right now.” His voice was unwavering. “I need your undivided attention.”
“Okay.”
Ace’s tired, outstretched legs took up a majority of the floor space. Marco straddled his knees on either side of him while he began the process of cleaning. The smell of alcohol stained the air. “Local anesthetic. Little pinch.” Marco pricked him before Ace could turn his head; a move he picked up from his pediatric rotations.
“You do this often? Flesh wounds?” Ace rambled, “Like, on a scale of tire rotation to engine overhaul, what are we lookin’ at here?”
“Tire rotation.” Marco told him, “Something you could do in your sleep.”
“You better be done in fifteen fucking minutes then…”
Ace struggled to sit still. His numb, fraying skin was pulled tight around his shoulder wound. The lingering adrenaline in his system simmered under a thin pane of glass. He was deep in thought; long gone.
It’d be so easy to never mention his head hitting the wall. The spider veins that had serged under his eyelids had subsided. The ringing in his ears was back to the volume it usually was. He could pretend it never happened. And, if Marco had not asked for his word, he would have.
Gradually, red was replaced with clean white bandages. Marco pulled rolls of gauze around Ace’s arm and across his chest in a dozen tight layers. “All you have to do is keep this arm down.” Marco hummed, “You’re gonna be okay... I’ll find you a sling. Stay still.” The FBI could be breaking down that door and Marco would still feel the need to have perfect dressings over perfect stitches. He tucked the raw edges of gauze out of sight. “Don’t think you’re skipping out on the hospital forever. This is just to buy us time.”
“Marco…”
“What?”
“I really fucked up…”
“I promise you didn't.”
“I didn’t tell you everything.”
“Tell me now.”
Ace hesitated. Shame dragged his voice into a low, grave, whisper. “I think I have a concussion." Marco’s hands were on him immediately. He buried his fingers through Ace’s tangled mane of hair to examine him. "I fucked up– I didnt see him coming. Sakazuki had me against the wall and I… It was the back of my head.”
Ace tensed for a reaction that never came. Marco was supposed to lose his shit over this. He was supposed to be livid he wasn't told sooner, scrambling to change the plan and preparing to pronounce him dead within the hour.
But, there was no anger twisting up between his eyebrows— where it normally would. Instead he looked— sad. Heartbroken, maybe. “I should have stayed with you.” Marco took Ace’s face in his hands with the kind of warmth someone would expect before a kiss. He swept Ace’s tangled hair away from his eyes, “Look straight ahead for me,” Marco’s voice belonged only to the two of them. “Did you lose consciousness?”
“No.”
He stared straight down the alley of Ace’s pupils. “Did you throw up?”
“No– No, it wasn't like that.” Ace rubbed at the tears pricking the corners of his eyes, “And why the fuck are you sorry? Luffy’s alive because of you. You shot a cop.”
“Yeah, Pop's gonna be pissed it was me and not him.” Marco said, “Follow my hand.”
Ace tracked his finger from left to right. “Why hasn't anyone arrested you?”
“I’ll give you my best guess in a second, okay?” Marco squeezed both of Ace’s hands in his. “Push down, equal force.”
“How did you get my brother out of the apartment?”
“You should have seen me climbing your fire escape in these stupid fucking sandals. Double vision?”
“When it first happened.”
“Gone now?”
“It’s gone now.” He let Marco turn his head left and right. He spoke under his breath, “I don't know what I’d do without you.”
“That’s not something you have to worry about.” Marco told him, “How’s this feel?”
“Can I say something?”
“Related to your symptoms, yes.”
Ace replied effortlessly, “I think I’ve been waiting my entire life to meet you.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m falling in love with you.”
It wasn't an easy thing to do; stump someone like Marco. He chuckled. It was a big puff of air that suggested he thought Ace might have been joking. He stammered like a news anchor whose teleprompter had just gone out. He’d run out of lines. Every step of concussion protocol was instantly and thoroughly deleted from his brain. Just like that. Just like Ace.
Ace exhaled with a criminal level of nonchalance, “Say what you were gonna say. My diagnosis.”
Marco pulled off his glasses to stare back at him without them.
“I need an MRI or something, right? Is that what you’re gonna tell me? Go ahead, tell me.”
“Alright…” Marco sighed, relieved to accept defeat. “I fell in love with you after the second conversation we had.”
“You did?” Ace registered that slowly. He cocked his head to the side, “No, you didn't—” Voices called from outside; too muffled to hear clearly. Marco snapped up to his feet. He was just tall enough to peek out of the lowest panel of the skylight. Ace sat up in his peripheral. “Hey— No you did not—”
“Shh—”
“Marco—”
“Shh, Ace. And sit the hell down. Sit down.”
Just a few steps from Newgate’s front porch, Sengoku and Garp viciously argued. What Marco couldn’t hear through the glass he could understand in the wild, fervent gestures they made while they spoke. Marco pushed on the rusty window until its hinges cracked open. “You don’t want to make this arrest, Sengoku, listen to me—“
“On what authority are you making suggestions, Garp!? Stand down!”
“Think about this!” More officers were getting involved now; black vests and blue uniforms. “When this happened to Rodger we had years of evidence— years of surveillance on that man!”
Sengoku listed what he thought he had, "Possession of a controlled substance— possession with the intent to distribute!” He spat furiously, “Assault and battery— failure to comply with authorities!! Now, Sakauzki’s been shot— who do you think was responsible for that!?”
“He was put down!!”
That’s all Marco needed to hear. He dropped back to the tile floor; back to Ace. “We’re getting out of here.”
Ace scoffed. “I’m not making it five feet out of this house.”
“Either Sengoku stands by Sakazuki; the deranged cop who shot at a couple of kids or he follows Garp’s lead and throws the psycho path under the bus.“ Marco pulled towels from the linen closet. He dropped the first one over Ace’s head of sopping wet hair and massaged circles behind his temples. “And while Sengoku gets eaten alive trying to make a decision, I’m gonna take you to a real hospital. You’re gonna sit down in front of a neurologist and you’ll be okay, Ace. You’re gonna be just fine. You’re gonna be dropping Luffy off on his first day of high school in September, okay?” If Ace’s eyes were made of obsidian, they’d trade for an empire. He looked gorgeous like that— all the fear knocked out of his eyes and not an ounce of uncertainty left. He should always look like that. “I strongly suggest you start planning out the rest of your life and include me in it.” He pulled the towel from Ace’s head. “We’re gonna be just fine, love.”
“Portgas D. Ace is guilty of one thing, and that is being born with magic hands that have the power to heal cars.” The reporter looked disappointed. She attempted to interject another question but her interviewee was more interested in her microphone. “Is this live?” With his other hand, Thatch pointed at the camera and announced the auto shop’s address, “That’s Whitebeard's Auto Shop directly off the one an’ nine. We’ve got the best mechanics in the world over there! We do vintage vehicles, luxury vehicles and motorcycles! We will make fun of you for neglecting your ride but the price will. Be. Fair!”
Thatch dressed in what should have been that day's work clothes. Old boots and a clean grey T-shirt under his jumpsuit. He stood outside the property behind a strip of bright yellow police tape with a handful of concerned neighbors. All his arguing with the cops got him was the curiosity of the local news. So, he gave the nearest camera something to chew on.
Police had infested Newgate’s property wearing two distinct uniforms; crisply pressed blue shirts and bulky black tactical vests. Voices were rising in volume. Boot falls were picking up speed. Discourse Thatch couldn’t see was stirring up in the parking lot. So much so, that the news reporter abandoned her impromptu interview to try and get a better look.
Half the city's police department seemed to be there. What the hell was there to panic over?
Thatch tried Marco's cell for the hundredth time and for the hundredth time, got his answering machine.
“Yo. This is Marco. Clearly, I’m busy. Leave a message.”
someone in the parking lot was being detained. Thatch hung up before the tone.
Bizarrely, it wasn’t Pops or Ace being arrested. It was another cop hurling spit soaked insults at his fellow officers. It took three blue uniforms to persuade him into handcuffs. That’s about when the police line broke apart. The so-called guards abandoned their post two at a time.
One voice out of the crowd refused to hand over his weapon. Another, cried out accusations of corruption and conspiracy. The crowd churned.
Thatch attempted to grab the shoulder of the closest officer, “Hey—Who’s supposed to be in charge here?”
The both of them were nearly run over by a gurney. The swarm of police following it argued over which ambulance the wounded patient should be brought to. Thatch ducked under arms and around shoulders to get a better look. His stomach was in his throat. He fully expected to see Ace on that bed. He braced himself for it— something disturbing and bloody. And, it was. The man was torn to pieces. Sakazuki. His corpse pale face was disfigured with agony. His legs shifted around with the movement of the gurney, laying with an unnatural heaviness. Thatch scrambled backwards like he’d found a ghost in his closet.
Who the hell had been returning fire on the police?
Thatch pumped his arms, making a break for Newgate’s house through the crowd. He launched up the steps to the back door and began struggling against the lock. “You guys…” He grumbled at the door urgently, “Anybody home? because, it’s— it’s a shit show out here…”
The door swung out from under him. Thatch stumbled into the kitchen and caught himself on his hands. The first things he looked up to see was Marco’s stupid fucking sandals.
Marco stammered, “How did you—”
“Look who’s fuckin’ alive!” Thatch used Marco’s limbs for stability and clawed his way back to his feet. The relief swelling up in his chest made it hard to breathe. Thatch cried, “Where’s Pops!? The shop— it’s overrun with cops— have you seen it’s overrun with cops!?”
“H-How did you get past the police line!?”
“It’s a fucking mob out there—” Thatch labored, “What police line? You asked me to call and check in. Well, I did! About a dozen times! I got radio silence—you got fifty fucking voicemails!”
“Oh!” Marco tossed his hand out, “I’m so sorry. Next police raid, my first priority will be texting you a play-by-play! I’ve been a little occupied.”
“I turned on my police scanner and they’re talking about a gunfight on our street! Do you realize how freaked out I’ve been!? Our street!”
Marco attempted to drag him deeper into the house, further from the windows. “I know—I know, just keep your voice down—”
They didn't go far. Thatch slung his arms around Marco in a kind of bear hug that would have crushed anyone smaller. When Thatch looked at him again it was without all the smart-ass Marco was used to. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“Are you? Because you look like a fucking wreck—”
“I’m okay, Thatch—”
"What about Ace? What’d they do with him?”
It would have been all over his face if something horrible happened. The elevens between Marco’s eyes lightened. His mouth curved into this barely held back, almost stupid looking smirk that Thatch had never seen on him in the past fifteen years of their friendship. "You can ask him yourself, he's in the living room.”
“And you've got a plan?”
"It’s hardly a plan. But, as of an hour ago, yes.” Marco said. “Just who the hell do you take me for?”
When the front door of Whitebeard's house finally opened, the block erupted in noise.
The crowd outside had grown exponentially. Thatch was assaulted with dozens of flashing cameras the moment he stepped onto the front porch. Some of the logos he recognized. The local news elbowed with independent press to get closer. They thrusted microphones in Thatch’s direction, all asking variations of the same question; where was Ace?
Newgate exited the house next. He threw open an umbrella in the face of the press, effectively startling them several feet back. Under his arm, Newgate led Ace through the madness of the parking lot. Ace held Luffy’s hand so tightly, his knuckles were turning white. Marco was last in their marching order.
"Excuse me! Are those injuries from the police?”
“Mr. Newgate, is it true the police confiscated illegal substances from the premises?”
“Ace, is it true that Gol D. Rodger is your father?”
Ace only caught a glimpse of the reporter who asked that. Four more parroted his question as soon as they’d heard it. Who could imagine Gold D. Rodger had a son?
“Were you dealing?” Another reporter pushed forward. Ace locked eyes with her for a minute. Then, he looked over her shoulder where a wall of cell phones pointed at him just like hers. “Is it true the auto shop is a cover business for a drug ring?”
Ace nearly choked on his own tongue, “What?” Marco had his hand on Ace’s back, pushing him forward before the exchange could go on a second longer.
Marco’s eyes scanned the crowd obsessively. There were more civilians than he expected. Between the reporters, he saw their neighbors. Isou held their phone above the crowd’s eyeline, recording. Car horns blared from the street. Elbows and panicked, swinging arms crashed into Marco’s back while they wound through the crowd.
There was more room to breathe in the alley behind the shop. Whitebeard stopped short of opening the rear door for Ace. “There’s glass!” He kicked thick chunks of sparkling blue glass away from the car’s tires. “Who the hell came back here to break just one of your windows!?” The passenger side door was completely shattered. It was the only damage on the car.
“How should I know?” Marco under-hand tossed his car keys to Newgate who caught them with a satisfying clack.
Whitebeard’s first protege was an excellent driver. He was also apparently still ‘waking up’ from the past four years of living in suburbia. Newgate turned the engine of the Subaru. Marco buckled Luffy into the seat between himself and Ace in the back row. Thatch sat shotgun.
Marco leaned forward, “Hey old man— if you’re wrong, a car accident is exactly what Ace needs right now.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass.” Newgate told him, “It’ll be like hitting a speed bump.”
“Yeah Marco,” Thatch supplied, “Your window is gonna be pricier to replace than what Pop’s is about to do to your rear bumper, think about it that way.”
“He locked me in here,” Luffy said. “What did you expect me to do!?”
“You locked my brother in your car?” And suddenly, Marco’s attention was ping ponging between the siblings.
Newgate snapped the gear shift into reverse.
“It’s the cheapest window to replace,” Luffy explained, “Right, Ace?”
“He’s right—”
Newgate sent the Subaru down the back alley and directly through the chain link fence behind them. The decades of rust had indeed taken their toll. The fence struck Marco’s bumper and blew out across the street. They rocked over the sidewalk and Newgate accelerated onto a local road.
From the street, Marco could catch a better glimpse of the parking lot they were leaving behind. The yellow tape was gone. The spot lights and traffic cones were cleared away. The roofs of last remaining police cars were islands in the sea of people— just two of them.
24 hours later.
The sunrise made the pavement look white. It tasted like early Autumn.
The local bird population was busy fluttering through traffic and between roof tops to their unseen nests. Marco watched them. He leaned back on the hard wooden bench outside his hospital. His legs were outstretched and crossed at the ankle. Between his fingers, rather lazily, he held a cigarette.
He missed the taste of nicotine more than he thought he would. For the first time in the past forty eight hours, that cigarette settled his stomach.
While they’d been at the hospital, Marco and Ace barely spoke. Doctors— his colleagues in neurology whisked Ace away the second they’d reached the emergency room. Every time Marco saw him after that, it was with residents hovering or Luffy at his bedside or Newgate camped out in the love seat at the corner of the room.
The balmy atmosphere and the buzz of the nicotine made everything dreamlike. He hadn’t slept in forty eight hours. He hadn’t had a private conversation with Ace since the surgery. They hadn’t necessarily left each other's sides since the assault on the shop and Marco felt thousands of miles away from him.
He took another drag.
Isou brought them clean clothes yesterday. Marco wore a faded flannel and soft denim jeans. He felt odd walking through the front sliding doors of his hospital without scrubs or a white coat. The nurses at the front desk smiled at him all the same.
As he rounded the corner he approached a second row of front desks. The staff there controlled the flow of patients in and out of the neurological ward. It was hardly six in the morning. Too early to be scolded for smoking outside the designated smoking area and too early to get involved in the bickering that was coming into earshot.
A young man argued with the head nurse. He had his hands on the counter in a gesture that was quite literally holding his ground. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me…” He ran out of air on the last syllable and it sounded so familiar, Marco did a double take. “It’s just feeling like you haven't listened to a word I’ve said.”
“Sir, this is basic hospital policy.” The head nurse of nuro feared no god, let alone the man in front of her. "Only immediate family is permitted outside of visiting hours. You’ll have to come back at noon.”
“I am immediate family.” He insisted, “What you need to do is—”
“What I need to do?”
“I’m his brother.”
She looked unimpressed with his license. “The family of this patient was particularly concerned with our hospital's security—”
“Contact someone from his room and give them my name.”
“You can come back at noon.”
“You want to deal with me for another six hours? You don’t want to deal with me for another six hours.”
“Oh,” She smiled, “Have a seat, sweetheart.”
“Can I interrupt?” Marco approached the front desk, hands in his pockets.The irritated young man had blond hair that was frizzing up in the humidity. Burn scars— old ones— covered the right side of his face. His leather belt and his leather shoes looked tidy. His shirt sleeve cuffs were pressed into sharp flat shapes across his wrists. There was European English in his voice that made his argument charming despite how angry he’d been getting. Marco cleared his throat, “You’re not Sabo, are you?”
“I am.” Sabo stared at him, trying to assess what kind of threat he was. Not unlike Ace had. “And you are?”
Marco waved the head nurse back into her seat, “I know him.” He explained. “He is immediately family.”
She sighed and waved her notebook at them. “Just walk with him, please.”
So, Marco started to walk. Sabo watched his back a minute, floored at how easily the conflict was resolved. The fierce, relentless argument he had prepared suddenly had nowhere to go. Marco glanced over his shoulder. “C’mon,” He said, “I’ll show you where Ace is.”
“Are you a doctor?” Sabo followed him.
“Yeah—”
“Is he okay?”
“Yeah, he is. Completely stable. He’s been asleep for the majority of the times we’ve been here.”
“His dad told me needed surgery— what surgery? How invasive was this surgery?” For half a second, Marco looked confused watching Sabo scramble for his cellphone. Then, he realized he’d opened a notepad app.
“Seven stitches across his right shoulder. It—“ For some reason he was stammering, “I would not describe it as invasive.”
“What else? So, what now?” Sabo pushed, “Physical therapy? In your head, what’s his long term look like?”
“Ah…” Marco slowed his pace to a stop. He wasn't sure what he was doing— why it felt so uncomfortable to just introduce himself.
The hospital hallway didn’t have the sun back-lighting everything through the sliding doors like the lobby had. Marco could see the details in Sabo’s face now. His eyes were round and possibly the brightest blue he’d ever seen. “His shoulder will be fine— Ace can go ahead and tell everybody he’s been shot but to be perfectly clear, he was grazed. Long term…” Marco slowed himself down, “Long term, this is concussion number three for him. His CT came back clean. No bleeding, no swelling, he’s lucky. Right now, he’s sensitive to light and sound. He shouldn’t be driving for a while— Screens are completely off limits for the next month. At least. What Ace needs right now is sleep, a lot of it. But, you don't want to talk to me, you want to talk to his neurologist.”
Sabo slowed the rapid fire typing on his phone and looked at Marco. He was sizing him up now, trying to figure out the bruises on his face and the dark red scabs on his knuckles. After a long pause he asked, “Do I know you?”
Marco considered himself a pretty confident person on most occasions. It was fitting that all of his cool-collected-nonchalance would snap into dust at that very moment. His words felt clumsy in his mouth. Marco found himself questioning how much Ace talked about him to Sabo— if at all. “I know you.” He extended his hand and Sabo took it. “My name is Marco.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Marco?”
“Right.”
“Ace’s Marco?”
“That sounds like me.”
Sabo let go of him. His expression brightened with two perfect rows of immaculately straight teeth. “Oh! Is that right?” He released some kind of cross between a scoff and a chuckle. “Yes— I know exactly who you are.”