Chapter Text
Ace had two things he liked above all else: eating and sleeping. Within a week of his birth, he already adopted the most efficient schedule to maximize both. Every two hours he woke up on the dot to demand his fill, then played with whatever he could reach (his personal favorites including Rogue’s waves and Garp’s braid – and if Garp placed her hair within reach of her son’s grabby hands after he displayed intense fascination with Rogue’s, crying for the younger woman almost immediately after he ate, Rogue didn’t say anything) until he dropped off for another two hours. During this period of child rearing, Garp truly became thankful for her size. The volume of milk her breast produced somehow managed to sate her baby Ds’, past and present, without additional formula. The two women wanted to draw as little attention to the newborn with them, as well as Garp’s identity, as possible during their inter-Blue travels. Garp knew from experience how newspapers tended to blow up over her maternity from when some intern unearthed an old image of when she was carrying Dragon and shopping with Tsuru for baby clothes (the lad had been punished, Tsuru later learned, to sort through old archives after he spilled his editor’s coffee). It ran the circuit for weeks and it had been all Tsuru, Senny, and she could do to keep Dragon’s name and face out of it. Her son may have put his own name in the papers as the faceless leader of his revolution, but at least his enemies were not because of his mother.
Garp couldn’t care less about spending most of her time in their cabin with her baby. It gave her more time to hold him and memorize how his eyelashes rested against his freckled cheeks and how he puffed the last bit of his sleepy breath through his mouth while she had the time.
Ace was strangely delicate for a child that came from her and Roger’s hard cut frames. Even with the baby fat, she could tell his jaw was strong, but pointed more like Rogue than either her or Roger. It seemed a lot of her mother’s Portgas genes skipped her over. But she could see so much of her and Roger in him too: her ears and forehead, a head of black hair that grew thicker every day, Roger’s bridge and those striking eyes – turning more silver each day – she saw every time Ace’s stomach roused him from slumber. And if she could see so much now, in the pudgy contours of Ace’s baby body, how much more would she see when he’s all grown up? Who will he grow up into, taking her and Roger’s flesh into his own? But the future was for the years to come; right now, she will hold her son, let him play with her hair and feed from her breast while she hums sea shanties for all she can’t sing. Rogue can teach him the words when he is old enough to remember.
. . .
Garp took them across the Calm Belts and through the Grand Line herself, in a small vessel meant for week-long fishing trips bought from a fisherman with neither the youth to make them anymore nor the children to pass it down to. He looked to like the little wave Ace kept giving him, a motion he picked from the many people that cooed over the babe when she and Rogue took him up deck or in town for some fresh air and sun. He had a troublesome habit of trying to stare at the sun, prompting Garp to support him more vertically to distract with the view around.
She scared off the sea kings with Haoshoku and instructed Rogue to secure herself and Ace below deck whenever the weather hit. She grabbed the sails with one hand, held the till steady with the other, and mapped her way across the Grand Line using the log pose she’d calibrated at the first island. Though cardinal directions were hard to determine between the Calm Belts, finding an island was easy if you knew its position from two others sequential on a log pose. In this way, Garp established a general northern direction, eventually reaching the other Calm Belt and passing through it to the East Blue.
“It’s so… tranquil here,” Rogue commented as they came within sight of their first island of the sea, for even among the predictably normal Blues, the East stood out.
“Aye, the East’s like that,” Garp replied, holding Ace’s head up so he could get a good view of his parents’ home sea. “But the real cincher’s the people. There’s some bad apples but the common folk are some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet.”
“It sounds lovely,” Rogue hummed. She took Ace so Garp had both hands to bring the boat in. If they had traveled as she thought, they should be halfway between Dawn Island and Reverse Mountain. One port trip later, with many congratulating the young mother and the older marine keeping her mouth shut, Garp found they were one island east of where she had targeted and readjusted course. Ace was in her arms the moment they were out of sight as Garp let Rogue take over with the seafaring skills she’d learned while they were in South Blue now that they were out of the Grand Line. He was awake and looking around as much as his two-month-old neck would allow.
“There’s not much happening, is there, fire?” she told her son. “We’re out of the Grand Line now; sudden storms won’t be happening anymore. It takes a while to adjust back to the Blues. Everything seems so slow once you’ve been on the Line. But that’s better for you, means me and Rogue will worry less when you get to crawling around. I can see it in your eyes, you’re gonna be a little troublemaker, aren’t you? Give me and your godmother some awful scares.” She wiggled her fingers in front of his face, making him laugh as he caught her middle finger with both of his tiny hands. He’d grown quite a bit from the wrinkly baby she’d first held, but Garp still dwarfed him easily. With how much Portgas he looked to have in him, Garp figured that might always be the case.
Ace was very amused by his own spit bubbles, going cross-eyed to watch them pop. Garp smiled besotted at her child as she used her sleeve to wipe away the spit trail before it reached his blanket. Unlike South Blue, the East was firm in the grasp of winter and while the more northern reaches were much colder, the blanket was still needed for a newborn.
Their little boat continued sailing east, docking only when supplies ran low. More people in the East knew who Garp was, the fame that came from big figures sharing your home sea a part of their pride. Landfalls meant less time with Ace in her arms and curbing the endearments she loved to shower on her treasure. She dreaded a little the farce she’d have to perform on Dawn.
. . .
“Great, just what we need,” Woopslap grumbled as he tottered out the bar. “More of Garp’s D-d(95)ned family tearing up the town. Gotta shift the budget back to reconstruction again.” Trina chuckled at his antics, wiping down the bar where he’d sat with one hand and rubbing her hip with the other. Garp cradled the glass of whiskey she’d refamiliarized herself with over the past two months of travel as she indulged in her own fond smile. Half of it was for the ever-familiar antics of the sheriff-turned-mayor and the other for the delighted, mischievous grin Rogue bared as she contemplated all the teasing she could do with that personality. Little Makino was busy being fascinated with the application of her crash course in baby holding, looking at the sleeping Ace with open awe and adoration.
“So, you actually remember the man this time?” Trina deadpanned, the only sign of her teasing the twinkle in her eye. Garp choked on the draught of liquor she’d just taken.
“Oh no,” Rogue waved dismissively, her reaction much more controlled and only a little exaggerated. “He’s mine.”
“Right,” Trine sniffed, clearly not believing a word.
“No, no, he’s really mine,” Rogue insisted as Garp finally regained control of her windpipe. “He’s got my freckles and everything.”
“Oh, you share blood with the babe alright,” Trina allowed as her hands moved to wiping down some glasses. “But like (2)ll I won’t recognize the second after raising the first. Don’t try to pass that sh(53)t with me.”
Rogue floundered at the abrupt explosion of her prepared replies, looking to Garp for what to say. Garp pushed her glass to the side and folded her hands on top of the bar.
“Didn’t think it’d land with you either, old bat,” Garp admitted. “But if you don’t press, you can say you didn’t know if this all comes out.”
“That’s kind of you, tike,” the bartender replied only a little sarcastically. “But I’m not gonna jump ship just to watch you sink. ‘Sides, I’m too old to feel threatened by either locker. You two are the ones risking things.”
Garp laughed, not expecting it to have gone any other way, and glanced at Makino to make sure the girl was still completely absorbed with her treasure. “You’re right. Always are.”
“Course I am,” Trina agreed wholeheartedly, pouring herself some rum in the glass she’d just cleaned. “Good to hear that lad you’re always going on about fin’lly grew a pair.”
It was Rogue’s turn to laugh and Garp sat there flummoxed. “But… wha- how?!”
“Pfft,” Trine huffed as she took a swig of her medicine. “When your bonehead of a girl talks about one guy for twenty years, you tend to notice.”
Garp did not pout, but it was close.
. . .
Garp didn’t have a house on Dawn Island, having enlisted in the Navy before she was old enough to legally sign a property deed. Since the moment Trina had decided to care for the feral forest child, she’d kept one of the storerooms half empty. It was the first space someone else had offered her of their own home and meant more than guest rooms or vice admiral quarters. Dragon, when he grew up here, and now Makino used the spare bedroom next to Trina’s. But now, there were two more permanent residents than there’d ever been. It wasn’t right to force Trina to house that many people.
Woopslap was a big help to Garp struggling through the nigh endless paperwork of real estate as Rogue acquainted herself and Ace with the village, sowing seeds of truth and deception like the charming terror she was. But it was worth it to stun Rogue with a plot on the edge of the village, just big enough for a house and garden and with a backdoor to the forest Rogue was already in love with. It was empty to start with but Garp rolled up her sleeves and changed that soon enough, pounding the permafrost ground into something pliable enough to lay the foundations and listening to Jackary’s carpenter advice on design and integrity. She put all the patience she had into the house.
It wasn’t big, four rooms and a water closet, but it didn’t need to be, not when home meant more than four walls and a roof. Home was people who smiled at you each morning and weren’t afraid to get cross with you; it was open fields and twisting trees and waves crashing against feet-packed sand that bled into your blood as easily as air, making limbs light with untamed freedom. Neither of them spent much time inside anyway; Garp doubted Ace would break that tradition.
Rogue moved in immediately, every spare corner and surface soon overflowing with pots ready for planting once the weather turned. Little Makino liked to visit and sit for hours listening as Rogue talked on and on about her trade. Within a month, she had pulled steady contracts out of shops within Foosha and Goa, as well as larger merchant companies, with promises based on the sample products she’d brought from Baterilla. It was a little shocking how easily Rogue fit into Dawn but, then again, one should not underestimate a D. Rogue had two loves, her trade and her family, and nothing would stand between either of them.
Evenings were often spent in Partys’ Bar, Rogue falling into place as a part time worker as she danced around tables with little Makino. Already she was making plans to expand the village’s betting history into something she could be proud of. As her cousin indulged in familiarity, giving as good as she got and flirting with every acceptable man within her strike zone, Garp played with little Ace. She shadowed his explorations and curbed his more mischievous endeavors with tales woven from her own life, just as she’d done with the little ones on Baterilla, keeping his rapt attention as firmly as a sea king did its meal. She let herself have every moment she could since, with Rogue’s lies spinning their subtle thread, all anyone else saw was the marine spending time with her godson (one of Rogue’s finest, flipping their roles so sweetly no one doubted a pinch), indulging in fond memories of when she had her own little one.
When her baby started crying for more than his mother’s milk, she softened the meat Trina served her with her own teeth and fed Ace the pulp. The villagers, unaccustomed to picking up small patterns and details, didn’t catch how Rogue never did, only cutting and tearing the meat she fed her “son” with utensils or her hands. If one day, she actually had her own tike, the letter present in her soul would call her to do the same, just as it called Garp with her boys, a tradition without words or the need to write it down. The villagers passed it off as Garp EccentricityTM, just as they had with Dragon, and Trina, not a D herself but having as good as raised one, kept her smile to herself.
The mayor kept his thoughts busy with worries over construction costs, preparing preemptively for once the new one could walk. He’d cried with relief when the extent of Rogue’s mischievous started and ended with words and general permissiveness of others’ insanity.
When the three D’s trekked up the mountain to introduce the new arrivals to Dadan and her gang, the redhead took one look at Rogue and the baby in her arms, eyes flickering to Garp in a telling glance, and declared proudly and frantically that she saw nothing, not at all.
Garp increased her count of blackmailing the bandit leader by one as Rogue watched on, delighted. Ace, the cheeky little brat he was, laughed happily despite not understanding the goings on in the least.
Buds bloomed, leaves unfurled, and spring came with the clumsy steps of baby animals and humans. With a determined pout that came all from his momma, Ace went from crawling to standing to running in a matter of two weeks. No high surface or skittering insect was safe from his explorations as he turned Foosha into his own personal playground. Garp let him move as he pleased, only stepping in when he got a little too precarious in his footholds or a little too close to the forest. Excited babbles and shouts livened the cozy village as new life blossomed.
There were days, of course, when it was harder to smile, when the morning sun didn’t beckon or Garp looked a little too long at her whiskey glass. But Ace was there with his happy laugh and silver eyes so full of fire and life. Rogue was there with her quiet and noisy company alike, pulling Garp this way or that or walking her through the delicate mixture of herbs and careful shaping of wax despite countless failures. Makino was there with her easy smiles and untainted love as she learned from her Auntie Rogue or listened to stories from her Auntie Garp. Woopslap was there with his feisty grumbles and plans that cleaned up after the messes Garp left but never thought of removing the source. And Trina was there with straight words and a glass only when her expert eye knew it wouldn’t cause more harm than good.
It’s funny, how when you fight loneliness, you can realize how little you are alone.
. . .
Tsuru arrived with two weeks’ notice and a fierce hug that made something in Garp’s shoulders loosen. Garp carried her bag with ease as they made their way to Partys’, the steps familiar for both of them. Some of the older folks called greetings for the steel-haired marine, remembering her from before Dragon left.
“How’s Senny?” Garp asked as they left the harbor behind them. Ace had tuckered out half an hour ago from running around since dawn and Makino was watching him as she practiced her letters. Rogue was off in Goa selling her wares, having set off with a spring in her step, ready to con some nobles out of far more than her products cost.
“Oh, pulling his hair out over the whole mess this Age of Piracy is causing,” Tsuru hummed, looking a little worn out herself. Clearly, she needed this vacation for more than just meeting her nephew and niece. She side-eyed Garp, “He’s expecting you back the moment your vacation ends.”
“I know,” Garp responded, only too aware of the dwindling days. It had been nearly eight months since Roger’s execution and, while her heart was unwilling to leave Dawn, her fists itched with every newspaper that cried of another pirate raid. She didn’t fault Roger for his final words, the dramatic fool, but she did curse all those who used them to gratify their own evil actions. She had four months until her leave was up, time that she would give completely to her son, but then she would return to the seas, to protect its people and better the world Ace would grow up in.
“Well, that’s for a later day,” Tsuru decided, languidly stretching her arms above her head. “I think it’s about time I meet my niece and grand-nephew.”
Trina greeted them with an amicable nod toward the sleeping babe. Makino had gotten bored of her letters and was doodling flowers and leaves in the margins, absently rocking the basket one of the older women on Baterilla had gifted them.
If Garp were to walk into Marine HQ and tell them that the sharp-eyed, steel-spined Vice Admiral Tsuru looked inside that basket and, with one look at the child inside, softened, maybe two people would believe her. But soften she did, just like when she first held Dragon – though that rascal had been about screaming her ears off. One hand softly and oh so carefully tousled a lock of his raven hair.
“He looks nothing like you,” she spoke, a trace of teasing coloring her awe.
“It ain’t hard for them to think he’s Rogue’s,” Garp conceded. She wasn’t too upset with it, because not looking like herself benefitted Ace more and because Rogue was a very pretty woman. “Guess the Portgas skipped me.”
“Is that his name?”
“Yep,” Garp nodded, eyes brightening at finally introducing her son to her sworn sister. It was too soon after everything for Garp to have told her through letter or denden, a silence Tsuru had insisted on until she managed to get her own leave approved. “Tsuru, meet Portgas D. Ace.”
Garp did not miss the sly glance Tsuru shot at her. She ignored it steadily.
“Hello, Ace,” Tsuru greeted as the babe slumbered away. “I’m your Aunt Tsuru, but because your momma’s a big buffoon, we’re going to go with great-aunt.”
“Tsuru,” Garp whined in protest. The woman only smiled and continued to memorize her nephew’s baby face. It was her prerogative to tease the child over how cute he was as a baby, after all.
Roused by the voice, Ace blinked open sleepy eyes. He didn’t start screaming, perfectly content to rest in the gentle motions of Makino’s basket-rocking and watch the people around him. Ace had stopped whining at new people soon after Garp started bringing him to Partys’. Greeted with an awake baby, Tsuru noticed, of course she did.
“Those don’t come from Portgas or Monkey,” she observed.
Garp hummed, “Rogue likes to talk of a sea-bound merchant whose eyes cut straight to her heart.”
Tsuru’s answering huff displayed her amusement. Ace, noticing his mother, gurgled for attention, lifting his arms in the universal ‘pick me up’ sign. Garp obliged, resting his head against her shoulder and bouncing with the ebb of the sea. Tsuru looked at her sworn sister gently, reminded of days past when Garp did the same with a different babe.
“Family looks good on you,” she said.
Garp grinned, eyes constant on her treasure with freckled cheeks and silver eyes. She had her baby in her arms, her eldest chasing his dream, her niece living with unbridled happiness, and her sister by her side. She’d like her brother on her other side, the freedom to give her son her own name, and a dead man who could steal her away for hidden moments even if they couldn’t have what countless others do, but Garp had never been the greediest of D’s. She wouldn’t ask for more, but she would fight to keep what she had with every breath she drew.
Garp was strong, for strength wasn’t to take what you lacked, as too many believed, but to protect what you had.
. . .
Tsuru and Rogue met.
It was just as terrifying as Garp feared.