As Whitebeard's widow, you decide to visit the woman who raised Ace before you.
-mentions of character death, grief, loss, silent rage, acceptance, moving on
WC: 2,685
-A/N: I am clearly not over the death of my fictional husband.
The sea had always been a comfort. It was steady, familiar, even in its chaos. But as the island began to appear on the horizon, your stomach twisted with something uncomfortable. You were sailing into someone else’s grief with nothing but a basket and a photo album clutched like a lifeline.
So many things could go wrong.
But still, you pressed on. You had to. Because even if you never met her before, you were both mothers to that boy. Both of you watched him grow up from opposite ends of the world. Her in the trees and dirt, you on saltwater and storm winds. He lived in both places. And now, with nothing left but ash and memory, you needed her to know she wasn’t alone. You needed to know it too.
The ship dropped anchor just past the inlet, and you stepped off with the worn basket in hand. You brought things Ace used to like, dried meat, a few bottles of wine, homemade sweets, and something all too precious, one of Ace’s old shirts. These were meant for someone who had loved him too.
Your boots hit the dirt of Foosha Village and you silently made your way through the markets. The villagers barely glanced your way. You were just another traveler with tired eyes. That was fine. You weren’t here for attention, the less of it the better.
The small market near the harbor buzzed with chatter. You walked up to a small stand where an old woman stood behind, her eyes sharp but kind. She didn’t ask who you were, but her gaze lingered on the Whitebeard tattoo peeking from beneath your sleeve.
“Looking for something?”, she asked gently.
“Something sweet”, you replied as you pointed towards the array of colorful jars.
She handed you a jar of preserves.
“Strawberry. It’s a favorite around here”.
The woman didn’t comment. Just wrapped the jar in cloth and handed it over. As you paid, she gave a small nod, not quite recognition, but understanding. People here seemed to know what grief looked like.
With the basket heavier than before, you turned toward the forest trail and began the slow climb up Mt. Colubo. You followed a narrow path through the woods.Halfway to the cabin, you stopped.
There it was, half swallowed by time and nature, but still standing.
The old treehouse you heard so much about.
You stepped off the trail, drawn toward it like a tide. A makeshift treehouse, still stubbornly hanging on. The ladder planks nailed into the trunk were worn and gray, and a frayed bit of cloth fluttered from the top, catching the breeze like a fading pirate flag.
You thought about what it must have looked like watching Ace and his brothers play in it. They were just boys. Not pirates, or a name on a bounty.
You remembered him telling you about how they used to race each other up the rungs. How they would camp in it for days at a time, pretending to be kings of their own world.
You stepped closer and let your fingers brush against the worn bark, closing your eyes. There was grief, sharp as a blade. But also joy, tangled in the branches, sunk into the wood. He had been happy here.
That mattered.
By the time Dadan’s cabin came into view, you were sweating with your heart slightly racing. Not from the hike, but from uncertainty. You hesitated at the property line. You collected yourself, stepped forward and knocked. The door creaked open to reveal a broad shouldered woman with wild hair and sharp eyes. You had never met the woman who opened the door. Her eyes narrowed instantly, jaw set with suspicion.
“Yeh? What do you want?”
You introduced yourself, told her your name first.
“I was with Whitebeard. I…” your throat tightened, “...I was his wife. I came to bring you something…of Ace’s”.
She stared, unmoving. The name, the tattoo, the expression on your face, it all landed at once. After a long pause, she stepped aside.
“Come in”.
The cabin was humble, and warm. Dadan motioned for you to sit across from her. You sat the basket down on the table, sliding towards her. She slowly started unpacking the contents. Then she pulled out the cloth-wrapped bundle and gently unfolded it.
“I didn’t know if you’d want these”, you said, “But I couldn’t throw them away and I didn’t think it was right to keep it all to myself”.
Dadan’s eyes didn’t leave the items. She lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. Dogra ran up and placed two wine glasses on the table. You didn’t think twice, you grabbed a bottle of wine and poured you two a glass.
The two of you talked for a long while, the wine growing warmer in your glasses and the light shifting across the wooden floor. You told her about Ace’s quiet moments aboard the Moby Dick. How he’d stay up late talking with Marco on the railing, how fiercely he defended his brothers, how he once ate an entire roast meant for twenty men and had the nerve to pretend someone else did it, how he chased you with a sea slug, how he would spend hours napping in the sun claiming he was “recharging his fire”. You laughed when you said it, though your chest ached.
Dadan responded with her own stories, rough edged but fond. How Ace used to sneak out at night, climbing trees just to feel the wind on his face, how he’d drag Luffy into wrestling matches that broke every bit of furniture in the cabin, how he used to sit on the roof and curse Garp to the sky like it was a ritual. The more she talked, the more her voice trembled, like the words had been sitting on her tongue for so long with no one to hear them.
You both laughed. You both cried. And when there was nothing left to say, you just sat in the silence of shared loss and fond memories.
Then the front door creaked open.The air shifted instantly. You felt it before you even turned.
Your heart froze. Your blood turned to ice.
There he was.
Garp was standing in the doorway. His hat in his weathered hands, coat hanging heavy on his frame like it bore the weight of every decision he’d ever made.
Dadan shot to her feet instantly, fists clenched, face already darkening with old rage.
“You’ve got some goddamn nerve showing up again…”, she started.
But you were already rising, slow and deliberate, your whole body trembling. You didn’t shout. You didn’t scream.
You crossed the room in three quiet steps, that’s all it took.
Your palm met his cheek with a sharp, echoing crack that rang louder than a gunshot. The force of it snapped his head to the side, but he didn’t move otherwise. He didn’t block, didn’t flinch.
You stared at him, eyes brimming with fire and tears.
“You.”, you breathed.
One word spat like a curse.
Garp’s throat worked around a dry breath.
“I…” he started, but his voice cracked.
“Don’t.”
The word came out sharp and cold, soaked in venom. Your whole body shook as you forced the next words out.
“Don’t you dare open your mouth to apologize. Not to me.”
Garp’s shoulders sank under the weight of silence. His mouth opened again, but you cut him off before anything more could escape.
A few tears fell in your eyes, but your voice came out low, burning, precise.
“I had buried my husband. The father to our many children. I buried hundreds of our sons, including Ace.”, you stepped closer, jaw tight with restraint, “And you stood there and let it happen. You watched as the world tore my family apart”.
Garp said nothing at first. His face stayed turned away, the red mark blooming across his weathered skin.
“I…cared for him too…I just..”, he finally said, voice rough, quiet almost as a whisper.
Your eyes narrowed.
“Then you should have done something”, you spat, words laced with steel, fists still clenched, “but instead…”, you bit the inside of your cheek until you felt blood. You took a breath to calm yourself.
“I can’t even visit their graves without being escorted by Shanks. Like I’m the threat. Tell me Garp, do you know what it’s like to have to be accompanied by a Yonko just to mourn?”
The cabin was silent. All the bandits just stood and stared, not sure of what to say or do. They glanced over at their boss.
Dadan said nothing. Her eyes had gone glassy, and she clenched her fists. You could see the tremble in her jaw, the old anger rekindling beneath. She’d tried to beat Garp bloody the last time he came here. Marco told you about it. She had screamed until her voice gave out, and when it was done, she collapsed in the dirt, sobbing for the boy she raised and lost. She glared at the stoic so-called hero of the Marines.
“I told myself”, you said after a moment, quieter now but no less sharp, “if I ever saw you, I’d break your ribs. But now that you’re here? It’s worse. You look like you’re mourning, like you still have the right”.
Garp stood there, head bowed, shoulders slack. He just stood there, looking at you with those worn storm swept eyes, haunted by the ghosts of choices he cannot undo. He didn’t defend himself, didn’t ask for understanding.
And none of you offered it. You wiped a tear from your cheek with the back of your sleeve, irritated by your own shaking.
He stayed for a moment longer, like he might say something more. But there was nothing left to be said.
“Go.”, you quietly demanded, “Get off this mountain. Get off this island. And don’t you ever stand before me again”.
He turned and walked back into the forest, the door clicking shut behind him. No one asked him to stay, and no one stopped him from going.
*****
The next morning, you handed Dadan a thick photo album with edges worn, heavy with memories, full of stolen moments from a life spent at sea.
“Ace hated photos”, you said with a tired smile, “But Thatch didn’t”.
Dandan opened it slowly, fingers trembling as she turned the pages. There was Ace asleep on the deck, his mouth slightly open. Ace laughing with Marco, his freckles caught in the golden light. Ace making a rude face at the camera, holding a mug of sake in both hands. At the back of the album, there was a handwritten note.
'For the days we’ll never get back.'
Dadan didn’t speak for a long moment. Her eyes traced each image like they were treasures she thought lost to time. When she looked up, they were red, her mouth pressed into a thin line.
“I didn’t think anyone else remembered him like this”, she whispered.
“Now you’ll never forget”, you reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.
The pain wasn’t gone, but it had changed. It felt more bearable, now that it had been shared.
“There’s a vivre card tucked in the back pocket”, you said softly, “If you ever need me”.
“Thank you”, she whispered.
When it came time to leave, you stepped outside and took one last look at the mountain behind the cabin and smiled. The path back down was quieter than when you’d climbed it. Morning light filtered through the trees in soft golden beams as you listened to the birds sing.The dirt trail wound past the old treehouse again and for a moment, you paused to take it in.
The breeze smelled of pine and salt, and far below, the sea murmured like an old friend calling you home. You didn’t feel lighter, exactly, but the weight in your chest had shifted. No longer crushing, just present. You had said what needed saying. Given what you came to give. And now, with the photo album secure in Dadan’s hands, you walked toward the ship with your head held high and the sun on your back.
The wind started to pick up and hurried your pace. You allowed a smile to come when you saw the ship waiting at the edge of the island for you. Some of the crew stood at the helm, but all of them waited quietly, patiently. They didn’t ask questions. They didn’t need to. The ship rocked gently beneath your feet as you made your way aboard. Marco appeared at your side, his presence calm and steady. He didn’t speak at first. He just rested his hands on the railing, his gaze following yours to the horizon.
“You did what you needed to do, Ma”, he spoke softly.
You stared out at the vast ocean feeling more at ease.
“No, I did what he would have wanted”, you looked up at him and smiled.
The ship pulled away from the small dock, you stood at the railing, the salt wind tugging at your hair. The ocean stretched out before you, vast and endless in its quiet welcome. Behind you, the mountain receded into the mist, the cabin nestled somewhere among its folds.
You caught a glimpse of a familiar white coat, you didn’t look back, but you felt it.
Garp, still watching from the trees, silent and motionless. He didn’t approach, and you didn’t wave. You had said everything you needed to say. And in the stillness of that final moment, you knew Garp understood you now.
You let it settle into your bones that the two women who had loved the same boy as their son in different lifetimes were able to share a glass of wine. Grief had brought you together, tied a thread between strangers and turned them into something like family. It was a strange comfort. A real one.
The sea breeze was warmer today. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you pictured Ace again. Him leaning against the treehouse with a crooked smirk, waving a half-eaten meat skewer at you, laughing like the world had never hurt him. You chose to remember his freckles, his bright eyes, and that stubborn, beautiful fire that never quite went out.
As the island faded into the horizon, you sat at the edge the railing, letting the wind brush against your face like a ghost of old comfort. Your thoughts drifted to him, your captain, your husband.
You wondered if he’d be proud of what you’d done, or if he’d shake his head with that slow, knowing smile of his. Maybe he was watching from somewhere beyond the sea, or maybe he was too busy keeping an eye on all the sons you’d both lost. The thought brought some relief.
You closed your eyes, and in the hush between waves, a memory surfaced. One of those rare, quiet nights on the Moby Dick. It was just the two of you sitting on the edge of the dock, sharing a bottle of wine while the rest of the crew was fast asleep. Their laughter had drifted in the wind, distant but warm. He laughed softly, the kind that rumbled in his chest. He reached over to fill your glass again.
“This….is peace. I wish nights like this could last forever”, Whitebeard had told you that night under the stars.
You hadn’t known then how rare those moments would be. Now, as the ship carried you back into open waters, you held that moment close and whispered into the breeze.
“I hope you find peace”, you whispered.
You took one last deep breath. Then, slowly, you let it go. You felt a cool breeze across your face, while listening to the waves. You smiled because that’s where they lived now. In the wind, in the waves, in every piece of the world they left behind.
You let the sea take the last of your silence. You had mourned. You had remembered. And now, you had to keep sailing forward.
