Chapter Text
Sunday night.
“Hold on,” Marco navigated over the maze of suitcases and half folded clothes on the floor of his apartment, “You’re not charging him rent? Who even is this kid?”
“I knew his father, years ago.” In the incredibly rare circumstance that Whitebeard had to lie to Marco, he would do so, effortlessly. “An old friend of mine. The kids’ had a hard life, he’s raising a twelve year old on his own— ”
“Sorry, there’s two of them?”
Marco had to hold his cellphone an inch off his ear while Whitebeard laughed, “The little ones’ in school, the older one works hard enough to earn their rent! Relax, Marco. Ace is a sweetheart.”
“This is the one you let steal food out of your fridge for half the summer?”
“That’s the one!” Whitebeard replied, “He doesn’t do that anymore.”
Edward Newgate had a terrible habit of hiring fatherless, trouble-making punks in need of direction to work at his auto parts garage. He’d been teaching scrappy kids how to keep their heads down and put their hands to work for the better part of the last twenty years. Now, he’s accumulated a crew of mechanics that he considers family.
Marco was one of the first front desk employees Whitebeard hired and his most talked about success story. As of the end of this school year, Marco had officially earned his medical degree. He was a doctor. A very proud one at that.
“When should we be expecting you for dinner?”
“We?”
“Sure.” Newgate’s voice filled with warmth, “I’ve been teaching Ace how to cook. He’s pretty decent, now, I can actually keep it down!” Again, Marco kept his phone off his ear for the laughter that followed. “We eat at—”
“Six and not a minute later. I remember.” Marco attempted to rub the feeling of burnout from under his eyes. A home cooked meal sounded nice if it weren’t for the addition of a twelve year old and his fresh-out-of-prison older brother. “I’ve got an entire apartment to unpack so, I’ll have to see you Tuesday.”
“Everyone’s excited to have you back.”
Marco smirked at the campus outside his window, a view he was more than ready to say goodbye to. “I’m pretty excited myself.”
“Drive safely, alright? And, don’t keep us waiting too long.”
Marco had a week before orientation. One week to unpack, re acclimate, and check on the shop before his entire life was signed away to the emergency room.
His home was in a densely populated, urban oasis just outside a much larger city. Nothing like the wide empty fields and quant college town his medical school was at the center of. It’d take him four hours of driving to get back to the chaos of pissed drivers and electric bikes zipping through tight lanes of traffic.
No place like home.
Tuesday Afternoon.
Whitebeard’s Auto Parts and Mechanic was printed in beautiful white penmanship across the top of an old brick building. It stood proudly on a corner off the city's main boulevard.
Just as Marco remembered, the two, truck sized garage doors were wide open, giving the mechanics plenty of room and fresh air.
Marco walked through the garage like he’d never left and was more than pleased to see how little things had changed. It could only be Thatch’s playlist blasting that music. Izou’s artwork, while updated was unmistakably his, decorating the brick walls. And, Teetch’s old chevy in the same damn parking spot outside.
“No… fucking… way.” A voice came out from under the hood of a truck. The man had a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and red hair gelled back out of his face. “Is that Marco?!” Thatch got to him first. Which was a little terrifying, considering the man was about six feet too big to be hugging someone with a tackle. “Marco!!”
The blond scrambled to stay on his feet, “Okay! Alright—Hi Thatchy— ”
“Marco’s home, you guys! Holy shit, I can’t believe it! Look at you!”
The mechanics under cars and occupied in the adjacent office all came to have a look. The prodigal son had returned and Whitebeard’s shop erupted in celebration. Marco had to abandon his backpack on the floor, there were just too many hugs that needed to be given. Izou came sauntering out of the front office, looking beautifully overdressed as always. His gold and silver bracelets rang as he wrapped his arms around Marco’s shoulders.
“Thatch, do you even realize you’re talking to a medical professional now?” Izou smiled widely, “Congratulations, Doctor.”
“Thanks, Izou.”
“I saw your graduation pictures. Pops has them hung up in his office, you’ll have to take a look.”
“He’s blushing!” Thatch delivered a solid punch into Marco’s arm. “How cute. Yes, we’re all very very proud. You’re gonna hook me up with a medical marijuana card, right?”
“Thatch, you gotta stop telling people that.”
“Right, right—” His best friend smiled, “I missed you, man!”
“I missed you too.”
“Where the hell is Marco?!” Whitebeard’s gravely deep voice could shake the walls. The old man emerged from his office and while his question sounded hostile enough to make a normal person run for their damn lives, it overwhelmed Marco with nostalgia and a sense of home. “Lets see him— What the hell is wrong with you, boy? Moving so far away from me?!”
Marco smilied, “I came back! That doesn’t count for something?”
“Yeah it’s the only thing keeping my foot out of yer ass!” Newgate hugged him. His mentor smelled like cigarettes, booze and motor oil. While age had been shrinking him for years now, Newgate was still built like one hell of a beast; he made most grown men feel short.
“Hi Pops.”
“Hi yourself!” Newgate dropped a heavy hand against his back. “Have you eaten yet? We’re having lunch. Thatch, get over here, it’s time for your damn break.”
Thatch grabbed onto Marco’s arm and pulled him towards the back door with all the enthusiasm of a little kid. “I’ll make us something. Pops! Did Ace pick up groceries for you yesterday?”
“Yeah.” Newgate retrieved Marco’s forgotten backpack and gestured for Izou to follow them. “Have a look in the kitchen, Thatch, it’s stocked up.”
There was plenty his mechanics liked to do for the old man but grocery shopping wasn’t one of them last Marco remembered.
Whitebeard lived by himself, out of a small home directly behind the auto parts garage. As they crossed from one location to another, Whitebeard's uneven, slow gate seemed so much more severe than how it had been a few months back. As the four of them filed into the kitchen, Marco couldn’t help his curiosity. “The boys have been taking good care of you, then?”
“Oh spare me.” Newgate retrieved a fist full of beers from the fridge and set them on the counter, “Like I need to be taken care of.”
“We try.” Izou supplied, “But, you know how he is. It’s nice having someone living in your old apartment again. Ace is usually around if he needs anything.”
There were old metal steps that lead out of the warehouse of Newgate’s shop. On the second floor there was a dusty little apartment Marco lived out of for nearly ten years before leaving for medical school. “I can’t imagine someone else being in there.”
“Yeah, you definitely decorated better.” Izou got a laugh out of the room. “You haven't met Ace yet, have you? You’ll like him.”
“What will I like about him most, the ankle monitor?”
Surprisingly, it was Thatch that gave him a quick slap to the shoulder. “Hey, don’t be fucking rude.”
“Alright alright, damn.” Marco cracked open the bottle of beer he was given. Marco knew damn well he had no place to be judgemental. It was Pops he worried about. “So where is this new golden child then?”
“A check-in with his parole officer.” Whitebeard said more seriously, “He’ll probably pick up Luffy from school on his way back this afternoon.”
“Luffy’s the younger brother?”
Thatch, who had gotten to work seasoning chicken breast, sang over his shoulder, “And possibly the cutest little kid in the world~”
“Next time we’re all together, I’m sure they’d let you look around your old apartment again.” Izou chimed, “If you're dying to go up there and reminisce.”
Marco smirked, “A little. It’s been a long time.”
Marco would have to wait a bit longer before he met Whitebeard's new pride and joy. He inhaled Thatch’s cooking— which he missed far more than he would ever admit— finished a second beer and a dozen more stories about the hospitals he rotated through.
Marco left that afternoon with a box of leftovers and the promise that he’d bring his car in for an oil change before the week was over.
Wednesday morning.
Marco would remember the auto shop’s schedule until the day he died and Tuesday mornings were always dead. One, maybe two mechanics would run the whole place until the afternoon. Considering Pop’s would rather keel over and die before accepting money from him, Marco preferred his car be as little an inconvenience for the shop as possible.
Marco could feel the heat stick to his skin the second he left his apartment. Considering summer was nearly over, there was no reason for it to be this damn hot outside.
AC. He needed to ask them to take a look at his AC while he was at it.
Like he’d done for the past 15 years of his life, Marco pulled his 2012 Subaru directly into the empty garage of Pop’s auto shop. He would have made an immediate comment on the pop-punk garbage blasting in the speakers if it weren’t for the loud string of curses he heard coming out of the front office to greet him.
“What the fuck are you doing?! Hey asshole!” The young man wore a mechanic’s jumpsuit with the top half of it hanging loose around his hips. Sweat stuck his jet black hair to the sides of his face and neck. “You can’t just roll your car into the garage!” He threw his arms out to gesture to the rest of the shop, “You gotta check in, I need information from you and shit.”
Marco climbed out of the driver's seat and leaned over the top of his door. “Whitebeard knows I’m dropping off for an oil change.”
“I don’t give a shit. You see all the equipment to run over in your cute little Subaru? Park in the lot next time like everyone else.” He marched around to the front of Marco's car and propped up the hood.
It’s not like he was wrong, it was just the sheer hostility that was unexpected. Marco couldn’t help the chuckling that bubbled up in his throat. “Okay. If it helps, I sincerely apologize.”
In his adult life, Marco considered himself picky who he found attractive. He wasn’t one to leer at little waisted, broad shouldered, young men with freckles and shaggy haircuts. But, here he was leering while he was getting yelled at.
“When was your last oil change Mr. Subaru Outback?”
“I’m overdue,” Marco admitted, “Sixteen hundred miles ago?”
“Yikes.” He cleaned the dipstick from Marco’s car with a rag that was within reach. “You’re friends with Pops and he let you go this long without an oil change?”
“I’ve been in school.”
“So, you’re a smart guy?”
“I’d like to think so.”
The raven haired man took a few steps closer to Marco. The half a foot height difference between them didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He tapped the tip of the dipstick against Marco’s chest and challenged him with a smirk. “Five thousand to seven thousand miles would be my recommendation, Smart guy.”
What a Punk.
“Got it.”
“Are you going to wait around or pick it up?”
Marco couldn’t help himself, “Does it take you so long to change the oil that I should leave?”
The mechanic’s eyes snapped up from the car to Marco. “Twenty minutes, Dick.”
“Then, I’ll wait.”
He pulled a clipboard off its hook on the wall. He crossed one ankle over the other, clicked the back of his pen against his hip and began filling in what would eventually be a receipt. While he waited, Marco finally noticed the ankle monitor, blinking a little green light just above Ace’s boot and peeking out from under the right leg of his jumpsuit.
This was Ace? Gorgeous face, insufferable shit starter? Right up Pops’s ally.
Whitebeard’s old truck came rolling into the parking lot behind them. The old man climbed out of it slowly and made his way into the garage holding an ice coffee in each hand. “Marco!”
“Marco!?” Ace echoed, his nose crunched up into a sneer.
Whitebeard put one of the coffee cups in Ace’s hand, who took it despite the fact that he looked completely stunned. Marco had never seen the wheels in someone’s head turn so visibly.
“I told you about him, Ace. Don’t look so surprised.” Newgate plucked the clipboard out of his hands and held it at arms length while he read it. “…And you were going to over charge him… If he was paying, which he won’t be. It's sixty eight for an oil and filter change, you wrote eighty six.”
“Sounds like me.”
“Yeah, sounds like you.” Whitebeard smacked his arm with the clipboard. “This is Marco, my first protégé. He’s been upstate for medical school, just moved back this week. He used to live in your apartment.”
“You’re kidding.” Ace said between sips of his coffee. He extended his hand out to Marco and Marco shook it. “Fuckin— my bad man. I thought you were just some asshole.”
“Is it an eighteen dollar surcharge for assholes?”
“Minimum—”
“Wrong.” Whitebeard said as he turned away from them. “I have to make a few calls. Give Marco’s car a thorough once over. Whatever he needs and do not accept a fucking dime from him.”
The kid might have been a lost cause for numbers and customer service but at least he knew what he was doing under a car. Ace kicked over one of the old scooters that had probably been around since before Marco’s time. He laid back on it and rolled beneath the Subaru with the kind of grace only muscle memory could provide.
Marco watched his boots while he worked. “So, how long have you been here? Considering you don’t know the price of an oil change.”
“Can you say that a little louder? I want Pops to hear you making fun of the dyslexic kid.” Marco heard the flow of old oil as Ace removed the drain plug, “Two years— I don’t know. I worked for Pops for probably… four—five months. I got put away for six months and he hired me back when I got out. I’ve been here since.”
“What’d they get you for?”
“Arson. Burned the last shop I worked at to the ground.” Ace rolled himself out from under the car in time to get a look at Marco’s deeply troubled face. He flashed the tips of his K9s while he smirked. “I’m kidding. It wasn't anything interesting, I promise.” Ace pulled himself to his feet and moved onto addressing the old filter that’d been rotting in Marco’s Subaru for the past seventeen hundred miles. “Since we’re on the subject of asking personal questions, are you responsible for the vomit green paint in my kitchen?”
“Your kitchen?”
“Yeah, and the tiny little couch with bricks for cushions. You graduated medical school and thought that couch was okay? I couldn’t even sell that fucking thing, Marco.”
“The space you’re filling is hardly big enough to be called a living room.” Marco hummed, “It was the only couch that fit.”
No one could match the level of sheer animation in Ace’s repulsed expression, “If I knew my doctor thought it was reasonable to buy that couch, I’d find a new doctor.”
It was difficult, deciding whether Ace was the most annoying person he’d ever met or a half decent comedian. He’d never seen anyone enjoy bickering so much. “If I keep listening to you complain, you’ll take a look at my AC while you’re over there, right?”
Ace clicked his tongue, “What’s wrong with your AC?”
“You’re the mechanic, you tell me. It doesn’t run cold.”
Ace released a long, mournful sigh, “Poor little Subaru. Falling apart at the seams.”
“It’s not that old.”
“Really? Because, Rush’s greatest hits on CD would suggest otherwise.” Ace chuckled, reading off the open black CD case tossed on the passenger's seat. “Don't get me wrong, I like classic rock. AC/DC, The Beatles, and Queen, are all on this playlist—”
“I fucking hate AC/DC.”
Ace’s jaw fell open. Clearly, he had a love for theatrics because the way he set down the oil filter looked choreographed for a dramatic stage play. Ace turned his shoulders slowly to face Marco, the very epitome of heartbreak and betrayal warping his expression. Ace swallowed, “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“I’m kidding. I just wanted to see how wound up you’d get.” Marco's relaxed demeanor finally cracked. He started laughing the minute Ace became self aware.
“Oh—you can go fuck yourself!” His pretty bronze skin flushed with warmth. “I’m glad you’re fucking with me becahse I’d never let you leave this garage alive if you ment that. Don’t scare me. Shit!”
“You’re saying you’d kill me if I didn’t like AC/DC?”
“Marco, I don’t make the rules of the garage, I simply abide by them.”
His laughter snapped off the second he heard his name. “Marco.” Whitbeard’s voice cut through their conversation suddenly enough to make him jump. Newgate had taken to standing in the doorframe off his office, arms folded over his chest. There was a pause before he stated very simply, “C’mere a minute.”
The younger men exchanged glances before Marco excused himself.
He was let into the office first, then Newgate followed and shut the door behind them. The unmoving, fierce look in the old man’s eyes reminded Marco of the old days at the shop. Whitebeard was infamous for shaking down customers who refused to pay, or thugs who thought it’d be a good idea to steal motorcycle parts from the garage. Marco cocked an eyebrow, “Everything okay?”
“Listen— I’m only going to say this once.” Newgate crossed the office towards his desk with heavy footsteps. He rubbed at the deep elevens between his eyes. “Don’t get involved with Ace.”
“Hm?” Marco’s confusion only grew, “I…beg your pardon?”
“Whatever it is you’re doing...” Newgate waved his hand in the general direction of the garage, “None of that. Don’t flirt with him, don’t distract him, don’t confuse him.”
Marco couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Flirting? He was pretty sure he hadn’t tried to flirt in the past four years of his life. He let out a breathy laugh and looked over his shoulder like Whitebeard had to be talking to someone else. “…You’re not being serious.”
“I’m serious. He’s got too much on his plate right now and frankly, he’s too young for you.”
“Wow.” Marco had to repeat Newgate’s words in his head a few times to fully digest it. He scoffed. Ace was a hyperactive, one volume only, shit starter. The very idea that someone interpreted their conversation as flirtatious had to be a joke. “First of all—” He could feel his face heating up, “It’s shocking to hear the kind of sleazy character you think I am. Secondly, you honestly think my type is the guy with a tattoo of his name spelled wrong?”
Whitebeard leveled Marco with an unamused glare. Clearly, the idea that he may have misinterpreted things, hadn’t crossed his mind. “Listen, I gave Teach the same lecture.”
“Teach? I’m on the same level as Teach?” Marco clicked his tongue in disgust, “Well, you can rest easy. I promise you— I guarantee you, I have zero interest. Not my type.” Marco propped a hand on his hip, “And truthfully, I’m a little insulted you think you can dictate who I talk to anyway.”
“Oh, don’t misunderstand me, Marco. I haven't ordered you around in the past ten years. You’re an adult. The people you date should be none of my business.” Whitebeard's reply was very matter of fact. Marco had thought he heard the threat from his tone disappear completely before it all came rushing back. Whitebeard leaned in, his voice fell an octave and Marco swore he saw death themselves behind the old man’s eyes, “Unless it’s my kid you’re talking to. So, I’m telling you right now Marco, knock it off.”