Unmoored [Portgas D. Ace x Female Reader]

How it Begins

Sorry to my four loyal minions from the other fanfic

--

Monkey D. Garp is not a man of too many words. He says what he says and doesn't waste his breath trying to explain what cannot be put into words. Now he stands, silently watching her. Her, a little girl no more than eight or nine, kneeling before the unmoving form of her mother. Weeping like her life depends on it. She notices him and starts, falling off her knees and onto her side. Her eyes are wide, hands still gripping the hem of her small flower dress. Tears streaming down her ruddy cheeks.

"Y-you..." she tries to stand, falling backward instead. "S-stay back! Stay away!"

She shuffles back until her back is pressed against the wall, small chest heaving. Her look is one of vicious anger. Garp stands silently, wordless. Expression unreadable.

The little girl continues to speak, her voice now a desperate shout. She chokes back sobs, trying not to think about the lifeless heap in the corner of her eye.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME? WHY ARE YOU HERE?" She wipes tears away furiously, trying to staunch the flow of tears.

"MAMA'S DEAD! IT'S-" Her voice breaks. She has to pause for a moment, nails digging angrily into her arm. Hard enough to draw blood. She continues on, her voice a pained whisper."It's your fault...isn't it? You're with those people...the ones who-" She pauses and swallows.

It seems that even at this age she understands the concept of death.

She stares at the floor, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in. Her mother is dead. Her protector, her world. And the Navy is here to take her away.

Her mother had raised her kindly, almost never refusing her. Even as a child, she understood that they were not rich. That while other children got cakes and presents on their birthdays, she should consider herself lucky to have an extra bowl of porridge. That she shouldn't ask for too much, hope for too much, or make her presence too big. The other villagers shunned her, calling her a demon. She couldn't even walk down the street without hearing whispers of her mother being a witch, making deals with the devil. She accepted it. All of it. Even when the older children bullied her, cutting her soft skin with pebbles and stealing what little money her mother could spare for her to buy sweets with. She didn't understand how they could be so cruel, but that was okay. She doesn't have to understand everyone.

Even when the village children murdered her dear Sugar, she didn't do much more than bury the body and seethe, wiping silent tears. Sugar, her precious puppy. Named for the grainy white condiment, too luxurious for her to have. He was her only friend, her anchor. When her mother worked long hours, laboring to keep her fed, Sugar stayed with her. Comforting her when she was sad, licking her salty tears away. Those children had taken Sugar from her. And she hadn't done anything.

She's never hurt anyone. Ever. And she hopes she'll never have to. Two broken sticks make a ladder not, her mother had taught her. And it's true. Because her mother would never lie to her.

So what is this feeling? Now, as Garp stands over her, something is forming In the pit of her stomach. Like fire, burning hot. So hot it feels almost cold. Kill. She doesn't understand. Kill. What? This man is with the ones who took your mother's life. There's a voice. Kill. Telling her to do something, so soft it's almost indecipherable- Kill. She doesn't want to. Kill. She doesn't want to. Kill. There's never an excuse for hurting someone. Kill. No. KILL. No! KILL.

...

KILL.

Her hands shake no longer, her heartbeat steady. Her small hands reach for the blade on the floor, fallen from a previous struggle. They wrap around the handle, fingers fitting perfectly in the grooves.

She smiles.

Kill.

She stands, slowly. Garp raises an eyebrow, arms still crossed. She stands there for several moments, head tilted down. Unmoving.

And then she strikes. Her movements are quick, like those of a hare. Eyes wide and wild, lips stretched in an uncanny smile. A wild animal's last desperate struggle. The strike comes down, aimed directly for Garp's stomach. He inhales sharply, surprised. He reaches out quickly, intercepting the blow, gripping her wrist firmly but gently as to not hurt her.

The girl twists out of his grasp, driving the blade upwards, aiming for his throat.

Garp leaps back, eyes slightly widened. It wasn't often he felt surprised, but this did it. A harmless little girl, charging at him with a kitchen knife.

He smiles.

"You've got guts, eh?"

The girl inhales and exhales, breathing deep. And she gasps. Her eyes snap open, as if breaking out of a trance. She looks down shakily at the blade in her hands, eyes wide.

"W-what..." She drops the knife, letting it clatter to the floor. She shrinks back against the wall, watching Garp fearfully.

"What what did you do to me?! You-"

Garp's bushy eyebrows rise almost into his hairline.

"Oh? You do not remember what transpired?"

The girl shakes her head, still wary but less panicked.

Garp's face splits into laughter. He chuckles heartily, clasping his stomach.

"Interesting! Real interesting." He turns, starting to walk away. "Come. I think I have an idea as to what to do with you."

She looks at him skeptically, unwilling.

Garp turns, eyes narrowing. "Unless...you'd prefer to stay, of course."

She frowns, as if sensing that he isn't actually giving her a choice. The navy's after her, after all. And they want her dead. She knows that much. Hesitantly, she steps towards Garp.

He smiles, hands in his pockets.

"Knew you'd do it," he says, turning his back once again. "Now come. I'm taking you back."

She's afraid, but manages to ask. "Where?"

Garp grins, leaning back.

"A certain island in Goa kingdom..."

The girl frowns. "What's over there?"

Garp leads her over a winding forest path to a small boat, discreetly docked. As if to keep others from finding it, an ocean-colored tarp is drape precariously over it.

"What's over there? Tell me!"

Garp rips off the tarp and gets in, stepping easily over the side before offering her a hand. She refuses it, jumping in on her own. He chuckles, and finally answers her.

"My grandson."

--

AN: I'm back.