#details not in the fic: they use the fruit to compensate for a botched heart surgery. They have an irrational fear of further surgery now.

[gouraminnow]

Opening Up

Thatch and Rue (OC) | on AO3

There's a new guest on the Moby, welcomed aboard after saving Whitebeard's beloved dog... and then made to stay, after her adamant refusal to allow Marco to examine and treat her, despite her very visibly concerning physical condition. Irate, stubborn, and refusing to mingle or receive the help she won't admit she needs, Thatch is still determined to break the ice. (Character is Nonbinary, but referred to as she/her from Thatch's perspective until a slip of the tongue leads them to coming out.)

Warnings: Misgendering technically, more accurate description is that they're closeted. No deliberate transphobia on the part of the crew. Disability/chronic illness though that's not the focus, just the reason they don't get to leave.

This mini fic originally started at the "What's on your mind?" line but I thought I should add context to their presence on board so I tacked it on in front lol

The new guest on the Moby Dick is… something else, Thatch thinks. Rueri, or Rue, as she more often goes by, looks… ill. Pallid skin that bruised distressingly easily, the unsteady way she swayed on her feet, and the eyebags that always accentuated her pointed glare. Painfully skinny, too, and with plentiful gray streaks even at her young age. She hadn’t wanted anything to do with the lot of them, originally. Ace had seen her slumped over at some restaurant, and because he was concerned, had walked right over and sat himself down at the same table. She already wasn’t happy to be bothered, but then when it came time to pay the bill, Ace of course intended to dine-and-dash. But since he sat with Rue, they assumed he was with her, and tried to wrestle the bill out of her, instead. One thing led to another, and Ace did as he does and dashed- with an ornery, sickly stranger slung over his shoulder, tossing expletives like confetti. 

The rest, Thatch experienced first-hand. Ace had set Rue down by the time he’d met up with him and Marco at the agreed upon rendezvous place but the look on her face was utterly murderous. Not that it swayed anyone much, they were preoccupied with how sickly this spiteful little thing clearly was. Marco himself quickly took interest in her condition but she had no interest in any of them- her attitude only faltering in the presence of Stefan, who’d accompanied Thatch for a jaunt off the ship. Did a complete 180, actually, immediately dropping to the ground with a grin to love on the dog.

The dog was the whole reason she was on the damn boat, actually.

When some ambitious but foolish bounty hunters decided to try their luck, Rue wanted nothing to do with the ensuing fight and opted to try and slink away. Which was understandable. Everyone present sort of assumed she couldn’t fight, anyway. Ace moved to cover her retreat, decent enough to feel a little guilty for what he dragged her into. But then everyone heard it. A bang, a shrill, gut-wrenching yip, and subsequent awful whining of an injured dog. Stefan had been shot, and whether it was deliberate or not didn’t matter. Nobody was playing anymore. And Rue, eyes fearfully wide, rushed back towards them all, back into danger, to crouch by Stefan’s furry body, reaching him before Marco could. Marco couldn’t do any healing without removing the bullet first anyway and they didn’t have the tools or the time. But luckily, whatever Rue’s ability was (she refused to elaborate) prevented the dog from bleeding out long after the skirmish ended, and while they’d carefully transported Pop’s beloved pet back to the Moby Dick. And as soon as they got there, and into the infirmary, Rue collapsed. Trembling, breathing harshly, unresponsive to any of their questions… her powers took a toll on her, and she passed out shortly thereafter.

Once things had cooled down, Thatch was sure to check on her while she was still in the infirmary. She laid in bed, breathing laboured even as she slept. Her sweater had been removed, leaving her in a tank top- which revealed the top of a massive, Y-shaped surgical scar that went right down the center of her chest. Marco had found some out-dated cardioversion pads in her bag, too- devices meant to correct arrhythmias, Marco had said with a grim look on his face. There were no injuries other than the mishap with Stefan, who likely would have died if Rue hadn’t had a soft spot for canines. And to nobody’s surprise, this favor earned Whitebeard's gratitude, while the result of her stunt earned Marco’s increased concern. Thatch wasn’t there for the meeting she and Marco had with Oyaji, but he heard about it afterwards. It was… tense. First, questions were asked about her devil fruit, but she was tight-lipped about it. Said she wasn’t sure when pressed, offered that it was some sort of stasis ability, but neither Pops nor Marco were convinced. Rue was offered treatment from Marco in return for what they did but she outright refused. Rue insisted that she already knew what the problem was. And that Marco couldn’t do anything. 

Thatch had let out a low whistle when he heard that. Denying Oyaji’s act of gratitude and casting doubt on Marco’s skills in one move certainly was bold of her. One that made Marco just as frustrated as he was concerned. Needless to say, Rueri was not permitted to leave the Moby until they accepted the crew’s thanks in the form of an exam and whatever subsequent treatment. Thatch wondered if part of the issue had to do with inadvertently placing Rue’s treatment on the same level as the dog’s, but didn’t say anything.

It had been a couple weeks, and she hadn't warmed up. The carefree attitude towards her abrasive demeanor only seemed to push her away more- but everyone had dealt with Ace trying to murder their father. This was warm and bubbly by comparison. Even so, most had elected to leave her be, gossiping amongst themselves and allowing her to come to her senses rather than keep making fruitless attempts at directly breaking the ice.

Thatch thought a little differently. He wanted to get Marco’s reluctant patient to open up, and he was sure he had the perfect idea of how: the topic of 16th Division Commander Izou.

-

“Something on your mind?” Thatch asks, sitting himself down next to Rue and crossing his legs. He’d caught her staring at Izou again, and wasn’t sure what to make of it. He would have assumed something unsavory- lots of folks had something to say about a man dressing like that, after all- but Izou hadn’t received any of Rue’s normal defensive aggression or general rudeness in the brief moment they’d met. She was quiet, she introduced herself properly, and they all learned then that she was familiar enough with the customs of Wano to bow as a greeting. Hands at her sides, slight bend at the waist- more respectful than a nod, but not too formal. No, she hadn’t been confrontational towards him at all, opting to stay quiet.

And there was the staring, of course. Her eyes always seemed to find their way back to him. Thatch knew from conversation that he’d picked up on it, along with countless other crew members. It had become a running joke that she must be crushing.

“Mmm.” She hums, barely acknowledging him. Alright, something was definitely going on- she didn’t take the chance to huff at him or get up to move somewhere else.

“Well, come on, out with it,” he says. “Everyone’s noticed you keep staring at him.” She cringes immediately, curling in on herself.

“Izou… he is a man, right?” She says after a beat of silence. Thatch almost bristles, but keeps calm.

“Yes,” he says, normal jovial tone muted. Rue is quiet for another moment before speaking up again.

“And… he can do that, here? Nobody bothers him?” She’s quiet, hesitant.

Thatch snorts. “Well, anyone who makes a big deal of something like that is sure to get their ass handed to ‘em,” he says rather testily.

Rue nods, staring at nothing in particular. Thatch quirks a brow. “... Are you… new to this sort of thing, or…”

“Wh- no? I don’t know,” she says a little too quickly, covering her face with her hands. “I just thought, if he’s allowed then maybe it might be okay that I-” 

She jolts, body freezing. He hears a shaky exhale. She starts to shake, slightly.

Thatch blinks. Oh. 

A tender sort of feeling swells in his chest. He looks at Rue with a frown, voice and face softening immediately. “Well… some folks on board can say things that are ignorant, but nobody has an actual issue with him. That sort of… aggressive attitude can crop up outside the crew, but we don’t care here. You don’t need to be so worried, kid.” He assures, smile creeping onto his face. “If you wanna wear men’s clothes, nobody here would stop you either.”

She’s still quiet, remaining curled up. She tries to speak again, but the first few attempts result in sputtering or just failing to get words out altogether. “Wuh- what if it’s more complicated than that?” She finally chokes out, hands pulling at her long, unkempt hair. He wants to reach out and pull her hands away, but he knows how she is with physical touch, something plenty of crewmates had already started to speculate on- whether it was some sort of traumatic experience, or if it had something to do with the power she refused to divulge the details of. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment now that she’s voluntarily being vulnerable with someone.

“Well, uh… that’s fine too. Do you, uh… feel like a man..?” He asks tentatively, scooting a little closer.

Rue turns to look at him, eyes wide and fearful. They search Thatch’s face for a long moment, wide, bloodshot eyes framed by dull unkempt strands, before turning away again. “No,” they say eventually. “But I’m… not really a girl, either.” They hold themselves so tightly, nails digging into the wood of the crate they’re sitting on. He winces, the image of splinters beneath the fingernails flashing through his head. Poor thing looks like they’re preparing to be hit, the way they’re bracing themselves.

He speaks gently. “Well, that’s fine. Not everybody is gonna… get it, but nobody here is gonna give you any real grief over something like this, y’hear?” They don’t look at him- their eyes are downcast, staring at their perpetually bruised knees, but at least their hands relax slightly. “I just…” He starts, then sighs- producing a comb from inside his jacket and running it through the back of his hair. Nervous habit. “I just wish ya’d said somethin’ instead of letting us call you the wrong thing, all this time,” he admits, staring ahead. “Don’t like that I’ve been thinking of you as the wrong thing, either.”

He couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. It wasn’t like it was particularly common, but he’d met multiple people who’d changed their gender. He and his siblings believed in making what you want of yourself. How was this any different? And while he knew Rue was distrustful by default, he couldn’t help but feel a little hurt that he and his siblings apparently gave off the impression that they’d be judgemental about it. Or even violent, if the defensive body language was any indication.

Rue sighs, drawing him back out of his thoughts. “What’s there to feel bad about? I didn’t say anything. That’s not your problem.” Rue’s tone is… flat. Tired, maybe, body slumping forward.

Thatch is quiet for a long moment, and he puts the comb back. His hand hovers for a moment, wanting so badly to rub their shoulder. “Well… I know now. So what do I call you, then? What do we call you?” 

Rue turns to him again, eyes wide. “W-we? You’re going to tell everyone?”

“Well, yes,” Thatch says, like it should be obvious. “I don’t know what it’s like, wherever you’re from, but we all take this seriously.” They’re getting tense again, eyes leaving his face and darting around. A few people have been keeping an eye on the two of them, no doubt reading the room- err, deck. But realizing others were watching seemed to raise Rue’s hackles once again. He sees the trembling hands, knitted brows- maybe that had been the wrong thing to say. “Rue, hey, it’s okay. I promise ya,” he tries to comfort them. “Forget what I said. If it’s upsettin’ you, I won’t run around blabberin’ to everybody now, alright? If it’s just me who knows for right now, if that’s what you need, that’s… fine. It’s fine. I just want to treat you right. I know the others would agree, too, but ya don’t have to be ready for that.”

There’s a trembling sigh. The back of a hand wiping the eyes. “How would you even tell that many people in the first place?” Rue attempts to joke, voice trembling.

“Word gets around,” Thatch says casually, leaning back. “The accuracy can leave a bit to be desired, though… at least for a little while. Y’know how it is, I’m sure.”

“... Yeah,” Rue agrees, relaxing slightly- allowing Thatch to relax, in turn.

“Really though, what do I call you?” He tries again. “Is there a different name, or..?”

“Rueri or Rue is the different- er, ch-chosen name. So that’s fine.” Another beat of silence. “I’m a… they, not a she, though.” It comes out strained, but Thatch is more focused on the fact that it came out at all. 

“Alright then,” he says nonchalantly. When they glance back up at him, no doubt nervous and searching for any adverse reaction, he’s wearing a soft smile on his face- a gentle, patient expression. Rue exhales shakily, shoulders finally dropping the rest of that tension. “Y’know, to be honest…” He starts, hoping to lighten the mood a bit more. “We all thought ya had a big ‘ol crush on Izou.”

“YOU ALL WHAT?!” Rue’s head whips back around to face him, mouth gaping in horror. Thatch throws his head back and laughs heartily, an action that gains more than a few looks from his other crewmates. Rue pulls their legs up onto the crate, shifting onto their knees. “Y-you’re kidding!” Rue says, leaning toward him, wincing as their bruised knees press against the coarse grain of the wood.

“I am not,” he says, grinning at their mortified expression. “I mean, c’mon, he’s the only one you were polite with, and ya wouldn’t stop staring!”

“You are saying this to fuck with me!” they insist, pointing accusatorily at his chest, earning another boisterous laugh from him. They retreat, shaking their head, eyes wide as they drag a hand down their face. “Oh my god, no…” They whine, before going tense again. “Does… does Izou think so, too?” They ask, peaking through their splayed fingers at him.

“Everybody does, hon, that includes him. Don’t worry about it, he thought it was cute!” This does nothing to comfort them. They grimace like they’ve just watched somebody dropkick a puppy.

“C-CUTE?!” they blurt out. “I’m not- I’m not fucking cute!” They exclaim indignantly, throwing their hands up.

Thatch gives them a sly grin, eyes half-lidded as he observes their flustered, floundering form. He leans forward, propping an elbow on his knee and resting his face against his hand. “Arguing otherwise doesn’t help your case, I’m afraid,” and laughs at the sputtering he gets in response. “But yes, he found it cute. Lots of us did. Wouldn’t stop cracking jokes about it actually- said you must have good taste if he was the only one of us hellions you could stand.”

“Lots of y-?” Rue buries their flushed face in their hands again, embarrassment bringing a touch of life to the normally sickly pallid shade of their skin. “Oh my god, Thatch,” they whine. “Oh- oh my god. I’m gonna throw myself off this fucking ship!”

“Don’t be hasty, now,” he warns, shifting in his spot. He looks at the way they’ve curled in on themselves, avoiding his gaze. They don’t look out over the deck either, opting to stare down at their hands- there’s a light tremble to them, he notes. Are they still upset, or just flustered..? He softens again, just a little. “Hey, listen,” he starts, once again struggling against the impulse to pat their shoulder or pull them in for a side-hug. “How about I just tell Izou what’s been eatin’ at ya? Clear things up with the, ah… subject of the misunderstanding? Everyone else, you can talk to at yer own pace, okay?” he prompts gently, eyes trained on the chewed fingernails that cap the digits fumbling with the edge of their tattered sweater.

They heave a shuddering breath, shoulders sagging as they exhale. They turn to look at him again, face twisted in apprehension. “You’re really just… fine with it?” Their eyes meet his for a moment before flicking away again. “Most people at least argue,” they huff, mouth curling into the hint of a smirk.

Thatch scoffed. “I’m sure you know yourself better than I do,” he offers. “And… yeah. I’m fine with it. Can’t promise everyone will get it, but whatever it is you're used to…” he glances at them again, taking in their now relaxed demeanor with a twinge of pride. “... won’t happen here. Alright?”

And for a moment, Rue smiles, genuinely smiles at him. It’s small and tired, but carries none of the strain or the sarcastic glint frequently found in their dull eyes. “Thanks, Thatch,” they sigh. “... I guess you can tell Izou, i-if you really think it’s fine.” But then their eyes narrow, smile pulling into a strained smirk, but the mirth it denotes is a touch warmer than usual. “I’m not joining just because of this, though,” they tell him, pointing at his chest once again. He chuckles.

“Rue, we aren’t trying to force you to join. That’s always been your choice. What isn’t your choice is your status as Marco’s patient, unfortunately.” They huff, pointedly turning away from him. He sighs. What he’s about to say is nothing they haven’t heard before, but… “If you just let him give you a check-up, let him help you, you’ll be discharged. Just… let him? You can’t outlast Marco in a battle of wills, kid,” he tries, and he does succeed in order to get them to turn back, but they’re glaring at him again. Ah, there’s that familiar look.

“First of all, don’t call me that. I’m older than Ace. Second of all, watch me.”

Thatch lets out a bark of laughter, slapping his knee, but doesn’t miss the way Rue softens at the sound, a chuckle of their own bubbling up. He had a good feeling about this, he’s sure he’d made progress. Hopefully, they could be convinced to let Marco take a look at them soon, but Thatch had the sense not to push it.

Yet.