I'm under the impression that you guys like this story. Anyway, I was thinking about songs for Ace that kind of match him (because that's what I do in my free time, apparently) and I came up with a mix of "Again" by Flyleaf and "Fix Me" by 10 Years. Anyone else?

Side note: A friend of mine dared me to read the fanfic "My Immortal" (the repost) and I can't. It's so terrible. I feel like my writing is going to suffer as a result and just . . . kill it with fire. Just kill it. Burn it. Destroy the thing.

Back to this story. Enjoy the much longer chapter (and don't expect the next ones to be this long; this one's an outlier).


Chapter 3

April 26th, Two Weeks after the Incident

"Marco, this is serious!"

"Thatch, you need to calm down and think about this logically."

Thatch pouted, an expression that looked entirely out of place on his middle-aged features, only to wipe away the expression in favor of the worried look he'd been sporting for the past two weeks. "But he said I shouldn't be alive! The first full sentence he says while conscious and it's that!"

"He was barely coherent," Marco pointed out. "He wasn't even focusing on you. I'll admit, I want to think he'll be better soon, but he's hysterical at best, and we have to remember that this is only the second time he's been conscious for any length of time since he exploded."

"Marco. He said I shouldn't be alive. And he wasn't even being threatening or mean; he just—almost like—fact. He was just stating fact."

"I know, Thatch, and it bothers me too. I would give my left arm to know what happened in that inferno, but there's nothing we can do now but wait and hope our little brother recovers."

"He will," Thatch said firmly, glancing back at the door to the sick ward. It was next door to the medical bay and designed to house almost one hundred patients at once. It had been almost full in the few days following The Incident, filled to the brim with pirates sporting serious burns and overexposure damage.

Izo, Vista, and even Whitebeard himself had been heard grumbling about Ace's stunt. Izo's makeup had been ruined and Vista and Whitebeard's mustache wax had gotten all screwed up, much to their eternal displeasure. To them, their mustaches were their pride. To have them damaged was a personal insult.

Marco winced at the thought of the earful Ace was in for when he woke up. He almost pitied the guy. Even Kiel, a normally even-tempered guy that had taken Ace's constant crashing through and breaking of parts of the ship with incredible composure, had been seen glowering at the damage to the port side of the Moby Dick.

"He definitely will," Marco muttered, too quietly for Thatch to hear.


Things Thought Lost


Ace didn't know where he was. Well, kind of. He knew he was in a large room, some kind of sick bay, and he recognized it from some foggy part of his brain that wasn't demanding to know where Luffy was and whether he was okay or not. It was dark—no lamps burning, no light at all save for what little came from a window behind Ace. The problem came when he tried to remember how the hell he'd gotten there, and for the life of him he couldn't bring anything to mind.

The last thing he remembered was darkness and burning. Everything after that was blank and hidden by a wall that Ace couldn't break no matter how hard he tried. He got the feeling that he didn't want to know exactly what had happened after Akainu punched him, anyway. The dull ache from his entire body was proof enough of that.

Ace slowly struggled into a sitting position, the thin sheets sliding down and revealing his slightly bandaged chest. He let out a slight hiss through his teeth when he realized the extent of his injuries. Well, what he assumed to be their extent; they were mostly healed now, though Ace had several scars he didn't remember having before, the most prominent of which sat on his chest. It was an indistinct shape and Ace gingerly poked it, wincing as phantom flares of pain echoed from the scarred tissue. He could still picture Akainu's fist emerging from his stomach.

Suppressing his gag reflex at the memory, Ace turned his attention back to the room, trying to figure out where he was. For the second time in as many minutes, Ace got the feeling that he should know this room, but he couldn't place it in his scattered memory.

Footsteps came from outside and Ace automatically tensed, calling forth his Devil Fruit powers before realizing that he couldn't. Only now registering the peculiar drain on his energy, Ace glanced down to where he could feel the source and saw a Kairoseki bracelet clamped over one of his wrists. Inwardly, he panicked, seeing that the thing had a damned keyhole and he didn't have a key, but as the door to the room he was in opened he schooled his expression into one of neutrality, not wanting any possible adversary to see weakness.

A woman with brown hair done in an intricate braid and a belt of syringes hanging from her hips entered the room, a clipboard held in one hand. She was humming under her breath, a pen held between her teeth while she dragged a cart of food in with the other hand. Ace watched her approach, his mind gradually making the connection until—

"Tasuka?"

She dropped the clipboard and her gaze shot up to meet Ace's with apparent shock. The pen fell from her mouth but she managed to fumble and catch it, swallowing. "Y—you're awake." Tasuka cleared her throat while she pulled herself together. "Did you . . . hear anything?"

Ace grinned, relieved at the sight of a familiar face (no matter how weird it was; was he on the Moby Dick?). "Other than the fact that you were humming under your breath, no."

She whacked him over the head with her recovered clipboard. "Brat."

"Jerk."

She rolled her eyes, going back to writing as she nudged the food cart closer with her foot. "Well, it's good that I've got extra food today. Don't eat it all at once, though. You'll get sick and the food will go to waste, and what did I just say?!"

Ace paused in the middle of reaching for another spoonful of broth, a chunk of bread already in his mouth. "Mmph?"

Tasuka growled something under her breath and jammed the bread farther into Ace's mouth, making the young man flail and choke until he managed to swallow. "What the hell, woman? Are you trying to kill me?!"

"No. But slow down or I'll sedate you. Actually, don't slow down. I got some new sedative recipes at the last island we stopped at and I want to try them out. You're resilient; would make a great test subject."

"Slowing down," Ace said instantly. Tasuka grinned.

"That's what I thought."

The two settled into an easy sense of camaraderie while Ace continued eating. It helped that Ace was one of the few members of the crew that wasn't abjectly terrified of Tasuka's rather sadistic take on medical treatment. And Tasuka in general.

"Hold still," Tasuka said, reaching into a pocket of her pants and pulling out a set of keys. She thumbed through them, quickly selecting one of the many nondescript ones. "Hold out your arm."

"Conflicting orders, Tas."

"Told you not to call me that."

"Still not listening." Despite his words, Ace held out the arm with the Kairoseki bracelet, feeling a rush of relief when Tasuka unlocked and removed the band. "Better."

Tasuka scoffed. "It's just Kairoseki."

Ace scoffed right back. "It's just a needle."

The healer had the decency to take her hand off the syringe she's been inching gradually closer to over the course of the conversation. "Touché. Anyway, now that you're done eating, is it fine if I send the two mother hens in once I finish checking your bandages? I swear, those two are going to get gray hairs soon because of you," she added under her breath.

"How long have they been out there?" Ace asked while trying to guess who was outside. Marco was probably one of the two—he and Ace were close, after all—but Ace couldn't guess the other person.

"Oh, they haven't really moved in—oh, I'm not sure—a week and a half? Two weeks? Maybe?"

"I've been unconscious for two weeks?"

"Well, considering that you exploded and then fell into the ocean, that's not that much. I wasn't sure you'd wake up at all."

Ace took no offense at her flippant tone; he could hear the worry buried beneath and took the silent message of don't you dare do this again you clumsy bastard in stride. "Wait, I exploded?"

"Like a supernova," Tasuka confirmed. "Don't move. Changing bandages."

"Got it. Anyway, did anyone—"

"Get hurt? Hun, at least half this room was filled with burn victims."

"Don't call me—oh, shit. Dammit. I'm sorry, I'll—"

"Sorry? Don't worry. Not your fault, if the fact that you apparently did it involuntarily. You just owe me one hundred thousand beri in compensation for my hard work."

"What? No way!"

"Fifty thousand."

"No!"

"Twenty."

"I'm not paying you!"

Tasuka sighed, putting the bandages back once she was satisfied with the new ones wrapping around Ace's torso. "Fine. But don't expect any favors in the future."

"Like I ever do."

The healer smirked before tossing her braid over one shoulder and leaving, taking her clipboard, pen, and emptied food cart with her. Ace watched her go before letting out a deep breath and running his hand through his hair, noting absently that it'd been washed while he was unconscious. He didn't want to know who'd been stuck doing that; his hair was a pain. It was part of the reason why Ace let it do whatever the hell it wanted.

The sound of muffled voices came from outside and then the door was thrown open with a loud bang that made Ace wince. Someone strode through the now open door, backlit by the much brighter light in the hallway in comparison to the med bay. Another figure slipped in and closed the door before flicking on the lights, making Ace squint for a second while his eyes adjusted.

"Ace, you're awake! Thank god! We've been waiting forever!"

The voice was familiar. It stirred up old feelings in Ace's chest, despair and anger and betrayal he couldn't find the source of until—

He realized who the first person was.

Ace stared. And stared. And stared. He didn't dare blink; couldn't. If he did, then the image of Thatch alive and well before him would disappear and he didn't think he'd be able to take that another time. He could see Marco staring at him from the doorway but didn't care because Thatch was right. There.

Was he hallucinating? It would be the first time. Probably wouldn't be the last, either. Where was Tasuka? Did she give him something when he wasn't looking?

Ace felt the hysteria he'd been shoving down bubbling up again and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drive it back again. He was in control.

Deep breath. Breathe.

Just breathe.

He. Was in. Control.

Footsteps.

"Ace?" A hand on his shoulder. Gentle. Warm. Familiar.

Thatch.

"Go away," Ace muttered, drawing into himself and trying to get away from the terrible hallucination in front of him. Focusing on it would only make things worse when he came back to reality. "Just go away."

The hand left his shoulder and Ace felt terribly cold without it but he didn't let it show.

"Ace, you've gotta tell me what's wrong."

The hallucination was speaking again. Ace bit his lip, trying to stop the tears that still rose at the memory of his voice because he and Thatch had been close, dammit, and it hadn't been right for him to die.

"Please."

"Go away," Ace repeated numbly. Usually the hallucinations didn't stick around this long. Maybe he'd finally gone insane. It wouldn't be that much of a surprise, really.

"I'm not going anywhere. Not until we talk; you've been unconscious for two weeks, Ace. Sue me for being a little worried about you."

Ace heard Marco scoff from the background. Apparently (and not to Ace's surprise) he'd been the second one in the room. "A little worried? You haven't left the med bay in the last two weeks, Thatch."

"Pot to kettle, birdbrain."

"Watch it, cook."

"You're just mad because you can't attack me with poor, little, injured Acey over here. And your insults are lame."

"'Acey' wouldn't care if I threw you over the side of the ship," Marco drawled. "He's mostly healed, anyway."

Ace, for his part, was having difficulty breathing. Was he hallucinating Thatch and Marco? That was new. Or—

No, he wasn't—there was no way—he—it wasn't—this—impossible—

"This isn't possible," Ace said, the words out of his mouth before he realized that he didn't want to be speaking them. Instantly, Thatch and Marco looked his way. He could feel their gazes on him but Ace still refused to open his eyes until he was sure that the hallucinations were gone. "It's not possible it's not possible it's not—"

"Ace. Open your eyes. What's not possible?" Marco stepped forward, his footsteps all too loud to Ace even in the large room. Ace shook his head, remembering smoke and ash and screams and fire and burning in his chest and a brother that shouldn't be here—

"You're not real!" Ace shouted, his whole body tensing as he tried to block out memories of Marineford (and what the hell had happened after the darkness had claimed him, anyway?) because—

Was he dead? Was this the afterlife? No, it couldn't be. There was something deep within Ace's mind, something that told him with complete and resounding certainty that he was alive. Ace latched onto that feeling for all he was worth and focused on dispelling whatever had gripped his mind.

And suddenly there were hands on his shoulders again, a grip strong enough to break Ace out of his thoughts and make him look up and open his eyes out of sheer reflex. He blinked, taking a moment to process that Thatch was way too close and then he yelped, scrambling back on his bed and nearly falling off only to be saved when Marco grabbed his arm and yanked him back up.

"Thanks," Ace said automatically. Then he paused. Marco had just grabbed him. Physically grabbed him.

"Ace," Marco said as he let go and stepped back, his half-lidded eyes boring into Ace's, "I don't know what's going through your head right now, but Thatch and I are real. Flesh-and-blood real. We're not going anywhere."

Slowly, Ace focused on the first division commander. He swallowed, quelling the doubts that still lingered in his mind when that same voice that said he was alive took up the call that he was aware. Whatever was going on, Ace concluded, it wasn't just something from his mind.

For some reason, Ace didn't find the fact that he wasn't going insane nearly as comforting as he thought it would.

"You good?" Marco asked. Hesitantly, Ace nodded, slowly getting his bearings.

And now he could smell the sea salt on the air, taste it on his lips. He could feel the gentle rocking of the ship, the cloth of the thin sheets on the thinner mattress rubbing gently against his skin, hear the slap of waves on the hull and the muffled calls of sailors on the deck. It was all so familiar, and so clear. He was on the Moby Dick. He was safe.

"AWESOME!" Thatch declared, standing straight and not seeming to care that his sudden declaration had made Ace yelp and lose all sense of composure.

"What the shit, Thatch?!" Ace growled, only to pause when he realized whom he had addressed. Thatch didn't give him a moment's respite and instead slung an arm around Ace's shoulders, all but dragging him out of bed and practically forcing Ace to stand lest he be led around like a child.

"Just wanted to make sure you weren't about to fall asleep," the older man said. "Narcolepsy can be a terrible thing, after all."

"Shouting at me doesn't help anything, and you know that." Ace paused, blinking. Wait. He was talking to Thatch. Thatch.

"Oh, no," the fourth division commander said, flicking Ace's forehead to keep him focused while he steered the younger man towards the door, blowing past Marco. "You're not doing the zoning-out thing again. Can you believe that the last time you were conscious, you couldn't even look at me? It was rude, you know. Terribly offensive. I ate all the pudding I made for you to feel better, just so you know."

"Pudding?" Ace repeated dumbly, his mind unable to handle the sudden stream of information that didn't make any sense to his addled brain.

"Yes, pudding. Good stuff, by the way. Some of my best work. Shame you couldn't have any. And I'm not making more."

There was something buried within Thatch's rambling, something Ace tried to understand as Thatch kept bemoaning his pudding and pulling Ace along. Ace felt as though he should know it, but it wasn't—

Thatch should be dead. The fact stopped Ace in his tracks and Thatch, for all his strength, was forced to stop with him.

"Oh, not this again, Ace—"

"You shouldn't be here."

"In all seriousness, you're right," Thatch admitted. "I should be in the kitchen preparing dinner, because it's April and the men are always hungrier now than they are during the winter and if Jeremy could just keep his damned apron from bursting into flames every other minute like some kind of ten-year-old at a bonfire things would be going swimmingly—"

"Thatch."

The fourth division commander stopped instantly, giving Ace a confused look. Ace winced, feeling bad about interrupting his friend (though it was the only way to stop the man once he started). "Sorry. I just . . . did you say April?"

"Yes, I did," Thatch said slowly, drawing out each word. "What of it?"

"What's the year?"

The chef blinked before suddenly invading Ace's personal space again and wailing something that sounded like, "Oh no!" It was hard to tell with his tone of voice.

"Gah—Thatch! Get off!"

"They said amnesia was unlikely!" Thatch bemoaned, completely ignoring the flat stare he was getting from Marco, who was standing only a few feet away. "Oh, you poor boy! Don't worry, I can teach you everything, starting with how to do the division paperwork that was due yesterday and Marco stop giving me that look, I'll have it done tomorrow!"

"You say that every time," Marco muttered. "Stop trying to mess with Ace. He clearly remembers you."

"April," Ace muttered.

"Oh, and the year's 1522," Thatch said. Then he glanced at Marco. "It's 1522, right?"

"Yeah."

"There you go."

And suddenly Ace had to lean against a wall of the narrow hallway, his eyes unfocused as he struggled to stay standing. He waved away Thatch and Marco's worried looks, muttering, "I'm fine."

In all reality, he wasn't. Marco and Thatch were real, he'd already established that, and they weren't the type to play a prank like this on him, not when they'd been so worried. Ace glanced down, eyeing the new scar tissue on his chest that was vaguely shaped in the form of a magma fist. He brought a hand to it, prodding it gently and wincing. Marineford had happened, then. He wasn't crazy. It hadn't been a dream.

Or a nightmare.

Ace let out a deep, shuddering breath, forcing his muscles to relax. Somehow, he'd gone back in time. That was the only fact his mind could focus on. Hell, that was Thatch standing a few steps away; alive. Breathing. Without a bloody hole in his back.

Breathe. In, out. Slowly.

He had to think. Had to plan. He was getting a second chance, though he didn't know why because he hadn't done anything to deserve it. He could save Thatch—could avoid Marineford, could keep Luffy from doing something goddamned stupid

"Ace?" It was Marco speaking again. "Are you sure you're okay? Thatch wasn't necessarily supposed to take you out of the med bay. If you want to go back—"

"No, I'm fine," Ace said, standing straight again and offering them a small grin. From their skeptical looks, Ace judged that he didn't pull it off very well, but he could work on that later. "I'm just . . . tired. Yeah. Tired."

"You were unconscious for two straight weeks."

"Unconscious isn't the same as sleeping, Thatch," Ace muttered. Marco rolled his eyes.

"He should know; he spends more time sleeping than doing his paperwork, which, Thatch, is still due yesterday."

"Oh, give it up already," Thatch replied, looking moments away from sticking out his tongue at the first division commander. "You know I'll get it done. Just let me fuss first."

"I'm fine, honest!" Ace protested, stepping away from Thatch. "See?" He stumbled, and Thatch caught him. ". . . Shit."

"Yeah, not fine," Thatch said. "I'll take you to your room, you rest up, and then you get dinner from the chef. Personally. You should be honored."

"Thatch, go make dinner," Marco said, gently easing Ace away from the other man and slinging Ace's arm over his shoulder to give support. Ace muttered that he could handle himself just fine, but didn't make any move to take his arm back.

"But—"

Ace's growling stomach interrupted any argument Thatch could have made. Ace shrugged. "I got two weeks to catch up on."

"Didn't you just eat?" Marco asked curiously. "I saw Tasuka leaving with a food cart when we came in."

"I was hungry. Still am."

"Clearly," Thatch muttered. "Fine, I'll go make dinner. But we're having an invite-only commander party in Ace's room tonight!"


Things Thought Lost


"If you need anything, just call," Marco said, indicated the baby Den Den Mushi Ace always kept on his desk in case of emergencies. Ace nodded in acknowledgement, waving for Marco to leave.

"Yeah, I got it. Stop worrying so much; I'm not in any danger."

Marco gave Ace a measuring look and then shrugged. "Can't blame me for worrying." He then took his leave, and Ace was left in silence.

This time, however, the silence wasn't suffocating like the one that accompanied the darkness. This one was a silence filled with noise; the sound of a ship, a crew, filled with happiness and family. Ace grinned.

And then frowned, turning his thoughts to the future. He hadn't gotten the actual date, but he knew it was in April. He had two months. Two months until that raid, two months until Blackbeard—

The commander took a deep breath and stood, walking over to his desk and pausing while he waited for the blood rushing to his head to subside. When he could trust his balance and vision again, Ace rifled through the drawers of the desk, eventually finding a notebook and pen. Biting his lip, Ace glanced between the notebook and his bed for a minute, debating whether to nap first or not, before choosing to sit at the desk.

"Here we go," he muttered.

It was time to change history.


A/N Okay, honestly, you people are incredibly supportive. This is only the third chapter I've put up and the other two (well, technically the second) got so many reviews I just - gah! It's awesome! Thank you so much for that.

Reviews (I go from earliest to most recent, for those of you wondering what the order is):

Adel Mortescryche: I should clarify the timeline here. Thatch dies at some point in June of 1555, so the future Ace has arrived around two months before that. He's already got a pretty solid relationship with Marco/Thatch, but things have changed for Ace a lot since then. He sees his family in an entirely new (and better) light. As for the Luffy time travel stories, you can just sort the one piece stories by "favorites" or "follows" and the first one should be one of them. Keep looking and you'll find many more.

LittleChomper: Yeah, I'm not doing any Mary Sues. Hopefully. Luffy's involvement will be secondary; Ace will be thinking about him, and there will be a meet up at some point (coughAlabastacough), but he won't be a main character.

Son of Whitebeard: I'm not entirely sure what you mean by "the old second division commander". If you mean the one before Ace, no. If you mean the Ace that was there before the future Ace came back, no. Basically, no.

Check my profile for updates. Though for this story just assume less than two weeks between chapters and go from there. If it takes longer than that I'll have a reason in my profile.

Until next time,

-RoR

Please review.