So tired. Sooooo tiiiired.


Chapter 11

Ace wasn't sure what he'd been expecting when Thatch came barreling into his room at top speed, but it wasn't getting something bright and orange thrown at his face. He automatically picked it out of the air before it hit, instantly registering that it was cloth of some kind. Marco had done the same with his blue bundle, while Thatch was still grinning in the doorway. The resident phoenix looked unimpressed.

"Thatch, what's it this time?"

"This time? Marco, that hurts." Thatch grinned wider, holding up his own pastel yellow . . . thing. "Before you two get too anxious, I'll explain." He paused dramatically, waiting for the other two commanders to get impatient or demand answers. His expression changed to one of disappointment when neither Marco nor Ace so much as twitched. "What? Nothing?"

"I'm going to set this thing on fire if you don't hurry up?" Ace tried, holding up what he guessed was a shirt with a confused expression. Really, he was only doing it to satisfy Thatch.

"Thank you!" Thatch coughed, assuming a horrified expression. "No! Ace, you can't burn that shirt! I bought it for you myself! The same goes for you, Marco!"

"Hurry it up," Marco said dryly.

"Spoilsport. Fine. We're going to the beach, and I was kind enough to get you idiots some festive shirts to celebrate. It's international Dress Like a Tourist Day, after all."

"This is not something I'd wear," Ace said automatically, holding up the shirt and frowning at it. It was a subdued—for a tourist shirt, anyway—orange, with silhouettes of flowers and leaves in red while other leaves were outlined in red but colored in with yellow. Ace grimaced. "No. And international Dress Like a Tourist Day is not a thing, last I checked."

"C'mon, please?" Thatch said. "It's a nice shirt! And stop ruining my fun!"

" . . . Fine. Just this once."

"Yes! Now, Marco—"

"Fine," the blond interrupted. "I know you're not going to let me say no."

Thatch grinned in a way that Marco really didn't like. "Good. Because your shirt is my favorite."

Frowning, Marco unfolded the shirt Thatch had thrown at him and automatically groaned. "Seriously yoi? Pineapples?"

Sure enough, Marco's blue shirt had yellow outlines of pineapples and a few other flowers traced across it. The blond immediately went to throw it, but then stopped when he remembered that he'd already agreed to wear it. It didn't help that Ace was snickering.

"Nice one, Thatch."

"Thank you. It's good to know that at least one person here appreciates my talents."

"I wouldn't call them that," Marco grumbled, but he was more amused than annoyed by Thatch's antics. "Let me guess; you got the nicest shirt."

Thatch shrugged. "Nah. Same kind of shirt, just different colors." He held it up, displaying its light pink color. It had green plant designs on it, but overall the shirt was a lot more subdued than Ace's.

"Why's mine the brightest?" Ace grumbled.

"Because of your sunny personality," Thatch quipped. He reached down and picked up a pile Ace hadn't noticed before and then threw two pairs of black swim trunks at the two commanders. "Here. I think they're your size."

"That's why my shorts were missing the other day!"

"Yup." Thatch didn't sound ashamed at all. "Oh, don't give me that look. You had spares. And I gave them back. Now get changed; we're supposed to be at the island in a few minutes. We're already within visual distance."

He left, and Marco sighed. "Apparently they neglected to inform me about this yoi. Can't say I'm surprised."

"Meet you on the deck in five?"

"Sure."


Things Thought Lost


Ace let out a contented sigh. The sun's rays warmed his body while he lounged on a beach chair that easily accommodated his six-foot frame. The cushions on it were soft, the angle just right, and—best of all—there was a small table within reach holding his half-finished frozen lemonade. He didn't need to worry about getting too warm or getting sunburned thanks to his rather unique constitution, so he didn't worry about getting shade. He even had a pair of sunglasses on to dim the bright sunlight.

He could get used to this.

The sound of the surf breaking on the beach reached his ears and he let himself relax even more, feeling completely happy with Thatch's decision. Of course, the man had been disappointed when Ace took off his tourist shirt and slung it across the back of his chair, but Ace had insisted on marking the chair as "his", and no, he wasn't going to take off his necklace instead.

"Heads up!"

Ace didn't even react as something passed through his body, nearly making his entire midsection turn to flames. Then he frowned, cracking one eye open when whatever the thing was didn't move. Then he remembered: he was lying down on a beach chair. Just because he was intangible didn't mean that the chair was.

"Dammit," Ace muttered, sitting up and rubbing his head. He glanced at the offending item and blinked in confusion when all he saw was a melted puddle of something on the cushions of the chair. "What is that?"

"Well, it was a beach ball," Izo said, walking up behind Ace. He looked pityingly at the sad puddle of plastic. "Shame. They were having a pretty intense game over there, too."

Ace glanced over to where a bunch of Whitebeard pirates were giving him heartbroken looks. Feeling ashamed, Ace picked up the ruined beach ball and toss it onto the small table he had, reminding himself to throw it away later. "Sorry about destroying the ball, guys," he called. They waved him off.

"It's fine, commander! We brought spares just in case this happened!"

Sure enough, they were back to playing whatever game they had been playing before. Ace grinned, then looked at Izo. "Have you seen Thatch around?"

Izo shook his head. "Saw him head into the forest an hour ago, haven't seen him since. He'll probably be back soon, though."

"'Kay. Thanks."

Izo resumed heading to the snack bar they'd set up hours ago, and Ace lay back down in his chair, grabbing a quick drink of his frozen lemonade in the process.

He was just starting to drift away when footsteps muffled by sand interrupted him. Suppressing a sigh, Ace lifted his sunglasses and squinted when he saw Thatch walking towards him, an overstuffed bag slung over one shoulder.

"Thatch? What are you doing? What's in the bag?"

The fourth division commander grinned impishly. "Just a few local island fruits I thought our good friend Marco would appreciate."

"They're pineapples, aren't they? Thatch, you're running this joke into the ground. First the shirt, now actual pineapples?"

"Oh, stop. I'm taking a break from bird jokes."

"For how long?"

"A day. Two, tops. I have to make up for it somehow."

"You know Marco's not going to be happy with you."

"Oh, I'm well aware. Here."

Ace caught the marker Thatch tossed his way, a bemused expression on his face. "What's this for?"

"You're going to help me."

"Hell no," Ace said instantly, making to hand the marker back. "I am not getting involved with this again."

"Too late," Thatch said, still grinning. "I've already started. Take a look."

He rummaged around in the bag and then pulled out a pineapple, holding it up for Ace's inspection. Ace's expression slowly filled with disbelief as he noticed the face crudely drawn on the fruit. It barely resembled Marco at all, but the half-lidded eyes were unmistakable.

Thatch then handed Ace another, blank pineapple. "Well? Get to drawing! We only have a little while before Marco gets back, and I want these to be spread all around the beach."

"He's going to kill us," Ace muttered. Despite his words, he kept drawing, putting considerably more effort into his sketching than Thatch was.

"Yes, but only after he hunts down and destroys every one of our wonderful little mini versions of him. There are about twenty. I'll tell him there're thirty."

"He'll know you're lying," Ace said, tossing another completed fruit into the growing pile. "He's good at noticing that."

"That may be," Thatch conceded, "but there's a chance he won't notice." Thatch completed the pineapple he was working on and then stood and stretched. "I'm going to go put these ones around the beach. Keep up the good work, Ace!"

Ace just rolled his eyes good-naturedly and continued drawing. It was more difficult to draw on a pineapple than he expected, but he thought he was doing a pretty good job. After all, his faces looked like Marco. Thatch's . . . were slightly harder to interpret, but the fourth division commander had been adamant that they got the message across just fine.

Thatch returned a few minutes later. Ace tossed him the last pineapple and the marker he'd been using.

"I'm going back to lying down," he said, getting to his feet. He frowned at the sand stuck to his skin and shorts, moved a little ways away from Thatch, and quickly turned to flames to get rid of it—a handy trick he'd figured out in Alabasta. Then he went back to his chair, and his mostly-melted lemonade. He was just about to get a drink when a sense of foreboding made him stop.

It was a familiar feeling. Slowly, Ace turned to looked at Thatch, who seemed oblivious to the ominous tint to the air. He was still scribbling away, and Ace was hesitant to looked behind him.

"Thatch. Just what are you doing?"

Thatch froze, then turned with a shaky smile on his face. "Marco. Hey, buddy, I thought you were still making sure everything on the ship's okay."

"Just finished," Marco said. Ominous shadows covered his face, making him look almost terrifying. "Why are there pineapples with my face on them scattered around the beach?"

At this point, Ace knew Marco was angry. He also knew that there was little chance of escape, so honesty was the best course of action. That idea was only reinforced when Marco glanced at him.

"I know you were involved in this too, Ace."

"It was Thatch's idea!"

"Hey!"

Ace then decided that holding up his reputation as a fearsome pirate in the face of Marco's wrath wasn't worth it, and he quickly took off, the sand flying into the air in his wake. Behind him, Thatch tried to do the same, but Marco caught him by the collar of his shirt.


Things Thought Lost


"You look . . . wet," Ace commented while valiantly trying not to smirk at Thatch's sodden appearance. The fourth division commander pouted.

"Marco dropped me into the ocean."

"How far?"

"Half a mile. He wasn't happy. Then he made me find all the pineapples. I still don't know what he did with them!"

Ace blinked; he thought back to when Marco had caught him and forced him to set fire to a pile of fruit. " . . . Yeah. Who knows?"

"Anyway, it's going to take me weeks to get the sand out of my clothes. It clings when you're wet, did you know that?"

"Kind of expected it, really."

"Your sympathy is underwhelming."

"I'm here for you," Ace said with a grin. "So what's the plan now? You were talking earlier like you had the entire day mapped out."

"Oh, I do. We're building sand castles!"

Ace thought he misheard. Surely the fourth division commander of the fearsome Whitebeard Pirates, a member of the crew that practically ruled a large section of the New World and whose name was spread throughout the globe with both fear and awe, hadn't just suggested that they build sand castles.

"What?" Ace said dumbly.

"Sand castles," Thatch repeated, looking pleased. "You know, castles made out of sand?"

"Thatch. We're pirates. We don't build sand castles."

"Nonsense. It's because we're pirates that we can build sand castles; we can do whatever we want."

Ace opened his mouth and then realized that there really was no way to refute that statement.

He didn't have a problem with building sand castles; he'd even done it once or twice back on Dawn Island with Luffy, but it had been a really long time since then, and he'd never really thought about doing it again, much less while he was in a pirate crew.

"How are you going to convince anyone to do that?" Ace eventually asked. Thatch gave him an amused look.

"I don't have to 'convince' anyone; they've known about it. There are teams."

"Teams?"

"Yup. It's by division; you've got two hours to build the best sandcastle you can. Pops and we—the commanders—will be judging. Oh, and we can't vote for our own division. I think yours is over there, by that driftwood."

Ace looked over and, sure enough, saw his division waiting. There was just one problem.

Teach.

Ace knew the blood was draining from his face but he still managed to give Thatch the smile he'd probably been expecting. "Cool. When do we start?"

"Right now. Good luck! Actually, never mind. My division's going to win."

"Sure, Thatch. Sure."

Ace began walking towards his division, feeling the dread slowly building within him. Each step brought him closer to Teach, closer to Thatch's murderer—

Except Thatch wasn't dead. He was alive, and Teach was just another member of Ace's division; in fact, he and Ace had been something approaching friends before the traitor had revealed his true colors.

He had no enemies here.

But he still wanted to burn Teach to a crisp and Ace wasn't sure he'd be able to actually hold a conversation with the guy. After all, he'd had the audacity to go after Luffy. No one did that, not when Ace was there.

"Hey, commander!"

Ace glanced up and saw Shia waving at him. She was grinning, her bikini almost as bright as Ace's shirt. Ace vaguely recalled that she'd been one of the planners for the party a few nights ago—because his mind was a little scattered at the moment, and he couldn't quite remember faces that should've been ingrained in his memory—and offered a wave back, forcing a smile onto his face. Shia frowned.

"Commander, is something wrong? You don't look too well. Is it the ocean?"

"No, I'm fine," Ace said, making a concerted effort to look normal. Then he realized that was impossible and scrambled for something else to say, a reason. "Thatch dunked me into some ocean water earlier, and I'm still feeling the effects a little."

"Oh." Shia brightened. "Well, hopefully you feel up to building the greatest sand castle this world has ever seen! We've already got some designs in mind but figured we should get your approval first; you've always been good with building and planning things, after all."

"Well, we've got two hours," Ace said. "We should take a while to plan." He began to seriously think about the competition, pushing away his worries about Teach for the moment. "There are at least three types of sand we can use; dry sand, wet sand, and soaking sand. The dry sand won't be good for much else besides decoration; the wet sand would be the main building blocks, and the drenched sand would be like mortar."

Shia grinned, holding up a stack of papers. "Here's what we've got so far."

Ace was glad that his division was very good at being self-sufficient. They'd gone without a commander for a while, and Ace was still getting used to commanding a hundred people.

He began to leaf through the pages, a slow grin forming on his face in response to what he saw.

"I can work with this."


Things Thought Lost


"Looks good!" Ace called, glancing down at his division from on top of the scaffolding. Kensetsu, one of the men who had taken charge of the building process, waved in acknowledgement and relayed a few final instructions to the other members. Immediately, they began to deconstruct the scaffolding and drainage pits, while others went inside the sand castle to check that the support beams and columns were still in place.

Ace hopped back down to the ground, momentarily turning to flame so that the impact wouldn't break his legs.

"Well, commander?" Teach asked. Ace managed to suppress his wince and instead grinned cockily.

"We've got this."

Thankfully, Shia intervened before Ace's emotions overwhelmed his expression and led Ace away from Teach, regaling him with the details about the inside of the sand castle.

"Support columns A through F seem to be holding well, but G looks a little shaky. We can try to fix it, but there's a chance that could cause the entire floor to collapse."

"Leave it. It's a temporary structure; as long as it lasts through the judging period, we'll be fine."

They ducked through an arch, taking a moment to appreciate the art decorating the walls. Sometimes, Ace mused, it was nice to have a hundred pirates under his command; at least one of them was bound to know how to make some pretty kickass art.

A sudden and very loud whistle from outside had Ace and Shia heading back onto the open beach. Thatch was standing on a raised platform, a whistle in one hand.

"Listen up!" He called, his voice carrying to each corner of the island's beach. "The sand castle competition building period is now over! Izo, don't give me that look, you had plenty of warning! We're going to start judging; all division members, please go to the viewing area, which is conveniently set off by a line of pineapples! Commanders, meet over here by Oyaji!"

The Whitebeard Pirates followed Thatch's instructions remarkably quickly, and soon Whitebeard and his commanders were touring the sand castles. They started with Marco's, since he was the first division commander.

Ace blinked. "How did you even manage to put wings on a sand castle?"

Marco shrugged.

Next up was Ace's sand castle, which he was quite pleased with. Once he was sure everyone was watching, he carefully ignited a section of it, and in a spectacular rush of heat the entire thing burst into flame. It burned brightly, making the intricate designs on the elegant walls look all the cooler before they melted away.

"I expected that," Thatch admitted. "Ace, you might be a pyromaniac."

"I'm made of fire, idiot," Ace retorted with a grin. "What were you expecting?"

Then came Jozu's castle, and no one was surprised to see the remarkably sturdy-looking structure. It had multiple turrets and was pretty imposing. Ace frowned; it made his sand castle look small by comparison.

Jozu's expression never changed as the commanders and Whitebeard examined his sand castle, but Ace was under the impression that he was pleased. It was often hard to tell.

Thatch's sand castle didn't look like much on the outside, but on the inside it had literal piles of food—all made out of sand. Ace felt his stomach grumble in protest and vowed to visit the snack bar immediately after the competition.

The other sand castles went by in a blur for Ace, though he remembered laughing—snickering—at Izo's sand castle, which had half-collapsed by the time the commanders reached it. Apparently, Izo had only needed one more minute to fix up a certain section, but Thatch hadn't permitted it. Even Whitebeard had laughed, and Ace was pleased to note that his captain was having a great time at the beach, seeing his sons and daughters so happy.

"All right!" Thatch called, quickly gaining everyone's attention. "The votes have been collected, and the results tallied." His expression dropped slightly. "Unfortunately, some of you heartless people are clearly blind, but that's just my opinion."

A few pirates booed Thatch and others called a couple motivational phrases to get him to hurry up.

"Fine, fine! Jeez. Third place goes to . . . Jozu! Because it held up even after Pops accidentally sneezed nearby, even when most of the other sand castles collapsed! We were all very impressed."

Jozu just nodded, the members of his division cheering in the background.

"Second place goes to . . .Marco! Seriously, how did you get wings on a sand castle?"

Marco smiled while his division let out whoops of celebration.

"And, finally," Thatch said, his voice dropping to make the moment even more dramatic, "the first place spot! The winner of the sand castle competition is . . ." He pantomimed opening an envelope and pulling out a card, then grinned. "Second division! Congratulations, Ace! I'm pretty sure people were just hoping you wouldn't set them on fire!"

Ace blinked. Then he grinned. "Sweet!"

"And, because I am such a loving and caring person," Thatch said, "I am still providing the wonderful buffet I promised earlier. It's by the snack shack, and you'd better hurry; once commander Ace gets there, portions will be halved!"

Ace didn't even bother to flip Thatch off as he sprinted for the snack shack, other hungry pirates on his heels.


A/N Fun little break chapter. Things heat up next chapter.

Reviews:

poemado: Ace is traumatized, but probably not to the extent you're thinking. He did manage to die mostly at peace with the world, remember. Making a copy of himself out of flames would be extraordinarily difficult and probably not very productive for Ace, but he could probably do it given enough time (though it wouldn't be able to move, etc)

Gamma Cavy: I did some (superficial) research on how big humans' wings would have to be, and adjusted Ace's accordingly. I'm glad you like them! Really, Ace was only making them as a kind of training.

cantorahagedoorn: Very short version: Thatch made a mistake with a prank. Short version: Poorly placed, easily shattered mirrors that Marco discovered the hard way, which cost him a shirt.

Have I forgotten about Teach and the Yami Yami no Mi? Definitely not! I have a timetable worked out. I think.

-RoR

Please review.