I should really be writing Rewind, but . . . here I am. God dammit, writer's block!

Chapter 21

"I'm not kidding," Thatch said, his hands still near his swords despite the fact that Teach was already locked away and awaiting his death sentence from Whitebeard, the only acceptable penalty for the actions he had been about to take. "You looked like some kind of demon with those hellish burning wings of yours."

It was early the next morning and all of the commanders were on edge, though none of them was willing to admit it. After all, many of them had just seen one of their own turn traitor right before their eyes; to them, such an act was unthinkable and therefore all the more jarring.

Ace scratched the back of his neck. "I wasn't planning on bringing them out like that for everyone to see. It just happened."

"And it looked completely badass. Demonic, but badass."

"Demon?" Marco asked, walking up to the two and clearly having only picked up on part of the conversation. The first division commander looked tired; he had dark circles under his eyes and his hair was unkempt, but neither Ace nor Thatch was one to talk. "I was thinking something else."

"Like what?"

"Avenging angel," Marco said simply. "The wings were impressive. By the way, the next time you decide to pull a stunt like that without warning, I'm not going to be pleased."

"It wasn't intentional!" Ace protested.

"I'm sure."

Ace opened his mouth, fully prepared to point out that Marco looked like he didn't believe Ace in the slightest, but closed it when a wave of exhaustion slammed into him. He was engulfed in darkness almost instantly.

Things Thought Lost

Another day passed, slipping by almost unnoticed.

Marco and Thatch sat on the railing of the Moby Dick, staring out at the vast ocean, so still after the storm that had rocked it earlier that week. They were nursing a bottle of alcohol, though it was more for Thatch's benefit than Marco's, given the latter's inability to get even remotely buzzed.

Around them, the ship hummed with its normal activity. The weather was almost perfect, so many of the pirates were taking the opportunity to relax—if they weren't on duty.

Thatch took a long drink and then sighed. "Marco, I don't think I like being bait."

"You did fine, yoi."

"I know I was incredible, but it's not fun."

Marco glanced at his friend and brother. "You're really bad at breaking the ice, did you know that?"

Thatch rolled his eyes. "Excuse you. I'm a social butterfly."

Marco snorted, taking a drink himself. "Sure you are, yoi. What do you really want to talk about?"

"Why do you even have to ask?"

"Formality."

The fourth division commander stared out at the ocean, his expression becoming more serious. "I'm worried about Ace, Marco. Ace and the way the world's going. You felt it, didn't you? When Teach fell, something in the air changed."

Marco took his time replying. "Something did change, yoi. It feels like there's a storm waiting just over the horizon, and we're sailing straight into it."

The ocean lapped against the hull of the Moby Dick, smelling of salt and bringing with it a cool breeze. Marco closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of it. Even after so many years at sea, he could never pass up calm days like this one. They were a rarity in the New World.

"I feel the same way," Thatch said eventually. "It was the same all those years ago, you know, back when the Pirate King was executed."

Marco drank and sighed. "The era's changing again."

"I wonder what's going to be happening this time. I hope some of those infamous new rookies raise hell; that'll be interesting."

"Seems like they're moving too fast," Marco commented. "Oyaji's mentioned a few times that they're impatient."

"Impatience makes the world go 'round, my friend."

"I won't dispute that."

They descended into a companionable silence, merely taking in the scenery and enjoying the calm weather. Behind them, members of a few different divisions were sparring, the ringing of their weapons providing a backdrop of noise over the ocean. Occasionally, Thatch and Marco could hear a grunt of pain or the sound of someone slamming onto the deck, but there was never anything serious.

"So, you wanted to talk about Ace, yoi."

Thatch nodded absently. "Yeah. I'm worried about him."

"Worried?" Marco repeated while raising one eyebrow. "Physically or mentally?"

"Mentally. From what I've gathered, stopping that traitor was his main purpose in coming back, and now Teach is dead. Executed." Thatch waved his drink in the air, frowning. "You get my point.. Speaking of that, did he ever tell you why he came back? As in, what event triggered it?"

Marco's expression became more serious. "He told me most things, but he didn't go into detail towards the end. He was . . . hesitant."

"Ace, hesitant?"

"It's as unbelievable as it sounds. He was apparently captured and brought first to Impel Down—" Thatch's grip on his cup tightened and his knuckles turned white, "and then to Marineford."

"Marineford? Why the hell would they go to Marineford?"

Marco stared at his cup of alcohol and sloshed the liquid around some, debating. Then he glanced at Thatch. "I can't tell you the exact reason—it's not my secret to tell—but I can say that Ace has connections to some very problematic people in the World Government's eyes."

Thatch snorted. "The World Government can go screw itself for all I care. What, so they were going to execute him?"

"I believe so. He didn't go into much detail after that; just mentioned that there was a great battle that didn't end well, and that was when he'd come back."

"Huh." Thatch glanced down at his own cup. "Strange." He fidgeted for a minute and Marco gave him a silent cue to spit it out already. "Doesn't it seem . . . odd that Ace doesn't want to talk about when he was sent back? He wasn't really the type to keep serious secrets."

This time, Marco twitched, but Thatch was too absorbed in his own musings to notice. "This is just a hunch, but . . . Marco, I think Ace died. Or got so close to death that he 'saw the light' before he came back."

Thatch snuck a glance at his longtime crewmate. "Marco, talk to me. I'm getting nervous here."

"I don't like thinking about that, yoi," Marco eventually said. "I came to the same conclusion after thinking about it for a few minutes. He wasn't actively trying to hide it, but he never explicitly mentioned it. I think . . . I think he's more deeply bothered by it than he wants to admit."

"Kid's got some problems," Thatch muttered.

"I'll drink to that, yoi." They drank. "We'll help him, Thatch. He's young."

"Cares too much."

"You say that most people don't care enough."

Thatch rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but he . . . I don't know, I'm not one to get deep, but he puts too much into things, you know?"

"And he never expects anything in return."

"That's it!" Thatch declared. "That's it exactly! He lives like he owes the world for his very existence!"

"Hmph," Marco said in reply, staring down. He knew exactly why that was, and he was one of two people on the Moby Dick that had been entrusted with Ace's deepest secret. If Ace wanted to tell others, he could, but even though Marco trusted Thatch completely, he knew that it wasn't his place to reveal Ace's secrets.

A sudden bustle of activity caught the commanders' attention. Marco turned and waved down the nearest pirate while Thatch went to refill his cup.

"Hey, Ben, what's going on?"

"It's Ace, commander! He suddenly blacked out!"

"What, narcolepsy?" Thatch asked, turning around as well. Ben shook his head.

"No! I don't know the details, but it's bad, and Tasuka's calling for—actually, she's calling for you two to, I quote, 'Get your asses down to the med bay as fast as inhumanly possible'."

The bottle of alcohol dropped from Thatch's hand and shattered against the railing.

Things Thought Lost

Thatch paced. Marco, looking as though he wanted to do the exact same thing, watched him from an uncomfortable stool next to the bed Ace was strapped to.

Ace was thrashing as much as he could with the restraints, his body slick and shining with sweat while his breathing remained consistently inconsistent and erratic. His hair was matted down and his eyes were constantly moving beneath his eyelids while his breaths were forced between his slightly parted lips.

"We should've seen this coming," Thatch muttered. "This is what happens when you mess with shit like time!"

"You're stressed, yoi," Marco said. Thatch shot him a look.

"You're just as stressed. You haven't taken your eyes off him for more than five seconds at a time."

Both commanders glared at each other for a few more seconds before they both broke eye contact, muttering apologies.

"We're both stressed," Marco admitted. "It could just be a normal sickness."

"You know Ace—he could just burn the problem right out of his body."

"Dammit, Thatch," Marco said softly. "I'm trying to feel better."

"Maybe he'll be fine in the morning. He's always healed really quickly. It could just be a one-night thing."

"You saw the look on Tasuka's face. Even Kisha looked worried."

Thatch stopped pacing to give Marco a pleading look. "Come on, let me have my peace!"

"No. You ruined mine."

The fourth division commander grumbled something while he changed to cool cloth clinging to Ace's forehead. Neither of the two men left the med bay that night.

Things Thought Lost

Ace woke up the next morning with the impression that he'd just been rammed by the Moby Dick, and possibly several other ships on top of that; his entire body was stiff and sore, while his insides felt like they wanted to be on the outside. He spent a few minutes just trying not to throw up.

Was this what it was like to be sick? Because, if so, being sick sucked royally.

The sound of someone snoring caught Ace attention and He slowly sat up, wincing when the blood rushed to his head and made his vision swim. When it cleared, his eyes widened when he realized what was going on.

Then his expression softened. Marco and Thatch were sleeping soundly, both passed out in uncomfortable-looking chairs that had been dragged close to the bed. They were actually only half-in the chairs; their heads were pillows on their arms, which were resting on Ace's bed. It was surprisingly cute, in a way.

As quietly as he could manage, Ace got out of his bed and hobbled over to the two nearest beds, easily pulling the thin sheets off. He then wobbled back over to Thatch and Marco, not completely trusting his stomach to stay steady while vertical, and carefully draped the sheets over them. Then he crawled back into bed and went back to sleep, feeling much better than he had before.

Things Thought Lost

"You're fine now?" Thatch asked incredulously, staring at Ace. "You can't be serious. Last night you were thrashing around like the world was ending!"

Ace shrugged. "I don't know why it happened or why it passed so quickly. I guess I just needed to adjust to the changed times. Really, this is my first time trying out time-travel, so I don't know all the specifics."

"Maybe it came with a manual and you forgot to read it, yoi," Marco suggested dryly.

Ace rolled his eyes. "Sure, that's what happened. Anyway, I'm perfectly fine."

"Devil fruit?" Thatch tried.

Ace's right arm turned to flame for a second.

"Appetite?"

"You were there at breakfast."

"Wit?"

"Always better than yours. Unnecessary question."

" . . . Shut up."

"See?" Ace said proudly. "I'm good."

"Can't blame us for being worried," Thatch said with a shrug. "You're one of our youngest brothers, if not the youngest. We old-timers have to take care of you."

"We?" Marco repeated. "Who's 'we'?"

"You and me, buddy," Thatch stated. "We're old-timers."

"Do not call me old," Marco said stiffly. "I am perfectly young."

"Young my ass," Thatch coughed.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

Ace laughed at their familiar antics and then glanced at Marco. "Hey, Marco, I've got a request."

"What is it, yoi?"

"There are some places I need to visit that I'm worried about since things haven't really . . . gone as planned. I can't just leave them hanging."

"Tying up loose ends?" Thatch asked. "Smart."

"That should be fine," Marco conceded. "Just talk to Oyaji first; you two are due for a long talk anyway."

"That's true," Ace said slowly. He looked almost guilty. "I've been putting that off for too long."

"Yes, yes you have," Thatch said cheerfully, none-too-gently shoving Ace in the direction of Whitebeard's quarters, where the man was resting that day at the nurses' rather insistent request. "Now go. Fly! Be free!"

"You're an ass," Ace muttered, but he was smiling.

Things Thought Lost

Ace knocked on the door leading to Whitebeard's quarters, trying to ignore the encouraging gestures from Thatch. Honestly, when he was across the deck, it was more than a little strange looking.

"Oyaji? It's Ace. Can I come in?"

He received permission and entered, shutting the door softly behind him. He then turned, seeing Whitebeard lying down on his bed, the man's stature and presence no less gargantuan even when he wasn't standing or sitting upright.

"What is it, my son?" Whitebeard asked, swishing around the alcohol in the container he held.

Ace shifted his weight, unsure where to begin. Then he sighed and figured he may as well just go with it.

"I've been avoiding this conversation for a little too long," he admitted. "I wasn't sure what you would think, Oyaji, and I was nervous for no good reason." Whitebeard raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. "See, I . . . I came from an alternate future timeline in which Teach wasn't caught and wreaked all kinds of havoc. There was a big fight, people—my brothers and sisters, our family—were hurt and some died, and—I came back to stop it, and I didn't tell you because I was afraid."

"So that's it," Whitebeard said. Then he let out a low laugh. "Never thought I'd live to see the day one of my sons came back in time."

Ace blinked. "What, you're not mad that I didn't tell you? That I kept this secret?"

"Why would I be angry?"

Ace opened his mouth and then closed it, realizing that he really didn't have an answer. Whitebeard was an incredibly accepting man; Ace would attest to that himself, what with the whole parentage thing that Ace was trying to avoid thinking about too much.

Whitebeard let out another chuckle that rumbled throughout the room, and Ace let a slow, hesitant smile stretch his lips.

Things Thought Lost

"Bye! Everyone, don't do anything stupid while I'm gone!"

"You're the one that always does the stupid things, you bastard!"

Ace simply continued grinning and waving to the crew of the Moby Dick while he sailed away on Striker, familiar backpack looped over one shoulder and enough supplies to last him for a long time packed away.

He sailed off into the sunset, only to realize after about twenty minutes that he was going in the wrong direction, a mistake he quickly corrected.

He hoped that no one had noticed. He'd never live it down otherwise.

A/N Teach is dead. He will not be coming back, just in case anyone suspected me of pulling something like that. Ace collapsed b/c . . . well, time sickness. Or something. It made sense in my head. But he's fine now.

9momentos: That won't be happening, though it's an interesting idea.

LittleChomper: Sabo and Luffy didn't necessarily get a "bad" feeling; they just felt something. Like when the winds change; Thatch and Marco were discussing it in this chapter.

Guest: New stories? Ohhhhh boy. Probably not for a while; I have to finish the ones I've started. There may be one shots, though. Maybe.

OnePieceDoesExist: Ah, right. The whole Sabo-memory-loss thing. I've got a plan for that. A very . . . fun plan.

dragonwarrior316: Plot convenience. (Actually, it's like this; when I was younger, I heard that a family member of mine had died. Even only a few days later, I couldn't remember the details leading up to that moment, but I could remember the moment itself in perfect clarity. I based it off that. So, basically, selective memory.)

Can anyone guess what's next?

-RoR

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