Ace was having a bad day. Most people in his situation would not know whether the day was good or bad. Considering he had no recollection of said day. He did know, however, that his head was throbbing and his thoughts were sluggish. The surface he was laying on was hard and uncomfortable. The fire user pried his eyes open and the light painfully assaulted him. Ace's ears picked up the chirping of seagulls and the low chatter of the people around him.
"Oi, He's awake!"
Ace didn't know who had spoken, but the harsh voice had removed him from his daze. A hand grabbed his arm and he was pulled up from the ground into a sitting position. He felt nauseous from the movement.
"You alright, Ace? You took a pretty nasty hit." The sudden movement had forced Ace to look away from the sky and directly at a blurry, goateed man with an auburn pompadour. The man's voice was different from the initial speaker, but Ace did not care. He was still trying to remember what was going on.
Ace moved his gaze from the concerned man to take in his surroundings. There was a crowd gathered around him on all sides. The assortment of people blocked his view of everything other than the sky and the wooden deck he sat on. Ace still had no idea where he was, though the human flame thrower assumed it was a ship. He didn't recognize any of the blurry figures in the pirate-looking crowd. It didn't help that his eyes wouldn't focus.
Mr. Pompadour waved a hand in front of Ace's face when he didn't respond.
"Your head doesn't look too good, no wonder you seem out of it." Mr. Pompadour pulled the fire user to his feet, keeping a hold on his arm as he swayed. Ace fought to keep down the bile rising in his throat. He expressed his confusion once he gathered his bearings.
"Sorry, do I know you?" All the chatter stopped. "And what happened? I feel terrible." The man looked stunned after Ace's questions. Not that Ace could even see his expression.
"What do you mean 'Do I know You?', I'm Thatch! Your best bud!" Mr. Pompadour, now known as Thatch, said with a tinge of panic. He had seemed so genuinely confused that Thatch wasn't sure if Ace was pulling his leg. The crowd started to murmur again with uncertain voices.
A blond man pushed himself through the throng of people. He was wearing a purple shirt and his hair was just a blob at the top of his head.
"You tripped, yoi," Mr. Purple Shirt didn't seem panicked but concerned. "We should get you to the infirmary before you bleed too much." It was then that Ace realized his forehead was gushing blood.
"Oh," He replied dumbly as he stared at the stream of red running down his arm. His throbbing head started to ache. The wound itself wasn't terribly painful, but Ace wasn't naive. He knew the gash would not stay painless for long. He had been around the block a few times. The Pyro was confused as to why the gash didn't turn to fire and reform itself as soon as he got it. At most, he should've had a concussion.
Thatch, still holding Ace's arm, started to lead him towards a staircase. Mr. Purple Shirt followed alongside them, deep in thought. Ace's muddled mind drifted to who the men could be. They acted as if they knew him well. He wondered if they knew about his devil fruit. Was Purple Shirt wondering about Ace's weird gash, too? Not to mention his obvious memory issue. Ace had no clue where he was or who he was with even, it was worrying. Thatch had acted as if they were well acquainted and the crowd seemed surprised when he asked who Thatch was. And what about his crew? Where were they? It was clear to him that a decent chunk of his memory could be gone, and it scared Ace. If he had not already had a headache, then all his questions would have created one. The whole situation put him on edge. For now, Ace decided to play it cool. To not let them see his panic.
By the time the trio reached the infirmary, Ace was experiencing a sharp throbbing from his head and the fire user's eyes still wouldn't focus properly. As a plain white infirmary bed came into view, he realized how tired he was and felt relieved to sit down.
"What happened?" asked a pink, feminine blur as Ace collapsed onto the bed. He assumed the pink blur was a nurse.
"Ace tripped and hit his head on the railing. His devil fruit doesn't seem to be protecting him, yoi." This time it was the purple blur of Mr. Purple Shirt that spoke. As soon as the pink-clad nurse heard 'head' and 'railing' in the same sentence, she moved towards Ace and pointed a light into his eyes. Another pink blur came over with something white and pressed it against his bleeding head. Thatch was leaning against a wall nearby, not saying anything, just observing.
"Speaking of which, what happened, Ace? You were walking and got a funny look on your face. Then, you tripped and knocked yourself unconscious. It's not like you to be so clumsy, yoi," Purple Shirt questioned. Ace took a moment to collect his jumbled thoughts before replying. It was quite difficult considering that he definitely had a concussion.
"I-I don't remember. I'm no doctor, but I think I might possibly just maybe have a teensy case of memory loss." Ace did not know how else to break the news to them. Thatch groaned and responded before Purple Shirt had the chance.
"Damnit, I was hoping you were only trying to mess with me before." Thatch's blurry form pushed off the wall to stand next to his purple companion. "I never thought I would have to introduce myself to you a second time." Mr. Purple Shirt took this as his cue.
"If Thatch has to reintroduce himself, then this might not be a 'teensy case of memory loss'." Ace couldn't see his expression, but it likely wasn't filled with joy judging by his tone. "Do you know where you are?" Ace started to shake his head 'no' before he realized a nurse was trying to wrap his head in a bandage.
"From what I can tell we are on a large ship, but other than that I have no clue. I don't know why I would be on a giant ship, though. You aren't marines, are you?" He said the last part jokingly. Marines would not show so much concern about a pirate. Ace was, however, feeling increasingly concerned at the possibility of being stuck on a foreign pirate ship. Pirates were unpredictable, so he needed to tread carefully.
"So you for sure don't know who we are? We don't look even the teensiest familiar to you?" Thatch piped back in with a disheartened voice.
"You just look like blurry blobs of color to me." At Ace's confession, the nurse wrapping his head flicked him in the arm.
"Why didn't you say so sooner?! We can't do our job properly if you don't tell us these things!" The nurse was a little annoyed with him, but she wasn't surprised. Ace was never the type to admit when something was wrong unless it was a serious hindrance to him. Blurry vision was also common with concussions.
The nurse finished wrapping Ace's head and left to grab him a pain killer. Ace took this opportunity to lean back on the pillows and close his eyes. He felt incredibly exhausted. The bliss only lasted a short moment before someone grabbed his arm and made him sit up.
"No falling asleep until the nurses give you the okay, yoi." The fire wielder gave Mr. Purple Shirt Blob the most withering glare he could muster. "I suppose you don't know who I am, either?" He sighed. Ace gingerly shook his head no. Purple Shirt paused for a moment, remembering how Ace had felt about the Whitebeards before joining them. He really hoped Ace would not attack them once he realized whose ship he was on.
"I'm Mar-," He was cut off.
"MARCO!" A man's shout reached the fire user's ears as the infirmary door burst open. His sounded agitated. "The first thing I see when I return from the village is a puddle of blood on the deck and some mumbles about Ace! What did the menace do this time?" Unbeknownst to Ace, this newcomer had been plagued by the pyro's antics for the past week and was completely fed up with him.
"Please don't tell me it was a failed prank!" If Ace could see properly, he would have seen the man's scowl. All he could actually see of the man was his blurry, pink, and red form.
"Ace, this is Izo. Izo this is Ace," Thatched piped in with goofy enthusiasm.
"Eh?" Izo was clearly confused. He had no idea why Thatch would be introducing them. It didn't even make sense as a troll. At that same moment, the nurse returned with Ace's painkillers and a glass of water.
"Take two pills now and if your head still hurts in the morning take another two. After dinner you can go to sleep if you want. We will wake you every hour or so throughout the night to make sure your concussion isn't giving you any problems." With that, the nurse started to walk off.
"Wait! When will I get my memory back?" He hoped it would be soon.
"Hopefully within a week, but there's no telling for sure." Ace let her leave this time as he downed his pills and started thinking about how much trouble long term amnesia could cause him.
"Dinner! Dangit Ace, your klutziness distracted me from dinner prep." Thatch's blurry, white figure started walking towards the door. "Marco can explain this mess to you Izo, see you at dinner." and with a flourished bow, Thatch exited the room. Marco sighed again before relaying Ace's short love affair with the ship's railing to Izo.
Ace's mind was whirling with questions. Everyone he had interacted with so far acted as if they had known him for years. Was it possible he actually did know these people? Could he trust these unknown sailors? So far, he had been cooperating with them. Ace didn't want to anger the crew if there was any chance they were hostile. The best course of action would be to avoid violence unless the crew attacked first. That didn't mean he should get comfortable, though. Ace would stay cautious. His next concern was his crew, the Spade Pirates. It was clear the Spades were nowhere near him. There was a chance that this large pirate crew was holding them captive, but then they wouldn't have let Ace go without cuffs. Maybe Ace escaped from his cuffs and the enemy crew was taking advantage of his amnesia? He didn't think so, but he could not completely rule out the possibility. The pyro also did not know how many memories he was missing. Was it days, months, or even years? He needed a newspaper. He needed to know what day it was, what year. Then, he needed to find out where he was
Ace abruptly stood up, determined to get answers, before collapsing back on the bed from a wave of dizziness and fatigue. He felt bile rising in his throat and forced it back down.
"Ace, yoi," his burst of energy had caught Marco and Izo's attention. "You should rest, we can figure out your memories and devil fruit tomorrow."
"No, I need to know how much I've forgotten and you need to tell me whose ship this is," Ace's voice was firm. He was doing his best to brush off the heavy exhaustion that permeated his entire body. "I want a newspaper." Marco and Izo exchanged looks.
"I'll go grab him a newspaper, Marco. I have the feeling he won't believe us without solid proof." Izo turned around and left the infirmary at a quick pace. Marco sighed for the third time since Ace tripped.
"What is the last thing you remember, yoi?"
"Nothing specific, but I know my crew and I recently left Fishman Island." Marco knew Ace would still think Whitebeard was his enemy. He had no idea how to break the news to him gently.
"Ace, that was nearly two years ago." Ace froze and briefly adopted a panicked expression. He hoped Marco was lying.
"I'll believe that when I see the newspaper." Ace could not hide the uncertainty in his voice. Marco decided to wait for Izo and the newspaper before telling Ace anything else. He pulled up a chair. The two men sat in silence for five minutes before Izo returned. Both of them sorting their troubled thoughts.
"Here, knock yourself out." Ace snatched the paper out of Izo's outstretched hand. He frantically scanned the front page, squinting his eyes to see through the blurriness. The article itself was about a pirate crew the flame thrower had never heard of. He ignored it and directed his eyes toward the upper right corner of the front page where the date was. Ace let out a quiet, strangled noise. His eyes could be fooling him, but the blurry numbers showed that Marco was telling the truth. Ace had lost two years of his memories. Anything could have happened in those two years, and Ace would not know. This was bad.
The fire user's mind jumped back to the men in front of him. It was completely possible the Spades were allied with this ship's crew. It would explain why they were so familiar with him. On Fishman Island, some of the more experienced sailors he talked with expressed that finding allies in the New World was smart. Ace wondered if he had followed that advice. He hoped so, it sounded better than being held captive. In that case, this crew would be completely trustworthy. Ace wouldn't ally with a bunch of backstabbers. He hoped Marco's explanation lined up with his theory.
"Believe me now, yoi?"
"Whose ship is this? And how do you know me?" Ace questioned, looking down at his lap. This was the moment Marco had been dreading.
"This is the Moby Dick, Whitebeard's ship." As soon as Marco finished that sentence, Ace's already pale face went even paler. Marco saw this and quickly continued. "Don't freak! Please. We aren't your enemies, I can explain everything if you just give me a chance, yoi." Marco moved his hands up in a placating gesture.
Inside Ace's mind, he was panicking. His theory about being allies was blown out of the water. There was no way Whitebeard would ally with him, not with his lineage. The pyro still tried holding on to a shred of hope that they didn't want him dead. They had genuinely seemed to care about his well being. Ace was torn. Perhaps the Whitebeards were playing with their prisoner like a cat would its food. If that were the case, then his crew was likely dead or imprisoned. He looked towards Marco, trying to see his expression through unfocused vision.
"I'll start from the beginning when you first met Whitebeard." Marco shifted in his seat as he said this. Trying to get comfortable for what would be a long and interesting story. He figured the best way for Ace to accept the truth was to tell him everything in detail. It would go over better than flat out saying 'you're a Whitebeard pirate'. If Ace still didn't believe Marco, then he would guide him towards a mirror to look at his back tattoo.
"If you're going to tell him the whole story, I'll go and bring you your dinners," Izo told them. The pink and red-clad figure was gone a moment later. Ace wasn't too sure his stomach could handle a meal right now.
Ace was not keeping track of time, but it must have been at least an hour that Marco was talking. It had been an emotional rollercoaster for him. First, hearing about his fight with Jinbei, and then Whitebeard showing up. Marco sounded proud when he talked about Ace protecting the Spades with a firewall. When he heard about his many assassination attempts on Whitebeard, Ace was amazed he was even alive. However, there was only one thing that Ace simply could not comprehend.
Ace was a Whitebeard pirate. And a Commander no less.
Marco, now known as Whitebeard's first division commander, Marco the Phoenix, gave the pyro a few minutes to soak in the information. Ace didn't know how to react. Marco's explanation was incredibly detailed. So much so that Ace found it difficult to believe he made it all up. But there was no way, right? Right?
Marco, seeing Ace's conflicted expression, stood and grabbed their empty plates from dinner.
"You should get some rest, yoi," he said, "We can talk more in the morning." Marco turned towards the infirmary's closed door.
"Izo mentioned a village. Are we docked on an island?" Ace voiced one last question.
"We're at Entomon Island, it's famous for its large population of insects, yoi." The amnesiac did not bother asking why on earth they would visit a bug-infested island, it didn't matter. With his question answered, Ace leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. The last thing he heard before falling asleep was Marco closing the infirmary door. Rest had never felt so amazing.