I split this final posting into two chapters - 10 is a nice even number of chapters to have. This one looks like just drunken debauchery at first, but don't worry it soon becomes relevat to the plot.

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Blackbeard was dead. On Whitebeard's flagship over the next week, there was much rejoicing. The rum flowed even more freely than usual, and any number of pretty young people of both genders found their way aboard with the intention of entertaining the crew – for profit or otherwise. To anyone who did not know him, Fire Fist Ace, the hero of the hour, appeared to be having the time of his life. He imbibed copious amounts of rum, and seemed to be revelling in the company of the beautiful blond young men who were vying for his attention. On the fifth day of the celebrations, with a bottle of rum in his hand and a particularly stunning blond groupie who had been permitted the honour of wearing his cherished hat sitting on his lap, no one could have looked more festive than he did. But his loyal crewmates were convinced.

"It's all an act," slurred Ozi, the navigator, shaking his drunken head sadly.

"You sure about that?" queried Deku the sailmaker. "He looks happy enough to me."

"Have you ever known him go with men in such a short space of time? He's using the groupies to hide from something," said Ozi, with the all-encompassing knowledge that comes with the consumption of an inadvisable number of units of alcohol.

"You reckon?" said Deku, gulping down some more grog.

"Look at him-" waving vaguely in Ace's general direction. "He's surrounded himself with people the whole time since he's been back. Is that normal?-hic!-Fire Fist likes his space. It's like he's scared to be alone-hic!"

"Reckon the rumours are true?"

"The broken heart rumours? Oh without a doubt," Ozi nodded sagely, but spoiled the effect by passing out immediately afterwards.

Deku gazed blearily at him for a few seconds, the stole his grog and staggered away to make a pass at a blue-haired girl he'd had his eye on all night.

Unobserved by either of them, or indeed by any of the drunken rabble on that ship, a messenger bird flew in with a letter addressed in an elegant, cursive script, to Portgas D. Ace.

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"Look Fire Fist-chan!" giggled the groupie who wore his hat. "A birdie!"

"Birdie..?" he looked up to see the unfortunate messenger bird that was trying to fight it's way free from the clutches of two drunken girls who were trying to play with it.

"I think ish got a letter for you, Captain Fire Fisht," slurred a drunken pirate who lay prone on the deck looking up the skirts of passing girls.

Gently depositing his groupie on the floor next to him, Ace stood, rather puzzled, and rescued the messenger bird. Ruffling its feathers indignantly, it accepted it's payment then took off as fast as it could before any further indignities could be inflicted upon it.

Rather intrigued as to who could be writing to him – he couldn't remember ever receiving a letter before – he opened the envelope. The first thing he read was the signature and it made his breath catch in his throat – Sanji.

Moving away from the group he had been sitting with, he read Sanji's letter with a pounding heart:

Dear Ace,

There are so many things I feel I need to say to you, but I don't know where to begin. A letter is so inadequate. I'm so sorry for what happened last time you were aboard our ship. I want you to know, I blame myself entirely. Since you left, I've come to realize that I made a terrible mistake. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, please come back and see me again. I understand completely if you don't want to, it's only what I deserve. But there are so many things I need to talk to you about.

Sanji

That was it. It barely covered half a sheet of note paper. But it was enough for Ace. Without even pausing to think, he retrieved his hat – eliciting a yelp of "I thought you were gonna let me keep it, you cheap bastard!" – grabbed his bag from his cabin, and hurried over to where his captain sat in a tangle of intravenous tubing, surrounded by rum casks and anxious nurses.

"And just what are you doing at your own party, looking like someone's died?" he roared jovially. "Someone you like, I mean," he added, remembering that the very reason they were celebrating was because someone had died.

"I need to ask permission to leave, Captain," said Ace, his expression not altering.

Whitebeard's good mood evaporated. He put the cask he had been drinking from down on the deck with such force that the nearest two nurses were drenched in rum. "It's this man everyone's whispering about, isn't it?" he growled.

"Yes, Captain," said Ace, simply, unable as well as unwilling to lie to Whitebeard.

"Sort it out, all right? Sort it out, or don't come back – because a pirate who mopes around like you've been doing is no pirate at all."

But Ace barely heard his Captain's grim condition, all he heard was the permission to go. His face broke into a grin and he exclaimed: "Thank you, Captain!" before leaping athletically over the gunwale to where his skiff was moored.

"Oi, I didn't mean go now you fucking nutter, there's a storm brewing!" Whitebeard called after him. But it was no use. A burst of flame, and Ace was gone. Whitebeard shook his head. His youthful first mate was an excellent fighter, but there were times when he was almost more trouble than he was worth.