Chapter 4: Picking Your Battles

Marco sat across from Ace at the low table that Thatch had dragged into Ace's room. To Marco's right, Thatch dug into his meal. Marco ate his at a more sedate pace, while Ace…wasn't eating much at all, actually.

A silent look to Thatch was all Marco needed to confirm that Thatch had noticed it too. He chewed his next bite of chicken slowly, wondering how best to broach the issue. The specter of Ace's bouts of complete hysteria during his recovery hung over them like a shroud. Tasuka was no therapist, but she had consulted with Kisha and other nurses, and told Marco that the possibility of a relapse was nonzero if his wounds reopened and drowned him in delirium.

"You're gonna need to eat more than that if you want to keep your strength up," said Thatch. He pointed his fork at Ace's plate, which was still loaded. "Something there you don't like?"

Ace was quick—almost too quick—to reassure him. "No, no it's good. It's really good, like it always is. I just ate too much earlier, and things aren't quite," he hesitated for a second, "settled."

"Ah."

The eating resumed, and with it, Marco and Thatch's covert observations. For his part, Marco doubted that Ace remembered the times he had been conscious before; judging from the way he was eating and how relaxed he was, he probably expected Marco and Thatch to take his apparent recovery in stride. Unfortunately, they weren't.

They had been talking for days now about some of the things Ace said while hysterical or unconscious and were no closer to figuring out what they meant even now that Ace was awake. In the throes of fever, he had mentioned Impel Down several times, his kid brother Luffy, as well as the Warlord Jinbe and—worryingly enough—Marineford.

The Ace now picking through his meal across the table didn't seem inclined to suddenly share what could have thrust those things into his dreams. Nearly every piece of his past unrelated to Luffy and the basics of his former crew was a mystery to all of them.

To say the duo was concerned was an understatement. Thatch had been panicking and though Marco took everything better, he was still worried. The last thing they wanted was to trigger some kind of relapse by prying, but they needed answers of some kind. Ace's flare up and delusional ramblings were too dramatic to just ignore.

A thump caught Marco's attention and he sighed. Some things never changed.

"Don't poke him," Marco admonished, giving Thatch a look. The pompadour'd man lifted his free hand in the universal sign of innocence.

"What, like you don't want to?" He gingerly shifted Ace so he could remove his other hand from where it had been supporting his shoulders. "I stopped him from face-planting in his food, at least."

"Thatch, I can see the marker."

"What marker?"

"Put it down."

"Aw. Spoilsport." Nevertheless, he tucked it into his pocket, his cheeky grin melting away. "I don't even know if it would actually make him feel like things are normal."

Before Marco could respond, Ace abruptly sat up, blinking and looking around for a second before he hissed and clutched his chest. He quickly held up his other hand, which, Marco noted, still had the sea stone bracelet dangling on the wrist behind it. "I'm okay, just pulled some stuff I shouldn't have. Ow."

"Do you need painkillers?"

"No, it's going away. Just give me a second." He took a few more shallow breaths and then straightened up. Though he was still pale, he picked up his fork and seemed to realize just how much food was left. "Ah, sorry that I won't be able to eat it all, Thatch."

Thatch waved him off. "No, no, that was my bad. I should've put it together that you wouldn't be as hungry as normal. Don't feel bad. I'll give your leftovers to Stefan."

Ace visibly relaxed at the thought of his leftovers not going to waste. He had always, despite his prodigious appetite, never left anything behind. It was one of his many quirks, like how, for someone so ready to talk about his younger brother, he was otherwise silent about his past. Beyond the bounty posters for the Spade pirates and his failed confrontation with Whitebeard, Ace's life was an unknown.

Perhaps the reasons behind Ace's explosion lay in the past they didn't know. This was not a time to be delicate; Marco knew from experience that Ace would just give vague answers to vague questions and ignore—deliberately or otherwise—the implied desire for more details. That said, they couldn't just take a battering ram to this castle gate, but Ace's own actions had given them a potential way inside.

"So," Marco began once Ace set his utensils down for good, "what do you remember, Ace?"

The young man froze, the toothpick he'd picked up wedged between his teeth. "Eh?"

"A trigger, maybe," Marco added. "Something that could make a devil fruit go out of control."

Ace looked between them, working the toothpick around his teeth in an obvious ploy to buy time. "I…don't really know. Things were normal, and then I woke up in that room. I don't remember anything between that."

Thatch leaned back with pursed lips. His eyes darted to Marco's for just a second. Marco nodded; a vague answer to a vague question. They needed a new angle. "You were saying some unusual things while you were recovering. You don't remember any of that either?"

"What kind of stuff?"

"I guess that's a no."

"What kind of stuff was I saying?" Ace pressed, eyes narrowing. When neither Thatch nor Marco spoke up, he closed his eyes and let loose a quick sigh. "Tasuka probably gave me something she wasn't supposed to. Please, ignore what you heard."

Marco kept his frown to himself. As if they could do that so easily.

"You're one of the ones she actually likes," Thatch pointed out.

"Only because I don't constantly show up burned and poisoned from trying to cook everything I find," Ace retorted. He then paused, a strange expression crossing his face, before he shook his head. "What did I say when I was out?"

Another quick glance. Marco gave a minute shake of his head and took the lead. "Well, if you don't remember any of it, it's probably nothing-yoi. If you do recall anything, though, let us know."

"Can't have you exploding on us again," Thatch said. He tried to say it with a joking wink, but it fell flat when Ace just responded with a pained smile.

"I'll try not to."

The awkward silence fell over them like a physical weight. Marco let it stew for a second before he climbed to his feet. "We won't keep you up."

Thatch followed his lead, expertly stacking their dishes so he could carry them with a single hand. "Sleep well, Ace."

"Thanks."

As they walked away from Ace's room, Marco found himself dwelling in a pensive silence. Thatch was in much the same state, but once they reached the kitchen—empty at this hour—he broke his silence.

"I'm worried, Marco." He set the dishes in the sink but made no move to begin washing them. "I mean, I've been worried."

"I've noticed."

"Obvious injuries aside, he's not telling us something. He's been hostile before, but," he trailed off, brows furrowing.

"He's never lied to us before."

"Yeah. Exactly." Thatch let out a deep breath and pushed off the counter. "What did he go through? And why doesn't he trust us enough to tell us what it is?"

Marco didn't have the answers to those questions. If anything, Thatch was in a better position to know; relatively speaking, he spent far more time with Ace than Marco. "All we can do is make sure we're at his side when he decides to share what's hurting him."

When Thatch's frown didn't clear, Marco raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a better idea-yoi?"

"Well, maybe. We could ask his old crew about what he was like when he first got the Mera Mera no Mi, see if anything like this has happened before."

It wasn't a bad idea per se, but—"They're spread out in the fleet. Tracking them down will take time, and I'd rather not word get out beyond the Moby Dick about what happened. The last thing we need is the marines hearing about a division commander nearly dying."

"Nothing can ever be easy, can it?" Thatch sighed. "Keeping an eye on him it is, then." He paused, then put a hand over his eyes with a quiet groan. "I forgot to tell Pops he was awake before making dinner."

"I'll handle it," said Marco.

"Thanks, buddy. I feel bad; he's probably been waiting for an update all day."

"I won't tell him you forgot, if that's what you're worried about. Good night, Thatch."

"'Night."

Marco left to the sound of water splashing into the sink.

"Pops!" Marco knocked slightly louder on the door. Near his feet, Stefan the dog lifted his head and regarded Marco with mild curiosity before sinking down and falling right back asleep.

Whitebeard's voice rumbled from inside. "Come in, Marco."

Gently closing the door behind him, Marco faced his captain in the flickering candlelight that cast the whole room in a warm glow. Whitebeard was propped up in bed, a book held in one giant hand. He snapped that book closed and set it aside. Even lying down, the man dominated the space he was in, and not just because of his size.

"What of Ace?"

"He's woken up. Lucid, this time. Tasuka gave him permission to rest in his room; he's wearing a sea stone bracelet."

"I see. And his wounds?"

"Healing. He can walk and eat, but not easily."

"Still, that's good news." Whitebeard drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Have you found any reason for what happened two weeks ago?"

"He claims that he doesn't remember anything."

Whitebeard narrowed his eyes at Marco's wording. "Claims?"

"To be blunt, Thatch and I both feel that Ace is hiding something from us-yoi. He doesn't want to talk about it, or he would've brought it up. We think it has to do with what he talked about while he was unconscious."

"Marineford and Impel Down."

"Yes."

"Hmph."

There was a strange look on Whitebeard's face. Did he know something Marco didn't? But no, if he did know something that could explain it, he would've shared it. Marco kept going. "Thatch will be keeping a close eye on him, and I'll be helping when I can. We'll make sure he knows we're on his side."

"I'd expect nothing less. Ace has gone through a lot and grown stronger for it; we must believe that this, too, will pass."

"I know." Marco's lips thinned. "It's the time before that happens that worries me."