It's a little funny to observe how views for the old version of this story spike whenever I post a new chapter of this version.

Chapter 11: The Beach Episode

Ace wasn't sure what to expect when Thatch barged into his room, but he knew he was going to have no choice but to find out. He'd already flipped his notebook closed, so he wasn't worried about Thatch seeing the messy notes scrawled within.

"I had lunch earlier," Ace said, eyeing the bag in Thatch's hand.

"I know."

That look on his face begged suspicion. "What's this about, Thatch?"

"Yeesh, everyone's a cynic these days. It's a gift. You do realize we docked an hour ago, right? I figured I'd give you a reason to come out of this hole of yours. What are you even writing in there?"

Ace leaned over his notebook protectively.

"Is it a diary?"

"No, and you're not getting a look."

Thatch gasped. "A sketchbook?"

Ace dropped the notebook in a drawer and slammed it shut. "Your gift?"

Brushing off the topic of Ace's notebook like he'd never cared about it at all, Thatch rummaged in his bag and then tossed a bundle of cloth at Ace's head. Ace grabbed it out of the air and unfolded it with furrowed brows.

"Are you trying to buy me a whole new wardrobe?" he asked into Thatch's expectant silence.

"I am merely attempting to fill the holes you've left in your supplies of…everything," came Thatch's affronted reply. "If you don't want them—"

"I didn't say that. I've just never really needed swim trunks before." He gestured at himself. "Swimming isn't exactly something I do anymore. The shirt's nice, though. Thank you."

A bit mollified by Ace's appreciation, Thatch produced his own shirt to match the one Ace had now separated from the trunks. Thatch's was a simple green and pink floral pattern on a blue background. Eye-catching, to be sure, but nothing offensive. Ace's, though…

"Where did you even find this thing?"

"Honestly, I've been keeping an eye out for a while. Us stopping at an island with a good beach is all the excuse I need to peruse the shops."

Ace turned his shirt this way and that, scrutinizing it from every angle. No matter what angle he chose, though, the shirt remained the same fluorescent—and familiar—orange. Flowers outlined in red, some filled in with golds, others left orange, bedecked it in a pattern far splashier than Thatch's.

"Okay," Thatch said when Ace's expression remained on the cooler side of enthusiastic, "I may have missed the mark here—"

"Are you kidding?" Ace grinned and shed his current shirt so he could don the new one. "This is great. It matches perfectly."

"Matches?" Thatch repeated. Ace answered by producing his hat from a chest by his bed and expertly flicking it onto his head. The orange of his hat and the orange of his new shirt were nearly identical. "Ah. So it does. But! The outfit is only half of why I'm here. We," he threw an arm around Ace's shoulder and gestured towards the door, "are going to the beach."

"Huh?"

"C'mon, did you really think that I got you that shirt just so you could show exactly no one by staying cooped up down here?"

"What's at the beach?"

"The rest of the crew not stuck on the ship, including our favorite bird who has a lovely shirt of his own thanks to me. Look, you're healed. We threw a big party, but that was just standing and sitting around."

"And drinking."

"And drinking. C'mon, don't you want to move around a bit? You've been spending way too much time down here."

Ace couldn't very well say he'd been trying to put together some kind of incriminating paper trail to take down Teach. In part because he hadn't been succeeding, in part because it was a crazy thing to do to a seemingly random member of his division. Thatch took his silence as agreement.

"We're gonna put together some games. The crew'll be thrilled to have you there."

Ace's reluctance weakened with every word out of Thatch's mouth. The cook had a point; he had been spending a lot of time belowdecks trying to figure out some way of nailing Teach. If he turned Thatch down, it wouldn't only be out of character; it would be downright suspicious.

"All right, you got me. Let's go."

Ace tried to focus on the games. He really did. Any other time, it would've been fine; he'd always had a competitive streak, and once the rules of volleyball were explained to him, he was serving and spiking the ball with the best of them. But for every point his division's team earned, for every set and match they won, Ace thought about what he wasn't doing: preparing for the inevitable.

There were rumors out there—unproven but not unsubstantiated—that devil fruits gravitated towards specific people. Even if he somehow altered Thatch's path away from the Yami Yami no Mi without taking down Teach, there was a chance it could find him again. And through him, Teach. Or maybe even to Teach directly.

No. Until he had proof Teach was Blackbeard, better to let it happen in a way he could predict. Even if the thought of letting all those events line up made his skin crawl.

It was in one of those moments of distraction that Haruta snuck a spike past Ace's distracted guard. The ball slammed into the sand just behind his right foot, much to the dismay of his teammates.

Ace blinked.

"Game, set, match!" declared Rinji, who was acting as the referee.

Cheers went up on Haruta's side, groans and jeers on Ace's. Ace offered a sheepish apology, but contrary to his expectations, no one blamed him. There were some—careful—slaps on the back handed out, some congratulations given for getting as far in the division tournament as they did—sixth place was respectable considering how few of them had ever played volleyball before—but that was all. No blame. No vitriol.

He should've felt touched, probably, that they were still being cautious with him. But instead, he was annoyed. His failure had cost them the game, and they were content to just blame it on the wounds the nurses had already declared healed? Would they be so unbothered if his fuckups got Pops killed again?

He at least had the presence of mind to keep those thoughts to himself.

He bowed out of the post-tournament friendly matches. He then turned down an invitation to toss a frisbee or race. He even declined to place bets on the swimming competitions; very few fools had decided to square off against the fishmen in their crew, which meant there wasn't much for Ace to actually watch. All the action was underwater.

So there he sat, off on a chair in the shade of a softly swaying palm tree, sipping a lemonade while the heat slowly baked in the layer of sand stuck to his skin. His thoughts were all on Teach, missing entirely the worried glances tossed his way.

Teach's personal quarters were a bust; nothing there was incriminating. The man himself was out of Ace's reach. What else was there? There had to be something. Some angle. Teach was smart but he wasn't omniscient. He'd screwed up, left a trail. Everyone did. It was how Ace'd tracked him after he murdered Thatch.

Even now, there were traces of Teach's—no, Blackbeard's—dealings hidden in the dry numbers of the second division's paperwork. Something off in Teach's accounted spoils, maybe. Certain mission locations he preferred that overlapped with Blackbeard rumors.

He hadn't found anything yet, but it had to be there. He had to be careful how he investigated in case Marco caught wind of what he was doing, but it was something. A way forward. A way to protect—

"Hey!" Thatch, strolling over from the direction of the coastal town, waved with one hand. His other held a very particular fruit. "Done playing already?"

"Got tired," Ace lied. "What's with the pineapple?"

Thatch grinned and spun it on his index finger. "You like it? Turns out this place has a ton. I've decided to hold a bit of a treasure hunt for them—or, really, a way to get our kitchens stocked in a way that doesn't require me to buy them from the seller who just tried to quadruple the price on me."

"A treasure hunt."

"Yep. The division that brings the most back to the ship within the next half hour gets 500,000 beri added to their budget and avoids cleaning rotation for a month."

Ace's eyebrows went up. "A whole month?"

"See, Marco thought 500,000 beri wouldn't be enough, so I threw that in as a little extra."

"I think that'll be enough, yeah. Doesn't explain why the one you're carrying has Marco's face drawn on it. Badly."

Thatch stopped spinning the fruit and peered at the half-lidded eyes crudely inked on its exterior. "Badly? Really? I thought it was pretty good."

Ace shrugged.

"Right, well, I decided to have a little fun. These special editions are worth five each. Just a way to make things more interesting. Care to participate? It'll be starting soon."

Ace caught movement over Thatch's shoulder. "How soon, exactly?"

"Five minutes? I've told almost everyone, but I need to track down Izo and Blamenco, let them know about it."

"You didn't forget anyone else?"

"Hm? No, just you and those two. Why?"

Ace sipped his lemonade. "No reason."

Marco's heavy hand fell on Thatch's shoulder.

"Thatch," said Marco with a bright smile to match his blue-and-gold patterned shirt, "you didn't tell me about this fun game you'd put together-yoi. Five points for a single fruit with my face on it? I'm flattered-yoi."

Thatch was rigid as a board, his eyes darting about in vain for a method of escape. "Uh, well—"

"I was so flattered that I changed the game to better honor you, the selfless organizer."

"It was all in good fun—" Thatch's efforts to wriggle out from under Marco's grip went nowhere.

"You're now worth fifty pineapples, and if the winning team has you in their stash, they get an additional five thousand beri in their prize. I've already informed all divisions about the new game rules. You're welcome." His tone took on the edge formerly limited to his smile. "I suggest you start running."

In the distance, a cloud of kicked-up sand marked the approaching horde.

Marco finally released him, and so Thatch, after a plaintive look to Ace—who shrugged—took off to avoid getting caught and tied up like some kind of prize meat.

"I see you're taking it easy-yoi," Marco noted as he turned back to Ace.

"We got sixth."

"Only?"

"Only." Seeing Marco glance at the sea stone bracelet, Ace shook his head. "It's not bothering me as much as it used to. And I was mostly using it to avoid melting the ball if someone accidentally served it into the back of my head."

"Really? I'm impressed you were able to play with it on. It leaves me feeling awful."

"Maybe it's 'cause there isn't much of it."

Marco was unconvinced. "I've heard a few anecdotes about devil fruit users building up a tolerance to the stuff, but never seen it myself."

"I mean, if 'tolerance' can be counted as not feeling terrible just by touching it, then sure. Still shuts my fire down like the ocean itself."

"I think that counts." He rubbed his chin. "I'd be curious to know if the amount of it you're touching matters."

"Bring it up with Tasuka. She's probably got some ideas for how to test it."

"Mm. I might do that." Spoken like a man who had zero intention of giving Tasuka more ideas. He let his hand fall. "So, you're feeling good? Healed?"

"Thought the party cleared that up."

"The party was a party."

"Yes, Marco, I'm feeling good." He fished the cuff key out of his pocket and unceremoniously dumped the unlocked sea stone on the sand. "See?"

An expression Ace couldn't interpret flitted across Marco's face. "I'm glad you're feeling better," he finally said. "If we don't need to meet anymore—"

"It wouldn't hurt to keep doing that," Ace quickly interrupted. He fished the bracelet out and put it back on, suppressing a shiver as he did. "I mean, sitting on a beach isn't the same as getting in a fight. I still got overwhelmed at the party."

"If it's what you want-yoi." Marco glanced behind him, where an explosion of sand indicated Thatch's most visible attempt to escape his pursuers so far. "It's good to see you off the ship. You've been more restricted than the rest of us while you healed."

"Not like there was much anyone needed me for."

"Are you looking to get back out on missions?"

Missions meant time away from the ship, from records, from his investigation. Then again, if he could travel to Blackbeard's haunts…

"There are some locations that could use our eyes on them," Marco continued, his own eyes on Ace. "Places like Hachinosu."

Ace started at the familiar name, a reaction he knew Marco caught. "Why there?" he asked in a poor attempt to distract from what he'd given away.

"Just a suggestion. There have been rumors about someone vying for Ochoku's seat."

"Seems like a dangerous thing to do," Ace said carefully.

"Very. When a former Rocks pirate-yoi is in the crosshairs, even we have to take notice."

"You want me to investigate?"

"Maybe. Are you interested-yoi?"

Trap, Ace's brain yelled. This is a trap!

"I…think I should take a little longer to recover. I need to build my strength back up. I don't want to bring shame to Pops's name."

Marco nodded. "Fair enough. We certainly don't want a relapse. If you're feeling up to it now, though, I happen to know a good way to stretch your legs-yoi."

Ace downed the last of his lemonade, grateful for the excuse to escape Marco's scrutiny. "I'll do better than sixth this time. I know where Thatch likes to hide."