Hey there...

Oh someone stop me. I have another story ongoing but this little plot bunny won't leave me alone. It's been haunting me for the past fosew days that I just had to give in. :(

Ah, well. What-to-do. When you can't beat them, join them.

Summary: Portgas D. Ace has always been the big brother. The one with all the solutions. The strong one. Now, as the youngest brother, everything has been perfect. Yet, he suddenly finds himself falling behind. Nothing has changed, but he's steadily falling into a pit of despair and he doesn't understand why. The D. in him tries to keep himself afloat but, given enough time, even the waves can outwill a D.

Rated for language.

Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or any of its characters.

"Everything you can imagine is real." – Pablo Picasso

It was dark and the cold seemed to seep in through the cracks in the bedroom, curling through the air, lending the darkness a heavier feel. The room was a mess. Stacks of jumbled up papers littered the floor, pushed aside in favour of a quicker route to the bed. A pillow hung off the side of a half-open drawer. The only mirror in the room was a shattered mess with broken pieces of glass strewn across the wooden surface.

A Portgas D. Ace laid at a corner of the bed. He lowered the arm that covered his eyes, blinking at the little light that entered his room. For all he knew, it could still be daytime. The weather made day and night exist as if they were the same.

The Moby Dick swayed with the lapping of the waves. They were in one of those parts of the Grand Line where it snowed for days on end. After a week of continued storm or snow-day, the crew was exhausted. Ace curled up tighter on the mattress. He could hear the soft laughter and slow footsteps outside. Probably heading to the mess hall for breakfast…or dinner.

Thanks for remembering me, he thought. A surge of bitter frustration welled up inside him. He didn't get it. He wasn't upset- at least, there was nothing to be upset about. Nothing had changed. He wasn't even hungry.

His brothers and sisters, and father (he still feels that awed disbelief whenever he remembers his adopted father), were probably too busy handling the cursed climate to take note of him. There were so many of them, after all. He was just one of the sons.

He felt a certain wetness prick at his eyes. The very thought tugged at the deeper recesses of his heart. Why…did that hurt him? He pressed a finger to his eye and blinked in surprise. Why was he crying?

Don't be selfish, Ace, he told himself. It's not about you.

He turned over and buried his head in his arm.

It never has been.

Ace fell asleep before he could berate himself for that thought.

Annoyance rippled through the first division commander. He stalked through the halls as he headed straight for Ace's room.

"Come on, Marco. I'm sure he has a good reason for it," Thatch placated behind him.

Marco spared him a glare. "I'm sure," he retorted sarcastically. "We've been plagued by bloody storms and did you see him anywhere?" He held up a hand to stop the fourth commander's attempt to answer. "No, you didn't. No one has seen him. Last I checked, everyone has a responsibility topitch in so we don't fucking sink. And he didn't help."

Thatch pouted. "You didn't even try to let me answer."

"Oh, did you see him then?"

A pause. "No…"

Marco's eyebrow twitched. "There you have it. Now leave it, Thatch. He's going to get what's coming to him."

The other pirate sighed. Of course Marco would not have let Ace get away with it. He was so uptight about everything. With the frown on the fire-user's face, Thatch wasn't sure if he pitied his youngest brother then or whether he wanted to join in the ire with Marco. The storms had been bad. They had needed all the help they could get. And Ace was worth more than twenty men in terms of his skills alone.

They turned a corner. "Maybe he's sick?" Thatch finally volunteered.

Marco's tense shoulders slumped a little. He didn't answer for a moment. "You don't think..?" he said softly. The thought of their brother in pain without anyone knowing made him feel faintly ill.

"I don't know. This is Ace. He could have fallen overboard for all I know."

Both of them froze.

"Oh shit."

They took off running.

Ace awoke to loud knocks on his door. He sighed, feeling a particular lethargy try to pull him back into the abyss. He tried to put his arm out to sit up, but the drained tiredness he felt shocked him into dropping back onto the bed.

The knocks turned to frantic pounding. He was sure he heard faint calls behind the door too, though he couldn't make out what they said.

Just five minutes, he promised to himself. I'll get up in five…minutes…

He felt himself drift back to sleep. In his half-conscious state, he didn't realise five minutes was too long for anyone to wait for him to get the door. A sharp bang later jerked him back into semi-awareness. He groaned softly. Who was making so much noise? Ace would have burned them if he hadn't felt so bone-tired.

"Ace?!"

Someone – or two someones – ran into the room. There was a sharp inhalation from one of them, but Ace couldn't be bothered to even turn to see who the intruders were.

A hand touched his shoulder. "Ace?" the person asked. He sighed again. Demanding his stubborn body to obey his will, he slowly sat up, elbows on his knees, eyeing his two visitors warily. They had come to his room. It was the least he could do, after all.

"Hey, are you okay?" Thatch was asking him.

Ace blinked. "Yeah, I'm fine. Did you guys need something?"

The grip on his shoulder became more firm. Ace almost winced at the force behind it. He trailed his gaze to meet Marco's enraged ones. "Marco?" he asked uncertainly.

"Did we need anything?" Marco repeated. His voice was like thunder in the stillness of the room. Ace wondered if they could hear the the beginnings of the pounding of his heart. "Where have you been?"

Ace nearly cringed at the accusation in the first commander's words. His mouth felt dry. Of course he was burdening them until the end. Why hadn't he helped them through the storms? Whatever faint hope he felt that they had come see him out of worry shrivelled up pitifully. He wasn't worth this trouble.

He mumbled, "I'm sorry." He missed the shared look of concern between the two older pirates. "I'll get up now."

As he made to get off his bed, Marco's arm that had yet to move from his shoulder shot out to stop him. The elder pirate lowered himself to his knees, two calm blue eyes meeting his coolly. "Ace, are you alright?"

Ace looked away. "I said I'm fine, Marco," he answered softly. "I should help with…whatever's going on on the ship." However, the elder's arm and Thatch moving to sit beside Ace prevented the youngest pirate from moving.

"Where have you been all this time?"

"…here."

"And what have you been doing in your room?" The question was quiet. Such innocent words.

Ace breathed deeply. His eyes slipped closed as a heavy feeling sank in his stomach. He could feel the penetrating gaze as Marco continued to stare him down, and Thatch's hopeful ones that he probably had a good, justifiable answer as to why he didn't help around the ship like he should have. The freckled teen wanted to curl back into a ball and disappear from the disappointment he was sure was there. What was going on? He was so happy just a week ago. Bouncing from one corner of the ship to the other, driving his brothers and sisters mad, laughing and generally going crazy like he had always wanted to be. What had changed?

"I…just-just here," he whispered.

He stiffened when an arm wrapped around his shoulders. Nimble fingers pressed into his back soothingly.

"Thatch? Marco?" he asked, unable to hide the uncertainty and fear in his voice.

Marco stood up, brushing imaginary lint off his pants. Pulling a confused Ace to his feet, the first commander had to steady him as Ace almost stumbled into him. "Come on. We're getting you to the infirmary."

Ace almost spluttered. "What? I'm not sick!"

Thatch ruffled his hair patronisingly. "I'm sure. You look like you're about to drop."

"I said I'm not-"

Thatch laughed that deep-rumble-in-his-throat laugh. Not quite the one he used when pranking others, but the one Ace recognised from when he tried to soothing a scared child they occasionally came across…or a hysterical brother/sister. "For us?"

Ace hesitated. For them…? If put that way, he didn't really have a choice. He hung his head. His shoulders slumped, defeated. "Okay."

Both Marco and Thatch shuffled him out of the room he had holed himself up in for the past few days (excluding the occasional trips to the kitchen and washroom, which had become fewer as the nights went by), except for the brief moment when Marco – Marco – had paused to push some stray locks of his hair to the side as Thatch dropped his cowboy hat onto his head. He flushed. What was wrong with him?

"Come on, let's go."

Ace never realised both his brothers didn't drop their hands from his shoulder and arm the entire journey to the infirmary.

Oh dear. Ace is pretty oblivious to his friends' concern, isn't he?

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