So I'm back with a new fic! Thought I'd post this now since To Be a Boy only has once chapter left. I'll post chapter two one I finish writing out chapter 10 (got 7 1/2 done so far) if you guys like it. The first 2 chapters have a sort of tense atmosphere but after that it'll lighten up. Every chapter after this will be 2,000+ words so don't worry about the length!

Please leave a review telling me if you want to continue uploading this story or not! :)

Everything was dark. His head pounded and it felt like someone was yelling in his ear. He heard a loud, violent ringing. Eyes fluttering open, all he could make out in his bleary vision was a white ceiling. There were people, he thought, but he couldn't make them out. Everything meshed together as his lids weighed heavily on his eyes.

…Where am I?

The first thing to rouse his senses was the stench of disinfectant that seemed to loom around him. Its overpowered aroma was enough to make him cringe, his throat running dry as he stirred. Among that horrid smell was the much milder hint of other chemicals he couldn't place. The combination of it all made him feel sick.

Off to the side he could here an annoying beeping, persistently breaking the almost-quiet of his location. Mumbled voices could be heard from far into the distance, coupled with ringing and other unidentifiable noises. Still, despite that, there wasn't much sound.

Groaning, he found his throat hoarse and raw. There was a light pain in his skull, remaining constant as he tried to ignore it. He debated laying there longer, worried that opening his eyes might cause the pain to increase. He was still tired and more than anything wanted rest.

As soon as he made that slight bit of noise he heard quick shuffling beside where he lay, followed by a warm grasp on his hand.

"Ace," called a soft, effeminate voice. When he made no reply, the person continued. "Ace, are you awake? Can you hear me?"

Slowly he fought to open his eyes, blinded by the white walls and ceiling of whatever room he was in. He squinted, trying to make out the features of whoever loomed over him as his eyes adjusted. The first he saw were long, blonde strands resting against her cheeks, followed by deep, dark eyes filled with concern.

The second she saw him open his eyes her face broke into a wide, hopeful smile. The grip on his hand tightened as the woman's free arm rose to his face, lightly brushing hair from his forehead. He was having trouble focusing and had no clue what was going on.

"Hey, there," she began in a sweet, caring voice, eyes softening as she looked over his features. "How are you feeling?"

He went to speak, only to remember the dryness in his throat, leaving his voice scratchy and useless. It was probably for the best; he didn't really know what to say. His mind was still cloudy from sleep and he couldn't seem for formulate proper questions.

As he fumbled with his voice he heard slow, steady steps approach. Slowly he shifted his gaze to the other side of the bed, met with a dark figure. It was a man that time, one with coal-black hair and a large mustache. With sharp eyes staring down at him, the man was a bit intimidating—nothing like the woman sitting beside him.

"You almost did yourself in, you idiot." With that, the stranger broke into a wry grin, reached out and ruffled his hair energetically.

What was he talking about? He… almost died? That explained the constant aching he felt, but not much else. He then knew why he was in a hospital, attached to all sorts of machines. That was one mystery solved.

Before he knew it he was drifting off again. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision, blacking out the world around him. As his eyes shut, he took one last look at the two people at his bedside, wondering who they were.

When next he woke, he opened his eyes a lot sooner. With the pain in his body lessening he was more eager to wake. As he peered into the room he was greeted by the same stark-white walls, reflecting the sunlight coming in through the large windows to his right. It was almost too bright to look at and he winced, drawing back as he prepared to try again.

Once he fully woke he looked around. On his bedside table was a bouquet, likely the only thing driving away the smell of antiseptic that he found so nauseating. Then across the room he spotted that familiar golden hair. The woman turned slightly to catch a glimpse of him, then smiled.

Shifting in place he went to sit up, groaning as the muscles in his waist screamed at him to lie back down. The blonde shuffled over and wrapped her arm around his back, allowing him a bit of support in case he needed it.

"Are you okay?" she asked in that same, soothing voice.

He went to speak but instead coughed, finding his throat just as parched as before. Instead he nodded silently in reply. She seemed to notice his problem because she rushed over to a tray on the other side of the bed and removed a glass from it, offering it to him.

Quickly he downed the glass, leaving not a drop as cool, wet relief trailed down his dried esophagus.

"Feeling better?"

"Y-yeah," he choked out, voice still hoarse as he did.

Her smile grew and she gently caressed his cheek. "Take it easy, alright?"

He nodded hesitantly in reply, studying her face further. He didn't get a good look at her when last he woke because of his tiredness. Her skin was pale ivory, dotted by tiny freckles. Her hair sat against her back in waves, shining golden in the white light of the room.

She noticed his staring and her face fell. "What's wrong?"

He broke eye contact to instead face the sheets spread over his lap, unsure of what to say. The whole thing felt awkward. The woman was being strangely intimate and he couldn't figure out why. He didn't mind the attention, though.

"…Ace?"

As he thought more, he remembered she called him by that before, as well. For some reason he didn't want to ask about it—felt that doing so was wrong. But he wanted answers. He was so confused and didn't know who else to ask. Should he say something?

He turned to face her once more, swallowing nervously. "Is that my name?"

The woman's already pale completion turned white, eyes wide, and immediately he knew he said something wrong. He tried to think of how to remedy the situation, but couldn't come up with anything. He didn't want to upset her; he just wanted to know.

"Sorry," he said in that same raspy voice, remorse clear in his tone.

The woman's features softened and she furrowed her brow in worry. "Oh, Ace…" She cupped the back of his head and pulled him forward, allowing his chin to rest on her shoulder. "Yeah, that's your name," she stated shakily, wrapping him in a loose embrace.

That was one question answered, but he felt bad when he heard her saddened voice.

"…You don't remember?"

He shook his head. She tightened her grip.

The sound of the door opening interrupted the moment. Both turned to see the man with the mustache from before enter with a bag in hand. He was grinning just like before and looked between the two sitting on the bed. Once he saw the blonde's expression, though, he frowned just as she did. "What is it, Rouge?"

She took a deep breath and, instead of answering, looked to Ace, smiling weakly. "That's your father, Ace—Gol D. Roger."

He glanced at the man standing in the doorway, registering his face more clearly than before, and then looked back to the blonde woman. "Then you're…"

She nodded. "Portgas D. Rouge—your mother," she elaborated. "And you're Portgas D. Ace. We're your family."

He looked between them and gave a reluctant nod. There was no use doubting her claims because, well, he couldn't remember anything. It felt strange knowing that those two strangers were his parents.

Rouge sighed as she adjusted the blankets on her son's sleeping form. She stared down at his face, thinking of their earlier conversation. "I still can't believe it," she whispered, standing up straight.

Roger was by her side, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. He wasn't really sure what to say—how to cheer her up. Their own son didn't know who they were. He seemed different, too. "He's a lot quieter now." Might be because he thinks we're strangers, though.

The blonde nodded, leaning into him. "…Do you think he'll ever remember?"

"Who knows?"

She bit her lip. Roger was never one for subtlety.

Noticing the tension in her shoulders, her husband moved to give her a tight hug, resting his chin atop her head. "He'll be alright."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he replied, giving her one of his usual grins. "He's my son, after all."

She smiled. "You're right."

A/N: So yeah, lots of melodrama and cliché-ness. I like clichés though. But, well, the drama settles after the first two chapters and gets to be more normal. Just had to set the stage, you know? Also, there will be a lot of OOC-ness in this fic, mostly Luffy. Well, what do you think? Should I continue posting it or no? Any thoughts on what you'd like to see in the future? Let me know!

As a side-note: if you read Divide then I updated it today. FF has been buggy lately and sometimes people don't get the notifications so I thought I'd let you guys know :) Adieu~