Unmoored [Portgas D. Ace x Female Reader]

Meniality (Laundryman)

The day passes slowly. Y/N sighs, toying with the edge of her blanket. The bedridden life is not for her. As clouds pass overhead and songbirds sing, her gaze is fixed on the outside. Searching the edge of the trees for any sign of Luffy...or Ace. Wanting to go out and scour the forest herself, but unable to. Once in a while, Magra or Dogra drop in to check on her. Or Dadan, to loudly tell her of how lucky she is that she's sick enough to be bedridden. Yelling and trying to look scary, but angry for a different reason. "-you'd be washing clothes, folding sheets, even hunting! Lucky ya are, this sick. Don't think the bandits' world is so soft now, eh? Forest's a dangerous place! What you were doing out there alone Devil knows..." 

Y/N would pretend to listen intently to these spiels as her mind wanders elsewhere. She thinks about Ace, and about Luffy. She worries about him despite herself. She wonders if he's safe. She sure hopes so. 

All throughout the day, her eyes stay glued to the doorway, hoping for a sign of Luffy. Every sway of branches or shift in the leaves brings her but a fleeting hope. Come nightfall, Luffy still is not back. 

By this time, her headache has subsided significantly, the cut on her forehead long scabbed over. Y/N sits up, sighing. She lays her hands in her lap, quiet. There isn't much she can do but wait, after all. The sky is a dull blue, painted edges tinted pink. The sun is setting, just barely peeking over the horizon. The world is quiet. 

She lies down and closes her eyes.

-------

When she wakes again, it is afternoon. She sits, rubbing her eyes. Running a hand over her temple, she finds tha headache is completely gone. Eager to move again, she stands. The room dissolves into black static, and a wave of disorientation hits her. "Wooahh.." Y/N sits down to stop herself from collapsing. Baby steps, Y/N...baby steps...

She waits for the buzzing to leave her ears and stands again, this time slowly. The world remains as bright as ever, and she heaves a breath. She glances to the window as she makes her way to the door, stepping into her boots. A light breeze flows over, lightly caressing her cheeks before blowing away.

No one is outside. The bandits must've had something to do, because all of them are gone. Y/N ambles aimlessly around the house, stopping to pick up funny rocks here and there. She sighs. Boring, boring, boring...She wishes she could've gone with Ace to wherever it is he runs off to day after day. Y/N vows to herself that she'll follow next time. Now at the back of the house, Y/N finds something of a backyard. There are drying lines, random patches of fresh-dug dirt, and...a basket of laundry. Y/N steps up to it, sniffing the air. Clean. She looks around curiously. Why haven't these clothes been hung out to dry? Probably forgot, she thinks. She scratches her cheek. Should she hang these up? Would this be something of a good deed?

Y/N squares her shoulders. Of course she should! She should always find it in herself to help others. That's what mother would have wanted. 

She sticks a few clothespins on the lines, humming absentmindedly as she straightens each piece of clothing before clipping it on. She smooths wrinkles and wrings out excess water, thinking. 

Y/N's mother has always been kind. The kindest person she's ever known, and probably will ever know. Always willing to spare a berry for someone else's benefit, though she herself bereft of money. It took nothing more than a sad stranger for her mother to show her benevolence, the kindness Y/N both loved and hated. The kindness that had gotten her killed. 

Her mother had believed in the goodness of people, that all are well-meaning at heart. Y/N had never agreed. Even as a child she'd seen the villagers' contempt for her mother, for her mother's wretched child. Her, the odd thing birthed from abstruse mystery. No man worth his pride would consummate with the likes of her, they'd whisper. Her mother had no man and no family, dwindling alone by the beach long after the rest had retired to their homes. For hours after nightfall, her mother would sing. To the sea, to the sand, to the sky. She left only when after the villagers gathered, weapons in hand, to drive the witch away. How Y/N had been conceived was a mystery, and the villagers didn't like mystery. They despised all that they didn't understand, the proclaimed witch and her enigma of a child included.

But when pleas rang, her mother was the first to respond. Whether it be to help a sick child, to pull a calf from a mud pit, or to put out a fire, her mother was always the first to rush forward. Always so kind and so willing. 

The villagers always accepted her help with no thanks. No acknowledgement. Just silence and the occasional suspicious glance. 

Y/N hated them for it. While her mother assured her that she didn't mind, Y/N seethed. How dare they? Her mother had shushed her and given her some more nonsense about being kind-

Y/N shakes her head. Nothing her mother said was nonsense. She sighs, clipping the last shirt up. Sometimes she wonders if they had been related at all...Her mother's temperament of a calm sea and hers of a raging hurricane. She turns away from the clothing line, starting to walk away, before turning back around. The last thing she hung up is a yellow tank top, smaller than all the other clothes. She squints at the kanji, trying to figure out what it says. "Bo...ryoku? [violence]...What the hell?" Y/N shakes her head. What a strange thing to have on a shirt. She yanks the shirt down from the line, frowning. There is a significant stain on the left side...Y/N suspects that whoever did the laundry does not put too much effort into making sure the clothes are actually clean. 

Well, whatever. Y/N yanks a plastic basin from behind a board leaning against the side of the house and gets to work. She fills it with water and some soap powder she found, scrubbing the stain vigorously. It doesn't budge. 

She scowls, scooping more soap powder into the basin...she's going to get this stain out if it's the last thing she does. She grabs a brush and begins scrubbing at almost superhuman speed (at least for her). The stain is still there. She rubs, scrubs, and wrings, but the stain won't come out. Her eyes glint. "You..." She raises the shirt. "You're not going to- I won't let you win!" She thrusts the shirt into the basin. After a while, she lifts it again. 

The stain is still there. She drops it into the basin, retreating into the shade. There's always later...haha...I could do it right now if I wanted to, I just don't!! Oh, goodie. She's talking to herself inside her head. I'm just letting it soak...Yeah...It's...Woah, this grass is real soft. 

Really, really soft.

When she wakes up again, it's almost nightfall. She shoots into a sitting position, looking around wildly for the basin. Crap. She runs over to it, lifting the soggy shirt and furiously scrubbing. She wrings the shirt again, and...the stain...the stain is gone! Y/N wants to sob with joy (shirt joy). She wraps her arms around the soggy shirt, smiling wide. "Finally, finally!" She's practically jumping. 

"...What are you doing?"

She turns. It's Ace, standing stiffly with a large fish slung over one shoulder. His eyes are fixed on her. And the shirt she's embracing as if it were her long-lost love. 

Uh oh.