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Chapter Text

The Moby Dick had been going about the usual course to check on their Paradise territories. When they had realized that their alcohol stores wouldn't last to the next island, it was put to a vote; wait the full two months and ration the alcohol, or grab an eternal log pose and get to an island they could get sufficient supplies on.

The choice was obvious and vote was unanimous.

They had just rounded an uninhabited island -shaped like a crescent moon funnily enough- to stop for the night and drink the rest of their supply. As they turned around the corner piece to dock in the bay, there just so happened to be three marine battleships.

Completely unplanned.

So here they were, marines flying, falling, tripping, and toppling on top of each other to get on the ship and try to take a famous whitebeard pirate down. To some of his ship brothers, it was the most fun they'd had in weeks.

'But...' Marco ran a hand through his hair, thinking, 'He was so bored.'

Sure things had gotten slightly interesting. Like when the marines had turned the strategy up a notch when they made a 'U' formation around the bow of the Moby. Until Vista got pissed and sliced the far right marine ship through the middle.

Surveying the the fight with a scowl (as he didn't want to ruin his brothers fun by joining the fight) from the armrest of Pops chair he saw the marine ship in front drag itself between them and the one to the right. Ah. They were planning on using the already damaged ship as cover to evacuate Thanks to the defensive maneuver, the ship was now close enough for them to board and canon fire went off as those manning them started taking bets on who could hit the 'most expensive shit'. Movement to Marco's right caught his eye, and he stomped over to the railing, his usual bored expression more glowering at this point.

"Oi Marco, what's got your feathers ruffled?" Ignoring Jozu, he flashed his talons and with practiced ease, cutting the grappling hooks off the side rail. Despite the pleasant sound of marines screaming and splashing, his glumness seemed to deepen. Sighing, he stuffed his hands in his pocket and leaned back against the railing, as he frowned at nothing in particular, sulking.

Marco was not a complacent man. He was extremely diligent when it came to the safety of his family of outcast brothers. Except for now, when the marine vessels you attacked were used to east blue rookies, and the green leafed twerps wet themselves looking at big bounties like himself.

It was too easy and he was So. Bored. Even his Phoenix was bored.

"Oh wow, is 'Mr. I-never-get-sidetracked-in-a-fight' really spacing out?" Barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Marco leisurely turned his attention to the pompadour pain in his ass. Thatch stood on the railing with his twin sabers in hand, waiting for the next round of grappling hooks that were probably never gonna come.

"Shouldn't you be somewhere else, Thatch?" Thatch gasped, flailing about in what could be interpreted as a great show of offense, or a seizure.

"He's got a point Marco." Izo added from the railing behind him, loading his pistol and firing off three more shots. Seeing his shots land, he sat down on Marcos left, effectively sandwiching him. "You hardly twitched at the bird joke," the geisha raised a delicate eyebrow, eyes suspicious, "usually there's more kicking involved." Izo tucked a stray hair behind his ear as he holstered his gun.

"Izo!" Thatch gasped and Marco rolled his eyes at the theatrics. "I'm appalled! Encouraging physical abuse- and here I thought you were the voice of reason!"

"Then why do you never listen?" Izo raised a delicate eyebrow as Thatch fumbled for a answer.

Marco didn't care to listen to the one sided argument and instead took in the damage around him. The first ship gone beneath the waves, but would need to be scouted so they didn't damage the hull on a stubborn mast. The second ship was listing even as flames coated the stern and part of the mast and the third was pulling ahead. Behind it Marco could make out debris from the fight already washing up on the island. 'I should probably go ahead and scout it... Not like we can dock safely without cleaning up first anyway.' Marco nodded at his self assured reasoning, his brothers could finish what was left themselves. Turning to the center of the deck, he wasn't surprised to see Pops already watching him. Marco inclined his head towards the island, smirking when his Pops smiled and raised the large sake cup in agreement.

Marco felt lighter from the anticipation, eager to feel the wind. Turning his arms to wings, he jumped-

He never saw the canon ball until it slammed into the center of his face.

Marco was sent sailing through the air, causing a sizable -and later on admittedly comical- Marco sized dent in the wall of the Moby. He was stuck there, spread eagle.

Silence became overwhelming, no one daring to move on the front deck except the nurses, who were whispering about possible sea stone. Blue flames erupted from where the canon ball was still imbedded in their 'eldest' brothers face, startling them from their stupors. As the flames died down the canon ball fell, everyone flinching at the rage on Marcos face.

Not one of his brothers said a word, even his Pops staring in slight bafflement.

"Oi~! SORRY ABOUT THAT! FOR WHAT ITS WORTH, I WAS AIMING FOR THE OTHER CANON! NOT YOUR FACE!" Everyone- marines included as they had noticed the silence and the situation with growing horror- turned to the source of the voice.

There, behind the canons, stood a young person wearing a hat two sizes too big so that it covered their hair and eyes, and a uniform that swayed slightly in the stiff breeze. By the distance and the way the marines uniform outlined a smaller frame during strong wind, Marco guessed he was maybe 5'2 and probably in his late or mid teens. Of course his age didn't matter much- Marco was gonna scare twenty years off the little bastard either way.

"Hmph. Try to refrain from killing, Marco. It's just a kid after all." Marco reluctantly looked away from his new found entertainment. The little shit had the nerve to turn his head talk to the guy next to him like he hadn't just pissed off a Whitebeard Commander. "Well he apologized. It sounded oddly sincere." The end of the sentence was strained, Izo obviously trying not to laugh. Marco sighed turning to look at the boy again who, by the way the fellow ensign was sweating and flailing, wasn't getting the message. Marco opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by the indignant yelling of the marines.

"CHORE GIRL!! You just shot Marco The Fucking Phoenix! Get off the ship before he sinks it!"

"HUUH?! Why the hell would I do that? S'not my fault the turkey got in the way!"

The sound of his Pops choking on his Sake brought him out of his shock. Marco felt his eyebrow twitch, not daring to look at his idiot brother at the moment he pointed a finger at Thatch. "Don't even" was on the tip of his tongue but it was too late.

"BWAHAHAHAHAHA~"

"GURARARARARARA~!"

"...You're both dead to me, yoi~."

"You... Ya' got knocked... Chore boy...!" Thatch went back into incomprehensible chortling. Tears were trailing down his face already and even Izo looked on the verge of uproarious laughter.

"Technically, Thatch," Izo snickered, "the 'chore boy' is a chore 'girl'... If you didn't hear the ensign."

"Izo... The, the point is the 'chore' part!" How Izo managed a delicate snort was beyond him, but then again by this point Marco was beyond caring. Done with them, and the rest of his traitorous, snickering brothers, Marco took flight.

He was gonna get that girl... And find out what the hell they put in their canon powder.

~~.....~~. .

It had been a long month for Kida.

She had been forced -quite physically- into joining the marines. Which she wouldn't have a problem with, if she had actually wanted to join. When she finished her training, completing it in a too short time frame, she had been immediately shipped to work under the most sexist, ignorant, and arrogant son-of-a-bitch she had ever met. She being paid a quarter of what she should have been, she had been given a uniform two sizes to big to wear (her small chest was now nonexistent but luckily her hips were big enough she could get away with wearing the pants), and if it weren't for her long, brown, hair, her hat wouldn't have fit either. Kida had promised the old fart that she would stay a year, and while she had never broken a promise so far, she was tempted to jump off the ship and swim to better places.

Not only was she not being allowed to continue her marine training, she had been given every demeaning chore on the ship. Cleaning, cooking, laundry, and paperwork. If it wasn't done to perfection she didn't eat. And if she still refused, she was then denied coffee.

She could not live without her coffee.

The worse thing out of all of it had to be the dishonesty. She was a blunt person. She was thought of by many as kind, dependable, and as brutally honest as she was strong. Bottling up this much bullshit was grading on her non existent patience. If she got out of it without killing someone she should be considered a freaking Saint.

Even though she hadn't showered in forever and was sleep deprived she had to admit it could be worse. Hell she'd been through worse. She wasn't being physically abused and it would only be five more days before they got to a marine base. In which she would immediately issue a transfer.

That was the plan, until they got word of a pirate vessel in the area. The ship was turned around, even though Kida could actually see the island, and they joined two other marine battleships in the inward curve of an island to wait for the Pirates to come around the jetti. Adding salt to the injury, the ship came around and turned out to be -not 'a' yonko flagship- the yonko flagship of the strongest man alive. Soon there was talk of defensive maneuvers, and which island they would be calling to go to get repairs. In which Kida new that they did not have a marine base.

So she wasn't happy when her shitty twit of a 'captain' told her to 'man the canon', that they were supposed to teach her how to use. Her mood only worsened by the fact that she had been looking forward to beating her anger out since the third day on the ship.

A problem solved when she found a three foot pipe and started hitting the canon balls at the ship. She had had a brief moment where she sent a silent 'thank you' to the crazy vice admiral that visited during training but didn't dwell on it long. Because this was grand line, and they were still in the middle of fighting. Admittedly, Kida new she was a bad shot and -in theory- just because something seemed easy didn't always -technically-mean that it was.

Now that she'd hit someoneshe couldn't say for sure that it was or wasn't . Because on the plus side she had hit an opposing pirate (though she would have preferred hitting that damned captain). On the downside he was on fire and looked pissed.

Unfortunately for Kida she was born without a filter. So after the initial shock off hitting a person wore off the first thing she thought to do was apologize in the most sincere way she could.Which let everyone know who did the hitting. Now, given the situation, if she were a normal person, Kida would have shit herself as everyone turned to her at her shout.

But she wasn't a normal person- worse then that she was sleep deprived, mentally exhausted from the self restraint (she didn't know how she possessed even half of) it took not to hit a commanding officer, her patience was thread bare at best, and quite frankly she had an itch in her hand that could be solved by bonking a few of those googly eyed bastards staring at her. Of course exploding in a show of any kind of emotional outburst would prove that stuck up twit-of-a-captain right about 'women in the marines'. Taking a deep breath she held it for a minute and exhaled just as slow, if not a bit heatedly. Looking at the closest ensign, who was sweating an impressive amount, she jerked her thumb at all the people staring.

"What the fuck are they looking at?" She knew she could be scary when she was mad, hell she must of had a impressive frown at this point. Kida still couldn't help but think the Ensign was being over dramatic when he just shook his head, mortified.

"I'm gonna need you to get on one of the damaged ships." She blinked at him, face scrunching up in obvious confusion. The fights and canon fire started picking back up, the sound of annoyed chatter in the distance just mildly misplaced in the current setting.

'He's probably messing with me again like they did during the 'emergency evacuation. Nodding at the sound logic in that thought, she went back over to the 'reload rack' for another canon ball, calculating the aim.

"CHORE GIRL!!" Startled, the canon ball she threw up hit the deck with a thud, and she turned to the ensign. "You just shot Marco The Fucking Phoenix! Get off the ship before he sinks it!" She blinked at him twice before her jaw dropped and she rested the pipe over her shoulder.

"HUUH?! Why the hell would I do that? S'not my fault the turkey got in the way!"

At least Whitebeard and that auburn haired pirate is getting a kick out of it.

Just great. First these guys ruin the first coffee break she's had today -well past noon!- now she's being told to stay behind on the sinking ship?! Suddenly the Ensign in front of her, and several behind him, turned every shade between ashen gray to an interesting blue. Making a noise of confusion, she noticed the rest of the crew gathering into what few life boats there were. She sweat dropped at the sight before turning around to see who had her crew jumping ship like den dens...

And came nose to nose with the guy she pegged in the head.

Now from a distance she didn't understand why everyone was so freaked out by the guy. However, when she had been fighting since she could walk and didn't sense someone behind her? Or when this person was bent down to hover half an inch from her face, flames lighting those half lidded azure eyes, and sadistic smirk like something out of a nightmare?

"Fu~cking shit." Though Kida had her teeth clenched, he widened his smirk at hearing her soft exclamation.

"You got quite the mouth on you there, Girly. Maybe you should use it to explain why you thought it'd be a good idea to fire a canon at me, yoi~." 'Mouth?' She thought, 'what the hell does he mean explain?!' "Course I suppose I could forgive all that if you don't mind telling me what I want to know. What do you say, little one?" His posture, that infuriating smirk, the way he was talking to her like...

She could forget about his weird hair, weird blue-flaming-combustion episodes, and weird open shirt. And while she didn't hate men like the infamous Amazon Warriors she had had enough of being looked down on for a good long while. So for a pirate to come over and be condescending to her...?

Maybe it was because she wasn't meant to be a dishonest person for so long a time. Or it was that vein pulsing on the blonds' temple. Hell, for all Kida knew it was the way that damned smirk twisted to the left just so. Whatever it was, the last three months came flooding to her in that one moment. A dull roar sounded in her ears and she did the most peculiar thing.

She smiled. A genuine, albeit tight lipped, smile as a dangerous calm seemed to fill her. It was a good thing the pirate stepped back when he did.

Kida had snapped.

~~.....~~. .

Thanks for reading! Reviews and critiques are welcomed and appreciated!!

Chapter Text

"Miss Kida, can we get you anything?"

"Are you comfortable, Ma'am?"

"Miss Kida, you aren't mad at us right?"

"I made you coffee, Ma'am, please except it!"

Kida's eye brow twitched, causing the pestering Ensigns and a few lieutenants to scramble out of her line of sight. She closed her eyes, bringing up both hands to rub her temples where her head was insistently throbbing. The crease between her eyebrows seemed hell bent on staying, and it was because she hadn't stopped scowling since, what the crew now called, 'The Incident'.

It had been all so quick. One moment Kida was face to face with -supposedly- one of the most intimidating men she had ever met, and then that same man, Marco the Phoenix, was ducking and weaving between everything she was throwing at him, all the while looking disorientated and slightly constipated (she could now admit that, yes, it was ironic the canon got thrown first, but still felt bad for the marines that had been in the life boat- poor bastards still didn't go near her). All the while they had argued back and forth over trivial things, as if she truly was the child he had treated her like.

It had gotten slightly interesting when she had run out of things to throw and they had stood ten feet from each other just yelling. Insults varying from short jokes to some of the most creative curses she knew, which she could proudly say made a pirate or two actually blush. Kida couldn't say which of them moved first but it had turned into a right good fist fight. She vaguely recalled marines and pirates alike jumping out of the way while others commented on this or that.

It wasn't until after she had bit him in retaliation for her ripped shirt that the onlookers decided to step in.

It had taken three of his brothers to hold him so that a very beautiful Geisha could talk him into stopping, though the flaming goose looked ready to pounce back in. Embarrassingly enough, Kida had been dead set on giving him something permanent. Enough so, that the last thing she remembers was five ensigns and two captains yelling about restraints before she was hit in the back of the head.

When she woke up to an infirmary with a breakfast tray beside her two days later, she figured she would write her report and life would go on.

She was wrong.

Now, Kida wouldn't say she missed being treated like a maid, but it was damn sure more tolerable then being treated like glass. Every time she tried doing one of her chores it would be whisked out of her hands and she'd find herself sitting on something far too soft with some kind of 'relaxing' beverage in her in the place of what she'd been holding. The crew member responsible would drone on about how 'they owe her too much to let her do such mundane foot work', or something or else similar to that before doing the chore themselves.

Luckily for her, the highest officer to do it so far were the first mates of the other two ships that had been there. The majority of the higher ranks and the men from her ship had -thankfully- avoided her.

As a result she had taken to sitting at the mast on top of some nice sturdy crates (may the sea be merciful to the Idiot that puts one of those fancy pillows on it) where she had a good view of their headway. Of course this meant that most of the men on the ship would know where to find her to 'make sure their lovely lady warrior was as comfortable as she could possibly be'. Offering sweets and food that they really should be rationing since the next island was still four days away. Of course when she gor onto them, 'No, you should not make me special treats. It doesn't matter who I fought with the other day, I'm a chore girl I eat when and what you all eat'. Instead of being deturred by her scolding, they became awed by her 'strong posture, humble words and -over all- 'motherly' figure'.

Gag.

With a groan, she closed her eyes and 'thmped' her head against the mast. Her scowl turned thoughtful when she opened her eyes to see a seagull flying overhead. She raised an eyebrow at the thought that it could possibly be an omen as it reminded her of a perverted pigeon responsible for her current mess.

'I hope that bastard is getting hell for it from his own crew,' Kida thought as she watched the slit of land growing on the horizon.

~~.....~~. .

"Do you think we should have been easier on him?" Vista followed Izo's concerned gaze to where Marco was retreating to the Moby.

Even the oblivious crew members could see that Marco had been very distracted lately. Any doubt about 'what' was distracting him was eliminated if you listened to him as he paced through the mess hall, making his coffee and grumbling about 'flat chested, pissy imp'. Of course they had all been worried in their own ways, but what kind of brothers would they be if they didn't take the opportunity to bug the shit out of him?

So when they had roped him into a poker game on the beach, they had expected him to wipe them out of their money in retaliation. They didn't expect him to be self absorbed enough in his own thoughts to lose half his money, and didn't even retaliate Izo's jab about his face being as open as a canon ball rack. Instead, Marco had thrown down his cards, expressionless, declared himself 'out', and left. Vista was slightly concerned, but trusted that the first commander was smart enough not to let this affect himself in a severe or damaging way. Of course, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't happy to have gained from Marco spacing out. 'Maybe I can keep my streak up', he thought, looking down at his current hand and promptly frowned.

"Ugh, nope." Izo turned to the magician, scoffing when Vista shook his head and threw his cards down in disgust.

"Did any of you hear me?" Vista paused, tankard half way to his lips, as Jozu, Fossa and Curiel also stopped what they were doing. An irritated Izo was not something anyone wanted to mess with.

"Aww come on Izo loosen up! You don't want your makeup to wrinkle!" Except that idiot, everyone at the table sweat dropped as Thatch grinned at his cards, cigarette hanging from his mouth, seemingly untroubled. "Marco's alright, just a bit stuck- I'll raise-" he added, throwing in twenty beli "- on being shown up by a marine from Paradise of all places. Worse case scenario he goes for a flight to think it out. He's probably headed to the back deck to think." Izo rolled his eyes, adding in his own money to the growing pile. It was a quiet night and most everyone else had just finished up the rest of the booze supply, not that it mattered, they'd make it to the next island before noon tomorrow.

"I know where he's headed, I meant maybe we should stop teasing him so much." He shook his head at the deck when Fossa offered it to him.

"Says the one who asked if he had a biting kink." Jozu dead panned. Thatch laughed at loud at that and even Vista snorted into his drink.

"I still can't believe they did that." Curiel chuckled quietly, as if Marco was around the corner listening.

"Right? 'Mr. Big-Brother' openly brawling with a girl and resorting to five year old tactics." Thatch admonished fondly. "He deserves teasing for that. Besides," Thatch grinned wickedly, laying down his hand, "we all got a pay day out of it right?" Vista shook his head at the full house as Jozu, Fossa, and Curiel groaned and huffed, throwing down their lesser cards. Laughing, Thatch reached out to gather his winnings only to jerk back with a yelp as he cradled the hand Izo swatted.

"It pains me to agree with you," Izo raised a groomed brow, his earnest voice belayed by a mischievous smirk as he elegantly rolled out his hand, "however, I do believe you're correct. I'll have to thank Marco for my payday." Royal flush.

~~.....~~. .

It wasn't until Marco lost half his money in a poker game that he had been able to admit to having a problem.

It had been a three days since the 'Pitching Match' -as his brothers dubbed it- between the marine and Marco. They were still stuck on the island since The Moby needed repairs from the grappling hooks and canon balls (at least now, Marco wasn't the only one who wanted to know what they used in the gun powder). Of course the shipwrights were gonna save fixing the 'Marco Crater' for last until they woke up to that portion of the wall 'mysteriously' destroyed. Thankfully there was enough wreckage to salvage for them to make do until they got to the next island. Not that Marco had helped, having taken his remaining anger out on the two battleships left over- he had been this close to chasing that gremlin down and finishing what she started.

For all of the three nights they'd been docked, his mind kept flickering back to that girl. It was like his mind could turn anything he was doing to replay the fight between them. He couldn't have any peace of mind!

Because his brothers snickered every time it was brought up, which was at least five times a day? Because when he had asked the Geisha to stitch his favorite sash, Izo had just about busted a gut at his hung head and pursed lips (he was the first commander he did not pout!)? Because every time Thatch served him his food, the fourth commander chomped his teeth as loud as he could before he ran away from Marcos sharp talons, laughing even after he'd been thrown in the ocean? Because he had a weeks' worth of paperwork to catch up on?

If it was just those things, he could live with it. More then anything, for the first time in a while, Marco couldn't stay focused.

Face planting on the desk?- a pillow compared to how hard she punched him in the face. Going to get paper?- the filing cabinet that got tossed at him (actually where did she even get it?). Going to sleep?- nope lets go over every second of the fight to figure out where to hit her next time. Wanna fly and relieve some stress?- better look both ways for canon balls.

He was loosing his mind... And she wasn't even there to do it in person!

Every time he closed his eyes he saw her face that, while tomboyish at a glance, was undeniably feminine. Her name remained a mystery (half an hour of them tussling around like thugs and no one bothered to call out to her? Seriously?!) and her oversized hat covered her eyes. Thankfully the scar cutting down the left side of her face and across her right cheek would be tell enough for him to pick her out in a crowd.

He stopped- both his thoughts and his walking- and slapped a hand over his face. Why the hell would he worry over seeing that gremlin again? What was wrong with him?! Since when had he ever been this fixated anyone for that matter? It wasn't like him! He-!

"Oi!" He jerked to the right, the icy sting of the glass bottle leaving his cheek slightly damp. He stared at the bottle rubbing his now cold face, before turning to Thatch- who grinned unrepentantly. "You look like we both need something strong." He offered the bottle again -what appeared to be scotch from the poker game, "C'mon bro! Let's go somewhere we don't have to share." Marco took the bottle, he couldn't deal with a determined chef, only grunting in protest when Thatch used his free hand to steer them towards the mast. Marco climbed first, missing the way his brothers' eyes darkened at his easy compliance.

Thanks to years of practice it was easy maneuvering up the mast one handed, and in no time they found themselves in the crows nest, leaning on the railing next to each other. Marco found himself looking out at the sea to starboard and Thatch facing port, resting backwards on his elbows. For a few minutes they just stood up there taking slows sips and enjoying the clear night sky and quiet breeze.

'... Actually it's a little to quiet.' Out of the corner of his eye, Marco saw the pensive look Thatch's face and scowled. His brother wasn't meant to look that pensive. The only time Thatch was supposed to look serious was when it came to his kitchen, his brothers, and booze. Marco turned his gaze downward, not looking at Thatch when he spoke.

"So...how did the poker game go?"

"Ugh- Izo got the last pot. Figures!"

"Good. Serves you right." Marco scoffed hiding his smirk behind a generous dose of scotch. It made him feel oddly accomplished when he was the one to drag their cheerful chef out of his moods.

"We decided to call it a night afterwards- wouldn't want to lose the money you gave us. And I figured that this was a good way to cheer you up after denting your wallet!" Marco rolled his eyes, able to hear the grin in Thatch's voice.

"So you decided to thank me?"

"Yep!"

"With the booze you won off of me?"

"... So how am I doing?" The honest question made Marco chuckle. They lapsed back into silence, taking another drought respectively. A minute went by and Thatch sighed, 'here we go'.

"Marco-"

"I'm fine, yoi~."

"No you are not." Marco turned, straightening at the hardness in the normally easy going mans voice. The frown was odd on Thatch's face, and his steely eyes showed to be earnest. "You are not 'fine' and we're all worried. All of us. Pops even asked about you when I dished up his food at lunch." 'Well shit', "Just tell me what's on your mind. What's the worst that that can do, huh?" Marco stared into the others eyes for a few minutes before he softened his glare and huffed, looking up at the stars with a small smile.

"Figures they sent my nosey ass brother to talk to me." Thatch tsked at that but didn't say anything else. It was funny, despite how much the chef talked, he always seemed to know how to get people to talk to him. It couldn't have been long but, after what felt like forever, Marco did just that.

"I can't focus." When nothing was said he took a gulp from his now half full bottle before continuing. "I can't stop thinking about that damn marine. I'm the first commander and I let my guard down during a fight." He turned to Thatch who had a raised eyebrow, face curious as he mulled over what Marco told him.

"...I mean, if a five foot tall woman threw a long boat with eight full grown men at me, I wouldn't forget her either." Marco barked out a laugh, full of self mockery.

"She was four eleven at most." The correction made Thatch start laughing. "And for the record, there were ten men not eight. Who the hell actually does that, yoi~?!" He vented, shaking his head, "I mean I could understand throwing the canon -maybe!- but a boat with people in it?!" He yelled indignantly, growing irate at his brothers chortling.

"You thought you could worry us over something as stupid as that?" He asked exasperated, taking a swig.

"Huh?" Thatch shook his head, at Marcos dumbfounded face or shitty response, who knew.

"You're freaked out cause you got caught by surprise. Big deal. We've all been there, Jozu was there last week," the memory of the usually calm man panicking and running from a eccentric jewel smith made Marco snort, "and next time you see her you'll know better then to let a girl kick your ass without getting her name."

"... When did you get so smart?"

"Oi."

~~.....~~. .

Chapter Text

After his talk with Thatch and coming to the conclusion that the young woman had been an exceptional fighter (he wasn’t losing his touch thank the sea’s) he had finally been able to properly focus on his damn paperwork (they were pirates, was it really necessary?). Yes he understood, he’d gotten as much hassle from his brothers as he had expected and silently swore to never put off sleep or work again.

Ever.

Ever again.

Marco sighed as he put the last piece of paper in the precariously stacked 'done' pile. He stretched his arms over his head, groaning when something in his shoulder popped and shifted. He stood up languidly, body stiff from being in the same position for so long. Taking off his glasses, he rubbed at his sore neck, looking at the clock on the wall.

Immediately he wished he hadn't. Not that it would be the first time Marco had pulled an all-night'er, but this would be his third night in a row. This was just the backlash from not doing the paperwork for his division! He still needed to go over the budget limit with Izo, get the food supplies from Thatch, get the nurses personal supply list for the infirmary and medical instruments, Jiru wanted more target dummies, Blenheim was talking about getting more Adams wood, They needed to restock the gun powder stores-

"Ugh!" He flopped back down into his chair, feeling the exhaustion rest deep in his spine. Having the phoenix model saved him from scarring and most disease, but general exhaustion seemed to be incurable, even with a devil fruit. Apparently staying up past breakfast for three nights in a row wasn't the best thing to-!

Jolting up Marco whipped his head back to the clock. 7:53! He jumped to his closet cursing. The commander meeting started at eight on the dot! Throwing clean clothes on the bed, Marco took possibly the third fastest shower of his life, patting himself down and tripping into his pants once he was out. Grabbing the papers from his desk as he slipped on his shirt and ran out of the cabin, with his hair still damp. Of course, it was five after by the time he got to the meeting room. Breathing in, he tried to calm his heart down, opening the door as quietly as he could-

"YOU'RE LATE!"

"Gah!" Marco dropped his neatly done papers, eyes closing as he grabbed his chest.

“Oops.” Thatch straightened fully from where he’d jumped out from, several eyes looking over from where they sat at a large round table. “You okay, man? Didn’t mean to hide myself that well.”

“It’s fine." Marco huffed. "Just surprised me that’s all.” Marco collected the papers, not noticing how Thatch stilled at the omission. Sending a slight glare towards the still chuckling Curiel as he sat down followed -slowly- by Thatch. Sending a curious glance at the empty chairs as he organized the haphazard pile in front of him.

"Atmos and Blenheim had other business and it's Jiru's turn with the training room. There was a problem in the gunpowder stores so Izo and Blamanco are going to be down there most of the day." Vista chirped dutifully. Fossa and Numar groaned at either side- Marco tried not to smirk at the irony since they had won his sake the nights before.

“Lets jump in then.” Marco nodded to Vista, pulling out forms for the others they straightened up in their seats. “We make port at the supply Island in six days; seven if the wind breaks like navigation says it will. We need to prioritize food and medical first, beyond that we should-.”

Thatch zoned out, sitting a few seats down on the opposite side of Marco. It was obvious how he slouched onto the table that the commander was tired. As Marco droned on, it occurred to Thatch how little he'd seen of the first division commander since their talk. Sure Marco had skipped breakfast, but he usually grabbed a coffee and some fruit anyway. 'But,' he thought, 'I could always switch to the serving table. Sure he doesn't need a baby sitter but no one would argue that he's looked better...' That settle, Thatch sat straighter in his seat. Grinning innocently at Marco's suspicious glance. Reports and budgets were discussed and supplies for the next island (perpetual summer islands were somehow worse than perpetual winter islands) and a casual reminder that food and medicine were to be restocked before anything else (pointedly alcohol)

"Well that should take care of the budget for the next two or three islands," Marco drawls, " Course we’ll have to adjust supplies according to how long the log pose takes. Anything else before we close up?" Marco closed the folder in front of him, rubbing a hand down his face wearily

"Yeah," Blamenco raises his hand, staring at Marco confused, "Where you planning on getting your bags checked when we make port?"

Marco frowns, scrunching his nose."'Bags'?" he parrots.

"You know, the ones you've been lugging under your eyes since yesterday." The blond deadpans as Blamenco snickers and receives a high five from Vista before becoming somber. "Seriously Marco when was the last time you slept?"

"Since there's no more important things to clear up I'll just be on my way." Before anyone can say otherwise, the first division commander is out the door and out of the hall before they can even open their mouths.

"Ok is it just me?" Fossa ventures, "or was that out of it, even for Marco." He looks around the table, concerned.

"Maybe he's still pissy about the pitching match...?" Vista trailed off as Thatch sighed, shaking his head at the door.

"He's not dumb enough to lose sleep over that. But he hasn’t been on his paperwork, so now he’s moody and overworking himself.”

Fossa sat up at this. “Oh?” his crooked smile widened as he looked around the table. "So why don't we all help him 'relax'?"

…

After informing the other commanders about the meeting it was decided that they’d take turns ‘helping’ Marco. Jozu started by pulling him away to read in a quiet room. It worked… for twenty minutes. It was easy to forget how fast the other man could read with or without his glasses. Next after that, Thatch switched out Marco’s coffee and teas with decaf. Naturally Marco figured it out right away, and it took the rest of the first day for him to figure out that Thatch had talked his division into conspiring with him.

Marco knew something was up by the third day and by the sixth day it escalated beyond simply ‘relaxing’.

Marco knew what they were doing. He knew why they were doing it and he knew that it was meant to take his mind off of 'things'- and it did.

Because what Marco knew -at that moment- was that he couldn't wait to get the hell away for a drink.

So, for the sake of his ship brothers (and his sanity) he "privately" told Thatch that he wanted something 'hot, soothing, and sweet'.  Naturally the whole kitchen staff knew by the time Marco got his drink, and soon after the whole deck would have heard about it.

Hopefully he would get a moment of silence so he could have an 'in' day and read some old novellas that -to his horror- were collecting dust.

Marco got to his room without interruption, tray in hand. Setting it down on the desk he walked to the other side of his bed, settling down in an old armchair. Once settled, he sighed into his steaming cup (he couldn't tell what it was but damn, did it taste good!) wondering if he shouldn't go along with it, play pranks and games with them for a bit. He didn’t get to join in on the fun- not that he didn’t love his brothers antics. Being the responsible brother had its drawbacks at times- especially if your younger brothers kept pulling you away from the paperwork that needed done before they docked.

If they would just let him focus on his paperwork for twenty minutes then he’d happily join the next party that was thrown.

But they didn’t- so pissed and sulky he would be.

Outside the hall a sudden thud against the wall made him jump, his drink nearly tilting onto his book.

"GUYS DON'T GO MAKING A LOT OF NOISE BY MARCO'S DOOR! HE'S HAVING A 'ME' DAY!"

"Oh Sh- SORRY MARCO! NOTHING TO SEE HERE- OW! Why'd you hit me?!"

"Dumbass! Don't yell at him through the door! You're only disturbing him more!"

"Damn! I didn't think of that! SORRY!"

“Would you shut up?”

“You shut up!”

“Oh yeah? Make me!”

"WOULD BOTH OF YOU IDIOTS SHUT-!"

"SHH!"

" Oh- you, 'shush'!"

'I’m grateful but,' Marco sighed, 'A bar does sound pretty good right now.'

***

It happened after dinner on the sixth. Most of the crew were lazing about on deck, with a good view of the setting sun. The sky a beautiful blaze of orange and dark blue sky. Chattering voices and off-tune singing could be heard just above the sound of waves hitting the boat. Partying and using the rest of the alcohol stores in preparation for the island tomorrow.

“WHAT THE FRESH HELL?” Four words rang clear and most of the deck was silenced immediately but picked up again shortly after clearing the main hall for whoever came crashing through.

“Gurarara, it appears Marco is finally out of his room” Pops laughed around his sake. Thatch and Fossa sat beside the giant chair, mugs half raised as they looked around curiously.

“About time to,” hummed Izo, from his perch on the armrest. “Any longer and it would have had to of been switched out.” a shouted name and screaming could be heard below deck, approaching fast. “Ah, he figured it out fairly quick.” Izo commented as he cleaned his flintlock. “I’d thought as much. Marco was there when it happened”

“Wait, when what happened?” Thatch looked around lost.

“Oh yeah!” Fossa laughed, “You were still in the infirmary because of your concussion! On one of the islands we stopped on while you were on bed rest-!”

“I’M NOT SORRY!”

“GET BACK HERE YOU-!”

“-Blamenco found some questionable fluids." Fossa continued despite a blur of white-Blamenco- purple and… green?- ran past screaming. They circled the chair before running towards the side of the ship. The now green Marco gaining fast. “He kept them for testing but if it gets left out in the open for too long it starts to smell.”

A large splash is heard somewhere behind and as they turn they see a disgruntled and slime covered Marco moving -hopefully- towards the shower.

“Damn. Better go get the ladder.” Thatch put his drink down, running over to the side where someone had already went down to get the pocket man, muttering ‘get some slime for myself.’

If Thatch noticed Izo’s stare he didn’t say anything.

...

A few hours after Blamenco's prank had finally been cleaned up (and the bathrooms had been silently dubbed as 'emergency only'), Izo decided to step in. It was up to all of them to get Marco to loosen up and get the edge off before they left the next island. He ran his battle strategy in mind as he glided down the halls of the Moby. After the catastrophe in the gunpowder room had been sorted out (and liquids in any container were banned from the storage room indefinitely) Izo had met up with Jozu to get the run down on the meeting. Hearing in part about Thatch worrying over Marco.

That would not do.

Soon enough he comes to a stop in front of an old scratched up door pausing for a moment, before knocking.

The third knock is barely out before the door is yanked open.

"Thatch, so help me, I'm gonna-! Oh," Marco stops, scowl melting off as he notices the geisha's slightly taken aback face, "Izo… Hey." Marco pokes his head out, looking down both ends of the hall before pulling Izo into his room by the kimono.

"What the hell?" Izo yells, straightening out the non existent wrinkles. "Was that really necessary?" Marco, for his part, had the decency to look apologetic.

"Sorry, sorry," he rubbed the back of his neck, "It's just, Thatch and the chefs keep bringing by these big nosed fish, trying to get a laugh out of me over it ~yoi. It would be funny," Marco flushed, looking distant and disturbed, "If it weren't for the smell."Izo hummed. It was understandable that Marco was disturbed still. It had taken him the rest of the night to get out of the shower and he'd ordered Blamenco to clean it by himself afterwards. What Izo need to know as it was crucial to his plan, was if Marco was still pissed.

'Well what they say about poking sleeping bears and all...'

"I suppose I understand. After all I'm sure that after yesterday you've had quite your fill of awful smelling things." Going by Marcos grunt, the bear was still pissed and he had to fight the upwards twitch of his mouth. "Actually that's the main reason I came to see you." He turned around, glancing over Marcos room, and eyed the mostly finished paperwork on the desk

Marco frowned thoughtfully. "Oh?"

"Yes, because of the accident this morning at breakfast- not that you were there," Izo couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy the guilty shrug he saw from the corner of his eye. They'd all given him shit for staying in his room, but the cross dresser wouldn't be able to consider himself a brother if he didn't have his fun razzing the blonde as well. "There was a rowdy moment at the mess hall and my favorite kimono-."

"Which one?" Izo scowled, turning to the blonde at the interruption.

"My. Favorite. Kimono." He repeated over Marco chuckling. "Was stained as a result. Since Blamenco is on my shit list, I figured you'd like to help me make the revenge more... memorable."

Marco deadpanned. "You mean you want me to help you scar him." Izo smiled, and for a moment Marco almost felt bad for the sixth commander. Over time the crew learned, as pleasant as Izo's smile was- when it was said with a certain tone or a specific name, shit was going to go down.

"I knew there was a reason you were my favorite brother."he said. Marco raised his eyebrows, amusement clear on his face.

"Oho!" he smirked, "Even more than Ol' Thatchy ~yoi?" Izo's smile vanished and was replaced by an elegantly raised eyebrow.

"Watch it bird brain, you'll be next on the chopping block."

Marco couldn't help but to lean his head back, letting out a barking laugh. Despite being half serious- Izo decided that getting Marco to laugh was worth it, and that he wouldn't get him back for the jab… Yet.

After all, they had a prank to plan.

...

"SON OF A-!"

The shout was accompanied by crashing and several 'bang!'s. The only ones to rush outside were mostly chefs, preparing for breakfast and those that had just been relieved from the midnight shift. It was rare to see anyone without a job schedule up this early in the morning seeing how it was still dawn.

Which is why the fourth division was shocked to a stand still once they reached the deck.

There, running around the main deck, was Blamenco; hopping, skipping, jumping, flipping- all the while muffling his own shouts and yelps. It was well known that, commander or no, waking up the wrong person at too early an hour meant certain death. Especially if you woke up one of the nurses during shift change.

Blamenco knew this better then most (being a pocket man had its setbacks when people used you to store their alarm clocks). As they watched the little show, they realized that, as he moved around, things were dropping out of his pockets. Now this wouldn't normally be a big deal, but it wasn't until they took a closer look that they understood the large man’s urgency.

The little things were moving.

Immediately, the reaction to this was noticeable, especially if you were Thatch who -ranking aside- was deathly afraid of bugs.

Like the one inching it's way past his foot.

Needless to say, that morning, the Moby received a very abrupt wake up call in the form of a high pitch screech.

And two uproarious laughs.

…