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Marco understood why the crew had agreed to send him for this task, but it didn’t make it any less daunting.
He had even offered to come without thinking; the words had left his lips before he could really process what they were asking of him.
After everything, though, part of him was happy it was him. The war had come and gone in a flash and the poor man hadn’t had a single moment to sit with the fact that so many from his family hadn’t and wouldn’t return from this place.
Especially after losing Whitebeard, no one wanted to choose a new person to lead, no one wanted to declare anyone besides him their father. In his absence, however, Marco knew the others would be looking to him for support. It was a position he couldn’t imagine leaving for his brothers, no matter how strong.
He had flown here behind the cover of lingering storm clouds, able to hide from the view of anyone that had dared to stay. Perching on a large pile of rubble near the center of the courtyard, Marco flicked his wings a few times before tucking them in completely.
Whether the smell of stale blood and lingering gunpowder was in his imagination or stuck in his nose, he wasn’t sure.
He took a long look around the courtyard, ears still ringing from the screams and chaos of the crowd as he searched for the starting point.
With a practiced leap he pushed off of the rubble, transforming in a dull flash of blue and stumbling only slightly when his feet touched the ground. Pushing aside the urge to turn away and run, he continued forward, tracing his steps towards the inevitable.
The click of his sandals against the ground had become so deafening in the silence that he considered taking a moment to remove them, beginning to bend down to do so when he saw it.
He knew the beads of Ace’s necklace better than anyone; they were nearly a part of Ace himself, after all. He’d become accustomed to waking up and finding it slung over the edge of his desk chair, or tossed haphazardly on his bedside table. When they first began their little affair the young man would often put all of his items inside his hat and tuck it away on a shelf; always stating that it would be rude to scatter his items around in another person's room.
He always was polite, even if it was presented in odd ways.
Marco gently scooped up the first bead, closing his hand around it and giving himself a moment to hold it. He still remembered the first time he had grabbed it— He’d witnessed one of the younger’s sleep spells during a meal and his reaction had been to grab any part of him he could reach. That had been the necklace, which he remembered noting was much smoother than he imagined it would be.
Continuing on, he grabbed the next bead, rolling it in his fingers and letting out a sigh. He could have sworn this was the one he would rub when Ace came to cuddle after a rough day; he could almost feel the indent from his thumb.
Collecting the third, he rubbed his thumb over the crack where Thatch had stepped on it after a party. Ace simply started wearing the necklace in the other direction and flashed them all a grin to say it was alright.
Stepping closer to the center of the courtyard, the man’s heart began to pound against his rib cage. The beads were in larger clumps now, and Marco began to notice puddles of blood growing in size with every step.
He stopped just beside the last pile of beads, crouching down and placing his palm against the ground.
He knew it was warm simply from the sun, but a part of him wanted to believe Ace had left behind a little of his warmth.
Adding the final beads to his bag, Marco slowly closed it up and held it tightly against his chest as if Ace, wherever he was, could feel his heartbeat through them.
Glancing upwards again he noted the gentle glow of the sun beginning it’s ascent into the sky, cracking a small smile for the first time since that night.
It was almost as if they got to share one final sunrise together.
Rubbing the pad of his thumb against the bag, Marco made a mental note to bring a few of them back home to Mount Columbo for him. He was sure that Dadan would appreciate having a piece of him; Ace talked about her almost as frequently as he did Luffy.
With another sigh he turned, tucking the bag away and thinking about what Izo had told him when he was preparing to leave.
“If anything ever happened to Kiku,” he started, one hand gripping the front of his kimono and the other wrapped loosely around Marco’s wrist. “She would want to be home. And Ace… he’s not going to rest if he isn’t home, now is he?”
And if there was one thing Ace deserved now, it was rest.
“Ace,” he started, his voice low and hoarse from disuse and the strain of holding back tears. “I’m bringing you home with me.”