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“Sooooo..” Ace drawled, his chin in his hands as he slouched at the table.
The way he kept tapping his leg rapidly below it betrayed his pretense of disinterest. “Have you decided yet?”
Thatch didn’t bother to bite back the chuckle that rose in his chest as he continued to dry his cooking knives with calm care. “You mean since you asked me ten minutes ago?” he wondered.
Then, with a shake of his head. “Not yet.”
At that, the younger commander gave up his act and jumped up from his seat, and came to stand next to Thatch. He reached out and opened the little chest sitting on the kitchen counter, his eyes dropping to the fruit within and he reached out with one finger to prod at it. Just before he made contact…
“Don’t play with food,” Thatch warned him without looking up, an automatic reaction, really, but it was softened by his smile.
“Aren’t you curious at all?” Ace wondered, drawing his hand back and shifting to look at his friend.
“Of course I am.” Thatch held up the knife and let his gaze run along its edge. Satisfied with the results, he put it away and grabbed the next one.
“Then why aren’t you eating it? Come on…!” Ace whined. “I want to know what kind of fruit it is!”
Rolling his eyes, Thatch finally turned to face his fellow commander. “Just because you got lucky doesn’t mean everyone gets that lucky. The Flame Flame fruit? Now that I would gladly have eaten. Can you imagine how much easier cooking would get? Oh, or the Clear Clear fruit. Nobody knows what this one here is, though.”
Ace regarded him for a moment and then shrugged. “Whatever it is, it could be really cool. My fruit looked somewhat like that. It might be a logia fruit!”
“Or,” Thatch said, “it might be something really dumb. Like the Bird Bird fruit, model: chicken.”
“Well, at least we’d have our breakfast eggs secured forever then,” Marco’s voice sounded from the door and both Thatch and Ace turned to their newly arrived friend.
Ace started to laugh but after only a moment he stopped and grimaced. “No, wait. Ew .”
“Idiots,” Thatch said affectionately and shook his head at them.
“Seriously though… why are you hesitating so much?” Ace wondered and closed the little chest again before grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl and taking a bite.
Thatch hesitated for a moment, his gaze brushing over both of them before he crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked out of the window. The moon was painting glittering reflections across the waves. “Who will pull you two idiots out of the water if I can’t anymore, hm?”
Ace’s eyes softened at that and he quickly averted his eyes, pushing himself off the counter and sauntering over to the door. “Whatever, man,” he mumbled with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. “There’s still Izou.”
“Izou hates getting his hair wet,” Thatch answered evenly, watching Ace’s back with the Jolly Roger proudly on display.
Ace snorted, not turning around as he left the kitchen. “And you don’t?” he threw over his shoulder before he was gone.
Marco chuckled as he looked Thatch over. “He’s got a point.” Then, more serious. “Don’t let us hold you back. We can take care of ourselves. If you want to eat it, eat it. If you don’t – don’t. Sell it on the next island, or gift it to one of the guys. It’s your decision.”
“There’s no hurry, is there?” Thatch said after a moment. “I have to think about it, make up my mind.”
With a smile and a nod, Marco turned to leave, too. “It’s late, you should go to bed.”
“You’re one to talk, you’re probably going back to your paperwork straight from here.”
“Yeah, but I don’t get up at the ass crack of dawn to make breakfast for hundreds of people and Ace .” Marco waved goodbye over his shoulder and Thatch chuckled to himself, turning back to the little chest containing the most discussed object on board.
–
He ponders the fruit more. Would it really be worth it, sacrificing his ability to ever swim again, for an unknown ability? He was a pirate , for God’s sake. It takes a certain amount of bravery—or perhaps arrogance—to willingly spend so much time near the water as a Devil Fruit user. An amount that he isn’t sure he himself possesses.#
He hears footsteps behind him. Assuming one of the others came back for some reason, he starts to speak. “Hey, didn’t you say you were going to bed?” he asks. No response. Confused, Thatch begins to turn to face the other person—
He catches the glint of metal in the corner of his eye, and his world narrows down to a single point along his back.
In a distant part of his mind, he knows he must’ve been stabbed. He collapses onto the deck, mind whirling even while he feels like he’s on fire. Thatch tries to reach for his waist—he has a knife holstered there, he can fight back if only he could reach it .
The object—some kind of knife or sword probably—is roughly pulled from his back and there’s a second burst of too-sharp-it-burns pain as the hand inching its way towards his waist is pinned down with the very same weapon. He tries to scream, to call for help, to yell something— anything , but he can’t catch his breath. He feels like he’s drowning. Trying to focus through the spots in his vision, he realizes that he recognizes that weapon—and he was right, it is a knife. He recognizes the hand holding it, as well.
He cranes his head to look up, even though it hurts like hell, and meets eyes with Teach.
“Why—“ he can barely get the words out, coughing up blood and staining the edges of his mouth bright red, “Why would you… do this..?”
Teach doesn’t answer, just steps over his body like he’s already a lifeless corpse— no, don’t think like that, you’re not dying today . Teach steps towards the box with a look of awe and hunger. Oh , Thatch thinks distantly. That’s what this is about .
“All of this…” his speech is again interrupted by a chain of bloody coughs, “…for a stupid fruit ?”
That seems to get Teach’s attention. He grins down at Thatch as if he’s a particularly entertaining insect. Perhaps interested, but ultimately uncaring. How the hell did I miss this? Thatch thinks. Was he really that good at hiding, or was I just that much of an idiot that I didn’t notice?
“Not just any fruit. Not that you would know,” Teach laughs and takes another step toward the box. He picks it up, staring at it with something like reverence. “The Dark-Dark Fruit…I never thought I’d actually see the real thing..”
And with that, he leaves, abandoning Thatch in a pool of his own blood.
–
Despite how many people slept aboard the ship, how many nakama he spent his days with, the chatter and laughter that filled his kitchen on a regular, at this moment, his last one, he suspected. Thatch was totally and utterly alone.
The coldness of those thoughts chilled his body more than the blood that left him, as life itself slowly pooled from the stab wound, the blood that collected around him as he struggled to keep his eyes open, it was his life being drained and even his wet sickly cough rang hollow in the emptiness of the evening.
Alone.
He worried about so many things, silly things that didn’t matter now his life was drawing to a close. He worried about who would find him lying there, would it be Ace? Would he blame himself like he always did? Would it be Izou who’d draw his pistols and scream threats, demanding to know who did this?
Or would it be Marco, who would lament they’d been together only moments ago, that if he’d heard something, been closer he could have used his powers and saved him?
No matter who discovered his body it would be a sorrowful event of mixed feelings, accusations, and sadness. In a way, it was a comfort to know he would be missed, that he had always been loved and the connections he’d made would follow him into another life.
But he didn’t want to leave them and he certainly didn’t want to die alone.
He stared ahead, feeling the cold air, his vision was blurry when he saw the white glow he mistook for his fading vision but it got closer, closer, warmer somehow. He squinted and saw the little glowing child, bathed in angelic light, a small hammer clutched in one hand as it knelt down and placed its small hand on Thatch’s cheek.
Klabautermann,
He felt his lips twitch, smiling as the spirit warmed his face softly, a comfort in his dying moments. Thatch, as well as every sailor worth their salt, knew what a klabautermann was and it was no surprise that the Moby had one. The ship was loved and the large family that sailed on her daily meant the world to her.
The small spirit kept patting his cheek as it became harder to draw breath, as the world got darker around the corners, as the pain numbed with each pulse that pittered out. Thatch realised it was here for him , so he wouldn’t die alone.
With that in mind the chef, the commander, and the beloved friend passed away. At least his last moments were with someone who loved him.
–
“Marco!” Ace screeched and slammed open his door, the sound of ringing bells sounded across the ship, and the deafening cries of panic and dismay alerted every person on the ship.
Marco hadn’t slept yet, evident from the extra weight in the crinkled under his eyes as he gripped his book harder, tearing a page from the novel in surprise, seeing how rattled Ace had seemed as he rudely entered his office in blind panic, fear in his eyes.
“What?”
There was a tremble in Ace’s voice, a wobble of his lip as Marco stood up, walking in hurried steps to place a hand on Ace’s shoulder, feeling how tense he was, Ace grabbed his hand and the phoenix could see tears glistening in his friends' eyes.
“Thatch, it’s Thatch.”