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Ace had never seen a funeral before. Of course he was no stranger to grief and mourning, but funerals were something foreign to him.
For once though, Ace was not grieving alone. Instead, he was now surrounded by those who shared in his pain. Shoulders jutted into his, strained breathing tickling his skin in a manner that made him feel claustrophobic. Never had Ace been so cramped before. Shoved into the crowd like a pack of sardines, Ace was jostled about with each little fidget his brothers made.
Every inch of the deck was filled with his fellow Whitebeard pirates. Their heads hanging low and feet shuffling anxiously against the wooden deck. The way the old wood creaked and groaned made it seem as though the ship was mourning too, screaming out in pain the only way it could. Ace wondered what The Moby would say if it could speak.
The air was thick with sorrow, and the young man could have sworn the sadness and tears were enough to create the bruised clouds that hovered over them all. Ace couldn't help but lock his brown gaze on the sky, wondering if just one poke to the cloud's tense surface would unleash a torrential downpour. The thought strangely comforted him, finding that thinking of the weather helped dull the sorrow deep in his chest.
Ace was pulled away from his thoughts when a thick bouquet of little pink bell flowers was shoved into his face, gently brushing against his nose before they were once again pulled out of view. Their sweet smell was almost comforting, like a gentle hug that soothed his pain.
“Sorry.” The familiar voice graced Ace’s ear, giving him just a taste of what a man on the edge of tears sounded like. Just that one word made a shiver run up the young man’s spine, twisting his gut uncomfortably as the word replayed within his mind like a broken record. Most men he had encountered would never let someone see their tears, and that was how Ace strived to live his life. Yet here he was, faced with one of his closest role models wearing his fresh tear tracks with an aura of pride.
“Hey, Marco….are you ok?” Comfort was not Ace’s specialty. He always tended to puff out his chest and pretend everything was ok in hopes of staying strong. Yet now, he was blindsided. Lost on what he was supposed to say and do. Thankfully, he wouldn't be left in the dark for long.
Marco turned to him, blue eyes now in full view for Ace to see. The fire that normally blazed with such passion and joy for life had dimmed to a dull ember, a shadow remnant of a normally sunny disposition, revealing a side that he never thought he'd see of the first commander . It didn't matter how much he desperately raised the bouquet of pink heaths to his face, as Ace could see that his eyes were red and puffy from crying.
“I’ll be ok. Just a hard day.” The blonde buried his face into the flowers, closing his eyes slowly so he could take in their sweet scent. He almost looked like a painting at that moment; blonde hair swooped perfectly against his forehead, tear tracks shining against his skin, and lastly the flowers didn't have a single petal out of place. It was as if someone had meticulously painted on each little pink petal, allowing just enough room for them to merge beautifully once gathered. The bouquet was like a burning pink flame, bursting forth with vibrancy as it collided with the dense purple clouds. If it was any other day Ace would have laughed at the irony of such cute flowers in the presence of the tough commander, but he held his tongue.
“They say Heaths mean solitude. I felt Thatch would like them. I just hope he finds peace.” Ace wondered if Marco was able to read his mind, somehow understanding exactly what the young man was thinking with just a look.
“Oh, yeah.” He averted his brown eyes at that, feeling overwhelmed the moment the man’s name was brought up.
Guilt consumed Ace, chomping down on his soul and ripping into him until there was nothing left. What if he had walked Thatch back to his room that night? Kept him company at least a little bit longer? Could he have prevented all of this from happening?
Before he could spiral into the “what if’s” a gentle hand planted itself on his shoulder, taking him away from the whirlwind of thoughts that had plagued his mind. Marco’s blue eyes burned into him. Once more the flame that rested in his irises had returned in full force; clashing with the pink flowers that were still held up to his face.
“It wasn't your fault.” That simple phrase was enough to knock the wind out of Ace, striking him like a punch to the face. He knew Marco was right, yet something deep inside of him said otherwise. The nagging voice in the corner of his brain continued to cackle within his ear, telling him all the things he felt he had no choice but to believe. He was bad luck, a monster, and nothing would change that.
“I-” Ace wanted to respond, refute what the man had said, but he was interrupted quickly when a familiar booming voice cut through the thick atmosphere. It started with someone clearing their throat, and ended with a strangled breath that seemed to shake everyone to their cores.
“I believe it is time, my sons.” Ace made sure to slowly turn towards the front of the ship, following his brother’s gaze as they all quietly awaited their fathers next words.
The man was a wreck. Slumped defeatedly in his chair, and clutching a large handful of rosemary and gladiolus. Their once brimming green stems and entrancing petals were now dulled as their father had been clutching them with a vice grip. All of his anger and grief being released onto the tiny defenseless flowers.
“No parent wishes to live longer than their children. It's an indescribable pain, but not one that trumps what you may be feeling my sons. We have lost a good brother, friend, and son. I want none of you to feel ashamed for the grief and agony you are experiencing, as we are all here for one another. We are family, and as family that means we are in this together.” As the old pirate captain spoke small carts of flowers were fluttering around the deck, allowing the gathered mourners to take their fill of the large selection provided. Ace supposed it was a part of some tradition that he didn't quite understand, but he didn't voice his confusion.
“As I always say, we are all children of the sea. It is now time for Thatch to return to the ocean's loving embrace, and we need to send him off the way he would wish.” The cart made its way towards Ace, the brother running it waiting patiently until the young man took his fill. Honestly he didn't pay attention to what flowers he was grabbing, and instead had just reached for a handful before turning back to Pop’s.
“Now, let us send off Thatch for the last time.” The man gave a weak flick of his wrist, motioning for the casket that had previously been hidden out of view to move closer. In that moment someone could have heard a pin drop, many even refusing to take a breath in fear of missing such a moment.
Slowly their brother was carried across the deck, his coffin open, a peaceful expression on view for all to see. It almost looked as though he was sleeping, ready to wake up at any second and jokingly ask what in the world they were all crying for. But he didn't wake up, and he never would.
Ace allowed his eyes to travel down to the bouquet of flowers in his grasp. Hands clutched over one another as he held onto them like they were a lifeline. The yellow, purple, and pink petals were almost taunting him; the colors were just way too cheerful for his liking.
It took so much restraint for him to not angrily pluck off each perfect petal of the pink peonies, or to burn the yellow birdsfoot trefoil for daring to be so bright. It just wasn't fair! Why did Thatch have to die, but that murderer got to run around free!? He stopped his rage filled tirade when his eyes caught the delicate surface of the purple spring crocus, brushing his fingers against the soft petals as a loud sigh ripped through his throat.
He was nothing like a flower. They were weak, wilting, and crumbling at the slightest issue that crossed their paths. He could easily crack their stems and rip off their sweet smell petals with a little flick of his finger. Just like what Teach had done to Thatch.
He was going to avenge Thatch, right the wrong that he created. Ace promised that to himself, and he sealed that promise the moment he tossed the pristine flowers into the casket. His eyes watched as they flew, falling gracefully until they landed right on top of Thatch’s chest. The bright colors unifying into one bursting rainbow that seemed to wrap their brother in a warm embrace.
The kaleidoscope of colors continued to burn like a beacon as their deceased brother was set out to sea, his boat floating peacefully as he sailed into the horizon. Ace swore he was one of the last people standing at the railing, silently watching as the pinks and yellows disappeared from his sight. Yet he couldn't find the will to say goodbye. Instead, he vowed to make the man proud by avenging him. It was now a promise.